Why am I the greatest butt wiper in the house?!?  Is there something special about my particular touch, or skill if you will?  Because I swear my husband and my nanny as well as my older girls do a fine job, LOL.  But no matter where I am in the house, regardless of what I am doing, my little ones scream only “MOOOOMMMY!” from the toilet when Mother Nature calls. It’s become a joke in our house and so I am adding “Greatest Butt Wiper” to my list of titles.

Why are MY peanut butter sandwiches better than anyone else’s? Is it the way I spread, or because I cut off the crusts, or possibly the shapes I make before carefully placing them in little baggies so they don’t get smushed? Maybe I should be less creative or let the peanut butter ooze over the sides. 

What is it about my bedtime stories that are so good?  Is it because I act out the characters in different voices, and then get really quiet and boring towards the end so no one notices it’s almost over before they drift off to dreamland?  Can’t my older girls take story time turns for the little ones on the nights when I’m tired?

Why am I the only one that knows how to make yummy panini sandwiches for breakfast?  Is it the olive oil and seasonings that I sprinkle on my 12-year-old’s to-go sandwich every morning that keeps her from trying to make it herself?

Why do I have to turn down her bed, carefully stack her pillows and draw her shades each night when I know she can do it!?!  I asked her last night and she said, “cuz you always do Mommy, I just like that.”

Why is it so much better when I drive everyone to school?  Maybe I should lay off the Starbucks drive-bys for protein shakes or the Micky D’s drive thru for crispy hot hash browns. Or turn the music down and stop lip-syncing to Justin Beiber as if I were on stage.

Why is my bed so much better than all my kid’s beds?  They say it’s because of my sheets and comforter, so OF COURSE I bought everyone their own and now they have no excuse for climbing into mine.  But they still do.  Every time I try to snuggle up to my husband, a cute little head squeezes in. “Hi Papa, I’m here.”

Why do I have to make three different kinds of pasta for dinner?  One for my husband because he loves it (pancetta, peas, pink vodka sauce), shredded zucchini, tomato and olive sauce for my older girls, and plain spaghetti with salt, butter and cheese on the side for my babies. They ask, and I start chopping away because I know the way to my family’s heart – at least on some nights – is through their tummy.

Why do I have to stay for the entire after-school Shabbat class?  My little ones ignore me the entire time I’m there, while totally engaged with their friends.  Oh yeah, because Sam and Joe’s Mommy stays and that means I should too.

There is something about a mother’s touch, a mother’s smell, and her way of doing most things that is just plain different.

Maybe that’s why I still want my own mother on certain days, when only she knows how to comfort me.  When I ask “why me?” for so many things my children need and they reply, “just because, Mommy” – I cave in the comfort of knowing it’s just a mother’s way that means so much.

It just is, just because.