I don't have a lot of time this morning, but I feel the overwhelming need to remind myself of something, and perhaps there is another worn out mom who needs to hear the same thing.
God wants so much to draw us to Himself. This is what the gospel reading is about today. Christ uses the simile of a hen drawing her chicks under her wing, so does he want to draw us to Himself. What a funny image. A robust, full breasted-hen, full of warmth and love just trying to pull her little aimless chicks to under her wing, because she knows that she can keep them safe, she can shield them from the fox that might be prowling, or the wind and the rain that might weaken their tiny constitutions. But what does Christ say in the same breath? "You were not willing." He longs to bring us to Himself but we just won't come. We know what's best, we have a better idea, we're pretty sure we're already doing what he asks anyway.
I saw this play out in perfect form about 30 minutes ago when my almost four-year-old wouldn't obey me. She is a magnificent little lady with all kinds of personality and ideas and a stubborn streak to rival her mother's. She is a tom-boy princess in the midst of five brothers constantly striving to make her own way...and she's only 4! And for some reason, she burns my fuse faster than any of my boys ever have (that's probably a topic for another post: why our relationships with our daughters can be so challenging). She was in her room, I went in to hold her and tell her she should come out and asked her the question I always do "what did you do wrong." Suddenly, she recoiled, sat back, crossed her arms and said "I don't know." So I asked again, "you can tell mommy, what did you do wrong?" Now she says "I want you to say it." This goes on for a minute or so until she decides naming her sin is not worth her freedom and so there she sits. She's not afraid of me, she knows I love her, she knows I will forgive her, but there she sits.
I do this all the time with God. He reaches out to me, knowing what's best for me, knowing how to protect and love me and I decide that I would rather sit in my room on my bed because being in his presence can cause me to look deeper into myself and maybe I don't want to do that yet. Or, being in his presence makes me realize how much I really need Him, ALL the time and I still want to think that I can do it on my own.
The funny thing is I know enough to know that I cannot do it without Him. I am the first one to admit that I need Him everyday to make me loving, and patient and kind. But saying I need Him, and actually allowing Him to help are two very different things. Saying I need him when all is calm is easy, makes me sound holy even, but allowing him to help me when the two-year-old and the three-year-old are screaming and violently tugging back and forth with some toy that suddenly is worth their lives, while the five-year-old yells at the eight-year-old to let him pick the cartoon, but the nine-year-old knows better so he just usurps the remote and makes a decision that makes everyone angry, all the while I am just trying to pee with the door closed. Oh and does anyone hear the baby because I'm pretty sure he's screaming too. Out of the protection of his wing, these moments will make me crazy, make me yell or even cry, but in the shadow of his wing I find the patience, the perspective and the humor to deal with the chaos. Sometimes a nice cocktail at the end of the night helps too.
When I woke up this morning all I could think about was how tired I was and how much more tired I was going to be tomorrow. Because today we have costumes and candy and door to door madness with 7 children followed by an early morning and more costumes and saint reports and saint parties. But when will I learn that all God is really asking is for us to draw near. Bring our burdens and our impatience, our fatigue, and ineptitude, our bad attitude and frustration and lay it down under his wing. He promises to replace it with joy, with perspective and hope, with love and strength that can only come from Him. It's only when we realize that we have nothing left to give that he can transform our mourning into dancing, our tears into laughter and our weakness into strength. He is sitting and waiting. All we have to do is come.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Monday, September 30, 2013
The Fine Line Between Motivation and Bribery
Parenting comes with lots of surprises. We've all found ourselves doing things we swore we would never do; eating our own words as we stick a lollipop in a 2 year-old's mouth, or turn the TV on for just one more show so we can finish the dishes, or dinner, or a thought.
But what about the arsenal of bribes...I mean motivators we have in our back pockets? Every parent has a few. The things you use when you really need results. Here are a few of my favorites and the miraculous results they can produce.
The Dum-Dum: I have high-risk pregnancies, and I am always pregnant, which means I am always at the doctor. My high-risk OB's office brilliantly places a giant jar of Dum-Dum's at the check-out desk. I love the Dum-Dum. It's small but big enough that a three-year-old can't just bite it and be done. It doesn't have anything in the middle, and it requires them to keep their mouth CLOSED to eat it. Brilliant. The kids know that when we leave, Miss Cindy will ask me if they can have one and they know to get it they have to be still, and reasonably quiet and good. It's power is magical. The cons of the Dum-Dum are it's stickiness and the tendency for the sticks to be found days later permanently affixed to the floor of your car...still worth it.
Ice Cream: This is a big one in our family. Ice cream will get extra chores done, dinner eaten, it will cause toddlers to find their dignity and use a toilet. Kids will do almost anything for ice cream! I wish something motivated me as much as ice cream motivates my kids. Sleep...maybe that's it; I would do almost anything if someone promised me uninterrupted sleep as my reward. But I digress. Ice cream can be varying in it's level of reward. For something small like your four-year-old finally eating all his broccoli without throwing up: two scoops out of the ice cream in the freezer. The 2nd grader who gets an A+ on his history test when you know it's his hardest subject: everyone goes to McDonald's for a cone. The three-year-old who finally, after months of tears and begging (on your part) poops in the potty: Frozen Yogurt for everyone with all the toppings you want and we'll even go the place that has the Ipods and let you play on them! This gets the whole family involved; you've never seen a nine-year-old so concerned with his little brother's toilet habits as you will when ice cream is on the line.
Sprite or a Juice Box: As with all motivators you have to walk the fine line between appropriate use and over-use. We used to have juice all the time, until I finally admitted to myself it has no real nutritional value, it's bad for their teeth and it's too dang expensive for 7 kids to be sucking it down all day long. Now I have the juice box. I'll buy one $2.00 pack of Capri-Suns and hide them. Then when I know it's going to be a rough day, or we have tons of errands to run I will present it as their prize. Suddenly, toys are getting put away, the five-year-old's putting shoes on the two-year-old, somebody's pouring my coffee while they do the dishes and thaw out the dinner for the evening....well maybe it doesn't produce that much cooperation, but it's close. For my big kids it's a Sprite, even better if they get the can, like the can is some golden goblet of triumph, they walk around saying "I'm going to get a whole Sprite, mom said I can drink it out of the can." This is also how they know there's a special occasion, a birthday party or a baptism. They'll see Sprite or Juice in the fridge and immediately ask "hey mom, whose coming over for dinner?"
Pizza: Ah, pizza. Remember when you liked pizza? Remember when you even craved it sometimes? Kids ruin pizza for us because we end up eating it way more than we want and way more than we should. There have certainly been times when we have abused this motivator to the point where it has lost all it's motivating power. This is usually when I am 8+ months pregnant and the thought of making dinner, especially on the weekends, makes me curl up into a ball and start crying so my husband quickly smiles and says "maybe we should just get pizza for dinner?" I have a few very picky eaters but they in particular would eat pizza every single meal, every single day forever and be happy. This morning, at 6:30 AM my three-year-old daughter asked me what was for dinner (because I love thinking about dinner while I am making breakfast!) and when I said probably spaghetti, she said "moooom. I don't want bisgetti, I only want pizza." Therein lies it's miraculous power. Unfortunately, pizza is pretty terrible for us, but if it were healthy, they wouldn't want it.
What are your go-to motivators? I stress that I do not like to think of them as bribes which may just be a game of semantics, but the word "bribe" makes me feel like such a bad parent. We're just teaching them that hard work and obedience should be rewarded, that sometimes we do things we don't really like so that we can enjoy something we love. We try to weave in all the virtue and character stuff too, I promise, but sometimes life is messy and you just need to get four kids in and out of the pediatrician's office without getting flagged by CPS, so you load your purse with DUM-DUM's, tell them you'll get pizza for lunch, and make sure you have ice cream in the freezer.
But what about the arsenal of bribes...I mean motivators we have in our back pockets? Every parent has a few. The things you use when you really need results. Here are a few of my favorites and the miraculous results they can produce.
The Dum-Dum: I have high-risk pregnancies, and I am always pregnant, which means I am always at the doctor. My high-risk OB's office brilliantly places a giant jar of Dum-Dum's at the check-out desk. I love the Dum-Dum. It's small but big enough that a three-year-old can't just bite it and be done. It doesn't have anything in the middle, and it requires them to keep their mouth CLOSED to eat it. Brilliant. The kids know that when we leave, Miss Cindy will ask me if they can have one and they know to get it they have to be still, and reasonably quiet and good. It's power is magical. The cons of the Dum-Dum are it's stickiness and the tendency for the sticks to be found days later permanently affixed to the floor of your car...still worth it.
