Why . . .

Why is it?

Why is it that Ellerie loves the feel of fresh poopie on her chubby little fingers?

Why is it that Ethan can ask the same question 57 times and when I answer him, he says with a straight face, "What did you say mom?"

And, just why is it that Ab's fourth toenail grows faster than all of her others, and when we snuggle together, it inevitably scratches me down my leg?

Why is it?

Why is it that my kids will eat lasagna if I call it pizza casserole but not if I call it lasagna?

And, for that matter, why is it that my children will readily try a new food if it is not me that serves it?

Why is it that a popcorn snack always results in a popcorn fight with the kiddies?

Why is it?

Why is it that even if I am feeling thin, my feeling melts away if I see a certain number on the scale?

Why is it that I  consistently don't remember the said feeling when I reach for my chocolate fix at about 4:oo pm?

And finally, why is it that on some days a mountain of laundry looks like a molehill and on other days (read - today) the molehill of laundry feels like Mt. Everest?

Why is it?

Why is it that the sight of my sleeping children makes my heart swell so big that it feels like it could leap right out of my chest?

Why is it that a tender hug from my hubby at just the right moment is better than any medicine that any doctor could prescribe?

Why is it that I deserve such wonderful daily blessings?

Why is it?