Sticker Parade

"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...

And yet, is not that life? What would life be without the set-backs or challenges or practice that living requires? Perhaps you, too, would be quick to say Save some of your stickers, love. But should we? Or rather, should we encourage our loved ones to give them away? To share in life with those they love?

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.