The kind of mother I wanted to be:
Always patient with a gentle smile. Dressed casually but neatly with a bit of a flare. Maker of healthy goodies, often shaped like bunnies or flowers. Reader of Bible stories and teacher of scripture. Keeper of a largish house on several scenic acres with ducks and perhaps a pony. Favorite mom of teachers due to my constant willingness to volunteer and ability to connect with all children. Neighborhood mom of the year, welcoming all to my bright and sunny home. Kisser of boo-boos and wiper of tears.
Minimal television in my home because my children and I would be too busy making our own furniture from lumber harvested from our acreage. Bedtimes with prayers kneeling at bedside in immaculate little-boy bedrooms, sheer curtains fluttering on gentle breezes, starlight illuminating peaceful faces.
Daily time in personal Bible study and prayer on behalf of my family. Lovingly prepared meals on beautifully appointed dining tables, centerpieces of the seasonal variety.
Reader of classic literature and listener to classic music.
A beacon of inspiration; spiritual, emotional, academic and social.
The kind of mother I turned out to be:
Mostly fat until a few years ago dressed in elastic waisted pants. Sometimes a clean shirt, sometimes not. Chips and dip on paper plates, cans of Coke to go with. Bible stories, yeah. Also stories that included boogers and pirates. Sometimes in the same story. My house is small and a mess. My children shared a bedroom smaller than the trunk of the car they now drive. We took away their door when they knocked it down wrestling and they were sans door for many years. Our yard is a restroom for our dog. We do clean it occasionally. One particular summer daboyz and said dog dug a giant hole right next to where their dad parked the car so when he got out he’d fall in. He did. It was hilarious.
I volunteered at school alright, because Mac was a criminal and needed a personal prison guard to keep him from going over the wall.
The neighborhood kids were rotten, smelly, foul-mouthed and ate all of our chips and dip. I hated them.
We watched television only when awake. We never made furniture. We did make waffles with ice cream for breakfast once.
We prayed at night with them already tucked into bed, I think that still counts. The bedroom was a minefield of “guys” and inevitably the Mr. would trip or stub his toe and the threats of total toy loss would over ride the gentle bed time prayers.
I prayed a lot, this much I stuck to. I prayed in the car, in yard, at school, around the house. I prayed I would not lose my mind, kill these children or leave their father. I succeeded with two out of three.
Meals were prepared with overwhelming anxiety trying to please three spoiled males and lose weight while grocery shopping for four on $85.00 a week. Paper plates were standard. Do backpacks count as centerpieces?
We read a lot. Give me a point for that. I tried to read Tom Sawyer to them but they wouldn’t listen. I enjoyed it though. Classical music? Uh, no.
I was a yeller and a laugher and a tickler and a “I can’t do this anymore-er”.
Inspirational? Time will tell. At the very least, they were inspired to be better parents than I was!
The kind of children I wanted:
Compassionate, generous, loving, cheerful, funny, confidant, smart, and most of all in love with Christ.
The kind of children I got:
Compassionate, generous, loving, cheerful, funny, confidant, smart and most of all in love with Christ.
I’m pretty sure that was more God than me.
God, thank you for these children and for the gift of motherhood. All, so undeserved.
2 Corinthians 9:15
Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!