Ice Cream: This is a big one in our family. Ice cream will get extra chores done, dinner eaten, it will cause toddlers to find their dignity and use a toilet. Kids will do almost anything for ice cream! I wish something motivated me as much as ice cream motivates my kids. Sleep...maybe that's it; I would do almost anything if someone promised me uninterrupted sleep as my reward. But I digress. Ice cream can be varying in it's level of reward. For something small like your four-year-old finally eating all his broccoli without throwing up: two scoops out of the ice cream in the freezer. The 2nd grader who gets an A+ on his history test when you know it's his hardest subject: everyone goes to McDonald's for a cone. The three-year-old who finally, after months of tears and begging (on your part) poops in the potty: Frozen Yogurt for everyone with all the toppings you want and we'll even go the place that has the Ipods and let you play on them! This gets the whole family involved; you've never seen a nine-year-old so concerned with his little brother's toilet habits as you will when ice cream is on the line.
Sprite or a Juice Box: As with all motivators you have to walk the fine line between appropriate use and over-use. We used to have juice all the time, until I finally admitted to myself it has no real nutritional value, it's bad for their teeth and it's too dang expensive for 7 kids to be sucking it down all day long. Now I have the juice box. I'll buy one $2.00 pack of Capri-Suns and hide them. Then when I know it's going to be a rough day, or we have tons of errands to run I will present it as their prize. Suddenly, toys are getting put away, the five-year-old's putting shoes on the two-year-old, somebody's pouring my coffee while they do the dishes and thaw out the dinner for the evening....well maybe it doesn't produce that much cooperation, but it's close. For my big kids it's a Sprite, even better if they get the can, like the can is some golden goblet of triumph, they walk around saying "I'm going to get a whole Sprite, mom said I can drink it out of the can." This is also how they know there's a special occasion, a birthday party or a baptism. They'll see Sprite or Juice in the fridge and immediately ask "hey mom, whose coming over for dinner?"
Pizza: Ah, pizza. Remember when you liked pizza? Remember when you even craved it sometimes? Kids ruin pizza for us because we end up eating it way more than we want and way more than we should. There have certainly been times when we have abused this motivator to the point where it has lost all it's motivating power. This is usually when I am 8+ months pregnant and the thought of making dinner, especially on the weekends, makes me curl up into a ball and start crying so my husband quickly smiles and says "maybe we should just get pizza for dinner?" I have a few very picky eaters but they in particular would eat pizza every single meal, every single day forever and be happy. This morning, at 6:30 AM my three-year-old daughter asked me what was for dinner (because I love thinking about dinner while I am making breakfast!) and when I said probably spaghetti, she said "moooom. I don't want bisgetti, I only want pizza." Therein lies it's miraculous power. Unfortunately, pizza is pretty terrible for us, but if it were healthy, they wouldn't want it.
What are your go-to motivators? I stress that I do not like to think of them as bribes which may just be a game of semantics, but the word "bribe" makes me feel like such a bad parent. We're just teaching them that hard work and obedience should be rewarded, that sometimes we do things we don't really like so that we can enjoy something we love. We try to weave in all the virtue and character stuff too, I promise, but sometimes life is messy and you just need to get four kids in and out of the pediatrician's office without getting flagged by CPS, so you load your purse with DUM-DUM's, tell them you'll get pizza for lunch, and make sure you have ice cream in the freezer.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Who has time to pray?
I was thinking back recently, to when I had two children (I deliberately did not say "only" two children, because there is no such thing as "only" when it comes to children: it is ALL hard work and we are often overwhelmed at every stage). I was remembering how much guilt I used to heap on myself, well about everything, but especially about my spiritual life.
Motherhood comes with a ton of pressure, most of which we put on ourselves and when we fall short of the goals we have set, whether we have set them ourselves or have allowed "society" to set them for us, we tend to feel paralyzed by guilt and self-ridicule.
The great irony is that a close relationship with God can save us from all this unnecessary guilt but then when we consider what that entails and the sheer time and energy it will take we're right back to feeling guilty and helpless and now like a loser because we can't even make time for God!
The good news is God knows better than anyone how hard our job is. He is the only one that is with us, in the trenches, all the time. He sees the sleepless nights, the endless line of poopy diapers, the endless noise (happy noise, angry noise, siblings-fighting-again noise), the unclean house, the insistent need for dinner (every.single.night!) even the frustration of not recognizing ourselves in the mirror because these baby humans have ruined the packaging. And yet he does call us to pray, he calls us closer to himself and he offers great rewards for those who draw close to him.
So what are we supposed to do? Let the children run crazy, ignore the dishes, stuff the homework back in the backpack and live a life of contemplative prayer? Unfortunately, no. Although sometimes that sounds super appealing. God did not call you to be a nun or a consecrated he called you to be a mom. Now, I in no way claim to be an expert on spiritual things but here are a few things I've learned in this decade of parenting with my numbers every and rapidly increasing that just might help you if you find yourself wondering "how and when am I supposed to make time to pray!?"
1. Prayer does not have to be contemplative: I think people often envision prayer one of two ways either contemplatively reciting prayers like the Rosary or the Divine Mercy, or seriously storming the gates of heaven with intense personal prayer for your needs and the needs of others. As Catholics we are more inclined to envision the former but I grew up Protestant so there's still a lot of the latter in me too. The truth is there is a place for this kind of prayer and it is necessary and powerful but we don't always have the time or the means to say a whole Rosary (without falling asleep) or to focus long enough on prayer intentions to articulate what it is we are even asking of God. So if this is what's keeping you from praying don't pray like this! Instead:
* Say one Hail Mary every time you change a diaper
* Find a phrase or mantra at the beginning of the day and say it whenever you are frustrated, angry, happy or driving. I often use "Jesus I trust in you," or "May the work of my hands glorify God today."
* Listen to Christian Music or Catholic Radio in the car or while doing things around house. It often just helps remind you why you're doing all this in the first place.
2. Gratitude is a Prayer: Prayer is simply talking to God, staying connected to Him, reminding yourself that you are not alone. Thankfulness is a powerful virtue. Throughout the day we are faced with dozens of choices to be positive or negative, angry or patient, harsh or gentle and we will not always make the right decision. I find in the moments when I making all the wrong decisions that it does my soul some good to start listing what I am grateful for. You can do it on paper, out loud, with your children or in your head but just start thinking of things you are grateful for. The magical thing about gratitude is that it's contagious, it begets more gratitude. When my kids are fighting with each other I make the one who was wronged say 3 things they are grateful for about the other. Then the guilty party has to reciprocate. Now sometimes it takes forever to get anything out of them and sometimes they take the easy way out and say "I am thankful he has me for a brother," but every once in a while you see it redirect the anger, the frustration, and reminds them that they take their siblings for granted. This is a good exercise for everyone in our lives but especially for those closest to us.
3. Our life is a prayer: I know this sounds so deep and super spiritual but it's not really. God gave us life and we have decided to give it back to him, to ask him to guide and direct us to lead us to himself. The vocation he has given us will be our path to heaven. So every day when I wake up and think that I just can't do it today I am reminded that he gave me this life, these children, this income, this body, all that I have is a gift from him and he will give me the grace to manage it all (I especially think of the working mother who carries the burden of her children's formation and uses her gifts in the world. This is NOT easy). Some days we don't feel grateful, we're too busy trying to keep the two-year-old out of the babies poopy diaper that it doesn't occur to us to say a prayer while doing it and we just feel so tired, so worn and constantly needed in a way that exhausts us, and we can't get past how hard it is. This is when you make the everyday action and minutia of your day a prayer. You offer it up to the Lord and say "this is all I have, this will have to do." He will honor that offering because he is our Shepherd and he promised that we will not want.
4. Pray for Others: As women we tend to go crazy comparing ourselves to other people...or at least I do! One thing I have tried doing in the last year or so is when I find myself comparing my life to someone else's because it looks so stinkin' perfect I want to puke, I stop and pray for them. Most of the time I am not entirely sure what to pray for but I just quickly ask God to meet them where they are, in the struggles and sufferings they are facing at the moment and that he give them the desires of their heart. The problem with comparing is that we never really know what's going on in people's lives. The mom in carpool who weighs 90lbs soaking wet even though she just had a baby 3 weeks ago, driving her beautiful normal sized car, bringing home made cupcakes to school and volunteering on the auction committee may look like she has it all together but only God can see the real struggles of her heart. We give the victory to our divisive enemy when we let ourselves judge her or feel sorry for ourselves because we seem to have less. It goes both ways of course. We can also compare ourselves to other people to make ourselves feel better. I try to pray harder for those people and remember that all that we have that is good is a gift from God.
