It started at 4:30 AM today. Abe came into the room. “Mama, is it time for breakfast?”
“No, Sweetie, it’s time for you to crawl back into bed and not bother me for at least 4 more hours.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I whispered, “Quiet, or you’ll wake your brother and sister. Let’s just snuggle here for awhile.”
At 5:15, Jed joined us. “Mama, I’m hungry. Is it breakfast time yet?”
“Um, no. It’s time for me to put a lock on your bedroom door so you can’t leave for another 3 hours.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I whispered, “Not yet, but you can snuggle with me, too.”
As I lay there listening to stories, movie quotes, and impromptu songs, being elbowed and kneed and pinched and poked, I wished for sleep to come. I also had to keep responding, “No, it’s not time for breakfast."
Lucy started whining around 5:30. As I went to pick her up, she whimpered, “Baba, Mama, More Baba.”
“No way, I just want to crawl back into bed!” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I replied gently, “Okay, Lucy, let’s go get your bottle.”
After filling her bottle, we crawled into bed with the other two and waited until 6:00. Then, I suggested, “Boys, why don’t you go to the bathroom?”
“Okay Mom, is it breakfast time yet?”
“When you go and make it yourself, it will be breakfast time.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, “Not yet, why don’t you guys play in your room for a while and I’ll take some God time.”
The next hour was filled with reading, journaling, changing diapers, breaking up arguments, mitigating disputes, fixing broken toys, praying, trying to not mind that I was being used as a jungle gym, cleaning up my room of all the toys that were brought in, getting everyone dressed for the day, and fielding the question, “Is it breakfast time, yet?” at least 24,000 more times.
You see, at some point in our child-rearing, we decided that breakfast time should be 7:00. We thought that our kids were waking up early because they were getting fed when they woke and without that nutritional reinforcement, maybe they’d sleep an extra half hour. Not working. Still, we’re holding to 7 because it seems to make sense to have a set breakfast time.
Now, this is really not the story. This is only the build-up. Now comes the really fun part. I finally closed my journal and announced to my brood, “It’s breakfast time!” 3 joyous, rambunctious children flocked to my side.
“Would you like mango oatmeal this morning?” I graciously offered.
“Yeah!!!” yelled my three goofballs. “But, Mama, can I have a bowl of cold cereal with curd and jam and my oatmeal in another bowl so I can eat the cereal while my oatmeal cools?” Gotta give Jed points for thinking ahead. He had been ravenously waiting for an hour and a half. Let’s get some food in before he falls over from malnourishment!
“Me too, Mama, I want cereal with curd and jam.” Abe, ever the joiner, chimed in.
Okay, now I was making two breakfasts. I got downstairs and started with the cereal. No need to hear any more about breakfast time. After I got those two bowls in front of the boys, Lucy was whining, grabbing my pants and tripping me as I went for the mangoes and oatmeal. As I was stirring the oatmeal, Jed came in, “Is the oatmeal ready yet?”
“You’re getting oatmeal when pigs fly!” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I replied somewhat calmly, “Just go sit down, it will be done in a minute.” I dished out mango oatmeal for my two bottomless pits and then for my clinging vine. Finally, I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down by them. I knew better than to put the rest of the oatmeal into a bowl for myself. They usually want seconds or thirds.
“Mama, can you cool my oatmeal down?”
“Mama, do we have ice?”
“Sure, just up the mountain on that glacier. Why don’t you start walking.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, “No, Honey, we don’t have ice. Our fridge is small. I’ll blow on it for you, though.”
About the time all three kids were halfway through their second bowls and I was trying to figure out what I was going to have for breakfast, Jed looked out the window. “Oh Mama, it’s sunny! Can I go play outside?” Normally, the answer would be “Not until you finish the food you asked for.” But, I saw my chance at getting some oatmeal and not having to make myself something else.
“Okay, as long as you are full. Are you sure you don’t want anymore?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Mama, can I go, too?” Abe chimes in.
“Atside!” Lucy smiles.
“Sure!” It was looking better all the time. 3 half-bowls of kids’ oatmeal equaled one lukewarm Mama bowl of oatmeal.
