I am a Gerbil

I am a gerbil.  I'm sure that if you have a husband and/or kids, you know exactly what I mean, but in case you don't....I swear that motherhood has given me obsessive compulsive mutitasking disorder.  I cannot go potty (yes, I said potty) without thinking, "Is that drawer close enough that I can organize it from here?", and the thing is, messy though that drawer may be, I've organized it before.  In fact, most of my life is like one giant Groundhog's day of household chores and butt wiping.  Now, I'm not complaining; I love being a stay-at-home mom, and I am undeservedly blessed with all of those precious moments that my husband sacrifices that come between, "MOM, Come wipe meeeee." and "She's touching me!!", but occasionally I am hit by the seeming redundancy of my treadmill life.

In theory, I enjoy curling up with a blankie and a good book, but, in fact, my couch is merely a vantage point from which I can survey the undone minutia of my life.  And as if that were not enough, while my body is on the errand wheel, my mind is running swiftly upon the wheel of guilt.  Felicia fun mom gets down on the floor and plays for hours with her kids and never tires of Candyland...Vivian volunteer cheerfully models service, while juggeling three kids, and heading up the Put-Together Moms Leauge of America, and it feels like I am never quite measuring up to the all-American, bubble dress wearing mom that I hope to be.  (I know, I know, here we are, blogging on my shortcommings again, sorry to be a drag).

But then I remember, "Be still, and know that I am God."  I am the right mom for these kids, and I am the right wife for this husband, and I have some fantastic unique qualities that make me so, because, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

I need to learn to parent with a perspective on the big picture; for the end result instead of just seeing the immediate mundane.  I need to learn to work with my hands, and rest in the Lord with my heart.  In the rare and beautiful moments that I do that, I see my life.

My baby is squealing with delight with her toothless mouth, and my preschooler's fort is no longer just a mess, but a gateway to a magical land.