Monday I was Momzilla: edgy, cranky, screaming, impatient, anxiety-ridden, scary mom...able to level uncooperative children with a single glare, or at least a swat of my hand. (DSS, I hope you're not reading this.) Anyway, I'm not sure why I was so evil but I was and I talked The Man about it and he determined two possible (non-pharmaceutical) remedies: more sleep and more prayer. So, I've been going to bed a bit earlier and he's been praying for me more during the day. Plus Cupcake is getting back to his pre-vacation sleep habits so that's helped.
Today I got up feeling fresh as a morning daisy. I was calm, patient, and even spoke to my children in that soothing June Cleaver like voice I so rarely posess. Brownie has swimming lessons every morning this week and next so getting 3 kids out of the house by 9:30 without being hauled off by DSS is no small thing. There are breakfasts to prepare, faces to clean, teeth to brush (on a good day), a baby to nurse and keep happy, bottoms to wipe, sunscreen to apply, the mother of all beach bags to pack, lunches to fix, water bottles to fill, a van to load, and most importantly coffee to make and pour into the sacred travel mug. There are so many little tasks that I had to make a packing list for each day just to make sure we're good to go by 9:30. This morning was perfect! The children were cooperative and cheerful, I was organized and had everything and everyone smeared, packed, and loaded up by the appointed time. I was also sporting a new bathing suit and felt half-way decent for a 6-month post-partum, 35-year-old mother of 3. As I sipped french-pressed Starbucks from my stainless steel holy grail, I felt content, blessed, and oh-so good about myself. I was Supermom incarnate, a far cry from her arch-enemy, Momzilla, who had been slain less than 48 hours prior. Nothing could shake me or wrinkle my cape today.
Then my cell phone rang. It was my neighbor, CA, informing me that the swanky neighborhood pool where we have lessons was closed until noon because it had been treated the night before. As we're brainstorming about options (we pay a private instructor by the hour but we provide the swim location, so time is money), my cell phone dies. Apparently my superpowers can't bring a dead phone back to life and my alter ego, Absent-minded Mom, lost the car charger weeks ago. Momzilla probably crushed it. We arrive at the pool, trying to think of other options, calling directory assistance for other friends who have access to pools, and arranging make-up options with our instructor. Our kids are sunscreened, lunches are packed, and we're in swimsuits...
must find water. My aunt and uncle have a pool and it's probably not in use, but I can't call ahead because of dead cell phone. I say to CA, "We'll just drive over there." 10 minutes later, we arrive at their driveway, only to find the pool full of little kids for a pool party. Plan C. Let's go to the local beach! It's certainly not our first choice. Even though our lovely region is dotted with gorgeous lakes, this particular public access beach is, well, public access. All we can think however is, sunscreened kids, packed lunches, it's hot,
must find water.
The next part of the story is like something ripped from the pages of the
Southern Redneck Handbook. For all you non-local readers, I live in the South not far from the city limits of a quaint college town. But my 10 minute distance from this quaint town is just enough to remind me, daily, that God indeed has a sense of humor. Those who know me well know that I am an urban wannabe. I regularly lament that I do not live in a major metropolitain area and I frequently imagine myself strolling the streets of Manhattan, far from the Confederate-flag-flying homesteads and stores selling Dixie Outfitters merchandise that dot my real-life commute to and from town. This cultural context is important for the rest of the story. We arrive at public access beach. I unload my minivan, load up the stroller, load the kids' arms with the necessary items and trek to the water to meet CA and her kids. I unload the stroller, the kids, the towels, quilt and cooler. Ahh, we have finally arrived at a wet destination. Oh, I left out one part of the story: the beach was 10 minutes from my aunt and uncle's pool and when I got within sight of the beach, there was bridge construction so I turned around and made the 10 minute detour allowing me to get to the other side of the bridge. The amazing part of our journey thus far is that Momzilla was still no where in sight. Supermom maintained grace, compusure, humor, and June's voice through it all. I assumed that The Man must have been leading his Economics class in intercessory prayer during this whole time because such composure was indeed a miracle.
Back to public access beach. Everyone's happy. Cupcake is sitting on my lap splashing in the water. He tried to put a rock in his mouth but Supermom was on it and saved the day. I notice Brownie nearby, pulling a sludge-covered dripping something out of the lake while remarking, "Hey, somebody left their sock in the lake. That's silly," and he threw the sock back in. A moment later something brushes up against my foot. I look down to see a clear tube, sort of like the kind one would employ for intravenous drug use. Only minutes later, my 5-year-old neighbor spots a band-aid floating just beneath the surface. And as if all of that wasn't enough to remind me that I have landed on Planet White Trash, Brittney Spears' twin and her string-bikini-clad friend walk by with their nasty dog and into the lake, only 20 feet from where my pure precious children are catching minnows in their lunchables containers. My 6-year-old neighbor tells CA, "Hey Mom, doesn't that sign say 'NO PETS ALLOWED'?" Apparently on Planet White Trash, small children can read better than celebrity look-alikes. The thought of my children swimming in canine fecal matter was simply the last straw. Supermom supressed her gag reflex and calmly loaded up the baby stroller caravan to get as far away from public access beach as possible. My stroller isn't made for loose sand so I had to pop a stroller wheelie and heave poor screaming, sweating baby Cupcake and all our gear at least 100 yards back to the van. Just as Momzilla was about to make her appearance, my sweet Blondie observed my struggle and said, "Mommy, what can I do to help?" She pushed the stroller while I pulled it and as I fought back the tears, I thanked God for the abundant grace He poured out on me and my children this morning.
We journeyed back to homestead as the kids sang silly songs about talking strawberries and Cupcake laughed. CA and I told the kids we'd have a P.P. party on the deck. "Popsicles in the pool." Our sweet kids piled in the giant kiddie pool on our tiny deck and had a ball. (Page 2 of the
Southern Redneck Handbook: inflatable pools that all but exceed the size of one's deck.) All I could do was marvel. I'm sure the lessons are many but here are just a few observations:
1. Motherhood is not for the fainthearted.
2. My attitude and response to stress or plans gone awry directly determines how my kids respond.
3. God's grace and mighty power is for all of us. He meets us where we are. I realize I don't "suffer" in the sense that many people do; I'm just an everday weary and inadequate mom begging for strength so I don't lose it with my kids.
4. Sleep is huge.
5. God answers prayer and He daily provides what we need, whether it's bread or just the ability to see the humor in the unplanned and maintain one's gentleness, thereby keeping Momzilla at bay.
Sometimes I believe God's greatest miracles are found in the day-to-day. Changed hearts. Renewed minds. A child's creativity. My daughter's ability to see I was struggling and her help (literally) to lighten the load.
Until next time...
