That Kind of Mom

I have been thinking lately about myself as mom, the kind of mom I want to be, and the ways I am "that kind of mom." You know, the one who stops in the grocery store aisle to talk with her mom friends, the kind of mom who only seems to be able to talk about her children, the kind I promised myself I wouldn't be. I am that kind of mom. But I have some thoughts about her and me.

When I started this blog, I was frustrated by the that-kind-of-momness that was becoming me. Abigail seemed to be taking over my entire existence. And I felt like I was fading into the background. Some of that was as it should be, some was hurts that God has and continues to heal, and some was my own stinking fault as I closed the door on my passions, dreams, and talents.

I was exceedingly wrong to think I was fading away as Abigail was becoming clearer. Yes, she is growing and changing everyday, and more and more of her life and soul and mind are becoming evident. But I am not fading. In fact, I would argue that I too am in sharper focus. My own quirkiness, my dreams, my talents, my sin, my weakness, my emptiness are clearer to me today than ever before. I have much to give glory to God for and I have much to seek His grace for as well.

So, yes, I am that kind of mom. As my life may seem so very small, I would call it so very focused. And in that smallness of focus, my heart and soul are being so enlarged by this season in my life.

Car-Seat Stuffing

Sorry for the hiatus. We decided to visit family for the weekend and I'm still recovering.

Again, Abigail did a stellar job considering 20 hours or so in a car seat between Thursday and Sunday. Each time we travel she is in need of more. Last time we said a DVD player was in order before the next trip. This time we still didn't have a DVD player and we say that a DVD player is in order before the next trip.

Actually this was not at all the point of this post. I want to list the things found in a car seat at any given time.

1-child

2-graham cracker segments saved

3-animal crackers beheaded and saved

4- stuffed animals (lamb, dog, bear, and duck).

At other times we also had

a steering wheel toy which only aggravated the situation because I forgot to put new batteries in it,

a baby einstein barn that played music and had flaps with animals on it-as successful as the steering wheel was a failure,

a lukewarm sippy cup filled with water; lukewarm because it was sitting between Abigail and the side of said car seat,

cold bizarrely textured burger king fries rejected at lunch and at snack time,

the insides of a cereal bar--enough said,

At one point everything on the list was in the car seat, and of course the child was always in the car seat. A rather high toll to be exacted on such a little person to know her grandparents, I think.

Oh, and the people who say that never letting your child ride without being confined will mean they will accept the torture, they lie.

A Dangerous Weekend

Chris and I got married the day before Mother's Day, 2000. We did not have the forethought to know that our anniversary and Mother's Day would occur on the same day. Or perhaps, we did not think ahead to realize the peril my poor husband would be in when I became a mother and our anniversary and Mother's Day coincided. He was just relieved that getting married in 2000 meant he would always know how many years we had been married.

This year it happened, a potential disaster. (We have a deal about such things. I tell him what I need so he knows. For example, "Honey, our anniversary and Mother's Day are entirely different celebrations, please make sure you acknowledge both separately." I don't expect expense here just understanding that I need acknowledgement of both events.) And my husband handled himself masterfully! I thought I'd share his brilliance with you.

Friday night: Dinner at a nice restaurant (we had a gift card). Anniversary. I didn't care for my entree selection, but the company and conversation were exceptional. Followed by small group. We left early because I got a migraine, possibly caused by the blue cheese on my meal.

Saturday morning: Gingerman Raceway for Go-Kart racing. Family day out. Fun to watch and Abigail thought it was grand.

Saturday evening: Spiderman 3 at the drive-in. Anniversary. Abigail didn't go to sleep at all so less anniversary than movie out. The last time we will be going to the drive-in prior to teenage years. Good movie, fun time with my family.

Sunday: Superb skillet meal fixed by handsome man, DQ for dessert, and drive to the beach. Mother's Day. What more can I say, dinner and dessert and I didn't have to cook. Wonderful.

