Real Mothers

Good morning! I realize it has been AGES since I last wrote. A lot has been happening in our world these days. Between the trip to Cambodia and Thailand (which was amazing) and the sad news of losing a baby that was set to arrive on September 30th (not so amazing---although God has been teaching me tons through it), blogging hasn't been at the top of my list.

But, I have been thinking the last few days of hardship and freedom in Christ. Specifically, freedom in parenting IN Christ. I'm still wrapping my mind around lots of thoughts, but was struck by this passage in the new Jodi Picoult book I've been reading. I hope it touches your heart the way it touched mine. It sure addresses the realities of parenting in our culture! It is my hope that reading this passage frees you from being held to these insecurities we as mothers or women face on a sometimes daily basis. It is my hope that instead, you will find strength and freedom in the ONLY one who can weather the storms of life and be joy-filled as a result.

Here's the passage, and a few pics of one of my daily "joys." My do-it-yourself 3 year old filled with joy at the park. :)









And the passage. To all the "real mothers" in the world... my friends, teachers, sages and comforts...

"When did they stop putting toys in cereal boxes?

When I was little, I remember wandering the cereal aisle and picking my breakfast food based on what the reward was: a Frisbee with the Trix rabbit's face emblazoned on the front. Holographic stickers with the Lucky Charms leprechaun. A mystery decoder wheel. I could suffer through raisin bran for a month if it meant I got a magic ring at the end.

I cannot admit this out loud. IN the first place, we are expected to be supermoms these days, instead of admitting that we have flaws. It is tempting to believe that all mothers wake up feeling fresh every morning, never raise their voices, only cook with organic food, and are equally at ease with the CEO and the PTA.

Here's a secret: Those mothers don't exist. Most of us--even if we'd never confess--are suffering through the raisin bran in the hopes of a glimpse of that magic ring.

I look very good on paper. I have a family, and I write a newspaper column. In real life, I have to pick superglue out of the carpet, rarely remember to defrost for dinner, and plan to have BECAUSE I SAID SO engraved on my tombstone.

Real mothers wonder why experts who write for Parents and Good Housekeeping--and dare I say it, the Burlington Free Press--seem to have their acts together all the time when they themselves can barely keep their heads above the stormy seas of parenthood.

Real mothers don't just listen with humble embarrassment to the elderly lady who offers unsolicited advice in the checkout line when a child is throwing a tantrum. We take the child, dump him in the lady's cart, and say, 'Great. Maybe YOU can do a better job.'

Real mothers know that it's okay to eat cold pizza for breakfast.

Real mothers admit it is easier to fail at this job than to succeed.

If parenting is the box of raisin bran, then real mothers know the ratio of flakes to fun is severely imbalanced. For every moment that your child confides in you, or tells you he loves you, or does something unprompted to protect his brother that you happen to witness, there are many more moments of chaos, error, and self-doubt.

Real mothers may not speak the heresy, but they sometimes secretly wish they'd chosen something for breakfast other than this endless cereal.

Real mothers worry that other mothers will find that magic ring, whereas THEY'LL be looking and looking for ages.

Rest easy, real mothers. The very fact that you worry about being a good mom means that you already are one."