It's 6:30 am. Outside, the dark sky is taking on the hushed and smoky light of early dawn. Inside, the house is quiet and dark. Until an alarm goes off. Only it's not an actual alarm; it's the little voices of two boys standing next to my bed, bare feet on cold hardwoods. Crazy morning hair is standing up and sticking out in all directions (they both NEED a haircut), Everett is half-dressed (it's his thing lately) aaaaand they both have something brown smudged across their faces.
Oh no.
Of course, I immediately think the worst (gross I know, but... boys).
It smells like chocolate (thank God).
I recently bought Cohen one of those IKEA step-stools so that he could wash his hands, brush his own teeth in the mornings, "help" in the kitchen, and apparently access the jar of chocolate chip cookies on a shelf formerly out of his three-year-old reach.
A lot has happened/changed in the last year.
Cohen and Everett went from being my sweet little babes to my sweet little three-year-old and almost two-year-old BOYS; peace and quiet and order are a concept mostly lost on them (and me) at this point in time. In the last year, we planned and started "tot school" (the name itself feels like something of an oxymoron now) and then gave up and then started again and then gave up, and then replaced it with something much less structured (read: not really structured at all). I was really on a roll with it, but then went on a little friend-trip to California in October and I think I still haven't completely relinquished vacation-mode; and vacation mode does not involve anything along the lines of messy crafts that take 30 minutes to set up, 5 minutes to complete, and 30 minutes to clean up/recover from. Fortunately, they are both young enough that for the time being I can just maximize on the old-school "learn through play" (and PBS) approach to early education.
Also I enjoy my babes SO much more when I stop seeing them as distractions from my own idea of "productivity".
In the middle of December we found out that we were moving to Dallas, so we started house-hunting. Actually, I began house-hunting and Daniel found something wrong with every house I hunted (not really, but it definitely felt that way at the time.) While I love to watch it happen on HGTV, I am not particularly great at house-hunting, or pleasant about it. I am not a fan of the stress, anxiety, unknowns, driving, dragging kids from house-to-house/trying to find a sitter, budgets, etc. But eventually we found a house! And now here we are, mostly unpacked (unless you peek in the garage, please don't), mostly settled in, and trying to feel at "home" again in Dallas.
Daniel started a new job in September, working for his family's business of building homes (and most recently, a church). Now that we live in Dallas (five minutes away from where he works), we see a lot more of each other and I love that.
The boys have recently (in the last six months) hit a "stage". Those who see/talk to me frequently are well aware of what this "stage" has involved as they've been around for it or heard me laugh/cry about it many times. Someone advised me to not take myself (or the things that happen on a daily basis) too seriously and it helps. I have found that laughing about five rolls of toilet paper stuffed down the toilet, mud smeared across my pearl white duvet, swordfights with toilet brushes, and a little one's (who is not yet potty-trained) obsession with undressing himself (no matter where we are) is much easier than falling apart about it. And in the midst of all the cleaning, disinfecting, and pretty much saving their lives many times a day (managing the chaos), I'm supposed to be training, disciplining them, and teaching them to count numbers and know their ABC's.
A lot of the days, I think many times to myself, I quit.
I don't want to make my boys sound like terrors. They are GOOD boys. They are sweethearts with adorable little personalities. They love to cuddle, are (for the most part) very obedient, and say the most hilarious/sweetest things I've ever heard. But they are children. And children are the most magical, precious, cutest things ever. They are also messy, loud, needy, and kind of inconsiderate.
So I started asking the question: Do I want to quit because I don't love my boys or I don't want to be with them (the answer was no, by the way), or do I want to quit because it's not living up to my expectations (and I'm not living up to my expectations)? These expectations are always around... they come from other moms, articles on facebook (mostly articles on facebook), the mildly narcissistic desire for the world to see me and say, "Look at that terrific mom!"
(Note: I know I'm writing about motherhood, because that's basically all I do right now, but I know this definitely doesn't just apply to moms. I feel like this is something we all experience regularly, no matter our vocation or life situation.)
