Motherhood

Several weeks ago, I sent the following email to some of the gals I teach with and to a few other friends. I was blown away by the beauty and candor of the responses I received. Their thoughts were so meaningful that I vowed to share them with you. My email first, and then the responses (warning: long blog posting to follow, and you might need a kleenex):

My email:
"I think I’ve mentioned to you how much I love the blog antiquemommy.com; she is one of my favorite on-line moms, and I like to pretend that we are friends.

It was on her blog that I first heard of Phillip Done’s book—the one I mentioned that you should read and then buy for any of the teachers in your life. A couple of days ago, she blogged about the book again, this time using it as a springboard to talk about what she likes about being a mom (or a grandmother/aunt/one who loves children/teacher). I thought I would share a snippet with you. Your job is to read her response, and then tell me—in the same style—about your life as a mother/grandmother/aunt/teacher. I’ll post mine below.
Here is the blip from AM:
“Phillip Done begins the first chapter of his book 32 Third Graders and One Class Bunny (which you can see in my sidebar) with a list that begins, “I am a teacher…” As I read through that list wherein he describes all the things he does in the name of teaching, I thought to myself that Phillip would make a very good mother. And so, I’m totally ripping off honoring his marvelous idea and presenting you with a list of my own:
I am a mother. I eat the broken cookies. I have someone else’s boogers on my sleeve. I laugh convincingly at knock-knock jokes. I have eyes in the back of my head. I carry Purell and band-aids in my purse. I jump up approximately 22 times during every meal to get something. I kick the annoying toys under the sofa. Dr. Seuss gives me a headache. I would rip the head off of a bear or a bully to protect my child. I am a mother.”
Here is mine:
I am mother. I read books until I’m cross-eyed, I interpret his words for others who have difficulty understanding his speech, I experiment with different hairstyles for her, even though I’m terrible with hair, I clean and wipe and throw away and organize and plan and sign forms and schedule appointments and buckle car seats and buy raisins and goldfish (by the gallon) and correct and sing and cheer and hold and pray. And worry. And pray some more. I cook food that sometimes doesn’t get eaten, I fold laundry, I rock baby dolls with pretend bottles, I do the same puzzle 13 zillion times, and I regularly step on teeny-tiny sharp Lego pieces.
In the actual moment of some of these events, sometimes I am tired and don’t want to do the very thing that needs to be done. Sometimes, I just want to hide in the bathroom and read a magazine.
But mostly, I just don’t want to miss a single second of life with my two miracles. To steal one of my favorites lines from Susan Blassingame, I’d cut off my legs for them, except I need my legs to run into their arms. (She was talking about Kevin Costner, by the way. But I happen to know she would say the same thing about her precious grands.)
Who deserves this blessing?
Not I.
Thank you, oh merciful God.

Here is a sampling of the beautiful replies I received:

"I talk a lot, cry constantly, hug everyone who will let me and give advice when asked and sometimes without permission, will hold the hand of ANYONE and I mean ANYONE because Jesus would hold mine were he here physically to do so, and I have learned, finally, to take one day at a time and to always remember that I am not the supreme authority in anyone’s life, most especially my own. My grown daughters will still get in bed with me and let me hold them as we weep or laugh together sometimes at 2am. My children are flawed, as am I, and I love them deeply for it and in spite of it, as God loved me even as I was being “knit together” in my mother’s womb and he knew that someday I would sin against him. I have never loved anything as fiercely nor been hurt more profoundly by anything as much as my own children and husband. Their pain and triumphs radiate through my body and soul in a magnified storm that takes my breath away with even the memory of it and always, happy or sad, leaves me with a poignancy which borders on pain.

I am awed by the love of God because I know the overwhelming love that I experience when I encounter another being in one of my roles as “woman” does not even approach the magnitude of a creator for his/her creation. I miss my babies, love snotty noses, mouths, and tongues, fat arms and wobbly legs, grins with orange carrot stained lips and those ruffled diaper covers that were so popular in the 1980’s and sometimes wish I could have them back in exchange for grown daughters and students with pregnancy tests, anti-depressants, broken relationships and self-doubt and yet do not want EVER to be ANYTHING nor ANYWHERE different than where I am right now, TODAY.

I miss my own mother so much. Still. Gotta go. Tears and snot on my face. Cute on a baby. Icky on a professor. --written by Carole C.


I am a daughter of elderly parents. I call home every morning and evening to make sure their days went well and to ease their worries that I might not be safely home when it’s dark, even though I’m 52. I explain how the cell phone works almost every day. I negotiate armistices between people who should have quit depending on ESP as a tool for a happy marriage fifty years ago. I drop off elderly people at the door to Wal-Mart or the mall. I try to find clothes for a man and a woman with elderly bodies who protest that they don’t need any more clothes; theirs will last them until the end of their days. I plan meals for people who can’t eat peppers or onions or garlic and who don’t want to eat broccoli anymore and are tired of green beans and who don’t want to try anything new or different. I help plan travel to the funerals of many friends and family and try not to think that such a day could be growing closer for me. I listen to the same stories over and over and over.

