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Personal

Control Freak

Cairo taxi

Jayson and I had a conversation the other day which confirmed something I had been thinking about for awhile.  He’s been taking the girls to preschool some mornings, and they told me that when they ride the taxi with him, Hannah sits next to the door in the back seat.  However, when they ride with me, which is most of the time, Emma sits next to the door.  Our conversation went something like this:

Me:  When you take the girls to preschool, does Hannah go into the taxi first?

Him:  I guess. Sometimes.

Me:  You mean you don’t tell them who should go in first when the taxi pulls up? (with a hint of incredulity).

Him:  Um, no.  They just get in.  (with a hint of “why would I need to do that?”)

Me:  Oh.  (pause)  I tell them exactly what to do every time the taxi is pulling up.  I say, ‘okay girls, the taxi is coming…when it stops, Emma will go in first and climb all the way to the door and then Hannah you climb in and sit right next to her, and don’t put your feet on the seat, just walk on the floor.  Make sure you move all the way over because I need room with Layla.’  I say that every time!  And then when the taxi stops, I say, ‘okay girls, we are almost home.  When the taxi stops, climb out as quickly as you can so the taxi doesn’t have to wait.’

Him:  (with both of us chuckling at this point) Yeah, I just let them get in the taxi.

Me:  And it works?

Him:  Yeah.

Me:  Hmmm, I guess I am a little controlling.

 

This is one good example of my type A personality coming out in my mothering.  It started to occur to me that not all moms do things the same when we visited some American friends a few months ago.  This mom has two boys around my girls’ age.  At one point, she brought out finger paints and let her oldest and my two girls go to town.  I was a little nervous at first, wanting to get up and give detailed instructions to my girls about not getting paint anywhere except the paper and not mixing colors up, etc.  But I refrained and just watched, partly in amazement that the mom of the house wasn’t giving more boundaries.  But you know what?   The kids had great fun painting all over their papers, mixing colors and of course, getting paint on their hands, arms and clothes.  But, it’s washable.  So who cares?  They had fun.  I didn’t analyze myself at the time, but later realized that first of all, we don’t even have paint.  (That’s at least partially intentional).  We have markers, but they are only used under supervision!  If I did have paint, I would probably only let one kid paint at a time, they would strip down to their skin, I would carefully explain that they should keep the colors nice and clean, and I would be tense the whole time they had access to paint with their fingers!  Sound like fun?  Not really.

It’s good to have these experiences and conversations as it is showing me some places where I can ease up a bit.  The same friend who let the kids finger paint freely, also encouraged me that I wasn’t too over-the-top with the taxi thing.  She reminded me that it is good for the girls to know what to expect and be prepared for what they should do.  After all, I am the one who is with them most all the time when they are riding the taxi and it is good to have some order.  So, thanks, friend, for your encouragement.  And thanks, Jayson, for laughing with me about this.  And thanks, girls, for being flexible and following my detailed orders most of the time, and teaching me a little more about how to have fun.

Categories
Personal

Motherhood

As I sat in the middle of the baby pool the other day, and let my daughters and some other kids pour water over my head and giggle with delight, I thought to myself, “Ah, this is the life.  My kids are happy.  I am making other kids happy.  Today I am a good mom.”  Of course, it wasn’t too hard to sit there and get cold water poured on me when it was 90 degrees out.  So at that moment, it wasn’t too hard to be a “good mom.”

However, the day before, I spent about 20 minutes holding onto my crying, screaming 3½ year old as she said over and over again, “I want to go swimming RIGHT now.  I want to go swimming RIGHT now.”  And even then I was pretty calm, “No, Emma, I have already told you we aren’t going swimming right now.  We have other things to do today and we will swim tomorrow.”  But no matter how many times I said it or how calmly I spoke, her message was the same over and over again.  And the ironic thing was, she was about to be disciplined for continuing to say this once we told her the answer was no.  But I couldn’t discipline her in her current state.  I had to wait until she calmed down.  Even after I left her for a few minutes, and found that the wading pool had been taken down for the day, she insisted that, “No, it’s still there and I want to go swimming RIGHT now!”  She wasn’t thinking or speaking rationally.  But hey, she’s a 3 year old in the midst of a tantrum.  This was not “the life” and I was not enjoying this at all.

Motherhood has its ups and downs.  I watch and listen as my two older girls play together so nicely and hear my 2 year old offer her sister some cookies or pretzels. “Oh how great it is that they play together like that.  And Hannah is sharing without being told!  Yeah!  We’re doing something right.”  And then, less than five minutes later, I hear screams coming from the same room as Hannah teases Emma about being “this” or “that” or Emma grabs a toy from Hannah that she deems hers.  “Ugh, why can’t you two get along?” is my thought which I often voice in a louder than necessary voice.

Recently I’ve noticed Emma being the Mom as Hannah is the child.  Nice game.  Except when I hear Emma speaking harshly to Hannah about something.  “Emma, you don’t talk to your sister like that!”  And then I realize, she is being the mom, and who does she learn that harsh voice from?  It must be me.  Surely I don’t speak like that all the time?  And yet, when I do, is it necessary?  I want the girls to know I’m serious, but am I loving at the same time?  I don’t want Emma to speak that way to Hannah, but in truth, I speak that way to both of them at times.

I always considered myself an easy-going person.  And yet, if my children knew the meaning of easy-going, and you asked them if that described me, I doubt the answer would be yes!  How can I lose my patience with them so quickly?

Sometimes I get so frustrated when they disobey or forget a rule for the 100th time.  “How many times do I have to tell you not to jump around Layla?!”  And yet, God quickly reminds me that I disobey Him or “forget” his laws way more than 100 times.  “Julie, they are my children, just like you are.  Show them mercy.  Give them grace.  Speak the truth…in love.  Nurture them.”

It’s a 24-7 job, and sometimes I feel I am not cut out for it.  Yet my children are so forgiving.  Less than five minutes after I lose my cool and speak harshly with them about something, they come running to me for comfort when they fall and hurt themselves.  Why would they want to come to ME for comfort?  I’m the mom, I suppose.  It’s one of the perks of the job.

Sometime I apologize to the girls for not being patient.  And a few times, when Emma notices that I am getting angry, she says, “Mommy, pray to God so you won’t get angry.”  It’s funny the emotions that come when she says that.  I am often not ready for such a word at that moment, and it makes me more angry.  Angry that she is right.  At the moment, I don’t want to let go of my anger and let God change me, but I want Emma to learn to pray to God in situations like this, so I try to pray, and it calms me down.  Out of the mouth of babes…

I have a lot to learn and a long way to go in this journey of motherhood.  God, give me wisdom.  Protect my children from my faults.  Guide me in the way I should go.  And, oh yes, thank you for the three wonderful blessings you have given me to teach me all about motherhood.