While I have come to embrace this call to mothering, I also recognize the need to sometimes not pick up the phone. For Part I, I'll dial in.
The other night we had friends over. We were mentally, spiritually and emotionally spent from a long weekend conference at church. Our lives were enriched and our hearts encouraged by the weekend's events. It was a little bit of insanity to get the families together. It was a LOT of insanity.
I let my five year old sweetie stay up way too late. It's my personal 'big up' to the oftentimes stranglehold 'school' has on our schedules.
So it was past nine, the livingroom was full of humanity. On the cozy couch our friend was playing the remaining 4 strings on the baby's guitar with a rendition of "Mr. Sunday" (an ironical twist on all things Sunday school ish). My husband and our other friend were having a discussion of Batista, Che Guevera and....can't remember, as I tuned out. I was responding to and answering random questions from various 5, 6, 7 and 9 year olds. We all were commenting on a certain noxious smell and how 'tremendous' (my son's favorite descriptive word) the waffles were for dinner. We also paused to wonder which child kept farting and could it be the baby's diaper? I started to laugh. Not just laugh but howl! I was laughing until tears misted.
I laughed because my heart was so full. It was full of the mess, noise and wonder of this mothering moment. I laughed because this room and all the muddy footprints and farty smell was a million miles away from the life I once lived. I was an entirely different woman, mother and friend that wasn't stressed by the messy mass of humanity, rather I reveled in it.
At the church conference the night before, some of our girls came late. Nothing new for teens right? Except these teens came from their prom. They left their prom and came to church. Before you scoff, keep in mind these are young women who could have done anything else (and in their past had indeed done everything else). They chose to come share their night with us. The Pastor, who is the only father figure in these awesome girls lives, called them up to honor their coming. Me? I cried. I cried like it was my daughters with an updo standing there in sparkling finery. I took pictures. I hugged them and cried some more. I may have two sons, but God is giving me many daughters (and I don't have to pay for college!).
Last night I was cuddling with my 5 year old before bed. I talked to him about his future wife. He looked at me and said, "She'll look at me and smile and I'll look at her and smile and she will think I am AWESOME!" He sucked his thumb a minute and said, "We'll have 20 kids and then you'll be like my NaNa!" I asked him if I would make a good NaNa, and he said yes.
It made me stop and think of the speed at which this mothering is traveling. Soon, too soon, I'll be seeing my boys in a tux at their prom. Too soon I'll be the NaNa.
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