A Mother's Day Hangover

You know what is great about Mother’s Day being on Sunday? You have the rude awakening of Monday morning, full of cranky children.

In this case, I had about a week and a half of Mondays. The kids were only cranky for half of that. I was cranky for all of it.

And tired, frazzled, uncreative (why do children insist on three meals a day/every day?), overwhelmed but also underwhelmed, itching for a quiet moment far away where the coffee hasn’t been reheated, while also completely taken by the belly laughs that erupt unexpectedly.

Parenting is a constant dance of contradictions.

You love it and want to hide in the closet.

You celebrate imaginative play and wonder how much decluttering can happen before there’s a mutiny.

You delight in the chaos and keep reminding yourself that this is why you don’t have nice things.

You enjoy making nourishing meals that your kids enjoy, and wish popsicles could count as a complete lunch. Everyday.

You’re grateful to be the safe place for the big emotions and wonder if anyone has ever calculated how many hours of whining produce a nervous breakdown.

I’ve never understood those mothers who never register more than a resting heart rate around their kids. You hear about them from authors who say, “My mother never once raised her voice at us.”

Your mother was probably on Valium.

Maybe it’s the Assyrian in me, or growing up in Spain, but fire runs through these veins. Surprising, right??

It flares hot and fast if I’m emotionally worn thin, tired, have not had enough coffee, frustrated by the headlines, have not worked out, prayed up, or have had the misfortune to be woken by screaming kids.

Being married to me is fun.

These last two weeks have felt like a slew of Mondays. I have not won any parenting awards. My children dared to suggest that maybe going to school with other people as their teacher would be better. #rude

I could never quite get ahead of the day - too often, the day ran me.

So naturally, I emotionally crashed. Hard. There were tears, storming off, and shut doors. And that wasn’t just the five-year-old.

The next day, it felt like the morning after a hard rain. I was BACK. My husband said, “It’s good that Mommy feels better,” to which the kids wisely replied, “What do you mean? I didn’t notice anything.”

If that’s you sometimes, I just want you to know you’re not alone. And I don’t even think we’re that weird. I think this is actually true for …. most of us. All of us??

It is hard work to raise souls in this world. It is weighty to know that our actions, our words, our failings, and our wins are shaping the people around us.

Parent or not, it is exhausting to be light when the darkness is heavy and seemingly winning. The weight of evil in the headlines can wear you down in deep places.

You can run empty in pouring out for those you love, even though it often fills your soul. And you can simultaneously cherish and be frustrated by the day-to-day of your life.

The good news of the Gospel doesn’t press on my heart as often as it should. But after two weeks of Mondays, after lots of apologizing, trying (and failing) to get it right, the grace offered at the foot of the Cross for a sinner like me IS a gift.

Our hardest days are redeemed. Our souls are restored and refreshed.

And we get up to do it again.

Though it would help if Mother’s Day were on a Wednesday.

Jo x

P.S. I care about you and want to give you the gift of sanity, peace, and deep breaths, so this creamy lemon chicken orzo recipe has been a hit in our house. It comes together in 30 minutes, has green things in it, and children will eat it.

If you love your family like I do, you’ll make the orzo by hand, get milk from the local dairy, and grow your own spinach. That’s what Italy did to me.

Just Kidding. I shopped at Costco.