When Is a Mother's Work Done?

I've had this idea banging around in my head the last two days, and today a friend's wonderful blog entry convicted me to (1) write down my idea and (2) follow it (much harder than the writing part).

When is a mother's work done?

Is it when she gets everyone up and dressed and fed and half-way decent looking in the morning?

Is is when she disciplines without losing her patience when one child practices being Mike Tyson on a sibling?

Is it when she finally masters the art of crock-pot dishes that taste delicious or masters grocery shopping for 5 under $100?

Is it when her child finally initiates saying grace on his own after weeks of coercion and reminders?

Is it when she repairs injuries with a kiss or when she scrubs the child, walls, floor, and potty after a potty training experiment gone totally wrong with a smile?

Is it when she sends them to kindergarten?  High school?  College?  Their first home with a spouse?

No, a mother's work is only "done" when she ceases to see it as work and begins to see it as acts of love.

In response to Cynthia's challenge, here are 7 things I've done RIGHT this week . . .

1) I have tried to pray the rosary again daily . . . got at least a decade on most days and two full rosaries.

2) I've spent less time on the computer while the kids are awake and more time inventing activities for the three of us.

3) I've put together healthy meals for my family, including working at a potato salad recipe (my husband's favorite) until it was perfect.

[this is hard . . . ]

4)  I chose not to gossip and complain on several occasions when my husband got home from work.

5) I chose to welcome a little boy in our neighborhood to play with us, even though he drives me insane with his need for attention.

6) I successfully recognized when my little guy needed love and attention on several occasions (instead of just seeing his acting out to be defiance) and met that need with some extra snuggle time and book reading to calm his crankiness.

7) I did several activities with my little guy to celebrate the feast of the Assumption and to teach him about Mary (partly in hopes that she'd teach him the things about motherhood that his own mother fails to model).

Image source

St. Lawrence, Exploding Toilets, and Sanity

Because sometimes a day with two kids under the age of three has just been uncannily perfect . . .

JT: makes a funny face in the corner

Me:  Need to go potty, buddy?

JT: No.
. . .

Mommy, I go poppy!  As he runs to the bathroom with me chasing him, madly wishing like a 2nd place Olympian to reach the finish line in time despite all odds and laws of physics.

Me: Oh no!  You already went in your undies! Remembering that the potty training books say not to react to accidents too negatively so the kid doesn't get traumatized for life.
It's ok, buddy.  Good job trying to get here in time.  Next time, let's go to the potty when Mommy says to, ok?

I change him out of two layers soiled clothing as he hops around trying to see "it."  Then, I wipe the kid [notice, post-accident he temporarily becomes "the kid" instead of "buddy."]  I scrub his pants out, deposit the items in the wash 5 feet away, and whirl around to the sound of a slamming bathroom door.  A scared little face topped by unruly blonde hair sends me sprinting back into the closet-sized ground zero.  He did the unspeakable thing . . . he flushed a clogged toilet TWICE.  Foul water pools all over the bathroom floor.  I'm pretty sure I make a noise like a small animal being strangled and disemboweled simultaneously.  Mustering all of my remaining patience, I stoop down and look the kid square in the eyes.

Did you flush the potty TWO times?  Remember, Daddy said, 'Never flush the potty more than once.'"

He nods, somewhat comprehending that this has to do with him and not just a faulty toilet.  In the background his ignored baby sister starts letting us know she wants company in decibels that sound analysts say can only be endured for 20 seconds at a time.

Ok, go play with your toys while Mommy cleans this up.

He skips away, glad that whatever he did didn't end up in a timeout.  I grab the entire rag box and attack the flood with a vengeance.  Enter a wave of self-pity:
  "Why did this happen today?  I was just getting ready to make brownies for the feast day and the kids have been SO good . . . the feast day . . . St. Lawrence . . . who was burned alive on a grill for following his vocation and still kept a sense of humor.  Shut up, Kelly.

In the Bible, at moments like these people are always told to "gird up their loins" and push on in faith and acceptance.  In my best attempt to be holy, I grab up the sopping rags in the spirit of 1 Peter 1:13 ["Therefore gird up your minds, be sober, set your hope fully upon the grace that is coming to you..."].  I finish the soaking, the sterilizing, the purification of hands to temporarily plug my daughter's mouth with a pasi, the breathing of fumes from a cocktail of disinfectants, the catapulting everything into the wash, and the vigorous soaping of my hands up to the elbows . . . all with a smile at the bit of humor I was able to see in the situation.

JT: Mommy!  I clean up too!  As he rounds the corner scrubbing himself with a wipe and mumbling about "magic shoes."  Still not sure what the shoe part is all about . . .

Me: Thanks, buddy.  My heart is affectionate again, and he is no longer "the kid."  I wind quickly through the toys that have seemingly sprouted out of the floor while I cleaned around the corner; it's time to rescue baby girl.  Poor thing.

As I pick her up, my hand hits something moist . . . Apparently, big brother used more than one wipe and shoved this one down into his sister's chair.  I'm glad his sharing lessons are working so well, maybe.

I may not be called to give my life over to an executioner with a grill.  But motherhood has its own very little (and sometimes not so little) martyrdoms of self.  

How grateful I am for God's grace in these moments . . . and for chocolate . . . I think it's time to bake those brownies for St. Lawrence.

Efficiency in Storms and Doldrums

The kids both went down for naps at nearly the same time today.  I feel giddy.  I could accomplish so much!  Or I could relax.  Or I could blog, which is a type of relaxing that feels more justified because it's a little closer to the work category than watching an episode of Psych.

