Being a ‘stay at home Mum’ is not something everyone relishes. I can remember my own Mum explaining to me that the constant irrepressible company of 4 small children often made her long for a decent conversation (not to mention a long lie down and a week in Prague.)

One of my high-powered go-getter type friends from University really battled with the desire in her heart to work when she had young children. She was in a group of ‘Yummy Mummies’ in Kent who seemed to adore being liberally sprayed with mucas and thought that an afternoon spent making organic vegetable soup and ordering jolly coloured wellies from Boden was deeply fulfilling. She did not share their view.

I can remember her joy on going back to work and how totally her demeanour changed. She enjoyed her children, but felt so much that her calling was within the cut and thrust of her highly-charged office environment. I would have lasted five minutes in her job. Suits and brutes aren’t my thing. But she was capable of carrying off both outrageously well.

She told me two funny stories about her first week back after four years of staying at home.

If you are a parent of tiny people you will know that there is no such thing as ‘alone time’ if your child is conscious. Going to the toilet is therefore often a much more social activity than one would wish. (I can remember heady days of trying to wee whilst carrying a twin in each arm and keeping a toddler at bay with my foot…)

My friend, who shall remain nameless, to spare her any embarrassment, was used to such social toilet occasions herself. The first time she needed the loo at work she was so elated that no small toddler appeared to assist her, that she said out loud in a busy office,

“I’ve just been to the toilet! All by myself!” I think the silence that followed must have been deafening.

“Well done?” offered a colleague quizically, after some moments pause.

My friend, now flustered, tried to explain what she meant. It fell on deaf ears. There was much coughing. Mainly from her.

Later that week she and some of her managers were in a taxi on the way to an important meeting. Suddenly she spotted a vehicle out of the back window and shouted in excited ‘slightly talking down mummy voice,’ “Look everyone. A Fire Engine!”

Now, if you are a mother of infant boys such an event is to be celebrated with glee. Much pointing and noise making ensues. Deep educational points are brought out. Pictures can be drawn.

Not so much if you are with three 50 year old bosses.

They were unimpressed by her outburst.

I loved it though. The thing is this: we are meant to be impressed and excited by little things. All too easily we become hardened and ‘adult’ in our responses and we lose the ability to be grateful for small things or to see little everyday miracles.

If you could see the total joy with with my Esther ‘knocks on the door’ of an egg as she is baking to see who lives in it, it would melt you. I see eggs very differently now.

She teaches me in little ways with little hands and with her huge capacity to love unconditionally, all sorts of tiny miracles about the world and about God.

Don’t lets be the cynical, bored, underwhelmed people we see in the world all around us. Lets be grateful for the small things today…happy to share them, list them and celebrate them.

Why not list some of the things you are thankful for.

I could go on, but I need to go and knock on the door of an egg.