Many years ago, when I thought about my life with kids, I imagined our house to be The House. You know, the house where all the kids end up hanging out? I wanted to be the mom who could be mom to my own kids and Second Mom to their friends. I never wanted to be 'Cool Mom' or try to be buddy-buddy; I just wanted to be The Mom.
Fast forward to present day.
Turns out I don't really like other kids.
Well, that's not totally true. Let me back up for a moment: My husband and I made the decision to put our kids into public school for a number of reasons, one being that we are looking to build relationships with people. We've gotten to know a few families and have had the opportunity to have their kids in our home. One family in particular has visited quite a bit. The son is a classmate of our oldest, and his sister is two years younger. She can be a little.....much. Like when she opens my cabinet to ask for something to eat. Or when she tells me that my baby doesn't want to be in her high chair anymore. Or when she tries to take my 2 year old to the bathroom. I feel my ire rising, and feel the need to put her in her place. This is my house, not yours; keep your hands to yourself. You may be thirsty, but I will be the one to decide what we're going to drink, not you. I'm the mom, thank you, I'll figure out when the baby wants to get down.
Oh yeah. I'm getting territorial with a six year old. Not my finest hour.
Right in the middle of my snit fit, God tapped gently on my shoulder and reminded me that this is what I wanted. This is the reason that we chose public school, this is the reason that we wanted kids in our house. She doesn't need me to correct her, she needs me to love her. She needs me to show her Jesus. She doesn't know that's what she needs, nor does her brother or mother for that matter, but Jesus is what they need. And this is how I show Him, by loving her.
How in the world do I think I'm going to stand having all these kids in my house over the years? Kids come from all different places in life, all different backgrounds, all different personalities, habits, you name it. My job is to love them, to show them the One who can love far better than I ever can. My job is to give them the love that they might not get anywhere else. My job is to be a mom who is capable of all this love because I'm not concerned with besting a six year old, but rather I've laid down my self to take up Christ.
And that's The Mom that I want to be.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Grace and gift cards
Sometimes I just don't like my kids. This is something that lurks deep and dark in the back of every parent's minds, but we just don't say it aloud. Ever. I love them deeply and I really do like them quite a bit. They're funny and charming and sweet and fun to be around...mostly. But then there are just....those days.
To be specific, a series of snow, ice, and sick days had stranded us in the house for close to a week. School was cancelled, the roads were too slick to drive anyway, and another storm was bearing down on us. Cabin fever was hitting hard, and kids were squabbling with each other, melting down over the smallest issue, and generally behaving miserably. I did not like them. One bit.
Salvation came in the form of a late Christmas present from a dear friend. The mailman delivered a package containing Toys R Us gift cards for each kid. Perfect, I thought - a chance to get out of the house and get a new toy to tide us over during the next shut-in.
The plan worked perfectly. We got to Toys R Us and spent a leisurely hour walking through the aisles, each child carefully examining their options. The tension was broken; tempers were cheered, words were kinder, moods were brighter.
Everyone finally had their choice and to extend the benevolent feeling, we even stopped in the candy aisle for an additional treat before proceeding to the register. All was going well. And then I realized that I didn't have my wallet with the gift cards.
Hoping it had just fallen out into the van, I lined the three older ones up against the wall, and ran out to check. No luck. I hurried back in to find my sweet angels sitting quietly where I had left them. They looked at me expectantly and asked if I had found it. I shook my head no, then called home. Sure enough, dear husband found it on the dining room table. I hung up, turned to the kids, and braced myself. "We have to leave the toys here for now. I don't have any money. We have to go home."
And they took my hands and walked out without even a whimper.
Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that. On the drive home, it occurred to me that they probably didn't like me too much in those days either. I was sick of being at home too and it showed; I was sharp with them, less forgiving than I should have been, my irritation showing outright. And when my mistake was on full display, they simply loved me. They had every right to be upset. I can't imagine a situation more disappointing to a child than to have to leave promised toys at the store. But they understood. They understood and they loved me, and I was humbled to accept their grace.
I trip over my own shortcomings, tangle myself in self-satisfying sin, and justify my selfish whims time and time again, and I back-pedal furiously when I'm confronted with the truth about myself. But God gives grace generously, lavishly. And He gives grace through little children, who sometimes give their mothers a gift they don't even know they are giving.
We drove home, picked up the wallet, drove back, got the toys, and picked up a special fast food dinner to boot. And we survived the next ice storm with new toys. We even liked each other this time.
To be specific, a series of snow, ice, and sick days had stranded us in the house for close to a week. School was cancelled, the roads were too slick to drive anyway, and another storm was bearing down on us. Cabin fever was hitting hard, and kids were squabbling with each other, melting down over the smallest issue, and generally behaving miserably. I did not like them. One bit.
