Scratching my head….

When my tots jump and down with excitement, eager to share about the first day of school, new teachers, new friends, and whether their boyfriends have reported back this term (both did).  I scratch my head.

When my nine year old attends a church youth group with her babysitting aunt and it is time to introduce herself, she too mentions her relationship status.  And it is not single. I scratch my head.

When I squeeze the last of the precious dollars out of my bank account and use Amazon to send what I think is a pretty cute birthday gift to the big daughter at college.  And she texts back, “yes thank you I got the gift.  But do you know that I am 19 now?”  I scratch my head.

When small daughter asks how baby daughter’s father came to be her dad, and mentions that a former nanny had told her that babies are got from having sex.  “Of course I know that is not how you got this baby, but I wonder how he came to be her dad, how are they even related?”  I scratch my head.

When the same small daughter asks me, “Mummy, does God love His enemies? The Bible says love your enemies….”.  Then to make matters worse, baby daughter adds to the confusion “Am I your enemy?” And promptly bursts into tears when her sister says no.  I scratch my head.

When four years down the line, baby daughter refuses to sleep in her own bed but chooses mine.  And all my attempts to dissuade her are halted when she threatens to neither buy me a walking stick when I am very old, nor plan any visits from her and her children.  I scratch my head.

When I warn the two small girls not to pick (and pocket) sweets off the shelves in the neighborhood grocery shop, and their eyes immediately swing towards the ceiling.  Curious, I follow their gazes and notice the security cameras.  While I am still wondering how they know about surveillance they suddenly switch to the classic selfie pose – they pucker and pout their lips and wave ‘V” signs.  I scratch my head.

Insurgents like mine are guaranteed to keep you humble.  I am often perplexed, on tenterhooks and keen to hide behind locked doors.

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