oh dear.
today did not go well. and it's only 8:17 am.
maybe it feels particularly bad because lately i've been doing particularly well. lately i've been managing my life by giving it up, by letting it go, by asking God to come on in and clean house. and it works so much better than when i'm grappling for control of my life with my sticky little hands.
but today, i guess i forgot.
lately, i've been reading a lot about what is underneath the 'rules'. about not just how we are to live, but why we are to live that way. and it pretty much comes down to love, obedience and peace and joy. Jesus said we are to love. everything else flows from this. if we love each other, really love each other, we wouldn't lie or cheat or steal or insult or manipulate or gossip or betray or kill or ignore each other. and if we felt the love of others, really felt the love, we wouldn't over eat or over drink or over spend or hurt ourselves or isolate. and if we loved ourselves, we would come from a place of knowing our own value, of security, safety, and wholeness. i think we can't love, really love well, anything including ourselves, until we understand that we are loved first. loved by God. and we are. but sometimes, i forget.
today, i think i forgot.
it's tuesday. we were rushing. the first to leave is mike, then zoe, then the other three. zoe is, of course, the hardest. it's not her fault....or is it? we had eight minutes to go time. her last tasks- brushing her teeth and her hair- are upstairs tasks, and sending her upstairs is a great risk- a risk that she will never return. upstairs is where her toys are, and her brothers and sister, and pretty much everything more desirable then completing her tasks. and, if she decides to use the bathroom? forget it- she will miss the bus.
so today, at 7:02, i sent her upstairs to finish getting ready. now i know, after 15 years of getting her out the door in the morning, that if i really want her to be ready on time, i pretty much need to be at her side, but see, i don't want to. i don't want to have to. i want her to be able to do it on her own. i want her to grow a sense of time. i want her to have that internal clock that she lacks. i don't want her disability to disable my morning cup of coffee.
at 7:06 i called from the bottom of the stairs, there was silence. doh.
i went up. she was in the bathroom, on the toilet, looking guilty, with her hands behind her back.
oh dear.
suddenly memories start flying at me from old, dark places. memories of her at age 9. memories of her in the bathroom, with stuff on her hands that shouldn't be on her hands. memories of sadness, anger, confusion, helplessness, hopelessness, and feeling very, very alone.
i asked her to show me her hands, which she did, and they were covered in spit.
i suppose i should have been relieved. but i wasn't. what welled up in me was the opposite of love. it was fury. anger. confusion. and it was old, and dark.
this would have been a good time to shut the door and take a deep breath and decide that perhaps today, missing the bus might be okay. that maybe in love, the right thing to do would be to try, really try, to understand. to be present for her. to accept her. to forgive her weird sensory things that i don't get. to let the big picture dominate. to realize that the bus doesn't really matter, 7:10 doesn't really matter, being late doesn't really matter- but her feeling loved and valued? that really matters.
but do you think i did that? no.
do you think those things even crossed my mind as options at 7:08? no. they didn't. there was a bus to catch and three other children to get up and ready.
so instead, i reacted out of a place of fear, wearing the mask of anger- because anger is easier. instead i opened that awful weapon on my face called a mouth and shouted at her. "you complete moron!!!" while throwing the hand towel at her. "clean that up!!!" "what is wrong with you???"
oh dear.
there was no love in that. none. all i could think was that somehow she was punishing me. that she was purposely wasting time and doing things that she knew would make me mad, instead of choosing to do what she had to do.
when she came downstairs, she was muttering that she's an idiot and why was she even born, and i was still so mad that i told her to just be quiet and get in the car. something about the freezing cold air cooled me off and i asked her to please, for the love of God, tell me what she was thinking? why there was spit all over her hands???
"because there was too much spit in my mouth and i was on the toilet so i didn't know what else to do with it."
i'd like to say that i just stopped there and said i was so sorry and i get it and please forgive me. but i didn't. instead i told her that she should have just swallowed her spit like everyone else does. that she needs to be more aware of time and tasks, and that i shouldn't have to worry about her doing things like this. i was basically asking her, to try to understand me. doh.
and then a piece of my heart broke.
it didn't break because of spit and not knowing what to do with it. it didn't break because she lacks any sense of time. it broke because i forgot to love. because my words and my tone, hurt this beautiful child, demeaned her, and caused her to question her very worth and value. and my most important job as her mother is to do the opposite of this. to affirm her, as she is. to encourage her. to support her. to be her safe place in a world that won't ever get spit hands.
my heart broke at my complete failure to love.
when we got to the bus stop i told her that she wasn't a moron, and that i was sorry for yelling that, i told her i loved her and to have a good day (unlikely though, given that start).
"yeah right mom. adios!" and she slammed the door.
life is hard and messy, and i'm really good at messing it up. this is why i try to show up here and "out" myself. so maybe someone will say, "holy crazy! at least i'm not as bad as that lady!"and then love themselves better. and maybe they will then show up and love other people better, even their challenging child or their hard to deal with boss, or their differently wired husband, or their confusing friend.
the phone just rang. i was convinced it was going to be the school, telling me that zoe is incapacitated because of her mother's behavior in the morning. but it wasn't. it was mike, checking in. telling me that i'm not that bad. reminding me of forgiveness. and renewal and grace. i said 'thanks' but then asked him if his mother ever called him a 'moron'. and he said no, which i already knew, but that at least i didn't swear at zoe... (this time).
so that is where i am. where i begin. by saying i am sorry, and asking God and zoe and mike and the other kids, and maybe you, and even myself, to forgive me for not loving well. and then i give it up, let it go, ask God to come on in and clean house again. but tomorrow morning i am going to get up 15 minutes earlier, have my coffee, and remember to love and be loved, before anyone else is up.
