"Momma, rain falls from the sky;"
"Momma, I just passed gas." Thanks, Captain Obvious.
God must feel like this all the time. "Honest to God, I had no idea what I was doing."
God thinks, "No joke. Tell me something I didn't know. . . Oh, wait. You can't."
God thinks, "No joke. Tell me something I didn't know. . . Oh, wait. You can't."
Kids, on the other hand, are a whole other matter.
"Momma, where do babies come from?"
"Momma, why is your belly big and wobbly?"
"Momma, why did that guy with a gun kill all those students?" Honest to kids is much harder.
It isn't hard because they can't handle the truth. It's because I can't. Being honest with them means being honest with myself and being vulnerable. They'll know their daddy and I had sex! They'll know I eat more than I exercise and I'll feel ashamed! They'll know there is evil in the world and people are capable of terrible things! What if they turn out like me? What if they lose their sense of safety?
I want the bubble! Give me the bubble!!
I want the bubble! Give me the bubble!!
Maybe this is why my generation is full of super-strength helicopter parents. We don't want to face the harsh realities ourselves and all our kids will have to deal with sooner rather than later.
The life I want is one in which sex isn't a taboo subject that causes embarrassment, I am super-fit and can eat whatever I want, and people don't take automatic weapons to shoot up schools.
But that's not a life I can have.
So, I have to accept life as it is and strive for the life I should have: One in which my kids know I'll be honest with them, no matter how hard. One in which they know how deeply we love them no matter their shape or size. One in which they are equipped to face the world.
This is the life I choose, even though it's not the life I want. And it's a life that's way harder.
And that's ok. We were built to survive and do hard things, not wrap ourselves in a bubble.
That said, it doesn't mean I won't try plenty of bubbles on for size.
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