5. Get the Saints involved: One of my favorite things about being Catholic is the beautiful teaching on the communion of the saints. Ask them to pray for you. Find a saint you identify with and talk to them throughout the day. Talk to your guardian angel and ask him or her to bring your needs to the foot of the cross when you just can't. Let their lives, their example, and their humanity be an encouragement to you. They remind us that we are not alone and more importantly that we are not made for this world.
6. Offer it up: This is one of those things I used to hear all the time when I was converting and never really understood. Is it a fancy Catholic way of saying your suffering is not in vain. Your sufferings, big and small are a form of intercession, a form of prayer. Think about Christ on the cross; he endured the ultimate suffering and he did it for our souls. Because he did that, we can suffer with Christ for the souls of others. The wonderful part about this is that Christ is not picky about what we consider suffering. Suffering is a funny thing, and often very relative to a person's individual experience and temperament. Of course there are the big ones, like death and cancer, terminally ill children. abusive spouse and so on. But your daily sufferings can be offered up as well. Your child who won't stop screaming, the endless work of laundry and dinner, your loneliness during the day, your desire to do more outside of the home all of it can be offered up. And we can get specific: offer up every moment when I want to scream at my kids for the children in the world that are abused. Offer up the burden of cooking, for the hungry. You get the picture. This is a beautiful way to allow Our Lord to refine us and it draws us out of ourselves, brings perspective, and most importantly allows us to understand the heart of a loving God. He never asks us to endure that which we cannot handle and often the big trials are bigger then ourselves. He wants us to combine our suffering with prayer to change our lives and the lives of others.
Basically when Paul told the Thessalonians to pray without ceasing he meant we are to live a life of prayer and that can be done myriad of ways. Hopefully some if this helps. If nothing else it reminds me what God has taught me over the years...now I just have to go live it!
Motherhood comes with a ton of pressure, most of which we put on ourselves and when we fall short of the goals we have set, whether we have set them ourselves or have allowed "society" to set them for us, we tend to feel paralyzed by guilt and self-ridicule.
The great irony is that a close relationship with God can save us from all this unnecessary guilt but then when we consider what that entails and the sheer time and energy it will take we're right back to feeling guilty and helpless and now like a loser because we can't even make time for God!
The good news is God knows better than anyone how hard our job is. He is the only one that is with us, in the trenches, all the time. He sees the sleepless nights, the endless line of poopy diapers, the endless noise (happy noise, angry noise, siblings-fighting-again noise), the unclean house, the insistent need for dinner (every.single.night!) even the frustration of not recognizing ourselves in the mirror because these baby humans have ruined the packaging. And yet he does call us to pray, he calls us closer to himself and he offers great rewards for those who draw close to him.
So what are we supposed to do? Let the children run crazy, ignore the dishes, stuff the homework back in the backpack and live a life of contemplative prayer? Unfortunately, no. Although sometimes that sounds super appealing. God did not call you to be a nun or a consecrated he called you to be a mom. Now, I in no way claim to be an expert on spiritual things but here are a few things I've learned in this decade of parenting with my numbers every and rapidly increasing that just might help you if you find yourself wondering "how and when am I supposed to make time to pray!?"
1. Prayer does not have to be contemplative: I think people often envision prayer one of two ways either contemplatively reciting prayers like the Rosary or the Divine Mercy, or seriously storming the gates of heaven with intense personal prayer for your needs and the needs of others. As Catholics we are more inclined to envision the former but I grew up Protestant so there's still a lot of the latter in me too. The truth is there is a place for this kind of prayer and it is necessary and powerful but we don't always have the time or the means to say a whole Rosary (without falling asleep) or to focus long enough on prayer intentions to articulate what it is we are even asking of God. So if this is what's keeping you from praying don't pray like this! Instead:
* Say one Hail Mary every time you change a diaper
* Find a phrase or mantra at the beginning of the day and say it whenever you are frustrated, angry, happy or driving. I often use "Jesus I trust in you," or "May the work of my hands glorify God today."
* Listen to Christian Music or Catholic Radio in the car or while doing things around house. It often just helps remind you why you're doing all this in the first place.
2. Gratitude is a Prayer: Prayer is simply talking to God, staying connected to Him, reminding yourself that you are not alone. Thankfulness is a powerful virtue. Throughout the day we are faced with dozens of choices to be positive or negative, angry or patient, harsh or gentle and we will not always make the right decision. I find in the moments when I making all the wrong decisions that it does my soul some good to start listing what I am grateful for. You can do it on paper, out loud, with your children or in your head but just start thinking of things you are grateful for. The magical thing about gratitude is that it's contagious, it begets more gratitude. When my kids are fighting with each other I make the one who was wronged say 3 things they are grateful for about the other. Then the guilty party has to reciprocate. Now sometimes it takes forever to get anything out of them and sometimes they take the easy way out and say "I am thankful he has me for a brother," but every once in a while you see it redirect the anger, the frustration, and reminds them that they take their siblings for granted. This is a good exercise for everyone in our lives but especially for those closest to us.
3. Our life is a prayer: I know this sounds so deep and super spiritual but it's not really. God gave us life and we have decided to give it back to him, to ask him to guide and direct us to lead us to himself. The vocation he has given us will be our path to heaven. So every day when I wake up and think that I just can't do it today I am reminded that he gave me this life, these children, this income, this body, all that I have is a gift from him and he will give me the grace to manage it all (I especially think of the working mother who carries the burden of her children's formation and uses her gifts in the world. This is NOT easy). Some days we don't feel grateful, we're too busy trying to keep the two-year-old out of the babies poopy diaper that it doesn't occur to us to say a prayer while doing it and we just feel so tired, so worn and constantly needed in a way that exhausts us, and we can't get past how hard it is. This is when you make the everyday action and minutia of your day a prayer. You offer it up to the Lord and say "this is all I have, this will have to do." He will honor that offering because he is our Shepherd and he promised that we will not want.
4. Pray for Others: As women we tend to go crazy comparing ourselves to other people...or at least I do! One thing I have tried doing in the last year or so is when I find myself comparing my life to someone else's because it looks so stinkin' perfect I want to puke, I stop and pray for them. Most of the time I am not entirely sure what to pray for but I just quickly ask God to meet them where they are, in the struggles and sufferings they are facing at the moment and that he give them the desires of their heart. The problem with comparing is that we never really know what's going on in people's lives. The mom in carpool who weighs 90lbs soaking wet even though she just had a baby 3 weeks ago, driving her beautiful normal sized car, bringing home made cupcakes to school and volunteering on the auction committee may look like she has it all together but only God can see the real struggles of her heart. We give the victory to our divisive enemy when we let ourselves judge her or feel sorry for ourselves because we seem to have less. It goes both ways of course. We can also compare ourselves to other people to make ourselves feel better. I try to pray harder for those people and remember that all that we have that is good is a gift from God.
5. Get the Saints involved: One of my favorite things about being Catholic is the beautiful teaching on the communion of the saints. Ask them to pray for you. Find a saint you identify with and talk to them throughout the day. Talk to your guardian angel and ask him or her to bring your needs to the foot of the cross when you just can't. Let their lives, their example, and their humanity be an encouragement to you. They remind us that we are not alone and more importantly that we are not made for this world.
6. Offer it up: This is one of those things I used to hear all the time when I was converting and never really understood. Is it a fancy Catholic way of saying your suffering is not in vain. Your sufferings, big and small are a form of intercession, a form of prayer. Think about Christ on the cross; he endured the ultimate suffering and he did it for our souls. Because he did that, we can suffer with Christ for the souls of others. The wonderful part about this is that Christ is not picky about what we consider suffering. Suffering is a funny thing, and often very relative to a person's individual experience and temperament. Of course there are the big ones, like death and cancer, terminally ill children. abusive spouse and so on. But your daily sufferings can be offered up as well. Your child who won't stop screaming, the endless work of laundry and dinner, your loneliness during the day, your desire to do more outside of the home all of it can be offered up. And we can get specific: offer up every moment when I want to scream at my kids for the children in the world that are abused. Offer up the burden of cooking, for the hungry. You get the picture. This is a beautiful way to allow Our Lord to refine us and it draws us out of ourselves, brings perspective, and most importantly allows us to understand the heart of a loving God. He never asks us to endure that which we cannot handle and often the big trials are bigger then ourselves. He wants us to combine our suffering with prayer to change our lives and the lives of others.
