Learning about myself.

I have been learning some valuable things about myself–some of them seemingly trivial but all of them important to me.  As I’m on this journey to figure out who I am, I’m figuring out who I’m not.

  • I’m not schedule-oriented.  It doesn’t make me feel less stress to have my day scheduled…. I tried something with Sophia, a very cute picture schedule for our day.  I hoped it would help her feel less anxiety, but I didn’t respond to it very well.  I like more flexibility than that, and most of the time I have NO IDEA what we’re going to do from hour to hour.  I may still use it sometimes, but for the most part it makes me feel trapped.

  • I also realized that I’m not the free-spirit “messy house” gal either that I used to think I was.  A messy house doesn’t help me feel more creative or energetic or “free.”  Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve gotten my house deep cleaned and straightened up.  NOW I feel free.  I found “homes” for all the toys, and we know just where to put them away.  It’s so easy to get things straightened back up, and the girls are playing a lot more.  I’ve actually seen the empty floor (or kitchen table) become a new place for creativity–getting out different toys that they haven’t played with in a while and playing with them in new ways.  Having the kitchen table cleaned off regularly means that we can spread out any number of crafts or projects whenever… and, easily put them away.  I’ve also seen the girls jump to help keep things straightened.  Sophia often comments on it, “Wow, Mom it’s cleaned up.  This is great!”   What was happening was not that I was living amongst filth, but I was living in just enough stifling mess that I felt trapped to do anything about it.  Increased clutter contributed to my lack of energy or motivation, and I think the kids were trapped, too.  There was a “I-don’t-know-where-to-begin-so-I’m-just-gonna-sit-down” problem.  I learned something similar about myself about 2 1/2 years ago when I made a New Years’ resolution to clean my kitchen every night before I went to bed.  It isn’t an understatement to say that it changed my life….  How can I start the day fresh and free when my sink is full and my counter is crusty?
  • I’m not a mother of 4… or 5…  I realized over the last month (through much ‘baby fever’) that, though I may long to have a family of 6, the mother in that picture is not me.  I am flourishing with these two sweet little girls, but I believe that a few more might do me in.  I love how much attention and love that I’m able to give each of them right now.  I think it’s right.  It’s an important decision to make (an important thing to know about myself) before I spend the rest of my childbearing years longing for a large family.
  • That I can be a morning person.  If I put my coffee in a travel mug while I cook breakfast, I can still enjoy it for the next hour.  It isn’t necessary for me to spend an hour waking up with coffee…though, I will continue that ritual from time to time as I do like it.
  • I can say “no” to my kids and I don’t have to feel guilty–i.e. “no” to junk food between meals, “no” to “carry me.”  I can ignore tantrums (completely ignore tantrums!) and they go away.  I can parent WITHOUT screaming, and I can spank without being angry or feeling guilty.  I can simply give consequences and move on.  (Wonderful book!  Probably should devote a whole post to it, but please read this book.  Even if you don’t “scream,” it’s about reactive parenting and taking care of yourself first.  Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.)
  • I can eat healthy foods and find time to cook them, I can exercise and find time for it.  And, I can feel better because of it. I can feel good in my own skin.
  • I can stop reading a book 30 pages into it and say “not worth my time” without feeling guilty.
  • I can reflect on my insecurities and be pointed to the Father.  My insecurities are almost always rooted in poor theology–what I believe to be true about God and His Kingdom.  And, if I can reflect on what I know to be true about Him, then I can begin again in a much better place.

Knowing these things about myself is empowering.  Knowing who I’m not really takes the pressure off of me to try to be someone I’m not.

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I cried because I was so beautiful–a rant.

Here’s something I’ve been thinking about, nothing new to parents of a little girl: Do I tell my daughter that she’s beautiful?  Immediately, my gut response is “You betcha!  Absolutely!”

