Simplifying… me

They say confession is good for the soul.  Okay.  I’ve got a confession to make.  Throughout the long summer months, the challenge of keeping my three little banshees from tearing the house and each other apart has been a major undertaking.  Somehow they have this innate ability to discover Mommy’s weakness, and daily, they zero in on it.  Nevertheless, because I’m a smart mommy too, I have managed to stay one step ahead of them, thus successfully keeping an inkling of peace in our home.  In fact, our final two weeks of summer vacation have been positively fourteen of the most serene and enjoyable days we’ve spent in a long time.  The girls, from the moment their little eyes popped open in the morning, commenced making beds, playing dolls, dress-up, school – whatever their fancy – without screaming, thrashing, and fighting, all the whilst Jackson occupied himself with his trains, cars, and books.  There has been no jumping off of furniture, no throwing hard, plastic objects at each other, no hair-pulling, or name calling.  Truly amazing.

 

The first full day of this sweet-natured behavior I found myself blinking my eyes in disbelief and pinching myself throughout the day.  This was simply too good to be true.  And, in an effort not to jinx it, I mustered all the self-control in my being to keep my mouth shut until bedtime when I would point out to them how very much I appreciated their flawless and “Grade A” behavior.

 

As the days went by and this marvelous phenomenon remained consistent in my home, I started to feel pretty good about myself.  “Hmmm,” I thought, “I must be doing something right.  Look at these three angelic faces.  Had it not been for my dazzling parenting skills, they might still be climbing the walls and spreading mayhem through the land.”  I was really patting myself on the back, thinking I had figured it all out and was now officially ready to dish out parenting advice to all those poor, unfortunate moms still struggling to keep their children from ripping each other apart.  Yep.  I was full of it.

 

Once again, I think the same childhood intuition that sniffs out mommy’s weak spot can also sniff out the false sense of success that mommy is feeling.  No sooner was I struttin’ along like a proud, colorful peacock then one child swiped a toy away from another innocent child at playgroup on Thursday, inducing heartbreak and tears.  (There’s nothing like having to deal with a misbehaving child in a room full of other moms, especially when you are the group leader!)  After recovering from that humiliating experience, another child decided that she hadn’t been defiant for a while, and our daily quiet time turned into World War III, thus galvanizing this ‘One-Time Super Mom’ to take away all of this child’s brand new school clothes.  (She has to earn them back piece-by-piece; we’re making slow progress.)  In the meantime, I could hear my two-year-old son grousing, “Mommy, I no like you anymore.”  I still don’t know what I did to deserve that one.

 

Then, there is the “piece de resistance”.  Only three days ago, I was startled to hear a gut-wrenching scream coming from the playroom.  I had put Jackson down for a nap, got the girls set up to watch a movie, and dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower.  I just lathered the shampoo in my hair when Sydney’s voice of panic seized my heart.  I jumped out from the refreshing stream of warm water and, dripping, ran into the playroom to see what had happened.  Brooklyn was lying on her stomach and crying.  When I turned her over, my eyes quickly focused on the large blue knot, smack dab in the middle of her forehead.  She had been chasing Sydney (so much for quiet movie time), tripped, and landed face-first into the corner of their little pie cabinet.  I sprung into action, checking for any signs of concussion, asking her questions, taking a blow-by-blow account from Sydney of the incident.  When I was finally able to rule out a trip to the ER (and let me tell you, that was a huge relief to me), I realized I still had a head-full of soapy bubbles in my hair and was leaving a trail of water behind me.  My once-inflated ego was now popped and lying in complete shreds like a balloon burst into a million pieces.  This ‘Super Mom’ image I thought I had attained had gone straight to my head, and it took one major head bump (and several other not-so-lovely incidents) to quickly bring me back to reality.

 

It’s never pleasant to be knocked off my pedestal.  I’m not fond of humiliation either, but for some reason I’ve eaten my fair share of humble pie in recent years.  The saying that kids will bring out the best and the worst in a person is absolutely true.  However, I feel that my worst side seems to be revealed much more often than all my good traits combined.  The process of growing and maturing in parenthood is never-ending.   There is no “arriving” in this occupation.  We are always moving towards something, being stretched, challenged, and struck hard with the reality that there is always something new to learn, something new to teach and lots of surprises in between.  I’m grateful that I have a hands-on husband who takes the responsibility of raising our children as serious as I do, and together we make a great team.  But even further than that, beyond that earthly father figure that Joel represents, there is another set of hands that play a huge role in our home.  Without the influence and guidance of our Heavenly Father, I am certain that I would never be able to survive all of the “growing pains” that parenthood has brought my way. 

 

Proverbs 22:6

“Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.”

 

As an adult, and even more so as a parent, I am consciously aware of my need for discipline and instruction.  God, as my Heavenly Father, is training me, propelling me to reach even further beyond myself, and never tiring when I slip up or have a bad day.  As I am striving to train up my children in the way they should go, not the way they want to go naturally, God is also training me.  His love and discipline trickles down and has provided me with the perfect parenting model.  And rather than taking the walk of shame every time my parenting flaws are revealed, I would rather focus on the character God is forming in me and the character I am developing in my own children.  So, when they’re screaming, fighting, and swiping toys away from unsuspecting playmates, it’s a reminder to me that my job ain’t done yet, and we still have such a long way to go.  As well, when they are stunning me with their adorable sweetness, loving on each other, and reflecting the better side of me, I think it’s okay to give myself a little pat on the back (because seriously, that’s evidence of a lot of hard work on my part!).  Then pause.  Snap back to reality.  And never forget what happens when I let it go to my head.

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