Best Laid Plans of Parenting

Here I sit. Thinking back over my day. The day where life took over and turned in lots of ways I didn’t mean for them to turn. Like that moment when my middle son peed on his box spring in front of his friends. Yes, peed, people. Peed. Or, when my toddler and middle son pulled all the toilet paper out of the bathroom and tore it into little pieces all over the floor. When asked what they were doing, my middle son replied, “making a mess.” Of course, that makes complete sense.

Or, when my daughter who is obsessed with getting water and ice from the frig makes a huge pool on the hardwood floors.  Although I have told her no, made her sit in time out, and taken away her cup she still insist that “I do it, mama” like she’s 22 already and doesn’t need me anymore. Great. Not that I really want to help which is why instead of disciplining her I am sitting at the kitchen table wishing discipline would magically happen and that I didn’t actually have to move my tired body out of my chair, away from my morning coffee that I’m still trying to drink even though its 3:30pm, and reprimand her so this habit doesn’t stay a habit. Fail. It’s a habit.

I’m stuck. I’m stuck with inaction. I cannot move. I cannot discipline. I keep wanting to discipline, be the “strict” mama I was when my oldest son was little. He would turn his head, stop whatever he was doing, and look at me in the eyes when I would clap my hands. When I write that he sounds like a puppy in training which in actuality, toddlers and puppies are not all that different. Reward for good behavior, punish for bad. Teach them to potty on their own, sleep in their own beds, and obey. Yes, pretty much the same. But, I’m not that person anymore.

I keep thinking it will get better at the new house. New rhythm, new routine, new boundaries. No more stress of trying to sale our house, no more moving boxes, but finally a steady routine in a home that is not going to change. But, the changing that has happened is within me. My circumstances have dictated what kind of mother I have become. For some reason, I see that as a failure. I had a set of ideals that I thoughts regardless of how many children we have, where we live or what goes on in our life, I can stick to them. They will obey most of the time, respect me as their mother, respect the things and people around them, listen to what I say, be kind, think smartly and show love to those around them.

But, as I watched my children today, I didn’t see that behavior flowing from their hearts. They were unkind to the neighbor kids, acting out to get my attention, not obeying or listening, and taking advantage of freedoms. I have created a crazy army in my own home that climbs on the table, squirts toothpaste on the carpet, fights with any object that can be used as a toy gun, throws temper tantrums and whines and complains. All the while, I’m sitting, stuck in my own world drowning from exhaustion.

My twins will be two on Friday. My friend whose kids my kids were being unkind to, said, “you’ve made it two years with twins!” It’s been a hard two years. I had and have a lot of support but having children, small children, is just hard. But, as I re-read the list of things my children did today, I’m struck by the fact that those are things children do. They are learning to be productive, kind, smart adults who care about others and make a difference in this world. They are only 2, 2, 4 and 6.

Here’s me preaching to myself: I’m a mama to littles and things aren’t going to look perfect. They are a work in progress and so am I. God knew exactly all that would happen over the last two years and how that would affect me as a mama and specifically a mama to the four under my roof. I need to remind myself of that. Give them grace. Give myself grace. The time will come when I am not as exhausted as I am now. Moving will be over, our new house will be unpacked, and a new routine will ensue. But, I don’t want to wait for that to accept the grace offer by Christ and hear him say,

“its OK, you are not alone in parenting your children. I have a plan and purpose for your children. I knew exactly what they needed in a mama and I chose you to care for them. You have everything you need in me.”

Please let this wash over me tonight. Let me know its going to be ok and that I am not failing as a parent. My best laid plans of mothering one child is not the same mother I have become to four children 6 years later. And, really, I hope in 6 years, I am not the same mama to them then as I am now. May I be wiser, kinder, and more gracious to myself and those around me and especially to my sweet children under my roof who will be 8, 8, 10, and 12. There, mamas, breathe with me. It’s going to be OK.

Jaws and Christmas Carols

Right now I am thinking about how deeply sad I am. My heart just aches. Like, actually aches. I can feel it. I felt it tonight when my husband turned on the Christmas station and the song came on that the carolers sing in the Jaws movie. Both, Christmas and the Jaws movie make me think of my dad. I had to walk out of the room. My escape? The laundry room. Because we know no one else in my family is going to willingly go in there. I cried. A. Lot. I wiped my face with a baby wipe and returned to the rest of dinner clean up while the kids rough housed with Jeremiah.

Grief doesn’t give you a warning or wait until you are prepared to be sad, until you have taken off your non-water proof mascara. But, luckily, I haven’t worn make up except to church in months. The summer tan is no longer saving me. Henry said tonight, mom, why is your face so red? Jeremiah said, honey, you looked tired. Sadness, four children, moving in 3 days, and general aging is taking its toll.

Maybe I need to at least put the waterproof mascara on and some pressed powder. You would think that really wouldn’t be that hard. Two minutes tops right? Then, why isn’t it happening? I remember a few years ago, pre-twins, I even put those two items, along with some lip-gloss in my car hoping that could encourage the habit. Once the kids are buckled, I will certainly do it. Bert’s Bees is about it. Fail. But, my dad always thought I was beautiful. He told me every.single.time. he saw me. In gym clothes, 9 months pregnant with twins, my wedding day, his face looked the same. I was adored. He really was my first love. There is no one I felt better around. I enjoyed myself the most with him.

He showed me what it meant to be comfortable in my skin, to take a compliment, and that kindness mattered. I wanted many more years with him to learn that even more; to see him walk out his days in such kindness, such beauty, such friendship. I wanted my children to see it. I wanted my husband to see it. There was just not enough time.

He would have loved this weekend coming up. I’m literally going crazy with stress but I can picture him walking up my huge front steps with his blue Duke sweatshirt on and khaki pants, saying “its all going to be ok.” He would hug Henry and Callaway, and kiss Lindley and Mills wishing them a happy second birthday. He would have loved to hold them, see them blow out their candles, and open their presents. He would have loved our new house, seeing our life unfold at my “big girl house” as my mom called it. He would have played with the kids in the back yard while mom and I arranged pictures and moved furniture so many different places. He would have been so happy because we were happy.

I don’t know why he isn’t still here with us. I don’t know why he left us so early. God’s timing is perfect even when it is not the perfect time for me. I am trying to remember that and not cry through every Christmas song that plays from now until the New Year.