Do you know how easy it is to type words that either make your life seem better or worse than it is? I think we all have this temptation to paint a different picture of our lives. Just so others will think better of us than they should.
Here at the Shoe, we are just like you.
We have our ups and our downs. Our messy homes and even messier cars. Our bills that continue to rise and our faith that sometimes isn’t strong enough.
The lady in me refuses to give in . . .
There are days I feel so inadequate as a mother. My house is never really clean, it seems like I’m cooking all the time, and my head spins from trying to juggle so many things.
And deep inside I have a fear that my children will grow up thinking of me as just a mean mom who only made them work and didn’t take the time to play. So I force myself to close my eyes to the pile of dirty dishes, the bread that’s rising, and the wash that is waiting to be folded.
And play Thomas the Tank Engine.
The Little Guy is happy and Mommy has soothed her conscience until tomorrow . . .
My poor, pantless children sometimes holler down the stairs that “they don’t have anything to wear”! Ok, so they holler that quite often.
Sometimes it seems like they think it’s a contest as to who can rip their pants first, or get grass stains on them, or plain outgrow them when Mom isn’t looking. And why do they wait to tell me they “don’t have anything to wear” until it’s only one hour before we must leave for school?
Now you probably are not like me, but I make them go dig out dirty pants from the wash basket. And then hope nobody will notice at school that day . . .
Then there are the days that I try three times to get pants hemmed up. And it never works. I bust not only one needle, but two.
I yelled after that second needle. Really loud I yelled.
Now I’m out of needles.
And the pants have one long leg and one short leg. But merciless me is going to make the boy wear them long-legged whether they drag on the floor or not.
And after too many busted needles I eat too many of these. And then I feel guilty.
When the baby’s fussy I feel like I can’t get a single thing done. So I will put the two little guys in the bathtub and sit there with them.
The work will never end.
But someday my babies will.
Probably my biggest insecurity is being the mother of five boys. They simply don’t do things like I did with my sisters growing up. I’m not sure I understand them or ever will.
And now we’re right on the edge of the cliff called puberty.
And it drives me to my knees.
I’ve decided there are two things that will get me through these teenage years with five boys: lots of prayer and their dad. He knows how boys think and tick and act – so he’ll get ’em. I will cover the other bases on my knees.
Do you ever feel like your house gets taken over by six-year-old scientists or eight-year-old carpenters? When I’ve finally had enough of lab concoctions in my kitchen, I send them out to the front porch or into the basement. Someplace where I won’t step on them, sit on them, eat on them, or trip on them.
I want my kitchen back, thank you very much.
And then after all the frustrations of the day: the smudges on the windows, the traffic jam in the bathtub, the broken sewing needles, and the Legos in my sink . . . I realize I LOVE my life.
I love the fat little cheeks. That happy, slobbering baby. The dimples peeking at me.
I’ll never get it down right, but God gave me the best job I could ever want: being a mother.