(Mother’s Day 2017, the first Mother’s Day since I was a mom that I spent away from my kids, except the one I was pregnant with)
I started to write a post about Mother’s Day and how difficult it can be. It occurred to me as I was writing that there was still time to do something about that.
It has been a long debunked myth that men can read minds. Yet I still remain hopeful in certain situations that this will prove to be untrue.
One of those situations is Mother’s Day.
For homeschool devotions, we are reading Rediscover Jesus: An Invitation, by Matthew Kelly. It was handed out at our church during Lent.
The the book was written for grown ups, but on a very basic level; I’m guessing third grade. The only thing that makes it adult is that the examples he uses to illustrate points are ones that primarily relate to work, marriage, parenting, etc. I mainly edited these references on the fly to either eliminate things my kids wouldn’t get, or mostly, change the examples to ones kids would relate to. I incorporated my own examples about school, duty as it relates to being a kid (obedience, chores, etc.), friendships, and siblings.
I have appreciated the bite-sized chapters. In them, Kelly challenges us to add practices to our lives to help grow our faith. He supports his claims with his examples and with scripture. He gives the reader things to do right now – ways to start small with direction to take it to the next level with time.
A couple of days ago, chapter was “Comfortably Comfortable.” The subject? The importance of self denial in spiritual growth.
In our second apartment, year two of our marriage, we painted feature walls in the living room, kitchen, dining room, and master bedroom. Our ground floor apartment got little light and had all white walls. Before the feature walls, our living space was both dark and stark. Not a good combination.
My favorite wall was the orange faux finish we did in the dining room. I don’t really like orange, so I don’t know why I ended up going with that color, but it was rich and deep, and made me happy every time I walked past it. I was sad to paint it over with primer when our lease was up at the end of the year and we moved into our first home.
While I miss my orange feature wall, I could never make myself do anything so bold in this house. Each time I paint a room, it means my kids have to fend for themselves for 24-48 hours, which they don’t mind, but means that laundry, dishes, and cooking aren’t happening. Plus, my energy waxes and wanes, and if I paint it and hate it, I may not have the get-up-and-go to fix it for months.
I don’t know about you, but for me, winters have gotten harder as each year has gone by. My body and mind suffer from the lack of light. Many times when I start getting my energy back in the spring, it is spent working to bring more light to the house to help with the dark next winter. I paint lighter colors on the walls, add timers for my lights (the poor man’s smart bulb), and make new pillow covers and quilts.
During one of these nesting pushes, I painted two walls in the gold living room a shade of cream, thinking it would help bring more light in. I had already painted my dining room blush pink and loved it, and figured this would have the same effect.
A while back, I came across these artistic representations of mental illness as little monsters. I can’t remember who first sent me their way, but I really resonated with the idea. Especially that anxiety is a little, hairy living being. In my mind, it latches onto the back of one shoulder and hangs on to different things in my life, whatever is providing the most interest and fuel. Recently, its entire existence was being fed with our marriage problems. We are still cautious, but the crisis seems to have passed. Anxiety got hungry and after just over a week of calm, it latched onto my self worth.
The last four days have been tough.
I worked another night shift this past weekend, and a brief chat with another nurse on the floor that night reminded me how easy I had it with my assignment. I was busy, but I had time to take good care of my patients, and make plans for how I would spend my time over the course of the shift that, for the most part, weren’t waylaid by unexpected occurrences. At the end of the shift, I came in to say goodbye to one of my patients, and she asked if she could give me a hug. I said yes.
Since I work very part-time, if a patient is having a longer stay, there is a very good chance that the eight hours I spend with them will be forgettable. I do my best to make their lives better in the short time that I spend with them, but I don’t hang onto any expectations that it will make a big difference for them or their families.
Despite the fact that I obviously made impression on a patient, I left wishing I’d been able to do more. As I walked towards the stairs on my way home, I absently pulled my phone out, opened up Instagram, and started scrolling. One of my friends had tagged a post with someone else we went to school with. I clicked through to her Instagram, then to her website. If the site is any indication, she’s successful and happy.
I knew her because we lived in the same suite freshman year. She lived next door to me and for some reason, she didn’t like me. She took it upon herself to “fix” me, since I didn’t wear makeup or even really know how to use it, let alone how to shape my brows properly.