Start now and never stop.  Tell her through those awkward pre-teen years.  Tell her during the difficult teen years.  Tell her when she starts dating and gets stood up for the first time.  Tell her when she realizes her “first love” was a d-bag.  Tell her when she gets married and is walking down the aisle.  Tell her when she feels like a whale pregnant with her first child.  Tell her.  And, then tell her some more.

Does that make me a bad mother?

I want my girls to feel beautiful.  Are they going to feel beautiful just because I say so?  No.  I realize that there’s much more to it than that…

Comments on appearance is such an icky topic.  It always brings up weird stuff in people.  For me, it brings up the wicked teenage years when I lost over 30 pounds at the vulnerable age of 16.  I got comments on my physical appearance for the first time in my life.  It was off-putting.  It was always the same people over and over, too.  I just got tired of it.  Talk about something else!  And, some people, honestly, I didn’t believe.  Like, once I got the strangest compliment from a gorgeous and popular, thin girl in my high school.  (I think she was dating the quarter back at the time.)  She actually told me, in line at the cafeteria in front of God and everybody, that she thought I had a great butt.  Maybe, I’m just not “girly” enough, I don’t know how girls talk to each other, but this was weird… right?  I had such a horrible self-image, and all of these comments made me more obsessed with my appearance and more obsessed with keeping my body a certain size and shape.

What is the message that my daughter is getting when I tell her she is beautiful?  There’s a difference in my story.  No one told me I was “beautiful.”  Well, at least that’s the difference that I see.  People were commenting on my new thin body, on new muscle tone, downed pant sizes and tight buns, apparently…  But, none of my peers, or teachers or friends ever said, “You are beautiful.”  The only ones that ever did were boys…  and those I clung to like a starving tick behind your dog’s left ear.  I fully invested myself in these relationships because I didn’t have enough self-esteem to believe it myself.  When I put on make-up and voraciously fixed my hair, it was to do just that: “fix” myself.  When I dressed up, I never thought I looked good, I always hated the first 10 things I put on and settled with number 11.  (That’s all normal teenage stuff, right?)

There was a definite shift in my thinking when I was pregnant with my first daughter.  I felt the undeniable feminine beauty of housing and growing a child.  I was becoming a mother and knew that this was beauty that could neither be denied nor taken away.  Becoming a mother is a lot like being a child of the King, my relationship with God can’t be taken from me.  It is.  And He is mine.  And, it is beautiful.  So it is with being a mom.  The God-given gift of carrying a child in your womb is one of the most inherently beautiful miracles of the world….

Where was I?  Oh, yes.  When I stepped on the scales at the labor/delivery ward to be induced on that fateful day 3 years ago, the number jumped passed two bills…. And, I knew it would… Did it sting?  Sure, how couldn’t it?  Did I feel beautiful?  Yah, I did.  A mighty beautiful and swollen, pregnant mama carrying within her the mostly beautiful baby girl her eyes had yet to see.  This began a beauty revolution in which I wanted my girls to know that they’re beautiful–that they are God-made and He said “It is good.”

Let me tell you where my thoughts are coming from.  As you can imagine, my little 3-year old is a parrot.  A parrot and a mirror.  She repeats everything she hears.  She takes it on.  The most hilarious thing that she says is a quote from a book that I am not recommending… maybe, you’ve heard of it: Pinkalicious.  It’s a bit of a sensation, I think… Oh, what a book.  We’ve read it 18,000 times.  We’ve nearly worn the jacket right off that library book.  We’ve had it for well over a month and read it more than once a day sometimes… Shew.  I like to hide it sometimes.  Anyway, in case you haven’t read it, it’s about a girl who turns pink from eating too many pink cupcakes.  This is what she says about being her favorite color, “I cried because I was so beautiful!”

So, out of nowhere, I will hear Sophia say this.  She often hollers it out throughout the house.  It’s quite hilarious because she’s quoting a very funny moment in a book.  But, I also here her calling out things like, “I’m pret-ty!  I’m pret-ty!”  She also told me in the library a few days ago about “the most beautiful little girl in the purple sweater.”  It’s sinking in.  She’s commenting on other kids…

Here’s why I don’t think it’s so bad.  I’m a thoughtful person.  I know that beauty is not just what I see with my eyes when I look at my daughters.  I know that it’s also about what I know about them, about who they are.  It’s also about what I feel about them because I know them.  It’s about who they are and who they will become.

