It's Raining...Again, Mama

I've heard it said, "A mother is only as happy as her saddest child." Well, if that's true and I've got seven kids (three of whom are healing from a troubled past, 4 of whom are female with hormones raging, and 3 of whom are dating with all of its ups and downs), where does that leave me?

Now I'm no mathematician, but I suspect the statistics for this mama having a happy day are slim. Very slim.

Today is one of those days. Yeah, those days. Child Z is having relationship issues. (I could cry a river over this one.) Child Q has to stand up against a wrong at school, knees shaking, but doing the right thing. (I'm so proud, but yeah, my knees are shaking too.) And child W, well, she's mad that it's cold and rainy and she can't wear shorts. She left the house with a scowl on her face and her nose in the air. Poor thing. I'm such a mean mama. (But I kid you not, some days, I can even let her scowl get the best of me.)

Truth be told, I hate it when my kids are sad. I like happy kids. Smiling kids. Giggling kids. But today I've got a sad kid, a nervous kid, and a mad kid. I know; I can do that math...three out of seven--not good.

Well, this morning I heard this woman encouraging the sad kid, praying with the nervous kid, and giving the mad kid a little sermon on anger. It went like this...

W, I understand that you're angry. There's nothing wrong with being angry, but it's what you do with your anger that can be wrong. And no, you don't get to speak to kid P disrespectfully because you're angry. And besides, you don't have to act angry today...it's your choice.

Hm, it's her choice. Oh, I hate when that happens...I'm preaching to the choir...ahhhgain.

So where does that leave me? With a choice...

An Uninvited Guest

Ah, when the house finally gets peaceful at 7:32 each morning...

Why precisely 7:32? That's when the last three children leave, and the bus driver, I don't know how she manages it, picks them up at 7:32, on the dot. And I close the door, alone in the house at last.

Some days I skip into the kitchen, make a little something for myself, and rush to the next thing. Other days, like today, I sigh, a big sigh, pause, and wonder, "Why do I feel Mr. Sadness tugging at my heart, nagging me like a child who wants a drink of water, refusing to go away until his need is met?"

It doesn't take long for my heart to answer. It knows precisely why Mr. Sadness has shown up at 7:32--the house is empty. Very empty.

You see, this weekend the house was full. Very full. Bursting at the seams full. And there were moments that I longed for a little piece of the quiet I have today, a moment to take a breath, and think a thought, uninterrupted.

A mother's life it like that. It jumps from daytime to bedtime, from noisy to quiet, and ultimately, from full to empty. I know this; I have seen the school bus drive away and the dawn of the empty nest.

So I'll great Mr. Sadness. Yes, I'll welcome him in. And together we'll sit at the feet of Jesus. I will tell them of all the crazy chaos of the weekend, as I tuck those memories in my heart, one by one. And I will praise God for the each and every moment. And Mr. Sadness will transform into Mr. Joy... at precisely the right time.