All in Parenting

I was down on my knees in the flooded bathroom. I felt like I was drowning in discontentment. I wanted my son to be different. I felt angry that he was making things so difficult for me.

In that same bathroom, the day before, I couldn't take the toothpaste eating and spitting in my face anymore. I yelled and screamed. I showed my son how ugly the anger was that boiled in my heart. I felt the war against flesh and spirit. I let anger win as it shot out of my mouth. I failed my son and left him in tears.

Why I No Longer Need Mommy Time

It's like a page out of Thomas' Snowsuit - you know, the Robert Munsch book about the kid who gets wrapped in layers, goes outside, throws one snowball, then yells that he has to go pee.

Only in my case, it's not pee with my bundled-up three-year-old. It's poop. Every day I ask him if he has to go. He says no. I wrap him up in his snowsuit, he exits the door for about 5 milliseconds, then races in crying because he's desperate to make it to the potty in time. It's a flurry of mittens and neck warmers and hats - and most days, he makes it.

But on this particular one, he doesn't.

I am guilty of being a producer. I am production-driven and believe that if what I'm doing doesn't serve a good purpose, it's not worth pursuing. However, most of the time it's focused on work such as cleaning the house, homeschooling, meal-making and even the books I read. Whatever I do must yield immediate results. I am driven by what is seen on the outside and struggle to cultivate my own heart to see beauty, creativity, and the art of slowing down. 

I believe I am carrying a false notion that production equals value.

Contentment is a Choice

I can see it so clearly in my oldest daughter—that constant yearning and wanting and always needing something more.  No sooner does she get what she wants than she is on to the next thing, constantly pining for something else that is just out of reach.  Sometimes it feels like she is incapable of just enjoying the moment she is in, of appreciating what she has instead of worrying about what she is missing out on.  Her insatiable need for more scares me sometimes. 

And yet.