Something they don't teach you in mom school

 Drink 8 glasses a day, and more when you are nursing, but beware, mommy, this too can be dangerous!

When life gets busy and your arms fly around to the kitchen tending to everyone's needs and you suddenly remember to tend to your own needs....

 

Look before you drink!

Shrinky- dink water.  Flavorless, but a little gritty.

Alpha kitchen buddy

Behold, wise big brother, I spy another strange thing.  See, this youngest of all the brothers, this tiny one who cannot scheme nor plot nor bend mother's ear with an argument, this runt has procured for himself a treat most delectable.  Tell me, older brother, how is it that he feasts on the sugary sweet gifts of angels, while mother attempts to pacify us with mere twigs of the earth?

Indeed, young apprentice, the injustices of this life are difficult to bear.  Mother gives us an offering called "granola," while in front of our very eyes bestowing the richest blessings of the cupboards upon the small one. Take heart, brother, for God will repay the wicked, and will make her answer for her deeds.  Let us now humble ourselves, and inquire of the small one, for perhaps he has not yet learned to guard his precious secrets.  Perhaps he will reveal to us the secret key to the bounty of the pantry.

Brothers, are you so foolish?  Do you imagine that the power I have over our mother can be stolen like a rattle from my hand?   God has again used what is of no account in this world to shame those who think themselves wise.    In my fat thighs and round belly I store the power to charm the mother.  My soft skin and baby smell uplift her mood like wine!  A smile, a giddy inhale, or a mere flash of my dimple can cause her to forsake even the IPOD for me.  I may be small, but what I have can never be taken from me. 

Bow down brothers.
I am the baby.

chop chop

I can't do it all!  I think I am starting to believe this!  Once again I have found myself with too many things on my list, and something must be done.

Loose ends!  Loose ends, everywhere!  It is time for spring cleaning!   Some loose ends will be tied up, but others will be hunted down, and mercilessly chopped off.

Apparently a multi-stage craft is one of those things all of which I simply cannot do. The children and I started to make penguins in December.  Now it is March.  The unfinished penguin bellies on the back porch, and the uncut would-be feet and wings in the kitchen, and the half painted penguin heads in the craft area, whisper their guilt-inducing taunts at me still.

"Don't you think I would be a nice gift for grandma?"

"Can't you make just a little time to do a craft with the big kids and finish us already?"

"You let the kids paint us, so now you can't even recycle us!"

"Is it really that hard to glue on some eyes? I'm dying here!"

"Did you make the kids fill us up with sand so we could sit around headless all winter?"

It hit 70 degrees yesterday. Penguin season has passed us by.

It is time to silence them. Unfinished, ungiven, unloved.

Penguins were never meant to be part of this family. Goodbye penguins. We are moving on to spring.

kid worries

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, 

what you will eat or drink; 

or about your body, what you will wear. 

Is not life more than food, 

and the body more than clothes? 

Matthew 6:25

Do you kids ever worry about what you are going to eat or what you are going to wear?

A daughter immediately chimes in:

(Read the following very quickly for the full effect.)

"YES!  Sometimes I worry about what I'm going to drink, but that's not a good thing to do.  Because if you say 'Mommy what are we going to drink? and she says 'chocolate milk,'  and then you say, 'Mommy what are we doing to drink?' and she says, 'chocolate milk,' and you say, 'Mommy, what are we going to drink?' and she says, 'chocolate milk' ....  then mommy won't really like that."

Ok... anything else that you worry about children?

"Sometimes, I worry about what I am going to wear..."

said one of the more thoughtful children seriously.

Finally,  I thought, we will have some worthwhile contribution to this discussion!

"...I worry about what I am going to wear because one time I didn't have enough underwear in my drawer so I had to borrow some.  I didn't like to do that. So I worry."

ash wednesday

Ash wednesday is here again, and it is still just as hard on this mother's heart as it has ever been.

It is an odd thing for Christians to take time out to observe this kind of holiday. I do not believe I have seen a secular adaptation of Ash Wednesday at Walmart.   The world may be able to make its own version of Fat Tuesday, Easter and Christmas by subtracting substance and adding bright colors and materialism, but it is hard, even for the best marketing experts, to make a holy day that focuses on our mortality something that will sell.

Today my little girls will come home from school with ashes on their heads.  They will have heard those words,  "From dust you are, to dust you shall return." They will have heard them from the lips of their own father, and have received a reminder of this awful truth from the same hand that feeds them.  They will sport the black reminder of it on their foreheads all day long, but it will likely be forgotten to them, as they rush home to show me their special papers and cheerfully devour whatever it is I set out for an after-school snack.

But I will not forget.  The ashes on those pretty young heads shout to me, and tell me things I would rather not hear.  Especially those ashes smudged on the forehead of Aggie, whose life we will never take for granted.  Will her tumor return this year?  Will she return to dust even before I do?

