Forgive me if I stumble and fall and make no sense and end up trailing down too many rabbit holes. Why does it seem to take so much more energy for some people to be optimistic? Why are some people so much more inclined to be happy? Why does it take so much more energy for me to be optimistic? Is it really an easy choice for some people? Is my slope towards stress and pessimism more slippery? Or steeper? I see all of these other mothers, wives, women, girls - smiling, happy, radiating joy - and oozing it all over my poo party sh*t show.
The First Rabbit Hole.
Pardon me for feeling sorry for myself. Pardon my language. I am feeling very selfish right now. These are questions I've been asking myself. I have a tendency to swing towards being this over-stressed, teary-eyed mama, hair fuzzed out and sticking up and weird, eyes bugging out and sweat beads on my forehead, crazy sweat pants on and an ill-fitting top, baby on my hip and kids underfoot and Too Many Crunchy Things Under My Bare Feet... being a bit of a drama queen in my home - I get far too stressed out by the house getting a little too messy, the kids being noisy - too many voices.
I let the house go and go
and go
and go
- and go.
People have heard me say repeatedly that I will not be a slave to my floors - I realized many years ago and fully believe that on my deathbed I will not wish that I had vacuumed more often or ensured our sheets were freshly laundered twice a week or that my toilets were scrubbed before they needed to be scrubbed - I know inherently to the very depth of everything that I am that my wee children are more important than whether or not my dishes sparkled and were always put away promptly. And then I crack. I very nearly feel an actual physical cracking - my head and my eyes and my feet can stand the clutter and the noise and the icky sweat pants no more.
Although I will preach to my family when I can see they are feeling overwhelmed - you can do this - you don't need to feel overwhelmed. take a deep breath. why do you feel so stressed? does someone have a knife to your throat? implying stress is self-induced... so I also inherently know that I am causing myself much if not all of my stress, and the depleted energy and exhaustion that comes with it. because of all the energy I give to it.
And selfishly, I whine to myself about feeling alone. Oftentimes I just wish I had someone in my corner, whispering to me you can do this - you don't need to feel overwhelmed. take a deep breath. why do you feel so stressed? does someone have a knife to your throat?
Or perhaps I am feeling gray yet again today because the sun went away again, I have not slept more than three broken hours in a night for far too many nights in a row to even remember... and all the while I struggle and claw and scrape and frantically scratch at staying on top of it, remaining optimistic, but at that point of having nothing left - something like my hubby speaking not so kindly to me, or to the children will set me off. I can no longer retain my fingernail scraping optimism, and I feel myself propelled backward, yanked out of pleasantness into a state of near hysteria. The exhaustion seeps from my very bones, and although in moments I am a walking example of grace, clarity, purposeful thought and communicating in love, the next I feel as though there is literally steam blasting out of my ears and the term spirit of anger is so painfully true.
What's This? Another Rabbit Hole?
And then I just realized; besides my Savior, I had people all along, in my corner, whispering me sweet words of encouragement. I just needed to look somewhere besides the crumbs on my floor and the stains on yet another pair of my pilling lululemon pants. Feeling like I needed some validation, this was my most recent status update on facebook:
Nearly a whole year. Three hundred and nine days, I think. That is a lot of time to be spent with a machine instead of a baby squirming in my lap and against my skin. But, through the grace of God, my heart is no further from his than any of the other three little ones who have drawn nourishment from my body for those first years. Blessed milk for a blessed babe with such blessed little feet.
little sweet milky lips. |
And responses to my little plea?
- warrior!
- you do deserve a medal! So proud of you!
- Dairy Queen!
- YES!!! You DO deserve a medal! I could only pump for Rae for 6 weeks...then found out she was allergic to it. It felt like a slap in the face. Way to go!!!!
- Good job mama! I had to stop nursing Jenner when I was sick and on antibiotics...you think they could have given me different drugs..
- Go you! I could only handle 8 months before the devil pumps drove me crazy. And you have 4 kids?! Mighty impressive.
- You're a very dedicated Mom Laura - so proud of you!
- You are an angel Laura......Amos is a lucky boy.
I am an angel. I am a warrior.
I am an angel! I am a warrior!
And then within two days of one another, my husband saunters up to me and tells me how important what I do for our family is, and my friend tells me I looked lovely in my robe and icky sweatpants. And I couldn't detect even the teensiest bit of a lie in her face, or in her heart.
Melt.
Thank you, dear ones.
A Semblance of Parenting. Otherwise known as Another Rabbit Hole.
Some days I am a great parent, some days I am a crappy parent. The ideal days - the days where I get enough sleep, have good food to eat and time in which to prepare and eat it, am able to make sure I am taken care of as well in taking care of my little ones - the days where I put my real pants on (not the previously mentioned icky sweats). Those days, most everyone's needs get met and everyone in this house feels happy, peaceful, and contented when they lay their heads on their pillows come sleepytime. And the parents? We reconnect with each other, with our Father in heaven, and we go to bed with love for each other in our hearts, even if we don't get to share the same bed all night every night. This too shall pass.
On my bad days, not enough sleep, still in my pajamas or those dang sweats in the afternoon, no coffee in the house, cranky whining children, an indifferent husband, oh and yes, there's me, the cranky whining wife and mama - I neglect myself and it all snowballs gloriously downhill from there, picking up speed with each sigh, each act of willful disobedience from the children - and I get frustrated with them not listening the first time. The house is crazy. And in the middle of the sweatpant wearing chaos, a moment of clarity struck me hard enough to nearly fall on my sweatpant clad butt.
Why would we think children should listen the first time?
I am my childrens' mother because they need a mother. They are our children because they need parents. We go together. If our job were so easy they wouldn't need us. There would be no need for such a thing as parents if children were fully independent and did everything right the first time they were asked, 100% of the time.
Likewise, does our heavenly Father God expect us to be fully independent of Him? Does He ever expect me to get it right the first time? Does He sigh loudly and impatiently with exasperation when we fail, we sin, we hurt Him and disobey His requests yet again, over and over and over?
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.
Hebrews 12:1
Oh, that scripture gets me. I love it. Goosebumps. And with that I Throw It Off. Much of it is exhaustion, and much of it is sin, and it easily entangles. And now? Can you see me running? Can you hear my footsteps, pounding the pavement and my heart thumping in my chest, resounding in my ears as my blood carries refreshing oxygen and new energy into my brain? And the whiny hole I had dug myself into? It's not so deep after all.
I decide to get back on my feet, revel in the exquisite features of my girl, lavish love on my boy - the one on the cusp of not being a child much longer, relish life with the zeal of my little boy, and soak up the essence of joy and contentment in the wee picture of contentment that is my littlest babe.
precious |ˈpre sh əs|
adjective
1 (of an object, substance, or resource) of great value; not to be wasted or treated carelessly.
adjective
1 (of an object, substance, or resource) of great value; not to be wasted or treated carelessly.
So I made some banana fondue with the sweet little blessings that are my precious children. Nothing like some chocolate, peanut butter, fruit and grains to getcha goin'.
Wednesday - middle of the week. Let it be the start of something that looks like digging out of the tunnels, the rabbit holes, out of the damp soil and into the light, and throwing off the things that so easily entangle.