I Get It Now

  I'm reading a book. It's a wonderfully fun cross between memoir and cookbook called "Too Many Cooks", by Emily Franklin.  The subtitle reads, "Kitchen Adventures with 1 Mom, 4 Kids, and 102 Recipes".   I love her style of writing, I "get" her.  As I'm reading, the thought crosses my mind, "Someday I'd like to write a book like this," and then I laugh, because I realize I actually could write a book very similar to this one.  A book full of  funny stories of the unexpected that inevitably happens when you mix young children and food, especially new food they haven't tried before, the reality that hits you between the eyes when you realize that parenting isn't anything like you once thought. 
   You see, I used to have great expectations of what life would be like "when I'm a mother".  I can't tell you how many times I have been guilty of looking at a mother, new or otherwise, and thinking, "I would never...", and "If that were my child..."  And if you, dear reader, happen to be one of those mothers, please accept my humblest, most sincere apology!   You see, I had no idea. Not a clue.
   Now, I know someone out there is going to be thinking, "You still have no idea!  Just wait until you really have your own kids!"  And they are right, I'm still vastly clueless, but I'm getting the idea.    I understand now the mother in the checkout line who bought her preschooler a candy bar to silence his shrieks.  (He's probably been at it for an hour and by now her ear drums are desperate for silence.)  I totally get the mom who handed her child a box of as yet unpaid for crackers saying, "Here, eat these!"  (Trust me, when a kid is hungry, feed it, some of them, at any cost!)  And the mom at the park who, instead of playing with her three young children, sat on a bench with her smart phone in her hand? Yeah, I get that too.  (It's probably the first chance she's had all day to check email, listen to ten different voice mails, answer that desperate message from her far away friend who's going through a rough day.)  I know now the desperation behind these previously despised parenting moves.   
   While the vast majority of the world would say I am not a mother, my heart, and a certain little girl, tell me otherwise.  She is the daughter of my heart.  She tells me I am her heart mommy.  I may not have given birth to her, but she is mine.  I have rocked her to sleep, bandaged skinned knees, sat up at night worried that her fever would get worse instead of better. I've cried tears of amazement and joy over this precious girl.  I've cried tears of exhausted frustration when, at quarter till midnight, she's still awake, still refusing to sleep, determined to outlast and win the battle of bedtime, and tears of relief when she finally lost the fight and drifted reluctantly off to sleep.  I know the pain of being helpless to take away the hurt in her heart.  
    I may not be a mother in the usual sense, but after nearly two years of caring for her more days than not, and three weeks of 24/7, I've pretty much seen anything and everything a 4-6 year old can dish out, from the wonderful to "the horror", as Ary would say. (This is her latest favorite phrase, and any number of unpleasant occurrences, from being told she cannot go to the park in the pouring rain, to stepping on an ant will be accented by, "Oh, the horror!")
   So, you see, as  I sat reading a moment ago, I had to laugh.   I had to laugh at the naivety of the me of yesteryear. I had to laugh at the realization that I understood. I had to laugh, because, sometimes, when there is someone who calls you Mommy,  if you didn't laugh you'd cry.   Sometimes laughing like a lunatic is the only way to keep your sanity. 

Let Me Be the Daddy

  I was reading a blog post the other day called, "Let Me Be the Mommy" (sorry, i cant remember the blog, it's one that one of my friends had shared on Facebook the other day).  In her post, the author was telling how she dealt with her young children's  squabbles and worries, telling them, "Let me be the mommy," to remind them that she is in charge and to let her handle the problem for them.   As I was reading, I thought of it from the perspective of a mommy/nanny to a six year old. Could I use this with Ary?   
  Today, however,  as I'm feeling very much overwhelmed, tired, and just plain worn out by all that I'm facing in my life right now, I was thinking about that blog post again.  Only this time God changed my perspective with a whisper to my heart, "Who's in charge here? Won't you stop fighting and worrying and let Me handle your problems and troubles? Won't you let Me be the Daddy?"  
I stopped in my tracks ( literally, I'm out walking).  I find myself completely overwhelmed by this "new" thought.   I don't have to handle anything.  I don't have to cope, I don't have to worry, I don't have to fix anything. I have a Father who is bigger, stronger, much more capable than I to take care of everything for me.  I just have to let go, step back, and let Him handle it.  He won't force me to let Him, He waits patiently for me to come to my senses and give it all to Him. But He is there, right there in the middle of it all, wanting to take all my troubles and worries, to fight all my battles, if only I will give them to Him and let Him be the Daddy.