"Stickers," Ezra says in a semi-sedated drone. Then, as if awakening from the trance that turning pages in a book affords, he exclaims, "I have stickers on my pants!"
"Do you want a sticker, Mommy?" And, with determined effort, he comes up to me and plops Jupiter on my arm.
"Save some of your stickers, love," I say, glancing down at a wedge of cheese and a centipede that have joined the parade on my arm.
And then, I feel the weight of it. No, not of Jupiter. Nor the empty weight of an Ash Wednesday fast. Nor the chill the resides in my feet on a cold, cloudy day. It is the weight of being a mommy.
Children are delightful and bring such joy, but there are those sticky moments of molding a child's character amid the whines, will'nts (as Ezra says for will not), and wild places that need pruning. For every success, there seems to be myriad more moments of apparent set-backs. And yet...
So, my prayer for you, friend, is that someone lavishes love on you today. May Saturn or a snail or even strawberry shortcake plop on your arm today.