The Tearing

Tonight, it happened again, The Tearing.  It happened again but it was nothing like the first time.  Both were bittersweet.  Both were unexpected.  But in all other ways, they were nothing alike.

The first happened on a hot July night while wearing a one-size-fits-all hospital robe that still managed to barely cover my dairy-aire.  I was breathing like a drowning man coming up to gasp air and seek a rescue.  I was ready, but not thrilled, and frightened beyond my wildest imaginations.

The clock struck 7:35 and the cry of the nurse and the cry of her new patient filled the room, “He’s coming!”  There was absolutely no need to tell me that, I was just about to inform her of the same thing!!  I felt the tearing pain as I alternated between crushing the mattress with my bare hands and crushing my husband’s bare hands.  Sweat poured and muscles strained as I felt life leave my body and suddenly burst into our world.  Life!  A boy! 

What had once swollen my body was now pressed up against it and swelling my heart more than I thought possible.  The tiny feet and hands that could scarcely be felt through the barrier of my belly were now unfurling, grasping, and breaking through the only barrier left: our vision.  His daddy and I could finally see!  We saw my nose, his daddy’s eyes, his Mimi’s fingers; our purpose, our legacy.  We laid eyes on our first-born son and became blind to anything that would keep us from raising this boy into the man he was destined to become, our son.

The body heals and even forgets the first pain of The Tearing.  And really, looking back, it has only been seven years.  Yet, it’s been seven years.  He’s learned to walk and lead, laugh and tell jokes, eat and cook, hold and give, love...and love.  In many ways the student has become the teacher.  I see it when he opens the door for a lady, helps his sister into a shoe, explains a word to his brother or swallows the sadness when life disappoints.

And tonight, I am the one swallowing the sadness while at the same time, smiling in quiet awe.  Tonight, the clock reads 7:35 and The Tearing is happening again.  My body is whole but my heart is softly ripping as I feel him tearing away from me again.  He’s leaning up against the wall next to me yet not really there.  Tonight, I’m his mother and that’s not what he needs.  And I feel it: I’m ready, but not thrilled, and frightened beyond my wildest imaginations.

He doesn’t move but as his dark eyes stare past his younger siblings at play, he takes a step.  He steps away from me, away from childhood and steps towards manhood.  He needs a man to take him there.  Tonight, he needs his dad.  

This is different from when he was weaned from my chest, the bottle, the crib.  This isn’t the same as him outgrowing toy trains, board books, the highchair.  This is it: tonight the journey has begun.  I see him struggling into a backpack too large and looking over a map too confusing even though he stands there unmoving; leaning, staring.  Looking too little in sweatpants and a t-shirt too big.  I see him working through something in his mind too “man” for a mom and too “man” for a child.  I know he feels it too: The Tearing.

I lay siege to the part of me that wants to grab him right then and there, wants to pull him into my lap and make him stay young forever.  The part of me that wants him to play toy-trains and read silly books.  I know that would only stunt his growth, it would force him to wear shoes too small and shelve dreams too big.  It would bubble-wrap his heart when it was made to be broken then heal even stronger.

I swallow the sadness and embrace the happiness.  It’s happening: The journey.  The letting go!  The Tearing.  The time has come and just like that hot July night, no one can stop it.  No one should.  Not even his momma who savors and adores her little boy.  The tide of happiness ebbs into my heart and with a breath... I know it’s going to be okay.  He’s got a man to model after.  A man to dream big with.  A man to help him pack away the toys and know what to pick up instead.  He’s got a dad, and tonight, The Tearing is alright because I know who he’ll be on that journey with.  Not a perfect man, but a good man.  Not a man who never needs a map but a man who knows when and how to follow The Map.

Tonight, I pull that boy into my arms.  Sweat pours and muscles strain as I feel life leave my heart and suddenly burst anew into our world.  Life!  A young man.

Selfish Servant

If you walked into my home today, knowing the Tara Cole of yesterday, you would probably think an alien has taken over my body.

