At the end of a couple gripey, negative weeks, it seems appropriate to shift my attitude and focus on the blessings in my life, instead of complaining.
I’m thankful for my husband, God’s gift to me—the partner, best friend and helpmate that I once thought I would never find…who, despite leaving the same light on every day and leaving his suit coats and ties and shoes lying around, does more housework than any man I know (unless maybe it’s his brother); who does nothing without doing it well, not because he’s a genius, but because he works at it; who relieves me of the burden of figuring out new things (a task for which I have very little patience, though I could do it if I had to); who makes me laugh and attracts the devotion of two little ones (the third still thinks he’s interesting, but his life revolves around Mommy. One part of Mommy’s anatomy, specifically. 🙂 )
I’m thankful for my children—
…for Alex, whose exuberance and zest for life manifest themselves in noise and inexhaustible energy (maybe he’s vacuuming mine); whose stubbornness and insistence upon his own way, though they challenge me hourly, will, once trained, serve him well in life; who wants to share every moment of his life with me; who still likes to snuggle; who adores his little sister and brother and never utters a hint of resentment about what they get vs. what he gets; who is always up for trying something new (except food).
…for Julianna, who seems to be sleeping through the night again at last; whose sass and stubbornness, though again a challenge, will—again—serve her well in a world that will inevitably be difficult for her; for the eternal childhood she will live; for her absolute devotion to her daddy; for her hugs and her throaty giggles; for her motivation to get into everything, her curiosity; her increasing competence at signing and playing and following directions and playing, all of which seem ten times more miraculous than they do in a typically-developing child.
…for Nicholas, who makes me happy just by the way his entire body lights up when he sees me; whose shining eyes, ringed with those amazing lashes, shine for me; for the smiles and the primordial guffaws; for rolls of baby skin and the intense concentration of his bathtub play (kick—kick—kick—kick); for the softness of his hair and the softness of his skin; for the joy he brings to me.
Yes, I am truly blessed.
Kathleen M. Basi 