The Barclay's

It is November 22, Yesterday I turned 46. It was a strange day. I often think a lot. Sometimes I don't care for it. When you have stream of conciousness thought with no scheduled stops, a lot of crazy things can go through your head. But yesterday I mostly thought about how my birthday was "no big deal". And when I say "no big deal" I don't mean..."I really want to say it's no big deal but I want people to shower me with attention and then I want to pout profusely when it doesn't happen."

I guess I really think a birthday of my own is no big deal. I mean...I didn't do anything special on that first day (November 21, 1964). I know for a fact that I spit up an entire bottle of formula on the woman that had just carried me for nine months and then gave birth to all 9 plus pounds of me (I'm spitballing here...spitballing...HA...I crack myself up with my unintentional irony. But, I really don't know how much I weighed). This is the only birth story I know for myself. That and that I was born in the middle of a pretty heavy snowstorm.

I think the first 26 years of my life were just another incubation process. I was truly born March 19, 1991, then again just shy of two years later on January 10th, 1993 again on May 4, 1994, January 11th, 1996, November 3rd, 1999 and for the final time on August 8th, 2002. It might sound corny but I just know what I was born to be. And I was just marking time until then. Everything about being a mom to six of the best kids on the planet has made me want to be better at everything else I try.

Including being a better wife. Who wouldn't love this guy?

For those of you who think I'm taking on a Pollyanna view to motherhood or that I've somehow truly latched on to the only six perfect children in the universe, please let me share. By about 4:00 yesterday I just wanted them all to go away. Too much togetherness is not good. They were crabby, which was making mama crabby and you know how the saying goes. "If mama ain't happy...ain't nobody happy". But truly that is an unfair saying, because most mothers know that we will gladly sacrifice our happiness, our spot on the couch, our last piece of birthday cake kindly delievered by a neighbor...to make our offspring happy.

So, I also think my kids have made me a better follower of Jesus. Because I get it...I understand what it feels like to care enough to sacrifice whatever needs to be sacrificed. To feel that what is best for them is what's best in general. To love them enough to die for them.

I know that God is our Father because the Bible tells us so. And I mean no disprespect to fathers. I know Kevin would lay down his life in a second for any one of our kids. But I really think of motherly love when I think of God. Because I get it. It's not about me, it was never about me. And someday, I pray that each one of my kids feels the same way about their birthday...