Hope for the Future

There's something magical and hopeful about a bunch of handsome, rowdy, active teen-age boys sitting in the loft playing Super Mario Brothers and listening to music.  How is that hopeful, you ask? Because they're listening to Beach Boys and Disney cartoon sound tracks.  I think their theme song is Rapunzel's "I Have a Dream." Our future is in good hands!

The Evolution of Mother's Day

Mother's Day has changed a lot for me over the years.  I've gone from the afternoon pleasure of finding my son using un-laundered underpants to soak up then suck out muddy water from a puddle (see previous Mother's Day blog), to having my children, on their own accord, pamper me with poetry and breakfast in bed, and heart-felt messages on Facebook.  The phrase "This too shall pass" has been a sort of Mother's mantra for several years as we've struggled through nights of insomnia with infants, tiring days with toddlers, and trying times with teens.  But it's been an adventure and joy!

Here are a few of my thoughts today about my most magnificent children:

I love that my teen-agers still love the Muppets

I love that my sons aren’t afraid to try to drink soda from a mentos geyser

I love that my daughter won’t let them try to drink it all without her

I love that my son asks me to play catch with him

I love that my daughter worries about my being terribly lonely when my husband is out of town

I love that my kids don’t really believe they will give me a heart attack when they hide under piles of pillows and jump out to scare me (I just hope I don’t prove them wrong)

I love that my sons ask me style advice

I love that my sons ignore my style advice

I love that my daughter can’t wait until the fathers’ and sons’ campout so we can have our own mother and daughter girls’ night

I love that she insists that we have chicken nuggets, M&M’s, cotton candy, ice-cream, and pop corn on said girls’ night

I love that my son writes me poetry

I love that my son writes stories with me

I love that my son is becoming a better writer than me

I love that my son creates beautiful art as gifts

I love that my daughter wakes me up early on Sunday morning to bring me hot chocolate in bed

I love that she asks me to teach her to work the stove and microwave so she doesn’t have to make hot chocolate for me from the tap.

I love that my children get upset when they see injustice

I love that my children aren’t afraid to dream big

I love that they are proud to stand up for right and share truth

I love that my children love each other

I love that they love me

I love that my children are mine

I love being their mother

So, my Mother's mantra, "This too shall pass," has taken on a new meaning--these wonderful moments will pass, and all too quickly.  I plan to enjoy every one of them and make the most of each day I have with these incredible children the Lord has given me!  I couldn't feel more blessed!

Mothers

I decided to re-post this in honor of all the wonderful mothers in my life. Thank you for your inspiration-- Hope you had a wonderful day!

Ahhh...Mother's Day!

Now, that Ahhh could be like a sigh--Ahhhh, it's Mother's Day, what a lovely holiday. OR that Ahhh could be a shrill, piercing scream--Ahhhh, it Mother's Day, hand me the cough syrup and wake me when it's over!

I'm not sure there's another day that's filled with so much mixed emotion for many moms. We're reminded of how blessed we are to have these wonderful children who are gifts from heaven, and what trust the Lord has put in us to fulfill this divine responsibility of loving and nurturing them. On the other hand, we also feel the guilt associated with our imperfect attempts at such a sacred calling.

I'm fortunate. I've already had one of those Mother's Days that serves as a gauge for me, meaning it was rock bottom and can only go up from there.

It all began with early morning Sunday meetings for my husband (really, can't someone just go ahead and add that to the Handbook that men should not have meetings on Mother's Day morning--they should be home serving breakfast in bed and wrapping homemade flower vases and crayon self-portaits with the kids, then getting them all ready for church while we--meaning I--lounge about eating bon bons?). Of course the kids were arguing over who used up all the hot water, and who took the last of the Captain Crunch. I'm sure at least one child ruined their Sunday clothes by spilling chocolate syrup down the front of them while trying to squeeze said chocolate into milk, and I'm pretty sure that same mostly-full milk bottle shattered all over the floor, along with the milk, in the attempt to grab it away before that got finished off, too. No one could find shoes or ties or the right snack. And had we owned a cat, I'm sure it would have clawed its way up the curtains after having been stepped on in a fight over whose turn it was to shoot the Nerf guns.

Needless to say, I was not having one of my stellar mothering mornings. Suddenly, after far too many blow-ups over each thing that was going to make us late for church, I thought, "What am I doing? What's more important right now--getting to church less late, or not stressing out at my kids?" So, we took our time.

Of course, when we finally pulled into the parking lot 45 minutes late, my husband was pulling out. "Where have you been? Your phone wasn't on, and I was just going to look for you." I gave him look #14, the one that says "Clearly things have not gone well, and nothing else should come out of your mouth right now unless it is about how, just to show me how wonderful I am, you are going to whip up some dinner and give me a 45 minute foot massage as I enjoy Pride and Prejudice while dinner cooks." We went inside.

It was a little difficult to appreciate all the talk at church about how sweet and wonderful mothers are, and how we are the angels walking the earth who give our children a glimpse of heaven, blah, blah, blah. But at least I was sitting down for a while.

I made it through church with my little potted petunia gift, then headed home, dreading the disaster left behind that would now greet me at the front door. Feeling pretty well spent and sufficiently guilty for my less-than-heavenly performance that day, I spotted my youngest son outside.

Curious as to what he was doing I went out. That was my next mistake. There he was sitting beside a big, dirty puddle. In his hand was a pair of underpants he had taken from the dirty laundry (or possibly just picked up off the floor somewhere, after the morning we'd had). As I watched, horrified, he proceeded to dip the underwear into the puddle, now brace yourself, then suck out the dirty water! AHHHHHH!

"I was thirsty," he said.

All I could do was laugh, maybe a bit hysterically, to keep myself from screaming and crying. It had been one of those Mother's Days. I understood.

I could have had a break down. I could have wallowed in guilt and frustration. I could have made a list as long as Long Island of all the things I could be doing better. But in the end, I just gave myself a pat on the back and thanked Heavenly Father for such ingenious children. Ahhhhh--Mother's Day!