Invincible

Yesterday we had math right before lunch and lunch recess.  At the beginning of math, a student asked me if I could put air in his soccer ball.  (There's a small air compressor in the teacher work room.)  I said, "Sure.  I'll do it at lunchtime."

Then we had math which is fully hands on for me.  I feel pulled in a million directions.  Or at least 24.

After math, before lunch, the student said, "So, did you put air in my soccer ball?"

It was a little astounding.  I was there in front of him the whole time.  When did he think I had magically filled up his soccer ball?  It reminded me of my kids and how they used to think that no request was impossible.  They seemed to think I was invincible.

Then I wondered when that stopped.  It's weird with motherhood.  There's a last time you carried them, a last time you held them on your lap, a last time you took them out of sacrament meeting, a last diaper you changed, a last article of clothing you laundered, a last time they thought you could do anything.  You just don't remember when that last time was.  You didn't do anything to mark the occasion.