Would they know me?

So- I just spent an hour (that should have been spent cleaning our bathroom floors) reading a news article about a woman and her husband who were involved in a plane crash a year ago. The woman was so severely burned that, among multiple other severe medical conditions, she was left not looking at all like herself anymore.

She has 4 small children.

Her recovery was very slow- in a coma for a while after the accident. Her children were taken by her sisters to be cared for. It was months before they got to visit her in the hospital.

And when they did- they were frightened. And the younger ones didn't recognize her. Even after coming home from the hospital, the little ones didn't recognize her as their mom.

It has made me think about how I would try to get my children to recognize me, if I didn't look like me. I don't really have songs that I sing to them anymore, not since they were babies. Unless you count the music on radio disney, I sing along to that. Hymns- I sing hymns when doing housework. Maybe they would recognize my butchering of church hymns? I've been sitting here trying to think what I call them, if I have special names for them that only I use. I'm sure I do- but what are they? What would I do to make them 'recognize' me?

All I can envision myself saying are things like "Sam- don't hit" and "Would you please stop" and "In a minute".

I envision my role as mom by more of the things I do, versus being the person I am. They way I prepare a lunch when I know Ally doesn't like what they are having, the way I put way their clean clothes, prepare our meals, tidy their toys, set up the doll house, clean our home. But what if I couldn't do those things? What is it about me that makes me me, that makes me their mom.

Reading her story has rejuvinated me for my role as mom. There are things that mom's do for their children that can not be done by another person. Because they are done as only that person would do them. The way they kiss their children's necks, they way they turn pages in a storybook, the way they prepare and serve meals (aka- know whos food to cut up, who gets ketchup, who gets ranch, who does or doesn't like cheese- I'm like a freakin' short order cook). I am their mother. And although there are many a mom who in my mind do things wayyyyy better than I do them- I am the card they were dealt. I am mom to three little beings.

And I am going to try and be more of the mom I know they deserve. Less busy, more playful, better focused on their stories, less preoccupied by lists of stuff 'to do', but still me- so not perfect.

These children are what make me whole. They are what fills me. They are the reason that I keep going. I've always joked that I could never die, because Dan doesn't know where all the dishes go. Strangely enough- I take comfort in that. And I am grateful for every day that the Lord allows me to continue in this role as mom and wife (and housekeeper, record keeper, guinea pig changer, toilet scrubber, laundress, and on and on and on).

I also plan to not take for granted the days- the regular old days that tend to make me think I am going crazy. Although, I will probably still feel that way, I want the kids to know how much I enjoy this trip with them driving.

And right now- I am off to play slap jack.