As I stood there in work scrubs and a black fleece, glasses and chapped lips, I laughed one of those laughs, that had my mouth been full of a drink, I would've spewed it all over the room. Because, let's face it, Giselle
Monday night, when I served my family soup for dinner (prep went something like this: boil water, add pre-made mix, simmer and stir), my oldest son said this: "Mom, you are the best chef ever." I secretly rolled my eyes, because Bobby Flay I am not. But again I recovered and smiled at him, because he too, meant what he said.
And then there's my hubs who must have a built-in sensor. Because just when I am in a melancholic trance, surveying our dirty house and mounds of laundry, he'll say something like this: "Thanks for all you do to keep our lives running smoothly." And I want to yell at him and tell him can't you see how I am so not June Cleaver? But I refrain, because he also means what he says.
I think the 3 boys in my life are getting something right here... Isn't there a saying that happiness is wanting what you already have, or something to that effect? Granted I am not Giselle, Bobby or June, but my family treats me like I am, and in doing so might even sometimes make me feel like I am. And the only reason they feel compelled to offer such props is because they love me and they want the mom/wife that they already have.
And even though my temptation in response to such kuddos is to "do the wonderwoman" (deflect all compliments that come my way with my special gold cuffs), I do my best to embrace their words, because there is something so amazing about being wanted (shortcomings and all).
So maybe we'd all be better off if we viewed the things we have, the people in our lives, the jobs we work, the houses in which we live, as prized commodities; gifts; something to be desired? Maybe if we could get past thinking the "grass is always greener," we could really see the merits of the grass in our own front yard and start appreciating it and maybe even wanting it...