I stare at her, my own eyes blinking back at me in that 'oh so innocent' way. She's so much like me, and I begin to understand what my own mother faced raising me. And always that innocent blink. 

She finds some residue from a recent paint project and dips her finger into the delightful goo. I walk in as she puts the finishing touches on her cheeks. Hulk green streaks run from the corners of her mouth out to her ears on both sides. Two more streaks run at a diagonal across her forehead. She looks at me as I enter, and blinks.

An hour or so goes by and I find her in the tub, fully dressed, shaving cream smeared head to toe, and across the shower walls. It really is a wonder she didn't slip and crack her head before I caught her. I start to scold her, and those innocent eyes look up at me, and blink again. 

Downstairs she has found my sewing machine at the table. I had left for just a few minutes, and now it is covered in salt and pepper from the shakers sitting near by. Again I shake my head at those gleaming, yet still so innocent eyes. 

Later that night, all the paint, shaving cream, salt, pepper, and tears wiped away, I ponder life as a mother. Why do her eyes seem so innocent despite the mischief? Is it that they look so much like the ones that have stared me in the mirror for the last two and a half decades? Or is it that secret transmitted message behind them 'Mommy, you would have done this too'?

The thing is, they ARE the things I would have done. And she gets me every time. I laugh. And once I laugh, the scolding just doesn't hold the weight it should. So I turn away, compose myself the very best I can and turn back, determined not to let those innocent eyes get to me again. 

Why is naughty so cute?
 

Warm cider, cozy sweaters, crisp leaves, and pumpkin pies. Nothing says 'give thanks' like the season that surrounds us. Each of these little reminders act to lift our spirits to the Giver, and reveal His heart. 

He brings joy in the smiles of my little ones, as they gather around and delight in the small pleasures of the season. We walked outside the other evening, and my two year-old gasped and exclaimed "Mommy, there's SPRINKLES on the car!". The snowflakes beginning to collect on the hood were glistening in the setting sun. 

He brings love in the hugs and kisses that flow freely from these darlings that call me Mommy. There is nothing that warms my heart more than one of them crawling up on my lap and entwining their arms around my neck. 

He brings peace through their sweet example of trust. Whatever the hurt, whatever the fear, they turn to the one person they know who can 'fix it all'. We can have that trust too. He delights in taking our broken, fearing hearts, and making beauty out of it all.

As my children remind me of these most precious of all gifts, I want to pass them back to them, and show them the joy, love and peace that are from above. They are understood, not through dictionaries and textbooks, but rather through faith and example. 

The other evening we took the girls to the park. Spring is finally settling in here in blustery WY, and they could hardly wait for the first chance to get out (make that we, their parents were chomping at the bit too). The evening did not disappoint, it was gorgeous! They ate their dinner in haste, then hit the playground. And it hit me...

The memories, it seems only yesterday, I was in their shoes. Skipping through the daisies, running in the wind; chasing kites, brothers, and anything else that offered adventure. Where does time go? And where does that carefree run go? Somewhere in the adjustments to adulthood, leaving behind childhood and picking up that cloak of maturity, the spirit gets lost. I suppose that's the way it's meant to be, but I don't hesitate to admit, I miss it.

Somehow, I find it again, from time to time. I'm able to grasp that joy that is free from responsibility, if only for a moment. I may not have the carefree skip and sparkle of a three year old today, but I hope I never loose the ability to live for little joys. I don't run in total abandon down the sidewalk anymore, but I sure delight in every memory of when I did, and I don't want to rush the cares that weigh on me onto my little ones. It will come soon enough.

A little girl, she wants to everything her mommy is. She looks in the mirror, running her fingers through her golden curls, and thinks how it would be to have deep auburn waves like her. She smiles, trying to make her lips just the shapes mommy's are when she smiles. Tilting her head just a touch she remembers that picture of mommy and wonders, 'do I look like her when I do this?'

This is an age old story. I think it's born in every girl to be 'just like mommy'.  We probably all remember a similar moment in our own girlhood.

How do we reach that little heart, the one reaching out to copy our every move- and fill them with security in their own beauty?  How do we turn those eyes of longing from the mirror, and show them that true beauty lies within. 

