Fits and Giggles

You ever have one of those moments where you feel as if no one in the world has it better than you? I get them sometimes. Certainly not all the time, but when they come I'm usually surprised at what brings that feeling on. You'd think it'd be the big things, like when we're all on vacation together, or when one of the kids has a huge accomplishment like sleeping through the night. Don't get me wrong, I've definitely experienced big moments of gratitude during those times. It's moments like today that really hit me and remind me of how it's truly the little things that make the biggest impact on me. It wasn't at dinner today when Luke asked if we could plant sausage since they have seeds in them. It wasn't when all the kids did their homework without help. It wasn't even when they all ate supper and asked for seconds! Maybe all of those things combined paved the way, but it was the moment in the day when my back threw in the towel and I had to lie down on the kitchen floor. I had made dinner, served dinner and cleaned up dinner and I found myself square on my back in the middle of the kitchen floor just waiting for the searing pain to subside and then Charlotte comes into the kitchen. She sees me there and just starts to giggle as she makes her way over to me and sets herself next to me laying on her back. Both of us were just seized by a fit of the giggles and it was at that moment that I knew I was the luckiest person in the world. My oldest was at youth group because he desires to participate in a 30 hour famine to raise money for World Vision. He'll not only be fasting, but he'll be volunteering at a food shelter and participating in worship. All his idea to participate. Three of my kids were playing (nicely!) together in the living room. There I was, on my kitchen floor laying side by side with my little girl and I was filled with so much gratitude. For a moment, I forgot about my pain and wasn't thinking about the tasks I still had ahead of me for the evening. I just relished in those precious giggles from my little girl with the big blue eyes and long curly eyelashes and even when my pain subsided, I stayed there just a little longer talking about pink cupcakes, Pillow Pets and feeling God's grace wash over me.

My lucky number

840.....that's the estimated number of times a day I hear, "Mom, Mommy, or my favorite, Momma." How did I come to this number? Driving home from church last Sunday in the clown mobile, I found that the spiritual calmness that I walked out of church with was slowly beginning to drain as my replies to my name became shorter and more terse....."Yes honey? What's that sweety? Huh? Mhmm.....WHAT?!!!" So I decided to count. I was worried that maybe I was just being ridiculous. My husband didn't help as he was looking at me like I had 3 heads each time I uttered a number. I mean, how many times in a 20 minute car ride could the kids possibly need to call my name? Well, turns out, it's approximately a "Mom" a minute. So I took this number, multiplied it by the number of hours a day that the kids are awake, subtracted the hours that the older kids are at school, added a few for the car rides and came up with my number. That number is a double-edged sword.

I remember when my first-born was a baby and he started babbling. I wasted no time inundating him with "Ma-Ma's" until the day came when he uttered that magical name. There's nothing like that moment. I mean you know you're a mother when you're expecting. You may even begin to feel like a mother when that little life is wriggling around inside of you. When the nurse places that little soft bundle in your arms you may feel it then. But, something about that little child acknowledging you by your name for the first time fills your heart until it's about to burst. It was then that I wondered why my grandmother and her sisters used to tease me that they all taught their kids to say, "Dada" first and then they'd all chuckle to themselves. I couldn't fathom anything sweeter than hearing my little darling utter my name as his big blue eyes searched my face.

Many words came quickly after for my first-born and then we found out we were expecting twins! Again the time came after many exciting firsts (times 2!) like rolling over, sitting up, sleeping through the night and finally saying, "Momma." By then, I started to understand a little more of what my grandmother and her sisters were telling me. "Sara, if they learn to say 'Da-da' then guess who they'll call for when they wake up in the middle of the night..." Ah ha, so these women weren't cold....they were wise. Much wiser than I.