The problem is that my girls really are physically beautiful.  (Is that a problem?)  Well, they get comments all the time.  Abby’s red hair is a magnet for all gushy,over-talkative,pseudo-aunties.  Often during said gush session, Sophia will yell out, “My hair’s beautiful, too!”  Or, “I’m pretty, too!”  Just yesterday a man on the square told us that our girls looked like they came out of a Norman Rockwell painting.  Nice.  Lovely.  Yes.  I eat it up… But, what are these messages sending them?   Will they stop?  And, what happens when they do?  When they go through those awkward years of 11-14?  I’ll still be telling them how beautiful they are.  Will they believe it?  And, what about when they’re 16, 17.  Will they believe it or will they look for boys to tell them that?  And what about sibling rivalry?  I didn’t have a sister, but I’ve seen enough made-for-TV movies to fear what jealousy may exist between the two of them…

I’ve read all this stuff like “When you tell your daughter she’s beautiful, make sure you say ‘inner beauty.'”  Or, flat out, “Don’t tell your daughter she’s beautiful.  Tell her she’s smart, she works hard, she’s good at ________.”  Or, “If you do tell her she’s beautiful, be sure to greater emphasize her other characteristics.”  What the #@#!#%$!  Besides this being totally confusing, I want her to know she’s beautiful!  Is that so bad?  I want her to know that I think she’s beautiful!  I also want her to know that she’s smart…  and strong… and kind… and loving… and nurturing… and independent…and interesting… and worth knowing… . I also want her to know that she’s loved… and adored… and cherished… and enjoyed… and loved by the King…  I want her to know that the Father thinks she’s beautiful.

It’s like beauty is this thing that some people have and some people don’t.  That’s just not true in the eyes of the Father.  That’s because the Father truly sees.  He truly sees the whole person, the whole forgiven beauty that is His child.  I want to love like He does. I want to foster that in my girls.

But, how do I do that?  How do I navigate the ugly stigma that is attached to “beauty”?  I don’t want to tack on “inner beauty” to every compliment like some caveat or some over-used cliche that my girls will need therapy for. I can’t (won’t) keep my girls out of our culture.  At the same time, I don’t want my girls to be obsessed with their physical appearance, worried that they have to look just so or worried about when it will fade.

That’s what they say, right?  “Beauty fades.”  May I respectfully say, “Bull $#*@!”  My grandmother was the most beautiful woman I can remember in ALL OF THE WORLD!  Not a touch of work done.  White as a ghost and very overweight in her old age.  But, skin as soft as silk and a heart of pure gold.  An absolute gem of God’s pure light.  And, her husband loved her boundlessly, with a lifetime of faithfulness to prove it.

What can I do other than thoughtfully parent every age, hoping to nurture my girls into strong, beautiful women. Beautiful women who know who they are, know they are loved by me and loved by God.  What else can I hope for?  Does telling them they are beautiful sabotage that?

I don’t think so.  What do you think?

Ultimately, my daughters will have to navigate within themselves a feeling of beauty–of inner beauty, of outer beauty… everything.  They’ll have to navigate within themselves every kind of self-feeling.  I’ll nurture what I can.  But, I want my daughters to know that I think they’re beautiful.

Sick

Well, we’ve all got it.  Some nasty chest cold.  Complete with fever, body aches, coughing, and general malaise.  I had the worst night filled with fever dreams and tossing and turning. It’s like somebody snatched my plush, memory foam mattress and exchanged it for my Papa’s plywood board he used to sleep on.

It doesn’t help that it’s barely gotten above freezing around here.  It snowed a little, yesterday, and a little today, too.  I’ve never in my life longed for Spring like I have this year.  Thank you, Colorado.  Changing my life.  So, I’m cold and achey, breaking the house socks and pullovers back out.  Heaters are blasting.  Kleenex is rolling.  We’re a sight.