Basically when Paul told the Thessalonians to pray without ceasing he meant we are to live a life of prayer and that can be done myriad of ways. Hopefully some if this helps. If nothing else it reminds me what God has taught me over the years...now I just have to go live it!
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Cookies and a Haircut
It was a normal Thursday at 2:00. My three-year-old was finished with her rest time (where once again she didn't fall asleep despite my intense prayer) and we were looking to fill the hour before we would have to wake her two brothers and put them in the car for our daily exercise in patience they call the "car-pool line."
I was particularly exhausted, fighting off a migraine and trying to caffeinate myself into coherence after 2 nights of very little sleep. I asked my daughter what she would like to do (hoping she'd say she wants to lie down and watch me sleep) and she asks if we can make cookies.
"Sure," I say, I figure that will fill the hour nicely enough and then we can hand out cookies in the carpool line (because if we keep them in the house I will eat them all and I am already almost out of points for the day even though all I have eaten is twigs and berries, oh and I somehow gained 3lbs this morning even though I have been adhering strictly to my diet and exercising 5 days a week for almost a month....but I digress, this post is not about my post partum woes of untangible weight loss) and she will have a lovely memory of making cookies all by herself with mommy.
So we get the mixer out and start filling it with ingredients and as always I have to suppress my tendency to want everything done perfectly and allow my little girl to measure inaccurately and make a mess while doing it (this is when the eye-twitching usually starts). I also decide I should go ahead and get dinner started so I am browning meat for Shepherd's Pie while monitoring the cookie-making. Everything is going fine and we just have one ingredient to add to the dough. The mixer is mixing for us and Sophia is on a stool watching in delight as it spins sugar and butter and flour around and around. She asks if she can please have a taste now. I am not exactly sure what happened next. I am about 3 feet away at the stove-top stirring the meat, I can see her out of the corner of my eye, but the next thing I know I hear blood-curdling screams coming from my baby girl and before I can even figure out what is happening her head is flush with the mixer and her sweet little pig-tail (that I forced her to let me put in that morning) is completely wrapped in the gear above the attachment.
As quickly as I can I unplug the machine, but it's too late, her head is forced tightly against the attachment and she cannot move. She is, of course, terrified, and I am attempting to soothe her and tell her it's okay but very quickly she and I both realize that it is NOT okay. I put a towel under her cheek and tell her to rest her head on the counter saying "whatever you do don't try to get off of the stool, and try to stay very still for mommy." I say this in the calmest voice possible as I try to ignore the flashes of horror I see in my mind's eye: her jumping off the stool and scalping herself, or falling off of the stool and the heavy heavy mixer falling on top of her.
Then I just start talking to Jesus "Okay Lord, what do I do....I don't know what to do..." and I start running through my options in my mind "I could call the police...no that's ridiculous this is not that kind of emergency. I could call the fire department, they're good in weird emergencies, is this an emergency? What would they do...they would cut her out of it...NO I can't cut her hair there has to be another way....I wish Adam was here, why did we decide to make cookies! I should have just let her watch TV, this never would have happened if we were watching TV." I keep trying to figure out a way to just get the darn attachment off but it won't budge because it's too close to her scalp and I have no room to turn it to get if off. Meanwhile every time I move her head even a little she just screams and cries and says Mommy-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow, and my heart is physically hurting and I want to go back two minutes and be standing right next to her and prevent the whole stupid thing from ever happening. "Jesus, what do I do, I don't know what to do..." Then out of the mouths of babes, my sweet, terrified little three-year-old girl says "Mommy, find some scissors, gramma has scissors, get the scissors!" (my mother lives with us and cuts the kids' hair) I hadn't said anything about scissors, although of course it had occurred to me and I knew that's where we were headed but I was trying to find any other way, so the Holy Spirit had to resort to using my little girl, stuck under the iron grip of the Kitchen Aid mixer to wake me up to the fact that it's only hair and it will grow back. Thankfully there was a pair of scissors where they belong (miracle of miracles because no one ever puts them back where they belong) in the drawer in front of her. I grabbed them reluctantly and with my eyes half closed started cutting her sweet little pig tail out of the mixer. Chunks of fine, blonde hair started falling onto the ground, chunks of hair started coming out in my hand and it felt like an eternity, but finally she pulled her head free from the heavy, white monster.
I picked her up and we sat on the floor together and cried and cried. All I could do was kiss her head and tell her I was so sorry. She calmed down quickly and I brought her to the bath where we washed the cookie dough out of her hair and watched more hair fall out in the tub. Next thing I know she is calm and bathed and eating ice cream on the couch, at 2:45 in the afternoon while watching a movie...because she got her hair cut out of a mixer and she can have anything she wants. I called my husband, and as soon as I heard his voice I became somewhat hysterical, reliving the whole maddening event, and I inform him that he is going to have to please get the kids from school because we have been through too much here, and I cannot possibly get in the car and sit in that dreaded carpool line.
Miraculously her hair doesn't look that bad. She has a lot of hair so there's a small bald spot and a chunk that's about 2 inches short and then some random strands 4-6 inches long in the back, but if I comb it just right you can't even tell. Of course it wouldn't matter if her hair looked terrible because she is safe and unhurt and nothing worse happened to her...but she is one little girl in the middle of 5 little boys and she refuses to wear dresses, or skirts and wants to play T-ball this season instead of take dance, and the one thing I have is that sweet braid-able hair! ( Just a small caveat: If you are someone experiencing true suffering and sacrifice with your little girl please know that I realize this was not real suffering and her tufts of hair do not represent real loss, and I thank God everyday for the health of my children)
So I suppose there is a moral to this story. Perhaps it is to not be so busy browning meat while making cookies that you do not see the pig-tail on it's way into the monstrous grip of the machine making cookies for you. Perhaps it is to be present to every moment, even the bad ones. Or perhaps when exhausted and in pain and trying to decide between watching a movie with your kid or making cookies you should pick the movie every time. Needless to say, Sophia is a bit terrified of the Kitchen Aid now, and it may take some time and therapy to get her to be mommy's little helper ever again.
I was particularly exhausted, fighting off a migraine and trying to caffeinate myself into coherence after 2 nights of very little sleep. I asked my daughter what she would like to do (hoping she'd say she wants to lie down and watch me sleep) and she asks if we can make cookies.
"Sure," I say, I figure that will fill the hour nicely enough and then we can hand out cookies in the carpool line (because if we keep them in the house I will eat them all and I am already almost out of points for the day even though all I have eaten is twigs and berries, oh and I somehow gained 3lbs this morning even though I have been adhering strictly to my diet and exercising 5 days a week for almost a month....but I digress, this post is not about my post partum woes of untangible weight loss) and she will have a lovely memory of making cookies all by herself with mommy.
So we get the mixer out and start filling it with ingredients and as always I have to suppress my tendency to want everything done perfectly and allow my little girl to measure inaccurately and make a mess while doing it (this is when the eye-twitching usually starts). I also decide I should go ahead and get dinner started so I am browning meat for Shepherd's Pie while monitoring the cookie-making. Everything is going fine and we just have one ingredient to add to the dough. The mixer is mixing for us and Sophia is on a stool watching in delight as it spins sugar and butter and flour around and around. She asks if she can please have a taste now. I am not exactly sure what happened next. I am about 3 feet away at the stove-top stirring the meat, I can see her out of the corner of my eye, but the next thing I know I hear blood-curdling screams coming from my baby girl and before I can even figure out what is happening her head is flush with the mixer and her sweet little pig-tail (that I forced her to let me put in that morning) is completely wrapped in the gear above the attachment.
As quickly as I can I unplug the machine, but it's too late, her head is forced tightly against the attachment and she cannot move. She is, of course, terrified, and I am attempting to soothe her and tell her it's okay but very quickly she and I both realize that it is NOT okay. I put a towel under her cheek and tell her to rest her head on the counter saying "whatever you do don't try to get off of the stool, and try to stay very still for mommy." I say this in the calmest voice possible as I try to ignore the flashes of horror I see in my mind's eye: her jumping off the stool and scalping herself, or falling off of the stool and the heavy heavy mixer falling on top of her.
Then I just start talking to Jesus "Okay Lord, what do I do....I don't know what to do..." and I start running through my options in my mind "I could call the police...no that's ridiculous this is not that kind of emergency. I could call the fire department, they're good in weird emergencies, is this an emergency? What would they do...they would cut her out of it...NO I can't cut her hair there has to be another way....I wish Adam was here, why did we decide to make cookies! I should have just let her watch TV, this never would have happened if we were watching TV." I keep trying to figure out a way to just get the darn attachment off but it won't budge because it's too close to her scalp and I have no room to turn it to get if off. Meanwhile every time I move her head even a little she just screams and cries and says Mommy-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow, and my heart is physically hurting and I want to go back two minutes and be standing right next to her and prevent the whole stupid thing from ever happening. "Jesus, what do I do, I don't know what to do..." Then out of the mouths of babes, my sweet, terrified little three-year-old girl says "Mommy, find some scissors, gramma has scissors, get the scissors!" (my mother lives with us and cuts the kids' hair) I hadn't said anything about scissors, although of course it had occurred to me and I knew that's where we were headed but I was trying to find any other way, so the Holy Spirit had to resort to using my little girl, stuck under the iron grip of the Kitchen Aid mixer to wake me up to the fact that it's only hair and it will grow back. Thankfully there was a pair of scissors where they belong (miracle of miracles because no one ever puts them back where they belong) in the drawer in front of her. I grabbed them reluctantly and with my eyes half closed started cutting her sweet little pig tail out of the mixer. Chunks of fine, blonde hair started falling onto the ground, chunks of hair started coming out in my hand and it felt like an eternity, but finally she pulled her head free from the heavy, white monster.
I picked her up and we sat on the floor together and cried and cried. All I could do was kiss her head and tell her I was so sorry. She calmed down quickly and I brought her to the bath where we washed the cookie dough out of her hair and watched more hair fall out in the tub. Next thing I know she is calm and bathed and eating ice cream on the couch, at 2:45 in the afternoon while watching a movie...because she got her hair cut out of a mixer and she can have anything she wants. I called my husband, and as soon as I heard his voice I became somewhat hysterical, reliving the whole maddening event, and I inform him that he is going to have to please get the kids from school because we have been through too much here, and I cannot possibly get in the car and sit in that dreaded carpool line.
Miraculously her hair doesn't look that bad. She has a lot of hair so there's a small bald spot and a chunk that's about 2 inches short and then some random strands 4-6 inches long in the back, but if I comb it just right you can't even tell. Of course it wouldn't matter if her hair looked terrible because she is safe and unhurt and nothing worse happened to her...but she is one little girl in the middle of 5 little boys and she refuses to wear dresses, or skirts and wants to play T-ball this season instead of take dance, and the one thing I have is that sweet braid-able hair! ( Just a small caveat: If you are someone experiencing true suffering and sacrifice with your little girl please know that I realize this was not real suffering and her tufts of hair do not represent real loss, and I thank God everyday for the health of my children)
So I suppose there is a moral to this story. Perhaps it is to not be so busy browning meat while making cookies that you do not see the pig-tail on it's way into the monstrous grip of the machine making cookies for you. Perhaps it is to be present to every moment, even the bad ones. Or perhaps when exhausted and in pain and trying to decide between watching a movie with your kid or making cookies you should pick the movie every time. Needless to say, Sophia is a bit terrified of the Kitchen Aid now, and it may take some time and therapy to get her to be mommy's little helper ever again.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
The Best Laid Plans
It's been a while since I've written anything on my blog. This is a gross understatement since it's been over a year!
There are myriad of reasons why I stopped, one being that I had a long discussion about blogs one night with some good friends (most or none of whom knew I blogged) and everyone's general opinion of the practice was that it was narcissistic, irresponsible and embarrassing...at least most of the time, ha! So that rang in my head a bit.
However, while I was consistent with the practice I had so many people encourage me and ask me to write more so that wasn't really all it was.
I got pregnant. That's really what happened. After posts about the beauty of the Church's teaching and my gratitude for NFP, even if sometimes it meant hiding naked in my closet I found myself unexpectedly, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me pregnant.
I avoiding writing because I was not in a great place. I was angry, I was sad, I was confused. I wanted more children but there were so many reasons why it was not a good time. It wasn't my time. My health is not great and we had been determined to get things under control before the next baby. My husband is a teacher so needless to say we're not exactly stock piling college funds for the 6 we already have and I was watching my husband work three jobs most of the time still wondering how he could "really" provide for us. Then there's the issue of the six souls I am faced with forming, nurturing, getting to heaven!
It made good sense to wait a while. This was also the consensus of practically everyone we know as well, especially family and those closest to us in our lives.
But there it was, big fat positive test. Big fat lying chart. I won't walk you through the whole grueling experience but let's just say I wasn't really okay about this baby until he got here.
The pregnancy was brutal, as all of them have been in their own way. But some of the wonderfully placed priests and spiritual leaders in my life encouraged me over and over (like once a week as I cried in the confessional!) that God had a plan, that all His plans are good, and that everything was going to be okay. My spiritual director just kept telling me to offer up every part of the suffering, emotional and physical for some intention or intentions; that God cannot ignore the cries of His children, especially when he has called them to suffer, and there is power in sacrificial prayer.
So many good things came out of this season of my life. The best of which is of course the baby that we now cannot even imagine for one second living our lives without. But as always God gives so much more than we deserve. Here are just a few other things he gave me in the process:
Compassion: I love babies. Up to this point I had always gotten pregnant deliberately and convinced myself it was my idea. Finding myself pregnant when I felt I had no resources to handle it: physically, emotionally, financially, made me feel so much compassion for women who find themselves in this situation everyday. It made me realize that I had always been too judgmental about woman who consider or go through with abortion. I did not consider an abortion but I sure as hell understood how a woman alone, afraid and unformed who has not been taught the real value of a life, and the goodness of a forgiving God could convince herself that abortion is the answer. I began to pray for those women in a way I had never been able to before.
Perspective: This one took awhile but eventually I was able to see not only the great gift of this life but the lives of all these little people running around screaming and messing up my house. Not that I had never thought of them as gifts before but the word "gift" began to change for me. With the "planned" babies we felt somehow responsible: "look at us so open to life; we love God's gifts." But this little guy was not our idea. But isn't that what a gift really is? An unexpected, thoughtful, perfect blessing given by someone else. This doesn't mean of course that planning babies is bad, or that spacing babies is bad in fact that can be a beautiful gift in itself as it requires it's own sacrifice, but it does mean that when we say as Catholics that we remain open to life we really mean it. We remain open to the gifts of God whether that be the gift of space and time or the gift of another soul in the kingdom of heaven. This must be the hardest for those who cannot have babies when they want them; something I think must be a much deeper suffering than my own, because it is the constant reminder that life is just that, a gift, not a commodity, not something we pick out for ourselves, something only God can give.
Joy: Every time I am pregnant there are those irreplaceable and indescribable moments when you realize a brand new soul is growing inside of you and moving and breathing and he or she (usually he in my case) will have a vocation, a destiny and the ability to participate in the kingdom of God. Now I'd love to paint the picture that my whole pregnancy is full of this perspective but that would be a lie. This pregnancy brought with it morning (afternoon and evening) sickness. a ridiculously weakened immune system that caught 4 colds, 8 stomach viruses and eventually pneumonia that resulted in a chronic labor-inducing cough. So, most of the time "joy" was not the word I would have used to describe how I felt. Still, the mystery of life was present and with it the gratitude and awe that come when we realize what God is allowing us to participate in it and that is pure joy.
Gratitude and the Power of Prayer: This is the big one. This is where I am now. I am so grateful for the precious, perfect life that came out of God's perfect will in spite of my terrible attitude, in spite of my inability to see God's goodness right away. I followed the advice of my spiritual leaders and offered up every moment of the pregnancy for the intentions of others especially some dear to me who are pleading with God to give them a baby, for the souls of all our children that they would find their way to heaven and (somewhat selfishly) for the temperament of the baby I was carrying. I have two very strong-willed boys, one of whom was only 18 months old when this little guy made his debut and I just knew that I couldn't handle another one. I prayed that the baby would be mellow and sleep, and be easy and happy and delightful to be around. This wasn't necessary of course, God didn't have to answer this prayer but he did. He is by far the easiest baby I have ever had. My second son was really easy too but God went a step further on the mellow vibe with this little guy. I never had to bounce him or walk him to get him to stop crying; he has never cried for more than 2 minutes! He is cheerful and happy ALL the time; will let anyone hold him and sleeps, nurses and eats like a pro. I don't say this to make you hate me (although all you dear mothers of colicky children are allowed to!) but to testify to the sweet goodness of God. He transformed my suffering and my anger and my doubt into a beautiful gift, a gift that looks up at me and melts my heart every day, a gift that brings joy and laughter into our home, a gift that can even make the stubborn 2 year old stop what he is doing and selflessly love his baby brother. A gift that has humbled me, transformed our family forever and shown us the goodness of a loving God.