With each child thereafter I heard a lot more,"Momma's" and learned a lot about motherhood. I also learned that being a mother was a lot more about what I did for them and why I did it. Also, how my children felt about me and less about how quickly they learned to utter my name. Being a mother isn't one of those jobs where you complete a task and can either say that it was a job well done or not. There are so many factors involved. Our children are not little projects that we mold and glue together and end up with a finished product. Yes, it's important to guide them in their ways. To fill their lives with love, attention, security and morals is of utmost importance. Yet, you can do all of that and your child can turn out completely opposite of everything that you deam acceptable. Why is that? Two very simple words.....free will. Does this mean that we abandon our posts and let them do whatever they want? Do we just send them off into the world without guidance like sheep to slaughter? Of course not, that is not love. Love is guiding these little people, molding them into what you dream for them (but first check your dreams) and then letting them go and follow their dreams praying that it's God's will for their lives.

Sometimes I get tired. Sometimes I get REALLY tired. There are times when I've answered to, "Ma?" with, "She's not here right now, I've changed my name!" When you give your all to any job, it can be draining. Parenting is more than a job, it's a relationship. Pouring your whole heart, soul and time into 5 little people can literally suck you dry. Sometimes I kick and scream a bit. Sometimes I just brood and complain. When I choose to remember to do the right thing, I call out for my own source of comfort, "Abba. Father. I need you now." My empty cup is filled and once again I can listen to, "Mommy, Mom, Momma" and be grateful all 840 times.

Here I Go Again On My Own

So let's address a subject that mothers everywhere have pondered for centuries....why do we get sick after having children? In the genius of creation, how come there's not some trip switch that is set off while giving birth that prevents a mother from getting ill? I hate to say it but, "It's just not fair!"

C'mon, you all know that you've said it at one time or another. Maybe it was the time you were puking into the tub because your kid was using the toilet. Or maybe, like me, it was the time that you were nursing twins in between running to the bathroom every 20 minutes feeling as if your feet were going to come out of your mouth this time....Maybe it was the time you had the flu and couldn't get off of the floor, but that was just fine with your toddlers as they thought you being on the floor meant that you were fair game as a jungle gym.

Today was one of those days. I'm not ill, per se, but I might as well be. I was looking forward to sleeping in this morning with the delayed opening for school. Instead, I awoke sneezing and subsequently screaming in agony. A silly, little sneeze threw my back into such painful spasms that I was unable to get out of my bed for over an hour. Now, I've been in labor. I've given birth to 5 children. The pain I felt this morning was right up there. My husband just kind of stood there with that sleepy, lost look he generally has in the morning, except I know I detected a bit of concern and helplessness in the slits of his eyes. I knew that I had to try to get out of bed
(after all before the sneeze of death, I was dreaming that I was in Macy's and I couldn't find a bathroom). That was easier said than done. On top of this, the time was ticking away for the kids to get ready for school. My husband was supposed to be going to work, and instead he was offering his back so that I could hold onto it and make it to the powder room. Of course the children couldn't possibly understand. The older ones are definitely more sympathetic, but the 5 year old and 3 year old are only out for numero uno, themselves.. Apparently oblivious to Mommy's Lamaze breathing and fetal position Charlotte and Luke were placing their breakfast orders and fighting over who got to choose what show was on the TV.

At this point, I start to feel a little sorry for myself. I'm wracked with pain, and I know that I cannot come first here. I have to tell my husband that it's OK to leave me to get the kids to school. I have to also encourage him to plan on going to work, because I know that his shop really depends on him. Incapable of getting myself to the bathroom, I need to take care of Luke, Charlotte and the various animals that need me here and I need to do it on my own. I know what you're thinking, I should've kept the kids home, told my husband that his shop would have to survive without him and stayed in bed. Maybe you're right. I just couldn't fathom doing that.

