Why I love my children

As I posted the other day, I really like to watch documentaries. I think it is because they tell a real story and communicate emotions in ways that Hollywood can't. I just finished watching one from the library called "Into the Arms of Strangers: Stories of the Kindertransport." It is a collection of interviews with people who, as children of German, Austrian and Czech Jews, were sent to England before the start of WWII and placed, where possible, with foster families. It said there were 10,000 children saved because of the Kindertransport, but it was sad hearing these children, now in their 70's and 80's recount the experience of leaving their parents behind with the hopes of being reunited, and in most cases never seeing those hopes become reality.

There were certainly days growing up that I'm sure I'd have jumped at the chance to go to a new family (Mom wouldn't let me have a third bowl of ice cream, Dad wanted me to pay attention while he tried to teach me about taking care of a car when I really wanted to be watching Nick At Night, or my brother wouldn't leave me alone). But watching this film as a parent of three made me realize how sad it must have been for those parents to let their children go, also knowing all-to-well they would probably never see their children again.

As I watch Eli and Nathan sleeping on the floor right now, I can't imagine my life without them. Although they're buggers at times, they are divine. I thought I would blog a list of the reasons I love them so much, but I think the list would be too long. Who knew the day Jenny and I first held each of them in our arms the eternal impact they would have on us and the beauty that we would discover as parents?