My youngest child will be 4 in a few days. I must admit I'm a little sad that I don't have a little baby or toddler around anymore. I look at her every day and I am in awe at what a little lady she is becoming. She is smarter, and funnier, and cuter and sweeter with each passing day. Each day she gets a little older, a little more sure of her place in the world around her. Each day her big brothers are accomplishing, learning, asking, leading, helping, and living more maturely than the day before. I am learning new things about their personalities, dreams, and gifts.
With the sadness comes immense joy at seeing my little girl become a little lady, and my little boys become bigger boys. With that joy, I'm also experiencing some relief, a little reprieve if you will, after living through "Parenting Small Children: Intense Mode," for about 6 years. It occurs to me in the little things, like helping them brush their teeth, or realizing that they ALL just used the restroom and it took literally ZERO assistance on my part.
So here's my top ten list of Marvelous Happenings of Babies becoming Little People:
1) There is no more wondering or guessing at what particular thing is plaguing them at the moment. They can articulate it perfectly loud and clear!
2) They really can all use the restroom without assistance, which means as the parent you are no longer responsible for every. bodily. function. 24 hours a day.
3) They can all reach the bathroom sink without a stool.
4) When you arrive at your destination, you only have to unbuckle one seat belt: your own; they can do their own themselves!
5) When you talk about Santa, Jesus, presents, and prayer, they finally "get it."
6) No more diapers.
7) You can leave the house without bringing the whole house with you "just in case."
8) You start to realize that wishing away the tough moments will only make the good ones go by faster, so you slow down and live in that moment.
9) Bedtime stories, songs, and cuddles stop being part of the every day "have-to" routine, because you realize that all too soon you'll blink and they won't need those anymore.
10) When one of these growing-every-day precious little people grabs your hand, you realize how much bigger that hand is, how much taller they stand. You thank the Lord, and you hold that little hand. hoping that the day they'll be "too big to hold" will stay away for the moment.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel of bottles and feedings and night wakings, of crying and whining, begging and pleading. Right now I just want time to stand still for a little while, but since it won't, I want to linger on these moments and enjoy my little people before they are taller than me :)
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
July 1st
Today is the day. Today is the day I take my first step into unknown territory. I've always done the safe thing. The "right" thing. The sure thing. And today I embark on the unthinkable. Something I've been "thinking" about for months. Something I've asked God a million times over, what should I do? What about...? What if...? Don't let me do the "wrong" thing here, please God.
Ten years ago today I was doing my student teaching and planning my upcoming wedding. My life was just beginning. Everything was new and unknown and exciting. Today is different and yet the same. I am planning the beginning of a whole new life. I feel like I'm on this wobbly little bridge with some sort of blurry fog just a few yards ahead. I don't know what's through that fog. It smells like fresh rain, it has the draw of something beautiful, a huge oasis waiting on the other side. But the truth is I don't know what is over there. It could be a plain old street lined with straight sidewalks and just a few new friends. It could be a rocky road that I struggle to maneuver my way through. It could be clear path, lined with fields of flowers and lemonade stands, beautiful homes of friends new and old, all lined down this peaceful but new path that I am beginning to travel along and settle myself in.
The truth is I don't know what lies ahead. Ten years ago I was excited, nervous, and apprehensively enamored by the prospects of both married life and a career as a teacher. I really had no idea where life would take me. Today I am humbled by the gifts that I have been given...ten years of teaching in which I learned, grew, and experienced both the joys and terrible heartache of knowing I could do something and yet not enough for these little souls in my care 25 hours a week. The experience of participating in a Sacramental marriage, where there are two strong willed people and an ever stronger anchor of love, consecrated vows, and grace that somehow manages to cover our short comings and make our love stronger and more exciting day by day. Humbled by the knowledge that ten years ago I had no idea the capacity I had to love, and humbled by the knowledge that during the next ten years that love will grow even stronger. Humbled by the fact that my dreams of having children came true three times over in three little souls that are larger than life, bigger than their little britches, and simultaneously hold ownership over my whole heart.