I helped the younger ones into their shoes and then scraped the bowls together, filled my coffee cup, and headed out the door. Now, the real story:
When I got married, I found out that I wasn’t as selfless as I had first thought. There is one area in particular where I can be quite territorial. It’s my plate of food. When I fix a plate of food, I put exactly how much I want on there. If I take a bowl of chips, I have the number I want to eat. A handful of peanuts? Same thing. So, when Chris would come by and try to ‘share’ I’d get frustrated. “Do you want me to get you a bowl?”
“No, I just want one . . . or two . . . or half of yours.”
I realized that if I wanted to eat my allotted serving, I would have to ask Chris ahead of time if he wanted some and plan accordingly. Also, I would save my favorite thing for the end whereas Chris would eat his favorite thing first. He had to learn to ask if I was saving that particular chip for last.
When you become a Mother, it crushes your selfishness. And if your selfishness doesn’t crush, than you do. I believe God saw my weakness and went right to the core. I had to start by feeding those children from my body for 9 months on the inside and over a year on the outside. That meant I was pregnant and/or nursing for over 5 years straight. Then, before you even stop feeding them from your body, they start asking for food from your plate. Nothing looks as good as what’s in Mama’s bowl.
Flash forward. I sat down on the porch in the sun to enjoy my oatmeal (though sufficiently cooled by now) and watch my children playing joyfully. As soon as my behind hit the stone, Abe came running up. “Mama, I changed my mind. Can I have some more oatmeal?”
“Seriously? I’m about to throw you off this porch!” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I remembered my vice and replied. “Sure, Buddy.”
Well, that brought in the troops. Pretty soon, all three were sitting around me, quickly emptying my bowl. I got about two bites. “Are you guys full? Do you need something else?”
“No, Mama, we’re done. Thanks.” At least they thanked me. I think.
So, off I went to the kitchen again where I fried myself up some eggs and toast. I considered hiding in the back room, sneaking my breakfast like a fugitive, but I remembered the beautiful day outside and my kids’ assurance that they were full.
I walked back out, sat down, and immediately heard.
“Mama, can I have some eggy?”
“Mama, can I have a bite of your toast?”
“Mama, egg!”
I guess I still have something to learn . . .
“No, Sweetie, it’s time for you to crawl back into bed and not bother me for at least 4 more hours.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I whispered, “Quiet, or you’ll wake your brother and sister. Let’s just snuggle here for awhile.”
At 5:15, Jed joined us. “Mama, I’m hungry. Is it breakfast time yet?”
“Um, no. It’s time for me to put a lock on your bedroom door so you can’t leave for another 3 hours.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I whispered, “Not yet, but you can snuggle with me, too.”
As I lay there listening to stories, movie quotes, and impromptu songs, being elbowed and kneed and pinched and poked, I wished for sleep to come. I also had to keep responding, “No, it’s not time for breakfast."
Lucy started whining around 5:30. As I went to pick her up, she whimpered, “Baba, Mama, More Baba.”
“No way, I just want to crawl back into bed!” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I replied gently, “Okay, Lucy, let’s go get your bottle.”
After filling her bottle, we crawled into bed with the other two and waited until 6:00. Then, I suggested, “Boys, why don’t you go to the bathroom?”
“Okay Mom, is it breakfast time yet?”
“When you go and make it yourself, it will be breakfast time.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, “Not yet, why don’t you guys play in your room for a while and I’ll take some God time.”
The next hour was filled with reading, journaling, changing diapers, breaking up arguments, mitigating disputes, fixing broken toys, praying, trying to not mind that I was being used as a jungle gym, cleaning up my room of all the toys that were brought in, getting everyone dressed for the day, and fielding the question, “Is it breakfast time, yet?” at least 24,000 more times.
You see, at some point in our child-rearing, we decided that breakfast time should be 7:00. We thought that our kids were waking up early because they were getting fed when they woke and without that nutritional reinforcement, maybe they’d sleep an extra half hour. Not working. Still, we’re holding to 7 because it seems to make sense to have a set breakfast time.
Now, this is really not the story. This is only the build-up. Now comes the really fun part. I finally closed my journal and announced to my brood, “It’s breakfast time!” 3 joyous, rambunctious children flocked to my side.
“Would you like mango oatmeal this morning?” I graciously offered.
