This is my life.
Over the past two weeks of our Sunshine State vacation, I've had a lot of quality time with my family. And some time to reflect on that quality time. Lucky for you I'm typing as I reflect. :)
Buddy is nearing the three-year-old mark, and Butterbean is most definitely four. They are spending a lot of time acting their age, and acting like siblings (sometimes the loving kind, sometimes the jealous kind).
Honestly, there are days where I feel like a referee, and others where I feel like a war hero.
I've read blogs, read books, watched Supernanny. But no one prepared me for the two year old son who chooses a choice that is impossibly unavailable (despite my best parenting preparedness in offering "two choices" for what he his going to wear to school). Seriously, folks. Everyone on the Spirit Airlines flight from Dallas to Orlando a couple weeks ago knows what I'm talking about. The meltdown of the year followed my attempts to entertain him with my fancy phone - I offered Dora and SuperWhy as an in-flight movie choice - he chose The Wiggles. The Wiggles weren't a possible option in any shade of reality.
I feel sometimes that this is his year for using the word, "no," but realized he probably feels the same way about me.
Terrible Twos. Frustrated Fours.
But then there's me - Thunderstruck Thirties.
If you told me 8 years ago in the throes of my own journey through infertility that one day I would have two beautiful children of my own, I likely would have looked at you with glazed eyes. Likewise, I wouldn't have understood your description of hormonal changes even more beastly than the metabolic and endocrine chaos that was keeping me from holding said babies. Perimenopause?
And I would be raising preschoolers during that?
Yes, Virginia. There is a Santa Claus.
There's something swirly going on inside me. I'm not lying. And sometimes the swirly stuff feels like a hurricane.
A couple nights ago my sweet Butterbean came to the dinner table at a friends house, serving whine. Yes, whine. She has a special vintage all her own, and she pours often and generously. As the sound came from her mouth, I maintained a graceful composure - but I promise you friends - I felt a synapse in my brain explode like a 4th of July fireworks display. I don't know if my friend caught the slight twitching in my right eye, but I'm pretty sure I blinked on that side a few extra times than normal.
Please pause with me now for a moment of silence in memory of those brain cells that I will never effectively use again. We must remember them now, because they will never help me remember again.
With all of these crazy stages of our lives coming together (somehow 'Perfect Storm' seems oddly fitting), I am often overwhelmed, then discouraged.
Discouraged by my impatience, guilted by my exhaustion.
And then I open up the news pages online to see that a study has just been completed that names all of my parental failures and assures me of how horribly I am messing up. (Swimming lessons? Who knew swimming lessons by the age of 5 made your kid smartest?!? I've got so much catching up to do!)
The guilt is sometimes more than I can bear. Then I remember. Oh, wait. I have a Guilt-Bearer.
And He is always reminding me of grace.
So if I lead them to Him...
- everything -
even the moments in the hormonal mom - toddler - preschooler - sibling rivalry - no one shares - there's only one yellow popsicle - slush called my life -
He's gonna' work it all out for their good. My good.
Now I'm still trying to be supermom, don't get me wrong.
::Please help me, Jesus!::
Because this verse isn't a verse to promote my own recklessnes, but a verse that provides peace in reckless times.
So breathe with me. Because of Jesus it's all okay in the end.
And I am SO okay with that.