Salvation came in the form of a late Christmas present from a dear friend. The mailman delivered a package containing Toys R Us gift cards for each kid. Perfect, I thought - a chance to get out of the house and get a new toy to tide us over during the next shut-in.
The plan worked perfectly. We got to Toys R Us and spent a leisurely hour walking through the aisles, each child carefully examining their options. The tension was broken; tempers were cheered, words were kinder, moods were brighter.
Everyone finally had their choice and to extend the benevolent feeling, we even stopped in the candy aisle for an additional treat before proceeding to the register. All was going well. And then I realized that I didn't have my wallet with the gift cards.
Hoping it had just fallen out into the van, I lined the three older ones up against the wall, and ran out to check. No luck. I hurried back in to find my sweet angels sitting quietly where I had left them. They looked at me expectantly and asked if I had found it. I shook my head no, then called home. Sure enough, dear husband found it on the dining room table. I hung up, turned to the kids, and braced myself. "We have to leave the toys here for now. I don't have any money. We have to go home."
And they took my hands and walked out without even a whimper.
Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that. On the drive home, it occurred to me that they probably didn't like me too much in those days either. I was sick of being at home too and it showed; I was sharp with them, less forgiving than I should have been, my irritation showing outright. And when my mistake was on full display, they simply loved me. They had every right to be upset. I can't imagine a situation more disappointing to a child than to have to leave promised toys at the store. But they understood. They understood and they loved me, and I was humbled to accept their grace.
I trip over my own shortcomings, tangle myself in self-satisfying sin, and justify my selfish whims time and time again, and I back-pedal furiously when I'm confronted with the truth about myself. But God gives grace generously, lavishly. And He gives grace through little children, who sometimes give their mothers a gift they don't even know they are giving.
We drove home, picked up the wallet, drove back, got the toys, and picked up a special fast food dinner to boot. And we survived the next ice storm with new toys. We even liked each other this time.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Growth spurt
The family needed a little 'pick-me-up', so we piled the kids in the car, got a dog-sitter for the night, and headed west about 45 minutes to a hotel with an indoor pool and a breakfast buffet. The kids loved it. They swam with dad, tried out the mini golf course, and we got to eat dinner at Uno's.
As we pulled back into the parking lot, we noticed a big tour bus filled with kids stopped in front of the hotel entrance. Sure enough, a middle school group was bunking at the hotel for the night. It wasn't five minutes after we had gotten the kids in bed that we heard the pre-teen revelry begin. Our room overlooked the pool courtyard, which the group had quickly discovered. Our 7 year old was indignant; "Why do they get to stay up and go swimming?" My response: "When you're in middle school and go on an overnight trip, you can go swimming at night too."
While Dad did bedtime cuddling, I took the baby out on the balcony and watched the group. It was cute - the girls played in the pool, while the boys claimed the hot tub. One brave boy played the hero and ventured into the pool, getting splashed by all the girls for his efforts. Some non-swimmers lingered by the pool, shouting to their friends in the water. Others gathered around the ping-pong table, starting short-lived games. All around, animated smiles, nonstop chatter, shrieks of delight. Their faces were still so young, but their arms and legs were gangly, especially the boys. I watched them for a while, enjoying their joy in their momentary freedom, away from mom and dad and home, testing their (well-supervised) independence. Swimming at night! No parents to obey! All the vending machine drinks and snacks you want! I remember this pseudo-liberation and the bravado that went along with it.
As I stood watching this scene, I thought about my own dear 7 year old and tried to imagine where he would be in this group. Ping-pong? Hot tub? Would he be the one to brave the girls-only pool or would he be on the bench with his friends, eating Doritos and chugging his Coke? What kind of a kid will he be in five years? Will he be the funny one? Will he still like school? Will he maintain his friendships with his girl friends, or will he shun them? Is he going to hit his growth spurt early or be the late bloomer? Will he be as articulate as he is now or withdraw into himself? I felt impatient to know, to figure him out.
I thought all this while nuzzling the milky head of my almost 2-month old. She is holding her big bobble-head up pretty well, and has just recently started to give us tentative smiles. I love it - and loathe it. Every week takes me further from the newborn stage. Every week turns into every month turns into every year...and then she's crawling and walking and talking and she's not a baby anymore. No more gummy smiles, no more tiny fists, no more tiny bodies. I'm not ready for it to end.
And I realize that this is the way life is. I have to give up some good stuff to get some other good stuff. The sleepy newborn gives way to the smiley infant. The gummy smile gives way to the cute little first tooth. The tiny body gives way to the growing girl. The sweet baby gives way to the chattering toddler who gives way to the funny preschooler who gives way to the clever 2nd grader who will eventually give way to the future middle schooler who I can't wait to know.