I'm not sure what it is that prevents me from really taking care of myself. Now, when I didn't have kids and I was sick, I had no problem planting myself on the couch with a mug of Cup-o-Soup and watched Little House on the Prairie reruns until I didn't know if my nose was running from being sick or from sobbing like a baby. Since I've had kids, it's as if I've forgotten how to take care of myself. I have this, let's call it, mother's guilt that kicks in every time I hear the hub-bub of my family going on without me. Maybe I flatter myself too much. I'm sure that they'd all be just fine if I stayed in bed for a day. I just don't know how to do that well. I could do it, if I knew that there was another adult who was going to take over. Alas, that's rarely the case here. Bill rarely takes off of work (unless he has the sniffles....don't get me started on that topic. Men+Sick=Bedridden), my mother in law works full time and my mother doesn't drive up here. I'd gladly let Bill take over, but he never offers more than, "If you really need me to come home let me know." Well, the hour and a half of me crying in pain, and the phone call from the bathroom floor didn't give you reason enough? Why do I hate to have to ask? I want someone to offer. That is my stubbornness and that leaves, me, myself and I. To complicate things further today, I had to get Luke to the Dr. as his throat started to hurt again. Maddie had piano lessons and forgot her folder and Gwen had dancing school. Again, could we have skipped it all, well except Luke's Dr.'s appointment? Sure. I chose not to. I chose to push, because I don't know how to do it any other way.

I finally peeled myself off of the bed and realized that crawling on all fours worked just fine for getting me from room to room. Of course the kids found it hysterical and the dog figured that I was playing and continued to pounce on me the whole time, pulling my pony tail every time I stopped to rest. As I expected, the choice to move around helped loosen things up and I was finally able to stand up. Too many Advil later, a hot shower, and a little bit of food and I was mobile enough to function. Albeit, I looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Driving proved to be excruciating, but I knew that when all was said and done, I'd be heading to the chiropractor and that was the light at the end of the tunnel. The chiropractor x-rayed my back and showed me the problem. He turned me into a pretzel, jumped on me (I'm not exaggerating) and I found some relief. Dinner was waiting in the crock pot and I was finally able to sit without wanting to tear my leg off and beat myself with it until I was unconscious. My kids were happy, they were fed, they got their homework done, violins practiced, and most importantly they were felt loved.

So going back to feeling sorry for myself.....the whole time I was writhing in pain and my kids were either fighting or asking me for a. play-doh, b. chocolate milk, c. you name it, I couldn't help but feeling like "What about me?" I'm the one with the boo-boo here. I want my Mommy. Or at least my Mommy to take my kids so that I could lay down. How 'bout my husband coming home earlier than 7:30? No such luck on any of those. Then something wonderful began to happen. My kids prayed for me during grace. They asked me if they could help clean up. I got extra hugs and kisses. My husband came home and sprang into action, getting kids to bed and running to the store for me. As I'm typing this while lying on my back, he just placed a heating pad under my leg and is getting more Advil. Would it be nice to have the whole day off when I'm in such bad shape? Absolutely. That said, it's no less sweet when the sun goes down, the kids are in bed and I can allow myself to be taken care of. It isn't lost on me that I need to work on this. I know that I need to allow others to take care of me more and sometimes part of that means asking, no, demanding it of loved ones. This side of me is also indicative of my relationship with God. How many times do I need His help, but keep on pushing through it by myself? Sure, I can do it, but why struggle through it when I can step back and allow myself to be carried? Well, awareness is the first step towards change. Maybe this was a good lesson for me. Maybe you can relate.

I've Fallen and I Have To Get Up....

