I Have Found My Purpose- Mom 3:16

Most of us live for years searching for and yearning to find our purpose. Some might never find it. Few seem to be blessed with the gift of knowing what their purpose is and getting to do it every day. I truly never thought I would be one of those few, but over the last few weeks, it has finally dawned on me: I believe I have discovered my life’s purpose.

I don’t write this blog post to make anyone jealous or to brag about my recent discovery. I write this so that you may all rest in the peace of knowing that someday, you may realize your purpose as well.

Over the last few weeks I have done something over and over and over and thought: Surely there is more to this life than THIS. Is this what I am really meant to do with so many hours of my time? Then I started thinking that this must be my purpose in life!

Oh, the JOY!

Evidently, my purpose in life is sticking my hands into nasty, disgusting socks and turning them right-side-out so that they can be made clean again! They could be nasty from playing carefree in mud puddles, or sweaty from a nice relaxing run after a long day’s work. Whatever the reason, it is up to me to turn them around, and make them clean again. It is my job- dare I say? My Purpose- to do these mundane tasks day after day so that they may live life to the fullest and grow up to do amazing things. These people cannot be bothered with turning their clothing right-side-out before placing it in the laundry all over the house wherever they feel like dropping it. Why waste the mere seconds that it takes to take off a sock carefully and properly? For they have bigger things to do! Things like: pick their nose and eat their boogers; find bugs and worms and nail them to trees; fight about which chair to sit in at dinner even though every chair is exactly the same; and find and watch the most random and annoying YouTube videos known to man.

I am raising 5 small humans with one large human sidekick and it is my responsibility- my DUTY- to make sure they have semi-clean, well-fitting clothes to wear each day most days. I need to embrace this responsibility and carry out my mission successfully and happily. I mean, if I do it so often, that MUST mean it is my life’s purpose? Right? RIGHT?! Or should I keep searching for a different purpose???? So I challenge all of you: do not give up searching for your purpose. It could be something much simpler than you realize. It could be something you are already doing every day. Just approach with with excitement and a sense of humor (and maybe don’t breathe through your nose).

 

(FYI: this is just a small fraction of my “purpose-work” for one day.)

My Vase Full of Weeds

When I logged in to write this “super quick” blog post I realized it had been ONE entire YEAR since my last blog post! And- how ironic- that last blog post was about our contemplation on whether or not to have one more child- our fourth. We have actually since then had TWO more children, for a grand total of five. How, you ask? We were “blessed” blessed with TWINS! My husband and I often asked one another how our lives could possibly get any more chaotic. God laughed and then answered.

As you can (or CAN’T) imagine, our lives have been so full in so many ways since we found out and since having those precious babies on New Year’s Day. I’m currently at a stand-off with this laundry for seven in my living room:

As I’m getting ready to tackle it, my 4 year-old daughter asks to go outside. I oblige and a few minutes into my sorting, folding, and hanging, go check on her. She is knee-deep in our yard near the field picking dandelions. For me. As she does nearly every. single. day.

I sigh and think, How do I break it to her that dandelions are weeds and I could do without them? 

I don’t have time to dig under our sink for a vase; I don’t have room on our kitchen table that already dubs as a desk for three and clutter-catcher for seven; I don’t want to look at them and smell them and have them cause me stress. Then I realize: she thinks they are beautiful. They are her favorite. And she is choosing to pick them. For ME. Why do I have to crush her excitement by telling her they are weeds? Why do I have to make her feel bad by telling her that I don’t want them? Nope. I won’t. When I see that vase full of weeds on my kitchen counter, I will remember that my precious daughter, who gets scolded and put-off by me daily due to the babies’ needs and my stress, still chooses to pick flowers for me- and these days will soon pass.

So we talk about how beautiful those bright yellow flowers are and we put them in a vase together. And there they sit, amidst cereal bowls from I’m not sure which day.

It then dawned on me that this is something worth writing about. Just last week I started a Bible Study with a group of ladies from church on “The Best Yes: Making Wise Decisions in the Midst of Endless Demands” by Lysa Terkeurst, and one of the things I’ve always regretted saying “no” to was writing. I vowed to carve out a little bit of time each week to write in one way or another. It may not sound like a Best Yes to you given that picture of laundry above. (Go ahead, scroll back up there; I’ll wait.) Honestly, I’m kind of second-guessing it a little myself. But it felt right. It felt necessary.

