I was made to be the mother of boys.
Containing bugs, naming dinosaurs, tree climbing, up for adventures, making people happy with food, handy with a slingshot and always up for inventing something new.
Born to do this job.
Yet every once in a blue moon….
When the house is overwhelmed by farts, potty talk, poop jokes and crying from the latest gonad kicking contest…
I feel this way down deep pang of longing for a little girl.
For afternoons filled with high tea and Jane Austen. Mornings spent reading Anne of Green Gables or Little Women. Sewing projects and canning jam.
This longing has always made me feel guilty. I have been blessed with four healthy boys. My hands and my heart are full! How can I still want something other than what I have been given?
I pondered this today as I chopped basil for my husband’s salad and washed mint leaves for our afternoon tea. Our second born walked up and asked, “Mom, I want to preserve this St. John’s Wart for my collection of herbs.” I glanced at him, “You are collecting herbs now too?” He smiled, “Yes! I want us to grow them and then I want to preserve them so we can use them at home for all these different ailments. Just like the pioneers did. Just like Ma Ingalls!” I grinned back at him, “That sounds like fun! Lets do it! Dad and I are putting the new garden in this weekend and I’ll make sure we get our herbs reorganized and ready to go.”
Twenty minutes later the third born sauntered by, pantless, of course, arms laden with felt and a rapidly unwinding spool of thread. “Mom, can we make more Christmas ornaments?” We sat together for a few minutes, cutting scraps into shape and getting them ready to decorate. He looked up at me with his melting chocolate brown eyes, “I love making things with you, Mom.”
Half an hour ago my eldest found me folding laundry. “Mom, remember that story about the four sisters? Their Dad is fighting in the Civil War and their Mom’s name is Army?”
I blink. “Marmie? You mean, Little Women?”
“Thats the one!”
“What about it?”
“Well, I wanna get the Audio CD out again and listen to it.”
“I thought you didn’t like it?”
“Oh no, I liked it just fine. I wanted to move on to Guardian’s of Ga’hoole because I was excited about owls at war so we never talked about it. But I liked the story for many different reasons. Can we listen to it again and then talk about it? Like we do with all the Narnia books?”
“I would love that!”
I ran my fingers through his brown hair and said, “You know, CS Lewis and his friends were in a club of sorts. They would get together and talk about writing and life and books and faith. They called themselves the Inklings.”
He smiled big at me. The gap where his two front teeth used to be drawing me in with its devastating charm.
“Mom, we should do that too!”
“Talk about books? I already told you we could.”
“More than that! Make a club. You know? Drink tea as long as it comes with shortbread and talk about our favorite books and stories we want to write.”
“That sounds heavenly”
He hesitated, head tilting to the side in thought,”And we can call ourselves…. Your Littlest Inklings.”
“Or just, Littlest Inklings. What do you think, Mom?”
“I think I could not ask for more.”
I wasn’t just made to be the mother of boys.
I was made to be the mother of these boys.
I am thankful to the one who made us all.