The girls sure are pitiful.  They’re getting better, but you can tell that they just don’t feel well.  And, the coughs! They’re enough to send a mama into nurture overdrive.  I tell ya, there’s nothing that’ll make you feel more like an adult than taking care of babies when you yourself feel like $#*!.

We’ve watched a few movies together as a family, though, and that’s been really nice.  Yesterday, we watched Ponyo–adorable movie.  Weird in a Japanese kind of way, but enjoyable, beautiful, and very cute story.  Today, we watched Toy Story (1).  None of us had ever seen it.  It was fun.  Abby was glued to the screen.   It’s been so fun to get to watch movies with Sophia.  She has so many questions.  She gets so excited (and scared).  She loves to cuddle in the scary moments.  I love to watch the wonder and excitement that she exudes. It’s so childlike, so innocent, so wonderful.  Though, we’ve all felt like poo-poo, getting to watch movies together has been really fun.  And, restful.

We’ve all got to get up at 5 a.m. and take Will to the Denver airport in the morning.  He leaves for Salt Lake City.  Jealous.  Sort of.  Business trip.  And, he doesn’t feel well either.  What am I going to do for the 2 1/2 days he’s going to be gone?  Cry.  Curl up in the fetal position? …  Buck up and Mommy the fire out them kids.  Nah.  Lean on the Lord.  I sure pray He makes us well.  I know He’ll keep me strong.

Easter Egg Hunt

I hope you all had a great Easter.  We had a super fun time playing with the girls and telling Sophia about why we celebrate Easter.  She listened intently as we looked through a picture Bible and Daddy explained how Jesus conquered the grave.  It was sure interesting figuring out how to explain it all to her.  Her mad knowledge of Sleeping Beauty helped quite a lot.  There are some similarities there that you might not think about…  We also had a little Easter Egg hunt for the girls.  They were both a great age for this.  It gave me such joy to watch them run around and fine the bright little surprises.

Here’s some video for the grandparents.  My camera battery ran out so we only got the first couple minutes.  Not terribly riveting, but sweet.

We didn’t take any sweet dress-em-up pictures… sorry, I know, so sad…  Check out this sticker collage that Sophia made with the stickers she found in her Easter Eggs.  I’m afraid that she may take after me more than I thought. 😉

I, of course, helped her with her name, but the stickers and the placement was all hers.  She kept removing and resetting stickers, and she had to have so many of each one.  I’ve seen her categorizing colors around the house, but never quite like this.  Anyway, it’s really cool to have the privilege of watching her grow up.

Better throw in a picture of Abby.  She’s starting to try on other people’s shoes.

It’s a privilege watching her grow up, too.

Precious time alone, a cherished treat

I’m sitting outside under our back porch, reclining.  I’m thinking about how I have this rare time to myself today. No agenda. No plans. Nothing pressing to get done… (expect for some cooking and cleaning and all that business that can definitely wait.)  I’m thinking about how my body needs some “me” time.  I need to spend an hour or so doing nothing but what is restorative.

My life is good.  I think I have no stress.  I was laying awake a few mornings ago about 4 a.m. listening to Abby fussing and chewing on her blanket.  She’s getting 3 molars at once, and it’s taking a toll on her in the middle of the night.  Our “noise maker” oscillating fan is out of commission, so I had to listen to her.  😦  In the moment, I’m sure I felt some stress.  8 hours of sleep is a rare commodity that I am learning to live without.  Here’s the thing, though.  I was laying awake listening to her fussing thinking about this: what yummy conglomeration of leftovers and pantry items I would put together for lunch.  I hardly ever lay awake at night thinking about anything.  If my stress is “what-I’m-gonna-make-for lunch-without-going-to-the-grocery-store” stress, then I think my life must be pretty darn good.  (By the way, we had grilled chicken and black bean quesadillas with yummy peppers and jalapenos and sour cream and cilantro for lunch.  I’m thankful for that middle of the night epiphany.)