So here we are. She’s happy; I’m happy and my house is still a mess. But isn’t that better than the alternative? It is for me. It is during this season of our lives. So each time I look at that vase full of weeds, it will represent so much: my daughter’s innocent heart and giving spirit, my wise decision to keep that innocence intact and spend those quality moments of time with her, and my “Best Yes” to put the laundry off a little longer to document this moment and this feeling. For the days are long but the years are short. This season will soon be over. And, who knows, when my kids are no longer picking flowers for me, I may find myself out in my yard picking dandelions just so I can look at a vase full of weeds on my kitchen table again.

Why Mother’s Day is a Bogus “Holiday”

Picture the movie Tommy Boy, with Tommy (Chris Farley) sitting in a diner talking to Richard (David Spade) about why he sucks as a salesperson. We should all remember that scene, right? (<<If not, click that.) Now picture me, talking to my best friend. It goes something like this…

“Best Friend, we’re both mothers. Let me tell you why I- SUCK- as a mother. Let’s say it’s Mother’s Day. Let’s say my family and I are supposed to have a wonderful day together. Well then I get all excited; I’m like ‘Susie, the Crazy Soccer Mom’ with a shiny new minivan. The minivan is my children. Aw, my beautiful little children, I love you! So I hug them and I rock them and I kiss them. And I love them; I love my little cute children, you’re CUTE! And then I take them for a ride in my shiny new minivan and I crash. {unrecognizable noises} I crashed it! I CRASHED MY MINIVAN!!!!! And that’s when I blow it.”

Okay. Maybe that was a horrible analogy, but it sounded like a splendid idea at the beginning, so I went with it. I thought about acting it out and putting it on Youtube myself, but I didn’t, so consider yourselves spared. Now, bear with me as I move on…

There are many, many reasons why Mother’s Day, and holidays like it, are bogus. I truly try not to be a Debbie Downer, but as I was on the floor in the fetal position in my kitchen bawling my eyes out around 9:30am this past Mother’s Day because it had already seemed like it failed miserably, I realized that I can’t possibly be the only one who feels this way. (Perhaps I feel this way a little more dramatically than others, but that’s how I {usually} roll.) So I wanted to write about it, because it’s true, Mother’s Day can sometimes suck.

The first reason that always comes to mind is this:

1. Too Many Mothers; Not Enough Time

I am a mother; I have a mother; I have a mother-in-law. None of us is more or less important or deserving of being celebrated than the other. (Though I tend to think the “youngest” or “newest” mother should get precedence, that might just be because, at the moment, that’s me. 😉 )  So how do you decide what to do for whom and when? Not many people really want to spend their entire Sunday on Mother’s Day rushing around from one mom to the other to quickly give them a gift and have a meaningful visit, only to move on to the next activity as soon as possible. You also don’t want to be the jerk kid or the selfish daughter-in-law who doesn’t do enough for the other mom and make them feel bad. So pressure’s on. Better find some happy-medium, and fast, because everybody’s bugging you about what you’re going to do.

Next, I think some of you can relate to this:

2.  Faking a Selfless Desire

It’s Mother’s Day. So the MOTHER gets fielder’s choice on the activities of the day, right? As moms, what are most of us going to “choose?” Something that will make everyone else happy. Nobody wants to be that high-maintenance, self-absorbed mom that requests a day completely alone at home reading a book or a spa day to get pampered or tickets to see her favorite band (which is NOT the Fresh Beat Band, by the way). Yet, that’s sort of what a lot of us want. But instead, we choose the zoo or a park or a kid-friendly museum for a family-fun day that we can all enjoy together. And in order to make this “family-fun day” happen, MOMS would typically have to make lunches, pack a cooler, pack a diaper bag, load the car, put on everyone’s sunscreen, deal with temper tantrums, change diapers, remind everyone to use the restroom, and break up fights. Great, just what I wanted. More work. (Unless you have a husband like MINE, and he helps you out with all of those things tremendously. But I’m speaking to the majority here.) Now, to be fair, this example is probably the least concerning of reasons why Mother’s Day is bogus. I understand ALL of us mothers find extreme joy in seeing our kids happy, so doing something they love reminds us what we love about being a mom. But nonetheless, it’s still work, and on “Mother’s Day” no less!