Do they see little discontents in our lives? Our we striving to be the image of someone else still? The neighbor that can wear anything and it looks classy? The cashier that's a size 2? Or maybe just a longing to have the figure we once had. Do they hear us degrading our own image, maybe the few extra pounds our hips could drop? Our face? Afraid to let a couple wrinkles show? These things will mold the way they think of themselves.

I think the mother who is fully content in who she is, will raise daughters who are also secure in their own image. 

I am guilty, society all but teaches us to be discontent with our various features. We idolize those with a 'perfect image' or a 'flawless face'... But what defines these things? We need to stop doing our daughters a disservice and let them see a little pride in just 'being who you are'. 

That said, I do think it is sweet when my little one wants to just like her mommy, and I hope I can point her to follow in more ways than poise, mannerisms, and looks. :-)

Being a mommy is more than picking up toys and washing dishes... it's more than fixing their meals and giving baths. 

Being a mommy is much like being a lover, you do these things BECAUSE you love them, not because you're supposed to do them to be a good mommy...

So on the days where the laundry piles, where the babies are sick, where the kitchen drips with yesterdays grease, and the house smells like a waste can full of diapers- you aren't a bad mommy. Yes, the house needs to be cleaned, but the same love that compels us to keep things tidy, also compels us to lay down our goals for the needs of those we love. Sometimes the need IS clean socks for your husband who is having a hard day at work. Sometimes it's a freshly scrubbed kitchen or a vacuumed living room for him to come home to. And some days it might even be a 5 course meal! ... but there are days where it is holding your baby and reading to your toddler, because our goal, after all, is love. 

So even if your goal today isn't roses and chocolates all around (or if your great endeavor at valentines with toddlers results in messy smiles and pricked fingers), make it your goal to love; and in loving, you will meet their needs, and they will know they have the very, very best mommy the earth has known.

Being a mommy is the greatest joy in the world. From carrying new life and feeling those first wiggles, to that first cry and smile... on through all the little stages. It couldn't be more rewarding.

But lately I've been thinking, I don't always focus on the rewards. I don't look for the joy in the mundane. I don't revel in each new step. I let it slip past because I'm too busy trying to make sure everything runs smoothly. I miss the excitement of 'helping mommy make the cake', because I want it to be 'perfect' for my little girl. I miss the grin of delight at the gifts, as I'm trying to take the 'perfect' picture to save the memory. I miss the opportunity to share hearts with my three year old, because 'that's the fifth time you asked that question, now just obey'. And at the end of the day I stop and think... I'm too busy.

I'm too busy living in the fast lane to walk through the flowers with my three year old. To really slow down, and see her joys, and her frustrations. To listen to her jabber, and jabber, and jabber some more. But if I'm too busy today, and it's just 'jabber', when is that going to change? When am I going to be less busy? When is it going to change and be 'jabber' no longer? When she's 6 and starting school? When she's 12 and growing into a young lady? When she's 20 and getting married??

I realize I need to look for and find the rewards in being a mommy today. To stop my own hustle, and listen to the heart of my little girl (even if it's 'just' her telling me for the tenth time that she wants *this* doll in the catalog, or that 'Cinderella has the other slipper, Mommy'.)

You know, those eager eyes turned towards mine are looking for something. When she looks, is she going to have her heart filled? Or is she going to see a mommy that is too preoccupied and busy to notice her. We all need affirmation, and I want to be there for each one of my princesses.

I wrote this several months ago and realized today that though I never published it I needed to read it again. I thought maybe there is another mommy who could be encouraged, and I'm putting it out for you all, even if it is old.  

 A cry, fresh and utterly dependent breaks the silence... a new life is born. There is something about a newborns cry that is unlike any other. It represents weakness and frailty, and yet it also stands for all that she can grow to be. This little one you hold relies fully on you for everything. 

fresh

peaceful

and trusting

I look at the fresh face of my little one; feel her own tiny body against mine; so easily crushed if not gently handled, so trusting, so reliant on me for all. She is just as I need her to be, that I might meet her needs. She is just as I should be, that my Heavenly Father might meet mine. How often do I forget? How many times do I try to carry my burdens? How quickly do I fail to realize HE has promised to meet my daily needs?

Oh, to become as a little child- dependently reliant on the Father moment by moment.