Because of them, I can splurge on Fruity Pebbles or Little Debbie. It’s for them, not me. Accept the Star Crunch, those are mine.
Because of them, I can buy boxes of perfect, bright, promise-filled Crayons, and as many glue sticks as I can carry.
Because of them, I have an excuse for helium balloons and a dirty kitchen floor.
Because of them. I blow bubbles with wild abandon.
Because of them, I hardly ever sit down for the duration of a meal, and don’t mind, much.
Because of them, I watch my mouth.
Because of them, I learned to cut paper snowfalkes and gingerbread men, and have made enough paper chains to stretch aound the earth 3.76 times.
Because of them, I roll down a grassy hill in a skirt and try not to think about who might be watching from the windows. I romp through the creek and try not to think about snakes.
Because of them, I’ve exchanged pleasantries with no less than 186 grey haired old ladies at the grocery store. They are drawn to my children, and my children to them.
Because of them, I save my quarters for trusty mechanical steeds.
Because of them, I work a little harder at being a good example, and also at letting go of the rules sometimes. (Like the one about not starting sentences with “because”)
Because of them I carry around anitbacterial handwash.
Because of them, I know at least three clean jokes and have learned to manage bathroom duties with one hand while holding a baby in the other.
Because of them, I worry about pesticides, global warming, UV rays, eColi and partially hydrogentated corn syrup.
Because of them, I consider myself one of the luckiest people to ever walk the planet, or soar above it.
What will be my excuse when they’re gone? Grandkids, I think. And then after that, I’ll be old, and people will smile and excuse my eccentricities. It’s a good plan, don’t you agree?