A heartfelt bathrobe

I absolutely should not be writing a blog post right now- I should by writing my talk for church tomorrow, or practicing my flute part for the choir program, or changing the sheets on Brigham's bed because he wet it again last night, so I'll try to keep this short.  I was reading the Washington Post online just now while I ate my lunch and I saw this column by Ann Patchet.  I hate all of Ann Patchet's novels that I've read because they have flat characters and unsatisfying plot lines (especially Bel Canto- I think I've never hated the ending to a book more), but her writing is beautiful and I love her memoir, Truth and Beauty.  Anyway, in the article she tells about a Christmas present her father gave her when she was 10 or 12- he read her a short story over the phone.  The reason she loved the present was because it showed her that her father knew her- that even at that young age she wanted to be a writer- and she imagined him reading the story and wanting her to hear it, so that she could learn something about what makes a good story.  The gift was only evidence of the one thing that I think every child wants from their parents- to be seen, and loved for who they really are, and to be given help to become what they envision for themselves.

Those were the thoughts going through my mind at the fabric store this afternoon (I actually hardly ever go there, it's pure coincidence that I mentioned it in my last post!).  I was picking out fleece to make bathrobes for the boys for Christmas.  Marley was crying and trying to dump her bottle out all over the pattern table.  I was getting hungry.  The line at the cutting counter was growing.  Bad Christmas music was playing.  I needed to pick something and get out.  Instead I stood in the fleece aisle for twenty more minutes, putting bolts in my cart, then taking them back out again.  Eric's was easy- there were lots of basketball prints to choose from.  But Brigham was harder- his talents and loves are not so easily captured on a $4.99-per-yard bolt of fabric.  And I wanted his bathrobe to be just as reflective of his personality as Eric's.  In the end I bought some with fire trucks on it, just because I liked the colors.  As long as I show my children by my actions that I see them as they really are- not who I want them or need them to be- and I love them just because they're mine, I don't think the pattern on their bathrobes is going to scar them for life.  Still, I hope that one day I can give each of my children a beautiful gift that is exactly their heart's desire.  One that says- I see who you are and I love you and will always be here to help you to reach for your dreams.