My Side of Motherhood

Being a mom is just the hardest thing I have ever done in my life! It tries the very edge of patience nearly each day, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. I am writing a book called "My Side of Motherhood" and I hope one day it will be published. I think there might be people who would enjoy it, if not.....oh well.

It is a book designed for the real mom. Y'know the ones who have real issues. All glory is given to God for giving me a sense of humor when there are Cheerios permanently embedded in my beautiful kitchen tile and ketchup is a vegetable at my table! But, I find myself so often reading books about how wonderful motherhood is always and that's just not true! Flip little devotionals designed to get you through the day..yeah right! No offense to those writers and the readers who read them, I really like those books, but I think it's about time for a mother who hides in the bathroom to get away from the noise to step up and speak!

I do love my children, and without them, I just can't imagine. Here are a couple of exerpts from the book that are more serious. Let me know what you think.

I wake up and try my smile on.
It doesn’t fit yet.
Sleep calls me back under the warmth
But a cry calls me out.
Somehow morning came again and I am not ready.
The little feet and mouths
That follow me all day and demand of me
Make me tired.
Whose idea was this anyway? To have these little ones.
Was it mine? Was it his? Or did we just not think it out?
My plans are undone while little bodies get dressed.
My desires are pushed back while little bellies get fed.
My books go unread while silly games are played.
My God gets ignored while I wipe sleep from my eyes.
In each eye I see trust.
What did I do to deserve that? Why do I want that?
On each tongue I hear love proclaimed.
How will I ever protect that?
Can I return it the way they need?
I tuck them in. Tuck tuck tuck tuck tuck and a kiss.
Back out the door.
Turn out the light. Finally, rest.
For me.
But, I can’t. They’ll stop breathing if I’m not watching.
They’ll be taken in the middle of the night and I’ll never
Never
See them again.
They’ll get cold if I don’t check.
They’ll be lonely. Scared. Afraid of the monster under the bed.
Each heartbeat depends on mine.
I fall asleep with the start of a smile
And a tear waiting just on the edge of my lid.

THE SIGN OF THE CROSS

As I tucked my ten-year-old son in to bed last night, he did a weird thing. With closed eyes and sleepy limbs he seemed to wave his hands over his stomach and chest before he pulled the covers up. There was something very deliberate about it though and it took me a minute to figure out what he was doing. I stood and stared for a minute before I asked him, "Do you do that every night?"
"Yes," he replied. "I always do that. It helps me feel safe."
It seems that my most profound moments with this child are when he is half asleep. This is the same boy who sat and talked to God at the foot of his bed when he was yet in diapers. And last night, he did something so simple yet so subconsciously that I wondered how often and how long he had been doing it. It is apparently part of his bedtime ritual, performed with the fog of sleep closing in, yet so meaningful to him.
He was crossing himself. Making the sign of the cross over his body to protect him from harm and notify the world that he is the child of God.
When will I be so entrenched in my relationship with my relationship with Jesus, that even in my sleep I invite him to be with me? When will it be second nature to me to call out to him, rather than a last resort when all my attempts otherwise fail?
When will I ever learn?