Being a Warrior in My Own Home

Let’s be honest, most of my days are filled with cleaning dishes, entertaining a whiny toddler and putting things back in their places after said toddler blows through the house like a hurricane.

Seriously, toothpaste ends up in the kitchen, socks under the dining table, cooking spatulas in the shoe bucket. I’m thankful our house is a little bungalow or else it would take me hours to go from room to room replacing things.

A good day usually means I get a shower in. Actually, a good day means I get some writing in. I usually opt for the keyboard over the shampoo when given twenty quiet minutes, sorry hubby.

It all seems the exact opposite of being a warrior on a battlefield. Warriors wear armor, shout battle cries, risk their lives and gain glory each and every single day.

I am fascinated with King David’s Mighty Men in the Bible, who have crazy tales of admirable feats. There’s one story in which David says he wishes he could have a drink of water from the well in his hometown. At the time, his hometown of Bethlehem was occupied by the enemy, the Philistines. That’s no problem for three of David’s Mighty Men. They risk their lives, breach enemy lines and smuggle back a pouch of water for David’s parched throat. (2 Samuel 23:15-17)

At another time, one of David’s men, Benaiah, fights with a lion and wins. (2 Samuel 23:20)

And a third battle that fascinates me is when Eleazar stands his ground against the Philistines while his army flees. The Bible says his sword became fused to his hand. Thanks to God, Eleazar beats the Philistines almost single-handedly. (2 Samuel 23:9-10)

Glory and honor. Fighting against a dark force and beating the odds.

Minus the blood and guts, there’s something really cool about being a warrior. It’s being called to fight for something, it’s taking action against a dark enemy, it’s finding courage when there really shouldn’t be any.

So I’ve been toying with the idea that maybe I CAN be a warrior—in my own home. Maybe I’m in training. A young Jedi, I suppose. (I got you, Star Wars fans.)

I fight for my family and I fight hard. I fight to keep our basic needs met—ya know food on the table and babies in clothes, ahem CLEAN clothes, kinda thing. I also fight to keep us physically healthy—doctor appointments, medicine, cleaning to keep the germs away, although notably not my strong suit.

I also fight to keep us doing things that are mentally engaging, and restful and social—fulfilling those needs.

Now spiritually I could do more, but my husband and I pray and pray hard for our marriage, our children, our children’s spouses and futures and more. That’s definitely a battle.

There are many times I want to give up. I want to stay in bed all day and stare at the ceiling, oh that would be beautiful. But I get up. I face another day, another battle and fight sometimes valiantly and sometimes just enough to keep us alive.

But the truth is that my role as a mother at home is honorable. I may not have stories written about me in the Old Testament, thank heaven, but I am certainly a HUGE part of my son’s and my husband’s stories. I may not slay thousands or risk death by battle wounds but if I didn’t do what I do then my household would crumble.

Yes, it’s a much smaller scale but it’s really important. And while I’m changing another diaper, or putting all of my son’s books back on his shelf (again) it doesn’t feel very admirable, but it is. It’s a thousand tiny, small things done with love that lead to one big thing— impacting someone’s world.

One husband, one son at a time.

I can raise my sword to that.

The Dread and the Tactics of Immunization Day

When our children were small, they didn’t much like the doctor’s office.  Thankfully they were healthy kids with only the occasional ear infection, cold, or stomach virus.

The pediatrician’s office was decorated with animals and cartoon characters. Toys and books were scattered about. No amount of window dressing deterred mine from not wanting to be there.  

They knew an office visit would include a lollipop and stickers. The stickers were cool!  Big, square, shiny stickers of the latest kid fare – princesses, superheroes, puppies and kittens! 

But they always wanted to know if the office visit was going to include shots. Every parent’s battle.

Before child 2 and 3 were old enough to reject the idea that shots were good for them, I had the first born convinced of the following: “Shots are good for me. They help me stay healthy and strong. They keep sick germs away from me...and besides they only hurt for a little minute.”  

I can hear her sweet voice in song-like rhythm.

But as things would go, child 2 would have nothing of that sentiment. Shots hurt and she wasn’t having any part of it.

When the nurse brought in the syringes, she clamped up and melted down. The screams were piercing. That little body was far stronger than it seemed and holding her down took every ounce of strength I had.

The nurses were so kind…bless their hearts. As the years unfolded, I would begin my apology as soon as we arrived for the appointment. I knew she wasn’t the only child that kicked and screamed, but it was epic!

Child 3 tried to be brave. He would stoically fold up his shirt sleeve as his eyes welled with tears. He would reach for my hand and I would cover his eyes as he laid his head on my shoulder. He tensed up and winced when the needle punctured his skin.    