Bring it on.
As we pulled back into the parking lot, we noticed a big tour bus filled with kids stopped in front of the hotel entrance. Sure enough, a middle school group was bunking at the hotel for the night. It wasn't five minutes after we had gotten the kids in bed that we heard the pre-teen revelry begin. Our room overlooked the pool courtyard, which the group had quickly discovered. Our 7 year old was indignant; "Why do they get to stay up and go swimming?" My response: "When you're in middle school and go on an overnight trip, you can go swimming at night too."
While Dad did bedtime cuddling, I took the baby out on the balcony and watched the group. It was cute - the girls played in the pool, while the boys claimed the hot tub. One brave boy played the hero and ventured into the pool, getting splashed by all the girls for his efforts. Some non-swimmers lingered by the pool, shouting to their friends in the water. Others gathered around the ping-pong table, starting short-lived games. All around, animated smiles, nonstop chatter, shrieks of delight. Their faces were still so young, but their arms and legs were gangly, especially the boys. I watched them for a while, enjoying their joy in their momentary freedom, away from mom and dad and home, testing their (well-supervised) independence. Swimming at night! No parents to obey! All the vending machine drinks and snacks you want! I remember this pseudo-liberation and the bravado that went along with it.
As I stood watching this scene, I thought about my own dear 7 year old and tried to imagine where he would be in this group. Ping-pong? Hot tub? Would he be the one to brave the girls-only pool or would he be on the bench with his friends, eating Doritos and chugging his Coke? What kind of a kid will he be in five years? Will he be the funny one? Will he still like school? Will he maintain his friendships with his girl friends, or will he shun them? Is he going to hit his growth spurt early or be the late bloomer? Will he be as articulate as he is now or withdraw into himself? I felt impatient to know, to figure him out.
I thought all this while nuzzling the milky head of my almost 2-month old. She is holding her big bobble-head up pretty well, and has just recently started to give us tentative smiles. I love it - and loathe it. Every week takes me further from the newborn stage. Every week turns into every month turns into every year...and then she's crawling and walking and talking and she's not a baby anymore. No more gummy smiles, no more tiny fists, no more tiny bodies. I'm not ready for it to end.
And I realize that this is the way life is. I have to give up some good stuff to get some other good stuff. The sleepy newborn gives way to the smiley infant. The gummy smile gives way to the cute little first tooth. The tiny body gives way to the growing girl. The sweet baby gives way to the chattering toddler who gives way to the funny preschooler who gives way to the clever 2nd grader who will eventually give way to the future middle schooler who I can't wait to know.
Bring it on.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Hands full
The baby was asleep, the 2 year old down for her nap, and the 4 year old settled into his computer games. I was ready to tackle some work. Then the phone rang. It was the school calling to let me know that the 7 year old had a fever and would I please come pick him up? So sleeping baby into the snowsuit and carseat, 4 year old lured away from the computer with the promise that we'll be gone for just a few minutes and of course he can do computer games as soon as we get back, and at the last possible moment, the 2 year old gently awakened and coated and into the car - socks, no shoes.
Of course, nothing is easy, so when the 7 year started screaming in pain as soon as he was picked up, I called the doctor, and we didn't even go home. One and a half hours later, we had a diagnosis and a prescription. I checked the time, hoping to get right to the store to avoid rush hour, and realized that the baby needed to nurse. So home after all, feed the baby, give out snack, listen the the forecast for snow, realize that preparing dinner isn't going to happen tonight, and remember that we're out of milk and toilet paper. Quick decision to dine at Chick-fil-A on the way to Target to get all errands done at once.
Chick-fil-A first, three kids meals, baby gets hungry while we're eating. Visions of a quick dinner fade as I settle in for the minimum 30 minutes. 2 year old drinks brother's lemonade while he's not looking. Brother gets upset. 2 year old then drinks other brother's chocolate milk while he's not looking. Other brother mildly annoyed. 7 year old asks for ice cream, which 4 year old and 2 year old quickly second. Send all kids up to counter to trade their toys for ice cream. Watch helplessly from other side of table with nursing infant as 2 year old makes ice cream mess. Get everyone cleaned up and back to the van in 42 minutes and on to Target.
7:12 p.m. Bedtime was supposed to be 7:00 because of shortened naps today. 7:00 turns out to also be the time that the pharmacy closes. Errand #1 shot. Milk and toilet paper still on the needs list. Baby seat in the cart, 7 yr old and 2 yr old in the cart too. 4 yr old hanging off the side. Quick quick quick, I think. Almost to the toilet paper aisle, 4 yr old shouts "I need to poop now!" U-turn back to the bathrooms. 2 yr old says she needs to go too. I look at her bundled up in her coat, and decide that her Pull-ups will suffice for the bathroom this time.
