It's been one of those mornings. Actually, it's the afternoon now, so I guess it started out as just a morning but it got bold as it gained strength and it's threatening to take over the whole day. It's one of those days when being a mom has meant a whole lot of momming, and not much else. Hugs, tears, tantrums, refused naps, refused meals, macaroni on the floor, cuddle time on the couch, Candyland, four rounds with the same story. All in my pajamas.
I wish I didn't feel so frustrated when the day doesn't go as planned.
I wish I didn’t feel so defeated when all I accomplish in a day is...the only thing worth accomplishing. Isn't this why I'm home? To be the one loving my kids all day long?
Instead, I feel defeated because the dishes aren't done, the laundry is still in the dryer, and I didn't get to finish that piece I was planning on writing because naptime didn't happen.
And I feel so alone in the middle of all of it.
But I am not alone.
I am one of many called throughout history to the mission of motherhood, and this the reality of life in the trenches.
We are the ones called to love Jesus in the least of these, in our little ones. We are the ones called to die to our egos, to the need for a sense of accomplishment. We are the Marthas, busy with many things, called to set them all aside when we hear his voice.
"Mommy, can I sit on your lap?"
"Mommy, will you read me a story?"
"Mommy, I'm hungry."
Can you hear him? He's calling.