Of Failure and Focus

I've been anticipating the snow. I love waking up to fat flakes falling on the ground. Our fireplace is fully functioning, again, so a day curled up in front of the fire with my favorite littles and white snow on the ground sounded lovely. So when I peeked out my window this morning and saw all my dreams coming true, I was happy to go see if the children had thought to look out their own windows . . .

"Mommy! It's snowing!" Yep, she'd seen it. As I attempted to greet her enthusiasm with my own, it started, "And you said, if it snowed . . ."

Oh no. What did I "promise"?

" . . . Callie would come over and we'd play in the snow!"

No. Wait. No. I distinctly remember this conversation. I distinctly remember indicating that if there were snow on the ground, her best friend's mom would most likely not be interested in driving her across town to play in the snow. Not to mention that which wasn't said: it stresses me out enough having my own three tromping in and out of the house all covered in freezing wet-ness, let alone three extras. No, I most certainly did not ever agree to a play-date in the snow.

"Well, baby, I don't think that's going to . . ."

"Well, we can at least go play in the snow! I can't wait!"

At this point I had to walk away. I could no longer handle the excitement. Because her snow day dreams and my snow day dreams just had a head-on collision and I couldn't handle the impact.

And this is when living in a semi-depressed state* makes living just hard. I suppose I can't guarantee it, but in my little, deluded brain, other people can handle this. Other people can hear the excitement of their kids and get excited right along with them. They can hurry them back into their rooms and get them bundled up to play.

All I can do is curl up in a ball on the couch and cry.

Because suddenly this snow day took on a whole new meaning.

Failure.

These children have so many excited expectations to what it means to see snow out their windows. And try as I may to make their dreams come true. I will falter on some minor detail and then these blessings will turn to monsters quicker than I can imagine. And their world is ruined and it's all my fault.

You think I exaggerate, because you can see in the above scenario she handled the change quite well, because they often do, to the surprise of us all. But, depending on the level of exhaustion in these little ones, I am guaranteed at least a handful of arbitrary melt-downs a day - from their favorite food on the wrong-colored plate, to having to take a five-minute break from coloring so they can empty the dishwasher, to not having the right pajama top to wear with their favorite bottoms. It seems that no matter how much parenting success I have, failure is always quick on its heels. Or, at least, failure in their eyes.

Mom has failed me because . . .

On an intellectual level, I understand. This failure is in their heads. The plate color is irrelevant and in no way makes me a bad mom. Doing chores is an important life skill and in no way makes me a bad mom. Clothes are sometimes in the laundry, and their not wanting to wear the clean clothing actually available in their drawers does not make me a bad mom.

But for some reason, in that moment of tears and yelling, all I can do is hear the words, "You have failed me." And all I can manage in response are my own angry words.

Because that fixes the situation.

Which brings me back to the couch of tears as a blanket of white envelopes the backyard. And I can see a future of crushed dreams and Mommy-failures and angry words and hot tears. And I'm crushed before the day can even begin. And all I can know is that I need to be back in bed, saving up energy to handle these crises well, while really hiding from the world so the failure can be pushed aside for at least another hour.

And then He reminds me of the lesson He spoke into my heart just yesterday:

"Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men." (Colossians 3:23)

And not because this is a new verse or because it helps me at all, or is any less burdensome, to feel like I'm supposed to have a worshipful heart in all these endeavors to make them happy, but because it means all these endeavors are not to make them happy.

All these endeavors are for the Lord.

Every action I perform as a mother isn't with the end goal of producing happy children who rise up and call me blessed, but for pleasing the Lord.

So, if I serve them food with love and they react with harshness, it does not matter. I am working for the Lord, not for them.

If I ask them to serve their family and they respond with anger and bitter words, it does not matter. I am working for the Lord, not for them.

If I have presented them with pajamas they don't wish to wear, it does not matter. I am working for the Lord, not for them.

If I have the energy to bundle them out to go outside, but not the energy to bundle myself up and join them, I am not condemned. I work for the Lord, not for them.

Their response should never dictate my own. In my response to their anger, tantrums and disrespect, I am to honor the Lord. Even when it feels like they don't deserve my kindness.

And this rule applies to all people, not just the little dictators living in my home.

Not to say this thought doesn't overwhelm me, either. But I can know my heavenly master is much more forgiving and understanding than the little ones on earth.

So I can breathe deep. And I can face this day. Because as I go about my day with a compassionate heart, kindness, humility, meekness and patience, I can know I am doing this for the Lord, as one of His chosen ones, holy and beloved. I do this for Him. Not for them.



*I say "semi-depressed" because a) I am in a much better place than I was a little over a year ago, but those days of darkness continue to knock on the door of my mind and b) I have never been officially diagnosed with Depression and I do not want to put myself in the same category as others who have most likely struggled with far more than I. Yet I am there, somewhere, wading through this fog.

Of Her Snow List

One of the beauties of having grandparents who live further north is that our precious daughter has no concept of a Christmas that's not white (and, for that matter, she has very few memories of snow that are not associated with the holiday - which has led her to believe that snow=Christmas).  And in her short years on this earth, she has developed a rather precise list of the activities which must occur whilst enjoying one's white Christmas.

