...And I've got a lot of luggage! Let's not confuse luggage and baggage. the difference?...my luggage is used to get me where I'm going. I load it with what I need, what is important, the things that will help me function and the things that I love.
Baggage...every memory of hurt, the shadows and whispers of horrible things I've said and done or that have been said or done to me. The ones that make my heart race and my breathing become irregular...the rotten things I wish I could go back and take back, or run from and avoid all together.
How to choose which of these you'll carry?...The atonement. That glorious act of love that allows me, (and everyone else) to pick the very best luggage, and abandon my baggage altogether.
...I think I'm going to start carrying a picture of the Savior in my wallet with my pictures of my kids...
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
...Reed, I've done it again!
As the first term of this school year draws to an end, I find myself more frustrated, more threatening, more psychotic than ever before. The reason?...My 13 and 14 year old are really mastering pushing my buttons, getting under my skin, and making my teeth itch! (Every assurance from my mother and Reed does nothing to calm me. I know they're supposed to be idiots, they're teenage boys, but they're my idiots, and I want them to be more collected, more devoted to their education, and completely devoted to being obedient).
More than I'd like to admit, I find myself running to my room for 'time-out' and soaking in the tub until I look like a lobster tail and the tears have quit cascading. They are wonderful boys. I love them dearly and would detest life without them. I'll give you an example of my personal hell...
Me: Hey, I got an e-mail from your (French, History, English, Spanish, PE) teacher this morning saying that you haven't turned in your project. (Pick a topic. Human impact, personal introductory, data on beans that should have been growing for 6 weeks like I told you but that you only started soaking three days ago). The term is almost over and if the assignment isn't turned in you'll get a failing grade. Since I've reminded you of this assignment every day for months at least once, I'd like to know why you haven't turned it in.
Gabe or Nate: I forgot and it isn't done. or: I did it at school and it's already turned in. or: My teacher said I don't have to do it, because all my other work is perfect. (The excuses go on).
Me: Well, whether it's in your locker, under your bed, or still swimming around between your ears, you don't get a passing grade unless it's done on time and turned in completed the way your teacher advised that it be done. Please show me how much you've got.
G & N: (This part varies from allergies to ink, to mind cleansing alien abduction). Well, I started it, but I wasn't able to finish. And I'm too busy to get to it now.
Me: Until this assignment is graded and handed back you have no life, so you're not too busy. Show me what you've done.
This is the part where I find their outlines, stick them to a book or a computer, and despite their crying and surety that I am the worst mom ever, make them do the work. The last minute scramble makes me so crazy. I never considered not doing my work. Am I raising them to be so lazy that they really believe there won't be consequences?...That said, many tears, some threats, a lot of 'poor me', a missed Halloween carnival and being grounded from everything but eating and breathing, we're almost caught up.
...And then Reed comes home from work to find me with a wild look in my eyes and the kids quietly avoiding me in fear that I'll find something else they've 'forgotten' to do. "What have you done to your mother?" he asks.
"Mom yelled and swore and told us that if we did our work well and quickly that maybe, just maybe she'll let us live through the night."
I've said it before, and so have the kids...Worst mom ever!...but I believe in forgiveness, and one day when they're ready to admit that they're acting like little savages, or 3 year old girls, I'll be ready to tell them I'm sorry for being crazy, but they really are asking for it!
More than I'd like to admit, I find myself running to my room for 'time-out' and soaking in the tub until I look like a lobster tail and the tears have quit cascading. They are wonderful boys. I love them dearly and would detest life without them. I'll give you an example of my personal hell...
Me: Hey, I got an e-mail from your (French, History, English, Spanish, PE) teacher this morning saying that you haven't turned in your project. (Pick a topic. Human impact, personal introductory, data on beans that should have been growing for 6 weeks like I told you but that you only started soaking three days ago). The term is almost over and if the assignment isn't turned in you'll get a failing grade. Since I've reminded you of this assignment every day for months at least once, I'd like to know why you haven't turned it in.
Gabe or Nate: I forgot and it isn't done. or: I did it at school and it's already turned in. or: My teacher said I don't have to do it, because all my other work is perfect. (The excuses go on).
Me: Well, whether it's in your locker, under your bed, or still swimming around between your ears, you don't get a passing grade unless it's done on time and turned in completed the way your teacher advised that it be done. Please show me how much you've got.
G & N: (This part varies from allergies to ink, to mind cleansing alien abduction). Well, I started it, but I wasn't able to finish. And I'm too busy to get to it now.
Me: Until this assignment is graded and handed back you have no life, so you're not too busy. Show me what you've done.
This is the part where I find their outlines, stick them to a book or a computer, and despite their crying and surety that I am the worst mom ever, make them do the work. The last minute scramble makes me so crazy. I never considered not doing my work. Am I raising them to be so lazy that they really believe there won't be consequences?...That said, many tears, some threats, a lot of 'poor me', a missed Halloween carnival and being grounded from everything but eating and breathing, we're almost caught up.
...And then Reed comes home from work to find me with a wild look in my eyes and the kids quietly avoiding me in fear that I'll find something else they've 'forgotten' to do. "What have you done to your mother?" he asks.
"Mom yelled and swore and told us that if we did our work well and quickly that maybe, just maybe she'll let us live through the night."
I've said it before, and so have the kids...Worst mom ever!...but I believe in forgiveness, and one day when they're ready to admit that they're acting like little savages, or 3 year old girls, I'll be ready to tell them I'm sorry for being crazy, but they really are asking for it!
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