The Mother That Almost Wasn't
I am the mother that almost wasn’t. I know, you find that hard to believe looking at my twelve passenger van and the herd of kids I wrangle but, yes, I am that. The mother that almost wasn’t, except for … grace. Yes, there almost wasn't piles of smelly dishes, and mountains of laundry, shoes up the wazoo, and Legos gone wild, but there also almost wasn't tiny blonde tots with eyes like the ocean, and chubby hands that grab your face to pull you in close for a bubbling kiss. Because if I wasn't a mother, I wouldn't have messes, my bamboo would gleam, but my arms would be ache-empty and I used to think I wanted it that way. Before I knew grace and God. I was the kid who, if you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, would have said, photo journalist, poet maybe. Kids? They weren’t on the radar. It’s hard to imagine how kids fit when you’re planning on traveling the world, telling stories with pictu...