There are times that I still freak out that I actually have kids and I'm a parent.
How did that happen? (besides the obvious)
How in the world am I being trusted to raise three kids?
I'll find myself saying or doing something that only a Mom would do and for a second, I can't believe it.
I own a mini-van.
I drive carpool.
I am a Mom.
Am I raising them right?
How many years of therapy will they need because of me?
Then, every once in a while, something happens and I think that I am doing this right. I am not failing as a parent.
Today Ben asked me if he could call Santa.
My first thought was that he was putting in a request 11 months early.
David was at work conducting interviews, so I couldn't call him. The only other man that will answer the phone whenever I call is my Dad. So, we called him.
I'm sure he was a little confused when I called him Santa, but he quickly caught on when I told him that Ben wanted to tell him something.
You know what Ben wanted to tell him?
Thank you for the Buzz Lightyear that he'd brought for Christmas.
Maybe my kids won't need a therapist after all.
A mother can only hope.