Awakened at the crack of dawn by a 31″ girl and a 37″ boy. I stumble half awake as my children ask for “dinks”, a.k.a. drinks. We start our routine of breakfast, cartoons, devotional… the list continues.
The wedding ceremony, joining of two lives in perfect harmony. You feel complete, whole. Then, something happens on the way home from the reception. You realize your soul mate is completely different than you. You have different opinions and dreams. You can’t even agree on the thermostat. So what now? How do you honor your husband with love and respect despite the seeming different worlds that you live on?
Who knew humility would be served to me by a three foot tall toddler. My first child, Timothy, bright eyed lover of life, has stolen my heart, but has also caused me to eat some extra chocolate (for medicinal purposes). I am the mother who strolled into the grocery store, only to stroll right out, because their child was screaming bloody murder while trying to leap from the cart. I am the mother who had to straight arm my child to try to get him into his car seat long enough to buckle him in. I am the mother who tried to get two kids in the house, while one is screaming “help” loud enough for neighbors 5 blocks away to hear. I am “that” mother.
As parents we desire the very best for our kids. We want to love them with all that we are, but it does not take a rocket scientist to realize that parenting is hard. We mess up daily. This conflicting interest of desiring the best for our kids while being imperfect is a tough battle. Not only do we fall short with things we can change, but feel overwhelmed by things we can’t change.
My prayer is that I can be the best wife and mother I can be. A task that would be easier if I had a Ken Barbie husband and children who lived at Super Nanny’s house, but the reality is, I am not perfect and neither are they. I have to keep my head in check and focus so I can love my family as much as they deserved to be loved despite our big ball of imperfections. Today I’d prefer not to focus on what our family needs to change, but rather how to work on ourselves.
With God all things are possible”. That is the verse I found myself clinging to when days at the NICU soon became weeks. My daughter, Isabella Grace Houle, was born 6 weeks early with Respiratory Distress Syndrome, and battled Pneumonia the first week of her life. I was beaten emotionally, physically, and mentally as we carted our 1 1/2 year old around to different babysitters because he wasn’t allowed in NICU with Isabella.