:::occasional mothering:::

7:33 p.m., and all the children are asleep. my flight back to dc takes off tomorrow near noon.


mothering. every once in a while you get a smile, a hug, a quickness in obedience, and you become caught up in the loveliness of the moment. 'you're wonderful! you're adorable! you're such a sweet child!' the drudgeries of motherhood suddenly have purpose because you know that you're raising zion. the children are the future. you will teach them well, then let them lead the way.



then BAM, you take a sippy cup to the head.



someone refuses to eat dinner.



someone else demands juice -- not in a minute, not in a second, but right. now.



the meltdowns ensue.



this vacation...i tell you what. relaxing? in a way. educational? absolutely. the last time i spent such extended periods of time with more than one child i was babysitting for spending money in high school. at the end of the night when their mom came home and grouchy toddlers turned into cooing babes and fiesty five-year-olds melted into those loving arms, i would daydream of a future when my mere motherly presence would calm any storm and make all problems diseappear.



high schoolers are a naive bunch of people.



the children are wonderful. they are special, and unique and sweet and loving and caring and adorable and so unresistable that i want to eat their little cheekies. i love them so much my heart feels like it's going to bust. but, they are children, and i'd forgotten how hard it is to be responsible for a child over long periods of time. it's work. work, work, work, work, work. and there aren't any charts to track your progress or bonuses for reaching your 1,000th poopy diaper. blessed are the mothers, for they deserve to inherit the earth.



i'm alone tonight. sarah and the big man are at a pta thing for the little master's preschool. it's 7:35 pm, and i can finally sit down, put my feet up and relax. the house is quiet. my time is my own. the tv is mine.



unfortunately, the channel is stuck on the backyardigans.



i'll leave tomorrow and be so sad that it will be months and months before i see these little faces again. i will miss their hugs and kisses, and having someone spontaneously tell me that they love me throughout the day. i'll think of this home and being in a family again, and priorities and love.


i'll look inside myself and see if i have what it takes to be the right kind of mother.


before you go to bed tonight, say a prayer for every mother you know.



say two if you have the time.