Sunday, April 14, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Give me your best shot....
Lately it seems that I have been criticized for EVERYTHING I do. And I mean everything. From people who hardly know me and people who have known me a lifetime. My "critics" have pointed out what they think are flaws--- I was criticized for announcing my fast, I was told to give money to the poor instead of spending it on myself, I was "reprimanded" for things I say about my children.
Let's get one thing straight. I am a human being. I am a wife, a mom, a maid, a cook, a chauffeur, a laundress, a daughter, a sister, a friend, an Elvis fan, a dog lover, a dental assistant, a Southern Baptist, a Republican. I have brown eyes, hair that is graying (thank heavens for great hair stylists), I am fair complected, I have too many freckles, not enough beauty, my body has brought 3 children into this world, my arms are flabby, my nose is too big, and my personality is no nonsense.
Above all of the things above that I'm good at or horrible at, I am still human. I'm not a perfect Christian, I'm not a perfect mom, wife, friend, sister, daughter, or anything else. I may be totally awesome at some things, and absolutely rotten at others. But I am me. I've dealt with major insecurity all my life. In junior high and high school I literally could not even stand to look in anything that showed my reflection. I was painfully shy. Painfully. Adolescence was not kind to me. And really, neither were my early 20's, but for different reasons.
The older I get and the more confident I become in who Christ has created in me, the tougher my skin has grown. But sometimes, after enough criticism, even tough skin can be cut right through.
I choose to surround myself physically (not social media-- that doesn't count) with strong people. Because I am not strong. I am weak. In many ways. It doesn't take much for me to slip and fall and backtrack to where I once came from. I need people who will encourage me. Who recognize my faults and still see more good in me than what my faults tell me what I really am. I need people who will pray with me and for me. I also need fellow moms to laugh with me about how crazy our lives are.
Until one has become a mom, you just cannot explain the craziness of life. Even dads-- good dads, who love and adore their children--- just don't get it. Moms wear many different hats. Moms are the ones who get blamed when their children end up in therapy as adults. Moms are expected to turn on and off emotions at the flip of a hat, and never admit to having a bad day with their kids. People always, ALWAYS tell me "You will miss these days when they're gone" or "Cherish these crazy days, you won't ever get them back". And I get that. I do. But when you have a never ending cycle of dirty laundry to wash, dry, fold, a never ending pile of dishes to tend to, floors to sweep, toilets to clean (to which cleaning toilets is a lot like washing your car and it rains the next day.... You clean a toilet, the whole family has to poop 10 minutes later!), soccer games to attend, work outside the home, plan dinner, go to the grocery store every other day, church functions, beds to make, shelves to dust, boo-boos to kiss, dirty diapers to change, and the list goes on and on........ But sometimes you feel the days will never end. And people who don't fully understand the life of a mom, well, they often expect us to have our stuff together. Always smiling, hair in place, kids minding their p's and q's.
People are quick to criticize parents who have loud or rowdy children. But these same people criticize parents who enforce discipline, yet use humor to vent to others to escape some of the realities of living in a 3-ring circus.
I love being a mom. It's the greatest honor that God has ever called me to be. And I'm no longer insecure about who I am. But Satan knows how to hit me right where it hurts. And that's when I begin to question myself if I'm doing things all wrong. I yell at my kids. I discipline my kids. I am sometimes quick to anger. I am certainly far from a Norman Rockwell print of how a mom should be. But my kids have security regardless of how crazy we all are. They have parents who make it a point to eat dinner at the dinner table with them, parents who make almost everything we do a family event, they thrive on discipline and schedules, and they have bedtimes and routines. They go to bed with full bellies and sleep well knowing their parents love and cherish them and would fight to the death to protect them in all circumstances. And I'm still a mom who believes in trying to present herself confidently--- I have my eyebrows waxed, I wear makeup and bright pink lipstick, and every 8 weeks I spend what I think is worth every penny to color my hair so that this 31 year old mother of 3 won't look as worn out as she feels sometimes.
So go ahead. Give me your best shot. I may cry behind closed doors, but the world will see that you can't break me.
