I just can’t wait for her to stop chattering and go to sleep. But then she does, and I hate to leave her room. Her head on my shoulder, peaceful breaths landing on my ear. “You’re gonna miss this. You’re gonna want this back.”
I made a confession at Bible study tonight. I hadn’t been in a long, long, while. Months. After my sister asked me (patiently, again, because she knows I’m forgetful), I finally got around to going tonight. I was late, and left early, but just enough time for God’s word to smack me upside the head.
“The thing I struggle with most is anger. I just get so frustrated with my girls. I yell, and it’s so unattractive. If I had a hidden camera in my home, I’d be ashamed at what I …
And if all I’ve done in 30 years is learned to make the perfect biscuits, what else is there?
As I mark the beginning of my 30th year, I can’t help but feel a sense of insecurity. No, I’m not concerned about the number, but rather, the lack of competence that comes with it. I thought I’d know how to do more by now. Thought I’d feel wise and, well, grown up. But more often than not, I feel like a seventeen-year-old trapped in an ever-widening, ever-gravity pulled body. I feel both old and green, a strange combination, until I force myself to consider all the works these two hands have made. My hands, once delicate extensions of willowy arms, have shown the signs of aging more so than my face, and have a much …
Motherhood is exhausting, and trying, and stressful…but completely beautiful.
While my children are whining,
The devil is dining,
On the sin of my impatience.
He licks his lips for just a taste
Of anger and frustration.
“Throw that book, raise your voice,
Yell a little louder! Turn your wrath
Into a rage, make me so much prouder!”
Lord, help me to rise above
These petty sins and trials.
Give me strength to bless my children
With words that come from smiles.
I might just have a couple champion bowlers on my hands.
Until recently, I avoided taking my girls out in public as much as possible. Too stressful. Too scary. Too many factors outside my control. What if they ran off in a parking lot and got run over? Or kidnapped? What if they wander off in a crowded store? What if we get in a car accident? Or, most likely, what if they have a monster meltdown on the floor of a…wait for it…nasty public bathroom? Ew. I forgot about those. Babies R’ Us, a place that’s supposed to cater to the family types quite possibly has the worst restrooms, and don’t get me started on the “nursing” rooms, that seem perpetually covered in trash and poopy diapers.
Ok, so enough about the dangers of leaving …
Her touch makes everything better.
She never taught me how to style my hair, or do my makeup, or dress in the most flattering fashions. She didn’t teach me how to blow a bubble, ride my bike, or snap my fingers. I don’t recall her ever making cupcakes for my class, or putting on an elaborate birthday party. A box cake mix and a can of frosting was about as fancy as it got. We never went for mother/daughter manis or pedis, or spa days, or other such extravagances.
But in the end, as I reflect on my own journey of motherhood I realize that all the things my mother never did for me, are things that never really mattered at all.
She always taught me how to stand up for what I believe in, be loyal …
Bears and toddlers may exhibit a “grimace” before attacking. Proceed with caution.
They can look cute and cuddly from a distance. Bumbling around, frolicking in the wilderness, foraging for a tasty snack of juicy berries. But then, something sets them off. They feel threatened and are unable to communicate like an adult human. Suddenly, often without warning, they attack. Growling, snarling, sometimes biting. You’ve been warned.
Bear or toddler? Take your pick.
Once my “perfect” baby, my toddler’s behavior lately could be described “like a bear.” And today, she proved that analogy true. Determined to get a snack out of the “baby proofed” cabinet, she gripped the plastic sliding lock with her mighty toddler claw, and broke it. Just snapped it in two. And before my husband could stop her, she started ripping into a box of cereal. …