Ten years of living, growing, and experiencing. Now I embark on a new journey. A new journey in which I say, I know what it's like not to live. To be in so much pain that I can not think, or love, or read my children a story. To be in my role as a teacher and look at my students knowing the pain is too much to bear and I must leave them when all I want to do is teach them some math. I know that life is precious. I know that in those moments, those days, those weeks on end, nobody was getting what I could give. Not my marriage, not my motherhood, not my teaching. None of it was top notch. All of it was getting through just to feel inadequate and start all over. That experience this year taught me something: you have to say no Jenny. You have to choose. You are no longer able to keep the pace that you once were. You have won the race. You have fought the good fight. If you are to win the prize you must choose. You must choose a path. All roads can not be traveled at once. Choose life.
So it's goodbye to full-time teaching for me. Teaching is a part of my identity. It's something I love and something I will always BE. Right now raising my kids and being present during more hours is just more important. More important than the benefits that life brings. In working around each other's schedules we have grown accustomed to living separate lives, doing the deeper and daily conversations over text. Experiencing life with our children separately. Working our hours at our respective jobs only to come home and be the only one parenting while the other is at work. It's just not working anymore. It's no longer worth it to retain the benefits both financially and personally that come with my teaching career. It is time to take a step out on that wobbly rickety bridge knowing a little more than I did ten years ago; life is NEVER what you think it will be, God's grace IS big enough to cover my inequities, and LIFE is meant to be LIVED.
Ten years ago today I was doing my student teaching and planning my upcoming wedding. My life was just beginning. Everything was new and unknown and exciting. Today is different and yet the same. I am planning the beginning of a whole new life. I feel like I'm on this wobbly little bridge with some sort of blurry fog just a few yards ahead. I don't know what's through that fog. It smells like fresh rain, it has the draw of something beautiful, a huge oasis waiting on the other side. But the truth is I don't know what is over there. It could be a plain old street lined with straight sidewalks and just a few new friends. It could be a rocky road that I struggle to maneuver my way through. It could be clear path, lined with fields of flowers and lemonade stands, beautiful homes of friends new and old, all lined down this peaceful but new path that I am beginning to travel along and settle myself in.
The truth is I don't know what lies ahead. Ten years ago I was excited, nervous, and apprehensively enamored by the prospects of both married life and a career as a teacher. I really had no idea where life would take me. Today I am humbled by the gifts that I have been given...ten years of teaching in which I learned, grew, and experienced both the joys and terrible heartache of knowing I could do something and yet not enough for these little souls in my care 25 hours a week. The experience of participating in a Sacramental marriage, where there are two strong willed people and an ever stronger anchor of love, consecrated vows, and grace that somehow manages to cover our short comings and make our love stronger and more exciting day by day. Humbled by the knowledge that ten years ago I had no idea the capacity I had to love, and humbled by the knowledge that during the next ten years that love will grow even stronger. Humbled by the fact that my dreams of having children came true three times over in three little souls that are larger than life, bigger than their little britches, and simultaneously hold ownership over my whole heart.
Ten years of living, growing, and experiencing. Now I embark on a new journey. A new journey in which I say, I know what it's like not to live. To be in so much pain that I can not think, or love, or read my children a story. To be in my role as a teacher and look at my students knowing the pain is too much to bear and I must leave them when all I want to do is teach them some math. I know that life is precious. I know that in those moments, those days, those weeks on end, nobody was getting what I could give. Not my marriage, not my motherhood, not my teaching. None of it was top notch. All of it was getting through just to feel inadequate and start all over. That experience this year taught me something: you have to say no Jenny. You have to choose. You are no longer able to keep the pace that you once were. You have won the race. You have fought the good fight. If you are to win the prize you must choose. You must choose a path. All roads can not be traveled at once. Choose life.
So it's goodbye to full-time teaching for me. Teaching is a part of my identity. It's something I love and something I will always BE. Right now raising my kids and being present during more hours is just more important. More important than the benefits that life brings. In working around each other's schedules we have grown accustomed to living separate lives, doing the deeper and daily conversations over text. Experiencing life with our children separately. Working our hours at our respective jobs only to come home and be the only one parenting while the other is at work. It's just not working anymore. It's no longer worth it to retain the benefits both financially and personally that come with my teaching career. It is time to take a step out on that wobbly rickety bridge knowing a little more than I did ten years ago; life is NEVER what you think it will be, God's grace IS big enough to cover my inequities, and LIFE is meant to be LIVED.
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