Monday, March 23, 2015
It's Just A Phase
From under the covers I said, "The next person who tells me, Oh this is just a phase, is going to get punched in the throat."
My husband laughed, but I fought back tears.
My season of life is exhausting. Having three small children at home should not be flippantly dismissed as just a part of life. There should be some sort of fabulous recognition, like a monthly Starbucks gift card or at least a brand new outfit each month to replace the one that has been stretched out, thrown up on, or torn.
I'm tired. I'm tired of multitasking. I'm tired of the loneliness that motherhood sometimes brings. Oh and I'm tired of the financial strain. Am I whining yet?
When my burdens bubble to the surface, they usually arrive in the form of...
I'm sorry we were late to church again.
I'm sorry I never called you back
I'm sorry you have to scrape goldfish and mine for juice pack straws just to find a seat in my van.
The generations ahead of me say, Oh this is just a phase. This, too, shall pass.
First of all let me say, I get it. I understand that one day I will wake up, I will be 49, my kids will be grown and gone, and life will look much different.
I get it. Even just six months from now life will look different. They grow and develop and gain independence at the speed of light when they are this young. It won't be long. I get it.
Today, I am exhausted and the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel is very dim. And it might be a train wreck on the way. Is anyone else stepping in this with me today?
Today, I want to be so much more for my kids than I am. Today, I want to choose joy. I don't want to just push through to the next phase. Because that phase will have challenges all of its own, and if I don't choose joy now, I probably won't choose joy then, and one day I will wake up and be 49, and be regretful.
How do I break out? Gratitude. I cling to gratitude. What is it about this phase that I love? What about this phase will I miss?
I love their little voices. One day, their voices will have depth and will sound a lot like mine.
But today. Today, they are sweet and small. So when they cry and whine and scream for 8 hours straight, I will choose to cling to the sweetness.
I love those naked little bottoms. One day, it will be awkward and inappropriate to have my offspring running around the house in their birthday suits.
But today. Today, they are round and chunky and just adorable. So when potty training is unsuccessful and the laundry wreaks of urine, I will choose to cling to the adorable.
I love his preschool sense of humor. One day, he may be sullen and moody and listen to dark music.
But today. Today, he laughs loudly and tells jokes that make no sense. His smile makes my heart beat. So when he becomes obnoxious and pranks his younger sisters, I will choose to cling to his smile.
These days are tough. And beautiful. It just depends on what I'm choosing to focus on.
Jesus, this motherhood thing is hard. Hold my hand please? Show me the most excellent way? Pat me on the rear when I need to get going, and pat me on the back when I just need to try again tomorrow. I love you too, Lord.