And here’s the last- and very crucial- reason(s), with many applicable examples:

3.  Unattainable Expectations

These unattainable expectations are what led to my demise on Sunday morning (and also what led to the fetal position). It’s Mother’s Day, right? The day where you are supposed to get waited on hand and foot and you look happy and radiant and everyone is quiet and respectful and does what their mothers ask with little to no resistance and needing no reminders. {I feel violently angry just typing that.} No one poops or gets chocolate on their clothes moments before walking out the door for church or talks back or “forgets” to brush their teeth despite being asked 17-and-a-half times. (Insert extremely high pitched voice>) Uuuuuuuuum, no. That DOES. NOT. HAPPEN. For me, it started out being bummed that my husband had to work the weekend. He was going to have to come home from 3rd shift and have to go to sleep while I got all 3 kids up, showered, dressed, and ready for church by myself, then be at church without him. On Mother’s Day. But who cares, right?! It’s just any other Sunday. But it wasn’t. Some jerk had to give this Sunday the name “Mother’s Day.” So I expect things to be different. Special. Speaking of special, I should probably *look* special. It’s Mother’s Day, so more people at church are going to be paying attention to me and wishing me a happy day, and I’m going to have to pretend that the world didn’t stop for 10 minutes this morning while I had a good cry on my kitchen floor. I should look put-together. I should wear a dress. But I didn’t have time to shave. And I’m working in the toddler room so I should wear sensible shoes. I haven’t done laundry in a week so who knows what’s clean. So I’m wearing some pants that were cool in 1999, shoes that my 89 year-old Grandmother wouldn’t be caught dead wearing to the senior center, and a shirt that’s missing a button. Now I’m bawling because I look ridiculous and I wish I could go shopping. So I change the shoes because- well, something’s gotta give, and the rest I leave alone. As I’m doing that, my boys have begun fighting, and my daughter climbed onto the counter and retrieved a Dum-Dum sucker and is sticky on 27% of her body. Oh no. Here it comes. It’s happening. Yup. I’m screaming. I’m screaming at my older boys for fighting, not listening to my instruction and not being ready to go, and I’m screaming at my daughter for getting into the candy. I’ve woken up my husband and he, half-asleep, comes out of the bedroom to check on World War III and lend a hand. At this point I’m also internally screaming at myself. It’s Mother’s Day. It’s only 9:30am. You’ve already made your kids cry and you’ve woken up your husband. This ENTIRE DAY is supposed to take place figuratively frolicking through a field of daisies and you’re flipping out on everyone. Your kids are actin’ a fool because you didn’t teach them well enough to mind you and now you’re yelling at them because you’re not fit to be a mother. I bet other mothers aren’t yelling at their kids right now. Why are you even a mother? You are a jerkface. And you are a jerkface dressed like a substitute teacher from a Fresh Prince of Bel-Air episode. You suck. Mother’s Day sucks. Everything sucks. (continue sobbing).  These examples collectively fall into the category of unrealistic expectations, which wrongfully steal my joy on soooo many occasions.

So there you have it. That’s why I think Mother’s Day should be banned. It’s kind of like Sweetest Day or Valentine’s Day when Hallmark makes you think life is like those horrible jewelry commercials, but really you end up fighting about the radio station on your way to a mediocre restaurant in your minivan with a husband who has gas. That was a made-up story, I swear. Just a hypothetical. But, what can I say, I’m a realist.

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Now, for those of you who may be concerned about my well-being, or that of those around me, I will tell you that my Mother’s Day turned out pretty swell. Eventually we made it to a nearby historical village and saw some pretty cool things, got some delicious ice cream, and ate and a wonderful local, old-fashioned Mom and Pop diner. I love my kids dearly and I know they love me. Being a mother is a blessing. I don’t think I’m great at it. But aren’t we all just doing our best with what we’ve got? We are.

So, what do you think about Mother’s Day??? If you can’t agree with even ONE point that I made above, you are a liar. But enlighten me. Please comment! Even share if you wish!

Love,

Your Headcase

 

 

 

Patience, Caterpillar

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know.  It’s not caterpillar; it’s grasshopper.  But as I started typing, I was thinking to myself, “What’s that phrase that starts with ‘Patience’ then says the name of some kind of insect or something? Fly? No. Butterfly? No. Caterpillar. Yeah. That’s it.”  Then I began to type ‘Caterpillar’ and realized I was way off.  Then Grasshopper came to mind.  But I decided, “You know what. I thought it was ‘Caterpillar’ for a second, so let’s go with it. It’s funny when I’m wrong and embarrass myself.”  (You’re welcome.)

So now you know what this blog post is about.  Patience.

And kindness.

But mostly patience.

My husband and I took our kids to one of the nearby county fairs and had to stop at the local Chief Supermarket on the way home.  We only needed ONE thing.  ONE gallon of milk.  This should take me a minute and a half.  Our one-year old daughter was whining in the backseat because it was bedtime for her, and she gets milk before bed.  The geniuses at Chief (that is not sarcasm) have a little cooler of simply milk right at the check-out. (I LOVE that they care more about customer convenience than scheming me to get me to walk all the way to the back of the store past the chocolates and chips and Toaster Strudels- my weakness- and tons of other things I don’t need to buy.)  It was 9:30pm.  There were two lanes open.  (It’s a very small town, so two lanes at 9:30pm would typically be plenty.)  I agonize over which lane to choose, as always.  I, unknowingly, choose the slowest possible lane, as always.

