Amazing

My children are amazing.  I don't mean that in a delusional sort of way, where I hold onto the believe that my own offspring are far more superior than everyone else's.  The fact that my youngest stuck a toy car into his bare buttocks today proves otherwise.  Being their mother, however, I get the chance to observe them far more frequently than most other kids, so it would follow that they are the ones who constantly amaze me, although my observations, I'm pretty sure, can be transferred to most children.  Because this is my blog, however, I am going to discuss why my children are amazing, and you can relax  knowing that most of what is said about the amazingness of my children can be applied to yours as well (with the exception of the car/butt incident.  Nothing amazing about that).

Why my children are amazing #1:  They are made out of rubber. 
This is the only reason I can figure as to why my children aren't in full body casts.  The things they do to their little frames is truly frightening: sliding down the stairs face first--on purpose (I had to clarify because if I ever did such a thing it certainly would be an accident, a very terrible accident), racing across a field full throttle in a bent over position while pushing a toy dump truck and not breaking a sweat (how can that not be painful, let alone fun?), playing tornado on a daily basis (directions:  spin around as fast as you can for as long as you can until you are impossibly dizzy.  Fall.  Repeat.), and other activities that attempt to defeat the laws of physics.  Sure, we go through a fair number of bandages (one of the items, along with batteries and diapers, I wish I would have bought stock in prior to having children).  But these cuts and scrapes heal.  The fact is that children just don't pull their groins or their hips or whatever impossibly dumb injury I have.  Because, like Tigger, their tops are made out of rubber, and their bottoms are made out of springs.  (It just dawned on me that A.A. Milne must have had children of his own.

Why my children are amazing #2:  Their youthfulness.
"You can only by young once.  But you can always be immature."  How right you are, Dave Barry, but I'd trade that immaturity in a heartbeat to have the perfect, smooth, blemish-free skin that my boys have, to eat a cupcake without worrying how many calories you are going to be sending to your rear end (we all know kids metabolize food differently than adults, sending any calories that enter their bodies directly to their legs, arms, and mouths, turning them into little energizer bunnies that talk), to have a face that expresses "innocence" rather than "haggardness."  There was a time when I wasn't getting injured every other month, where I could almost get away with going makeupless and not scaring people, where I could eat pretty much what I wanted, when I wanted.  It was in my twenties.  And it has definitely expired, leaving me to spend more time looking less attractive, to eat less and have to exercise more and still not lose weight, and to work at temporarily displacing the look of exasperation that has become a permanent feature of my face.  I should probably stop here, I'm depressing myself even further.  Which is another amazing thing about my kids:  they don't get depressed.

Why my children are amazing #:  They can surprise you in the most wonderful ways.
Having dealt with my upper limit of temper tantrums today, I was mildly peeved (read: about to lose my mind) when my oldest started crying AGAIN, this time after he had gone to bed, because HE wanted to sleep with the train book, not the rascally little brother who had thought of it first.  It being well past the hour where I mentally punch out on the parenting clock, I hoped I could just ignore the intermittent cries until he just gave it up and went to sleep.  45 minutes later and the cries continued.  Desperate for some quiet, I marched upstairs with the resolve to end the crying--just resolve, no plan.  Duct tape?  Smothering with a pillow?  I was gonna wing it.  "WHAT DO YOU WANT???"  I stupidly asked, fully prepared to hear something about train books and little brothers and the unfairness of the world.  "I just want to give you a hug," came the quiet and teary response.  Well, what do you say to that, except to snuggle with the little guy, who quietly told me he loved me (even though at that point I was just about as unlovable as you can get), and to thank God for this quiet and beautiful gift to close out  my day.

My children are amazing.

The Beauty in Personal Dormancy--or Not

Ugh. 

That about sums up my feelings on what seemed like the longest day ever--a  little alarming, since it's only May and a month away from the summer solstice.  The alarming part has to do with the fact that nothing really out of the ordinary occurred today.  The weather was beautiful.  The boys--now 4 and 2 (YIKES!!)--were their usual boisterous, busy, and all-things-boy selves.  Just another typical middle-of-the-week Wednesday.  With one glaring exception. 

THE INJURY has returned.  For the second time in half a year, I've injured my hip, rendering me unable to run.  This time around my body has put a unique little twist on the injury, however, in that I have also mysteriously pulled my groin as well, thus prohibiting any of my usual cross training.  My primary care doctor told me to--surprise!--take some time off to let it heal.  So that's what I'm doing.  Taking time off.  No running, biking, swimming, step aerobicking, yogaing.  Can't even power walk.  So what's a girl to do but give painfully slow walks to her dog, who coincidentally has a colander around his neck because of his own injury and probably looks even more ridiculous than I do.  What a pair we make.

And although the bulk of my days looks pretty much the same since the majority of my workouts occurred in the morning, the absence of working out is taking it's toll.  Prior to THE INJURY, when I was able to get up before my people, put on my running shoes and head out the door, it was like giving myself a present.  I'd tuck my little gift away as my real day began and wouldn't think about it much throughout the day.  Every now and again, though, when I began losing sight of myself, as the distinction between me and the all-encompassing job of mommy would blur and I'd meld into "Mom: the person who watches the kids all day, sacrificing herself for their growth and development", I'd revisit my little gift and be reminded of my secret, that time I had carved into my day just for myself.  It was reassurance, even if it was false, that I was someone else outside of my kids.

And now I've been robbed of my present, bringing me back to the "ugh" at the beginning of this post. It's been over two weeks now, and I've tried hard not to wallow in the inevitable depression that THE INJURY brings about.  I've tried putting my trust in God, knowing that He has plans for me, plans to prosper me and not harm me, plans for my hope and future (Jer. 29:11), and that somehow THE INJURY might even play into His plans.  I've been forced to rely on Him to supply that which running used to provide--stress relief, weight control, endorphin rushes, sanity.  I know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope (Romans 5:3-4).  But right now I feel like I've been robbed of something that makes me who I am.  I have nothing to claim as my own, and it's certainly taking it's toll.

So I wait.  Not sure what I'm waiting for, I wait on God, who acts on behalf of those who wait on Him (Isaiah 64:4).  Perhaps He's refining me, working on my character, using this time to prepare me for something new, something better that He has for me.  But I hate waiting.  In my convoluted mind, waiting equates to doing nothing.  And in today's world, doing nothing is frowned on.  We are supposed to work in order to produce! produce! produce! 

And so my little devotional today really struck a chord when it brought up Psalm 1:3, reminding me that I am to be "like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields fruit in season."  Huh?  Oh that's right, trees don't constantly produce fruit.  If they did, the trees would have nothing left--no branches, no leaves, no beauty. The writer called on us to embrace the beauty of personal dormancy (doesn't that sound lovely?): "We must allow for it and accept it joyfully...A time of inner strength-gathering for a better bloom later."  Is this what THE INJURY is for me, a time of personal dormancy?  A way of preparing me for better blooms to come?  Sounds a heck of a lot better than sitting on the sidelines getting fat because of my bum hip. 

So I have nothing to do but wait. And pray that I can see THE INJURY as a time of personal dormancy.