So, today I have this nice opportunity to relax.  The girls are both sacked out, and it’s beautiful outside.

I’ve been doing a lot of recuperative things lately. I’ve been doing yard work, riding my bike on the beautiful trails throughout town, doing kundalini yoga, reading from the word… I also like to read novels and watch T.V., though I’m unintentionally taking a break from those things lately…

I’ve found that one of the most truly recuperative things that I can do is to reflect.  Often that is stemmed from a short reading from the message, but sometimes it is stemmed from simply being quiet.  During this nap time today, I wanted to do something fun.  I thought read or catch up on my Brothers and Sisters.  Both of those options gave me stress.  “Brothers and Sisters” is high-drama.  It’s a soap opera, really.  Sometimes I love to veg out into a made-up high-drama scenario, but today I thought it didn’t feel right.  I think I love to veg out in someone else’s drama when my own drama is too stressful to sit in.  And, that’s okay sometimes. I’m just not there right now.

What I’m thinking about today is what it was like to be out by myself, yesterday.  I took a few solitary shopping trips, yesterday.  Luxury, I know, right?!  More than ONE trip!  I went out to buy birthday presents for Will and Sophia, and I went to shop a little for myself, too.  It was weird.  I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE shopping for other people.  I LOVE buying presents for my husband, and I LOVE buying things for my girls, too.  I love to think about them, and the joy that these surprises will bring them.

Well, so last night I planned a trip to T.J. Maxx.  I’ve lost a LOT of weight since last summer, and the spring/summer wardrobe is  hurting.  No one wants to see Mama 60 pounds down still wearing her maternity t-shirts… (I really should toss those…)  I walked into T.J. Maxx, and I caught myself heading toward the pretty pink girls’ section.  WOAH, MAMA!  HAULT.  I literally said out loud, “This shopping trip is for YOU.”  I turned a 180, and stared at the women’s department.  I kept getting pulled toward the girly child stuff, but I kept away.  

Why was it so hard to keep the focus on myself?

Anyway, I tried to let myself go nuts.  I pulled every shirt that I sort of liked, and I tried them all on. It felt so good to be able to do that without constantly pacifying and entertaining and reassuring that I’m almost done, never getting to really think: “Do I feel good in this?”  Ah, the luxury of a precious moment alone!  Thankfully, only a few of them (with low price tags) did I love… I felt so old and out of touch looking through these clothes.  I didn’t recognize many of the styles–baggy, oversized shirts, weird 80s looking prints, military style jackets, lots of awkward embellishments… I felt like I was definitely suffering from mommy-stays-at-home-with-the-kids disorder.

I have so much to be thankful for in my life.  I love to remember what they are and to gush about them.  What I’m thankful for right now, is how precious my time is.  Now, as a mother, time is more precious than ever.  Time with my children is a gift! My girls are gems that I love to cherish.  Time alone is also precious–it’s not lonely, it’s not boring; it’s not even rushed.  It’s a gift.  A gift that there will be more of–if not this afternoon, then tonight or tomorrow.  When my time alone is interrupted, it’s interrupted by a loved one who wants to be seen, loved, and enjoyed.  And when God gives me a moment to be alone, to be silent, to maybe reflect and see Him, I am restored and ready to be back with my family.

What a beautiful day to pause, listen to the chirping birds and noisy squirrels, bask in the gorgeous, warm sun, cherish the cool, gentle breeze,  and listen to the dazed frisbee golfers across the fence of our backyard… no seriously… 😉

Responding in grace

Something happened today.  Something that got me thinking.  I was sitting in the floor of my bedroom, trying to put my socks on.  We were getting ready to head out to story time.  Sophia and Abby are playing, of course, while I’m trying to get us all ready.  Sophia put a beaded necklace around my neck, and then started pulling on it and saying that I was her pet frog.  She pulled harder and harder.  I told her not to pull on the necklace.  She pulled harder and harder.  I braced myself so that she wouldn’t pull me over.  The necklace popped. Beads flooded the floor.  She was shocked.

