Thursday, July 7, 2011

End of The Rope


Last week was one of those weeks! One of those weeks where I can honestly admit I stood in my closet (while crying) and asked myself, "Why did I get myself into this?"  I then proceeded to make my bed while day-dreaming of a life of just Mike and me.

And guess what?
I'm not ashamed to admit that.

I love my kids, I love being a mother. But sometimes I don't necessarily like it.
And last week there were a few too many of those times.

But then there was the time earlier in the week that after yelling, slamming some doors, and throwing a few items (I'm talking about me, not the children...), I finally got into the car and Luke and Ellie from the back seat start singing me a Primary Mother's Day song. The harmonies from the back seat changed my attitude pretty darn fast.

And then there was the time when I was trying with all my might to discipline Joshua without losing my patience.  As I fought with him restrained on my lap for a few minutes, he suddenly relaxed, curled up into me and said, "Will you sing to me, Mama?"

And then there was the time after spewing some not so nice words at Megan who had spent the morning going above and beyond what she had been asked to do, sat down on the couch with me and immediately accepted my apology and embrace.

And I don't want to forget the night this week when all the other kids were in bed, and Megan laid in between Mike and me in bed watching the evening news (even though she was earning extra privileges by scratching Mike's back!).

And I want to forever remember laying on a blanket on the grass last night with some of the children and in a sudden effort to diffuse a potential argument as one child ran away with the blanket, I pretended it was our ship that we quickly needed back before we were lost in the drowning grassy ocean to be eaten by sharks.  Mom playing sharks with us? What fun! must have been the blanket thief's next thought because before I knew it, four of us were rolling around on blankets and being 'raa-raa'-ed at by a shark, resembling a diaper clad two year old.

I would be lying if I didn't admit that there are times I dream of being on a beach in Hawaii alone with Mike and no parenting concerns in the world. No un-made beds, no mouths to feed, no bums to wipe, no chores to nag about, no tears to dry, no Hot Wheels to step on, and no arguments to referee.

But alas, here I am.
A mother.
And most of the time, (lately) a pretty ornery one.

But then again, that quiet, peaceful, beach in Hawaii wouldn't be quite as peaceful, quite as harmonious, quite as solitudinous, and quite as carefree, if I didn't know the chaos, the conflicts, the en masse, and the responsibility of motherhood.

And one day, I KNOW, these parts of motherhood, these parts that for now try my patience and push me close to my limits, will one day in retrospect seem the very easiest of all.  One day, forgiving voices from the back seat singing me a song, tender lullaby requests, shark eating toddlers, and a child between us in bed, will be distant memories as slowly, yet swiftly we will move into the world of broken hearts, night-time curfews, college applications, missionary goodbyes, and life-course decisions. The temper tantrums, sore foot from Hot Wheels accidents, constant mouths to feed, hands to wash, and chores to administer, today, will quite possibly be missed tomorrow.

Onward I go.
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