... When You Need Some Spring Cleaning

Spring cleaning.  Nesting.  Organizing.  Definitely unfamiliar territory for me, but certainly not for my husband.  Each time we've found out I'm pregnant, Nick's initial excitement is, "Oh, I hope you 'nest!'"  And I never do.  But this month, unpregnant and motivated to set up my marvelous birthday gift, an upright freezer, I agreed I'd handle the kids, and sent Nick outside with Clash of Kings on audiobook.  It all started in our garage and ended up with trunk-loads to Goodwill and the consignment store and is now creeping into our home. 

Dessert that was also dinner, because it was my birthday!

Nick drinks often and smokes occasionally.  I wish he wouldn't, and I tell him so.  Sometimes in a nagging way, sometimes with compassion... or comparison.  I recently found myself asserting, "You have so many vices!  Can you even name one vice that I have?"  You know, I was just finessing my ability to point out that speck.  After those words came out of my mouth, they culminated in me.  I began to see my planks, one by one, all splintered and rotting away.
 
Motherhood has a way of showing you your flaws.  Maybe it's because you're held in stark contrast with the miraculous innocence of a child.  Or perhaps looking at your children is literally like looking into a mirror.  For instance, I can't stand it when the kids cross their arms and stomp in anger, "I'm not going to do that!"... because I cross my arms and stomp in anger.  Just the other day, I overheard Noah yelling in frustration over a puzzle, "I'm so stress-ED!"... because I tell them I'm so stressed when I can't accomplish a task.  Or, maybe because children know exactly how to push you to your limits, your flaws just start falling out all over the place.  The hard truth is, in the busyness of it all, it's hard to pick those flaws off the floor and make self-improvements. 

Big Sis, Baby Bro (Feb 2015)

I'm nearly convinced that my children's favorite part of the day is bedtime prayers.  Let me clarify: they wait on the edge of their sheets for Mommy to say sorry for something naughty she's done.  It usually goes something like this, since, let's face it, our sins tend to be repetitious:
Me: Now let's all tell Jesus what we're sorry for today.
Miriam: I'm sorry for hitting Noah.
Noah: I'm sorry for throwing a fit.
Me: Jesus forgives you, because He loves you.
Chorus: MOMMY!  WHAT ARE YOU SORRY FOR?  WHAT BAD THING DID YOU DO?  MOMMY, REMEMBER WHEN YOU YELLED?  AND WHEN YOU PUSHED ME OUT OF THE WAY?  Mommy, that made me sad.

Three little monkeys... making me a better person

Their smiles are never quite as big as when I confess all of my sins, especially the ones of which they readily remind me.

I'd like to believe that this Lent will be a time for some real spring cleaning.  If blogging with a glass of wine has unraveled one paradox for me, it's this: In the tumult of caring for my children, I have no time to "fix" myself; yet, my children are the very ones who are helping me grow.  God has given me His graces, and He's also gifted me with three precious lives that are sharpening me as I sharpen them.  Let's get past that garage and into the deep self-cleansing.