Something Must Be Done About These Children
The kids are keeping me on my toes,
figuratively speaking. Yesterday, I confess, I actually took to hiding behind
the pages of my book for a little while so Willie wouldn't suspect that I was
aware of his misdeeds. Alas, if I am aware of them I must deal with them, and
so sometimes I would rather pretend oblivion. Now that I am a sleep-deprived
mother of four I tell myself I deserve to indulge in such ploys on rare
occasions.
Sleep-deprived. Yes - though waking up just
in time to kiss the DH goodbye on his way out the door on his way to work
doesn't sound much like it. But waking up in the nights for Wills is taking its
toll, and still worse, two rascals by the names of Jo and Jim are waking up
earlier and earlier every day, it seems. This morning the sounds of them
playing in the basement intruded on my subconscious at 5:30 am. That was when I
decided something really had to be done about this problem. I said as much to
M, and then fluffed my pillow with a huff and went back to sleep.
Oh, for Peace through the Age-Long Minute!
Blogging, for me, is usually a time to
reflect on the joys of mothering. I hope most of the little anecdotes about the
children that I share reflect how much I love being a mother.
However, the bed of roses does have its thorns. I’m not just talking about the
duplo and dinky cars currently strewn all over my once pleasant-looking living
room. You hear about that sort of thing all the time because it’s part of the
fun and I like preserving the memories of the good times.
What I’m not sure I want to preserve are the
memories of the worrisome times. Worry is the worst sort of ailment a mother
can be afflicted with. It eats at your insides, affects your temper, and
disturbs your sleep. Don’t speak to me when I’m worried because my mind will be
a million miles away, circling around and around the great and terrible
mountain of “what ifs”.
This isn’t like worrying about getting your
tooth pulled out. We’re talking about our children - whose lives we love more
than our own, and whose souls we so desperately want to guard for the Lord.
Christian mothers, you know the kind of fears I’m talking about.
My husband has had to remind me on occasion
that worry is sin. In times of crisis I’m afraid his admonition sounds in my
ears like the platitudes of one oblivious to the depth of the crisis. His
apparently carefree analysis, “Everything seems okay to me,” intended to set my
mind at ease, doesn’t usually relieve me from worrying.
We can go to the doctor, ransack the vitamin
cupboard, research, analyze, discuss, and monitor, but all the remedies we
throw at the problem will not cure our worry. It resurfaces again and again
with each new crisis.
Alas, there will be new crises. You moms know
the futility of trying to prevent every illness and accident, every behavioural
and spiritual battle... And I’m sure with a houseful of ruffians :) there will
be many future occasions for me to do battle with worry.
So what can I do with my worry?
I can take it to the Lord in prayer. And I
can read the promises in His Word - again and again. Because I’m like one who
looks in a mirror and then goes away and immediately forgets what he saw... and
I'm like Peter who sank the moment he took his eyes off the Lord.
The Psalms are just the medicine I need in a
crisis, because they get to the root of my worry – which is, forgetfulness of
God’s promise to do all things for my good (and sometimes, too, a fear of man
rather than a fear of God). Pretty much a random opening to any Psalm ends up
being a reminder to me that God is on my side – and absolutely nothing could
happen that will not be for my good. He is sovereign even over the worst
possible scenario I could imagine. (And believe me, I have a good imagination!)
“Hold us in quiet through the age-long minute
While Thou art silent , and the wind is
shrill.
Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art
in it?
Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy
will?”
Amy Carmichael
Mom Brain is Real
An Apology to my Friends – If I have Any
Left
If you've ever invited us over and we haven't
shown up, I regret to confess that it may be because I've forgotten the
engagement. It is not because I don't value a visit with you - I do, I really
do!
And if you have been invited here and I've
managed to forget just how greatly we were anticipating your coming - please
don't take it personally! I do indeed love to visit with you, and I was, in
fact, really looking forward to it.... until I forgot all about it.
However lame my excuses may sound, I think if
you knew all, you might have more pity than blame for me in your hearts. The
fact is, I think I must have sustained acute brain cell loss from my four
pregnancies... Either that, or I've got Pooh Bear Syndrome - because, you know,
the more Poor Bear stories I read aloud to the kids the more I feel I can
identify with that bear of very little brain. :z
Surely some of you moms know the feeling.
Tell me I'm not alone! Haven't you ever forgotten important information? And
have you never found yourself doing and saying strange things? Things like:
- putting the baby's bib on your 7 year old daughter
- exhorting your son (whose tendency is to fall off his seat throughout the meal) to sit with his bum right in the middle of his plate
- telling the kids over and over to stop eating with their mouths full
- …adding, "and use your fingers!" (meaning, use your spoon :z)
- packing a sippy cup in your husband's lunch
- earnestly entreating your five year old, "please... just tell me my name!!"
