Due to living in that constant place of There is Not Enough Time in the Day, I’m running a reprint this week. This was one of the first posts I wrote on this blog, published almost two years ago to the day. Back when I only had three kids. Back when I thought I was busy. Back when I thought I couldn’t handle one more thing. Oh, 2013 Hannah, how much you have to learn…
I had one of those days yesterday.
The kind of day when my sweet friend sends me a text (you know who you are!) reminding me that mothering is both the hardest and most rewarding job ever, and I didn’t know what to say back. I didn’t respond because, honestly, I wasn’t seeing much of the reward.
It went something like this:
While I was making lunch I found my sweet darling C playing with the plunger. Again.
Meanwhile, Hads ate her first sandwich and asked for a second. This, in hindsight, is a good thing since we also squeezed in a doctor’s visit yesterday afternoon during which I was informed that her weight was in the 3rd percentile for kids her age. In other words, the gal could use an extra sandwich or two.
I made the sandwich whilst repeatedly attempting to “coax” C to stop climbing out of his high chair, only to find Hattie smashing that new tuna sandwich against the bottom of her bare foot.
Why, oh why, child?
All of this is set to the lovely soundtrack of EJ complaining about how both of her options for lunch- tuna or ham and cheese- were “disgusting” (her favorite word of the day).
I wish I could say that I cheerfully cleaned up the squished tuna, gently re-directed C away from his inconvenient climbing habit, and creatively used some kind of handy chart and stickers to encourage Edy to have a cheerful spirit.
Instead, however, after the tuna foot sandwich was discarded, Christian tied into his high chair, and Edy blatantly bribed into eating her ham, I plotted how to sell my kids on Craigslist.
All of this is taking place within inches of our Thankfulness Tree, which is supposed to be an obvious, lovely, daily reminder to be grateful and joyful and all that other Thanksgiving nonsense.
I’m joking. (Sort of.)
I tossed them into bed for naps, yanked them out of bed for the doctor, grumbled all the way and asked myself “What is wrong with my children?!?”
And finally, quietly, God says, “No, Hannah, what is wrong with you?”
You are the adult. They are the kids, and you’re the one with the bad attitude. You’re the one who knows better.
Here I am pretending to model thankfulness with my cutesy little branches and thankful leaves, but inside my spirit is a rumbling mess. I don’t want to go to the doctor. I don’t want to make more sandwiches. I don’t want to mess with kids. Honestly, I want to sit quietly and write inspiring words about how lovely my life is.
However, thanks to that attitude this is what I get to write instead, my own reminder- written for all the public to read:
My children (and yours) are a blessing, not a burden. They are not this thing we have to get through in order to get on to the more important stuff. They are the more important stuff.
Children are a glorious reward, but not every day feels like it. On those days- the tuna foot sandwich days- we just have to trust God’s Word on that one.
“Sons are a heritage from the Lord, children a reward from him.” Psalm 127:3 (italics mine)
Help me out here! I know I’m not the only one who’s had days like this! Fill in the blank: My most memorable tuna foot sandwich day was when….