Ah... mothering; there really is no time where you are off. I type at the same time I have a who-can-stare-the-longest-into-the-other's-eyes standoff with the 16-month-old who just grabbed a phone charger at the same time he whispered "no, no, no..."
I wake up today to an over-excited two-and-a-half year old screaming "Happy mother's day, mama!" Lucky for him, his dad has a cup of coffee already in hand. Smart man I married. The youngest doesn't really know what to say, but he copies his older brother's enthusiasm and screams "mama! mama! mama!"I start getting ready, deciding it's a good day to take the extra time to paint my toenails. So, with both boys on the floor, I start painting my toenails. They watch me, mesmerized. I hear a "mama, do mine too!"
At some point, all of the nail polish bottles are out of the drawer. I decide to choose my battle, and stick to getting job number one done, and then deal with 'what have I said about opening mama's drawer and pulling stuff out?' later. From what I hear and sort of see out of the corner of my eye, a careful lineup of bottles is now decorating the footrest of my bed. It's not until I walk out of the bathroom that I see that the kid has carefully balanced each bottle on its top.
It doesn't take long til bottle number six doesn't quite make it. It tumbles down and shatters as it hits the floor. Glass everywhere, and little brother now has a hand covered in light pink enamel. At least this happened after I finished with my nails, I think; and at least nobody got cut. I hand off the boys to the brother who is visiting. Clean up the mess... There really is no time off.
Motherhood... I have met my match. I have always been a really good apprentice; if I like the subject at hand, I will dive in until I perfect it. In Spanish, the term is dominar - to dominate, to master something. There is no mastering this motherhood thing. You can only live it out, every day. It's pure steadfastness. Constancy. Faithfulness. Even when the previous day left you feeling like you really cannot face tomorrow. Even when the previous day was so good that you feel it can't be duplicated.
Even when it rips your heart. Even when your own kid is dying. I am sitting at my grandmother's table. I have just taken mom to her bed. We've come back from a doctor's appointment. It has been discouraging. Grandma and I sit in silence. We used to sit at this table, the three of us, and share coffee and stories. But now, the two of us sit and eat (and cry) in silence. There's not much to say. Her daughter is dying, and she can't do anything to stop it. She will bury her daughter, and after that will take care of her children after she's gone.
Even when you face the unknown. Even when you are the one getting ready to leave your children behind, sooner than you had expected. I am in mom's hospital room now. It
suddenly has become very clear that this is her last day, and despite
the thirty years I have had her, it feels awfully short. I am full of
questions. I have always assumed she will be there when I get engaged, when I get married, when I have kids, and the realization that she won't hits me hard and fast. My first question is "Why? Why must I be the one without a mom from now on?" She says, "I don't know." And I weep. I weep in my mother's lap. And she runs her fingers through my hair, and she lets me mourn her death.
I hear my mother's voice sometimes. I hear it, as I am rocking an angry wailing boy in full tantrum. She says, "the kid who is hardest to love is the kid who needs it the most." I miss them. I miss these two ladies who loved children. I miss these two teachers of children. Their ideas would sure come in handy now.
After she lets me cry for a while, I wipe my tears, and I figure that if time is short, I might as well ask the questions I've never asked before. So, I say, "What should I do when I have my own children? Who will help me figure it out?" And mom whispers, "Jesus will. That's all there is to it really. Ask Him every day, and He will let you know."
... And He has. And He will.