Let's get one thing straight. I am a human being. I am a wife, a mom, a maid, a cook, a chauffeur, a laundress, a daughter, a sister, a friend, an Elvis fan, a dog lover, a dental assistant, a Southern Baptist, a Republican. I have brown eyes, hair that is graying (thank heavens for great hair stylists), I am fair complected, I have too many freckles, not enough beauty, my body has brought 3 children into this world, my arms are flabby, my nose is too big, and my personality is no nonsense.
Above all of the things above that I'm good at or horrible at, I am still human. I'm not a perfect Christian, I'm not a perfect mom, wife, friend, sister, daughter, or anything else. I may be totally awesome at some things, and absolutely rotten at others. But I am me. I've dealt with major insecurity all my life. In junior high and high school I literally could not even stand to look in anything that showed my reflection. I was painfully shy. Painfully. Adolescence was not kind to me. And really, neither were my early 20's, but for different reasons.
The older I get and the more confident I become in who Christ has created in me, the tougher my skin has grown. But sometimes, after enough criticism, even tough skin can be cut right through.
I choose to surround myself physically (not social media-- that doesn't count) with strong people. Because I am not strong. I am weak. In many ways. It doesn't take much for me to slip and fall and backtrack to where I once came from. I need people who will encourage me. Who recognize my faults and still see more good in me than what my faults tell me what I really am. I need people who will pray with me and for me. I also need fellow moms to laugh with me about how crazy our lives are.
Until one has become a mom, you just cannot explain the craziness of life. Even dads-- good dads, who love and adore their children--- just don't get it. Moms wear many different hats. Moms are the ones who get blamed when their children end up in therapy as adults. Moms are expected to turn on and off emotions at the flip of a hat, and never admit to having a bad day with their kids. People always, ALWAYS tell me "You will miss these days when they're gone" or "Cherish these crazy days, you won't ever get them back". And I get that. I do. But when you have a never ending cycle of dirty laundry to wash, dry, fold, a never ending pile of dishes to tend to, floors to sweep, toilets to clean (to which cleaning toilets is a lot like washing your car and it rains the next day.... You clean a toilet, the whole family has to poop 10 minutes later!), soccer games to attend, work outside the home, plan dinner, go to the grocery store every other day, church functions, beds to make, shelves to dust, boo-boos to kiss, dirty diapers to change, and the list goes on and on........ But sometimes you feel the days will never end. And people who don't fully understand the life of a mom, well, they often expect us to have our stuff together. Always smiling, hair in place, kids minding their p's and q's.
People are quick to criticize parents who have loud or rowdy children. But these same people criticize parents who enforce discipline, yet use humor to vent to others to escape some of the realities of living in a 3-ring circus.
I love being a mom. It's the greatest honor that God has ever called me to be. And I'm no longer insecure about who I am. But Satan knows how to hit me right where it hurts. And that's when I begin to question myself if I'm doing things all wrong. I yell at my kids. I discipline my kids. I am sometimes quick to anger. I am certainly far from a Norman Rockwell print of how a mom should be. But my kids have security regardless of how crazy we all are. They have parents who make it a point to eat dinner at the dinner table with them, parents who make almost everything we do a family event, they thrive on discipline and schedules, and they have bedtimes and routines. They go to bed with full bellies and sleep well knowing their parents love and cherish them and would fight to the death to protect them in all circumstances. And I'm still a mom who believes in trying to present herself confidently--- I have my eyebrows waxed, I wear makeup and bright pink lipstick, and every 8 weeks I spend what I think is worth every penny to color my hair so that this 31 year old mother of 3 won't look as worn out as she feels sometimes.
So go ahead. Give me your best shot. I may cry behind closed doors, but the world will see that you can't break me.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Let the crazy begin!
Whew. It's been a crazy weekend. Crazy good. But if you know me AT ALL, you know I like to keep a low-profile, chilled out kind of weekend. Not much for keeping the roads hot. But, with 3 kids it's just a chapter in our lives that will end all too soon. So I'm trying to enjoy it for everything it's worth. Just a few pics. We went to my boss's house for his annual fish fry. He catches the fish in his lake and fries them up and I promise, it's the best fish you will find in all of Mississippi. And his neighbor cooks up some unbelievable hush puppies. They are famous. I'm not sure what makes them so great, but I caught him pouring his beer in the batter. Ha. Good stuff.