There were two people in front of me:  a woman in her thirties with two items, and an elderly woman buying a good amount of produce.  The older woman stops the cashier and says, “Wait a minute. Those Bing Cherries were seven dollars and 96 cents?”  The cashier responded, not really sure why they were so much.  The cashier got some help from her coworker on the next checkout; she voided the transaction, weighed the cherries again, couldn’t find the code for cherries, had to go into some super-secret special options and manually enter the amount, etc. etc.  She moves on to scan the next item.  It takes her a minute.  “Do you remember how many ears of corn you have?”  The elderly woman takes a minute to respond.  “Six.”  She has some minor trouble ringing up her head of lettuce.  She’s almost done.  I think.  I watch the body language of those around me, while consciously keeping my own in check.  I’m very impressed by how kind and unaffected we all are.

I’m standing there thinking, “Maybe I should go to the next checkout.  I mean, I have a crying baby in the car.  No.  That would be rude and show that you are impatient.  You can wait.  It’s no big deal.  Maybe you should suggest to the lady in front of you that she can go to the next register.  No.  She’s a big girl.  She can decide for herself.  Don’t tell her what to do and draw attention to this poor old lady and poor cashier’s situation.  They’re almost done.”  In the meantime, one person had come into line behind me.  The cashier next to us gets completely done with her line, and debates stocking shelves, or ringing up someone else.  She asks if she can “Help someone over here.”  The lady BEHIND me who has been waiting the LEAST amount of time goes over to be rung up.  {That is one of my hugest pet peeves of all time, but that’s a blog post for another day.}  After that lady the second cashier must have decided that our line would be moving along soon, so she goes to work someplace else.  Some nonchalant joking begins when the older lady apologizes for questioning prices; we all (including the cashier) assure her that we understand and she absolutely should question something if it’s not right.  She says, “I love Bing Cherries, but not THAT much!”  The lady in line between us says, “That’s how I am about chocolate.”  The old lady laughs, “Oh, sweetie, chocolate is a whole different ball game.  I’ll pay almost any amount of money for good chocolate.”  They then go into a short discussion about DeBrand’s Fine Chocolate and what kind they like best, when it goes on sale, etc. etc.  I ask where DeBrand is located because I’ve never heard of it.  The old lady’s items are finally rung up and she hands the cashier a crisp one hundred-dollar bill for her $25 in groceries.  “I work too hard for my money to waste it on something unintended,” she says.  We all agree.  She slowly and diligently counts her change, carefully looks over her receipt, thanks the cashier, smiles at the rest of us in line, says goodnight and heads out the door.

I’d say we were waiting for about 8-10 minutes.  The woman in front of me rang up very quickly, as did I.  I had my exact change ready and handed it to the cashier.  I said with a big smile, “Thank you! I don’t need my receipt; I’ve had a crying baby in the car this whole time!”  I started walking out, then quickly turned around to elaborate, “I mean, she’s with her Dad!!!  She’s not alone!  Don’t worry!”  The man who was in line behind me jokes, “That’s good. Because I was just about to call the police!”

As I make my walk to the car, I see the two women who were in front of me in line standing at the trunk of one of their cars happily discussing (can you guess?) chocolate.  It warmed my heart.  Those women didn’t know each other from Adam (I don’t think).  The younger woman could have been upset with the older lady and hurried to her car and sped away, but she didn’t.  She reassured her with understanding and engaged in a meaningful conversation about something they had in common.  The cashier could have been flustered and rude, but she wasn’t.  Others in line, myself included, could have been huffing and puffing and rolling our eyes, but we didn’t.

This really made me think (especially since I am notorious for picking the slowest moving line possible in any store I go):  are we all really in that big of a hurry?  Yes, sometimes we have appointments or engagements; but if we are being honest with ourselves, most of the time this kind of setback in our schedule or our plans is really no big deal.  Instead of letting it ruin our day (or hour) and crabbing to everyone who will listen about how inconvenient and annoying it all is, why don’t we use it as an opportunity to stop and look around.  LOOK at the people around us and really SEE them for who they are.  Pay attention to their actions and interests and conversations.  Talk to them about their lives.  Show them love and understanding, just like we would want shown to us.

Patience, Caterpillar.