What Really Matters

As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, “Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.”  But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:38-42 NLT) Today I started to feel guilty that I couldn't be of more help in the kitchen. Instead, I found myself chasing 1 year old London around the house and cuddling her for a nap. People think it's crazy that I still hold her for most of her naps, and maybe they're right. However, as I was sitting here thinking about all the details of the Thanksgiving meal, all the missed conversations and opportunities to reconnect, God gently reminded me that my true purpose for this day lay right in front of me...on my lap to be exact. When Jesus went to stay with Martha, she missed the point of His visit. The point was not to impress Jesus with a tidy house and perfectly prepared meal. No, instead, the point was to spend time connecting with her Savior. So today, on this day of thanksgiving, I will be thankful for the time I have to connect with my tiny girl. Time goes so quickly, and before I know it, she will be too big to fit in my lap and too busy to cuddle. God has given me the enormous gift and responsibility of motherhood, and I fully intend not to waste it. There will always be dishes to do and laundry to fold (or throw in the bottom of my closet), but when it's all said and done, London will not remember if the rug was vacuumed or the laundry was neatly put away. She will remember sitting on the porch watching planes fly over our backyard, having spontaneous dance parties in the living room, and, yes, falling asleep in her mother's arms (And let's be honest...I am far better at these things than I am at housework!). I pray that these years I spend as a mom will be done so in the spirit of Mary. There will always be housework to do and meals to prepare, but my London will only be a baby for the blink of an eye. I'm done wasting energy on guilt and insignificant details. Today I choose to be thankful. Today I choose London.

Sorry, Mom

My mom gave me a card for Mother's Day that said, "A summary of motherhood: Holy crap. This is hard. The End." Couldn't have said it better myself. Don't get me wrong. I love being a momma, and, to quote my good friend Shannon, "my worst day as a mom is better than my best day at my job." However, it IS wicked hard, and every day I find myself thinking, 'I really should apologize to my mom for all those mean things I said to her when I was a teenager.' After all, she changed my diapers, washed my clothes, cleaned up my messes, caught my spit up in her hands, chased me around the house, fed me, bathed me, carried me on her hip while she cooked dinner, endured hours of crying, gave up sleep for 18 years (I've heard that you sleep even less when they are teenagers), and, oh there was that unmedicated 24 hour labor and delivery thing she did too. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. When I was 5, she consoled me when I accidentally stepped on and killed Fluffy, the class hampster. Then, in the 6th grade, I threatened to jump out of a moving car after I found out I had to change schools.  My mom was my best friend that year; she watched me cry myself to sleep countless nights and coaxed me to befriend the friendless at school. She was there for me in the 9th grade when I had my heart broken for the first time, and, then, fell asleep crying on the couch with me 6 years later when it was time for me to be the heart breaker. During my freshman year of high school, she stayed up all night with me and my best friend Lisa to help us finish the infamous leaf project, and that same October, she pulled another all nighter to make mums for all my friends. And I'm just getting started. She was a party planner, a mediator, a nurse, a taxi driver, a lifeguard, a teacher, a homeroom mom, a hair dresser, a travel agent, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker, and one hec of a wedding planner. Now that I'm a momma, I am starting to understand just what it is that she did for me, and all I want to say is, "Sorry, Mom. I never knew, but now I do."  So, Mom, if you're reading this, I hope you know how thankful I am for you and how much I love you. I hope it was worth it. Then again, I guess I'm  not that sorry, because judging by my experience so far, it totally was.

All Mine

London is all mine. Have you ever been given a sweet treat at Christmas time or for your birthday? A treat you tucked away in your pocket, and, later, stowed in your top dresser drawer to savor and eat slowly? A treat that was all yours? My aunt makes 4's every year. These hand-dipped caramels take days to make, and when you receive your box on Christmas day, you vow to make them last the entire year, only to succumb to their buttery temptation day after day until it's January 6th and your box is empty. London is like my box of 4's. She is all mine. Oftentimes I don't want to share her; I just want to take all of her hugs and kisses and lock them up for safe keeping. And I want her to last forever, until my hair turns grey & arms are no longer strong enough to hold her. I want to savor her life like my chocolates, not rushing one moment, but taking in the sweetness of it all. Today I prayed for a long life with my baby girl, but I know that any amount of time spent with her will never be enough. 

A Breath

It has been a hard week and I'm tired. It's the kind of tired that you feel in your bones. But it's also the kind of tired that makes life worth living. It's the cuddling in the middle of the night kind of tired. It's the sound of a rocking chair for countless hours kind of tired. It's the soft head in the crook of my elbow kind of tired. It's the small hands on my cheeks as we drift off to sleep kind of tired. It's the endless playing on great grandma's red quilt kind of tired. It's the singing If Your Happy and You Know It 10 times a day kind of tired. It's the holding baby girl while she naps because I can't bring myself to lay her down kind of tired

Someone once told me, "It's a breath. Before you know it, they are grown and going to college." My time with her is but a breath...I can sleep later.