| | When you see a mommy of two or more little ones, be slow to judge. Don't be too harsh. Remember she's probably gone on less than 5 hours of sleep a night. Possibly for years. Maybe even a decade.
If she has gotten more sleep than that, then there are a few answers - either her husband doesn't have a real job and should be titled "Mr. Mom" or she has help coming from somewhere which is shielding her from the realities of true motherhood... or maybe she is taking some kind of sleeping pill.
But few moms find themselves with either a "Mr. Mom" or built in babysitters and do truly take on motherhood as it was intended: to be lived happily tired.
When you see mothers do stupid things, or say stupid things or wear stupid things, don't be quick to point a finger. They can't help it. Pregnancy kills brain cells and I'm sure some of us get more killed off then others. I think I am finally being affected to a point of noticeability.
This past Thursday my husband gave me the night off. This is rare, not because he doesn't desire to give me time off, but because it's just not possible most of the time. I got supper going, got in the car and wondered where in the world I would go. I suppose most women go shopping, but I'm a tight wad, and I'm no good at shopping.
I discovered I don't know how to think when there aren't seven little wonderful people demanding and asking continual questions or needing continual diaper changes or food fixed or cleats tied or fights being broken up. I don't know how to function when the pressure goes away. The greater the pressure the more I find I perform. . .
That can be scary.
But I'm going to think nicer than that right now and find it funny.
Yep, that's the funny - er, scary truth.
I got in the car and I drove. It felt like I was in a daze. I still heard voices all chatting away and laughing and crying all somewhere in the back of my head. It's like my head plays the childrens' noise for me even when they aren't there. Quiet doesn't become quiet just because I happen to be alone.
It's almost like motherhood and all that has to be done can be like a drug. And then I am alone and I don't HAVE to do anything for anyone. . . and it's like coming off. My brain kind of goes numb. I'm not sure how to function, how to behave.
Go ahead, think evil thoughts. Think what you will. I'm okay with whatever people think, or really I should be because any mom who can survive the embarrassment of her son rolling down the car window and peeing out of it as she is driving through the crowded mall parking lot should be able to so be over what people think about her.
Yeah, I was oblivious to the fact that I was driving a port-a-potty-on-wheels until people began to honk at me. I mean, no one told me before I had boys that they did stuff like that without asking?
If you don't think this is a good advertisement for large families or children in general, you might be right. But anything worth living or doing in life comes with some side affects to show you this life wasn't meant to be heaven on earth because heaven is a whole different place with a whole different purpose.
So I walked aimlessly down the outdoor shopping mall Thursday night, peeking in the store windows, wondering if it was worth walking inside when there really wasn't any reason to. I walked and walked. It was like therapy, whatever therapy is. Nothing I HAD to do.
Now some moms might be more spiritual than I. They go away and they open their Bibles or read a spiritual book and find spiritual refreshment for their souls. Strange as this might sound, some of the most incredible times in these years of motherhood where God has spoken to me and revealed Himself haven't been in quiet moments. Not to say He hasn't, but for me personally I've found when I just sit, waiting, quiet in some out of the way place waiting for Him to speak, I just fall asleep.
Yep, it's just this season in my life.
So I walked because I don't typically fall asleep while walking. And my heart and mind started to calm, relax, talk to God.
And there were Christmas lights already up and Christmas music playing and I felt that odd because Thanksgiving is still weeks away. Then the thought came to me to get my nails done because I know my husband likes that and it's kind of like when he tells me that when he washes the car, it runs better. I think when my nails are done I run better too. . . or I like that excuse anyway.
It had been a long time. I mean, Morgan and I do our's nearly weekly together, but going and having it done where I didn't have to DO anything? Now, that is a treat. So I walked until I found a spa and they were closing and locking the door as I walked up. I motioned to the lady and I must have looked desperate so she opened the door again and I asked, "Just one more for today?"
The answer was no and I was fine with that. I would have been embarrassed to have a snoring session in public anyway.
I walked to White House/Black Market and everything looked beautiful and... well, white and black. There were lovely party dresses all along the back wall and so I picked out three and got a dressing room. One dress even had red in it - big huge flowers all over it in red. One never knows, as a mother of seven. I might be invited to a fancy dinner party where I would have to wear a black dress with huge red flowers all over it. . . 
The attendant brought me a pair of black heels and I started to try on one of the dresses. But in my comatose-like existence of walking around, I hadn't looked at any of the dress sizes I picked out.