More concerning, perhaps, was the
forgetfulness of my own son's birthday. I think I know it now, thanks to having
looked it up on the calendar several times since that embarrassing day in the
park when a stranger asked me when in November he was born, and I floundered
about endlessly, unable to recall just what day it was. That lady had her
doubts about my competency as a mother, I fear.
Then there's the trouble I have with the
children's names. This mainly happens when I'm attempting to avert disaster and
there's no time to waste with the superfluous analysis of who I'm addressing:
"Slim - Slow!"
(Slim is Jim, of course -
"SlimJim":), and Jo - well, he used to be "Flo", but so
often I had to correct myself when I had started saying "Slim", that
his name came out as "Slow". Poor fellow - is it any wonder he dawdles?)
But there are, too, the times I just want to
summon my dear children (those sweet duckies…) to come to me, and wind up
calling, "Come, my Bukkies!"
(I admit that I allow a disconcerting variety
of nicknames around here, but since the word "bukkies" is what we use
to describe all that is gross and untouchable, even I draw the line on that
one.)
So please, friends, bear with me. I really
would love to have you come for a visit! If I forget to put the salt in the
soup, don't be embarrassed to ask me to pass the shaker. I'll have to get it
from the cupboard, probably - because I'm not likely to remember to have set it
on the table. I'd also be happy to pass you the necessary cuttlery, glasses,
drinks, and other side dishes that I have forgotten to set out. Nay more, when
coffee time comes... and goes.... hesitate not to inquire as to the whereabouts
of the coffee... and feel free to make enough for all the other guests as well!
My mother does it all the time!!
What a great mom - she even sometimes calls
to remind me when I have important upcoming engagements, like leading ladies
Bible study. Except for last time, that is. When the ladies all looked at me
expectantly, I just stared blankly back at them…
Not surprisingly, Mom tried to take all the
blame for this instance. :D
Unfortunately, such proofs of Mom Brain could
go on until the present day. Over the years I’ve found it’s most often crises that
bring on them on. Once, when Jo had done something that endangered one of his little
siblings, the mama bear in me was aroused to her full fury. As he started to try
to explain himself with the time-worn “but I thought –“, this impressive
admonition burst from the muddled storehouse of my parental wisdom:
“Joseph! Don’t ever THINK without asking Mom!”
Your Children Shall be like Olive Plants All
Around Your Table
After six years of childrearing M and I are
still naive enough to suppose that we might be able to carry on a pleasant
conversation over dinner. We should know by now how futile it is to attempt to
discuss adult matters between doling out the food, eating and feeding, and
minding not just our own but everybody else’s manners. The conversation is
inevitably peppered with such exhortations as “sit up straight”, “lean over
your plate”, “take another bite”, “take your fingers out of your food”, and
“don’t hold onto your tongue when you cough”. Inevitably the four-year-old
spills down the front of his shirt. Inevitably the two-year-old whines and will
not eat a bite, because he perceives in his bowl a shortage of the Ye-sauce
(applesauce) which is so necessary in rendering mommy’s cooking palatable.
Inevitably Baby (a sucker for punishment) insists on standing right in front of
Jim’s highchair where Jim can conveniently kick him in the face and knock him
over. Inevitably Jims finds this highly amusing, and leaves off whining over
his food to giggle at the hapless Babes. Inevitably Jo lets us know with a
shriek that his foot has fallen asleep, and in a royal panic he climbs out of
his booster and starts running laps. Inevitably Anneke asks for a second
helping just as I am settled down at last to eat my first. Inevitably the din
and clamor rises, as all at once each one has a very interesting thing to say
(or “three things very dull indeed”.) So much for our adult analysis of
important life issues. The conversation that suffered a hundred interruptions
throughout the course of the meal now dissolves entirely, as plates need
scraping, and kids (chomping at the bit for some playtime before bed) need
reining in for family devotions.
A favorite author, Elizabeth Prentiss, wrote
that she didn’t want her children to be “toned down”, but to be as “happy as
crickets!” That has long inspired me to enjoy the bustle and busyness of a
houseful. However, as the chaos mounts I suspect that I’ve overrated the whole
“happy as crickets” notion.
Psalm 128 paints a pleasant picture of children
“like olive plants all around your table.” That’s right - nice, quiet, olive
plants.
Somewhere along the way I think we missed the boat.
