Insert original and witty title here

I like to think of myself as an optimist.  When my friends are going through tough times it’s all too easy for me to locate and share (whether they’re interested or not) the silver lining.  I do this with myself too, which is sometimes helpful and sometimes plunges me into a vicious guilt cycle for complaining about something when I have so much for which to be thankful.

In spite of my optimism, I know that I have the ‘gift’ of criticism.  Sometimes this can come in handy, but usually it’s a hindrance.  There have been precious few times in my adult life when I haven’t been in a state of dissatisfaction with some major aspect of my current circumstances.  Every job I’ve had I’ve complained about, and I’m especially good at putting blame on anyone but me.  It’s her fault I’m so unhappy because she’s such a bossy person.  It’s his fault that I can’t get this done because he’s getting in the way and slowing me down.  If he was a better teacher I wouldn’t be stuck here wasting my time.  If she would just let me do it my way she would see how much better it could be.  Criticizing others justifies my unhappiness and temporarily eases frustration.

There are two seasons in the past ten years that do contradict my poor attitude.  One was my undergraduate college experience.  My parents did a terrific job of informing me that the four years they had in college were some of the best of their lives and to not undervalue them.  My childhood was devoid of meaningful friendships and college gave me the relationships I had sought and prayed for.  I knew how good I had it and I relished every day as a new adventure, full of excitement and promise.

The other season is, thankfully, one that I’m in right now.  It’s the season of mommy-hood.  There are a lot of things about being a mom that people turn their noses up at (literally).  I go online and read articles about parenting and then shake my head when the comments below inevitably contain the following sentiments:

-Why would anyone go through all of that to have kids?

-I had one kid and that was enough!  I miss my freedom and job and being skinny.

-I can’t wait until so-and-so is old enough so that I can go back to work.  I’m going stir-crazy at home!

-Reading articles like this convinces me that I will never have children.  The world’s overpopulated anyway.

Now, I know that I’m only 6 months into the adventure of parenting.  I’m aware of the fact that eleven hours of sleep my little boy gives me each night could disappear at any moment.  I know there’s a whole lot awaiting me down the road that will challenge my patience and mercy.  But, I also know that there’s something about being a mom that beautifully strips away ME and brings me selflessness beyond anything I’ve experienced in life.  All of the sudden it’s not such a big deal to scrub soiled clothing or change eight diapers a day or catch spit-up in my hand or get up at 4 in the morning.  I don’t exactly look forward to those things, but when they inevitably happen it’s OK.  Each new day is a new adventure, full of excitement and promise.

My prayer is that the patience I’m experiencing in being a new mom permeates the rest of my life.  I want to be a cooperative musician, a giving wife, a humble servant of the Lord.  There will be the inevitable trials and bumps, but surely there are better ways to handle them than passing the blame and puffing in self-righteousness.  Because each new day is a new adventure, full of excitement and promise.

(I suppose it’s not so hard to be a selfless mommy when you get to spend your days with this smile.)

Onions, parfaits, and me

Tonight I ran to the grocery store.  (Last night I ate disgusting processed noodles and cheese from a box, which was the final straw in putting off the big monthly trip.)  I left the James Bear with his daddy at home, the allure of sunshine and warmth in the backyard promising them an excellent playtime.  As I weaved my way through the aisles, filling our cart, my brain resumed its, “I wish we could spend less money” mantra.  My brain insists on doing this once a month when rent, loan payments, and grocery runs are due.  It helps me shop more frugally, but it also causes unnecessary worry and stress, which sometimes gets taken out, regretfully, on VWH.  I hastened to get what was needed, avoiding big splurges, and headed for the check-out.

The line didn’t look too long but I failed to notice before I was committed, that the cart in front of me was full of WIC items.  I used to be a cashier and dreaded when WIC customers would come through.  Each transaction requires a special process, and often there are 3 or more separate transactions before the customer is actually finished.  So a half-filled cart can take 15 minutes to actually ring up.  If I had been in a rush today I would have sighed and silently bemoaned my poor choice in check-out lines.  But I was pleasantly distracted by the boy helping his mom in whatever way he could.  Mom was working hard to keep her WIC checks and items separate, and her son was eager to help put anything he could on the conveyor belt.  “Mom, can I put that up for you?”  “Mom, can I put that bag in the cart?”  “Mom, how does the food move down like that?”  The little guy couldn’t have been more than 6 and had dark brown hair and glasses.  His eager nature and inquisitiveness reminded me of what VWH might have been like at that age, and very much what our own boy could become.  I smiled as they worked together to unload, pay for, and reload their food, then cringed as I saw the nutritionally-void puffed cereal and other cheaper, processed items going in their cart.  Somehow I instinctively knew that this was the best this mom could do for her child, and his happiness in helping her melted me, even as I looked down into my own cart overflowing with fresh produce and whole grains.  Yes, we could probably spend less money on groceries, but what a privilege to have the resources to spend a bit more and buy fresh, healthy food for our family.  And how shameful that I should be so worried about it, while a little boy with much less is infinitely more content.

I recently read an article written about a baby girl dying of an incurable disease.  This little girl, Avery, was born on 11.11.11 and died earlier this week from a degenerative spine disease.  Avery had her very own blog, with a little help from her parents, in which she described the nature of her disease and celebrated milestones as she checked items off of her “bucket list.”  On the list included things like sitting up on her own, throwing out the first pitch at a baseball game, a first kiss, and finding a cure for her spine.  She accomplished them all except the final one, but her blog has attracted a ton of attention (and money) towards eradicating her illness.  Her father wrote after her passing that baby Avery spent her final minutes smiling at her parents.

I made the mistake of reading this article as I nursed my own sweet baby, who was originally due on the same day of Avery’s birth.  As I looked down at his perfect little head and watched his tiny hand blindly and contentedly explore the folds of my shirt I wept.  I wept for Avery and her parents, I wept for fear of anything that tragic happening to James, and I wept with happiness for how healthy and happy our little bear is. 

Motherhood has changed me.  Little things that I wouldn’t think twice about now cause me to stop and deeply reflect, like Avery’s story or the little boy in the check-out line.  I can’t read or watch things about child abuse without tearing up.  Books and movies that touch on, however briefly, neglect or tragedies in children’s lives often don’t get finished.  A new part of me has awakened, a new layer revealed…a part that causes me to love with an intensity I didn’t know was possible.  With that love comes a heightened awareness of joy and triumph.  (When James rolled over for the first time it felt like Christmas, my birthday, and winning the Ultimate Frisbee intramural championship all into one.)  But it also comes with the ability to hurt at a deeper level.  My heart is bigger, but that means it’s a larger target for disappointment and brokenness too.

It is a beautiful privilege to be here, in this new season of life.  As I travel into new realms of love and family, more is revealed about the depth of our Lord’s love and His good gifts to us.  I came home from the store tonight, pulled into the driveway, and met my husband who came out to greet me holding James.  They welcomed me with enormous smiles and my heart overflowed with happiness for where I’m at and who I’m with.  Praising God for these new things being revealed to me lately!