Therefore, when next presented with snow (after getting over the fact that you will not, in fact, be receiving presents because it is not, in fact, Christmas day), you should know, it is absolutely necessary to make snow angels, throw snowballs and build a snowman (and she still believes Easter egg eyes are the norm on this one, because it's all Mom could come up with during the rare Oklahoma blizzard two years ago - when she was TWO - this girl forgets nothing).

A possible addition to the list after her experience this year (though, I recall, it was not her first, so maybe it's not a favorite): sledding.  Then again, she might just pronounce this as an unrealistic expectation for the future, as she knows full-well Aunt Dia broke the pink sled.  And we all know, if you don't have a pink sled, it's just not worth it.

In any matter, after enjoying a few warm days inside while visiting Gram and Grandy this December (and after many, many pleadings, from the moment we crossed the Nebraska border), we all gave in, bundled her and her brothers up (Joseph only just enough for the obligatory "first snow" photos) and tromped out to the growing layers of white crystals.

After being pulled on the sled for a few circles around the yard (due to lack of hills within Gram and Grandy's fence - don't worry, we visited one of those later in the week), she stood up and declared it was time for snowballs.  Thus, she found fistfuls of powder (it had not enough time/moisture to become snowball ready, but this fact is of no importance to a four-year-old) and tossed them at Mom and Dad, giggling like a wild-woman the whole time.

Of course, we fought back - as is absolutely necessary.

When snowballs were concluded (after about two minutes), it was snow angel time. So, she and I laid ourselves in the cold wet, spread our arms and legs and completed the second item on her list (with a few tears on her side, due to the wild nature of her flailing and the ensuing snow shower on her face).

As the snow was shaken off, Micaiah declared, "Now we make a snowman."

Check.

Again, the precipitation was not so conducive to proper packing, so we ended up with more of a mound than a man, but the grapes and carrot from Gram made a suitable face just the same (sadly, no plastic eggs were involved).

We then snapped a few family photos with Frosty.

And with that, she was done.

Ready to go inside and warm up.

Meanwhile, her oldest brother, mittened fingers gripping the handles, would have been content to continue with rides on the bright orange sled (note: the one not broken a couple of days later) well into darkness, though we hardly allowed it considering the rest of us were perfectly fine with completing Micaiah's checklist and retreating into the warmth of the house.

He, apparently, is much more of a free spirit than the rest of us.

1,000 Gifts:
1068. A new year to count new gifts
1069. Snowflakes on the tongue

1070. A carton of ice cream and Netflix on a hormonal afternoon
1071. Saturating my memory with Scripture
1072. A few days to relax in the midst of travels
1073. Tiny locks of fine baby hair falling to the floor, and a mullet gone

Of Weather

Before showing you this picture of the day, I would just like to note it was 61 degrees outside this afternoon - or so told me my Weather Widget when I settled down to my computer after lunch.  And from my before-lunch jaunts outside, I would have no reason to doubt it.

This is what my weather widget says now:

I'm not sure how closely you're looking (or if it's just too trippy to you to have that "blog within a blog" effect so you're not focusing on the right thing), but that says 34 degrees.  And right next to that, there's a cloud.  And what's falling from the cloud?  That's right, snowflakes.

And from my brief jaunt out to the mailbox after putting the kids to bed, I can, indeed, attest to the fact that there was some not-so-liquid precipitation stinging my face.

Seriously. Oklahoma?  It was 61!

Sigh.

As a result, tonight's before-bed snack is brought to you by Malt-O-Meal, my snuggly cold-weather alternative to your typical bowl of cereal (also something specifically advised against by the midwives two weeks ago thanks to raised glucose levels - I won't tell if you don't).

(Also please note, in the 15 minutes between when I took this picture and when I posted it, the temperature reported on my widget dropped to 32.  This is lame.)

Further Update:  After my initial post, I peeked outside to see if I could actually see snowflakes swirling in the air (though I knew it would only be in the air as the ground wasn't cold enough to sustain accumulation, right?).  This is what I found:

I would be lying if I didn't admit it actually makes my heart a little happy inside.

Of a Not-So-White Christmas

A couple of weeks ago, when I mentioned the holiday for some reason or other, Micaiah declared, "It's not Christmas; it's not snowing!". This was the point at which I realized an unrealistic precedent has been established in her life. For all the Christmases she is likely to remember (ie, the past two years), she has enjoyed a white Christmas. Having grandparents who live a little further north than Oklahoma has done well to increase the likelihood of this occurance for her. This year, however, the Midwest, in general, has experienced considerably less wintry precipitation than in previous years (thus far), and I fear she will learn the bitter truth - Christmas and snow are not always a packaged deal. It's sad she must learn the truth so early in life, but better to be disillusioned young than to allow oneself to become too cozy in a false assumption, right? It's kind of like ripping off a Band-Aid. Here's hoping this latest revelation comes about with few tears. I'm thinking the presents will help to ease the pain.