You know the one. the one where the fly ends up in your coffee before you even get a sip. The one where your three year old shoves a cup of yogurt in your face demanding you help her "with the end" (meaning scrape the bottom of the cup and feed her) but today it's a half full cup of yogurt which she promptly drops on the floor you JUST steam mopped yesterday....the one where the allergy headache started before you even woke up and you feel like there's been an invasion of tiny gnomes with tiny hammers beating on your head and face....yeah those days.
It's been a challenging couple of weeks....the the rising temps don't really help a lot. Note - I am not complaining about summer. I like summer. I'd rather deal with the sweltering heat than the snow any day of the week. I'm talking about that "I'm just sitting here in front of a fan and I'm still soaked with sweat" type of day...those are the ones when my toddler screams help like the mutant spiders have invaded with such an edge to her voice that I immediately sprint to the other side of our apartment expecting the worst and instead....
....
....wait for it...
....
discover she can't get a sticker off a page....
spilled a single drop of smoothie on her shirt....
"can't reach" the cup sitting next to her hand.
....yeah those days.
Those are the days when it is so hard to not just sit down and cry and eat my weight in ice cream.
Those are the ones where I tell my darling daughter "Bean if you would just..." and dispense wisdom about how if she'd look up she'd see her cup, or if she'd tell me with actual words what her problem is I could help, or if she'd watch where she's walking instead of insisting on walking backwards everywhere she might not run into things....
and that's when I wonder if to God sometimes I'm a three year old.
"Eye....if you'd just stop whining and start listening you'd realize I already gave you the answer. If you'd stop trying to fix it yourself you'd see that I can do this...."
Oh...you mean like when I tell Bean that if she wants me to fix the toy she has to hand it to me? If she wants me to give her something specific she has to tell me what it is? If she is hungry she needs to eat the food I give her? something like that?
My kid is in the why phase. Every. Single. Thing. gets a "why?"
Here's a gem from yesterday:
Bean: I'm hungry.
Me: ok, let's get some lunch.
Bean: why?
Me: You said you're hungry.
Bean: Why did I said I'm hungry?
Me: You tell me.
Bean: Because I want to eat something. Come on mama let's go to the fridge and figure it out!
Me: Ok, coming.
Bean: why?
Me: Purple. because aliens wear hats.
Bean: that's just silly. why are you silly?
Me: Let's get mommy some coffee while we're at it.
Bean: Why?
Maybe I don't spend all day asking the Almighty "Why" but it kind of seems like I question him without actually questioning him. Ooh. existential. Go on, what do you mean by that?
Well, if I say "God I trust you to provide. I trust you to take care of..." then I sit there and crunch numbers, or cry, or panic I'm kinda questioning the ability or maybe even the willingness.
I talk about my kid a lot. Yes. I'm that parent. I adore my child. Yes, there are days when I wonder how many more minutes until naptime, but really - I've got it good. I have an incredibly smart, sweet, funny, caring, tenderhearted little girl. She's brilliant (how many three year olds do you know that can read and do math?) and she's got such a sweet tender heart - if I cover my face with my hands, she runs to my side asking what's wrong. She doesn't care if she was in the middle of a class three meltdown over the granola bar being broken.
When we lost our sweet Baby Sprout, she was too young to understand what was happening...but she knew mommy and daddy were very sad. She responded by being extra cuddly. One day, I couldn't keep the tears in check - I did not hide my grief from her, but I did try to not cry all day. But I was at a point where my broken heart and body hurt too much to hold it in. So I sat down, and I let the tears slip down my face, trying to just watch my little girl play. She stopped what she was doing, climbed into my lap, laid her little head on my chest and said "mommy's here. mommy's here" the same way I've always done for her as I hold her close to soothe her fears and owies....
She's taught me a lot of lessons.
I look at her and I marvel at the miracle. I helped make a whole person. I love her more than life itself, and I've injured myself more than twice keeping her from injury, it's just what you do. You don't think about it, you just do. and if I can do this, this imperfect human complete with selfish nature....how much more does God love us?
I get why God was willing to take our punishment.
I'd rather be commode-hugging-can't-get-off-the-the-bathroom-floor-don't-even-let-me-smell-food sick than have her have a runny nose. If there was a way for me to take illness and owchies from her and put them on myself, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
Bean knows she's loved. If you ask her how much her mommy loves her, she'll smile and tell you more than coffee. Anyone who knows me will smile and tell her "that's a LOT." She knows that it doesn't matter how busy I am, how tired I am, how much I don't feel good - she KNOWS if she needs (and I do mean needs) her mama, I will be there. She knows that I will stop typing mid-sentence, drop the cell phone, turn off the sink/stove/steam mop and come running. She knows I will hold, her pray over her, kiss the boo-boo and trap the scary things. She knows I love her unconditionally and that even when she has a "threenager" day, I'm still going to love her. I'm still going to hold her and kiss her goodnight and pray with her and tell her I love her.
Now take that and multiply it by infinity and we've scratched the surface of how much God loves us.
Astounding isn't it?
If you haven't read it, Crazy Love by Francis Chan is an amazing read on the topic. Go check it out. I'll wait.
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