Moments and days and weeks and months lately have been an effort in stripping away expectations and just accepting our life right now for what it is... days are spent watching hilarious and extremely dramatic imaginary games (it is an inexplicably magical thing to watch my kids' imaginations come to life). We cuddle, SO MUCH. We read books, and Everett sometimes rips them apart but we are working on that. Every day, our house sees senseless messes that repeat themselves over and over again. And every day, naptime and bedtime present the same ridiculous battle (I have often wondered about the ethical implications of duct taping a child to his bed). Mealtime is a battle (I'm sorry Cohen but we are NOT eating pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner.) And then there are the battles between two strong-willed boys over toys, chairs, shows, snacks, etc. Some days, parenting has felt less like parenting and more like managing the chaos.
And God is using it all to teach this not-so-balanced, type-A, impatient person a lot about balance, patience, grace, humility, etc.
Note: I am not naturally great at any of those things. Most of us aren't. (If you are, bless you and teach me your ways.) I'm not good at balancing being both a mom and a wife. I'm not good at being patient with Everett when he's throwing a fit. And I am really bad about showing myself grace when the house is messy, or I haven't worked out, or my kids haven't napped in two days, or Cohen hasn't eaten greens in a while (my oldest child who loved quinoa, avocado and spinach disappeared a year ago and was replaced by a pizza and PBJ maniac). I realize these things may not seem like a big deal, but to a mom somehow these things become EVERYTHING. If my kids don't sleep enough, their brains will not function properly!
SO wherever we are... in the midst of the lessons being learned and the aiming high and falling short, maybe we can somehow learn to give ourselves the freedom to not be the people with perfect kids or perfect houses or perfect marriages or perfect anything. Maybe we can learn to acknowledge our weakness, own our mistakes, and repent daily. Maybe I shouldn't be the "authority" on everything, or even anything. And see it as freedom.
I feel like every day lately has been a brand new lesson in how little I know.
With every new stage or development in my kids, I realize I know NOTHING about being a mom and will always-forever be discovering more things I don't know. Its slightly embarrassing to think about some of the things I've said around more experienced mothers who were sweet enough not to laugh out loud, at least until I wasn't around anymore (you know who you are, thank you).
The more Daniel and I grow and learn in our marriage, the more I realize that every marriage and relationship is so incredibly, profoundly different. The more I fail, the more I realize how much grace I need, and how much grace is there for the asking and the taking, and the giving. The more unexpected, life-size curveballs that come our way (pregnancies, job changes, moves, church transitions, friends moving, friends getting sick) the more I realize that no five-year-plan (or even one-year-plan, or one-day plan) is ever going to be foolproof, and that there is much wisdom in waiting and trusting (not my go-to response), and in holding (not all but a lot of) things with open hands.
And ultimately, Jesus knows what He is doing with our hearts, and the hearts of others, including my children. His grace is sufficient. He is familiar with our weakness, our frailty, our poverty of spirit and strength. I may feel at my worst on the days of depletion, but the reality is I am no weaker in that moment than when I feel like I've totally got it together. In both of those places, Christ is working in me to produce faithfulness, humility, patience, love, etc.
Of course, this is what we have to remind ourselves of constantly and remind each other of constantly. And for me lately, it has looked a lot like just singing the words to the old hymn "I Need Thee Every Hour" when I feel like I'm about to lose it with Cohen or Everett (often, I've already lost it). I love that we can never be too dependent or "needy" with Him.
I need thee every hour, most gracious Lord. No tender voice like thine can peace afford.
I need thee every hour, stay thou nearby. Temptations lose their power when thou art nigh.
I need thee every hour, in joy or pain. Come quickly and abide, or life is vain.
I need thee every hour, teach me thy will; and they rich promises, in me fulfill.
I need thee every hour, most holy one. O make me thine indeed, thou blessed Son.
I need thee, oh i need thee. Every hour I need thee.
Oh bless me now my Savior, I come to thee.
Also, MANY THANKS to Kelsey Kirkegaard for the photo session that resulted in the picture below and a lot of the other pictures now featured on this blog. And lest you think it was all rainbows and butterflies - pictures like these can be misleading (props to an excellent photographer) - the session ended abruptly with one of our kids pooping his pants at the lake, a good mile from where our car was parked.
Cheers.
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