The Meaning of Life

I took my kids to baseball practice tonight. YAWN, right? I hear ya.

On good days, this is something that I view as just another item on my maternal to-do list. Its something a "good" mom does. Breastfeeding. Check. Vitamins. Check. Yearly check-ups. Check. Absurdly over the top birthday parties. Check. Reading aloud every night. Check. Clean underwear. Check. PTA. Check. Requisite sporting activites. Check.

On the bad days, it is an imposition and a hassle, and I grudgingly shuttle them back and forth with ill concealed irritation, list be damned. But in either instance, I am smugly assured that I am doing all the "right" things.

These things are commonplace, mundane. Boring, even. Their place in my life has become so presupposed and habitual, that I forget to see them for what they are; all too fleeting moments of being the most important person in my kids' lives. Its a monumental privilege, which is hard to remember when they've driven me to lock myself in the bathroom with a novel and a pound of peanut butter fudge. But Jesus...it will be over so soon.

I've had cause to be particularly contemplative lately. Some of you reading this know why. So tonight, I found myself really looking at my kids; all the kids. I saw dirt streaked faces, gap toothed grins, and freckled noses. I saw holey kneed britches that some mom would be shaking her head over later. I saw an honest to goodness slingshot hanging from some kid's back pocket. I thought they outlawed those in 1978. I saw one kid do a puppy dog dance, backend wiggling with glee when his bat finally connected with the ball. The coach high fived him, and the grin on that kid's face lit up the quickly approaching night.

I saw one Mom on the sidelines biting her lips to keep from calling out a word of warning to her disabled child as he struggled to do what the others did so effortlessly. I saw one kid carefully gauge how hard he could throw to his disabled teammate, conscious of hurting him; not wanting to embarass him. And I saw the other kids congratulate him in earnest when he did well. I saw my own son looking to see if I had been watching when he made a good play, and then giving me a return thumb's up and a self-satisfied nod. I saw siblings roughousing on the sidelines, giggling and shouting, jumping and skipping...achingly joyous and carefree.

We all have those "what the hell am I doing" moments right? What's it all about? What's it all for?

Later, as they munched their snack in happy, exhausted contentment, I was struck by the utter goodness of what was before me. And it hit me...There is no big mystery, there is no profound truth. It's all right here in front of me right now. This is what its all about. These kids are happy. They will grow up knowing they are somebody's sun and moon. They will bloom because they had everything they needed to nourish them heart and soul. They will know, now and forever, that they can do anything. And one day, they will not need me anymore...if I've done everything right. Self-confidence. Check. Autonomy. Check.

I have been given a very short time in which I get to play the female lead in the lives of my boys. One day very soon it will be that cute girl with the dimples who sits next to him in class. Then it will be the one that takes his virginity, the one that bears him a child, the one with whom he chooses to grow old. My time is almost up, and I intend to make every moment count. Because it isn't about who worships whom, who loves whom, who elects whom, who hates whom and for what reason. Its about giving the world a happy and whole individual and knowing I did a good job.

Serial Killer avoidance protocol. Check.