I live in a paradoxal world. It's called the world of mommy-hood. To be honest I get tired of the mommy blogs where we pat each other on the backs and shame the rest of the world for not understanding how hard we work and how thankless our job is. Don't get me wrong. This job is HARD. Kids, when you read this when you are all grown up and rolling your eyes at the things I say, please know this. I LOVE YOU. And you are the hardest thing I have ever done. But it's not because you yourselves are terrible. It's because this is the longest I've ever stayed at something. And this something is more valuable than anything else I've ever worked for. (Before the world of, "marriage comes first," explodes on me, let me caveat this by saying, yes, marriage is hard, a challenge and rewarding, as is parenthood. But you can kind of fall into a bit of a groove with marriage, so it's not quite the same). The condition of your hearts will to some measure be a testament to how I lived in front of you, and that is terrifying sometimes (a lot of times).
But on to my point, the purpose of this post. I completely exhaust myself with internal pressure to have the world see my kids as the sweet things I know they are. I exhaust myself with this competitive spirit (PRIDE?) that the world will acknowledge my super powers of having them all stand quietly in line at the grocery store, say please and thank you, and when I give a command they immediately respond with, "Yes, Mommy." I ache when I hear that a friends' kids wanted to give all their birthday gifts to the poor, or they selflessly handed their favorite fill in the blank to a younger sibling, because they are just naturally that sweet. I used to be inspired by those stories because my kids were young enough (and I, naïve enough), to believe that with good training, my kids, too, would grow to be mini-Mother Theresa's. Now I sigh and remember, not fondly, how the one wanted the orange that the other was eating so poked him in the eye, while the other grabbed the baby's favorite toy and dangled it in front of his face, because he got pleasure out of the high-pitched shriek that commenced.
And then the paradox. What I really want is for you, friend, neighbor, fellow frazzled mama, to come over. Come over to my house and observe my chaos. Future adults-in-training running amuck the majority of the days and an impatient, harried, exhausted mom following after. There are times that I can laugh at the antics of the four, but there are also times I fall in a heap on the living room floor, cover my eyes, and tell my kids that I can't see them so they can't see me. Mature, I know. I look at pictures of them plastered on my walls and know that I will desperately miss their innocence and un-hindered excitement over everything in this season. But when I turn around and see that the two year old has found a dry erase marker and drawn all over the wall for not the first (or second) time, I think how nice it will be when pens and walls aren't nearly so fascinating.
I want people to know this about my life. It is messy, it is unorganized, it is unruly. My kids are in the process of learning. And so am I.
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| What I want the world to see. |
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| What reality is. |
