It had rained for 40 days and 40 nights during holiday vacation, so I was pretty sure our girls were ready to get some air.

We call it going to town.

After cleaning the house, I’d planned to take them to town and let them spend their Christmas money.

Their daddy smiled into the phone at work, “You and the girls should get lunch out today. Have fun!”

Could this day get any better?

So I went to the living room where two gowned girls swigged chocolate milk and rattled goldfish in plastic princess bowls.

I think my voice startled them when I announced, “Okay, girls! Today the sun is finally shining and tomorrow will be even warmer! Today we’ll clean the house and break for ice cream, and then—”

One threw herself backward on the couch.

The other’s shoulders sagged to match her frown.

But I kept on, “And then tomorrow it will be even better because we’re going to—”

Eye rolls.

Moans.

“You know what!? Never mind. Neverrrrr mind.”

I spun on my heel and flew out of the room, pausing long enough to say, “Do you remember when I said I refuse to raise ungrateful children? Well, I meant it!”

Their eyes were wide and they held their goldfish still in their mouths, afraid a crunch might push me right over the edge.

The hallway mirror presented me with a caricature of myself: dark circles, cowlick, mismatched pj’s.

In the bathroom I slapped at my face with a powder puff, telling God I was raising ungrateful children.

I thought of their expressions when they weren’t as thrilled with my happy plans as I was.

It was ungratefulness, is what it was.

Wasn’t it?

For 2 weeks they’d played with their toys and watched TV while it rained and rained and rained.

They made fairy houses out of cardboard, and telescopes out of empty paper towel rolls.

They watched TV and ate freezer pizza, again.

They spied on a rabbit that sits in the same spot under their trampoline and agreed it’s the one that ate their strawberries last spring.

They wrote thank-you cards, and sat in the dark watching their lava lamps bubble.

They never once—not one time—complained.

Not until I suggested they were discontent and needed to get some air.

I plunged my make-up back into its bag and looked at the bathtub, half expecting to see God sitting there with His chin on His Hands, letting me sort things out.

They’re not ungrateful, I heard Love say.

They’re content.

Content…? I hadn’t thought of it that way.

So I sprayed my cowlick down like a boy heading off to church. Back in the living room I repented with hugs, still a bit worried I might be raising ungrateful children.

“We’ll just stay here today, girls. You can play outside, and there’s ice cream in the freezer. It’s fine. I’m not mad. We’ll clean later.”

“Thank you, Mommy!”

They were genuinely happy.

Grateful, and content.

They’re so similar, I almost missed it.

~

“Father, Lord of heaven and earth, thank You for hiding these things from those who think themselves wise and clever, and for revealing them to little children.”

~ Jesus

{Matthew 11:25}