Then afterwards we went straight to the Rainwater Observatory in French Camp to campout. We saw Jupiter and its 3 moons through a telescope along with learning about and seeing the constellations. We had a fun time. But this is one tired Mama. Not one wink of sleep last night! And then a pile of laundry and a messy house to tend to.
If you're wondering why Brennan isn't seen in most of the pics, it's because he went on to camp with a friend while we went to the fish fry. I got some pics with my real camera, but haven't downloaded them yet. Mary Grace stayed behind with my mom, and she texted me a few pics of her playing outside. Also, the man with the baby is my sweet boss and his newest granddaughter. The pic of Ethan under the tree is him talking to my boss's oldest granddaughter. And, I'm an amateur Scout mom. Ethan fell and hurt his knee and I had no band-aids! Oops.
Then afterwards we went straight to the Rainwater Observatory in French Camp to campout. We saw Jupiter and its 3 moons through a telescope along with learning about and seeing the constellations. We had a fun time. But this is one tired Mama. Not one wink of sleep last night! And then a pile of laundry and a messy house to tend to.
If you're wondering why Brennan isn't seen in most of the pics, it's because he went on to camp with a friend while we went to the fish fry. I got some pics with my real camera, but haven't downloaded them yet. Mary Grace stayed behind with my mom, and she texted me a few pics of her playing outside. Also, the man with the baby is my sweet boss and his newest granddaughter. The pic of Ethan under the tree is him talking to my boss's oldest granddaughter. And, I'm an amateur Scout mom. Ethan fell and hurt his knee and I had no band-aids! Oops.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Heaven and motherhood....
Once, as an innocent child, I asked my grandfather-- a Southern Baptist preacher-- if we would get bored In Heaven. I mean, let's be honest. Eternity is ........ A long time. He laughed (not in a derogatory way, mind you) and proceeded to tell me all the wonders that likely await us in Heaven.
Now that I have become a mother, and time is quickly pouring those fine grains of sand at maximum speed through the hourglass.... I often wonder...... What kind of joy does Heaven bring? Does it bring me as much joy as my children?
Heaven must be a lot like these things:
Our babies who want nothing more than to be held and rocked. And sniffed. After all, what scent can compare to that of an infant? None that I've come across. The smell of a tiny baby is heaven itself. I wish I could bottle it up.
The innocence of small children and the goodness they see in everyone.
Heaven must be a lot like a 5 year old, with their first baseball glove on their hand and their new bat ready to swing.
Babies who long for the touch of their mother.
Children who find comfort through the heart of a mother, who's love has no bounds.
Kids that bask in the fulfillment of Mom and Dad sitting down at the dinner table just to ask how their day was.
Heaven must feel like tiny babies that wake up at unnatural hours of the night, looking for a warm place to nuzzle their tiny mouths against.
Children who find peace and rest from words of their father with six simple words of security for their future: "Everything is going to be okay".
Heaven must be the curiosity of a child who loves to ask a million questions. About the same subject.
Heaven must be babies you pray will stay tiny just a little bit longer. Because, after all, the innocence of a baby is the most amazing, exhilarating feeling of a mother. Ever.
Children, who only worry about what color chalk to use for their hopscotch game.
Kids, who dare to be passionate for serving others.
Babies, who find comfort in grasping on to big, strong hands.
Heaven must feel a lot like children, who find the true magic in twinkling, colored Christmas lights.
Kids, who excitedly build Lego castles and cities and defeat all the bad guys. And everyone lives happily ever after.
Heaven must compare to the way my heart feels after I kiss a boo-boo and it magically feels better. A mom's kiss is even more magical than a Band-Aid.
Heaven must a feel a lot like watching my child play the piano in his first recital with confidence.
Or seeing the world through an innocent child's eyes.
Heaven must feel a lot like the laughter that emanates from my children's bellies when something so funny happens that they just can't contain themselves anymore.
Or butterfly kisses.
Or a bear hug from a 4 year old, who's mom is still the coolest.
Heaven must feel a lot like Christmas morning with a house full of tiny feet, that pitter-patter down the stairs to find their loot from St. Nicholas.
Heaven must feel a lot like Princess tea parties, where no stuffed bear or baby doll is left uninvited. And Daddy has to wear a Princess crown too, because real men wear princess crowns with honor.
You see, I think Heaven is going to be an unbelievable place. If Heaven even begins to compare to all of these things, that only a mother can truly experience, then
I think part of motherhood is experiencing glimpses of Heaven. Because God is good. And He created mothers. And He put a joy in a mother's heart that no one else can understand.
Even on the bad days, when my kids have been hanging from the chandeliers, there's nothing like the peace and joy of watching them sleep in a warm bed.
Being a mother comes with the simultaneous feelings of joy and frustration. But it's the most honorable thing God has called me to be in this chapter of life. And if Heaven is anything like the joy of motherhood, then I can't wait to get there.
Now that I have become a mother, and time is quickly pouring those fine grains of sand at maximum speed through the hourglass.... I often wonder...... What kind of joy does Heaven bring? Does it bring me as much joy as my children?
Heaven must be a lot like these things:
Our babies who want nothing more than to be held and rocked. And sniffed. After all, what scent can compare to that of an infant? None that I've come across. The smell of a tiny baby is heaven itself. I wish I could bottle it up.
The innocence of small children and the goodness they see in everyone.
Heaven must be a lot like a 5 year old, with their first baseball glove on their hand and their new bat ready to swing.
Babies who long for the touch of their mother.
Children who find comfort through the heart of a mother, who's love has no bounds.
Kids that bask in the fulfillment of Mom and Dad sitting down at the dinner table just to ask how their day was.
Heaven must feel like tiny babies that wake up at unnatural hours of the night, looking for a warm place to nuzzle their tiny mouths against.
Children who find peace and rest from words of their father with six simple words of security for their future: "Everything is going to be okay".
Heaven must be the curiosity of a child who loves to ask a million questions. About the same subject.
Heaven must be babies you pray will stay tiny just a little bit longer. Because, after all, the innocence of a baby is the most amazing, exhilarating feeling of a mother. Ever.
Children, who only worry about what color chalk to use for their hopscotch game.
Kids, who dare to be passionate for serving others.
Babies, who find comfort in grasping on to big, strong hands.
Heaven must feel a lot like children, who find the true magic in twinkling, colored Christmas lights.
Kids, who excitedly build Lego castles and cities and defeat all the bad guys. And everyone lives happily ever after.
Heaven must compare to the way my heart feels after I kiss a boo-boo and it magically feels better. A mom's kiss is even more magical than a Band-Aid.
Heaven must a feel a lot like watching my child play the piano in his first recital with confidence.
Or seeing the world through an innocent child's eyes.
Heaven must feel a lot like the laughter that emanates from my children's bellies when something so funny happens that they just can't contain themselves anymore.
Or butterfly kisses.
Or a bear hug from a 4 year old, who's mom is still the coolest.
Heaven must feel a lot like Christmas morning with a house full of tiny feet, that pitter-patter down the stairs to find their loot from St. Nicholas.
Heaven must feel a lot like Princess tea parties, where no stuffed bear or baby doll is left uninvited. And Daddy has to wear a Princess crown too, because real men wear princess crowns with honor.
You see, I think Heaven is going to be an unbelievable place. If Heaven even begins to compare to all of these things, that only a mother can truly experience, then
I think part of motherhood is experiencing glimpses of Heaven. Because God is good. And He created mothers. And He put a joy in a mother's heart that no one else can understand.
Even on the bad days, when my kids have been hanging from the chandeliers, there's nothing like the peace and joy of watching them sleep in a warm bed.
Being a mother comes with the simultaneous feelings of joy and frustration. But it's the most honorable thing God has called me to be in this chapter of life. And if Heaven is anything like the joy of motherhood, then I can't wait to get there.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Easter picture
Just a little Easter picture. This was about two seconds after I stopped yelling at my kids and threatening them within an inch of their lives.
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