Fistful of Dandelions

Last Friday was ‘one of those days’. A day I wanted to run away, even if just to the tree fort at the bottom of the yard, by 8am. And it continued, all day. I questioned my ability to be patient enough, kind enough, sane enough. Thoughts of failure ran through my head. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Why exactly did we choose to have another? I nearly lost it while trying to give her a bath; my nearly seven month pregnant belly getting in the way while trying to wrangle a slippery toddler without hurting either of us. “I’m done”, I yelled. And told my husband to take over.

But then...
She comes running in from playing outside with her daddy and proudly presents her fistful of dandelions. “Let’s put them in a vase Mommy”.
She throws her arms around me after finally peeing on the potty (but before she wipes of course) and says, from her heart, “I love you Mommy”.
I overhear from the kitchen when she asks her daddy “Why is there Mother’s Day?” and then, after I hear whispering, she comes running in to give me a hug and kiss.

I know I’m getting back what I gave to my mom. The hyper-emotional, crying loudly to make sure I’m heard from the bedroom tantrums are familiar ground; it’s just not me doing it this time.  In those moments I remember the first few weeks with Cora, the overflow of love as I held her, and realizing that is how my mom felt about me. My mom loves me with that breath-catching, tear-producing ache that I feel towards my daughter. It was, and is, an overwhelming realization to know that I am loved like that.

But it goes further. Not only does my mom, and dad, love me like that, but my Jesus loves me like that. My heavenly Father looks at me with a breath-catching, tear-producing ache of love that will never fade. Despite my adult tantrums (which honestly aren’t too different), despite my lack of patience or forgiveness towards others, God still loves me. He loves me enough to put it all on the line and endure hell so that I don’t have too.

And what do I have to give back to Him? Just me. Which seems trite, like my own fistful of dandelions. And yet, how precious to me are those dandelions wilting in a bud vase? As precious as my life surrendered is to the One who gave me life.

No Tolerance

     My tolerance for stories of separation between parents and children is just about zero.  I never noticed before how prevalent it is.  First there’s the news, stories of abducted or missing children among other equally horrible events happening to sweet, innocent babies.  TV shows have their share, Law & Order: SVU, Bones, even NCIS.  Eventually there’s a story-line that centers around a parent killed or a child killed.  I wouldn’t say I ever enjoyed that type of story, I don’t think I ever really thought about it.  But now, they make me sick.  Literally, physically sick to my stomach.  

     I’ve bailed on movies too.  I started watching The Secret Life of Bees one day and nearly turned it off after 5 minutes.  I did stick it out though.  It was an okay movie.  The movie that really made me realize this all was Tangled.  Yes, the Disney movie.  The fairy tale story of Rapunzel, whose long luscious hair is the only way in or out of the tower until a prince (or in this case a ruffian) sets her free, made me nauseous.  Well, not quite nauseous.  I didn’t turn it off.  But I did sit horrified as I realized how many fairy tales deal with the separation of parent and child.  (Well, they don’t really ‘deal‘ with it.)  The list is quite long.  Besides Rapunzel there’s Alladin (he’s an orphan and she’s got no mom), Lion King (Mufasa dies), Finding Nemo, The Little Mermaid (no mom, right?), Jungle Book, 101 Dalmatians, Sleeping Beauty (raised by fairies instead of parents), Snow White, Cinderella, and my personal favorite Disney movie Beauty and the Beast where not only does she not have a mom but her father is thrown out of the castle before she even gets to say goodbye! 

     Whew.  I probably could have kept going but this is not a bash Disney post.  Becoming a mom has made me hyper aware of many things and the prevalence of this plot line in stories highlights the importance of my job as a mom.  I am going back to work next week.  But my first (perhaps most important job) is being a mom, and I am so happy to be one.
     Motherhood has changed me, how has it changed you?