Post Category → motherhood

being a mom.

LunchRyan took Jameson this morning for a nice long outing, giving me a few hours to do some fast and frantic sewing. I thought this sounded like a great plan last night, when we talked about it.

But then Ry started sending me pictures from his phone — pictures of them eating lunch and playing and being together.

And oh, I wanted to be there with them! I love to sew. I love to write. I love to play piano. But whenever Ryan offers to take care of Jameson so I can do any of those things, I end up realizing that what I really really love is being a mom.

DriveShortly after Jameson was born, my compadres — Liz and Lore, of course — were hanging out with me. After watching me care for him all evening — every moment, every second, you know, the way moms have to — they asked, Do you ever get bored? Do you get tired of the constancy?

I smiled.

No. It never even occurs to me to be bored, I said. I love this baby.

And I still do.

a guessing game.

It started three weeks ago, when I decided to kick the sugar habit (with the exception of my morning coffee). My stomach felt “off” all the time, and I thought, how pathetic. I’m so addicted to sugar that my body is freaking out.

Then came the-bad-mood-that-wouldn’t-leave. I understood maybe being a bit homesick (I know, I know… still), or getting a little tired and therefore more irritable, but we’re talking major regression. Like, the little things I thought I’d learned to just let go all wiggling their way under my skin, and not leaving.

And then the little question that pops in and out of my head on occasion, the “I wonder?…”, popped back in and wouldn’t leave.

Suddenly it all added up.

And it wasn’t sugar.

Can you guess??

:)

Women: The Road Ahead (Elisabeth Elliot)

I know I didn’t write this, but I promise you should read anyway. Elisabeth reminds us that choosing obedience to the call of God on our lives means warfare and fighting the good fight. I think that sometimes the initial choice is so hard we forget that the battle has only begun with that first step.

Read on. And when you’re done, pray for someone you know, that she would have the grace to stand — and having done all else, stand.

A special issue of a leading news magazine had this title for its theme. There were pictures of women in prison with babies; an inconsolable “crack” baby with a tangle of tubes connected to machines, crying his little heart out; a mother charged with a felony: delivery of drugs to her newborn child; women in politics “sharing real rather than cosmetic power;” a veiled Muslim woman; ten tough-minded women who “create individual rules for success,” e.g. a police chief, a bishop, a rock climber, a baseball club owner, a rap artist, a fashion tycoon, an Indian chief, and others. There were single mothers, lesbian mothers, divorced mothers, working (outside the home) mothers. There was a twelve-year-old who fixes supper for her sisters when Mom works late, and there was a man who is a househusband. But there was not one picture of a father and mother and their children. Not one.

“A jockstrap was a parting gift when Marion Howington retired last year from the once all-male post of senior v.p. at J. Walter Thompson…. For Howington, a striking 60, who began climbing the agency’s ladder in Chicago in 1967, the key to success was to `be aggressive’ and `think like a man.’…

`There’s not a woman anywhere who made it in business who is not tough, self-centered, and enormously aggressive.'”

Readers occasionally ask me why I write about horrifying stuff. Well, to precipitate prayer and to remind us that we do not engage in a war against mere flesh and blood. As Ephesians 6 says, “We are up against the unseen power that controls this dark world, and spiritual agents from the headquarters of evil…Take your stand then with truth as your belt, righteousness your breastplate, the Gospel of peace firmly on your feet, salvation as your helmet and in your hand the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God” (PHILLIPS).

There was at least one bright note in that special issue. Sixty-six percent of women aged 18-24 answered yes to the question, “If you had the opportunity, would you be interested in staying at home and raising children?” They are beginning to see that the corporate world is no day at the beach. There was encouragement also in a letter to Ann Landers from a former executive: “It suddenly dawned on me that I had my priorities bollixed up and my children deserve better. I had to admit getting fulfillment from my career was a pipe dream. It may elude me in motherhood as well, but I now know what really matters. After nine years of paying someone to raise my children, I was forced to admit my family is more important to me than anything else. I wish I had known this when my first child was born. I am now thirty-six years old and happy to say we are expecting our third child… This means cutting down on vacations, and our entertaining will be reduced to popcorn and video parties with a few old friends…. `No success in life can compensate for failure at home.'”