today did not go well. and it's only 8:17 am.
maybe it feels particularly bad because lately i've been doing particularly well. lately i've been managing my life by giving it up, by letting it go, by asking God to come on in and clean house. and it works so much better than when i'm grappling for control of my life with my sticky little hands.
but today, i guess i forgot.
lately, i've been reading a lot about what is underneath the 'rules'. about not just how we are to live, but why we are to live that way. and it pretty much comes down to love, obedience and peace and joy. Jesus said we are to love. everything else flows from this. if we love each other, really love each other, we wouldn't lie or cheat or steal or insult or manipulate or gossip or betray or kill or ignore each other. and if we felt the love of others, really felt the love, we wouldn't over eat or over drink or over spend or hurt ourselves or isolate. and if we loved ourselves, we would come from a place of knowing our own value, of security, safety, and wholeness. i think we can't love, really love well, anything including ourselves, until we understand that we are loved first. loved by God. and we are. but sometimes, i forget.
today, i think i forgot.
it's tuesday. we were rushing. the first to leave is mike, then zoe, then the other three. zoe is, of course, the hardest. it's not her fault....or is it? we had eight minutes to go time. her last tasks- brushing her teeth and her hair- are upstairs tasks, and sending her upstairs is a great risk- a risk that she will never return. upstairs is where her toys are, and her brothers and sister, and pretty much everything more desirable then completing her tasks. and, if she decides to use the bathroom? forget it- she will miss the bus.
so today, at 7:02, i sent her upstairs to finish getting ready. now i know, after 15 years of getting her out the door in the morning, that if i really want her to be ready on time, i pretty much need to be at her side, but see, i don't want to. i don't want to have to. i want her to be able to do it on her own. i want her to grow a sense of time. i want her to have that internal clock that she lacks. i don't want her disability to disable my morning cup of coffee.
at 7:06 i called from the bottom of the stairs, there was silence. doh.
i went up. she was in the bathroom, on the toilet, looking guilty, with her hands behind her back.
oh dear.
suddenly memories start flying at me from old, dark places. memories of her at age 9. memories of her in the bathroom, with stuff on her hands that shouldn't be on her hands. memories of sadness, anger, confusion, helplessness, hopelessness, and feeling very, very alone.
i asked her to show me her hands, which she did, and they were covered in spit.
i suppose i should have been relieved. but i wasn't. what welled up in me was the opposite of love. it was fury. anger. confusion. and it was old, and dark.
this would have been a good time to shut the door and take a deep breath and decide that perhaps today, missing the bus might be okay. that maybe in love, the right thing to do would be to try, really try, to understand. to be present for her. to accept her. to forgive her weird sensory things that i don't get. to let the big picture dominate. to realize that the bus doesn't really matter, 7:10 doesn't really matter, being late doesn't really matter- but her feeling loved and valued? that really matters.
but do you think i did that? no.
do you think those things even crossed my mind as options at 7:08? no. they didn't. there was a bus to catch and three other children to get up and ready.
so instead, i reacted out of a place of fear, wearing the mask of anger- because anger is easier. instead i opened that awful weapon on my face called a mouth and shouted at her. "you complete moron!!!" while throwing the hand towel at her. "clean that up!!!" "what is wrong with you???"
oh dear.
there was no love in that. none. all i could think was that somehow she was punishing me. that she was purposely wasting time and doing things that she knew would make me mad, instead of choosing to do what she had to do.
when she came downstairs, she was muttering that she's an idiot and why was she even born, and i was still so mad that i told her to just be quiet and get in the car. something about the freezing cold air cooled me off and i asked her to please, for the love of God, tell me what she was thinking? why there was spit all over her hands???
"because there was too much spit in my mouth and i was on the toilet so i didn't know what else to do with it."
i'd like to say that i just stopped there and said i was so sorry and i get it and please forgive me. but i didn't. instead i told her that she should have just swallowed her spit like everyone else does. that she needs to be more aware of time and tasks, and that i shouldn't have to worry about her doing things like this. i was basically asking her, to try to understand me. doh.
and then a piece of my heart broke.
it didn't break because of spit and not knowing what to do with it. it didn't break because she lacks any sense of time. it broke because i forgot to love. because my words and my tone, hurt this beautiful child, demeaned her, and caused her to question her very worth and value. and my most important job as her mother is to do the opposite of this. to affirm her, as she is. to encourage her. to support her. to be her safe place in a world that won't ever get spit hands.
my heart broke at my complete failure to love.
when we got to the bus stop i told her that she wasn't a moron, and that i was sorry for yelling that, i told her i loved her and to have a good day (unlikely though, given that start).
"yeah right mom. adios!" and she slammed the door.
life is hard and messy, and i'm really good at messing it up. this is why i try to show up here and "out" myself. so maybe someone will say, "holy crazy! at least i'm not as bad as that lady!"and then love themselves better. and maybe they will then show up and love other people better, even their challenging child or their hard to deal with boss, or their differently wired husband, or their confusing friend.
the phone just rang. i was convinced it was going to be the school, telling me that zoe is incapacitated because of her mother's behavior in the morning. but it wasn't. it was mike, checking in. telling me that i'm not that bad. reminding me of forgiveness. and renewal and grace. i said 'thanks' but then asked him if his mother ever called him a 'moron'. and he said no, which i already knew, but that at least i didn't swear at zoe... (this time).
so that is where i am. where i begin. by saying i am sorry, and asking God and zoe and mike and the other kids, and maybe you, and even myself, to forgive me for not loving well. and then i give it up, let it go, ask God to come on in and clean house again. but tomorrow morning i am going to get up 15 minutes earlier, have my coffee, and remember to love and be loved, before anyone else is up.
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