I’m going a little nuts lately.  And I don’t mean nuts as in checking-myself-into-a-mental-hospital-nuts.  I mean going nuts doing the opposite of what usually drives MYSELF nuts.

I had to do it: my health started to collapse and it scared the stupid out of me.

The woman that stayed up doing dishes, blogs (sorry, had to let this go some!), laundry and the million other things I only longingly glanced at during the day en route to grabbing another diaper to rescue a stinky bum or heating up a bottle to quiet a crying mouth is NO more.

This is a new woman: I’m taking baths and leaving messes.  I’m tearing up “to-do-list” and building block towers.  I’m ignoring laundry and playing Candyland instead (granted, the kids are recycling undies and wearing mis-matched socks these days...JOKING!  It’s not THAT bad...yet...).  Something had to give and it wasn’t going to be me. I’m eating first (while hiding in the kitchen of course) and being a little darn SELFISH!! 

Yes, I said I’m being a little SELFISH and women, we all need to hear this and do it now and then.  The put-yourself-last, be-a-martyr to the death and HOPE you live to tell about it thing just ain't gonna work, take it from a mother that may be older and finally a little wiser!

Maybe this isn’t a struggle for you and if you have no problem swinging through the drive-thru to grab an ice-cream for YOU (while the kids hyperventilate in the backseat) or could sleep on the mountain of laundry on your bed waiting to be folded (just more cushion for the...sleeping!), I truly APPLAUD you!  Carry on, you wise and wonderful woman!!!

But if you are like me (you poor dear!!) and can’t hardly breathe, much less sleep, until ALL the laundry is folded (military style) and put neatly away then let me pull you into my arms and offer you this sweet encouragement,

“STOP BEING AN IDIOT!  GO TO BED!!  RELAX!!  TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF”  (said while shaking you ‘till your eyeballs jiggle then giving you a hug as we bawl together over our type-A, go-getter-tendencies!!).

Now, there, isn’t that better?  If we can’t be real about life then, well, then that just isn’t any fun!  And remember: we are the new having-fun-and-relaxing-women!

I push myself because I love to accomplish, I love to see something get done!  During this time when the kiddos are little, it feels like in a given day, more gets UNdone than done; and for a goal-oriented gal like myself, it feels like I’m moving backwards in life sometimes which can feel VERY frustrating!

If it weren’t for these health concerns that took my breath away (that are getting a little better!), I think I would have kept on my goal-oriented path that was heading towards a cliff!  Thank God for stuff that scares the stupid out of us sometimes.  Thank God for things that refocus us and give us a chance to get our priorities in order!

A dear friend of mine recently shared this thought, "Something interesting about Mother Teresa is she always ate first, then fed the children." That really stuck with me even though there is pretty much NO comparison between me and Mother Teresa, I DO feel like EVERY meal-time my children will die of starvation (or I will die from hearing them whine and complain...) if I don't get them fed in under 60 seconds! But, alas, I am now taking the first bite. Afterall, I can't care for them if I'm passed out in the kitchen from exhaustion!

So, join me!

Take a bath in the tub and let the dishes pile in the sink (c’mon, ONE night won’t hurt!).  Throw a blanket over the toys in the living room and have an impromptu picnic with the kids (or the spouse, mm-hmm!), heck, maybe even SPILL on the carpet and resist grabbing the carpet-cleaner...for five seconds!!

I’m a new (slightly more selfish) woman and it feels pretty dang good.

Dormitory Delinquent

When it comes to sleeping, I would give myself the grade of a big, fat “F”.  It’s true: I pretty much suck (pardon my french) at REST!

I think the blood pumping through my veins is type D-O because I am do, do, do-it-all (or at least TRY) girl until I pass out.  This is NOT a good thing.

Several recent health concerns were the knife to my back-demanding I surrender my stubborn ways and do less and rest more.  That, and a terrible discovery that I may be allergic to coffee (and caffeine) which left me with no super-powers to energize me when I was running on empty.

