Priorities

How many times have I been tempted to stay home from an event because I discovered a pimple on my chin, or a cowlick in my hair, or my skirt fits way tighter than it did last time I wore it?
How many times have I wished I could read my own exciting mystery novel instead of reading the "Clifford" or "Mickey Mouse" book to my three-year-old like he's asked?
How many times have I made excuses for not having people over simply because my house isn't spic-n-span clean?

How much have I missed out on because my priorities are upside-down?

I would rather not go out looking less than my best; I can easily get my son interested in a cartoon so I don't have to read to him; I can convince myself that people don't really care to come over to my house anyway. But that's wrong. All of it.
It's.
Not.
About.
Me.
What a revelation!

If I'm invited somewhere, the invitation doesn't usually say, "RSVP if having a bad hair day!" Church, my kids' school functions, my husband's business events, my friends' afternoon lunch...making an effort to go to these things has nothing to do with ME looking GOOD! It has to do with me showing up and supporting my loved ones with all my soul. That's what they care about and need. Who knows? Maybe it's a blessing for them to see me all "casual" and "real". Maybe that will help lessen the stress of their own insecurities. Maybe my kids will get the message that they're more important to me than what any of those "super-moms" think. Maybe my husband would rather have his overweight and frizzy-haired best friend with him than go to these dinners alone!

How long does it take to read a book to my child? Good grief. I could read him five books in the time it takes to try and find something to distract him from wanting me to read to him! He doesn't care if my voice doesn't have dramatic inflection. He doesn't care if I'm no good at pronouncing Dora's Spanish. He wants me. He wants me to show him that I'm interested in what he's interested in because I'm interested in him.

I don't want to have people over to my house so I can show off my shiny floor or cabinet full of clean dishes. Why would that be interesting? I want to have people over to fellowship and encourage one another. What in the world does that have to do with whether or not I had time to vacuum? There's a story about that somewhere...um...Martha...Mary...something...

I'll tell you what got me to thinking about all this. The other morning, after spending the entire night rocking and bouncing my sweet son through a rough ear-infected night, I discovered I was almost out of Children's Tylenol. I have sweet friends who would've been happy to run to the store for me...but my phone was broken. Phoenix was crying and needed more medicine, pronto! Without a second thought, I loaded the boys into the car and, with Phoenix moaning in the backseat, drove to Walgreen's. I was standing in the medicine aisle reading labels when I noticed a woman standing next to me. She had gorgeous hair, was crisply dressed, and smelled so fresh and beautiful.

I smiled at her and she smiled at me. I looked down at myself. I was still in the sweat pants and sweatshirt I'd had on since the day before. I hadn't run a comb through my hair; I hadn't brushed my teeth; I hadn't even looked in a mirror. Folks, I realized in that split second that I wasn't even wearing a bra. Good grief. She put her hand on my arm and said, "Isn't it wonderful to have this store so nearby when we need to rush and get medicine?" She understood. But even if she hadn't, I wouldn't have regretted my appearance.

I had only wanted to get medicine for Phoenix as quickly as possible. No time for looking good (or smelling good, for that matter) or wondering what anyone must think.

I discovered that putting others before my self-absorption didn't change the world around me. The walls didn't come tumbling down when I left the house in such a rough state. No one had a wreck after seeing me walk into the store. No one cared. The world wasn't depending on the roots of my hair to match the color of the split-ends.

I'm not saying I've given up on hygiene or don't still want to clean my house, etc...I'm just saying that, when having to choose between going to my daughter's honor roll assembly or staying home to hide my fat, I need to go to the assembly. When faced with the opportunity to invite someone over to my house, I need to just open the door without worrying that there's still laundry to be folded all over the couch. When my child asks for my time and attention, I need to thank God that my child even wants anything to do with me.

I'm just rambling. For those of you who stuck with this entire post, bless your heart. I just needed to give myself a good talkin'-to.

Sick and Tired

How many of you know what it's like to have a sick little one at home? I mean, there are different levels of sick, right?


Runny Nose:

If it's a Level One Runny Nose, you don't worry about it. You just grab a tissue (or the corner of a T-Shirt) and blot here and there. For a Level Two Runny Nose, you need a box of Kleenex handy, but there's still no big worry. For the dreaded Level Three Runny Nose, you throw out the box of tissue and get a cloth handkerchief (soft as possible, please) and dab every ten to fifteen minutes. You cut out the dairy. You start rummaging through your cabinet for the Mucinex and wonder if your mom was right about white grape juice being a natural antihistamine. Then, you lay awake and listen to breathing...wondering if it'll turn into a cough.


Cough:

If it's a Level One Cough, you don't really worry about it. I mean, a little drainage, a little tickle in the throat...we've all had that. Sinus, allergies...no big deal. If it's a Level Two Cough, you dig out the Mucinex and prop them up a little at night to avoid ear infection. Level Three Cough is that deep rattle that makes you want to check their drawers for cigarettes. You start looking for the heavy-artillery decongestant. You fear that it will turn into the wickedly painful earache.


Earache:

There is no Level One or Two Earache. Any ear pain is an automatic Level Three. It means drops, sitting up all night long, humming until your throat is raspy, making strange but hopefully soothing sounds like "shh-shh-shh-shh" and "da-de-da-de-da-de-da". You watch cartoons at 2 a.m.; you allow them to sleep next to you in bed; you are afraid to stop rubbing their back after you know they're finally asleep for fear they might wake up again. You wait a good 48 hours and then call the doctor. You know they're not going to do anything you haven't already done; but sitting in a waiting room and then letting a nurse handle the kid for a few minutes may the only break you get until this has passed. If it passes. If it doesn't get worse.


Worse:

Fever...vomit...glassy-eyes...fussy-fussy-fussy.


It's our pleasure as mommies to hold, cuddle, sing "I know, I know, I know" to our sweeties. We never think twice about it. They're sick and we're tired.....but we're NEVER sick and tired of nursing our babes. Never. Isn't that a miracle? The rest of world may get on our ever-lovin' nerves, but we never hesitate to wrap our babies in our arms and love them. I consider it an honor that my kids say, "Mama, please feel me better."