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Since my last post I have been accused of making motherhood look “organized”.
I’m going to pause here to laugh out loud.
I briefly stated that our daily routine is just the nuts and bolts of our day. Really the bare bones of what my hopes and dreams for daily life look like.
When Squeaks was little I wrote a post titled 30 Minutes that offered a small glimpse into life as a new mom. It may be time for an updated version of that post because “organized” is one of the last words I would use to describe our daily activities. Chaotic, fun, messy, frustrating, irrational, exhausting, fulfilling…those are a few I might use.
The other day I sat down to read my daily devotional… Now that statement has quite the back story. The road to that moment where I could sit, that was a journey.
It started with breakfast. The kids had finished eating already and were enjoying some unscheduled screen time (I feel no guilt…mostly), and I took the opportunity to perch myself at the kitchen counter with my Bible app and a cup of tea. Just as I opened my devotional for the day I heard a small whine at my feet. I looked down to see Flash do a wiggle that could only mean one thing. I scooped up my stinky little man and headed toward my room to change his diaper.
On my way down the hall I passed a small puddle of spilled morning smoothie, and farther along, a small puddle of what I was hoping was water (from unknown sources). I momentarily thought about returning to clean up the spills post-diaper change, but as mom-brains often do, I began to picture one of my kids running down the hall and slipping, or better yet, finding the puddles and deciding to spread them. So I did a quick u-turn back to the kitchen to grab some paper towels.
Cleaning supplies in hand, I went back down the hall, smelly baby still on my hip, and wiped up the spills (confirming that the clear liquid was in fact water. Source still unknown). Back to the kitchen to throw away damp towels and I hear a scream. The kind of scream that might make an outsider think someones arm has been ripped off, but from experience I know to be my four year old protesting her brother’s most recent actions. Sure enough, he had “stroyed” her block tower.
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I knelt down to four year old level, smelly baby still on my hip, and calmly explained to her that the tower could be rebuilt and that having two younger brothers was going to require a lot of patience.
“What’s more important, your tower or your brother?”
“My brover.”(mumbled)
“Why not show him how to build his own so he can knock over his?”
“OK” (Said in a dissatisfied tone).
“Little Dude! Sissy is working hard on her tower. Please be kind.”
He vaguely looks up from the toy he moved on to moments after the scream and acknowledges my attempt at peace making with a small “K”.
Back to my bedroom to finally change Flash (He smells to high heaven, but is happily being carried around the house, so he hasn’t made a sound.) Lay him down, hand him some random object from my night stand to keep his hands busy and away from his bottom half (boys!), clean him up, kiss his chubby belly, and set him on the floor with some toys.
Back to the kitchen to dispose of the smell, wash my hands, and sit down to my tea and devotional.
Tea is cold.
Flash is back at my feet wanting up.
I eventually did get to my devotional, at nap time. At this stage in my life I believe trying is what counts.
As C.S. Lewis said “Children are not a distraction from more important work. They are the most important work.”
These children were given to me for a purpose. And as much as they were given to me, I was given to them. The above story only took up about twenty minutes of my morning, but it’s a good representation of my day. It’s easy for me to become frustrated and bogged down with the interruptions, messes, smells, screams, and sibling squabbles. It would be easy for me to freak out and lose sight of the big picture. I must remember my purpose and do my job well. These little people are the most important work.
I am a mom.
I am a commander in chief, life builder, soul nurturer, a guide and example. A warrior.
“Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth.” Psalm 127:4
Yes they are the arrows, but arrows are ineffective without a skilled warrior to wield them. As mamas, we are more than the coffee guzzling, mom-bun wearing, min-van driving, diaper bag toting stereotypes. We are the builders of humans.
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