Everyday I thank God for interrupting our best laid plans. This life he has given us is not easy, it's not supposed to be. We've already started using NFP again, this time with even more determination and caution and I do hope that God gives us more time this time. We know we have a responsibility to these souls and we want to be good stewards, the best we can be and we are grateful to the Church and the minds within it that there are resources available to us that can help us do that. I do not see another baby in our immediate or even distant future but I know more than ever that God is really the one in control and that His ways are not my ways, but His ways are always good.
There are myriad of reasons why I stopped, one being that I had a long discussion about blogs one night with some good friends (most or none of whom knew I blogged) and everyone's general opinion of the practice was that it was narcissistic, irresponsible and embarrassing...at least most of the time, ha! So that rang in my head a bit.
However, while I was consistent with the practice I had so many people encourage me and ask me to write more so that wasn't really all it was.
I got pregnant. That's really what happened. After posts about the beauty of the Church's teaching and my gratitude for NFP, even if sometimes it meant hiding naked in my closet I found myself unexpectedly, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me pregnant.
I avoiding writing because I was not in a great place. I was angry, I was sad, I was confused. I wanted more children but there were so many reasons why it was not a good time. It wasn't my time. My health is not great and we had been determined to get things under control before the next baby. My husband is a teacher so needless to say we're not exactly stock piling college funds for the 6 we already have and I was watching my husband work three jobs most of the time still wondering how he could "really" provide for us. Then there's the issue of the six souls I am faced with forming, nurturing, getting to heaven!
It made good sense to wait a while. This was also the consensus of practically everyone we know as well, especially family and those closest to us in our lives.
But there it was, big fat positive test. Big fat lying chart. I won't walk you through the whole grueling experience but let's just say I wasn't really okay about this baby until he got here.
The pregnancy was brutal, as all of them have been in their own way. But some of the wonderfully placed priests and spiritual leaders in my life encouraged me over and over (like once a week as I cried in the confessional!) that God had a plan, that all His plans are good, and that everything was going to be okay. My spiritual director just kept telling me to offer up every part of the suffering, emotional and physical for some intention or intentions; that God cannot ignore the cries of His children, especially when he has called them to suffer, and there is power in sacrificial prayer.
So many good things came out of this season of my life. The best of which is of course the baby that we now cannot even imagine for one second living our lives without. But as always God gives so much more than we deserve. Here are just a few other things he gave me in the process:
Compassion: I love babies. Up to this point I had always gotten pregnant deliberately and convinced myself it was my idea. Finding myself pregnant when I felt I had no resources to handle it: physically, emotionally, financially, made me feel so much compassion for women who find themselves in this situation everyday. It made me realize that I had always been too judgmental about woman who consider or go through with abortion. I did not consider an abortion but I sure as hell understood how a woman alone, afraid and unformed who has not been taught the real value of a life, and the goodness of a forgiving God could convince herself that abortion is the answer. I began to pray for those women in a way I had never been able to before.
Perspective: This one took awhile but eventually I was able to see not only the great gift of this life but the lives of all these little people running around screaming and messing up my house. Not that I had never thought of them as gifts before but the word "gift" began to change for me. With the "planned" babies we felt somehow responsible: "look at us so open to life; we love God's gifts." But this little guy was not our idea. But isn't that what a gift really is? An unexpected, thoughtful, perfect blessing given by someone else. This doesn't mean of course that planning babies is bad, or that spacing babies is bad in fact that can be a beautiful gift in itself as it requires it's own sacrifice, but it does mean that when we say as Catholics that we remain open to life we really mean it. We remain open to the gifts of God whether that be the gift of space and time or the gift of another soul in the kingdom of heaven. This must be the hardest for those who cannot have babies when they want them; something I think must be a much deeper suffering than my own, because it is the constant reminder that life is just that, a gift, not a commodity, not something we pick out for ourselves, something only God can give.
Joy: Every time I am pregnant there are those irreplaceable and indescribable moments when you realize a brand new soul is growing inside of you and moving and breathing and he or she (usually he in my case) will have a vocation, a destiny and the ability to participate in the kingdom of God. Now I'd love to paint the picture that my whole pregnancy is full of this perspective but that would be a lie. This pregnancy brought with it morning (afternoon and evening) sickness. a ridiculously weakened immune system that caught 4 colds, 8 stomach viruses and eventually pneumonia that resulted in a chronic labor-inducing cough. So, most of the time "joy" was not the word I would have used to describe how I felt. Still, the mystery of life was present and with it the gratitude and awe that come when we realize what God is allowing us to participate in it and that is pure joy.
Gratitude and the Power of Prayer: This is the big one. This is where I am now. I am so grateful for the precious, perfect life that came out of God's perfect will in spite of my terrible attitude, in spite of my inability to see God's goodness right away. I followed the advice of my spiritual leaders and offered up every moment of the pregnancy for the intentions of others especially some dear to me who are pleading with God to give them a baby, for the souls of all our children that they would find their way to heaven and (somewhat selfishly) for the temperament of the baby I was carrying. I have two very strong-willed boys, one of whom was only 18 months old when this little guy made his debut and I just knew that I couldn't handle another one. I prayed that the baby would be mellow and sleep, and be easy and happy and delightful to be around. This wasn't necessary of course, God didn't have to answer this prayer but he did. He is by far the easiest baby I have ever had. My second son was really easy too but God went a step further on the mellow vibe with this little guy. I never had to bounce him or walk him to get him to stop crying; he has never cried for more than 2 minutes! He is cheerful and happy ALL the time; will let anyone hold him and sleeps, nurses and eats like a pro. I don't say this to make you hate me (although all you dear mothers of colicky children are allowed to!) but to testify to the sweet goodness of God. He transformed my suffering and my anger and my doubt into a beautiful gift, a gift that looks up at me and melts my heart every day, a gift that brings joy and laughter into our home, a gift that can even make the stubborn 2 year old stop what he is doing and selflessly love his baby brother. A gift that has humbled me, transformed our family forever and shown us the goodness of a loving God.
Everyday I thank God for interrupting our best laid plans. This life he has given us is not easy, it's not supposed to be. We've already started using NFP again, this time with even more determination and caution and I do hope that God gives us more time this time. We know we have a responsibility to these souls and we want to be good stewards, the best we can be and we are grateful to the Church and the minds within it that there are resources available to us that can help us do that. I do not see another baby in our immediate or even distant future but I know more than ever that God is really the one in control and that His ways are not my ways, but His ways are always good.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
You are Not the Only One
I was talking to one of me dear sister's in law the other day who recently had her third baby. They just moved to a new place and find themselves without much community, a hardship that is most burdensome to the stay at home mom. We were talking about her kids and she admitted to being overwhelmed sometimes with three (something I find people are remiss to admit to me sometimes just because I have more children, but believe me I was overwhelmed long before we got to six!). Then she said with a meek and shameful tone in her voice "I think I am the only mom who yells at her kids." My response probably should have been one of quiet assurance and sympathy but it went more like this: "BHAAAAA! Are you kidding me?! Should I run down the litany of ridiculous things I have done today to make you feel better?"
That's the funny thing about motherhood. You know you aren't alone, that there are millions of moms out there doing the same thing you are. Millions of us, around the world, that get up and think about everyone but ourselves for hours (sometimes days) at a time. We forgo the shower, sniff our clothes to see if we can wear them one more time, get our exercise while wearing people, or while navigating yoga poses around the toddler asking for goldfish with no regard to your concerns about maintaining a decent heart rate. We think about dinner with a looming dread as soon as we get the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher; we coordinate schedules, and clean toilets (and if you have boys this mostly consists of constantly cleaning the pee off the floor and never quite eradicating the odor it leaves behind); we teach, entertain, referee, and on a good day save time and energy to listen to (or on a really good day have sex with) our husbands. We are not alone and yet most women often feel like they are the only ones that don't love this job every second, the only ones that feel frustration or guilt or shame about the mistakes we make, the only one that dreams about running away without telling any one and escaping to Mexico where there are free-flowing margaritas and sun and quiet.
So today I thought I would give you a peek into just a few of my mistakes, the things I feel guilty about and the habits I convince myself no one else has. Hopefully it will remind you you are not alone, or at least convince you that your kids are better off then mine!
Television:
The Rule: No TV on weekdays for the school-aged children and no TV for the little ones until after nap time.