Before I could say anything.  She said, “I’m sorry, Mommy…” She smiled, “I’m so sorry.”

It stopped me dead in my tracks.  I was ready on my heels to bark, “See!  I said stop.  YOU broke it.  Why do you not listen to me?  I told you it would break…”

Instead, I paused.  I looked at her.  I said, “Thank you for saying you’re sorry.  That was an accident, huh?”

Did I let her off easy?  That’s the first time she has ever said, “I’m sorry” without being asked.  It was growth for her.  It was big girl.  It was growth for me, too…. because I wanted to yell at her.  I wanted to be mad that she, not only interrupted my efforts to get dressed, but also broke something in the process because she wasn’t listening. I wanted to be mad at her and show her what happens when she doesn’t listen to me.

But, she will learn that necklaces will break when you pull on them too hard… and she will learn that when they’re broken you can’t play with them anymore.   She will learn that without me yelling at her.  She will learn it for herself.  She will learn it, rather than me forcing her to learn it.  What is she really learning when I yell at her and lecture her?  Careful around Mommy.  One mistake and she’ll snap.

I hate when I get so angry around my kids.  I hate that nothing can set off my temper worse than they can.  I see that it’s my thorn.  It is my every day struggle.  Many days have gone by lately that I haven’t really gotten angry.  I’ve responded with grace to the most outright disobedience with a calm punishment of time-out.  I’ve even calmly given 2, 3 minute time-outs in 7 minutes.  Some days I’m just on.  And, some days I want to lock my kids in their rooms and yell a 5 minute lecture.  I’ve personally decided that I will not spank anymore because I am not able to spank with a clear conscience.  I am angry, and I spank out of anger.

The thing is that my girls are wonderful. They’re loving and sweet, and they want to be sweet so badly.  I have seen my eldest growing up more and more everyday.  She’s starting to take her big sister role more seriously.  She helps me keep Abby away from the oven, and grabs her around the waist when she’s trying to go out the door at a store.  She is listening better, even pointing out when Abby doesn’t listen.  She wants to hold my hand in the parking lots and stores.  She’s learning to control her impulses, too, like the one that says, “Abby has my toy and I want it now.”  I see her look with desire, start to grab, and control herself.

I also see her testing the limits with the most incredible sophistication.  Just this morning, for example: I told her that I would take away what she was playing with if she didn’t play with it the  way she was supposed to.  She backed away from me with the toy, heading downstairs, and said, “Don’t worry about me, Mommy.  Just don’t worry about me.” She’s beginning to understand that I can’t see everything. She’s experimenting with all forms of deception, even lying.  She’s not even 3, yet.  You can imagine that this could spark a short-tempered mommy to react undesirably…

Responding with grace is SO difficult.  It’s a practice.  It’s a choice that has to be practiced, again and again.  I can respond in grace, though.  I can apply consequences with a gracious heart.  I can teach obedience without demanding it. It’s more effective.  My daughter responds better.  We can move on without the guilt and shame of a yelling match.

I’m so glad that my God loves me better than I love my kids.  I’m so glad that he continually responds to me with grace.  This morning when Sophia said, “I’m sorry,” it was if God spoke to me.  It was as if he whispered, “Listen to the little child.  Respond to her as I respond to you.”

Confessions of an emotional eater.

Emotional Eating.  So many of us do it, right?  In fact, who doesn’t?

4:00 in the afternoon.  I’m sitting with Abby.  She’s having a snack.  I’m sitting with her silently worrying about something I cannot control.  I’m carrying the burden for a loved one.  I can’t take away this loved one’s pain.  I can’t magically make things right.  I can’t give my loved one a do-over.  I can’t make everything right and happy.  I can’t do anything.

I decide to pour myself a bowl of cereal, I didn’t eat much lunch… I’m thinking about how nice it is to have a baby.  No judgement.  She isn’t judging my bowl of cereal at 4 in the afternoon.  She’s actually excited about it.  I share some with her.  I’m not really enjoying this bowl of cereal. I continue with my worrying.  Now, I pour myself a second bowl.