It was the early 80's. I turned off my Fisher Price My First Cassette Player and I laced my Strawberry Shortcake roller skates up as I headed outside. My hair in a long brown braid down my back, my terry-cloth shorts jumper keeping me cool, I was ready. I was 7 and about to do something really stupid. My girlfriend and I thought that it'd be a great idea to tie my jump rope to the back of her banana-seat bike. I, of course, would hold on and coast around the block on my roller skates. Now, these were the days before helmets (you'd look like a dork), knee pads and elbow pads. Just lots of that excruciating Band-Aid spray and large Band-Aids. Never mind that I wasn't even allowed to go around the block without an adult...I was going to go around the block holding onto a Rainbow Brite jump-rope and a dream. We headed out with our delusions of grandeur and immediately I had a rush of adrenaline. The wind whipping my long braid behind me like the tail of a kite was exhilarating. Then utter failure. I lived on a tree-lined suburban street in NJ. This was before the great blight of the Chestnut trees. One of my favorite past times was collecting shopping bags full of chestnuts. The chestnuts had their turn. At life-threatening speeds I felt my pink wheels hit something . They jerked to an abrupt halt and my feet stayed behind while my upper body, still being propelled forward by that magical jump-rope tied to the back of an engineering masterpiece, continued forward. There's nothing quite like the feeling of skin being raked away by concrete, is there? My teeth clattered as my chin hit the ground first and then my elbows, stomach and knees joined the party. I was crying as I was picking the pebbles out of my cuts. My friend drove speedily home, her pigtails and Rainbow Brite jump rope trailing behind her like a white flag of retreat. I was hurt, I was bleeding, I wanted my mommy and the worst part was that I couldn't even tell my mom the truth about what had happened because I had injured myself by disobeying her. I don't remember the excuse I gave, but I do remember the wet wash cloth, the stinging spray, the bandages and the ice pop that made me forget my tears and run back outside to play.

Now that was one of only a thousand spills that I took as a kid. I was all arms and legs, and never quite graceful so the ground and I were well-acquainted. When I think of all the hard falls that I took as a little girl and how I would just bounce right back up after a quick band aid or a little spit on the wound it amazes me. When you're a kid you really can take a beating! Not so much as an adult.

I learned the real truth of this for the first time in the summer of 2007. I had purchased a Slip-N-Slide for the kids. One super-hot day I set it up in our backyard. My children were excited, but not as excited as I was. My mother would never let us get one when I was little. "Too dangerous and a waste of water," was her reasoning. I, not being my mother, thought that our backyard wouldn't be complete without one. Feeling like a little kid again, I told my kids to stand back and watch Mommy. I took a few steps back and took off running. Sending my arms in front of me I dove onto my belly on that slippery promise of cool, summer fun. When my 5'10" frame hit that ground I felt, not bliss, but all of my ribs bending back in ways they weren't meant to and my shoulders being jammed into their sockets. What the heck was that? I quickly hauled myself up so as not to frighten the children (who were so worried they were laughing hysterically at me) and limped away. My oldest pointed out the warning label on the front of the slide which states that anyone over the age of 13 and over 120 lbs. should not use the Slip-N-Slide or possibly suffer serious injury. Seeing as how I was 13 years old and 120 lbs. a looong time ago, I wished that I had read that before my big leap of faith. The long and short of it? I ended up with bursitis in my shoulder. I cannot believe that I am admitting that I got bursitis in my shoulder from flopping onto a Slip-N-Slide. Not exactly the bounce back that I used to have as a kid.

Today was another one of those reminders that I'm not a spring chicken anymore. After school I took the kids to the Nature Center where we spent some quality time looking at the various reptiles and amphibians in the Wildlife Center. We bird-watched for awhile from the aviary room and even got to get up-close and personal with some deer and a wild turkey that kept pecking at his reflection on the bumper of my van. We headed out for some pizza at a local pizza shop and then stopped by my in-laws so that Jason could change into his snow gear. He was heading to a fun night at Camp Gaw for snow tubing with his youth group. I was loading the kids into the car and went around to the back of the van to load the gear in. That's when my feet went in one direction and my head went in another. Apparently there was a big patch of black ice in the sloping driveway that I didn't see and I went down like a ton of bricks. I smacked my right side hard against the back bumper of the van before I hit the asphalt. The only thing running through my mind was, "Oh sh*t!" I won't lie. It was quick, there wasn't time for too much introspection. Anyway, as I made my way, shaken and sore, but intact, to the driver's seat I noticed that my pinkie was throbbing. I remembered that I had banged it hard on the way down and just figured it would go away. Driving down the road the finger began to feel hot and then numb, so I lifted my hand in front of my face to asses the damage. Yikes, are pinkies supposed to bend that way? So now what? I have to get my kid to the slopes, it's almost 6pm so no Dr.'s are open. I do not want to go to the ER. I decided to drop Jay off and head to, "Dr. Bill" A.K.A my husband. He looked at it kind of cross-eyed and we agreed that taping it up until tomorrow would suffice. After all, it was now almost 6:30, the girls still had to do their homework, Bill had Praise Band practice, and someone would have to pick Jay up @ 9. Who has time for a broken finger? Definitely not I!

