~Ah yes, the Early Years. Some things stick in my mind like glue when the kids were younger, while others don’t. But as a young mother, they kept me busy forgetting to slow down and appreciate even the littlest of things.
The energy was quite high. I was throwing supper together like a mad woman in an overly heated kitchen. The kids shuffled for their soccer uniforms while the spray of stinky filled the room. Don had just come home from work and was starving as usual. He unloads all 18lbs of tools from his pockets and was ready to sink his gritty teeth into a thrown-together supper that took all of 15 mins to make. Not my best piece of work. But, whatever.
It didn’t help that I came home from work with a raging migraine either. So working over a hot stove with the dog at my feet wanting every bit of my attention wasn’t going to happen. I was tired.
Mom, where is the other half of my sock?
My head just exploded. Not because of the pain in my head nor this bid of sudden attention from Breanna but because I FORGOT TO CALL MY MOM ON HER BIRTHDAY! Explosion #2. Sigh.
Getting supper on the table and the kids out on time was almost a daily ritual. Eating on a whim and leaving dirty plates was more the rule and not the exception. When will it end?? If it’s not soccer, it will be something else. Just another day to log.
After supper, I looked on as Don and the kids tore out with a trail of dust kicking up as they raced off to soccer practice. “YOU BETTER NOT BE SPEEDING!!!!” I screamed to myself. The living room window smoked up to a circle of my hot air. I retreated. I threw myself on the nearby couch and closed my eyes. I just need a minute. I was desperate to find one.
And I did.
How many years have I been doing this? How many loads of dirty laundry did I do week after week in the overly crowded room of rusty Kenmore machines? I plead the fifth. And how often was I acknowledged and appreciated to do anything? The answer to these questions might just take me down a path of self-infliction like.…..waterboarding my own self. Or swallowing gum. Or something.
However, I tend to believe otherwise.
I, as a mother – or parent, have been given a calling. The Masters’ hands have been extended. Opened wide, placed in mine as I so lovingly received the gift of my children. One by one. Year one for Ben. Year two for Breanna and year three for Brittany. To receive the highest rank of order by the Creator Himself. This gift. He called ME. And Don. To do this. At this very moment in time. And hour. To mold. To shape. To discipline. To love these children. And they are mine!! How can I not love that?? How can I not press on to be the best I am called to be? No matter how turbulent the storms get in the parenting arena, there’s always moments of restitution. We breathe. We listen. We pray. We are all given space and grace to persevere and hear that voice of reasoning to keep going. And if I never hear a word of appreciation for the work I do for my children, that’s okay. Because I am called.
As I continued to dream, I would think of the kids even back when they were toddlers. The sounds of bustling running across that dirty floor. Oh, the joy in that sound. Suddenly the creases of each corner of my mouth lifted and I smile. My, how time has flown. You fall into bed at the end of the day in sheer exhaustion and you wake up and do it all over again. Before you know it, your child has his college application on the kitchen table.
I awoke from my dreaming and slowly got up and moved down the hall and peeked into their empty rooms. Their unmade beds, crumbles of paper that missed the trash, piles of dirty clothes that I believe….I BELIEVE….may have been there since just after my last birthday. A year ago.
But, I love my kids. No sooner had I come to this place in my life then to look back at THIS moment when they’re married and these rooms are clean and tidy. But, empty. Is THAT what I really long for?
I recall many years ago after I had been out of the house and away for some time, I returned home to sleep in my own bedroom and in my own bed. It felt good to be home. I remembered lying face up dreaming, listening for the familiar sounds you hear as a kid (other than cockroaches in the walls – eeek!). But one sound I didn’t remember. It was the faint sound of the grandfather clock that hung on the wall in the living room. Tick-tock, tick-tock. We’ve had it for years. I hadn’t heard it before….after all that time. A family of six for 20 years and I had never heard it before. THIS is what the sound of silence discloses. What I have really missed.
The quiet is deafening.
Does it take quiet to really hear what you’ve been missing? Remember your calling. Don’t let get away from you. Can’t hear it much now, but it will be loud and clear soon and very soon.
