I am getting older. As the years go by I feel it in different ways. I know many who might read this will give a good chuckle (or possibly boil with disdain) but even though I’m technically not that old I sure did feel it this morning. My body moaned and groaned when I tried to get up so I responded by going back to bed and skipping spin class. It would have been perfect if I didn’t have Lady Gaga’s ‘Papparazi’ repeating itself over and over in my head. Seriously… I think I’ve heard the song maybe once or twice, where did that come from! I’m not exactly a Lady Gaga fan. And hearing “Papa, papparazi” in between reciting Hail Mary’s is a bit disturbing.
The morning didn’t get any better when my oldest, Ryan, decided to spaz because he was confused about his Beta hours and he just had to turn them in and he had to have so many but he didn’t know if he had that many and mom why didn’t you keep track better?! This tirade went on until he came close to tears yelling “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” as if his life balanced on this sheet of paper that tallied his service hours for Beta. And then it happened…I lost my cool and yelled, “Who cares?! Quit freaking out and get your coat and get in the car!”
I hate that I yell. I don’t hate much but I will say that about myself. I’ve been working on it for awhile…and I’ve gotten a whole lot better about being able to keep my cool but it is one of my ‘issues’ raising my voice. Now I will say the benefit to this project (or is it a detriment? ha!) is that I now am very aware of my actions and responses throughout the day. When I got in the car I took a deep breath and calmly told Ryan I would go in and talk to the teacher about the hours he failed to write down and get signed. And then we said our ritual morning prayer on the way to school. There is nothing that can make me feel more guilty than to yell at my kids and then turn around and pray.
A few hours later I was listening to KSBJ, the Christian radio station here in Houston, and heard a woman call in asking for prayer. She had just dropped off her 3 year old son for his first day of daycare and you could hear the anguish in her voice. You could tell she was a good mom. It brought back memories of my boys when they were little, when I stayed home with them, and when I ended up going to work when Seth was three to go into youth ministry. And the anxiety I felt when I had to leave them behind to attend retreats and events.
“I used to be a good mother,” I thought as memories of the boys when they were young flooded my vision. My throat began to burn and before I knew it I was crying like a thirty-something yr old mother whose boys are no longer babies and wipe off sloppy kisses and are struggling with hormone changes the very same way I did as a pre-teen who felt like no one understood me. *sigh* I am a good mom.
It was a refreshing but quick cry. Needed but not meant to linger.
The rest of the day was productive especially as I came across other women of various ages going through their own litany of life that sometimes calls for that quick, but not lingering, cry.
God is in the revelations.
Blessings
Shannon