Mothering is hard because . . .
. . . on Rose's share day when the children are supposed to bring something to school that begins with the letter "R", and I suggest Rose bring a rose or a sprig of rosemary, and after she agrees and helps me pick the plants and put them in a vase, she decides at the last minute that she'd rather bring a box of raisins.
. . . on the morning I have to myself and on a day when Lee is excited to go to school and watch a movie about penguins with his class, he wakes up with a wheezing cough and a runny nose, and despite his pleas to go to school, I must keep him home with me.
. . . I lay wide awake in my bed listening to Lee coughing and wondering what more might be done to help him sleep peacefully. And when I can think of nothing else, I then wonder if he is as distraught as me or if he is already asleep.
. . . I can hardly get through a day without seeing internet articles or hearing a parent or grandparent or magazine telling me to do different and conflicting things, and how, if I don't do them, my child will end up in jail.
. . . the little people always seem to be standing where I need to walk or walking very slowly in front of me when I need to get somewhere quickly.
. . . when Lee and Rose fight and act as if they can't stand one another, and then I separate them, they take a great amount of pleasure trying to secretly get back together and laugh about their naughtiness like little cronies.
. . . everything is so foreign and frightening and seemingly detrimental with the first child.
. . . the children have no tip-it-back-up reflex. So when the milk jug starts to spill, they stand there staring at it as if this fountain of white liquid were a brand new phenomenon and they wonder what will happen next.
. . . everyone seems to frown upon small children having screen time, but they frown even more upon children entertaining themselves in creative ways in public places.
. . . when I give my children the freedom to dress themselves, I must live with the real or imagined looks that others give me when they see the results.
. . . allowing my children to play hard in the backyard means that some of their clothes are ruined and the house is covered in dust and fingerprints.
. . . it gives me the impression that I have control of these little children's futures, and it is so easy to forget that I neither made them nor am going to save their souls. I suppose then that mothering can be rather easy because I don't have to fret about anything. Everything is in God's hands: their education, their personality quirks, their understanding of the bible, their future careers, everything.