I had a size 0 in one, a size 6 in another and the last dress was a size 10. None being my size. So I took my boot off to try on one of the beautiful black heels instead. Only to discover my feet stunk as much as I accuse the boys of. I was sure the whole store could smell and so I quickly put my boots back on and just stared at the heels.
I began to try on the size 0 dress. Duh, what was I thinking? It could have fit Morgan. I hung the size 0 dress back up on the rack, thanked the attendant and walked out of the store.
I walked back to my car and I drove to the Dress Barn. Now, I've never shopped there, but for some reason my car drove there probably because I wanted a closer look at the photography in the store window and I parked and I got out and I walked in. I noticed the clothing was over my age and that it was all very professional and I couldn't picture me doing dishes in any of the outfits I admired.
So I was in there about three minutes and I walked back out to my car. I stuck my hand into my purse and fiddled around for my keys but couldn't find them. So I emptied out my whole purse there in the parking lot. No keys. I glanced up and noticed the woman in the Dress Barn locking up. . . what if my keys fell out in there?!
I ran for the door and she let me in and I walked around where I had walked and no keys.
Like I said, don't judge full time mothers harshly. Not being able to find my keys late Thursday night in the dark of the parking lot wasn't nearly as embarrassing as discovering I had put a white shirt over a black bra and had been in public like that before realizing my mistake! That's what you get for dressing in the wee hours of the morning in the dark.
Thank God Scott had left one of his jackets in the car that day - it make a nice cover-up for my white shirt mistake. If you see a mother wearing her 12 year old son's jacket, or worse, a dark under garment with light colored shirt, don't be quick to judge her either. Maybe she got dressed in the dark that early morning as well and has a million other things on her mind that she must do in that next hour.
To the parking lot I went and explored through my purse again. Still no keys. So I thought I'd locked them inside the car. I discovered the back hatch of the car was unlocked so I had to do what I had to do. I climbed up through the back of our Excursion, over all the seats into the front.
Now we don't have just a regular Excursion. No, it's way high off the ground. It's got big tires and it's a huge machine of a truck and I joke that when all the kids leave home I will become a bus driver because not only can I drive huge machines, but I can do it with screaming children all loaded in the back hours on end.
The parking lot wasn't empty, I had an audience. The man who was getting in his car next to mine, yelled to me, "Do you need assistance?" I yelled back, as I pulled my body across the top of the seats, getting hung up on the baby's carseat, "No, I'm fine. . ."
I didn't look fine, I looked stupid. I finally made it to the front and I sat in the drivers seat and looked but no keys. I unlocked the doors and got out and shut the back hatch down.
I had been murmuring prayers under my breath up until that point, but now they were spilling out outloud. I went through my purse a third time. I got in the front seat once more and closed my eyes, mentally exhausted, and for a brief second I thought about taking a nap. Then my eyes snapped back open as I felt a sharp pain in my side. . .
My car keys were in my left jean pocket.
I put the keys in the ignition and began to drive. My car drove to Target and I got out and walked the store until closing. I looked at the lingerie and the shoes and the boys clothing. I bought a birthday card and some kitchen cups. I went by Starbucks and got a hot chocolate because it actually is beginning to feel colder these days and I sat in my car, in the quiet, holding on to my keys in one hand, and I talked to God.
I thanked God for this time in my life. This time when I feel like the pregnancies really have killed off the majority of my brain cells. This time when there seems to be so many demands. This time when I've gotten in this cycle of surviving and performing under pressure to the point of not knowing how to cope when things are just "normal" or "quiet."
This time when I am flying around so fast at times that it never even crosses my mind what in the world I have on or what I look like to others. A time when getting a french manicure lasts all of maybe ten minutes because manicures and my form of motherhood don't mix. I actually don't mind that they don't mix.
It's a time when everyone stares. And I don't blame them. I'd stare too if I were them. It's a time when the car smells like a pig pen and there are dirty footprints in my refrigerator. There really are. Or, there really WAS. I got to cleaning those out last night. Again.
Right now Itty is drawing pictures. We're home from church because she woke up early this morning and came into our bedroom crying of a sore throat. A few hours later she threw up on the kitchen floor. Now she is acting ok but I wasn't going to take any chances of her throwing up in church.
So she is drawing pictures of me this morning. I love her people pictures. She is talking as she draws. . .
I quote:
"This is mom. She has long hair, and this is mom. Here is her body. And here now, I got her chin on and her legs, and they have hair. Now she is a mom. She has funny hair and she has no make-up. And she has a smile. And this is gonna be mom... and now this is dad, and he will be the cook."
A. Ann
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| | Posted 11/7/2010 11:46 AM - 2156 Views
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