Dear Mother of Small Boys,
I can't remember what first caught my attention. Perhaps it was the feet of your second boy bursting up from the behind the church pew like a spirited humpback calf. Perchance it was the infantile yet ultimate-style brawl over colored pencils during the second sermon. Whatever the distraction, it was always to you that my eyes gravitated. You, with your hair yanked out of its ideal placement by hands too small to understand large plastic curlers or sheer volume conditioner. You, with your stunning almond-shaped eyes filled one moment with motherly compassion and ablaze with righteous indignation the next. You, with a blouse spotted with spittle and dried bits of wholesome breakfast cereal. How did my visual periphery ever stand a chance? You were a Norman Rockwell Model and professional wrestling referee wrapped in one. You were loving. You were accommodating. You were potty-training... all within a period of time usually set aside for daytime dramas or a demanding crossword puzzle.
As far as I'm concerned, you're the number one natural wonder of the world. A human being that willingly gives herself up to be loved and hated in love; to be smothered by hugs before snack time and stinky poop midway through. Your bad days are chock full of high-pitched screaming, timeouts, and a constant barrage of projectile objects; your good ones are filled with high-pitched screaming, a few less timeouts, and a constant barrage of slightly softer projectile objects.
Remarkably stable considering you always either have your biggest fans or harshest critics in tow, you constantly look at mothers around you and wonder where you're failing while they look back wondering the same thing about themselves. You're succeeding wonderfully for the simple fact that you care enough about your children to be constantly convinced that you're failing terribly in their upbringing.
You stay up at night worrying about getting accepted to the right kindergarten or having enough clean underwear to last tomorrow.
You're a fierce protector, a lioness that rages when confronted with bullies, narrow-minded people, or inappropriate cartoon characters.
You're your boys first choice for comfort and the last person they want to kiss at night.
You're a short-order cook, housekeeper, teacher, trainer, housekeeper, law enforcer, singer, housekeeper, storyteller, instrumentalist, librarian, playground playmate always waiting for the next role to fill.
You're everything always and invisible often.
You're nothing short of awe-inspiring and awesome and every other adjective closely associated with those two.
You're a mother of three small boys and I couldn't imagine a more perfect woman to have catch my attention.
Father of Small Boys