Our kids know more about unconditional love than we do.

I've been thinking a lot lately about love, and more specifically, unconditional love. Most often I feel we hear that phrase when talking about parents and their children. But as I grow up and study my children more, I'm wondering if we have it all wrong.

Maybe parents aren't really the ones with unconditional love; it's our kids whose love is so blind. For example, my own relationship with my parents has has it's ups and downs (as do all I would imagine) but because I know that we seem to grow more cynical each year and possibly a little more judgmental as well, I'm beginning to wonder if it affects our ability to love unconditionally. After all, don't we seem to criticize most, those people that we're supposed to love the most?

And yet, I can watch my son, who has seen very little judgment in his five years, call a boy he's seen twice in his life his new best friend. He can attend any luncheon or community dinner or just go to the park randomly some day and make friends. And he genuinely cares for them and is concerned about their happiness and safety. He hugs without thinking twice. Tells me, his dad and anyone else in his life how much he loves them without being prompted. (and yes, I believe he really does)

This season of Lent, I've been thinking a lot about what it means to sacrifice. To cleanse ourselves of negativity or other evils we place on ourselves and start to see the picture un-blurred by our own cynicism once more. I gotta admit, I'm struggling. It's hard to force ourselves to revert back to some form of innocence. But I think if we can get there, we may be more apt to really feel unconditional love for the people around us.

As wise as we get in our age, it seems we too grow colder and less open to love. No wonder why children bring such happiness to a home.

We learn to adapt early on.

My two year old daughter is pretty incredible. At this age, she can speak like a three year old. She has a ton of attitude. And she's already learned the art of adaptability.

Most days, when she wants to cut something herself, dress herself, or any other sign of independence, it's: I'm a big girl mommy. Over and over and over. Seriously I really doubt her brother professed is independence as much as she does. And at first, I just saw it as a typical two year old stage.

But over the last few days, she's shown another side. The I'm-too-little side. And when I want her to clean or go potty or do something that actually takes some work, it's: But I'm too little mommy. (Which is even more frustrating as the first phrase believe it or not.)

I'm sure this is all part of the independence process but I can't help but laugh, even if it's just on the inside, about her ability to decide whether or not she's big enough to do something or not.

Our children are so observant...or are they?

My husband's grandmother elected to go off of dialysis about ten days ago. We all knew what that meant, and I think every visit involved more and more nervous air. That is, except with my children.

The first time I visited her after her last dialysis appointment, I didn't know what to expect and I wanted to make sure I could answer my children's questions if they had any. So I went alone, and was glad to have some time with this woman I've admired from the very beginning. We had a nice chat, with me sitting on the edge of her bed so she could rest.

After that day, we took at least one of our kids over to spend time with their great-grandmother ever few days. Both our five year old and two year old ran into her room without much hesitation. They weren't afraid to walk up to her and visit a little before running off to play. And amazingly, the only question I've ever gotten from our son is why her teeth fall out...which is of course because he saw her take out her dentures one evening. He's brought it up many times and asks me if I'll be able to take my teeth out some day.

But what is so amazing to me is that even after she could no longer speak and was too weak to sit up or interact with them, they never stopped in their tracks, too scared to go in. She remained the same to them the entire time. I only wish we all had that blindness. The ability to remember the best of times and somehow put on the blinders to illness and approaching death. Maybe we would make our time together even more special, or at least void of awkward conversation.

A princess?

My daughter is half way between two and three. She's funny. Smart. And cuddly. But she's tougher than her brother, and much naughtier. So it always catches me off guard when her grandmother tells me she's a princess. In fact, last weekend, she said Cali's a city girl.

These conversations get me thinking about my daughter and who she might be in a few years. Last night was an interesting peek...

Daddy was in the living room watching some hunting show or maybe it was a car show...who knows but it was BORING. So the kids and I hung out in the master bedroom, watching something much more interesting like the Real Housewives or some fashion reality show. Caden quickly fell asleep. But Cali was soon into my things. Handbags. Hair ties. Brushes. Belts. Even a few slips and tank tops. This scavenger hunt quickly turned into a dress up mommy party.