I scheduled an appointment for all three of the kids to get their annual flu shots. Although I was dreading it, I thought I’d put a positive spin on things.

I decided to bribe them. Yes, bribe. Indeed it had come to that.

As I loaded them into their car seats, I announced that we had two errands to run. We were going to the store and they were allowed to choose any candy they wanted. Cheers erupted from the back seat with each child proclaiming their favorites.

Then, I foiled their plans. I told them we had to make one stop first. It wouldn’t take long, but afterwards the candy was theirs.

Silence as we pulled into the doctor’s office parking lot.   

"You tricked us! Why would you do this? That’s not fair!"

These were just a few of their sentiments when they realized that our first errand was to get their flu shots. The cheers and excitement turned to disbelief. I thought I was clever, they considered it betrayal.

Child 2 would not speak to me. She vented through comments to her older sister.  “Don’t talk to her. She did this to us. It’s not okay. She tricked us.” 

My clever plot was unraveling.  

The oldest went along with it. She always does. She didn’t really like my method, but as she still does, she keeps her thoughts to herself and complies.

The youngest cautioned that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. So often when he was little I felt I was talking to an adult. Well, when he wasn’t repelling the bedroom wall with his sister’s bathrobe ties, that is.    

Band aids across their arms, lollipops unwrapped in their hands and stickers reluctantly clinging to their clothing, the appointment was over. It was time for the payoff.

I convinced myself that the bright colored wrappers of the candy aisle would perk them up.  

They trudged into the store to select their candy. It was the first time they made it seem like a chore. The ride home was rather quiet with just the faint crinkling of candy wrappers in the back seat.  

Author’s Note:
I read this story to child 1 & 2 who happened to be home the day I was editing it for the blog. Both are now in their twenties.

You would think the appointment was yesterday the way they went on about it. Child 2 would like all of you to know that she still stands by her statements and will never, ever trick her children like that.   

Okay.

How I Lost My Social Skills

Take two very socially adept gals together for coffee one morning, then throw in four children under the age of five, a blaring television or noisy restaurant, sleep deprivation for both gals and a long list of parenting anxieties both are personally feeling.

Now tell them to have a meaningful conversation.

Excuse me, what?!

Instead you’re gonna get fragmented sentences, very little eye contact (Billy just bit his brother), forgotten trains of thought and lack of focus.

This is for real.

When did talking get so tiring?

I remember thinking being a stay at home mom was going to be so great because I could be super social and just spend all of my time chattering away with other mothers of beautiful angelic babes who sit still and listen intently while I make a great point about this or that.

Ahem, wrong. So very wrong.

It’s enough to leave even the most socially adept person flailing in what used to be charted waters. Cotton mouth. Silence. Stammering. What were we talking about?

Oh yeah, conversing as a new mom.

In the past, I liked to think of myself as an expert in conversation. I had it down. I could listen, respond, ask a powerful question and then offer some insight all while standing on one foot sipping a latte backwards.

Now I’m lucky if there’s even one moment of connection between my chatting buddy and I.

It’s like I’ve lost someone I loved—the good conversation. To be honest, I think pre-baby I had one with someone who wasn’t my spouse 4-5 times a week or more. Now I’m lucky to have 2-3 a month. And I’m grieving. Started with denial, then moved to bargaining and now—acceptance.

I don’t mean to be too dramatic but this is a real thing in my life. Extroverts, raise your hand if you feel me.

Let me offer you some words of wisdom if you’ve had a similar experience.

Embrace the change: Once I accepted that this was my new normal, I began to leave my conversations feeling more fulfilled. I learned how to pick up where we left off when interrupted by children and how to ask powerful questions even though there was broken eye contact. I started to count all the positive connections that actually happened instead of feeling a void where I thought there should be more.

It’s ok for the conversation to be “not so great”: Sometimes just being with another friend who has children is good enough. There doesn’t always need to be some titillating conversation happening to make the time together worthwhile. Also, sitting in silence can be a good thing. Eek, that’s so hard for me to write, but true.

This is a season: I’m not going to have a diaper wearing, attention snarfing, into everything toddler forever. Eventually he will grow up and entertain himself. That’s a relief. So this is just temporary. I will also hopefully eventually return to eight hours or more of sleep per night. At least that’s what my friends say, bless them.

Don’t take it personal: Just because I can’t seem to string super intelligent sentences together doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. It means I’m a new Mom. And if my girlfriend doesn’t seem super interested in what I’m saying it doesn’t mean I’m boring, it means she’s a Mom too with five thousand things to think about at once. I cut myself some slack and life got a whole lot happier.

Overall moral of the story: go easy on yourself, be patient while conversing when children are around and make sure to leave the kiddos at home every once in awhile and enjoy an uninterrupted chat with a friend.