Puking puts things in perspective

It has been years since I caught a stomach bug, probably since I was teaching at a daycare, which means at least 7. I had almost kind of forgotten about just how wretched it can make you feel; about how at four in the morning you haven't gotten further than ten feet away from the toilet out of fear of the consequences of doing so and are praying to God with everything in you to either make the nausea stop or for Jesus to come back, NOW please!

Well let's just say that my memory is fully restored. Puked and other assorted lovelies ALL night Monday night and most of the day Tuesday. Lee stayed home Tuesday and Wednesday morning to hold down the fort, or honestly I do not know how I would have made it.

And let me just take a minute to brag on said husband. I literally did not even see either child for over 36 hours because he handled so much on his own. Whenever I needed something he took care of it and likewise for them. As far as they knew, it was just a random fun Daddy play day, which is awesome. It is so nice not to have to worry about them and just be able to recuperate myself. Thank you Lee! No one else seems to have caught it, which is a miracle in itself, but I still have almost no appetite and very little energy.

And Lee's amazing job while I was down brings me to my point: why is it that even though I am home with the girls every week day pretty much all day, that we don't have "fun Mommy days"? I do realize that the primary stay at home parent is never deemed the "fun" one, but that's not where I'm coming from. I feel like I am constantly working while I'm home with them, but the more I think about it, I'm not really working much on them. I'm getting "stuff" done, like housework that never ceases, and laundry, and cooking meals, and I realize that stuff matters, but that's not why I'm home.

I'm supposed to be home to raise these two beautiful girls that God's blessed us with, not to buckle down and play maid while interspersing my chores with refereeing them. I'm supposed to be playing with them and exploring and reading and doing and laughing and watching them grow up. The other stuff is a secondary role, not the primary. Instead, I feel like I am, and have been wasting a lot of time with both of them, but especially Lily.

When Grace was tiny, she had my undivided attention, and I mean that. I realize that is the blessing for the firstborn, because it is impossible then on out. But that's now what I'm getting at. There is no reason that we should be watching so much t.v., or that the girls should be always amusing each other while I rotate in an orbit somewhere a safe distance away "getting stuff done". There is now reason that when I do take time to undividedly play with my children that there should be look of delight spurred from surprise on their little faces. There's no reason that Lily can't have more one-on-one time with me when Grace is at school.

I don't want to be the Mommy that has a clean house and bored kids. I don't want to be the Mommy that has a teaching degree but can't be interrupted from what I'm "supposed to be doing" to help my children. I don't want to be the Mommy that stands before God one day and has to answer the question "So what was so much more important than your family?"

Conviction is a funny thing, because I'm excited but scared. There are a lot of bad habits that are going to have to be broken, nearly all of them mine. I've gotten lazy as a Mommy, and I don't like it. I'm pretty sure that a lot of the frustrations of the kids that lead to behavior issues are highly influenced by it and a lot of my personal frustrations are too. And now it's time to stop talking about it and do.



This verse has played a key role in some major changes in my life in the past few months, and funny enough, is completely applicable here as well:

"No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it."
Hebrews 12:11

Time to start planting the right crop . . .