On Blessings...

I've been thinking a great deal about the title of this blog...on the idea that this would be a place that I would talk about all the blessings in our life.  And yet, I'm drawn to writing about how my kids draw with markers on themselves, flush my coat down the toilet, lock themselves in the bathroom, etc.

(For the record, this all occurred within the last 48 hours.  But I digress.)

This all comes to mind because I heard about a woman who was in a car accident and lost all three of her children, under the age of 5 years old (on Oprah, naturally).  She spoke about how it was so horrible to come home to the quiet space of her house full of toys...how she couldn't stand to hear children playing because of the sheer amount of grief....how she was shaken to the core with respect to her identity and her purpose. 

I also know that women out there look at this time in their life and miss it.  I know I will miss this.  I know that I will look back at this craziness and think that this span of time was one of the highlights of my life.  It's interesting to me that with great blessings comes great responsibility.  The longer I focus on the responsibility, the more I lose the blessing part.  I hate that.  I've also been thinking a lot about the idea that motherhood forms women over time, and thinking about all the great women I know who have come out the other side with patience, a serving attitude, the knowledge that sacrifice is just the start of love, and the natural perspective of selflessness. 

I think my damage at this point is that I'm still self-centered, focused on how my needs are second, and wishing that people would buy me stuff.  Lots of stuff.  In honor of my selflessness.  With a plaque.  And possibly a song about my awesome humility.   

See, I have a ways to go. 

Last week, Justin started preschool.  The first day went great and the second day he had a lot of trouble with me leaving.  He snuggled up on my lap, buried his head into my shirt, and cried "mommy, please don't go."  This in turn made me cry, and ultimately my two year old and I sat in the middle of his classroom and sobbed. (Super embarrassing, but beautiful all the same.)  I know there will be a time when I wish more than anything that he would say "mommy, please don't go."  I am so grateful to be a mommy and if, by the end of their time in my home, every piece of furniture is colored, the toilet is forever broken and there isn't a single doorknob in the house, I pray that I will remain grateful and focused.  And sane.  And sober.