Waaaait a minute.  I’m not even hungry.

Abby’s still not judging me.  I reach into the cabinet and get Sophia’s leftover Cheetos.  I share some with Abby. If Sophia woke up from nap right now, she wouldn’t judge me either.  She would just join me, thinking we were having a party.  Isn’t it nice being alone with the kids?  I can do whatever I want… and, no one will judge me.

Except for there’s this tiny fact that I’m teaching my children with my actions.  I’m teaching them to reach for food to comfort them when they’re worried.  I’m teaching them that eating is a good way to try to make yourself feel better.

Dammit.

I roll the Cheetos back up and put them in the cabinet before Sophia wakes up. I know I don’t need to go hide away in a closet to “emotionally eat” in order that they won’t see me…  That’s hardly satisfying… and I’m not THAT kind of emotional eater.  I’m just a normal emotional eater.  I eat when I’m worried.  I eat when I’m bored.  I eat when I’m lonely.

My babies are always eating. ALWAYS.  It’s so hard to tell when they’re actually hungry or just bored or just wanting comfort.  Sometimes Abby rolls all over the floor crying with one hand in her mouth because she’s SO hungry.  Sophia will eat 3 breakfasts for an average person and turn around and ask for a snack not 2 hours later.  I’ve been constantly saying “yes” lately.  Ya know, “choose my battles.”  Keep them happy so that when I really have a point to make it will be heard.  Help Abby sleep all night. (Overfeeding her at dinner really helps with that.)  I keep limitless snacks in my diaper bag for outings.  But now, outings are turning into a 24/7 snackfest.  Right when we get in the car, the kids are jonesing for the next carb load.  Abby’s hollering, pointing to the floorboard at the empty containers, and Sophia’s hollering about wanting candy.   I’m rewarding with food.  I’m pacifying with food.  I’m stuffing, stuffing, stuffing.

My girls don’t have a weight problem.  They’re babies.  They’re perfect sizes.  Sophia eats pretty well.  She eats some vegetables.  She eats fruit like candy.  But, when I tell her it’s time for lunch, sometimes she’ll yell at me: “I DON’T WAAAAANT LUNCH! I want a SNACK!!!!”  Hmmm.  She seems to know the difference.  And, Abby… well…  she’s had a hard life.  And, I’m coming to terms with the fact that re-training her spoiled little brain is going to be difficult.  And as soon as I feel a little less pity for her, I’ll give in less and stop giving her animal crackers for dinner…

Shew.  I’m being hard on myself.  I realize this.

I’m not, though. I realize what’s going on.  I’m aware of my personal struggles with food.  I understand the potential problems that my daughters will face.  I realize that my children are little imitators.  I realize that (almost) every drop of food that goes into their bodies is food that I’ve paid for and chosen for them to consume.  I AM responsible.

There’s a bigger issue here.  Food.  This is no new issue to our culture.  As a society we struggle with emotional eating, with feeding our emptiness and our anxieties and our multiphrenia with something sweet, salty, oily and quick.  The bigger issue isn’t food, though, it’s the hunger that we’re feeding.  And, the food that we’re feeding that hunger isn’t going to make us ULTIMATELY satisfied.  We may be satisfied for a few moments, an hour if we’re lucky.  But, ultimately that snack, those Cheetos, wasn’t what my body craved.  It craved a meal. Not an actual meal, but a metaphorical one.  In this case I needed to lean on the Father.  I needed to trust Him that my friend would be okay.  That, though I couldn’t take care of my friend, I could trust that He will.  And, I can trust that He will take care of my friend in just the way that He sees best.

I want to teach my daughters to lean on the Father.  I want to teach them to lean on Him for comfort.  To trust Him through difficult times.  I’m not sure I know how to do that.  But, I do know that thoughtlessly stuffing my worries with food is no shining example.