the wisdom of children

I have a nasty habit of fretting over the things I'd always hoped I could give my kids but couldn't deliver on. Like a backyard, or a swing set, or a pool, or a big house, or…. any number of things that I pictured in my view of The Happy Family.

Yesterday, we went to the Great Glebe Garage Sale, an annual pilgrimage northward to buy funky old books and yummy baked goods, and to take in the festival atmosphere. As we crossed the Landsdowne bridge over the canal, we saw a man carrying one of those plastic frog sandboxes over his shoulder. Boo pointed it out and laughed at the over-sized haul.

I asked the kids if they are ever sad or disappointed that they didn't have a sandbox or a kiddie pool in a backyard when they were smaller.

The Bean simply said, "no." Boo gave me this look that only nine-year-old Boo can do: it's an are-you-nuts look.

"Why would I be sad about that?"

"I don't know," I said sheepishly, thinking, well, I'm a little sad that you didn't have that. "Maybe you would have had more fun," realising as I said it how dumb it sounded. We were at the park all the time, which was way more fun than just about any backyard, and it included more kids.

"Well, I wouldn't want to have had one."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because I would be a different person."

Here, I had to stop walking down the sidewalk. I just looked at her, likely looking rather perplexed because she immediately explained.

"Every little thing counts, Momma."

Here I stand before you, exactly who I am because of every little thing that has happened in my life. And I am thankful for every last bit of it. Because frankly, I like this person. Thanks, Boo, for the reminder.