Somehow we managed to leave the house at 7:48. No idea how.

There was a short award ceremony this morning for AR readers, so we did that. I love getting to support the boys. Then we came home, just J.D. and me.

That’s when the struggle got real.

Why? Because I thought I could get work done with my 3-year-old at home. hahahahahaha

I have a giveaway I need to run, but the photos aren’t ready….because I haven’t taken them yet…I have an affiliate that I’ve promised paperwork to.

And I haven’t posted since Sunday, and I’m starting to feel like I’m on a treadmill set on 6.0 and I only have one leg, a feeling many of us know well.

Hilarious, isn’t it? Did you know that bloggers have work stress? Well, yes, sometimes we do.

Also, it’s sheet day, the day I wash sheets, and I am behind on housework as always. 

But I wanted to put my three-year-old first.

I wanted to be a good mom. Instead of working on all those things, I colored with him first. We traced letters, and we colored about 10 different pages of Peppa Pig. (We love the Pig family.)

I thought I’d filled his little love tank enough and I could move on to dishes, Bible reading, and checking email. People are always ridiculing me for not having read the emails they sent.

J.D. let me do the dishes and read my Bible, but once I sat down to do email, all productivity brakes were hit full force.

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m hungry again.”

“Can I watch Toy Story?”

“Not the one with the blue one. The one with Zurv.”

The one with Zurg is broken, so that was out.

“Okay, then, the one where Andy grows up and becomes a dad.”

I guess that’s what he thinks “goes to college” means…

Toy Story 3 was nowhere to be found. He went overboard with the whining. I had a moment….. By this point, the Benadryl I’d given him for his runny nose was in full effect. He was crying. I was whining and out of patience.  I sent him to his room.

He had his broken-heart face on as he sat in his rocking chair and cried. Gets me every time. I felt bad for the sweet, tiny person I’d offended. I went to his room, I picked him up. I comforted him, and rubbed his precious forehead.

And he fell asleep.

I rocked him, and I admired his sweet angelic face. I thought about all the times I’d gotten so worked up about stupid jobs that would earn me a few dollars, when here was this baby, this person who depended on me for everything. They need me to train them into successful, hard-working men.

But today he’s only 3 years old, and he and his brothers are my most important jobs. I can have a few less dollars and be fine.

Those blog jobs will just have to wait.

We can get a week behind on washing the sheets.

Priorities. If juggling 4 children, the military life, and my work has taught me nothing else, it’s the importance of priorities.

We only get one shot at our children. They grow right in front of us, and we can’t even see it.

back row, far right. “Singing” at church.

They are our most important responsibility. Our marriage is an even more important relationship, but our children are our job. If we don’t love them and meet their needs, probably no one else will. If all children were loved as they should be, there would be far less crime and hurt in this world.

My Maw-Maw, one of my favorite people in the whole world, wrote this poem. I bet she wrote it when she was around my age. I don’t know exactly. She was taken from us way too soon, at the age of 56, by untreated breast cancer that spread to her bones.

She spent many years as a single mom. You know my Bible journal? Yeah, she had a library of about 120 of those. She’d take poems, quotes, and Bible verses pair them with a pretty picture from a magazine or greeting card, and compile them into scrapbooks, organized by topics. They ranged from “love”, “God’s will”, “Humor”, to “Gossip” and “Life”. 120 different topics.

Here’s a poem she wrote about the dangers of neglecting our jobs as moms.

Please understand that my Maw-Maw was not against women working. She worked several different jobs over the years. She worked in a sewing factory, a grocery store, and she even owned and operated her own book store, Beth’s Books, not all at the same time, of course. She was a lovely, inoffensive person, who always smelled like Avon perfume and never left home without her false eyelashes on. She loved nothing better than reading a book with a cigarette and a glass of unsweet iced tea.

Beth

What’s Happened to Motherhood?

You compete with the men

And an equal right you demand

While you leave your children in the baby sitter’s hand.

The pleasure of motherhood

Is a gift God gave to you.

Giving birth to a chid

Is something no man can do!

The hand that rocks the cradle

Rules the world, you say,

But stop and think;

Who’s rocking the cradle today?

What’s happened to motherhood?

Is it old-fashioned or out of style?

What could ever be more important

Than caring for your child?

Sure, you love your child

More than you could ever say,

But have you taken time

To teach him how to pray?

When he has a problem

And needs to talk to you,

Can he come to you any time,

Or wait ’till your day is through?

While you work hard to achieve your goal

Your children so quickly grow.

And saddest of all is

What you’re missing you’ll never know.

~by Beth H. King

I know that poem may ruffle a few feathers, but I share it because

1.) I miss Maw-maw so much, and reading her poems brings her back.

and

2.) I think it’s a valid reminder of what is our most important job as moms.

We might as well enjoy this gift of motherhood. Love y’all. Have a great weekend!

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My boys, stalking sea lions in Monterey, just like their mom.

Today I was walking around my backyard, feeling thankful for the Nerf bullets in the grass and the bare dirt spots on the lawn because they are signs that my babies still live here.

They grow so fast, but for today they are still here with us, and I was feeling ever so thankful. This poem/prayer fairly burst right out of my heart, so I came inside and jotted it down. I hope you like it.

All of my children are boys, and there are 4 of them, so this is a little unique to that. However, a lot of it I know you may be able to relate to.

Dear God,

Thank you for these boys.

Thank you for Nerf bullets in the grass,

for a living room floor littered with their toys.

Thank you for their sass.

For tiny Lego men in the laundry basket and the noise,

Thank you for the noise.

Thank you for popcorn kernels in the couch,

for little plastic Batman in my bathtub,

and even the moments I beg them not to slouch.

Thank you for the way he runs when I approach with the washcloth to scrub

All that sunbutter off his adorable cheekies and his mouth.

Thank you for their fighting,

and their running, and their bouncing,

Their snacking, video-game playing, yes, even their messy hand-writing.

Thank you for the sounds of laughing, crying, and being rowdy.

Thank you for their tuition bill,

their baseball and basketball games,

The way they hug me, even when they smell.

And of course sometimes call each other names.

Thank you for the way they look after each other.

Thank you for all the dirt and clutter

and all the lessons to teach and walls to scrub clear.

Because what it means is that for now we are all here together.

And love is filling the house, and we are growing good men here.

Thank you for making me their mother.

~April Alan

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