I was resolute that we were going to mass this morning.
So after french toast, eggs and chocolate milk...I wiped syrup off of faces, braided hair, pleaded with my son not to wear a striped shirt with plaid shorts (which was a stupid battle on my part), gathered up used markers and construction paper, along with granola bars and cheese sticks and made the trek.
Somewhere between the "Glory Be To God," and the "Alleluia," my 3-year old couldn't take it anymore and requested a granola bar. I gave it to her under the condition that mama was going to close her eyes, fold her hands and pray and that she needed to quietly eat her snack.
Seconds into the negotiation, as I'm just getting into my own negotiation with God, she starts poking me in the shoulder, I ignore her. Then she grabs my shoulder and rocks me back and forth. I remain stoic believing that she'll realize that it's not worth it. Then, she leans into my ear and whispers and then speaks and then with a throaty yelp says, "M-A-M-A!" Getting ready to open my eyes surrendering that she's the winner in this deal, she takes the sides of my face with her ooey, gooey, sweet and salty nutbar hands and says, "I love you just the way you are, mama. That's all."
And now, I have tears in my eyes.
Why do they have to do that?
Drive you to the point of utter exhaustion and complete frustration only to melt your heart with a completely unexpected surprise.
And well, look at her....you'd probably be willing to have sticky crud on your face at church if she gave her unconditional love to you too....
Here's to the littles.