Every so often, situations arise that make me think, "I wonder what a normal mother would do."
And then I wonder why I don't think of myself as being normal.
I suppose it's because even after 12 (almost 13!) years of mothering, I still feel bewildered and blundering. "Why are you always praying for wisdom?" Chris asks.
Years ago, it seemed to me that mothers of this advanced maternal age would be the settled and sensible, if-you-do-this-that-will-happen type of sages.
It also seemed quite obvious at one point in my life that a + b = c.
But some days now I'm not so sure but what a + b = g or x or even z . Who knows?
And conversations like this don't help.
Chris: God said that Job was a perfect man, but Job said things about God that weren't true, so how could he be perfect?
Wade: Tigger is best; Tigger is best!
Randall: I wonder who was tempted to pick my nose before I was.
Me: And how does this relate to anything?
Randall: Well, the Bible says there is no temptation new to man.
Wade: Tigger is best!!
Randall: And how in the world are we going to give account for every word we say? Isn't that going to take an awfully long time? For example, when God says, "All, right, Randall, why did you say A?" and I'll have to say, "Well, A is an article, which means it's an adjective used to describe a noun......"
Wade: TIGGER IS BEST!!
And I have absolutely nothing to say about that.
So I'll just post birthday pictures.
"I wonder," said Chris, "if I'll get stuck like Pooh in the Honey Pot."
Well, anyway, it was good to the last smackerel.
Tigger really is the best for a new eight-year-old and his buddy.
Everyone must wear party hats, decreed Christopher.
And Wade sang "Happy Birthday" to everyone whether or not it was your birthday.
In summary, the older I get, the more I believe that Patsy Clairmont was right: normal really is just a setting on your dryer.