Do you think that just because you had the drive to finish high
school, go to college, get your master’s degree and gain successful employment;
that makes you a good parent? Do you think pulling all-nighters studying for a
final could prepare you for those nights when you’re up with your child? You think parenting couldn’t be any harder
than all that? When a problem arises
with your child, you think you can just sit down with a textbook, highlight the
key points then apply it to your life?
Think again! When you have one
child bleeding profusely on your shoulder and the other one screaming and
tugging on your shirt, you think you have time to go get advice from anyone, much
less a textbook? Sometimes I think the
greatest remedy is a shot of whiskey.
I’m realizing that parenting is not so easy. And while I pray (probably in vain) for these
children to ease up, I know that it will only get harder. With each passing phase comes new challenges. I remember hearing from my pastor that
children sanctify you. That is they mold
you into a person that is more like Jesus.
Maybe “mold” is too tame of a word.
I might prefer to use the word “breaking.” Because that’s how I feel sometimes; broken. But at the tip of that brokenness is a new
person waiting to breakthrough.
After a crazy, insane day at home with the kids last week I realized
two things. #1 I don’t know how you stay-at-home moms do
it. You have my undying respect (that
goes for our nanny, too) #2 My kids are wild,
untamed and just pure punks to the nth degree.
You should never get more exercise running through the grocery store than
when you’re out for a jog. Our shopping
trip was a circus. Benjamin thinks it’s
a game. He takes off running waiting for
mommy to catch him, meanwhile Taylor is throwing every last bit of groceries
right out of the cart. As I pick up each
item to return to the basket, Benjamin is off and running again. And, of course, Taylor is back to throwing the
groceries on the floor. It was all I
could do to make my purchases and strap these kids back into their car seats.
Halfway home I realized Taylor is not anywhere near
adequately strapped in to his car seat. And
I can’t remember if I ever did buckle him in.
And that is probably one of the biggest symptoms of mommies
everywhere: forgetfulness. I pull over,
buckle him up, hand him every toy I can possibly find in the back seat and sink
back into the car for what I hope to be a small rest break in what will prove
to be a very long day.
Our time at home was no less strenuous. The kids continued their tirade. Taylor has finally decided to stop the bullying
that has been often inflicted upon him by his brother, Benjamin. However, his solution was to be a bully
himself. I literally have to tear these
kids apart as they proceed to wrestle each other to the ground and try out a
multitude of new wrestling moves. At one
point, Taylor had Benjamin face-down on the ground and was pulling his leg up
to the ceiling. I’m sure if I looked it up;
there would be a famous wrestling term for this one. I’m sure it’s akin to the WWF.
I think I blocked out the rest of the day. It was too traumatic. I believe it was your typical Hollywood
ending. Daddy rushes to the rescue,
sweeps up the trouble makers into his strong arms and puts them quietly to
sleep. Probably not, but however it
happened, I do remember taking a deep breath and thinking…”you know, my pastor
was right. I believe today was
sanctifying. I could have broken down
yelling at my children in the store, but I didn’t. I could have begun to cry and fall apart at
the checkout counter. But, again, I didn’t. I think these kids have built in me a lot
more patience then I’ve ever been able to master on my own.
I know it’s God-given, because it takes a God-like strength to be a
parent.”