She brushed my hair and styled it with something in her ring box/hair goo container. Then she slipped a few straps from a few different tank tops over one arm. She put eye shadow on using a contact solution container. And tied two or three belts around my neck and midsection. I'm sure I looked like a beauty queen. It was fun and girly. And she threw a massive fit when I told her it was time to clean up for bed.

She may be on the girly side. But her princess moments are less about being an actual princess and more about being two. There's no Disney characters or crowns lying around our house. Just two crazy kids with a ton of imagination and little tolerance for anyone messing with their stuff...even if it's not really their stuff.

They want to grow up way too fast, in every way possible.

Last week my son started a new pre-school. We recently moved and he had been away from a large group of kids for about six weeks. I had prepared myself for him to be nervous or shy or unwilling to go. But on the way there, our conversation was much different...and much more funny:

"Hey mom, when I get big like daddy, and when Cali gets big like you...she's going to have two babies in her tummy. And I'm going to be the daddy."

As disturbing as that statement is, I couldn't help but smile. My kids have been through a lot the last four months. They were forced into becoming best friends as each other was about the only stable component of their lives. I have been worrying about how this move would affect them. And I took a big sigh of relief when my son says things like he wants to be the daddy of his little sisters babies. It's much better than hearing he hates his baby sister and wants her to go back to where she came from.

In my mind, it was a sign that he loves her and wants to protect her. My son is a lover through and through, and I appreciate the love he has for his baby sister. And that, at some level, he feels protective of her and her unborn children, warms my heart.

Don't get me wrong, at some point we'll chat about babies and where they come from and who should have babies together...but for now, I'm just going to relish the fact that he loves his sister very much. If only I could bottle it up and show it to him when they hit high school!

They become real people over night.

My son got home last night after spending two days on the farm with his daddy and grandpa. I was immediately annoyed because his newer jeans had a five-inch slice down the back of his leg. I could only imagine how it happened.

He told me his pants got caught...keep in mind, his father is giggling the entire time.

The actual story is that while working out in a pasture, my son decided he needed to cross a barbed-wire fence by himself. And he believed that he was small enough to slither in between two wires without getting poked. Needless to say, he was wrong. His pants got caught and with one leg up in the air, he tried desperately to unhook his pants. Only to make the rip that much bigger.

The lesson though, came from my husband. He went on to tell me that he had no idea our son was over by the fence. All he heard was, "Darn barbed-wire anyway...darn barbed-wire..." Our son, at the age of four already knows that muttering under our breath and cursing whatever thing we ran in to will make any situation better. If he would have had his eyes closed, I bet my husband could have pictured himself or me or any other adult for that matter.

He's growing up...darn it.

(again) We need them as much as they need us.

My husband recently switched jobs, which has left me as a single mom five days a week. The first week, I just concentrated on getting through it. The second, I focused on keeping my kids (and myself) busy. And the third week, I came back down to reality.

As we prepared to leave my husband for his week away from work (yes, we went to see him), my son began sobbing. He didn't want to leave. This was nothing new. We go through it every time we leave grandma and grandpa. Sometimes after we're done shopping. No biggie.

But as soon as we pulled onto the highway, he told me the real reason he was genuinely sad. "I already miss my daddy," he quietly said between sniffles. The lump that was already making it difficult for me to breath doubled in size and I quietly replied, "Me too buddy. We'll get through it together."

Up to that point I tried very hard to hide my tears, but I realized that maybe my son needed to see them. Maybe he needed that reassurance that it's okay to be sad and to miss daddy. Maybe in some way my tears would comfort him.

The same goes for how are sleeping arrangement has evolved since my husband's been gone. I haven't been sleeping well, mostly fearing someone breaking in and taking my children. My son has been making treks into my room in the middle of the night. And my small daughter, the best sleeper EVER is now stumbling into my room for extra love. I tried to fight it-that urge to just pull them in bed with me. But again, in week three, I realized that maybe I would feel more secure and sleep better if we were together. So I pulled my daughter's toddler bed up against my son's full-sized bed. Now we sleep in a row, my baby girl, me and my son. Close enough to touch and make sure each of us is still there and yet enough space so that we don't keep each other up all night.

It's the best I've slept in a month. (oh, and they're much more rested now as well)