More of the same.

As a mother, particularly one of the stay at home variety, people ask me a lot what I want to do when the kids are grown.  I tend to hem and haw at this question.  Oh, sure I make a few tentative plans in my head.  I think about how I’d like to teach preschool or find a position at an elementary school that would keep me close to my kids.  I think about how I want to write.  Heck, I even try to imagine social activities that I might enjoy.  Nope, still no great ideas.  My life is so tied to theirs; it’s just next to impossible. 

Until today. 

Today, I saw something that I want more than I can express to you in words.

My friend posted a blog post about what their family had done over Easter.  It was a lovely post.  She always does such a good job of sharing the things that her sweet family does together, and this post was no different.  But, as I scrolled down, something caught my eye and took my breath. 

There she had posted a picture of her mother and father sitting down on some brick steps with all of their grandchildren surrounding them.  Her mother had her hand on her dad’s leg and they just looked so happy, so blessed-all of their grandchildren sitting at their feet-a legacy that a lifetime of love and commitment had granted them. 

That, my friends-that is what I want.  I want it so badly that I have tears in my eyes.  I want to see the happily ever after. I want to see my kids become parents. I want to know their children. I want to hold their babies and see the features that I saw in them so many years before.  I want to bandage their skinned knees and watch their school plays.  I want to give them cookies before dinner and chocolate cake after dessert.  I want to be part of their journey.  

And deep down, I know why I want it so badly.  I want it because I know it’s not promised.  I know it’s what my own mother wanted and was denied.  Life is a gift.  In fact, birthdays are a present all unto themselves.  We are not promised tomorrow.  But, when you ask me what I want, I want time.  I want age.  I want tomorrow and the next day and the next.  I want to sit on some brick stairs with my husband and see what the future has brought us.  I want more of the same, please,  More of the same.  

Jumping in and jumping out.

This week the kids have been on Spring break and I’ve literally been trying to cram as much fun and happy childhood memories into every waking moment.  Mama is tired.  But, alas we soldiered on. 

Today we were bouncing at our favorite local trampoline park.  Now, I’ve caught some flack from the youngest member of our crew for not paying to jump with everyone.  So, today, (since I needed the exercise anyway) I caved.  I thought she would be thrilled, especially since the boys each had a buddy with them.  I just knew that she and I would have a magical time filled with unicorns, rainbows and Hallmark cards.  I was pretty sure Amy Grant music would be playing on the giant stereo system. We would have a moment.  We were making memories, dang it.

Until she kicked me out.

Yep, girlfriend took a few loops around the biggest trampoline area and told me I could go have a seat.  I was a little confused.  You don’t want me to jump with you, baby?  “No, I’m fine”. 

She’s fine.

An older lady who was standing by the edge of the entrance saw this scene play out and as I was walking by, she said, “Oh, honey.  If she’s kicking you out now, at her age, she’s gonna break your heart when she’s older”.

I had some time to sit on that.  (Because duh, she didn’t need me).  And at first, I wallowed.  My baby is three.  THREE.  And she is already telling me to go kick rocks.  Is this a mere glimpse of the life we have ahead.  After all, haven’t I raised her to need me?

That’s when the record scratched.  No.  I have not raised her to need me.  I have raised her to need HERSELF; to be her own person. And if raising an independent woman who knows how to speak up for herself and be her own voice is wrong, heck, I don’t wanna be right. 

So, sister on, little sister.  I’ll be here with a juice box when you’re done.  

Today, I eat crow.

I did something today that I’m not proud of and I hurt a friend.  I got caught up in a moment of gossip and got caught talking about a friend behind her back.  I instantly felt like crap.  My heart was beating so fast. I felt that instant pit in your stomach when you’ve done something wrong and worse yet, you’ve been caught with your hand in the proverbial cookie jar.  I did the only thing I could think of, I started blowing up my friend’s phone until she answered.  I confessed my sins.  She hadn’t gotten word of my betrayal yet, but she will.  Perhaps there is some comfort in that it she won’t be blind sided in the moment, but it certainly doesn’t make me feel any better.  I screwed up. I hurt someone who didn’t deserve to be hurt.  And for what, a moment of girl talk-not worth it.  We live in an age of celebrated Mean Girls.  We say we don’t apologize for who we are; we are kicking butt and taking names.  Except today, I was a mean girl.  And the only thing I could do over and over was apologize. 

