BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

My brother named our mom Squeezer. As in the popular 80's drink. Though I really don't think that was the inspiration.

He also calls her Squishy. She did birth and raise six kids. She also wears soft sweaters. But she would be appalled to think the scattering of people who read my blog think of her as squishy like an over-ripe peach. If you must know she is squishy like a loaf of bread. But I think that doesn't help the matter.

You might be struck by the absurdity of this next statement (as opposed to the previous ones), but occasionally we six kids were imperfect.

Yes, occasionally.

Like when we had differences of opinions and raised the sound level ever so slightly with our tender cries of distress. Or when we felt like showing love in a way that was maybe perceived as not-so-much-love by the recipient. Or when we were using our words to gently explain to our parents how we really felt about doing dishes. At those times, bless our parents, we were near perfect.

And at those moments Squishy would make us do something which we, in our innocence, perceived as ever so awful.

She would make us sing Love at Home.

I remember it oh so well.

Maybe we'd be in the van and one brother would haul back and give another brother a love slap and I'd be sitting between them and Squishy would say over her shoulder, "Okay, sing it."

Agghhhhhhhh and we'd start mumbling,

"There is beauty all around when there's love at home..."

Or maybe I was shrieking, with love, at one of my brothers because he broke into my room while I was at school and used my scissors to cut off the end of my cat's tail.

"Sing it!" she'd trill from the top of the stairs. Her demand would echo 'round the vaulted foyer and then you'd hear six weak attempts from various rooms,

"there is joy in every sound when there's love at home..."

Secretly it was my least favorite primary song.

Recently The Princess and I sat down to do her very first homework assignment. Following school protocol I was her scribe and wrote down her favorite things.

Favorite TV show? "Tom and Jerry"

Favorite food? "Pizza" (I wrote down salad with tomatoes.)

Favorite song? "Love At Home"

I looked at her. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Love At Home? As in, 'There is beauty all around when there's love at home?"

"Yeah."

Of all things? Could it be that as a mother I am doing something right?

Later before we left to the church for activity night Mr. Right and I sat on the couch and the little bugs climbed all over us and I showed them pictures from a photo album.

Sometimes one of the bugs was trying to look for a grandpa in the picture and at the same time another bug was trying to turn the page. Sometimes there were so many little fingers pointing at everything in the protective vinyl that you couldn't even see the picture.

And I thought, "Huh. There is beauty all around when there's love at home."

Now I sing that song all the time.

I sing it to myself when I see their beautiful faces screwed up in disgust at the oatmeal.

I sing it to myself when I hear them removing the mattress from the bed and leaning it up against the dresser to use as a slide.

I sing it to myself when they are making tsunami's from the bath water.

It is mantra, advice, prophecy and comfort.

It is my new favorite primary song.