Flashback

A friend just sent me this, from almost two and a half years ago. 

"And though she be but little, she is fierce"~ Shakespeare

To the woman on the phone at the doctor's office:

When I called you at the end of my rope and you squeezed me in, only to call back 20 minutes later when I realized I had no booster seats, I was pretty much at rock bottom. 

Had you given me a hard time, I'm pretty sure I would have hung up in tears.

But when you stopped me mid-fifth-apology and said, "Honey, we're all just hanging on" well...

I don't know if you meant to, but you helped me catch my breath.



Thanks.

E-I-E-I-O

This past weekend, we spend some time at Old McDonald's Farm.  And that is really what it's called.

And it was so much fun! 

It was a little warm for Fall, but as the evening settled in it over the mountains, it was perfect.  

There were animals to see and pet- including my favorite, baby cows!

The girls loved sliding and playing in giant corn cribs (Little Sister especially, she kept asking if we could come back to them again & again).  

We rode a hayride to a real pumpkin patch where they were just snipped from the vine and left for us to choose. We also bought little tiny pumpkins, three for a dollar, and sent them flying from a slingshot. (Not all of them. My little hoarders had to keep a few. I may or may not have started it...)

The hay mazes were a fun challenge to conquer, but the corn maze, well-  we may or may not have turned around and somehow managed to come out of the entrance. I did not mind.


We didn't take a real camera, just our phones. My hubs has an iphone, so his pics are pretty decent. But my phone is a pitiful little fella.  So some of the pics are kinda blurry.  Oh well.  

Sometimes it seems that the best memories we make in our little family are recorded with just a few sub-par photos and lots of precious moments being recorded only in our minds and hearts.

And blogs. Of course.

  

Been a long time...

So, it has been 2 and a half YEARS since I've blogged.

I used to make posts like "wow, I've not been on here in a while" when I missed a few months.  But years?

It's like coming back from, well, I don't know what.  I was going to say something like a serious sports injury, but let's be honest, I have NO idea what it would be like to play sports on any sort of competitive level, let alone be injured doing so.

But you know what I do have an idea about?  Coming back from a fog. Where the to-do list and the overwhelming pressure of life- especially this whole "shaping-human-beings" part of it- seemed like more than should have ever been trusted to you.  Where you felt like half of yourself and you just barely made it through some days. And other days, you blogged to remind yourself of the good stuff.  Because there were moments when the face of God shone through and you felt hope.  You knew you'd see the other side of this.  And you also felt terror because on the other side, there would be no do-overs. No going back.  They'd be bigger, and the moments would have passed you by.

Every time some well-meaning older mother passed you in the grocery store (or as you dragged your kicking & screaming child out of the bookstore) and said "Enjoy every minute, it all goes by so fast," you think she meant to offer encouragement.  What really happened, though, was that she piled on more pressure. Pressure to savor. Guilt for wanting to just. get. through.

And really, two and a half years does go by in the blink of an eye. And there are things you missed, mistakes you made, moments you skipped through for sanity's sake, rather than savoring and storing up for later.

Now.

Later is now.

And there is sadness, and a little guilt for those things you missed, in those early days.  But also a little relief. Not only that the fog seems to be lifting, slowly, rolling away with the passing years, but also that you were not alone in your experience. You see evidence of this everywhere:

Facebook friends with children younger than yours post about diaper explosions, sick children, sleep woes, fears and frustrations. You remember. But only through the fog. Perhaps skimming through some memories wasn't so bad...

You read blog after blog from moms- encouraging each other to keep going, to see meaning in the mundane, to love & lift each other in prayer and fight the pressure of Pinterest. (And you thank GOD Pinterest wasn't the thing it is now some four years ago to add to those unhealthy mom expectations you already came up with on your own).

Ann Voskamp described it like this:
Yesterday morning, the morning before, all these mornings, I wake to the discontent of life in my skin. I wake to self-hatred. To the wrestle to get it all done, the relentless anxiety that I am failing. Always, the failing. I yell at children, fester with bitterness, forget doctor appointments, lose library books, live selfishly, skip prayer, complain, go to bed too late, neglect cleaning the toilets. I life tired. Afraid. Anxious. Weary. Years, I feel it in the veins, the pulsing of ruptured hopes. Would I ever be enough, find enough, do enough?

You see it.  And you know.

This mom thing is hard.  When you love a little creature as much as you do, you want to do it right.  All of it.  Especially when you have a degree in little people, forgoodnesssakes. And sometimes, without realizing it, getting it right can become more important than the love that motivated you in the first place.  And things get... well, foggy.

Sure, at times there was more going on than just high expectations.  There were chemical, hormonal, physiological things at play in the lowest moments.  But those high expectations on their own were probably enough. Enough to cripple you. Set you back and make you want to give up. For good.

Because you want to get it right, and no mom can do that all the time because you're wrangling tiny, imperfect little human beings with their own fears and failures and expectations, all thrown in with your own.

You know what grace is.  Try to teach it to your kids.

But you didn't remember very well to extend it to yourself.

And that? That's one of your biggest regrets. You wish you had taken a deep breath and let. it. go.  Not just their fits and the messes and the missed photo opportunities.  Your fits. Your messes. Your human-ness.

And, ironically, that's where you kind of want to be like that well-meaning older mom.  You're starting to understand her- although you're not yet out of the trenches yourself.  You want to hug your friends with tiny ones.  You want to hand them a cup of coffee and tell them that it will get better.  The nighttime feedings, the terrible twos, the big-girl-bed-drama will all be over soon.

