Will the Real Joy Thief Please Stand Up

Someone tried to steal my joy this week and make me feel like a bad person. I stewed over it for 24 hours and fumed and thought "how dare she?!" I even thought how nice it would be if Throat Punch Thurday was a real thing. (I wrote this on a Thursday btw). I was so enraged by the event that I felt like a bad person. In my bitterness God said to me, "you're the one robbing yourself of joy, and you are letting a minor blip eat you alive. Throat Punch Thursday? Do you really want to punch yourself?" And I thought, no, I already limp severely; I don't need a black eye to draw even more unwanted attention to myself. For the record, I didn't audibly hear all that dialogue from the Heavens, but nonetheless, God convicted me in my spirit.

How often do we steal our own joy? How many times a day do we blame others for how we feel? Why can't we all Taylor Swift it and just shake it off when we feel wronged? Or pull an Elsa and let it go? It's because we like our own drama. We are like dogs who come back to smell their own business. Gross? So is the filth we wallow in just so we can play the role of martyr. And worse, we bring our friends and family to see our dirty business so they can turn up their noses too. And once we have a contingency behind us agreeing with us about how awful we've been wronged, our small predicament becomes a full blown catastrophe. Here's an example. 

Last weekend the 5 Kings were in a hotel room, and I jokingly told my oldest his sister's dolls were going to watch him sleep. Well that just provoked him to move the dolls, which provoked the girl to explode into hysterics. She sounded like she was having a limb removed from her body all because her dolls face planted at the hand of her diabolical brother. This lasted over an hour and resulted in a hyperventilating kid who is now grounded from playing with said dolls because of her dramatic display. If you think I'm exaggerating her reaction, we can check the hotel surveillance footage. She was wronged in her mind, and her anger extended itself to the entire building. CPS is still investigating! That part might  be an actual exaggeration, but her outcry was absurdly loud, ugly, and eternal. The whole family, if not the entire 4th floor, got to be disrupted right along with her because she made sure we all beheld the dirty deed she'd been dealt. Yet here I am, just a few days after this nonsense, failing to see the ridiculousness of my own display. I stole my joy, and I let someone else take the blame for it. Shame on me. John C. Boger said, "Anger and bitterness are two noticeable signs of being focused on self and not trusting God’s sovereignty in your life. When you believe that God causes all things to work together for good to those who belong to Him and love Him, you can respond to trials with joy instead of anger or bitterness.” Responding to trials with joy is a virtue I have yet to master. However, I am still moldable clay in the Potter's hands, and I am willing to be reshaped by His patient mercy and grace rather than becoming hardened by my circumstances.
So if you hear me rant about a righteous indignation, please hum a little pop princess tune to me, and I'll know it's time to shake it off, let it go, and move on.

Mom's Last Nerve is More Sensitive Than the Others

 Tonight I blew it...that's it. The story of my life summed up in four painful words. Once again in this crazy parenting side show, I lost my cool and screamed at my kids. When my angels are driving me mad, I say "you're getting on my nerves!" And some smarty pants always wants to know which nerve they're on because as long as it's not the last one, they're safe. Well this was one of those all too frequent times when they had no warning; they'd just stepped on all the nerves at once.
Here's the thing, my husband has a great job that has him home at a decent hour almost every night. Occasionally though, this week being one of those occasions, he has to travel out of town, leaving me home with the spawn of his loins all by my unprotected lonesome self. The kids see Daddy being away as a free-for-all because he's the parent who prepares healthy meals and sticks to the schedule. I get distracted (usually by laundry) and forget to put them to bed, after I've fed them take-out and sniffed their pits to see if bath time can fall by the wayside. Side-note to the hubs: There you have it, honey, all my dirty little secrets. You can never leave us because we would fall apart.
 So tonight's merriment included eating takeout on the patio while throwing the dog's ball (totally unsanitary while eating with one's hands, but if you don't throw the ball, the dog will lick your food. Either way you're eating dog slobber, but hey! Dad's not here to stop us and mom won't catch on for another five minutes because she's still helping with homework and trying to get the toothpaste stain out of a karate gi), spraying a sister with the water hose, and sneaking ice cream bites right out of the freezer while mom sorts 9,000 notes in three backpacks that all need to be signed and have checks attached.
I hit my breaking point when 2/3 of them thought me saying "go brush your teeth" was merely a suggestion and chose to ignore me.
At first yelling felt good. Not gonna lie, it released a bit of the tension I built up over the course of the aforementioned activities. Then I just felt like a bad mom. I hurt my babies' hearts and put them to bed feeling lousy. I hate getting into this cycle, but sometimes I feel powerless to overcome it. I am a Proverbs 14:29 What Not To Do. "People with understanding control their anger; a hot temper shows great foolishness. (NLT) Now what? I did the only thing I could do after blowing it in my parenting. I backtracked. I apologized to my kids and kissed and hugged them again. I also reminded them that it's still important that they obey me even when Dad's not home. Then I came downstairs and read James chapter 3. His wise words speak truth about how difficult it is to tame our tongues and yet how valuable doing so is. Verse 18 renews my spirit that I can try again tomorrow  to be a "peacemaker [who] will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness."
Lord, thank you for your mercy that covers my multitude of mistakes. Please help my kids turn out great in spite of them, and please oh PLEASE protect their father so that I never have to raise them on my own!

Where are all the mom bloggers of big kids?

I just read a blog post on www.homesanctuary.com that asked this question. It's a great read as Rachel Anne Ridge talks about how we become more isolated online as we morph into being a mom of an middle schooler.  Silent now are postings about the cute chaos of toddlerhood, sleepless nights, and pic comments like "OMG so PRESH." She's so right! It's not totes adorbs to post about mood swings, braces, acne, and homework meltdowns. Many of the circles that sustain and refresh preschool moms (MOPS, play groups, etc) are visibly missing for moms of 5th graders about to send their firstborns to the dog-eat-dog world of middle school. But we are still very present and very much in need of support from one another. On top of the drowning in the lost world of adolescent hormones and hurt feelings, (SO MANY FEELINGS!) many of us are also embarking into deep waters with ailing parents, career changes,  and even our own less than perfect health. Getting older is painful and scary, and I swear if I see one more skinny girl selfie with the post "I finally lost all my baby weight; it's about time!" while holding a 6 month old infant on her hip, I'm going off the social media grid with a box of cupcakes and a bottle of fine wine like I never could have afforded when my kids were in diapers. Sorry, that was random. I meant to say, even though we have braved the teething and potty training fronts and emerged victorious, we older moms still need one another. Who else will help me now that my daughter is whispering about cute boys for the first time or hold my hand in reassurance after I drive my oldest to the ER to get stitches for attempting ridiculous acrobatic feats with items salvaged from a dumpster? (true story. You can't make up that kind of crazy, folks) And neither can you warn a new mom that her angel face will be the one who pulls the fire alarm at church one day (not a King shenanigan, but true nonetheless)? There's no way to prepare someone for the stuff our older kids will do, but we can continue to be there for one another and share our adventures. Be a voice for your friend who needs to hear it. We shouldn't be lonely as we weed through this ugly phase of parenting, and we should still find humor and preciousness in our growing offspring, even when their shoes size and attitudes far exceed our own. Solidarity, sisters!