Second attempt to get to the toilet paper aisle, baby starts crying, 2 yr old wants out of the cart, 7 yr old complains that 2 yr old is stepping on his hand, 4 yr old is asking if we can buy every product that we pass. I put my head down and resolve to just power through when an older woman catches my eye.
"You have your hands full!" she says.
Ear infections, interrupted naps, grouchy kids from said interrupted naps, inconvenient nursing schedules. Entertaining two well kids in a doctor's waiting room for far too long, explaining to a sick 7 year old that we can't go right home, pharmacy hours that are 12 minutes too short for my schedule.
Laundry that piles up seemingly overnight, crayons constantly underfoot, dinners reheated, refused, and sometimes regurgitated. Bickering, hitting, screeching, wrestling, crying.
Sweet morning breath, fish kisses, sticky hands against my cheek, colored pictures just for me, silly faces, baking helpers, mixers, and tasters. Awkward somersaults, hopping, jumping, climbing, toddler races, 'look at me, Mom!'
Quiet bedtime cuddles, boo-boo hugs, papers from school with 'Great job!' across the top, brothers holding their little sister's hands, laughing, giggling, smiling, snorting even. A 2 year old surprised smile as she exclaims, 'I di it mom! I di it!'
Hands around my waist, my leg, my chest, my arm, my neck. Sleepy heads on my shoulder, sleeping infants heavy on my chest.
"Yeah", I smile back at the woman in the aisle. "I really do."
Of course, nothing is easy, so when the 7 year started screaming in pain as soon as he was picked up, I called the doctor, and we didn't even go home. One and a half hours later, we had a diagnosis and a prescription. I checked the time, hoping to get right to the store to avoid rush hour, and realized that the baby needed to nurse. So home after all, feed the baby, give out snack, listen the the forecast for snow, realize that preparing dinner isn't going to happen tonight, and remember that we're out of milk and toilet paper. Quick decision to dine at Chick-fil-A on the way to Target to get all errands done at once.
Chick-fil-A first, three kids meals, baby gets hungry while we're eating. Visions of a quick dinner fade as I settle in for the minimum 30 minutes. 2 year old drinks brother's lemonade while he's not looking. Brother gets upset. 2 year old then drinks other brother's chocolate milk while he's not looking. Other brother mildly annoyed. 7 year old asks for ice cream, which 4 year old and 2 year old quickly second. Send all kids up to counter to trade their toys for ice cream. Watch helplessly from other side of table with nursing infant as 2 year old makes ice cream mess. Get everyone cleaned up and back to the van in 42 minutes and on to Target.
7:12 p.m. Bedtime was supposed to be 7:00 because of shortened naps today. 7:00 turns out to also be the time that the pharmacy closes. Errand #1 shot. Milk and toilet paper still on the needs list. Baby seat in the cart, 7 yr old and 2 yr old in the cart too. 4 yr old hanging off the side. Quick quick quick, I think. Almost to the toilet paper aisle, 4 yr old shouts "I need to poop now!" U-turn back to the bathrooms. 2 yr old says she needs to go too. I look at her bundled up in her coat, and decide that her Pull-ups will suffice for the bathroom this time.
Second attempt to get to the toilet paper aisle, baby starts crying, 2 yr old wants out of the cart, 7 yr old complains that 2 yr old is stepping on his hand, 4 yr old is asking if we can buy every product that we pass. I put my head down and resolve to just power through when an older woman catches my eye.
"You have your hands full!" she says.
Ear infections, interrupted naps, grouchy kids from said interrupted naps, inconvenient nursing schedules. Entertaining two well kids in a doctor's waiting room for far too long, explaining to a sick 7 year old that we can't go right home, pharmacy hours that are 12 minutes too short for my schedule.
Laundry that piles up seemingly overnight, crayons constantly underfoot, dinners reheated, refused, and sometimes regurgitated. Bickering, hitting, screeching, wrestling, crying.
Sweet morning breath, fish kisses, sticky hands against my cheek, colored pictures just for me, silly faces, baking helpers, mixers, and tasters. Awkward somersaults, hopping, jumping, climbing, toddler races, 'look at me, Mom!'
Quiet bedtime cuddles, boo-boo hugs, papers from school with 'Great job!' across the top, brothers holding their little sister's hands, laughing, giggling, smiling, snorting even. A 2 year old surprised smile as she exclaims, 'I di it mom! I di it!'
Hands around my waist, my leg, my chest, my arm, my neck. Sleepy heads on my shoulder, sleeping infants heavy on my chest.
"Yeah", I smile back at the woman in the aisle. "I really do."
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