I hate flying. Yes, I tell my kids to never say hate. I tell them that hate is a strong word like all the perfect mamas out there.
But let me make one thing clear: When it comes to putting myself on the death machine otherwise known as airplane, I'm allowed to use hate as much as I want. I have the hate free pass on that one, friends.
In anticipation of our get away trip to Costa Rica, I made sure the frig was stocked, post-its with instructions were properly in place and my list (ok, small novel) of daily routines for the 3 boys was ready for helpful and very, very, brave family members. In addition to these organizational measures, I spent the busy night before typing out my "if we die" letter to the couple who would raise our littles. Morbid? Heck yeah! Smart? I think so.
And as my husband rolled his eyes and proceeded to mock my dramatic and neurotic ways, I clickity clacked away on my keyboard. I paused to think of each of my boys. I highlighted their strengths. Gently stated their weaknesses and gave every little detail from poop habits to which kid will eat broccoli.
Even though I knew my plane would most likely arrive safely in Costa Rica, I was glad that I wrote my letter for 2 reasons:
1. I'm super type A and preparation and organization beat a massage for relaxation any day.
2. It made me stop and dwell on each child. It made me stop in the midst of grocery shopping, laundry, and shuffling from school to activities, to savor the attributes of each child. I get stuck in what they are not doing instead of all that they are doing. I am guilty of looking ahead as to who I want them to be instead of looking them in the eyes and seeing them for the marvel they are NOW.
And yes, even though I was playing out worst case scenarios and saw the plane crash cover on TIME in my head, I had peace. I tip -toed up stairs and gave each boy an extra kiss goodnight. I knew that if something happened to me that they would be alright. Their world will not rise or fall based on me. They will rise because of the wonders they were created to be.
Simply said, who they are...now. Perfectly and wonderfully made.
Are they ever perfect? Nope. I wouldn't expect them to be.
Are they always wonderful? Hardly. This casa is real life, you know?
But, that doesn't take away the fact that they are perfectly and wonderfully made.
And that has nothing to do with me.