I am the kind of person who needs order in my home and sufficient time to think and dream and undo the chaos in my head - by myself! And when interuptions, irritations and the unexpected prevent that from happening, I get cranky. I admit it.
This week two of the kids were sick all week. My normal daily routines were interrupted. I spent my days holding the baby, wiping noses, getting drinks, trying to get them to eat, taking temperatures, dispensing medicine, etc... It reminded me of when the twins were little. They were so sick for much of their first couple of years. With two babies, there was never time for decluttering the chaos. I remember having to feed two babies, give two babies bottles, bathe two babies, put on two sets of p.j.'s, give two breathing treatments, give two sets of medicine, brush two sets of teeth, and rock two babies at once. Amazingly, morning always came and we'd begin the routines all over again. I don't remember many details from the early years of their life. You could say I just survived. There was never time for thinking, much less dreaming.
Now you might say, "Why can't you multi-task and think while you are doing mommy things?" I haven't figured that one out yet. All I know is that I am not capable of combining those two things. Josiah said recently, "Mom, you always say 'maybe' or 'we'll talk about it later'," to which I replied, "I am only capable of thinking about one thing at a time." (I can't discuss him having friends over for the afternoon while I am trying to navigate my way home or we may never make it home.)
There are days when I grieve the loss of the few small things that make me who I am - the ability to see beauty in the ordinary, the push to see a bigger picture, the drive to create something, the sheer pleasure of making a haven for my family. It's not so much that I've lost these parts of myself. I just can't seem to find them right now. They are buried in the commotion of the day-to-day: the repetitive process of making dinner, the mundane tasks of laundry, cleaning, and homework, the frustrating squabbles of "he said this and he did that", and the constant interludes of "Mommy, mommy, mommy". Just when I stop to enjoy a song at the piano, or put my creative juices to work, or set a nice table for the family, or work on a project, someone manages to steal away the moment. I find myself thinking, "Why bother?"
This week two of the kids were sick all week. My normal daily routines were interrupted. I spent my days holding the baby, wiping noses, getting drinks, trying to get them to eat, taking temperatures, dispensing medicine, etc... It reminded me of when the twins were little. They were so sick for much of their first couple of years. With two babies, there was never time for decluttering the chaos. I remember having to feed two babies, give two babies bottles, bathe two babies, put on two sets of p.j.'s, give two breathing treatments, give two sets of medicine, brush two sets of teeth, and rock two babies at once. Amazingly, morning always came and we'd begin the routines all over again. I don't remember many details from the early years of their life. You could say I just survived. There was never time for thinking, much less dreaming.
Now you might say, "Why can't you multi-task and think while you are doing mommy things?" I haven't figured that one out yet. All I know is that I am not capable of combining those two things. Josiah said recently, "Mom, you always say 'maybe' or 'we'll talk about it later'," to which I replied, "I am only capable of thinking about one thing at a time." (I can't discuss him having friends over for the afternoon while I am trying to navigate my way home or we may never make it home.)
There are days when I grieve the loss of the few small things that make me who I am - the ability to see beauty in the ordinary, the push to see a bigger picture, the drive to create something, the sheer pleasure of making a haven for my family. It's not so much that I've lost these parts of myself. I just can't seem to find them right now. They are buried in the commotion of the day-to-day: the repetitive process of making dinner, the mundane tasks of laundry, cleaning, and homework, the frustrating squabbles of "he said this and he did that", and the constant interludes of "Mommy, mommy, mommy". Just when I stop to enjoy a song at the piano, or put my creative juices to work, or set a nice table for the family, or work on a project, someone manages to steal away the moment. I find myself thinking, "Why bother?"
In her book, Romancing the Ordinary, Sarah Ban Breathnach talks about losses. She tells a story about losing a purse. She found it, after hours of searching, in her daughter's room and talks about how that simple loss managed to wreck her evening. Then she makes this brilliant observation:
"Too often we elevate the inconsequential into the influential - as influencing the quality of our day - by reacting without reflecting. How hard would it be to ride the ripples of inconvenience, acknowledge imposition's presence privately, and dispatch irritation on its way with a self-preserving shrug?"
She goes on to say we need to put "lost purses" into perspective. I know that when my children are grown, these little losses of time, solitude, sanity, etc... will be forgotten. Why? Because they are inconsequential. They don't really matter. What matters to my kids are the moments they have my undivided attention, the times they see my face smile at them (really smile), the chances they get to sit on my lap or hug me good night or tell me the same story and have me respond like it's the first time I've heard it. And what matters to me is that I steward these beautiful gifts from God well. That I see the beauty in their lives, that I look for the best in them, that I create memorable moments for them and that I teach them that God is the haven for their souls.
Twenty years from now, I won't remember the chaos or the interruptions. I'll remember this...
And this...
And this...