Speaking of empty... it was that feeling of being truly empty which finally led me to crawl in total humility to the foot of the cross.  I’d been there before (and SHOULD be there DAILY... MINUTE-LY!).  It was the only place I could be filled and restored; the only oasis to find TRUE rest for my soul.

It was there I laid down the pains of my body,

the turmoil of my heart,

and the anxieties of my mind.

It was there I found Him.

He was all I needed.

He’s all I still need.

I don’t need another do-it-yourself book or project.

I don’t need another event or errand.

I don’t need to DO anything when I am with Him.  

I can just BE. (nice, right?)

I came to get one thing: the thing NOTHING in this life can give me but him: His touch.  His rest.  His peace.

You can’t put a price on it, buy it or sell it but it is worth everything we have.

Every sacrifice we must make to touch Him and feel his presence will seem like NOTHING once we know we are there, in His presence, where there is a peace and a joy that can’t be explained, no matter what you are facing.

When we face Him, we CAN conquer anything.  

Come to Him. Do nothing. THEN, everything else is do-able.  Go figure.

So... that’s rest.  The rest that empowers more than sleep or any amount of caffeine (sigh!!), the rest that restores our souls.

Beautiful verses on REST...

*Jeremiah 6:16

*Isaiah 28:11-12

*Psalm 116:7

*2 Chronicles 15:2

Oranges Between Knees

The explanation for the title of this blog may become VERY obvious after I share a short story of my Sunday morning last week.  It may motivate women across the globe to always keep an orange between their knees, least any baby-making would happen (wink, wink)!  So, pull up a chair, and grab a chair for your teenage daughter as well: this story may relieve you from any more pleading for her to not have sex right now!

My Sunday morning actually began at 1am.  My baby, who is no longer really a “newborn” and as such, should have received the memo that he is supposed to be sleeping through the night awoke hungry and cranky at that hour.  Again at 4am, even AFTER a full bottle, he made another LOUD protest about sleeping “like a baby” (though everyone WITH a baby knows that saying is just a NOT TRUE!).

I had just nestled into my fluffy (unused!!) pillow that was getting lonely without me when a wailing that would put all ambulance sirens to shame grew louder and louder.  I shoved the pillow over my head, thinking it was coming from the nearby hospital when it hit me: that NOISE is coming from my two-year-old who is walking up the stairs...and past my just-got-back-to-sleep-baby’s nursery!!  I shot out of bed, more wide awake than after my morning coffee: desperate to quiet my daughter before she got any LOUDER (though that wasn’t really possible!).

I snuggled her into bed with us and slept peacefully for 18 minutes until 4:20 am when my four-year-old joined us for no apparent reason (not that I was seeking any answers at that hour: only seeking SLEEP!).  There we were: my hubby, me, my daughter and my son: lined up in bed like sardines in a can.  Real cozy.

I didn’t think it could get much worse but should know by now, it can.

I jolted awake at 6am to the sound of falling glass.  What in the world!?  And there she was: my two-year-old who obviously can function on very little sleep sans caffeine.  She was sitting at my vanity, dressed in make-up-war-paint from head to toe.  Bottles of perfume, open mascara and spilled lip-glosses littered the vanity and the bedroom floor.

Maybe it was sleep-deprivation clouding my brain but it didn’t really faze me.  At this point, I just had to survive...oh, and somehow manage to ready all six of us in time for church.  I grabbed my newly-decorated savage to race to the nursery to get my crying baby.  Once again, I hit the ground running before the drool had time to dry on my pillow.

First things first: breakfast time: 10 bowls of cereal served, 2 hit the floor.
5 Sunday outfits on, 2 removed while I dressed the other 3.
2 put back on, 1 replaced with a princess outfit while I was changing a poopy diaper.
1 minute before we have to be out the door, 1 princess outfit left on (victory by perseverance).
5 heads combed.
5 faces scrubbed.
10 shoes on, 4 taken off and left on the floor (which wasn’t discovered until I was en route to church: victory by distraction).

