Lessons Learned

We live our lives judging others.

I, of course, can't speak for others, but as I look at the world around me, I find it hard to believe that anyone can claim to have a judgement-free day. (See? Judging.)

I know I judge others.

Don't get me wrong, I try not to (for the most part), but it starts as a delightful diversion from life. I look at people.com and think "why did she marry him?" "Ugh. Her child is ugly." Things of this nature.

So should it surprise me when others judge me?

Of course it does.

Granted, my life is a series of cosmic karma for past judging.

• "No one EVER finds true love online." Result: I meet Lane online.
• "Fools. Why don't you try to get to know one another BEFORE you get engaged?" Result: I become engaged 2 short months after meeting Lane (face to face).
• "Sure that pregnancy was an 'accident'." Result: Elliot makes an unplanned arrival 15 months after his sister.

Other judgements? That people were a little weak and maybe a bit too whiny when they extolled the hardship of 3+ children.

Oh that I could say sorry to each of those people I murmured about behind their backs.

Each of my days are filled with deep breaths.

Do I love this time? Sure. But more often than not, it's "loving this time" in retrospect. I always find myself loving this time of life when all three of my babies are sweetly sleeping in bed. Less so if one of them wakes up screaming 2 hours later.

I find myself spending Saturday trying to recharge, just to watch all stored up energy come sapping out of me Sunday.

And over the past few months, I found myself recycling that angst and pent-up anguish in inappropriate responses to the actions of my little family.

I have cried about it on more than one occasion to my Mom over the phone.

"Rachel," she said to me once, "every night when I would check on my sweet sleeping babies, I would stare at your angel faces and tell myself, 'tomorrow. Tomorrow I won't get mad. Tomorrow will be perfect.' And then tomorrow would come. You can only do the best you can do."

First feeding. He's a super champ at this. Just like his siblings. (And, let's be honest. His mom too.)

My sister Julia penned a post similar to this sentiment wherein she said, "I believe we only fail as parents when we aren't on our knees every night praying to the Lord to make us better parents than we were today." (That's a paraphrase, as I can not find the exact post ... I don't think she'll sue for libel.)

Four months old. His four-month check-up revealed him to be 14 pounds and 24 inches.

So for the past months I have spent every evening pleading that the Lord give me strength and patience. To help me be a better mother. Give me some answer as to how to BE better.

And I spent months pushing back what I now see as the answer.

Why did I push it back? Because the answer was so simple.

They all adore one another. A plus point of having three before the first goes off to kindergarten all day.

Two or so months ago, I heard a program on the Diane Rhem show. Frank Partnoy talked about his new book about the art of waiting (which reminded me of another Diane Rhem show from 8ish years ago, interviewing Carl Honore for his book "In Praise of Slowness"). It brought to my mind that I needed to take time and slow down.

This brought to my mind a book I've read off and on since Owen was born. "A Quiet Heart" by Patricia Holland. Part of her book talks about the importance of having time to yourself daily for reflection and scripture study.



Five months old, to the day. I weighed him at home and he was 16+ pounds.

Of course, these are all answers I knew. I've known that meditation, slowing down and scripture study were important aspects of a day since I was in grade school.

So I dismissed this solution. "Of course I do that," I thought.

Then last month, as I cried myself to sleep, I realized, I am NOT doing those things.

Every day I tell myself I will. But increasingly I was forgetting to do it or pushing it aside in favor of sleep or a few more minutes of vegging out.

This little devil was amped for preschool. Even if Jane torments him with "I go to REAL preschool."

Ask me what happened when I recommitted myself to these primary answers.

My life is better. Our days are better. The heavy atmosphere of contention that would lay itself upon my house by 4 p.m. like a heavy wool blanket is dissipating (I won't lie. Some days we still have a nice thick cotton blanket hanging in the air by bedtime).

First day of preschool for both (co-op for Elliot, actual preschool for Jane). Was Owen jealous? I don't think so. His life hardly changed.

And while my love of Jane, Elliot and Owen never waned, it is even stronger.

I enjoy hugs from those hot sweaty arms even more. I soak up those sticky kisses on proffered lips.

All day long, this crazy-haired 3-year-old puts puzzles together. He's really, really good. He's like our little Rain Man.

Religious or not, every person needs to center their souls on a daily basis. Every person needs moments to slow down, take stock and breath deep.

This is the lesson that my 3 have taught me.

"1st day of Preschool. August 30, 2012. When I grow up, I want to be a ZOOKEEPER."

Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a little girl who wants to snuggle with her Mommy.