He carried it off brilliantly. I felt appreciated as a wife, anniversary, and as a mom, Mother's Day. And he can relax for seven more years. (Well a little less if you calculate for leap year.)

Vacuum Cleaner Love

Walking into our dining room between breakfast and lunch can be riddled with danger. One never knows if what he steps on will goosh, stick, slime, crunch, or pain his foot. We are bare-feet-at-home people. Considering the dining room floor, I don't know why. Breakfast rejected by Twiddlepants-the-Toddler can be rather vengeful.


This morning it was muffins, a great recipe from my friend Deanne at Fragile Flower. Abigail likes the muffins, but Abigail is not a great fan of breakfast. A quirk inherited from her father. There is so much to do why eat. He does about an hour into his day. She, well, staves off starvation and waits for lunch. Anyway, muffins are crumbly and Abigail takes great delight in turning her muffins into crumbs. (Before bed the muffins are consumed crumbs and all!)


Now to the love of my house: my vacuum cleaner. It is one of those terribly expensive, finance for a year, Kirby varieties. But I luuuuuv it. It sucks up stuff I would never have imagined sucking up pre-toddlerhood. Half a muffin, chicken nuggets, broccoli florets, crusty oatmeal, lettuce, peanut butter and whatever goes with it, pear, apple, grapes. It all goes. AND the bags on my vacuum, don't let anyone know I am sucking up rejected fish. They don't stink! Oh how I love my vacuum cleaner.

Pepper

I struggled with the title to this post. I thought about WOOHOOOoo but settled on Pepper.
New Dog has a name. She is loved. New Dog has a home and an owner who wants her. And the best part: IT ISN'T US!!! YAHOOOOOOOO!!! YIPPEE!! Kick up my heels with glee.

We put up posters and asked everyone one out if they knew the dog. We called the lost animal places to call. Pepper's owner put up posters. Pepper's owner asked everyone he knew if they had seen his dog. I don't know if he called the lost animal places to call. (After talking with them, I could believe he did and the lost and found reports went unmatched.) He never saw our posters and we never saw his.

Well, until today. One of the people accused by basketball playing kids of owning Pepper found the poster looking for Pepper and put it in our door. What a gift coming home from church to find New Dog's owner. Shall I say it again, YIPPEE!

How often, I wonder, do I go through my life looking for answers only to miss the signs? How often do I know someone else is looking, but say nothing for fear I may be wrong? Why do I find such questions in the shared 3 day life of a dog?

New Dog

I was afraid it would happen. I predicted it would happen. But closing the blinds as New Dog tried to cross the street in front of our house, I couldn't do. Oh how I wish I could. It has happened: everyone loves New Dog and New Dog is happy here. Well everyone but me.

Of course she would be happy. She torments Tippy. She squashes the day lilies. she carries string all over the yard. And best of all she has someone to clean up after her. What more could a dog want.

Abigail loves watching the dogs play. She screams as only teenage girls pretending to be scared, or talking about boys scream. The screams followed closely by giggles. A prediction of things to come?!? She doesn't yet know that while the dogs play in the yard, she stays in the house. They are too big and she is too little. And I don't trust New Dog's pit bull temperament.

Chris loves New Dog just because New Dog is an animal in need. He is kind of a sucker for things in need, especially if they walk on four legs and have fur. He hasn't cleaned up after them.

I feel bad for New Dog. I wish her owner would call all the places one should call when they lose a pet. But when I see New Dog, I see piles of poop to be cleaned up. And I see fleas and worms and the medicines to prevent fleas and worms. Oh, how I want to see an owner who doesn't look like me.

Laundry Digging

I just finished digging in the dirty laundry for a long-sleeved shirt. The temperature is dropping and if I step foot upstairs, Abigail is likely to wake up. Besides this shirt came off the pile of Chris's work clothes: the one's I laundered and ironed and he left lying over the bench in our room. Those shirts. I am laundering them because it is easier to hang them up out of the dryer mostly wrinkle free than it is to re-iron them.