And there it was: another typical Sunday morning.  I realized two things as I drove through the quiet countryside with the children (strangely) quiet in the back-seat:

1.  My un-touched bowl of cereal with milk was still sitting on the kitchen table.

And,

2.  I wouldn’t change this life for anything.

I glances at the faces of each of my children as I drove and thought, they are worth it.  It’s crazy sometimes (okay, MOST times).  It’s loud.  It’s busy.  It’s...our life.  

Each moment is precious as it’s a moment we will never have again (granted, the barrage of poopy diapers, I don’t think I will miss).  The sleepless nights with a tiny baby (IF Daniel could be considered “tiny”?!), the war-painted face and non-stop messes of my “testing”-two-year old,  the infatuation with pink and princesses of my three-year-old, the snuggly and silly times I share with my four-year-old, the late-night chats and “just-the-two-of-us” (or three, if we let my husband hang with us too!) time with my six-year-old. 

Even though I joke that the story of my crazy Sunday morning may make you want to avoid recreating like the Bubonic plauge...the truth is, there have been few things as amazing and life-changing (for the good...usually...!) as having and raising a child.

Even though my bowl of cereal was getting soggy instead of fueling me with energy for the rest of my Sunday (the day had JUST begun!), I would not trade all the breakfast...or all the peace and quiet (and SLEEP!) in the world for any life other than this one: life with our five. 

TAKE 'EM, JESUS!! 'Cuz They're Driving Me CrAzY!!!

While feeling a little guilty about needing a break from my kids today, I thought, if only I could be more like Jesus who said, “Let the little children COME to me...”.  Then, it hit me: what if Jesus was saying that because he saw the frazzled moms in the crowd with children hanging off them like monkeys off a tree and knew that, “Bless their sweet, momma hearts, those women need a break, I’ll tell those little children to come to ME before their moms go INSANE!!”.

Okay...so that is just my (more than likely slightly faulty!) Tara Theology but I will say there are days the last thing I’m thinking is, “Let the little children COME to me...”, instead, I’m thinking, “Let the little children GO from me!!”  Just being real here, not too spiritual or Mother Teresa-ish, I guess!

Speaking of Mother Teresa, just the other day my good friend and I were lamenting our shortcomings of patience and ever-enduring kindness as compared to the wonderful example set by the late Mother Teresa when my friend pointed out that at least Mother Teresa could, “get away from those children once in awhile” and I wondered if they would have driven her nuts from time to time if they were her own children, hmmm...!!  Once again: not super spiritual here, just being real!  

Don’t get me wrong, 99.9% of the time, I am CRAZY about my sweet lil’ darlings!!  The other .1% of the time, they are DRIVING ME CRAZY and I need a BREAK!  Okay, okay...so sometimes it’s actually 99.9% of the time they drive me CRAZY, who am kiddin’ here?!  (smile)

Alas, I ever-so-fondly recall those new parent days when I had only one or two little angels, I would feel SO guilty and dreadfully sad to ever leave them.  I remember smothering them in kisses, departing at turtle-speed, and leaving an obnoxious amount of instructions (including a no less than twenty typed pages of schedules, special dietary considerations and stimulating play ideas) with the (wide-eyed and terrified-looking) babysitter who had just undergone an in-depth interviewing process and intense background checks that would make trying to get into the CIA seem like a breeze after that!

Oh what heights I have fallen from!  Now, when I have a (RARE!!) opportunity to escape, I burn rubber outta the driveway so fast that the (blessed and loved with more love than I ever dreamed possible) babysitter is shouting after me, “Wait!!  Is there anything I should know?!  And...do you even know my name??”

“DOESN’T MATTER!!  YOU’RE TAKING ALL OF MY CHILDREN FOR AN HOUR, I LOVE YOU ALREADY!!”

The new expectation for when I do come back home (and yes, I always come back!) is,

1.  Are they alive?
2.  Is the babysitter alive?

Check, check?  Good to go.

