Wednesday, November 7, 2012
imperfect prose on thursdays: i do not own my sons
Sometimes it’s hard, knowing how to balance ourselves with our kids and our husband and the washing machine going 24-7.
Sometimes it’s about finding ourselves in the piles of laundry, in the peanut-butter kisses and the sticky hands trying to close your laptop when you’re working on a book, and all you want is five minutes please honey. And you say it. The words you swore you’d never say because your own mother said it too much: “Mommy’s busy, honey.”
Too busy for what? For molding minds and hearts and washing those beautiful chubby hands and staring into those big round eyes and reading story after story?
I get annoyed until I stop and see. Until I pick up my child and truly look at him. At the beautiful miracle that he is.
And it’s then I realize, he was trying to close my laptop because he’s scared. He’s scared because he’s growing desperately fast and he can’t keep up with his pant sizes and his mommy is missing it all. He’s scared because he needs her to hold his hand through it all, through lunch and breakfast and supper and “I snuggle, Mommy,” my oldest says, and I’m learning to see this.
Even as my eyes well with tears because I’ve missed so many moments already...
(join me over HERE at She Loves Magazine for the rest of this story? but first, please link your imperfect prose below! love you friends. thanks for grace.)
every wednesday and thursday, we gather together to celebrate redemption. here are the details:
1. link up a post (old or new) that you feel is 'broken' or 'imperfect' or somehow redemptive
2. put the 'imperfect prose' button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog)
3. read other's prose, and encourage them!
so won't you join us, as we "walk each other home"? (ram dass)