Library Storytime and Carpet-Burned Nerves

Tonight we went to the library, me and the three kiddos (my husband had to work late), to sign up for a reading program.  It was a sweet little story time with music and coloring and snacks (and, of course, a story). 

We were among the first to arrive (because there is NEVER "on time" in this house-- only super early or late).  There were a few children sitting quietly on some carpet squares laid neatly on the floor.  My oldest wasted no time showing the other children that the carpet squares were not there to sit on, but to PLAY with!  When one mother chastised her son for picking up one of the squares, I felt shame radiating red from my heart to my face.  The message was clear to me even if she never meant to send it: If you were a good mom and a good citizen, you would not be letting your children mess with the carpet squares.

Meanwhile, I had let my two-year-old out of the stroller to risk him being out of control rather than listen to his piercing howl at being fastened in.  He went to join his sister in moving and picking up all the neatly organized squares -- does anyone else's children behave like this?  

Chaos ensued.  Okay, maybe not actual chaos in the library, but chaos in my heart, in my brain, in my nerves.  When my daughter got up in the middle of the story to go stand right in front of the storyteller, I felt those nerves like a carpet burn.  Then my youngest climbed out of the stroller (what one-year-old is able to get out of his stroller by himself?!)  I had to set down the middle one (who ran to the unguarded cookie table,  I might add) to pick up the climber -- severe carpet burn on the nerves.  When the evening (can I call it an evening when it was just half an hour?) finally ended, I was counting down my daughter to come with me while carrying a screaming and kicking two-year-old to the stroller.

By the time we walked in our front door, I was miserably short-tempered, and yelled much more than I care to admit or remember.  Later, I tried to comfort myself with the thought that God gave my children me as a mother, that He chose me, and that whatever quirks I have, He still picked me for them.  He could have given them any mother in the world, but He picked me.

Then I realized, it's not about me.  

Have you ever been on a missions trip?  You go to a less privileged group of people expecting to dramatically influence them, bring about some good in their lives that they can't do themselves.  Sometimes I get delusional before the trip and think it's about us helping them.  But more often than not, I realize that I am touched and transformed by their situation and often by their faith.  In the end, they help me understand more about God's love and faithfulness and ultimately readjust my life attitude.

It's the same with my kids.  

While God certainly picked me to be their mommy, He picked them to be my kids.  He could have given me children who sit quietly for pinterest-inspired crafts.  He could have given me children who love to look at books quietly for long periods of time.  But He didn't.

He gave me my kids, bursting with energy to the point where I think it might actually harm them to sit still.  My kids, who rarely get to help wash the dishes because they'll bang them against the sink until they break.  

Although I've often thought that parenting refines and shapes people, I'd never considered that God gave me these specific children to refine and shape me in specific ways.

It's not easy, and I'm sure I'll wake up tomorrow and yell some more, but maybe seeing my kids as God's shaping tool will help.  Help me open my mind in those moments of carpet-burned nerves.  Maybe I'll be able to see through my own emotions and know that God has something to teach me beyond "be a better mother".  Maybe He wants to speak to my laziness or selfishness or hurried-ness.  Maybe in those unglued moments, He wants to chisel away something ugly to reveal beauty underneath.

"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts.  Point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the path of everlasting life."  Psalm 139:23-24, NLT

My Kids are my Nice

I was in the bathroom this morning staring at our brown ottoman.  It's riddled with small holes and has several spots that have been rubbed off.  My children like to turn it every which way and climb on top, often  shouting  singing and calling it their "stage".  "Do DOOOO!  Do DOOOO!" (Hear "Let it go!  Let it go! from my two-year-old who has some slight speech delays.)

The ottoman now sits in our bathroom against a blank wall as our bath time stool.  It was one of the few spots in the house where it didn't give the children access to something breakable or dangerous.  And it saves my back and my knees at bath time.  Definitely a good thing.  :-)  As I looked at it, I thought about all the items in our house that show obvious signs of wear from our beloved children:

• The beautiful wooden table and chairs (handed down from my grandmother) with permanently crusted food in the cracks and glitter sparkling innocently in the crevices.  
• The broken blender from the same sweet two-year-old.  And the broken sheet of glass that goes on top of my dresser. 
• The dried banana slime and spoiled milk spills from dripping sippy cups in places I don't even know about...

You get the idea.

I should replace that ottoman, I thought.  But it would just get beat up again.  

At that moment a comment came to my mind, one that a woman I know well used to say around her children,

"You can't have anything nice with kids."

Immediately I chastised myself for even worrying about the ottoman.  My heart broke for her kids.  I dream of a home that's always clean and people walk in and think, "what a nice environment!  this is gorgeous!  it smells so nice!", but that's not the most important thing.  

I love it when my kids use that ottoman as a stage.  I will take my crusted chairs every day when it means that I get to watch them try new foods and see their eating skills improve.  And leftover glitter is a reminder of the fun we had making salt dough Christmas ornaments together.  Every sign of wear and tear is evidence that I'm blessed to raise children.  I get to hear their squeals of laughter at tickle time and read them bedtime stories and watch them grow and mature daily.

You can't have anything nice with kids?  Okay -- maybe you can't have nice furniture with kids.  But who cares?  My kids are my nice.

My kids are my nice.


"Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him.  Children born to a young man are like sharp arrows in a warrior's hands.  How happy is the man whose quiver is full of them!  He will not be put to shame when he confronts his accusers at the city gates."  Psalm 127: 3-5, NLT

Moms' Night Out.

YES.  PLEASE.

My church recently played the new comedy, Moms' Night Out.  If you haven't seen it, you should.

It's packed with the crazy adventures most of us moms face daily (fear of salmonella, markers all over the walls, kids screaming in your ear then turning on the adorable), plus some unlikely circumstances to up the excitement.

When I sat down to watch this, I figured it was going to be funny (which is an understatement -- it was hilarious, especially being a stay-at-home mom often in need of a night out).  I didn't realize that it was going to be thoughtful, or as thoughtful as it was.  

If you haven't seen it yet, I don't want to ruin it, but I had no idea that so many moms struggle with feelings of unhappiness and inadequacy.  Every minute of the movie (okay -- not the biker gang or losing my baby or having my van stolen... if I had a van... -- but the day to day mommy stuff), I couldn't stop thinking, THIS IS MY LIFE.

Children playing in the toilet, making messes all over the house until it is AWFUL, feeling so unglued that I want to hide in my closet and eat chocolate, yep, the whole bag.  That's me.

And it can't possibly be just me, or nobody would have made a movie about it.  

I was reading in Romans this morning and came across this passage: 

"God has given each of us the ability to do certain things well.  so if God has given you the ability to prophesy, speak out when you have faith that God is speaking through you.  If your gift is that of serving others, serve them well.  If you are a teacher, do a good job of teaching.  If your gift is to encourage others, do it!  If you have money, share it generously.  If God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously.  And if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly." Romans 12:6-8, NLT

So, if my job right now is to clean yogurt off our intricately grooved wooden chairs, change the diapers of my screaming son who is constantly trying to flip over and wriggle away, and bear the bruises of children who consider my body a jungle gym -- in other words, be a mom -- I need to do it well.  And, in fact, I'm the one chosen to do it well, the one God hand-picked for the job.  Only He had control over whom to give these beautiful children to, and He picked me.  Me.

I don't need to worry constantly that I'm doing a horrible job or that someone else would be doing a better job.  Nor do I need to worry what the mom across the street thinks when my daughter drops a marshmallow on the sidewalk and I tell her to pick it up and eat it.  I just need to be me, constantly changing for the better by God's grace, giving my best as a wife and mom every day.