A Pure Mother's Day Gift.

Oh Mother's Day.

It's a day that some either hate or love... or both.

Some like to do grandiose things, while others just like the simple, "Happy Mother's Day!" from their children's lips. For some it brings too much pain to celebrate at all.

I'm not big on holidays like this in particular. Mother's day reminds me of the children I don't have here with me. And Father's day reminds me of the dad I don't have here with me. It's hopeless to fight it.

This morning, my husband had to work. It sucked. There was no breakfast made for me. I woke earlier to an infant that needed fed and bathed. Then had to wake, feed, bathe, dress the other 4. All in time to make sure that I was ready to leave for church with everyone in tow, as the husband is expected to be here just in time to take us. Happy Mother's Day to me! Right?

Actually, it wasn't so bad. I did good getting everyone ready in time. Time to spare to even sit down and write! As I made my own bacon and eggs, my children (with no prompting, I might add) stood in the doorway with bright smiles as they exclaimed, "Happy Mother's Day!" and handed me a gift. It was a colorful bracelet they had bought, so secretly, from the market during the plant sale. I had my son put it on me as I told them how beautiful it was. They pointed out their favorite parts about it along with various facts like... how many rows of beads there were. It was the sweetest thing. Just me and the commotion of my kids.

Had my husband been there, it would've felt a little, or very staged, which would've taken that pure edge away from it.

I'm glad my husband had to leave me for this time, giving my children a chance to show their love to me on their own volition. That meant more to me than the gift itself.

It made me think about offering. How God wants our praise and our offerings to be pure. Coming on our own volition to give. The actual gift isn't the point. It's the honest intention behind it.

They love me.

Happy Love/Hate Being a Mom Day!

It finally happened.

I was inside feeding the baby, toddler was asleep, 4 year old was going potty, and the neighbor girl (3 houses down across the street) was asking me all these questions about fish as she "oohh'd and aww'd" at my fish tank.

It had been all but 2 minutes, when I realized... where are my 2 older kids?? Last I knew they were playing in the yard. I had the neighbor girl check outside for them. When she reported back to me that they weren't out there, my heart sank. I put down the baby and went outside, shouting their names and no answer. I looked at the empty sidewalks, searching for them riding their bikes. They know their boundaries. My heart sank deeper. It didn't make sense. I sent the girl home to look for them there (not understanding why they would be there, but I had to cover all the bases)

My natural introverted bubble broke instantly. My determination to find them, automatically became relentless. I began shaking as I went to every potential neighbor's house, knocking on their doors asking for them. A few of them even stood outside with eyes peeled, keeping watch for me in case they showed up. One neighbor I didn't even know who happened to be outside, stopped what he was doing to keep watch. With each quick step, I was eliminating all the possible places they could've disappeared to and resolved myself that if they weren't at this last house (the girl's house) then I was going to call the cops. My imagination started streaming to all the bad places. The shaking in my body got worse. I was having trouble breathing.

The little girl came out of her house with a note from her mother, saying that my children were there. Relief rushed over me and anger set in strong. I got to the house and there they were, safely, eating snack with all her daycare kids, acting like nothing was wrong. I was furious with them. I even learned that they lied to the neighbor about the permission given for them to be there.

"Get up now!" I scolded them. With "oh crap" looks on their faces, they got up and we left.

We marched back to our house. I yelled to all the neighbors "I found them! I'm gonna give it to 'em, but I found them!" Of course all their replies were.... "Understandably!" .... good people.

As soon as I got into the house, the tears masked my face and I began to bawl profusely. I made them sit on their beds until I collected myself enough to think of a damn good punishment, but my heart was just torn to shreds. I had to call my husband to tell him what just happened so he could talk me down. Panic finally took it's toll on my nerves and the relief made it all flood out at once.

I love my children. I ache for them. I already died once when my daughter died. I can't go through it again. I even confided to a friend that I didn't want to be a mom anymore. I love them so much that I didn't want my job anymore. (yeah... I probably need counseling, I'm sure....)

Happy Mother's Day to me! My kids are going to be the death of me!

I've never had anything in my life take it's toll like this job does. A love so great comes with the worst pain possible.

I love being able to cuddle my babies. Being there when they have life's questions. Displaying my magical powers of kissing boo boos away. Watching them sing my songs. Sharing in our Doctor Who fandom.

But the stress, anxiety, and heartache they give me half the time makes me have moments when I want to be done with it. Having moments of throwing in the towel and desperately wanting to be released of this responsibility.

Not only is it therapeutic for me to write this out, but I know that I'm not the only mom that has a love/hate relationship with her job. We wouldn't trade our children for the world, we'd move mountains to bring them to safety, and yet at the same time, the burden just seems like too much to bear and we don't feel strong enough to continue on. So... I'm gonna leave you with a quote from my favorite author C.S. Lewis.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket-- safe, dark, motionless, airless-- it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell."