It was an ordinary Tuesday. The kids were reading 'new' books from the library as I cleaned up the kitchen for the second time in the course of a few hours. Jude was snoozing happily in his crib. I was humming to myself, quite sure it was going to be one of those magical mornings. Before I could even finish the thought, Luke grabbed the book Lily was reading out of her hand. I wouldn't have known, except for the terrible ear piercing scream which came out of the back of Lily's throat. I promise it could have woken a dog a half mile down the road. My stomach got tight and I so badly wanted to holler for them both to go to their rooms. As Lily sat on the couch crying/screaming/waking the baby up, I had one of those movie moments. You know the kind. The main character is in a situation, but then her mind takes her somewhere else and it's like she has no idea what is happening right in front of her? That's what I had. I was thinking, is this really motherhood? Is this really what I signed up for when I prayed and waited and longed for those positive pregnancy tests? Is this my life? As I came back down to earth, mostly because Lily's screams couldn't keep me elsewhere for long, I asked Luke to calmly go to his room and I gave the book back to Lily. I gave Luke a 60 second pep talk and then went down to get Jude up and change his diaper. An ordinary Tuesday indeed.
It was an ordinary Wednesday. We were meeting some friends for a playdate and were going to make a 'quick' stop at Target before heading over. I parked the car and unbuckled Luke and Lily. It was 40 degrees, but we didn't bother with coats. I told the kids we were going to make a run for it. We ran (actually it was fast walking) through the parking lot. Luke ran ahead and I said in my stern voice to 'please come back right now' and we toddled the rest of the way into the store, a car seat draped over one arm and a toddler on one side of me and my five year old on the other side. We headed straight to the family bathroom when we got inside because #pottytraining and after slathering our hands with sanitizer, we hopped into a cart. I tried to talk the bigs into a normal cart for normal people, but they wanted the extra-long-hard-to-push-cart-for-families-with-more-than-one-child. And they didn't even sit in the kid seats. You can't win them all. We needed four things from Target that Wednesday. Of course we walked out with twelve. Our fifteen minutes in Target was full of 'please stay in the cart' and 'not today' and 'maybe you could ask for that for Christmas' and, of course, tears. An ordinary Wednesday indeed.
These ordinary days make up my life as a momma. They are so ordinary, sometimes it's easy to look at them as insignificant days, hours, and weeks.
Does it matter if I yell to get my point across when Luke takes Lily's book? Does anyone care if the leftover Cheerios are swept up after every meal? Will anyone know if I lose my cool when my five year old does something downright mean to his sister? Will anyone care that my brain can withstand the high decibel screams of my toddler?
To be honest, sometimes I think none of these things really matter. About a week ago, I had an 'ordinary' day. I was feeling like a failure, one of those moms who has yoga pants on covered in spit up and hasn't been out of the house in awhile to know that Starbucks brought out their Christmas cups. I felt like I was treading water and sometimes my head went under for so long I didn't know if I was going to be able to come back up for air. I was weary, beat, internally struggling with the thought that nothing I do matters. No one saw any good things or bad things I did that day. Well, except for the three souls God has entrusted to me.
As I confessed this to my sweet husband, he firmly told me I wasn't failing, in the kindest, most sincere way. He didn't give me a pep talk or listen as I complained, he simply told me what he thought to be the truth. As the rest of the week went by, I had some more ups and downs. I went from feeling like 'I've got this' to 'I've got nothing'.
In-between all of this, I asked God for some guidance and reassurance and, honestly, a pep talk. I needed someone, something, a glimpse to see that what I was doing mattered. Guys, I didn't get it. I didn't get the angels singing - bright light shining down - this is it - Mary you're going to mother the Son of God moment. But, I got the truth. I got a 'you're a good Mommy' from Luke. I ended up with two kids on my lap both listening intently to the story I was reading them. I got my littlest babe laughing at me as he crawls as fast as he can towards me to crawl on top of me and spit up all over my somewhat clean pants. And I also got this:
God sees me.
My ordinary, insignificant days matter to the God of the universe. It matters if I scream at my kids or talk calmly to them. It matters my house is as picked up as a house can be with three littles. It matters if I lose my cool or keep God in mind when my five year old does something that makes me want to jump off the deep end. It matters that I am capable of handling my toddler's screams that sound like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. All of these things matter to God.
Yes, my life is much different than I thought it would be ten years ago pre-babies. God has shown me it is so SO much better. Despite the hard days, the ordinary days, I have a purpose. An important one. I am blessed and honored to be the tear-wiper, spit-up cleaner, laundry-folder, booger-collector (don't ask), dinner-maker, listener, truth seeker, cuddler. And Momma.
And so the answer is yes. YES. It matters. I matter.
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