This holiday cannot be sold without Jesus.  This reality, death itself, cannot be conquered without Him.  But He has conquered it for us, and with the church we look forward to the day when fear and dread will be no more. 

And so, even on this holiday of death, even in this world covered in death, we can sleep in peace.  Whether we are speaking of sleep in our beds or sleep in the grave, we take refuge in the one place that is safe:  in the blood of our Savior, Jesus Christ, poured out for our sins.

I shall lie down and sleep in peace, 

for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

Psalm 4:8

Temptation

"Wise, esteemed older brother, what say you of this curious phenomenon? Do mine eyes deceive, or is it indeed a gift to us from the highest heaven?"

"Ah, yes, my young apprentice, that is something exceedingly precious. Our mother calls it "No No," and decries its messiness, but alas, she blasphemes! But behold, we must be wise in our approach, as her eyes are in every place."

"I see, Teacher, but what then shall we do? The entity pulls me towards it with mysterious gravity, and I find myself unable to resist its overtures."

"Indeed, she beckons me as well. We needent wait long, young one. Let us begin with innocent rock throwing, and await the moment when our immersion can be conceived as accidental. "

Mama weak, mama loved.

My children have a distorted view of me. For one thing, they don't mind when I sing. This is because they don't really know how bad I am, though I am pretty sure one son already has suspicions.

For the little ones at home with me every day, I am the biggest and best thing in their world. I am the Fixer of All Things Broken, the Filler of All Stomachs Empty, the Cleaner of All Things Dirty, the Finder of All Things Lost. I can extinguish conflicts with one hand, tickle away tears, and revive favorite toys with a mere battery, all while making yummy cupcakes. I am mom, and so, I am the Meeter of All Needs.

To be honest, I like thinking of myself this way too. I like to pretend I am strong, that I am one who is always giving and never has to receive anything from anyone. I might say that's not true, but I still try to live like it is.

For example, how often do I actually ask for help? I mean really ask, not hint, not attempt to project loud thoughts, not angrily imagine my husband can read my mind but chooses to ignore me, but ask with real words and humility? Can I admit, out loud, that I am not the Meeter of All Needs, but am myself poor and needy? Do I have to be at the end of my rope before I can say out loud what everyone else around me already knows-- that I cannot do it all?

If my kids (and I) were right about my superpowers, I would never find myself floored by a stomach bug or depression. I would never be out of patience or simply burned out. And yet, when these things happen, I am always surprised. I fight against weakness, and try to deny it, as if I really am supposed to be the Superhero that my kids think I am.

I remember her weakness, and mine:

Five to seven times each day my heart sank as I watched her suffer a seizure. Yet, so many other times, she would seem absolutely fine, life and health bursting out of her as if she’d never been sick at all. See, she’s fine. No, she’s not. She’s really sick. Oh, come on, she’s really not that bad. Yes, she is. No, she isn’t. Back and forth I went in my head, my heart desperate and hopeful and grieving all at once.

            I tried to be strong, to put a wall around those thoughts and feelings, at least during the day when I was surrounded by my family. Yet the mere frequency of her seizures made that impossible. Somehow I had to find a way to function even with all these thoughts and feelings going on inside me. I had no idea how to do that.

***

            That weekend I got an email from my Aunt Julie. Like many other friends and family, she wrote to encourage us and promise prayers for the family. She gave me some heartfelt advice she had gained while raising her daughter with Down’s Syndrome. After sharing words of sympathy and encouragement, she ended her email saying, “People tell you to be strong—I say be weak and be loved.”

            I sat at my computer and cried, finally giving myself permission to feel those awful feelings I had been trying to keep at bay. My heart poured out complaints and prayers to God, as I admitted I most certainly was not strong, as I wanted to be. Lord, I am weak, much too weak for this trial. If there is going to be any strength, it is going to have to come from You.

            Part of me wishes I could describe how I became superwoman from that point on, valiantly facing every obstacle and soldiering on with courage and strength until I found help for my dear daughter. No, I was still weak. My head and my heart still hurt. My problems did not disappear. But I was weak and loved. My aunt’s words reminded me of that important truth, and I sat at my computer, drenched in tears, and just rested in that word. Loved.

Weak and Loved: A Mother-Daughter Love Story by Emily Cook Now available on Amazon.com $9.99 kindle $4.99epub $4.99

I am not, as my children imagine, all-sufficient, all-knowing, all-loving, and all-powerful. There is One who is, and I need Him just as badly as they do. How good it is to be loved by a God who cares for needy children.

But as for me, I am poor and needy;

may the Lord think of me.

You are my help and my deliverer;

you are my God, do not delay.

Psalm 40:17

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Do you find yourself surprised by weakness, too?
How does God's love help you through?

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New series coming soon:

If you've got it, flaunt it!
Our weakness, His strength.

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