When it's Hardest to be a Mother

Sophia's "Mom, can we talk?" often comes when it's late and making it back downstairs after saying good-night to each sleepy head is my number one goal. There are dishes to be finished, laundry to be folded, schedules to be confirmed, and yes, a ME to attend to. On those days when a shower just doesn't seem to happen before 10 PM, it's all I can think about.

But I've often found that I'm the best mother when it's HARDEST to be a mother. When I have to work at it. When I have to pray for strength to be something that, at that moment, I'm not quite up to being.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'll be right there."

I tell you the heart-to-hearts on the end of her bed when she should be sleeping are lovely. Just lovely.

I count my blessings to be a mother and have such moments when I am really "there" for her. To help her make sense of mortality and it's challenges and help her know where to find strength.  And I leave her room thinking, PLEASE. MORE. OF. THIS.

Twenty minutes earlier her voice had interrupted my sigh of finally having some alone-time. My shoulders had admittedly slumped as the words "not now" fought for justification. But I left her room far from the drained woman who resolved to go in earlier.

I am amazed at this thing called motherhood--this thing that many in the world around me see as beneath my potential. Motherhood at its best and particularly when it is hardest, latches onto all the creative powers of eternity, transforming both those mothered and those mothering.

Cookies

We have a new drainage ditch lining our steep driveway, so on Thursday I stepped out the front door to check how it was working in the heavy rain.  

Sophia made cookies.

My ten-year-old  is no stranger in the kitchen, particularly when it comes to baking cookies.

I have been working (and working) with her on reading recipes all the way through before beginning.  Also, on reading them carefully, paying attention to details.  I'm sure you can guess why.

There have been many times when I have been called back to the kitchen with questions like, "Doesn't this dough look kind of funny?" Or, "How am I supposed to roll all of these crumbs into a ball?"

So, it was no surprise to me when the front door opened and a voice called out, "Mom?  I accidentally put two CUPS of baking powder in the cookies.  Should I start over?"

Bless her heart.  Yes, I thought that would be a good idea.

Usually, after pulling one or two pans out of the oven, she caves.  "I think I'm done," she confesses.  "Can you finish baking the rest?"  Yep, we have LOTS of leftover cookie dough in our freezer.

But this time she baked up the whole recipe.  The recipe that calls for FIVE cups of white flour, and an ADDITIONAL FOUR cups of rolled oats, ground into flour.

126 Cookies.

She made 126 VERY TASTY cookies.  Perfect to dunk in a glass of cold milk.

Standing in the kitchen long enough to bake 126 cookies deserves special recognition at family council, right?  I mean, now I don't have to think so hard about how we are going to meet our recommended daily butter and sugar requirements.  Phew!

The award should really be entitled "Freezer Filler" but I liked the sound of "Pantry Packer" better.

Anyone want to offer me some free art lessons?  Anyone?

Good job, my darling "Pantry Packer!"