I love my children.  I do...I do...I really, really do...(is it working yet?  Trying a little self-brainwashing here...).  But even though I love each one of them more than I ever thought would be possible, I love them even MORE when I get a breather from them now and then.  When the world around me is blissfully quiet for 60 wonderful minutes while I sip a latte, I am a new mom: a better, more SANE mom!  Heck, some days I’ll take even 60 SECONDS of that.  

And on the days I don’t get a break, in those moments where I’m practicing baby-triage (the loudest cryer gets my attention first), the encouraging words of Jesus echo in my head, “Let the little children come to me.”  Take ‘em, Jesus!  Take ‘em for a minute and thanks for understanding that us mommas need a break.  Forget about just taking the wheel, Jesus--you can take the WHOLE car once I load up all the kids in it!! Thanks, Jesus, for not making us feel guilty for not being super-moms 24/7.  I just ain't THAT spiritual!!  If there is ANYONE we can be real with, it’s Jesus.  If there is any PLACE we can be frazzled and it’s okay, it’s at the foot of the cross where Jesus also said,

“All who are weary (with little monkeys?) and heavy-laden (with non-stop responsibilities of being a mother?), come to ME and I will give you REST.” (Matthew 11:27-29)

Now that’s a promise that refreshes this sometimes-going-insane momma-heart!!

Life Interrupted...by a Duck

Tonight, my ten-minutes-of-torture (aka, the mom rant) was ever-so-rudely interupted by a...DUCK.  Yes, you read that correctly: a duck interrupted my exciting and prolific speech to my children about doing more cleaning and being less silly.

It had been a long day and an even longer night.  My husband was working late and by the time eating dinner, cleaning up, taking baths, making more messes, doing more clean-up, brushing teeth, dressing in pajamas, packing school lunches and, once again, making MORE messes was completed, I was a combustible mix of over-tired and under-appreciated.  Look out kids, Momma’s gonna BLOW!!

Instead of losing it like I was daydreaming about and securing a future bill at the therapist office for my children, I took a deep breath, sat my boys down (since they are the only ones that have a long enough attention span to listen to my ten-minutes-of-torture) and climbed up on my “whoa-is-me and you-need-to-listen-and-help-more soap-box".

As it were, my six-year-old had been wearing a duck mask (that's life with kids: random and weird) and since he had asked very politely if he could continue to wear it during my rant, I consented.

So there I was, talking...and talking...and talking...in fact: thinking back, I have no idea what I was even saying and I’m sure 99.9% of it was not retained by my boys either!  Especially since I noticed my four-year-old’s eyes were more glazed over than the doughnuts we had eaten for breakfast that morning.

It was somewhere in my speech between a point I was making that was absolutely boring and absolutely pointless, I busted out laughing.  It just hit me: I am giving a speech to a four-year-old that is so bored he is semi-comatose and a ...DUCK!  My laughter knocked both my children out of their stupors and they started laughing too.  They never waste time when there is an excuse to give out hugs so I was mauled by tiny arms hugging my legs and waist as they shared that sweet moment of laughter with  me. Of course, they had no idea why we were laughing, but it was a welcome relief from my rant I’m sure!

I crouched down to be eye-level with my little men and said, “Hey guys--I’m sorry I was kinda crabby (okay, that’s THE understatement of the year!) with you today.  We all do need to laugh more, don’t we?!”

My four-year-old, Judah, grinned and nodded, “And does this mean you’re sorry too that you put me in time-out earlier?”

“No, you stinker!  I really meant that one.”  I had a fresh wave of laughter over that one though, figures he would think he’s pretty much perfect!!

I gave my Judah and my little duck another hug and watched them run off to bed, thinking how I felt like a new person after that wonderful fit of laughter we just shared.  And thinking how I sometimes take myself...and our little world...WAY too seriously.  I want to strive to live a life interrupted.  Interrupted by laughter, messes, little kisses and of course, ducks.