But mostly I’m glad to hear the stories. I’m happy to plan and do for two people who gave everything to me. I treasure each and every moment we’re together and am glad that someone is there to take my call, who wants to hear about my day. I’m happy to explain the confusing technology that enables us to stay close. I’m grateful that God blessed me with such wonderful parents. --written by Susan B.

I am a mom. Many nights I am up folding clothes and trying to figure out what happens to the socks as they come out without their mate from the dryer. When I finally do get to bed, I am awakened by a child with a sore throat or an upset tummy. I let that child sleep with me so I can lie awake all night and pray for them to feel better and so if they do throw up, I can be there to help hold their hair out of their face and wash them off with a damp cloth.
My vehicle looks like a tornado has blown through it. There are gum wrappers stuck in the ash tray, hairbrushes under the seats, flip flops on the floor board, hand prints and chocolate residue all over the doors and the windows. My car has 130,000 miles on it because I don't see the point in getting another one until the kids grow up. Not to mention that when you have to buy new shoes every 6 months and new jeans every so often because the ones you just bought not to long ago don't fit your precious offspring anymore, you can't afford a new car.
I have the joy of being missed when I am gone, of being the only one in the house who can find things, of being the one blamed when the just right outfit is still in the laundry, I also have the joy of seeing my kids excel at sports, academics, and I have the heartache of seeing them get hurt by their friends. I get to experience the pains of growing up all over again each and everyday through their lives.
I am a mom and I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. --written by Tina S.

I am a Mom, with many children!
I struggle to get out of bed with a happy face every morning still, at 45, because I am NOT a morning person, but the other 8 people in the family are!
I communicate better with a 16 month old than a 17 year old right now!
I potty trained a 2 year old and graduated one from college all in the same month.
I struggle that I want my kids to make their mistakes while their young and can recover quickly and while it's the small stuff than when their older and I might not be around to help the hurt away.
I have had to say I am sorry to my kids many times because I am human, but because of the Grace of God they forgive and still love me! And I am sure I will have to say it a few more times in my life times. I pray they will continue to forgive me and love me.
I go to bed exhausted every night but so happy that God has trusted me to raise these kids, even with all my quirky ways!
I am continually awed by peoples comments about our mixed race family. But it's a great source of entertainment at times!
I am beginning to understand,when I was a child, why my Grandmother was always smiling so big and waving furiously as our family drove away from her house after a week long visit. (She was happy to have her quiet house back!)
I am a MOM! --written by Janie B.

I am a mom. Although my children don't appear to need me any more, I still store all their extra clothes and toys and school projects and awards they have not yet thrown away. My house is the place they come for holidays, and even then, they don't stay very long. I live for the day my son walks into my office and sits down just to chat, and I still keep my cell phone sitting out on the restaurant table when I'm out for lunch in case one of the kids needs me for something. The rare text or phone call is usually in response to one of my desperate first texts or calls to them when I haven't heard from them in a while. I will stay up however late I need to when my daughter calls at night because she wants to talk, reminding me of those days, not so long ago, when so many evenings were spent in her bedroom while she cried on my shoulder.

I worry about their friends, their grades, and their happiness, even though I don't really need to, but I no longer worry about their eating, their sleeping, or even (usually) their driving, although it's not been that long since I worried about all those things. The occasional foray into the photo albums or, better yet, the old videotapes brings back the memories of their sweet high voices and even their crying, which seems humorous to me now. But though this sounds sad and maybe a little lonely, I know that they love me and they need me, even if it's not very often. I am a mom, and even though my chaos and messiness can no longer be placed at the feet of my children, my grey hairs and wrinkles probably can. I'm a mom, and I'm thankful for the blessings of my smart and independent children, and although I sometimes miss them, I'm glad they are happy on their own. I think perhaps I've taught them something well. --written by Ronna P.

I am a mom. I cried when on the day I was set to graduate with my doctorate degree, the pregnancy test so quickly popped up 2 lines and my first baby was only 6 months old. Now I rejoice that my children are so close together in age (13 months apart) and are best friends. I wash clothes and fold laundry and hang clothes only to do it over and over again when my daughter goes through 8 different outfits only to decide she’ll wear outfit #4. And when my son thinks it’s such a fun game to pull all his freshly folded clothes out of every dresser drawer to make a big pile to play in. I feel defeated when the laundry seems to multiply in the midst of doing it--when I think I only have one more load to go and yet 2 more have come out of the woodwork. I rejoice when my daughter smiles when I’ve washed her favorite skirt every day for the past 5 days so she can wear it to school….again. I too cook food that sometimes is not touched, wipe up spills again and again, clean dirty mouths, bathe children who think I must get wet before all is said and done for it to be a true bath time, and pick up toys scattered across the living room only to find them once again scattered not 10 minutes later. I hold baby dolls with pretend bottles and try to remember the new names my sweet children call their babies day after day. I’m chided when I don’t remember that “Joshua” is now “Taylor” and “Kathryn” is not “Hannah”.

