Toothbrush surprises and other tiny delights

I keep a stash of toothbrushes in various colors, styles and sizes in a pretty tin in the bathroom. Along with toothbrushes, there are assorted soaps, spare bottles of shampoo, extra tubes of toothpaste, and other minor necessities of health and hygeine. I like to have everything handy in case something wears out or runs low. It's my job to keep everyone looking sparkly and smelling fresh and I take it seriously.

When my children's toothbrushes are looking a bit worn, I toss the old one and replace it with a new one. I try to find fun colors and special features, like tongue scrubbers and gum massagers. I never tell the children when I replace their toothbrushes. I like to leave them, quietly, like the toothbrush fairy, in each place, waiting patiently to be discovered. My children are always thrilled by this little treasure. The lucky child will exclaim over the purpleness of the purple handle and the brushiness of the bristles and magnificent suction of the suction cup that makes it stand upright on the side of the sink.

I find immense joy in their immense joy over such a mundane object. How could I not smile a bit when a child is so exhilerated by his good fortune at receiving a 25 cent plastic stick with nylon attached? When he simply must remove the plaque from his teeth this instant. He has the overwhelming need to become acquainted with his new possession, to indulge in the experience of this new thing. An ordinary rote action is magically tranformed into something new and special.

A task so small that I might perform it with almost no conscious thought has become a treasured memory. One that I will hold dear long after my children are grown, and one that I suspect my children might reflect on after I'm gone. "Remember how Mom would surprise us with toothbrushes? And we'd be so excited and she'd have us tell her all about them?"

Like the scent of pansy flower baby wash and the feel of my baby's breath against my neck are indelibly printed in my memory, I can easily picture myself walking down the aisle at the pharmacy when I'm old and gray and shedding a small tear of remembered joy when my eye rests on a dolphin shaped toddler toothbrush.

Every small task that we perform for those we love is an opportunity to express that love. By embracing my mundane chores, I can embrace my children.

"MOM" = Hilarity

My laptop died a while ago. Since then, I've been sharing my kids' computer.

 I made a folder in the Favorites cleverly titled "MOM", to keep them off my Facebook and so I don't have to sift through 20 cartoon and video game links to get to my "Post-Baby-Better-Than-Before-Baby-Beach-Body-Bikini" workout.

They recently discovered this folder, mixed in with their links. They think it's hysterically funny. I'd love to explain the joke, but I don't get it.

From what I gather, they seem to think that a folder titled "MOM" belonging to their actual mom is the height of comedic irony.

My kids have sophisticated sense of humor. Better than fart jokes, right?

Mothering is not a sacrifice.

We hear it so often, it has become an unquestioned truth. Mothering is a sacrifice. Mothers are selfless. The decision to have children is a selfless one.

I disagree.

A selfless act is one we do to benefit someone else, often at a cost, great or small, to our own self-interest. I did not choose to have children for their sake. I did it for my own.

I wanted my children. I asked and prayed for them. Not because I wanted to give them the gift of my mothering, but because I wanted the gift of becoming a mother.

I am not sacrificing my time, energy, money, and sleep to my children. I am giving it freely. Because I love them. Because I am grateful to be entrusted with such treasures. Because I choose to. Because I want to.

I want to spend my time with them. I want to teach them and learn with them. I want to feed them yummy food and clothe them in adorable clothes. I want to make a home for them, filled with love and laughter and toys and sticky messes.

I don't love the sticky messes, but I love watching my children light up with joy while they smush playdoh, smear jelly in their hair, cut and paste, paint pictures, dig in mud and eat cupcakes.

It pains me to think of my children, or the time I spend caring for them, as sacrifices. I never want them to feel like a burden to me.

Yes, I get overwhelmed. They out number me 4 to 1. I lose my temper and yell. I'm not always the fun, patient mom. I get tired and cranky.

But I hope that my children always know that they are worth every sleepless night and early morning. Every yawn and sigh.  Every ruined shirt and extra chore. Every stretch mark, wrinkle and gray hair.

I would rather have my children than a spotless house, stylish furnishings, a lovely wardrobe, a promising career, a sporty car, a new iphone, a full night's sleep, a nice neighborhood and an extra bedroom.

Compared with the joy and purpose they give me, those things can hardly be called a sacrifice.