“Yeah!!!” yelled my three goofballs. “But, Mama, can I have a bowl of cold cereal with curd and jam and my oatmeal in another bowl so I can eat the cereal while my oatmeal cools?” Gotta give Jed points for thinking ahead. He had been ravenously waiting for an hour and a half. Let’s get some food in before he falls over from malnourishment!
“Me too, Mama, I want cereal with curd and jam.” Abe, ever the joiner, chimed in.
Okay, now I was making two breakfasts. I got downstairs and started with the cereal. No need to hear any more about breakfast time. After I got those two bowls in front of the boys, Lucy was whining, grabbing my pants and tripping me as I went for the mangoes and oatmeal. As I was stirring the oatmeal, Jed came in, “Is the oatmeal ready yet?”
“You’re getting oatmeal when pigs fly!” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I replied somewhat calmly, “Just go sit down, it will be done in a minute.” I dished out mango oatmeal for my two bottomless pits and then for my clinging vine. Finally, I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down by them. I knew better than to put the rest of the oatmeal into a bowl for myself. They usually want seconds or thirds.
“Mama, can you cool my oatmeal down?”
“Mama, do we have ice?”
“Sure, just up the mountain on that glacier. Why don’t you start walking.” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, “No, Honey, we don’t have ice. Our fridge is small. I’ll blow on it for you, though.”
About the time all three kids were halfway through their second bowls and I was trying to figure out what I was going to have for breakfast, Jed looked out the window. “Oh Mama, it’s sunny! Can I go play outside?” Normally, the answer would be “Not until you finish the food you asked for.” But, I saw my chance at getting some oatmeal and not having to make myself something else.
“Okay, as long as you are full. Are you sure you don’t want anymore?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Mama, can I go, too?” Abe chimes in.
“Atside!” Lucy smiles.
“Sure!” It was looking better all the time. 3 half-bowls of kids’ oatmeal equaled one lukewarm Mama bowl of oatmeal.
I helped the younger ones into their shoes and then scraped the bowls together, filled my coffee cup, and headed out the door. Now, the real story:
When I got married, I found out that I wasn’t as selfless as I had first thought. There is one area in particular where I can be quite territorial. It’s my plate of food. When I fix a plate of food, I put exactly how much I want on there. If I take a bowl of chips, I have the number I want to eat. A handful of peanuts? Same thing. So, when Chris would come by and try to ‘share’ I’d get frustrated. “Do you want me to get you a bowl?”
“No, I just want one . . . or two . . . or half of yours.”
I realized that if I wanted to eat my allotted serving, I would have to ask Chris ahead of time if he wanted some and plan accordingly. Also, I would save my favorite thing for the end whereas Chris would eat his favorite thing first. He had to learn to ask if I was saving that particular chip for last.
When you become a Mother, it crushes your selfishness. And if your selfishness doesn’t crush, than you do. I believe God saw my weakness and went right to the core. I had to start by feeding those children from my body for 9 months on the inside and over a year on the outside. That meant I was pregnant and/or nursing for over 5 years straight. Then, before you even stop feeding them from your body, they start asking for food from your plate. Nothing looks as good as what’s in Mama’s bowl.
Flash forward. I sat down on the porch in the sun to enjoy my oatmeal (though sufficiently cooled by now) and watch my children playing joyfully. As soon as my behind hit the stone, Abe came running up. “Mama, I changed my mind. Can I have some more oatmeal?”
“Seriously? I’m about to throw you off this porch!” Well, that’s what I wanted to say. Instead, I remembered my vice and replied. “Sure, Buddy.”
Well, that brought in the troops. Pretty soon, all three were sitting around me, quickly emptying my bowl. I got about two bites. “Are you guys full? Do you need something else?”
“No, Mama, we’re done. Thanks.” At least they thanked me. I think.
So, off I went to the kitchen again where I fried myself up some eggs and toast. I considered hiding in the back room, sneaking my breakfast like a fugitive, but I remembered the beautiful day outside and my kids’ assurance that they were full.
I walked back out, sat down, and immediately heard.
“Mama, can I have some eggy?”
“Mama, can I have a bite of your toast?”
“Mama, egg!”
I guess I still have something to learn . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment