I might be the most downcast about the situation, though. I spent many, many, many hours cleaning the house and especially the basement for the houseful I thought we were going to have. I spent last week at home finishing that task, and then this week at home with sick kids. I'd love to have company since my house is clean, but no one dares enter this sick ward. I have a major case of cabin fever, but too many little ones who need Mom's care. All this on a much needed 3 day weekend. Thank goodness I have Lent to remind me to offer up these moments.
I'm not so good at that whole offering it up thing. I have it in my head things should be one way. The kids should clean up after themselves, the house should be tidy, things put where they belong, children who are quiet and not bickering. I think sometimes I expect that we should have the picture perfect house and family. My experience with postpartum is that these feelings are amplified. I feel the need to prove I can handle it all.
Instead I have boys who are often more like puppies tussling through the house. I have girls who bicker over purses and what to pack in their lunches. There are coats, and shoes, and an unending supply of bobby pins and match box cars to
"The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own,’ or ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day; what one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination. This at least is what I see at moments of insight: but it’s hard to remember it all the time.”--C.S. LewisI think to myself, "This isn't who I thought I'd be, this isn't the life I thought I'd have." I don't exactly know what kind of life I thought I would have. I just know this isn't what the magazine covers had me think it would be. I guess I never really imagined that in a house of eight children we might on occasion be struck with something as ugly as the stomach flu.
Then I get one of those "moments of insight" Lewis is talking about. A sweet girl asks if there are other babies in China that die instead of finding moms and I'm compelled to pull her in my arms and tell her yes, but they are with God in heaven and pray for us. The fact she is here means God has a purpose for her life and she should serve him faithfully in thanksgiving for the gift of another day. In telling her, I'm reminded I must do the same.
Then once my heart is softened, more moments come. A little baby girl smiles at me after throwing up again, still so sweet despite this miserable bug. Her 3-year old brother, who is her opposite in bearing sickness, has me laughing at his overly dramatic antics, "My teeth hurts, there's something wrong with my rump, I can't breathe, I think I'm gonna die..." His oldest sister spends a day at a retreat and the fruits of her prayers are brilliantly displayed on her face as she prays in Mass.
On this First Sunday of Lent I am striving to remember these interruptions, this miserable stomach bug, is what God has sent me. It is my real life. I am trying to live up to the advice given to a sweet daughter to be thankful for another day and strive to live out this calling to motherhood given me, but I still hope for no more stinky diapers and buckets to clean.