Today

I'm a mom. I have 4 children. A lot of people ask me these days "what number" this baby is for me - a strange question when you think about it. Each person seems surprised when I say "four". I'll take this as a compliment. When I answered this question today while shopping, the man responded with "Good for you!" in a kind and genuine way. Yes, good for me indeed.

I wanted to do some fun shopping for myself and quite honestly didn't want my kids tagging along since Zook was home for the holiday. But he was installing a sprinkler system and could only work efficiently if I left one of the older kids with him. Why does shopping with only 3 kids feel so much easier than shopping with 4? I was trying to dissect this quandary for much of the excursion. I came to the conclusion that it has more to do with which of the four kids I left at home, and not so much to do with the number of kids in tow. In and of himself Henry is a sweet boy. But today I realized that whether he brings it upon himself of not, he is at the center of most kid controversy in our home. Waverly's power and authority as "the oldest" is not challenged when he is not around. And as Oscar's #1 sparring partner, the raucous horse-play diminishes in Henry's absence.

Anyway, the man who asked about my kids was a nice older fellow who was waiting for his "wife of 47 years" to finish shopping. I was holding Alice and watching the other kids play in the play area. Just as I was musing over how much pink Alice was dressed in (pink flowers on the shirt, pink striped pants, pink socks, pink blanket, pink bottle) the man asked if she was a boy or a girl. I wasn't trying to be rude, but I just HAD to ask him if he was trying to be funny. I mean - honestly! He said something about "you just can't tell when they're so young" and I knew he hadn't noticed the tell-tale pink. And then I remembered that men in general are not very complicated and their brains should not be over-analyzed. Don't get me wrong - I'm not trying to insult the male population. These are just facts I have come to understand with age and (female) wisdom. Seriously.

I went for a nice run this morning with my old running group. We had a picnic dinner at the park this evening with good friends. In between I went shopping and tried to remember to be grateful for the good men and women who have died while serving our country. Wow, that last sentence made me seem rather shallow. I really did try to think about the reason for the holiday and my husband's day off from work. In the car I listened to my local NPR station's special coverage of Memorial Day. They helped me remember that there are real people behind the numbers killed in the war that is being fought. I wonder if I could have enjoyed a day of running, picnicking and shopping if other people had not sacrificed their lives for our freedoms. No, I don't need to wonder... the answer if obvious. And I am grateful. I'm glad I sat down to write a blog post that didn't initially have a purpose or direction. Sometimes I wander about my days forgetting my own purpose and direction, but sitting down to write brings it all into focus.

I am grateful for those who have fallen for freedom's sake. I am grateful to be a mom. Those two may not seem related, but to me they are.