It's very different getting a boo-boo as a grown up. Seems like I'm a bit more fragile and susceptible to injury as I get older. It's funny how when I was a kid, I couldn't wait to be a big, strong, grown-up. It's a little harder to bounce back from things when your body gets set in its ways. No longer are bones soft for growth. They're already set and not willing to bend without breaking. Makes me wonder how am I in other situations, set in my ways unwilling to bend. When I get hurt now, I still call my Mommy and let her know. Sometimes there's some sympathy, but I'm a Mommy too now. I know how to comfort myself. I don't own that burning antiseptic spray, but I can stick on a mean band aid. When I get hurt from my own stubbornness, I also still call Mom, and she usually will talk me through it. Fortunately, I can also turn my injuries over to the Great Physician where I know that He will gather me in His arms like that little girl with the long, brown braid down her back, whether it's a physical injury or the sting of my own stubbornness, and comfort me as His precious child.

Little Blessings

So Luke and I finally cracked open the book, "Life As a Navy Seal" the other day. Riveting piece of literature for a 5 year-old boy. For myself, the most entertaining elements are the questions and reactions that Luke has to the book. The beginning of the book mentions that a good Navy Seal knows both his strengths and his weaknesses. Luke stopped me immediately after I read that, "Weaknesses?". I responded, "Yes Luke, we all have weaknesses and it's important to know what they are." He quickly brushed this aside and asked me to continue reading. After telling my husband about this, the next morning I decided to have a little laugh at Luke's expense. I asked him if he ever figured out what his weaknesses were. Without skipping a beat he responded, "Yup, poison. I'm definitely no match for poison." Ahh, to be 5 again!

I remember that feeling of immortality. The sky was the limit in my innocence. I could be whatever I wanted to be when I grew up, the possibilities were limitless. Of course, a poison apple would send me into a dreamless sleep like Snow White, but you always woke up, married the prince and lived happily ever after......and then you grow up.

I quickly learned that life isn't always about happy endings. That I, in fact, do have limitations to what I can and cannot do. Perhaps I learned a little earlier than some, and most certainly learned it the hard way. Some of my false notions of infallibility led me to some very dark places and brought me to my knees. I mourned the innocence of my youth. I missed that feeling of endless possibilities. I often felt trapped by my life's situations and even by my own physical limitations.

Fortunately, these moments of darkness and despair have always led me to a higher understanding. Accepting that God's will for my life is a happy ending, but that it may not be here on earth. Knowing that I have limitations when I rely on myself, but God's power is limitless and can carry me through anything has lifted my soul. Realizing my weaknesses allowed me to embrace the ones that I couldn't change and strive to better myself by working on the ones that I can. I no longer mourn my youth, but rejoice that I learned so much from it, embrace each day and look forward to the future with an excitement that I haven't had since I was a child. I know that I'm not trapped, but am enfolded and embraced by a God who loves me not in-spite of who I am but because of who I am.

It is with that childlike faith that I have, as an adult, become aware of my weaknesses and realize that they are often the reasons for my strengths. As long as I keep on turning my weaknesses over to the Lord, He keeps on adding to my strength. I saw a perfect example of this kind of faith in Charlotte the other night. After her bedtime story and prayer Charlotte said to my husband, "Daddy, when I can't fall asleep at night I know I need to pray to Jesus." Neither my husband nor I had ever told her this, but we were so tickled to see that she knew that turning to the Lord would help her in her time of need. The next night as Charlotte was going to sleep she turned to my husband and said, "You know what Daddy? Last night I had to pray to Jesus for a loooooong time." I have often heard Charlotte talking at night after tucking her in. How awesome it is that without being told, my little girl and her childlike innocence knew to turn to the Lord with her weaknesses and He bestowed upon her His strength.