(Sparkling Cider. Really. I promise.)
I'll tell you what, as much as I'd like to THINK that my life is perfect, it's not. Let's just say it's perfectly imperfect. I'll take that, gladly. I lean towards the idea that imperfections are what make family life sweet. . . and interesting.
I wonder if my kids will get over the fact that just because we do the Twelve Days of Christmas for others, doesn't mean that someone's going to do it for us. It's sweet, really. I know they're still young. Still learning. And they don't really need everything that's in the bags for other families, like fake teeth or slinkies or silly straws or ninja guys or glow sticks. We are far from grasping the concept of joy in giving, but, I'm hopeful, really, I am. I have to hold my tongue sometimes because I find myself thinking words like selfish, ungrateful, spoiled, entitled, but then I take many deep breaths and say something like this, "Oh boy, isn't it so fun to give? To have this great secret that only we know? I bet Heavenly Father's so happy that we're thinking of others this time of year!" Imagine my sweetest, kindest, motherly voice, and you'd have me pegged. I can see that another Family Home Evening lesson on gratitude would be in order, as well as putting it into practice more at home. This is a very teachable principle. However, I'm certainly guilty of my own little selfish pleasures, usually involving a book.
And then, tonight while I'm doing the dishes Brigham hops onto the barstool and reads me this joke from his book, The World's Greatest Collection of Clean Jokes, "There are only two ways to handle a woman--and nobody knows either of them." Ha, ha, haaaaa, er, umm. . . not so funny. I was thinking that the cleanest jokes would stick more with the chicken crossing the road instead of the enigmatic relationship between men and women. He's nine, people. You think he understood that one, really? Not unless he told it to his dad first. The only funny part is that he read it to me in the first place.
There you have it, folks. Such is the comical truth, the oh-so-real life of Lanette. The redemptive part of all this is that I'm slowly acquiring a plethora of fabulous stories for future embarassment, I mean, enjoyment. I'm sure my kids, and their kids, and I, will have a great time rehashing the glory days years down the road.
Here's to giving . . . and not wanting to give, but doing it anyway. Here's to great clean jokes that kids wouldn't really understand when they're NINE! Life is good. And pretty funny, too.
(I was going to keep this one in the vault, however, I couldn't resist capturing this surprising moment. Where did he learn that? Not at home, to be sure. We're not really the alcohol-type. Pretty
much an alcohol-free zone.)