Confession: I am not Supermom. Some very well intentioned friends have used that label while observing my delicate balancing act of three small children. Here's the thing I've learned about labels: they can start to define us after a while. Or maybe we begin living up to the expectations surrounding us, whether good or bad. The motivation behind our actions is no longer conviction or a desire to live a life above reproach because we recognize the cost of our freedom, but rather the selfish desires of our flesh to be great, to be known, to be completely independent of any sort of rescue.
While I always awkwardly accept compliments such as the Supermom title, I also always feel the need to explain why I am not worthy of the kind words. Oh shoot. If you only knew what went on at our house before we got here, you would take that back faster than Sam can climb on top of the table I just spotted across the room... Wait, where is Sam?
If you only knew. If you only knew that there were tears, frustration and a few good fits pitched (and the kids weren't perfect either), then you would probably not tell me that you don't know how I do it.
In an attempt to keep pride at bay and to prevent myself from foolishly believing in this whole Supermom character, let's be real. There is no perfection behind these walls, but there is SO MUCH GRACE. Thank you, Jesus! So I've decided, since you can't all experience the reality of me with my wild things behind our actual walls, I'd like to invite you to follow me on a not so quick journey through a typical morning in our home. Specifically this morning.
*Warning: Type A friends enter cautiously.
*Note: This is not a stay-at-home-martyr story. I love my role at home and have chosen this above all else.
Our children are all great sleepers. They sleep great when they are in our bed, and they sleep great when they are under half of my body or on the top half of Rob's pillow. Today at 5:45 I woke up with Evan cradled in my left arm and Kate laying sideways in the middle of our bed. In a successful effort to get a few more minutes of sleep, I moved Evan to the crib and Kate 90 degrees to a normal position.
At 6:15 Evan realized he had been duped and proceeded to let me know how much he did not appreciate it. I did what any good mother would do and ran quickly to turn on the coffee pot and then into the baby's room. Because priorities. I nursed him, put him back in his crib and escaped to the living room for some therapy time with Jesus.
Then I sneezed. I knew I should have held it in, but I'm still afraid my eyeballs will blow out of my head if I don't let my sneezes out. Enter Kate who woke up via sneeze alarm. I allowed myself the privilege of a thirty minute babysitter - shout out to the Bubble Guppies - because, guys, I for real need that time with Jesus and hot coffee. *Sneeze* Evan is the victim this time, and I've been sitting for about 90 seconds. Rock the baby. Lay him down. Jesus.
Sam, our late sleeper, is awake at 6:45 asking to eat. That is without fail his first word of the day: eat! Time for first breakfast. Lately that's been Trix. Limited Edition Mini Trix to be exact. Stop your judging, it's fruit-ish. I then move to my work table to start on a few thank you notes, when I hear the familiar sound of tiny cereal hitting the floor. Kate runs in to inform me, "Uh, Mommy. It's a really giant mess in here. Like, really giant. Like, really." Limited Edition Mini Trix covering the floor. Oh and Sam is stepping on them like bugs, so we don't have to worry about them getting too far.
Back to the notes. Never mind. Kate went to "check on Evan" which always means she's going to bust in the room singing and turning the lights on. Can't stop. Won't stop. Where is Sam?
Feed Evan breakfast. Make a mental note to clean the highchair. Move Evan to the jumper in hopes of finishing these thank you notes. (I'm really terrible about thank you notes and seriously want to finish them this year.) Maybe I shouldn't put Evan in the jumper. Should he be crawling by now? Make mental note to have intentional tummy time this afternoon. I then run to the back of the house to put an end to World War III at 7:00. I've only been up for 45 minutes? Our clocks must be wrong. Did the power go out?
Complete a whole 3 thank you notes. Conveniently remember it's Thursday a.k.a. Family Swim Day. Is that even possible? Will the sun still be out by the time we get out the door? It's a legitimate concern. Then I notice the calligraphy supplies on the work table which reminds me to do the last address that was added to my list which reminds me that I HAVE to post my calligraphy project on Instagram. Because priorities. Done. 8:15.
Run to tell the kids that we're going swimming and they need to find their swim suits. Kate tells me she will just wear her tutu skirt in the pool and "that will be fine, Mom," to which I respond "You will wear a swim suit. Where is Sam?" Evan is crying. Time to nurse.
At 8:22 I hear quick footsteps down the hall and, "MOMMY! MOMMY! Sam said he wanted to poop in da potty so I just helped him take his diaper off and den I tried to pick him up to put him on da potty but I can't pick him up because I'm not strong enough and HE NEEDS TO POOP." Great. He's probably pooping in the hall. I'm going to have to clean that up. Run with Evan down the hall. No poop. Good. Sam is in the bathroom, no diaper, as promised. He tries to poop in the potty. He's actually kind of successful which forces Kate to tell him there's a prize box for pooping in the potty. Not anymore, kid. No one is potty training. Cue screaming fits from both big kids.