You want to shout it.  Not to add pressure.  To relieve some.

To tell them what it has taken you so long to only begin to figure out:

Moms have a lot of responsibilities and a lot of things to do.  But being perfect isn't one of those.  Only One is perfect and His grace is sufficient for you, if you remember to accept it. If you remember that no, you don't deserve it, but that's why it's there.

So the fog rolls away, though it goes slowly and is sometimes still thick in spots.  And a stone rolls away with it.

Because isn't that what Jesus wants to give us? New life, abundant life- where the only "burden" is to learn from & follow Him.  To be free from "doing right" and to be free to love well.

It sounds simple. And it is.

But it's also hard. Not only because your kids are as stubborn and particular as you are- your payback as the adults who-knew-you-when like to say. Yes, there are still battles to be fought.

But it's also hard because old habits, long-lived expectations, lies you've told yourself for years- they die hard.  And they have to die daily.
Yes, you're coming back. And like that athlete (about whom you can only speculate) you're going to have to work hard.

And maybe even blog about it...







PS-  Here are the descriptions of my kiddos that were on the side of my blog until I updated it today.  In case you needed additional evidence of how time truly does fly...

Little Sister:  The silly face-making, super snuggle giving, crazy song-lyric replacing, almost always bouncing, almost never sleeping, sweet, fiery, funny two-year-old beauty.

Big Sister: The much-girlier than me, Barbie-obsessed, exceptionally reading, always dramatic, usually compassionate, wonderfully imaginative 5 year old perfectionist.

Long day...

This was the last blog post I wrote-  back in the spring of 2011.  I never published it.  But it was kind of funny, two years later, so I'm going to publish it now.  I hope ALL of these dramatic days will be as mildly amusing as this one, someday...





I'm writing this first part before throwing in the towel and going to bed.  I'm really, really, REALLY hoping that I'll wake up tomorrow and laugh at this. Or at least have some wisdom and perspective after a good night's sleep.

I pretty much spent all day being yelled at by kids.

That was my day.

Okay, some of the kids weren't yelling.  Just calling my name and asking for a tissue or to be line leader or if it was their turn or why the computer bit the dust again or for someone to take them to the bathroom.  Those were other people's kids.  I took care of them and then sent them home to someone else.

And then, at my home... that's where there was yelling.

Actually, first I went to the dentist. So, no yelling.  But a lot of drilling and that crazy-annoying suction thing that pinches your tongue and the back of your throat.  Oh- and waiting in a super-cold room with no great waiting room magazines and nothing but fox news on the television.  If it weren't for the gas, I never would have made it.

Then I came home and tried to get a little housework done before my family got home.  I painted.  I tackled the box in the back of my closet that started collecting (years ago, according to its contents) all of the junk that had no other home.  Am I the only one with a box like that?

When the kids came home and I reminded Big Sister she had dance, she lost her leotard-wearing mind. I think it was mostly hunger, but she and her sister have both had a very hard time with self-control lately.

This was evidenced by Little Sister's Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde moment on the way to get Big Sis after her dance class.  One minute she was singing sweetly, telling me about the "mean girls who tore Cinderella's dress" and how the "Bibby-bobby-bow lady gave her a new one."  The next, we pulled into the parking lot and she started screaming for me to turn around and leave her sister there.  She wanted me to unbuckle her and let her out so she could "run away."  She wouldn't wear shoes, and I had to wrestle a messy ponytail in her hair to walk in and get Big Sis without looking like she log-rolled all the way from our house to the studio.  The dance teacher gave both girls M&Ms, but Little Sister got mad that I didn't buckle the car seat precisely the way she wanted it done (we're pretty sure she has OCD) and threw them on the floor.  We rode all the way home listening to screams of "PICK THEM UP!" and  "UNBUCKLE ME AT THE STOPLIGHT!" and "I'M TRYING TO REACH THEM WITH MY FEET!" and, of course, "I DON'T LIKE YOU!"

When we finally got home (the ride seemed endless) Little Sis did not want to get out of the car or pick up her candy, but she finally started picking up the M&Ms (did I mention they're the mini kind?) one at a time.  We were making slow but steady progress when Big Sister came outside and started running big circles around the van, the yard, and us.  She had to use the bathroom, and it was an emergency.  I reminded her than she has been going to the bathroom by herself for almost 3 years now, and sent her back inside.  A few more seconds passed and she came out again, even more urgently.  She said she didn't know how to take off her leotard and tights, and I quickly showed her that it is just like taking off a swimsuit or dress-up tutu (both of which she wears- and removes- often).  I also explained that I couldn't leave Little Sister alone in the driveway, picking candy out of the car.

I thought Big Sister had gone inside and figured everything out.  But then she came out again, doing the pee dance.  And before I could do anything other than fuss, "JUST TRY TO TAKE IT OFF! YOU'RE WASTING MUCH MORE TIME COMING OUT HERE!" she peed.  On the porch. And stood there in it, lifting up the little dance skirt and looking down at the growing puddle.

Seriously?  I rushed Little Sis in, banished Big Sister to the bathroom to get cleaned up, grabbed the watering can and tried to wash away the pee puddle, and tried not to cry. Or kick anything.

We came in and had a snack; Little Sis repeated her new mealtime mantra: "I only like candy and kool-aide and cantaloupe. I don't like food." Attempting to get her to eat anything else was futile. Bedtime provided even more battles and even more heel-digging.  I feel more like a general than a mom, planning strategy and which battles to fight and which to let go in order to still win the war with no casualties.  I'm not really a war person.  And it is wearing me out.