I kiss scraped knees and cuddle when tears fall. I hear cries from the bedrooms across the house rousing me quickly from a deep sleep. I listen for the kind of cry and within seconds can know whether I should rush in or let them fall to sleep on their own. My heart will pound before I even realize it when I hear a cry at my bedroom door in the middle of the night and hear that cough that always means croup and difficulty breathing. I make hot showers at midnight for my son to breathe in the moist, warm air that opens his lungs, and I lie awake the rest of the night listening to him breathe—making sure he can. Without hesitation, I pull my sweet daughter into bed with me when she stands by my bedside at 2 in the morning telling me she can’t be brave in her room tonight. I pray over my children every night as I go in to find them sound asleep—praying that God will watch over and protect them because I can’t fathom losing one. My heart breaks as I think of close friends who have gone through that tragedy. I pray that God will give us the wisdom and patience to deal with tough times when I don’t think I can take another sibling fight or rolling of eyes or back talk. I am thankful for a husband who lets me have 5 minutes in my room to calm myself and pray for patience and stamina.

I worry about the world that will be left for my children to grow up in and the world their children will have to endure. I feel great guilt for not being a stay at home mom and yet then feel pride that I’m showing my daughter all that a woman can do in what’s often seen as a man’s world. I live for the times when my children unprovoked run into my arms and wrap their little hands around me and tell me they love me or when my sweet son tells me that my kisses go down into his blood and make his “heart beep well”. I am on the verge of grateful tears as I compose this because I am a mom who is infinitely grateful that God blessed me with these two sweet babies who have blessed my life beyond measure and yet have challenged everything I thought I knew about parenting. Praise God that He entrusts us with such a responsibility and yet doesn’t leave us to do it on our own. --written by Holly B.


Merry Christmas to all of the wonderful mothers in our lives!
Jana

Shane & Shane

We had the blessing of going to a Christmas concert last night--Brittany Dillon (I think), Phil Twyckham (sp?), and Shane and Shane (ok, I know I got that one right), who were the featured group.

My favorite: O Come, O Come Emmanuel. It just doesn't get any better than that.

Most interesting song lyric: a lyric that basically said, "My favorite part of me is You." My thought was that that is such a great message for my children. I try to affirm them in different ways--praising them for their obedience, for using good manners, for doing well in school--all in an effort to give them confidence, build esteem, and "catch them doing good."

I think, though, that I want to teach them that my favorite part of each of them is the Lord who made them and lives in them--that my favorite part of them is Him. I want them to be able to say that about themselves, too.

Jana

The grinch with radar

I got a speeding ticket on the way to work today.

Merry Christmas.

Jana

Saturday thoughts

Sometimes, we just don't have the answers.

"Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way" (James 1:2-4).

Mother Teresa said it this way:
"Make sure you let God's grace work in your souls by accepting whatever He gives to you, and giving Him whatever He takes from you."

I'd rather have all the answers. I'd like to get out of problems prematurely. And I'd prefer to be given to rather than taken from.

God's grace is sufficient, even for me. He gives just enough light for the step we're on.

Jana

Silliness

In one of my favorite children's Christmas books, titled simply Santa Claus, there is a brief section titled "The Wisdom of Elves," which is a list of "rules" the elves live by in order to enjoy the best job in the whole world.

A sampling from the wisdom of elves:
1. Elves are never lazy or late for work (Elves work together to make Christmas, and an elf who does not do his or her best is about as much use as a stupid, fat goblin.)
2. Be silly, but be safe. (Pay attention to senior elves--they know best.)
3. Take care of your tools. (Only fools mistreat their tools.)
4. Learn all you can. (Learning makes work fun. And since it's impossible to learn when hungry, always have a yummy breakfast.)
5. Laugh at work. (Every job is easier if you are smiling. [amen!] Toys especially love laughter and soak it up like sponges, which makes them more fun to play with. Should you run out of laughs, you might at least try a chuckle, giggle, snigger, twitter, or squeak. Alternatively, think of the word "knickers" which usually works.)
6. Never have more than three desserts at lunch, or less than two.

The elves apparently know a thing or two and are on to something. And since I have a lot of work left to do tonight, and it is already getting late, I think I will avoid being lazy (#1) and let out a laugh or two (#5)--I'm already thinking "knickers"!

Blessings, fellow elves!
Jana