That woman

Did you see that woman at church tonight with her hair tied up, her lips glossed and glistening like cranberry twinkle lights and her put-together ensemble of winter black dress and snowflake tights? Wasn't she magnificent?

(That was me.)

Did you observe how she arrived to the concert early, gave her daughter a "break-a-leg" and a kiss before scooting her into the music room? Then she took those two well-mannered little boys of hers into church (early, mind you), where she snagged a seat and scuttled out to visit the church bears before the concert began. The epitome of conscientiousness parenting, I tell you.

(That was me, too. I was that conscientious parent!)

 

Did you see that affectionate, unflappable mother of three deftly juggling a hymnal in one hand, and her camera in the other, snapping photos all the while never missing a word of "O Come all Ye Faithful?"

(Not to get braggy, but that was me, too! Wasn't I marvelous?)

And she even let her little angels take a few photos, too. Awe.

(Yes. I did that, too.)

 

 

Did you see that woman exiting the pew before the concert was even halfway through, squeezing her way past poor, mobility-impaired elderly people with those two miserable little twerp sons of hers whining in tow? What was she thinking bringing those little boys to an hour-long program this late at night? Of course, they got restless. They're little boys for crying out loud!

(OK, that was me, too.)

Did you see that woman sweating beneath an armload of winter coats, dipping into the punch bowl quite literally as the church ladies were filling it with green Kool-Aid? And did you hear her bark: "You have exactly five seconds to pick a cookie or we are leaving. Five, four, three...?"

(Me, again.)

Did you see that clearly overwhelmed mother of three whose surly little imps only stopped charging up and down the sanctuary steps long enough for her to snap this terribly composed Christmas photo? Poor woman. She's got her hands full.

(Are you noticing a pattern here?)

Did you see that exhausted-looking woman staring out her kitchen window tonight? She had a smile on her lips as though even at the end of a marathon of a weekend, she harbored some secret joy in the fullness and headiness of motherhood.

(Yep. That was me, too.)

After this week, I wouldn't dare look at a single second of this oft taxing and messy job as anything but a gift, of which I never have been and never will be in any way deserving, but I will always be grateful for it. Always.