Thoughts From A Mothers Heart
"Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift? the fruit of the womb his generous legacy?
Like a warrior’s fistful of arrow are the children of a vigorous youth.
Oh, how blessed are you parents, with your quivers full of children!
Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you; you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep".
Ps 127:3-5
Where did the years vanish?. Not too long ago I chased him round the table, changed his diapers and gave him a bath. Now he is all so grown up he doesn't see what mum could possibly teach him. 9 going on 10 but my! what a big ego we've got.
Alternating between the microscopic and birds eye view, two different pictures present themselves as indeed they should, never the less I'm surprised each time.
Every morning and evening, just like clock work, we have the same dialogue:
"Have you washed your face ?"
"No!"
"Have you brushed your teeth?"
"I don't want to"
"You hair is not combed"
(Visibly upset) "But mummy!".
Water rolling over your skin doesn't qualify. "But mummy, I have bathed". Mummy develops super powers when she finds cracks in his story leaving him in awe. Puzzled he asks " how did you know?". I hesitate to tell him for he is bound to use the information to improve future tales but I tell him anyway. The tub was wet alright but his sponge was dry, the soap was untouched (there was no scent in the air). His tooth brush is dry and so is the sink. What I assumed was a teenage boys conflict, has clearly set in early.
Obtaining a run down of his school day is like doing 50 crunches; voices rise, tears flow and there is a whole lot of misery. I remain wide eyed perplexed at which part of the question "how was your day?" triggered off this world war. Eventually there will be the usual answer "Nothing. It was a normal day" until an email or note comes in from his teacher about how he was disruptive in class and didn't turn in his homework. I'm slowly convinced I need to see a psychiatrist.
A pencil or pen is magical in his hand. He will draw Greg Heffley, the little boy in Diary of a wimpy kid, in a breath. Just don't ask him to do it, it has to be his own initiative.
He will write a most interesting story for his assignment that Mrs. Schultz asks him to read it to his class.
His curiosity and philosophical questions leave me amazed at his intelligence. In the same breath, he will be down right mean to his sister who lives in awe of him and the next moment read her a story, carry her on his back or teach her letters of the alphabet. Then he will insist on watching the scariest program leaving the little girl shaking in her socks. It is almost impossible to find programs they can watch together. I forget how wide a 6 year age gap is, never mind the differences in gender. He trips her, plays rough with her but she picks herself up and soldiers on.
In heated moments he will talk back, he will argue, never yielding or being respectful of authority. Even in calm moments yielding is not his modus operandi. Then one day he will compliment my dress or appreciate my affection. He will insist on being consulted on weekend plans because informing him on the day of that visitors are coming over cramps him style and ruins his plans.
I love him to bits. Some days he cracks me up and other days he cracks me down. Pieces of myself roll broken and crushed all over the floor; reflections of myself, some good, some not so good. Lessons I need to learn, habits I need to drop, character traits I need to work on but mostly he is a reminder that I need to spend more time in prayer. I feel inadequate especially in these United States where everything goes. Children are exposed to adult themes in their formative years. His dad and I can only do our best and leave the rest to God. I miss the community influence from extended family and good friends who input good values in these sprouting shoots.
At the moment it evolves around 2 sets of influences: Parents and teachers and sometimes TV.
Stooping to look at life from his point of view would make a difference to the way I react. Half the time I look at his behavior from my corrupted adult perspective and not with the curiosity and innocence of his lens. I blow up situations that leave him perplexed. "I just wanted to know what happens when I put foil in the microwave"
When I open the freezer and a can of coke has exploded. "Er, I wanted to see what a frozen can of coke looks like" with a heart rate that would necessitate ER, I try to breath and count to 20.
The show must go on! My prayer today and everyday is "God help me to capture his heart for you".
Like a warrior’s fistful of arrow are the children of a vigorous youth.
Oh, how blessed are you parents, with your quivers full of children!
Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you; you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep".
Ps 127:3-5
Where did the years vanish?. Not too long ago I chased him round the table, changed his diapers and gave him a bath. Now he is all so grown up he doesn't see what mum could possibly teach him. 9 going on 10 but my! what a big ego we've got.
Alternating between the microscopic and birds eye view, two different pictures present themselves as indeed they should, never the less I'm surprised each time.
Every morning and evening, just like clock work, we have the same dialogue:
"Have you washed your face ?"
"No!"
"Have you brushed your teeth?"
"I don't want to"
"You hair is not combed"
(Visibly upset) "But mummy!".
Water rolling over your skin doesn't qualify. "But mummy, I have bathed". Mummy develops super powers when she finds cracks in his story leaving him in awe. Puzzled he asks " how did you know?". I hesitate to tell him for he is bound to use the information to improve future tales but I tell him anyway. The tub was wet alright but his sponge was dry, the soap was untouched (there was no scent in the air). His tooth brush is dry and so is the sink. What I assumed was a teenage boys conflict, has clearly set in early.
Obtaining a run down of his school day is like doing 50 crunches; voices rise, tears flow and there is a whole lot of misery. I remain wide eyed perplexed at which part of the question "how was your day?" triggered off this world war. Eventually there will be the usual answer "Nothing. It was a normal day" until an email or note comes in from his teacher about how he was disruptive in class and didn't turn in his homework. I'm slowly convinced I need to see a psychiatrist.
A pencil or pen is magical in his hand. He will draw Greg Heffley, the little boy in Diary of a wimpy kid, in a breath. Just don't ask him to do it, it has to be his own initiative.
His curiosity and philosophical questions leave me amazed at his intelligence. In the same breath, he will be down right mean to his sister who lives in awe of him and the next moment read her a story, carry her on his back or teach her letters of the alphabet. Then he will insist on watching the scariest program leaving the little girl shaking in her socks. It is almost impossible to find programs they can watch together. I forget how wide a 6 year age gap is, never mind the differences in gender. He trips her, plays rough with her but she picks herself up and soldiers on.
In heated moments he will talk back, he will argue, never yielding or being respectful of authority. Even in calm moments yielding is not his modus operandi. Then one day he will compliment my dress or appreciate my affection. He will insist on being consulted on weekend plans because informing him on the day of that visitors are coming over cramps him style and ruins his plans.
I love him to bits. Some days he cracks me up and other days he cracks me down. Pieces of myself roll broken and crushed all over the floor; reflections of myself, some good, some not so good. Lessons I need to learn, habits I need to drop, character traits I need to work on but mostly he is a reminder that I need to spend more time in prayer. I feel inadequate especially in these United States where everything goes. Children are exposed to adult themes in their formative years. His dad and I can only do our best and leave the rest to God. I miss the community influence from extended family and good friends who input good values in these sprouting shoots.
At the moment it evolves around 2 sets of influences: Parents and teachers and sometimes TV.
Stooping to look at life from his point of view would make a difference to the way I react. Half the time I look at his behavior from my corrupted adult perspective and not with the curiosity and innocence of his lens. I blow up situations that leave him perplexed. "I just wanted to know what happens when I put foil in the microwave"
When I open the freezer and a can of coke has exploded. "Er, I wanted to see what a frozen can of coke looks like" with a heart rate that would necessitate ER, I try to breath and count to 20.
The show must go on! My prayer today and everyday is "God help me to capture his heart for you".
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