I had a letter from one who made it her goal to be like the godly woman of Titus 2:3-5. As usual, when one determines to obey the Lord “the enemy was there causing me to feel like my whole world is on a roller-coaster, that my family was not important, that I am worthless, lazy, because I am a homemaker. I was so tired sometimes I could barely get meals on the table. I heard remarks like, `Oh, you aren’t working at all? How do you manage to live on one income? It’s hard on your husband! What do you do all day? You must be bored!’

“As my husband and I listened to your program we reaffirmed the goals we had set and committed them to the Lord once more…Pray for me to be strong and of good courage and to remain faithful, with an attitude of submission, a true handmaid of the Lord.”

Women need to be prayed for. They need all the encouragement they can get. Sadly, it is not always forthcoming even from other Christians. I saw a lovely girl in the market the other day with the sweetest of sweet baby girls in her grocery cart. I asked about the baby–five months old, her only child so far. “Are you able to stay home to care for her?” “Oh yes! Oh, I can’t even imagine putting her in day care.” I gave her my blessing. Perhaps even a brief word from a stranger can make a difference to a young mother.

Prayer lays hold of God’s plan and becomes the link between His will and its accomplishment on earth. Things happen which would not happen without prayer. Let’s not forget that. Amazing things happen, and we are given the privilege of being the channels of the Holy Spirit’s prayer. As we pray against abortion and pornography and homosexuality and divorce and drugs and for the strengthening of homes and families, we often feel helpless and hopeless until we remember, “We do not know how to pray worthily as sons of God, but his Spirit within us is actually praying for us in those agonizing longings which never find words” (Romans 8:26, PHILLIPS).

dinner for two

This is the first dinner we’ve shared, just the two of us. At least, it’s the first that we’ve both sat at the table for.

Ryan is working late, and so it’s just us.

I was tempted to just eat crackers and apples and popcorn and whatever else I happened to grab. But no, I knew we should sit and have dinner.

So here I am, having one of those moments when I feel like a Real Mom.

I lit a candle — little man’s favorite thing — and set it on the table. I set our places: eggs and toast on my plate, cheez-its in a little bowl at his place. We sat down and prayed; he held my hand, like he knows to do. Since there is no conversation, we fill the silence with “Mmmm!” after every bite.

He wants to slam his bowl on the table, but I ask him not to. We’re having a candlelit dinner, after all. Certain decorum is in order.

Nat King Cole is crooning in the background, and paper snowflakes fall in our window.

And I remember a hundred dinners, just us and Mom, with plastic cups set properly, napkins folded and tucked under our forks, eating our fruit slices and sandwiches as though it were King’s fare. What wonderful memories.

I’m so glad I decided to do dinner the right way tonight. Hopefully it’s the making of a wonderful memory for someone else.

jameson.

We are long, long — dare I say shamefully — overdue for a Jameson post.

He’s been dabbling with the idea of walking for quite a few weeks. Every once in awhile he’d be standing at the couch with the desire to move to the ottoman, and I could tell he was gauging the distance, calculating the number of steps, deciding if it was worth the risk… Yesterday there was a change. There was no calculation, and he was setting off toward a wide empty space, no ottoman in sight. Of course, he only goes 4-6 steps before falling to the ground, but he seems content with that. How amazing it is to see him turn from the couch and just start walking.

He chatters. My, does he chatter. No distinct words yet, but more and more sounds and tones and obvious attempts at conversation. My favorite is the sweet, high voice he uses when standing inches from a forbidden object. He still thinks he can sweet-talk me. Well, maybe he can.