What Really Happens: My sad attempt at craft time ends with paint all over the floor and my clean shirt (which I was planning on wearing for 2 more days) the 3 year old hits the 2 year old with his paint brush, she screams and pours her paint out on the table meanwhile the baby pulls the plastic table cloth (where incidentally none of the spilled paint has ended up) so hard that the water cups spill until finally I pick up all the paint brushes and say as cheerfully as I can through gritted teeth "who wants to watch a Curious George?"
Sugar
The Rule: No sugar during the day and only in the evening if you have finished your dinner with a cheerful attitude.
What Really Happens: We have a busy morning with 2 doctors visits and remarkably everyone has held it together, then I remember that I have to get bread and milk or there will be nothing for lunches and I will have to go to the store at 8:30pm when I am half asleep, and I'll end up buying Ben and Jerry's and 7 other things I do not need. So we brave the isles and all is well for about 2 minutes, until the toddlers start fighting and the baby starts crying and before you know it I have closed their mouth holes with 2 donuts and pretend we are running "for fun" to the back of the store where they strategically keep the milk so that desperate mothers like me will end up buying donuts, at noon, before they feed their kids lunch.
Fast Food
The Rule: I will cook dinner a minimum of 6 days a week and it will be balanced and healthy and if you don't like it you can have a PBJ or go hungry.
What Really Happens: I forgot to thaw the hamburger for the tacos, and didn't really want that anyway, and then my husband is unexpectedly delayed at work. I consider the groans I'll get when I put said taco meet in front of a toddler and then I decide it would be easier to pile the kids in the car and drive through Wendy's. I'll cut up an apple or something and then it will be balanced, right? At least the baby will get a good meal...would you like a side of fries with that breast milk?
Yelling
The Rule: We do not raise our voices to each other; we do not yell to get our way; mommy will only yell when you are in danger and not when she is angry.
What actually happens: Eight-year-old yells at six-year-old, six-year-old whines and cries, three-year-old pushes six-year-old and suddenly eight-year-old is defending six-year-old by yelling at three-year-old to stop. Two-year-old wants juice, we don't have juice, two-year-old starts screaming and moaning while the aforementioned three-year-old hits the aforementioned eight-year-old and the noise and chaos wakes the sleeping 9 month old. I decide they are in danger, of being strangled, and I yell "EVERYONE STOP YELLING RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" I threaten to take away TV, video games, food, water, a soft bed and give every toy they own to the poor, and finally they stop....for now.
Bathing
The Rule: Big kids shower a minimum of four days a week, babies get baths every other night, or nightly if particularly dirty at the end of the day.
What Really Happens: It's the end of the day in a series of many long days, I realize the big boys haven't showered in 3 days so I sniff their hair and decide they can go one more day if it means they will be in bed sooner. I am nursing the baby and notice some unidentifiable crust behind his ear and realize I cannot remember the last time he had a bath so I give him a good scrub with a wipe and promise to get him and his stinky sister in the tub tomorrow.
Then there's bribing (do it), family prayer time (do it every night, but hardly ever make it through more than 1 decade of the rosary and that is usually painful or it's one Our Father and a kiss goodnight), house work (don't do it enough; my 9 month old ate at least 1/4 cup of old cheerios off the floor today before I knew what was happening), quality time (does diaper changing count? or signing homework folders?) reading (we are half way through The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, and the Hobbit, and Charlotte's Web...my six-year-old has taken it upon himself to finish these without me). You get the point.
But then, there's all the laughter and the moments where their character and kindness show through all the chaos. There are the nights when you do all sit down to dinner and they eat it, when you do all pray and they mean it, when they listen to the story and they get it. Or none of those things happen but at the end of the day they hug you tight and tell you they love you and you realize they don't care if they're dirty, or if they ate fries for dinner and they don't remember you losing your temper they just love you and they are happy to be alive and ready to get up and love you all over again. They don't keep score, they don't hold grudges, and it never occurs to them that you might be failing at anything. So next time you feel like a failure ask yourself who is telling you that; I promise it's not that little guy looking up at you calling you mommy.
That's the funny thing about motherhood. You know you aren't alone, that there are millions of moms out there doing the same thing you are. Millions of us, around the world, that get up and think about everyone but ourselves for hours (sometimes days) at a time. We forgo the shower, sniff our clothes to see if we can wear them one more time, get our exercise while wearing people, or while navigating yoga poses around the toddler asking for goldfish with no regard to your concerns about maintaining a decent heart rate. We think about dinner with a looming dread as soon as we get the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher; we coordinate schedules, and clean toilets (and if you have boys this mostly consists of constantly cleaning the pee off the floor and never quite eradicating the odor it leaves behind); we teach, entertain, referee, and on a good day save time and energy to listen to (or on a really good day have sex with) our husbands. We are not alone and yet most women often feel like they are the only ones that don't love this job every second, the only ones that feel frustration or guilt or shame about the mistakes we make, the only one that dreams about running away without telling any one and escaping to Mexico where there are free-flowing margaritas and sun and quiet.
So today I thought I would give you a peek into just a few of my mistakes, the things I feel guilty about and the habits I convince myself no one else has. Hopefully it will remind you you are not alone, or at least convince you that your kids are better off then mine!
Television:
The Rule: No TV on weekdays for the school-aged children and no TV for the little ones until after nap time.
What Really Happens: My sad attempt at craft time ends with paint all over the floor and my clean shirt (which I was planning on wearing for 2 more days) the 3 year old hits the 2 year old with his paint brush, she screams and pours her paint out on the table meanwhile the baby pulls the plastic table cloth (where incidentally none of the spilled paint has ended up) so hard that the water cups spill until finally I pick up all the paint brushes and say as cheerfully as I can through gritted teeth "who wants to watch a Curious George?"
Sugar
The Rule: No sugar during the day and only in the evening if you have finished your dinner with a cheerful attitude.
What Really Happens: We have a busy morning with 2 doctors visits and remarkably everyone has held it together, then I remember that I have to get bread and milk or there will be nothing for lunches and I will have to go to the store at 8:30pm when I am half asleep, and I'll end up buying Ben and Jerry's and 7 other things I do not need. So we brave the isles and all is well for about 2 minutes, until the toddlers start fighting and the baby starts crying and before you know it I have closed their mouth holes with 2 donuts and pretend we are running "for fun" to the back of the store where they strategically keep the milk so that desperate mothers like me will end up buying donuts, at noon, before they feed their kids lunch.
Fast Food
The Rule: I will cook dinner a minimum of 6 days a week and it will be balanced and healthy and if you don't like it you can have a PBJ or go hungry.
What Really Happens: I forgot to thaw the hamburger for the tacos, and didn't really want that anyway, and then my husband is unexpectedly delayed at work. I consider the groans I'll get when I put said taco meet in front of a toddler and then I decide it would be easier to pile the kids in the car and drive through Wendy's. I'll cut up an apple or something and then it will be balanced, right? At least the baby will get a good meal...would you like a side of fries with that breast milk?
Yelling
The Rule: We do not raise our voices to each other; we do not yell to get our way; mommy will only yell when you are in danger and not when she is angry.
What actually happens: Eight-year-old yells at six-year-old, six-year-old whines and cries, three-year-old pushes six-year-old and suddenly eight-year-old is defending six-year-old by yelling at three-year-old to stop. Two-year-old wants juice, we don't have juice, two-year-old starts screaming and moaning while the aforementioned three-year-old hits the aforementioned eight-year-old and the noise and chaos wakes the sleeping 9 month old. I decide they are in danger, of being strangled, and I yell "EVERYONE STOP YELLING RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" I threaten to take away TV, video games, food, water, a soft bed and give every toy they own to the poor, and finally they stop....for now.
Bathing
The Rule: Big kids shower a minimum of four days a week, babies get baths every other night, or nightly if particularly dirty at the end of the day.
What Really Happens: It's the end of the day in a series of many long days, I realize the big boys haven't showered in 3 days so I sniff their hair and decide they can go one more day if it means they will be in bed sooner. I am nursing the baby and notice some unidentifiable crust behind his ear and realize I cannot remember the last time he had a bath so I give him a good scrub with a wipe and promise to get him and his stinky sister in the tub tomorrow.
Then there's bribing (do it), family prayer time (do it every night, but hardly ever make it through more than 1 decade of the rosary and that is usually painful or it's one Our Father and a kiss goodnight), house work (don't do it enough; my 9 month old ate at least 1/4 cup of old cheerios off the floor today before I knew what was happening), quality time (does diaper changing count? or signing homework folders?) reading (we are half way through The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, and the Hobbit, and Charlotte's Web...my six-year-old has taken it upon himself to finish these without me). You get the point.
