Archive for January, 2012

Being a Mommy Counts

So, I read the “Don’t Carpe Diem” article everyone’s sharing around on Facebook.  And you know what?  I think I may be, like, the ONLY person on the whole Internet who didn’t love it.

Maybe that’s because Analie is in such a magical stage right now.  Guys, every single day I get all misty and choked up because she is so amazing and so sweet; I just wish she’d stay like this forever.

But I know she won’t.

And I hate that.

Sure, yesterday she noticed I hadn’t latched the Tupperware cabinet and emptied the entire thing on the kitchen floor within a matter of 25 seconds.  But the look on her face of utter joy in the discovery was absolutely unparalleled.  It took me probably 2 minutes to clean up and reorganize the disaster once she was down for a nap, but two minutes of my time is a drop in the bucket when it comes to filling Analie’s days with the beginnings of rich life experiences.  (Even if it IS only Tupperware.)

Sometimes I feel frustrated by the negativity that can surround being a mommy.  I feel like we mommies get so caught up in expecting our children to behave like they’re years older than they really are so it will be more convenient for us…when what they really need is for us to get on our knees with them (even though it HURTS these days, right?!) and crawl around the house, pull stuff out of drawers and bang blocks together.

Discover life on Analie’s terms.  Not mine.

And isn’t that why I chose to become a mommy?  To do life with my baby?  Even when it hurts?  Or annoys me?  Or wears me down?

Maybe this stems from the increasing panic I am feeling about losing my “baby” as she grows up.  But Analie’s earliest picture of Jesus is going to be what she sees in Joey and I.  And one of my biggest prayers these days is that what she absorbs about Him isn’t that she has to fit into the predetermined behavior box we’ve made for her based on the behavior books we’ve read by well-intentioned Christian authors, or just what makes our lives more convenient.

I want the moments to matter.  The late nights and early mornings aren’t forever.  And I know that someday, when I look back on the early years of Analie’s life, I don’t want to regret my lazy parenting choices.

(AND OH MY GOSH, doesn’t the Internet make it so easy to be a lazy mommy?  Does for me!)

I hope nobody reading this feels judged.  That’s totally not my intention.  Because I am at least 60% less awesome at being a mom than I think I am.

But I’m Analie’s mama.

And I’m the only one she’ll ever have.

I want to make it count.

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The Partial Rapture

Yesterday I was putting away dishes from the dishwasher and Analie and Angus were playing in the hallway to our bedroom.  While it is true that I couldn’t see them from where I was, this setup was safer than than the last time Analie helped me unload the dishwasher; she had pulled herself up on the door and was helping herself to a paring knife (which shouldn’t have been in there anyway) when I realized what she was doing.

So no more helping with the dishwasher.

And besides, I had shut all the doors in the hallway, so there was nowhere to go but out into the dining room and right into Mama’s line of sight.

Less than a minute after I checked on them, I finished the dishes. And suddenly I realized it had gotten altogether too quiet in the house.  I walked over to the hallway; it was empty and all the doors were still closed.

Fine, fine, no problem; they had probably just sneaked around to the entryway and were trying to open the front door and escape again.  (If I don’t get it quite latched all the way, girlfriend has figured out how to pry that heavy door open. TRUE.)

They were not in the entryway.

Or the purple bathroom.

Or the den.

Or the living room.

Or Analie’s room.

Or under the dining room table.

Or in the kitchen.

OR ANYWHERE ELSE THAT I COULD SEE.

My heart started racing and I flashed back to one of my Bible college classes where the professor was talking about Eschatological views, one of which was that there would be a Partial Rapture and those who were ready would go on up to Heaven, and the rest of us would have to stay down here on Earth and work on it for awhile.

But that wasn’t possible, right?  Because every Bible college graduate worth their Grudem’s Systematic Theology knows that a.) 14 month old babies haven’t yet reached The Age Of Accountability, and b.) dogs don’t have souls.

That theory was off the table, so I did a second check of the house.  We don’t have a large house, Internet.  THERE AREN’T ANY PLACES TO HIDE.

The second trip around the house didn’t turn them up, and I was really starting to freak out.

And that’s when I heard it.

There was a NOISE coming from behind my CLOSED BEDROOM DOOR.

I carefully pushed the door open and was greeted by a grinning baby girl and a devilish puppy who was deep in a pile of clean, formerly folded laundry which I had been intending to put away during nap time.

They were so proud of themselves.  Because, MAMA!  WE ARE IN HERE ALL ALONE!

I have no idea how they got in my room, but I guess the door must not have latched when I shut it.

I’ma have to be more careful going forward.  A closed door doesn’t mean an empty room anymore.

But the really good news?  I haven’t been Left Behind!

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