I have also dug through clean laundry for my outfit today. Folded for my capris. And fresh out of the dryer for my first shirt and again for my second shirt of the day. Abigail cannot be blamed for the two shirt morning. "New Dog" must be blamed.

You see, last night a young dog followed us home. Our street is very busy and after watching her come close to dog-pancake twice after attempting to cross, we locked her in our yard. She runs free in the yard to the dismay and torment of our dog, Tippy. Currently I have asked everyone I see in our neighborhood if she belongs to them. I made posters and was going to put them up while walking with New Dog and Abigail.

I hoped she would walk with us and find her way home. Instead she tormented a lady walking 2 schnauzers, and what I interpreted as ran away from me. Abigail and I walk home only to have a kind man in a van lead New Dog back to our yard. He thought she was mine. She is NOT and she will NOT be our dog. I called the Humane Society to report her found. Apparently no one has reported her missing. All this before 9:30 A.M.

How unfortunate! I fear she has adopted us and the longer she is here the more we will adopt her. NO MORE PETS IN OUR POSSESSION!

Oh she is responsible for the shirt change because she jumped on me with her too-big-for-her-body-puppy paws.

TV Fast

TV is an escape from reality. TV is an escape from boredom. TV is an escape from responsibility. TV places no demands on us.

When Abigail was smaller and less mobile, I developed the habit of having the TV on during the day. It was background noise. I didn't feel quite so lonely. But the TV was on all day long. That is a lot of noise and a lot of distraction. How was I to ever hear anything? How were relationships to be built?

I began to feel convicted about the amount of TV I was watching. Abigail was getting older and more aware and though what I was watching wasn't horrible, it was still entering Abigail's mind. And she didn't have the playmate or mother she should have.

So a few months ago I did an experiment: a TV fast. I would not turn the TV on till Chris got home from work. Talk about reasons to escape. They just started to pile up. Abigail was fussy and Abigail was needy. I kept getting more and more tired and bored and frustrated. Day 1 was long. Day 2 required prayer! Lots of prayer. Then things started getting easier. And now a little TV during the day can be too noisy.

Our home is quieter. Sure the TV comes on during the day sometimes. And yes the TV still comes on after Chris gets home. The radio gets more use. But the peace and the play and the books that get read. I'm still not the perfect mother or playmate, I never will be. But now I can hear my own thoughts and Abigail's life isn't slipping by in a haze of prime-time sitcom re-runs on TBS. All in all I am so thankful I listened to that small voice telling my heart there was something better ahead.

Patience

It has been said that if you pray for patience an abundance of incidents for which patience is required will smite you. But what if you don't pray for patience! I thought I was being oh so wily by asking only when I needed patience. I was asking from the storehouse of grace. I have no desire to be attacked with opportunities to be patient, so I wasn't asking that the virtue of patience be developed within me. Why that would be a faith of works.
I don't really believe that. I was just lazy and working on other virtues. And I sorely underestimated my need for patience.
Now we have Twiddlepants-the-Toddler. Who, as her name indicates, spends her day twiddling--usually in simple, easy ways that just slightly aggravate me. But simple, small aggravations build to crushing strength. And I find that crying for patience from the storehouse of grace is not enough for the everyday twiddling that occurs. I must practice the virtue of patience as an outpouring of my love for Christ and as an outpouring of love and grace for Twiddlepants-the-Toddler. And I must continue crying for God's grace as an example of how to live well.

Abigail has a new favorite word, "No." She uses it with abandon.

Do you want some milk? No.
Are you ready for your bath? No.
Do you see those cars? (which she just pointed out) No.
Would you like me to hold you? No.
Do you want to see the dog? No.
Can I give you some water? No.
Are you all done? No.

All LIES!!! All yeses disguised as nos.

But she is just so darn cute about it. She sticks her little lips out to form a perfect little circle and out it comes, "Nooooo." Sweet and gentle. And innocent.
We do have nos that mean no. They are usually screeched out and followed closely by an arched back and fall to the floor.

Did you enjoy the post? Noooooo.