I Was a Mom Today

for about 7 hours to a 7-year-old and a 4-year-old while the real mom and dad went to church leadership training and ran other errands.

I came prepared with a little craft for them to do. Imagine a table spread with newspapers covering it, paint, those little googly eyes, and multi-colored Popsicle sticks, among other things, scattered about.

I also came bearing a recently-bought-from-the St.James-book-fair-book, A Treasury of Curious George. It has eight stories of my favorite little mischievous monkey, and the kids tell me he is their favorite, too. Imagine a full lap and little arms and legs snuggled up against you, ears listening in wonder as you read the phrase “George was curious” for at least the 10th time.

Settling arguments, explaining “why,” weathering little temper tantrums, playing house, giving hugs, drying tears, boiling pots of spaghetti—is this the stuff motherhood is made of?

I let my mind wander as I put the leftover spaghetti sauce in a Tupperware bowl (they wanted their noodles plain)—am I cut out for it? I like to think and hope that I am. I already have possible names and ideas for that possible phase in my life in the uncertain future. But I guess I realized even more today how all-consuming it must be to introduce a life into the world. More than that, an eternal soul. To nurture that soul and to be responsible for it.

There is a part of me that craves that simple kind of life Gwen Stefani sang about before she went solo, and for some reason, I used to be reluctant to admit it. But how will this craving ever be reconciled with my career woman, travel-the-world bent? Why do I always feel like I’m going to be forced to choose one day? Maybe because I will.

At least it’s not a decision I’ll have to make anytime soon, despite my text-messaged marriage proposal. lol. I will continue to ignore subsequent messages, voice mails and phone calls. There is no earthly reason to respond to any of that in any manner whatsoever unless I would want to prove to him that indeed I am the blithering idiot that he must’ve taken me to be when the ludicrous idea first entered his mind that somehow I would be his ticket to legality in this country. Oh, well. Así es la vida.