I didn’t like who I was in that moment.  And if I’m honest, I can’t say I’ve liked who I’ve been in the last few months.  Perhaps I’m little too quick with the joke, a little too fast on the side eye, a lifetime too fast on the judgment.  And as I sit here now, with nothing but blank paper staring back at me, all I can do is cry.  And I know there’s value in tears.  They are holy and clean.  They wash away the sins of yesterday (and maybe even today).  But, these tears aren’t only for me.   They are for the woman that I want to be; they are for the friend I hurt, they are for the God I so dearly love and serve and disappointed. 

I don’t know if my friend will forgive me.  She said that she did.  But, I can’t say I blame her if she never forgets.  Life is funny that way.  In a moment’s time, I broke a bond.  And I can’t seem-for the life of me-to figure out why?  But, my friend is an amazing woman, one I’m lucky to know and have in my life.  I hope that we’ll find ourselves back on track, but only time will tell. 

I guess what I’m saying, by putting this out there in the grand wide world of the inter webs is, people are flawed.  We are so desperately far from perfect-BUT, we can’t stop trying.  I’m going to spend a little less time trying to be like the image of the world and a little more time trying to be like the image of the Heavens.  Maybe that will mean a little less time with my phone in my hands and a lot more time with my hands folded in prayer.  Maybe it’ll mean a little less time scrolling facebook and a lot more time strolling with my children.

I didn’t like who I saw in the mirror today.  Guess who can change that?  Me.

Anxiety Girl, reporting for duty.

I have a confession.  Ever since I watched the movie “Inside Out” with the kids, I feel so validated in my internal emotional struggles.  Like, I can’t help my crazy; there really are several versions of me up there doing battle.  But, instead of joy and anger and disgust, I feel like the greatest struggles in my head take place between my heart and my brain.  Take last night for example.  Charlotte had called out for me around 3 am.  She needed a drink.  (P.S. I’ve been getting up with kids for a solid 13 years.  Do you understand the coffee addiction now?)  Anyway, back to the story.  So, I got Char her drink and she asked me to lay with her.  She then snuggled in until we were literally nose to nose.  And fell asleep. 

                                         

I laid there and thought, how sweet.  She is so dear to me.  I love being this important to somebody.  And then it got kind of hard to breathe and the cute started to wear off.  Then, Heart decided to start doing what it does best-worry.

Heart: What if she didn’t fall asleep?  What if we are laying here breathing in each other’s face and she actually got carbon monoxide poisoning and isn’t actually sleeping, but instead has slipped into a coma?  ((Alarm bells start to sound.  Death con five.  Must wake baby)).

Brain: Umm, Heart?  I think you’re a little confused.  We actually exhale carbon DIoxide, not MONoxide.  And goodness gracious, a coma?  You need to relax.  You’re going to kill us.

Heart: You’re right, Brain.  I’m so sorry.  But, hey, while I’ve got you here-she fell on the playground earlier.  Is it possible that it’s not safe for her to sleep because of a head injury?  And also, I read earlier where some woman was concerned about her daughter’s college dorms not locking.  Should we obsess over that for a few?

Brain:  Heart? 

Heart:  Yes?

Brain: Go to sleep.

I feel ya, girl...Judging me, that is...

Parenthood is a tremendous blessing.  It is an answered prayer.  It is the greatest gift of my life.  But, lawd have mercy, this stuff ain’t for the faint of heart.

Today I was standing at the back door, watching the kids play in the backyard with some neighborhood buddies.  The man who lives directly behind us came out to walk his dog.  I saw him staring at the raucous situation that is my everyday life.  And I felt it; the judging.  My kids were running too fast.  My kids were yelling too loud.  They were throwing the ball too far.  And honestly, I couldn’t disagree.  But, what I could offer is a request for some compassion.

I’ve often heard it said that someone is an excellent parent before they have children, and good grief, doesn’t that ring true.  I think about how I said I’d never let my child have a pacifier past a year old (Hunter was three).  I think about how I said I’d never let my child sleep with me (Jackson finally got the boot in first grade).  I remember my lectures on nutrition and moderation (Char picked out gummy bears AND a lollipop at Target this morning and I didn’t bat an eye).  It’s just different when you’re actually the one walking in the shoes you just knew you’d wear so well.  It becomes less about proving a point and more about survival.

