My husband’s needs.
My own needs. The lucky me who is blessed enough to stay at home with my babies, fails every day at the job God gave me. And I am so very aware of my failings as a parent.
Certainly not a recipe for happiness.
But, maybe it is…
My loving, sweet first born AJ, is super observant, sensitive, and reactive to household energy shifts. And now that he is entering into the fours, and perfecting his terrorist tendencies, he is a regular receiver of my frustrations. The other day after a particularly hard day, he turns to me, pats my leg in a comforting gesture, and says,
“Mom, you make me happy.”
How is that even possible?
I looked around the room. Nope, still a mess. Momma’s in pj’s with yucky hair. Two of three kids are diaper naked (only in diapers.). Dinner was a leftovers free for all. I had commandeered the TV in an effort to wash away the massive rock of guilt sitting on my shoulders. I had spent the better part of the day pseudo-yelling at the lovely beasties for any number of infractions. I could have gladly taken Oscar’s garbage can and taken his place as resident crab on Sesame Street.
And this makes him happy?
A few days after that, I started this blog, after a morning of feeling like I was being bodily dragged to the computer. And I started thinking about his comment to me.
I talk to him. When the days are bad, I am honest with him about why, about how momma feels and why. That it’s not his fault. In my anger, I almost always keep gentle hands, so that even in the swirl of chaos and raised voices, he feels my gentle touch and still feels loved.
And regardless of my panic and frustration with daily failures, his basic needs are met, and then some. He’s fed, clothed, and in a warm house. He has an over abundance of toys. He sees his friends at school and receives the therapy he needs to grow. He knows his parent love him and sees and hears how hard we work for him. He loves his brothers and receives their love purely. We fight for him and that which he deserves.We try to be there for him in his mess.etc…..
He doesn’t see my failures. He sees and feels my love for him as it pours off of me in my tears for failing him.
And for him, that is enough.
The recipe for happiness.
And I spend every moment now convincing myself that’s enough for me. Rewiring my mind and opening my eyes open wider to see the minute miracles mixed in the wearying day to day battles, and reminding my heart to accept the teeny, tiny, micro-sized blessings that float in the air around my own mess and take them into my soul.
To quiet my sadness and find the hidden joy.
My sweet, beautiful, crazy smart, broken little boys make me so happy with their little arms and hands holding me. With their little voices and little hearts loving me.
All this given to me simply because I love them.
For now, it will be enough for me.
That is of course, after I silence the nasty enemy voices in my head… :o)
Care to join me?
with much love,