Tuesday, July 27, 2010

One of Those Days

Today is one of those days.  My morning was early, my temper is short, my patience is thin, my house is hot, and my kids seem intent on making messes.  It's one of those days when I question the sanity of having kids at all, and I am certainly not my best mom version.  It's one of those days where I know the only way I'm going to get through it is by relying heavily on the grace of God.

Recently, I have been realizing more and more that relying on Him is the ONLY way I will be the kind of wife or mother or even just the kind of person, that I want to be--the kind I'm meant to be.  There is something both freeing and terrifying about that.  And today I'm finding that it's far more difficult, almost even painful, to be in that position of total reliance on God. 

I'd like to think of myself as being capable.  I'd like to be one of those sweet, even-tempered mothers who never yells at her kids.  I'd like to have some of those sweet-tempered children who need nothing more than a look for them to obey (do those kids really exist?).  I'd like to be patient, not just the kind of patient that makes it possible to deal with kids who have to be told something twenty times before they do it, but the kind of patient that makes it easy to sit on the floor and play cars, or build a train track, or get out the finger paints (I wince slightly at the thought of finger paints, which I feel certain will end up on my walls instead of on paper).  I'd really like to just naturally be a great mom, a fun mom, a sweet mom.  And some days, I come close.

Other days, like today, I feel very inadequate.  And when I feel inadequate, I feel like giving up.  The catch is that this isn't some ordinary job that I can just turn in my two weeks notice for.  This is the un-quittable job.  It's mine until the day I stop breathing.  I will always be a mother, whether I like it or not.

What's more is that I know that God has called me to be a mother.  And if God calls you to something, it's usually best to go along with it, whether you like it or not.  Unless, of course, you enjoy spending time in the belly of a giant fish.  For me, that doesn't seem like the best alternative.

So here I am, doing what I'm called to do, what I have to do, what I need to do, sometimes what I love to do.  Am I qualified?  Probably not.  I'm quite certain there are others who have much better resumes for this job. 

Actually, I feel like this is more like being recruited for an army rather than applying for a job.  I hear God saying, "I want YOU!" and pointing a finger at me like the Uncle Sam poster.  My impulse is to look behind me and see if maybe He's pointing at someone else.  He's not.  Then I want to try some excuses for why I can't possibly.  Unfortunately the good ones have all been taken, and there still hasn't been one that He didn't completely override. 

I like the story of Gideon.  God says, "Hello, you mighty man of valor!" and Gideon says, "Are you sure you have the right guy?"  Then there is a series of tests and signs that they have to go through before Gideon is REALLY sure that this is God and that he's supposed to lead an army.  I can relate to that.  A lot.

It's nice to feel qualified, to feel capable and independant.  It's far more difficult to have to stare straight in the face of my own weakness and admit that I need help.  And God is the only one who is available to me for that help 24/7.  I tell Him, "I'm not good at this."  He says, "Yep.  Do it anyway.  I'll help you--I've got patience to spare."

I have come to see that everything that happens is for God's glory.  It isn't about me.  It isn't about my abilities, or lack thereof.  It's about Him.  It's about God letting me see something amazing happen, and me knowing that I couldn't have done it without Him.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Birthday

Last night we had a birthday celebration extravaganza for Malachi and Israel, which included Blackjack Pizza, TWO cakes, homemade ice cream, and spiderman suits. 

Yes, after a long wait, both boys now each have their very own Spidey suits, complete with masks. 

One suit is the standard red and blue, the other is the black one, which could either be Spidey's alter ego or the bad guy, Venom.  Now at least when they hit each other they'll have a good reason.  Spiderman's gotta fight the bad guys right?  And the bad guy has to fight back.  Superhero 101.

The catch is that my two little Spidermen will not take off their suits.  They eat in them.  They sleep in them.  They play in them.  If I let them, they would bathe in them.  If they continue this way, that may be the only way to get both them and the suits clean all at one time. 

I know that eventually, I am going to have to take away their suits and hide them in a secret place for another time.  I know they will, in their quest to be just like Spiderman, probably fight with each other more often.  There will be yelling and kicking and hitting and crying.  And there is a good chance that they will, at some point, fight over the suits, who gets black and who gets red.  But for now, they are just happy, and that makes me happy.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Following

It struck me this morning that being a mom is a lot like playing "Follow the Leader".  I went down to the basement to put a load of clothes in the dryer and Malachi and Israel came trickling down after me.  While there I realized that my washer was becoming dirt encrusted around the top, so I went upstairs to get a paper towel. 

"She's going upstairs!" said Israel, and they trooped right after me up to the kitchen. 

Then I turned around and took the paper towel back down to the basement, where they of course followed me again. 

This morning I got plenty of enjoyment out of them following me up and down repeatedly, especially sicne it takes them longer to get up the stairs, only to find when they got there that I was going back down.  I had to chuckle inwardly about that one.

This kind of thing happens a lot.  If I got to the bathroom, they want to come too.  If I lock them out of the bathroom, they sometimes beat on the door and wail for me to let them in.  If I go upstairs, they are sure to follow, unless they are distracted.  Even then it is only a matter of time.  If I'm gone for more than a few minutes, they want to know what I'm doing. 

Sometimes even Aaron will follow me around the house when he's home.  That part is kind of cute, actually.  It lets me know that he still likes being around me, even after six years. 

In a way, I guess it lets me know that they all like me, and they just want to be with me, which is nice.  It's encouraging, especially when I know that at times I'm probably not so nice to be around.  Sometimes I lose my temper with the boys, and more often, they lose their temper about every little thing that doesn't go their way.  Between me yelling at them, and them screaming at me, it could become difficult to tell whether we like each other at all.  And then they follow me, up and down, down and up, up and down.  That's as good as an "I love you" for me.