My newest tool for efficiency (and sanity) is making mini-mental check-lists on a timer.  That's a nonsensical way of saying that I do the following:

DURING NAPS:
I pick 2-4 tasks that I want to complete before they wake up.  If I get done early, I get to relax.  If I don't, well, we just all try to get through pit-hour as best we can.

DURING THE MOMENTS WHEN EVERYONE'S CRYING (and I'm crying on the inside):
First, I step out of the room, say a quick prayer (like, "God!!!!!! Seriously?!?!"), and remind myself that I'm forming souls to be saints, not single-handedly entering a war zone of whining enemy soldiers with deadly, under-the-foot-matchbox-car land mines strategically waiting my return.

Then, I make a game plan for dealing with needs and then wants, in that order, for the next 5 minutes.
--Drink a glass of water (like a shot) b/c it feels like a headache is coming on and when was the last time I hydrated anyways?
--Go bring JT to timeout for not listening after a warning and for trying to climb the window shades while throwing various objects in the general direction of his sister.
--Get MJ her bottle.
--Pull out meat from the freezer for dinner tonight before I forget for the 8th time.

Ta-da!  I finish that and survive the minor crisis.  I haven't fainted.  JT is contemplating his actions and his impending apology (or contemplating his mortality, depending on how patient I was while lecturing him on the way to timeout) in his room with his blankie.  MJ has a happy tummy.  And my husband will not be faced with mac & cheese for dinner tonight.

Evangelization: Let the little children come unto me

This year during Holy Week my reflections turned to the ordinary people who were present during that week in Christ's life.  I wondered if the people who threw down palm branches were the same ones who yelled, "Crucify Him!" or were they hiding at home afraid?  I wondered if parents tried to explain all the hoopla in their hometown to their children and how they attempted to do so.

I also considered where my place was during the Easter Triduum.  Should I be at the foot of the cross on Good Friday at Church during the middle of nap-time with sleep deprived kids?  I figured that wasn't right this year . . . I would do my best, however, to invite my children (mainly 2 yr old JT) to celebrate the Paschal Mysteries with me.

Then, it occurred to me that while I have prayed with James and told him that Jesus loves us and takes care of us, I have not really shared the Gospel with him.  This realization somewhat shocked me; after all, my job for two years with FOCUS was to share the Gospel with perfect strangers and newly acquired friends.  How had I failed to make this a constant theme with my oldest child?  Maybe 2 1/2 years of infancy is not a "failure," but it made me realize that I had been much more verbal about other things (dinosaur names, the plot of The Little Engine That Could, etc.) than I had about the Person who should be the center of my life.  Good reality check.

The week leading up to Easter was remedial toddler CCD.  We colored pictures having to do with the Passion.  We got a little figurine set to talk about the Resurrection.  And we began singing Bible/Christian songs and reading Bible stories on a daily basis.  [I thought about doing this too, but maybe next year.  It was a little old for him.]  It was a beautiful week, and the conversation that has continued to stem from this new orientation toward "evangelizing" my son has yielded fruit as well.

For those of you who might have a toddler who is particularly resistant to spiritual things (James was resistant before and still struggles significantly at Mass), there is hope!  Keep your introduction to Our Lord positive and work with the child and his or her interests and capacity for attention.  Prayer should be pleasant when possible (like forming a friendship with a favorite book/show character or a new neighbor kid), and they should also get a sense of our spiritual family "routine" (like Mass on Sunday being a non-negotiable) and that they should be somewhat quiet for that.  We're introducing evening prayer by talking to him about things he wants to pray for or thank Jesus for and singing the other prayers (The Guardian Angel prayer sung to the tune of "Rock a Bye Baby" and "Jesus loves me").  He lets me know if I forget to sing the angel song with him before bed!


We know that Jesus is "on the radar" now as a friend because of moments like this morning when he showed me his cars all lined up in rows. "Cars praying to Jesus, Mommy. All prayin'!"  He also told his Daddy the other night, "Jesus, up there [pointing above his bed].  He not talking.  He have a smile."


It warms my heart to see my son turning to His Lord in friendship.  What do any of you do to "evangelize" your children within your own "domestic church"?

Simple Joys

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” - G.K.Chesterton

 This quotation is so inspiring to me as the mother of a 2 year old boy who LOVES to read Dr. Seuss over and over and play the same games and the same songs ad infinitum.  Some days, I can just do the first few repeats and then he gets going on his own without need for further involvement.  Then, there are days (like today) when he needs me to be just as excited as he is for an extended period of time.

Today we started "hard core" potty training.  My dear mommy friend tells me I'm silly as anything to see this as a major undertaking, but patience and endurance have not always been my strong points, especially when the "ick" factor is involved.  However, JT is successfully going in his potty (after 3 accidents and one "use the potty insert to dump water from the toilet all over the bathroom floor" incident during the one moment mommy was distracted cleaning something else around the corner.)  And despite the laundry, I'm really kinda loving it.  He gets so much joy out of being "grown up," and my own repeat enthusiasm is not an act--I'm truly proud of my little man.

Sometimes I feel like I must be ridiculous to God.  I come to Him with such little problems and successes looking for help and affirmation.  But I feel that, like Chesterton's analogy regarding His child-like, unfatigued joy, that Our Lord is also the perfect parent to each of us in constantly delighting in our small steps towards full maturity of heart.

I never get tired of hearing the ones I love say, "I love you;" the repetition of love is never monotony.  So perhaps I need to ask God to transform my view of the dishes and constantly crumby kitchen floor as opportunities to express love, not as sources of monotonous action.  May the God of endless joy help me also to be "strong enough to exult in monotony."