I feed Evan, lay him down for a nap at 8:45 and start to gather all swim necessities. Kate walks down the hall crying for her tutu skirt. Wakes Evan. It's 8:48. I help Kate get her red dress off which she throws in the crib. But it doesn't matter because apparently Evan won't get to sleep this morning. Where is Sam?
Walk Kate to her room to find the elusive tutu skirt and Sam walks in wearing goggles and holding a book. Yes, of course I'll read to you, Sam. I want to read to you. We won't have swim suits or towels at the pool because I can't finish a single thing. But always YES to reading. Mental note to not forget the towels. It's 9:05. Need to be leaving in 25 minutes and I am still in my pajamas and Kate is the only child wearing pants. I get short with the kids and Kate tells me she doesn't like the way I'm talking and, "I'm very frustrated about you." Me too, don't worry.
To make up for my tone of voice, I agree to take jumping pictures of Kate. Turns into a photoshoot where she had to approve and critique every picture. She does so many spinning jumps that she falls down, hurts her "wittle toe" and needs to snuggle. Snuggles and reading don't get turned down by this mama. Because priorities.
Transplant Evan to the middle of my bedroom floor. Thank you, Lord that he isn't crawling yet! Scratch tummy time off my mental list. If he's moving, I'm done. It's 9:45 and we have officially passed my hopeful departure time. Still wearing pajamas.
I hear faint knocking coming from the nursery. Sam. He shuts doors and can't open them. Open the door to find him with Kate's red dress over his head. WE ARE NEVER GOING TO LEAVE.
I dig through my swim suit stash, remember that only two of them fit me and surrender to the same one I've worn all summer. Make mental note to go swim suit shopping. Ha! Immediately scratch that one off the list. Yell into space, "I hope y'all are ready to go because we're about to leave!" Silence. Where is Sam? Again, I announce into the abyss, "Sam, you need to get your shoes!" which is really just a tactic to get him to stop pouring out powdered sugar in the pantry or climbing on top of the leather chair to jump or whatever it is that is keeping so darn quiet.
It's 10:00 and I'm sweating at the realization that we've been trying to leave for 3 hours. No time to cry. As I attempt to make my hair not look as dirty as it actually is, Kate comes in to ask if it's okay that Sam has those chips out because they're hungry and ready for breakfast. I forgot second breakfast! I remove the taco kit from Sam's grip which sends him into Hulk mode. It's 10:02. Nap time for Sam. Can't nap. Must leave. I quickly hide the pacifiers because we're limiting them to bed only and that's all
I make the bold move to put Evan in his carrier. Thank you again, Jesus, that he stays where I put him! Buckle Evan. Play with Evan. Take pictures of Evan. Because priorities. I mean, just look at that cutie.
Got distracted. Kate found some soap she was given hanging on the key hooks by the back door. Obviously this is the best time to refill the soap in her bathroom. "Can you believe it smells like bubble bath?!" Okay, the soap smells amazing, but seriously we need to be walking out the door. Where is Sam?
Found him. He's got the keys and the right idea. Maybe we will actually leave. It's 10:15. Is it raining? It better not be raining. I remove Sam from the cooler and he quickly darts to who knows where. Not me. I never know where. Evan is babbling and I remember baby food. Head back to the kitchen.
Okay. It's now 10:20 and the diaper bag is ready. Evan is ready. Kate is ready. WHERE IS SAM? Kate follows me on a quick search of his usual hiding places. Spotted: Sam is lying in wait in the middle of Rob's clothes. Just a simple game of hide and seek, Mom. Not too much to ask.
So I give him the thrill of scaring me a few times.
Of course, Kate wants in on the game now too. Reusing the same hiding spot over and over again reminds me of how little they really are even though I unfairly expect them to act like serious big kids sometimes. Not even sure of the time anymore. Because priorities.
We get a few really great scares in before Evan calls for us from his carrier in the hall. Time to go.
I herd them like kittens into the garage and to the car. Open Sam's door for the big kids to climb in while I load Evan. I walk back around to fasten their seat belts and pass out entertainment from the floorboard for the ride.
We're later than I would have preferred. I'm one hundred percent sure that I've left some things - like the boys' pants. But my heart is full of everything I've wanted. I lost my cool a few times and got scolded by my intuitive three year old accordingly. It took approximately three and half hours to leave our house, but the important things were taken care of. My children got my attention, although sometimes divided. I did my best and I know that His grace covers the rest.
If I'm Supermom, then my cape is grace. In 2 Corinthians 12:9, the Lord tells Paul, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Mom or not, your weakness is an opportunity for His grace and redemption in your life. Let go of perfect except for His perfect power. His perfect love. His perfect peace. He is perfection and I am not.
Thank you, Jesus, for freedom from perfection.
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