Verklempt

Perhaps it started with my previous post about a soldier surprising his daughters. Maybe it's the Christmas spirit. Or maybe I'm just PMSing. But I am so overcome today, that I can't stop breaking into tears. The good kind.

I sat down with Ewan to write a letter to Santa Claus. He was very nervous about it, and kept telling me that I had to do it, because he didn't know what to say. It was so sweet, almost like a school boy composing a love letter. After we sealed it and he put stickers all over it, we sat down to talk about Christmas and Santa coming. He asked me if Santa would bring Rudolph. I told him he probably would, but that we wouldn't see him. He wondered how Santa would get in without a chimney. We tossed around some possibilities, the window, the door, possibly walking through walls. Talking about possibly hearing the reindeers' paws on the roof overcame him to the point of jumping and down and shining eyes. I've been worried about how to bring that beautiful Christmas feeling into our home, but seeing his eyes, and his !GASP! at the excitement of it all, I knew he felt it, and I found myself choking up, literally. I started to cry (and that's when I found a convenient opportunity to throw in a plug for the true meaning of Christmas.) I think he was wondering why I was crying. We then looked at pictures of Christmases of yore. Meanwhile, Fynn is cruising along, holding onto the couch, and kept stepping away and taking two steps at a time before he'd fall. So of course I started bawling some more.

I don't get sentimental often, as it's hard to do without sounding like a blowhard and I don't like to expose myself. But oh, man, I have such a nice little life and a wonderful little family, and such a good husband. I knew from the time I was very small that being a mother was my calling. I used to mother my Cabbage Patch Kids like they were real. From the very moment Bryce and I met, we knew we would have this family someday.

I'm just not one of those people that needs to have a huge name for myself. The modern attitude for women is so much about accomplishing something beyond family. It's just not an attitude I understand. Not that I don't think women should strive for big things, I just don't understand those that feel like family isn't enough. I was watching a movie recently, and the main character had two daughters, and she was talking to someone about their talents. She mentioned one was an accomplished painter, and the other was of extraordinary intelligence. She then said, "But those are their accomplishments, not mine. I need something that's mine." I just don't have that attitude; to see my kids happy, finding things they enjoy and excel at will be the pinnacle of my life. Some modern women may think that is sad, or pathetic, but to me it's everything. Sure it will be nice to write a children's book someday, but if I don't, big deal. It doesn't matter.

Okay, okay, now alert the folks at Hallmark they have nothing to worry about, and let's go back to pretending I'm just a cranky old witch.