But then, there's all the laughter and the moments where their character and kindness show through all the chaos. There are the nights when you do all sit down to dinner and they eat it, when you do all pray and they mean it, when they listen to the story and they get it. Or none of those things happen but at the end of the day they hug you tight and tell you they love you and you realize they don't care if they're dirty, or if they ate fries for dinner and they don't remember you losing your temper they just love you and they are happy to be alive and ready to get up and love you all over again. They don't keep score, they don't hold grudges, and it never occurs to them that you might be failing at anything. So next time you feel like a failure ask yourself who is telling you that; I promise it's not that little guy looking up at you calling you mommy.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Does This Baby Make Me Look Fat?
Ever since starting this blog I have considered tackling the all consuming topics of beauty, body image and self esteem. But where to start? There are so many things wrong with the way our culture views beauty, and so many influences and ideals bombarding us every day that it's hard to know where to begin. But I would like to consider for a moment why I am constantly left with the unshakable feeling that I am not okay the way I am. I try to limit the amount of "secular beauty" I see. I don't read fashion magazines any more, I don't follow celebrity gossip, but all it takes is watching one re-run of Friends to spawn a litany of insults in me head as I contemplate how ugly and inadequate I am. Because no matter how hard I work out, or how little I eat I will never have Jennifer Aniston's ass..ets.
It struck me recently while having dinner with a group of women that our minds are so disordered we have become completely incapable of seeing ourselves the way we really are, but we can appreciate and even exaggerate beauty in others without a second thought. These women are some of the most beautiful women I know and I often imagine what I would look like if I had the time and resources they have to commit to my personal appearance: gym memberships, trainers, nutritionists, childcare. But even they are left feeling like they have to explain why they are "letting" themselves eat a tortilla chip. We are so imprisoned to this idea of beauty that we can't even eat any more without feeling guilty (consider how often Christ draws our attention to the importance of eating, feasting and fellowship. It is meant to be a gift). And then there's all the unhealthy and obsessive comparison that echoes through the chamber of our minds while in the presence of other women: "her waist is so much smaller than mine," "how does she make her arms look so fit?" "I wish my legs looked like that," "I never look like that 3 months after I have a baby," "I nurse my baby too, but I stay fat to do it" And then I think about how unfair it is that so and so has had just as many kids as me and yet she weighs 20 pounds less, or I work out five days a week and count my calories but skinny minny over there eats whatever she wants and says she never exercises. Oh, the cruel injustice, the pure suffering! My. Life. Is. So. Hard.
Or am I just creating this suffering for myself? Is this a cross I just keep fashioning and schlepping around, praying that God will take it from me but resolved that the only "right" answer to that prayer is to make me look like Jennifer Aniston? Of course at this stage in my life I don't care about looking like a celebrity (any more), but I battle to get the looming image of my 22 year-old self out of my head.
I think we have to ask ourselves two questions:
Who set this ridiculous standard? and Who am I disappointing if I don't live up to it?
And the answer to both, is ME.
My husband thinks I am beautiful. I know he genuinely, wholeheartedly thinks that I am gorgeous, and breathtaking, sexy, and strong and perfect just the way I am. He loves me with my stretch marks and my loose skin, when I am my thinnest and my heaviest. He sees ME, just me.
My kids think I am beautiful. They love my soft skin and my long hair. I hate my huge, ridiculous milk-laden breasts, but they give my children life and sustenance and it has never occurred to them to think they make me look fat. They notice when I dress up and when I put lip gloss on before their daddy comes home and they think I am beautiful.
So why on earth have I convinced myself that I am less then because I do not weigh what I did 15 years ago? And why the heck do I think I should look the way I did when I had no children, a flexible schedule, a gym membership and a 20 year-old's metabolism? Why do I waste so much energy thinking about my next strategy to lose those last 10 pounds?---and who are we kidding if I lose 10 I will just set a goal for 10 more. My husband and my children are my whole life; I would gladly, freely, without hesitation, die for any one of them and yet I let some stranger on a tabloid, flaunting her post-baby-body make me feel badly about my tummy that leaves people always asking "is she pregnant again?"
We are at war. The devil is a nasty, evil bastard out to rob us of all that is good and true and holy. I teach my children to put on the armor of God, to guard themselves against the snares of the enemy, to call on St Michael and all the angels to protect them in battle, and yet every single day, I give him ground in this area of my life. I believe the lie that I am ugly, or fat, or not good enough because I haven't gotten down to some arbitrary number on a stupid scale. Do I spend nearly as much time praying? No. Helping others? No. Cultivating virtue in my children? Probably not. If I am not actively trying to lose weight I am creating an action plan for how I will start losing soon. And I spend an absurd amount of time imagining how much happier I will be when I finally get to that magic number. I recently came across some old photos of myself in a stack of forgotten memories and of course the first thing I did was bemoan that I had aged, and then began wishing I just weighed that again. Just as quickly I remembered the moment when that picture was taken and recalled that I thought I was fat then, or I didn't want my picture taken because I still had 5 lbs to lose. Absurd! What a waste of time and energy and what a shame that I am constantly telling God (not to mention my poor husband) that I am not good enough.
Now I am not saying weight doesn't matter at all. We need to be good stewards of our bodies, we need to take care of the temple of the Holy Spirit that God gave us. We need to be prudent, and responsible. But we also need to be content when we do all those things and are still a size 10, or 12, or 22. This is clearly where our culture doesn't help AT ALL. Babies and pregnancy are only celebrated if you barely gain while your pregnant and look like you never had a baby when it's all over. You can make a lot of money as a celebrity if you were once fat but aren't any more. Occasionally Hollywood will give an Oscar, or an Emmy to a "full-figured" woman touting the mantra that women are beautiful at any size, but give them 6 months and Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers will get a hold of them and they'll get 10 times the work and attention because now they are really beautiful. Again, it is so disordered. Why don't we praise women for the tell-tale pooch that tells the world you have given life to an eternal soul? Why don't we pity the perfect bodied 40 year old who only looks that way because she has never known the joy of motherhood? Why does no one envy the breasts of a woman who has let them be stretched and pulled and changed with the life-giving grasp of a babies perfect mouth? We have allowed the Prince of Lies to dictate the standard of Beauty. We have been so indoctrinated and inundated with this lie that we cannot even see the truth as the truth any more.
Eve was created as the zenith of creation. She was God's final, beautiful artistic gesture to say now it is finished; now it is very good. Woman, in any shape and size, is God's most beautiful creation; his masterpiece, so of course the devil is out to destroy it. Not only are we God's masterpiece but we are the link to the expansion and creation of the kingdom of God on earth. He entrusted our bodies, the ones we so often loathe, to the creation of mankind. He entrusted a woman's body to the human creation of his only son.
But why else would the enemy target us so persistently? Think how distracted we are by this issue. Think about all the wasted energy, the fear, the sheer amount of time we spend trying to live up to a fabricated standard of beauty. Would we pray more? serve more? Spend more time making beautiful meals, surrounded by community and family, sitting around a crowded table with happy faces and full tummies without worrying about the number of calories that in each serving? And what about the effect it has on our relationships? We can't accept compliments from our girlfriends and even more damaging we don't believe our husbands when they say they love us the way we are. It creates distance and tension in relationships that would otherwise be edified by accepting the truth. For me, it taints the gift of children because I dread so much the inevitable gaining of weight and the increasingly arduous effort it takes to lose that weight, and we have a culture full of women who will admit they are hesitant to have children because of what it will do to their bodies. We have no perspective of the eternal, our hearts are restless and confused.
Sadly, I can say all these things, and even believe them but that does not win the war that plays out in my head every day. I know not every woman struggles to the same degree, and I marvel at women who seem to accept themselves the way they are, but sadly they are few and far between, and often when I think I have met someone who doesn't struggle with this issue, after getting to know her I discover that she falls prey just like the rest of us.
So what can we do? I think a good start is to speak the truth, to guard our hearts and minds and to pray like crazy that God changes the way we see ourselves, that he redefines what we think to be beautiful, and that he gives us the tools, the wisdom, and the words to hand down to our sons and daughters so that the vicious cycle of lies can be broken. I pray every day that God will guard my daughters (and my sons) from the poor example I set with my constant disquietude concerning my body and that before I form their habits and minds he will order my mind and soul to strive for true beauty, the kind that quiets a spirit, gives life with generosity, shelters and protects, and provides a haven for true gifts and talents to be discovered, to be a reflection of God's indelible beauty, a true masterpiece.
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