I think about how everyone you meet is a parenting expert.  But, you know what, I’d never think of sitting up in the middle of an operation and telling my surgeon how he or she might better execute that stitch.  I would never dream of swinging by Jiffy Lube and asking if I might be of any help to the technician changing my oil.  And, guess what, my children’s teachers are MORE than qualified to do their jobs without even so much as a whisper of advice from me.  That’s right; we leave the experts alone to do their jobs.  But, as soon as we pass a child in a grocery store throwing a tantrum, we know best.  And God forbid that mother or father not look like they are having the time of their lives, cause then we have to hit them with the “you’re gonna miss this” lecture that everyone so enjoys hearing. 

Y’all parenting is hard.  It just is, and that is okay.  Because as a blogger I love to follow says, we can do hard things.  But, you know what advice I’d like to offer my neighbor and all of the judging eyes of the world, how about you stay on your side of the fence, and I’ll stay on mine.

Y'all need Jesus. And Costco.

I love Costco.  It’s no great secret.  I love their cakes, I love their pot pies, I love their 500 count boxes of fruit snacks.  Good things come from the land of Costco.  I also love Jesus.  And I think He would love Costco.  In fact, I think the love and salvation Jesus offers is a lot like Costco. Hang on; follow me down this rabbit hole, won’t you?

Costco has great prices already.  And yet, they send you coupons each month.  Coupons, people.  Do you know how much I love a good deal?  It’s mind boggling.  My dad jokes that I will try to pay for my funeral with a coupon.  He’s not wrong.  So, you can imagine my excitement of mail day when the Costco coupons roll in.  It’s a very good day. 

Last month, I was sitting down, flipping through the brochure and I noticed something that surprised me.  Cascade dish pods were on sale.  I had just bought them the Friday before so I was kind of bummed.   But, then, I was reading the fine print and I realized something; Costco had already given me the deal.  And yes, it said it right there, “Instant Savings, No coupon needed”. 

People, this is life changing information.  Costco said, don’t worry about fussing with bringing anything to our store.  We’ve got you.  They said, we know that your mind is cluttered with nonsense, but we care about you as a customer, we want you to experience the savings just like everyone else.

Oh, my friends.  That is just like Jesus.  God calls us to a higher purpose.  And all that He asks is that we show up. He doesn’t require us to remember a coupon book, or a membership card.  He’s got us.  All we have to do is say YES.  Yes, we want to be a member of that great big box store in the sky.  Yes, we want to experience the benefits of belonging to a family that looks out for each other and offers a lifetime of “saving”, if you will.  Jesus is the way, the truth and the life, and He doesn’t even make you bring a coupon.  That’s right, y’all, He might even be better than Costco. 

But, there better be cake in Heaven. 

A green paint kinda day

This morning Charlotte found an old wooden bird house that we had been given as a gift.  It came with its own set of paint and paintbrush, and bless her, she carried that brush around all day.  She must have asked me a hundred times if it was time to paint yet.  You see, having another crafter in the house is all new to me.  For the most part, the boys could care less.  So, this birdhouse has probably lived with us for several years just waiting for an artist to claim it, and claim it she did. 

Finally, as I realized that the day was slipping away from us, I pulled out the newspaper and helped her get to painting.  I didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing, as the boys were watching a movie and I was trying to be in two places at once.  But, eventually she declared that she was done.  Now, I could rave about her art skills, but she’s two and I’m not a very reliable judge.  Safe to say, it’s a masterpiece to me, and a “nailed it” to the rest of the pinterest loving world, haha. 

It wasn’t until I was in the bathroom helping her wash her hands that I  saw the  real masterpiece.  You see, her hands were covered in green paint.  Yet, there was no green in the set-only red, blue, and yellow.  She had taken what I had given her and she made it better.  I think that is such a beautiful metaphor for motherhood.  I’m always so proud of the gifts that I see in my children.  And I love when I see a trait or a characteristic that I recognize as coming from me or their father.  But, truly, what a gift to see them possess something that is a beauty all their own. 

Yep, I didn’t give her green paint.  But, she found a way to make it on her own.  I hope her life is 

filled with green paint moments and that I’m around to hang them up on my virtual refrigerator.