He’s been initiating games. Yesterday while baking, I heard him busily crawling around the floor, and when I looked, realized he had a spool of thread and was tossing it as far as his uncoordinated arm could, and then would gleefully go fetch it. I knelt down and he quickly included me in his little game of catch — which grew to include a belly laugh every time he managed to toss the spool in my direction.

This morning we came out to the kitchen early, and I turned on a classical CD. As the strings soared (and he loves when I play “air” violin with music), I took one of his little baby hands and began dancing. He quickly caught on, flashed me his charming “insider” smile, and mimicked everything I did — swaying, waving our arms, bowing. So cute!

Of course, this age of discovery, which is happening at breakneck speeds, does not come without its bumps and bruises. Besides the pesky business of learning that Mama does not allow fits or tantrums or anything remotely similar, there are also the spills and tumbles of figuring out laws of gravity and such. Last evening Jameson got his first bloody lip when he fell backwards (??), and in the wee hours of the morning, he fell off the bed. (Oh dear. Don’t I feel awful.) So he’s a bit red and puffy here and there, but what’s a bruise when you’re a one year old with the world to discover?

And me? Well, I’m busy trying to grasp this sudden transformation that’s occurring before my eyes — although I’m also amazed, again, at the instincts that kick in, that suddenly just know that my baby is old enough to understand when I say, “No more crying.” Instincts aside, I’ll confess to being overwhelmed by the task before me of mothering this little person. Suddenly he needs so much more than just to be nursed and cooed to…and this is only the beginning!

But that’s where the “grace moments” come in. You know — the moments when you remember again that actually, YOU can’t do any of this without the help of the Holy Spirit. And, amazingly enough, you can do all this with His help.

The other day my grace moment came in the realization that God gave Jameson to Ryan and me on purpose. (Why? Oh, why, why? Didn’t He know that we’ve never been parents before??) My mom used to say that all the time in conversation with other moms: “I would tell my kids, ‘That’s great that Susie’s mom lets her do that. But God didn’t give you to Susie’s mom, He gave you to me, and this is how I do things.’ ” Moral of story: God gives certain kids to certain parents on purpose, for His purpose.

Of course, that made sense with my parents. I mean, my only question was why didn’t God give all of the kids to my parents? They’re wonderful and awesome and amazing and wow, I loved being their kid.

But us? How would we ever be wonderful and awesome and amazing parents? I mean, we don’t know what we’re doing!!

And the grace moment was when I realized that we won’t be wonderful and awesome and amazing like my parents were. We’ll be wonderful and awesome and amazing the way God wants us to be. It won’t be the same. If we were going to be identical, God might as well have had the stork deliver Jameson to 46 Main St (or whatever the address is these days!) No, He wants Jameson to be raised in our house. He wants us to learn together how to be a wonderful family, a symbol of hope and light and love in the midst of a dark and evil world. And yeah, we’re not there yet. It has yet to be seen what our amazing parenting will look like. And if I only look within for the potential to be an awesome mother, then chances are, I’ll come away discouraged.

But when I remember that it’s by grace, that it’s only with Him — that it’s less of me, more of Him — I can see the potential for us to shine brightly, to show forth the radiance of Him, to reflect the glory of love amazing and grace divine. I remember that in His hands, not much of anything becomes enough to feed the starving world.

Lord, let our home, our family, be the site of a miracle: mere people transformed into the image of Your Son; people with a bent towards strife and selfishness bonded together with love and kindness. Take our fumbling hands and teach them to shape arrows, destined for far-away places in time and space. Take our lacking hearts and make them wells of Living Water, ready to pour into the little hearts You give us. In our weakness — glory.

bath time!

After some time crawling around outside, and then a little trim (I can’t really call it a haircut, since all I really managed to do was get the hair out of his eyes), it’s time for a bath.

Here I sit, watching him play in the tub, chasing duckies and an octopus around in circles. Oh — a giggle that’s becoming a belly-laugh. He’s touching his face to the water and then laughing. Oh, it’s too, too cute!