I remember hearing once that some mathematician calculated the cost of raising a child in Western civilization. He came up with this staggering number in the millions, I think - a price tag so astronomical, I'm sure it sent many a newlywed husband off to the surgeon's office for an immediate and hasty vasectomy.
It's true, though, the fact that kids are expensive. I, for one, am not keeping a running tally on the moola John and I have shelled out so far in order to keep this family machine in motion, but there's no doubt that our three little treasures are hard on the bankbook. We were driving to Emma's horseback riding class the other night and, as I was scratching out the cheque on my lap (John was driving - safety first), I decided to peruse the entries in the register booky-thing ... you know, just curious as to where we spend most of our money. Bottom line: We spend most of our money on the kids. Piano lessons, drum lessons, school lunches, class trips, karate, hockey and church youth events. Yikes, I thought. These guys make up the biggest chunk of our investment portfolio!
But this morning I was the one on the receiving end. Still in that muffled world of half sleep and dreamy cobwebs, with my arm thrown over my face, I heard seven-year-old footsteps pad across my bedroom floor. I sensed a presence beside me, heard the soft breathing of a child (couldn't smell it, thank goodness, seeing as it was morning breath) and knew it had to be Ben. Being our youngest, he still loves to come and visit us first thing in the morning, more often than not climbing in between his parents for a start-of-the-day cuddle. Today's agenda, however, did not include any cuddling. No. Today, for some reason unbeknownst to all but Ben himself, my son was focused on his mother's beauty regimen. For as I lay quietly in the early morning shadows, as I continued to pretend I was sleeping for just a few more minutes of peace and quiet, I felt .... not his soft little arms reaching around me for a hug ... not a kiss on the tip of my nose. I felt a COMB begin to work its way through my tangled, flat-on-the-left-side, rat's nest of a bedhead.
I think I deserve some credit for the self-control it required to lay there quietly for the five minutes or so that he took to finish the job. Without laughing, might I add. I mean, no self-respecting hairstylist wants to see their client start shaking with laughter in the middle of an appointment. He'd never have allowed me back in his salon had I insulted him that way!
I'd like to say that I climbed out of bed glowing with beauty and sveltness. I'd like to say that, but I cannot tell a lie. No fault of the hairdresser's of course ... imagine what he had to work with! No, I wasn't aglow with beauty or sveltness, but my early morning wake up call was exactly what I needed to start my day off right. Thanks, Ben! You're worth the million dollar investment ... and so much more!
