The other day Tom asked me, half (or more) seriously, why I love the baby best — why I never get mad at her, why she always gets kisses and gaga-happy greetings, and how I can cheerfully drop everything to take care of her ficklest of whims.
Evolutionary biology, I said.
But I do have three other kids; the oldest is ten-going-on-teenager and all four of them are girls: emotional, hormonal, sweet, cutting, endearing, curious, determined females. I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to survive the next twenty years, especially because the memory of my own middle school experience is so fresh, but here is what I have learned:
When kids are most unlovable, they are most in need of love. When they are sour with sickness or stinky with kid sweat and suspicious-smelling mud, they are most in need of hugs. When they are frustrated and impatient, they are most in need of compassion and patience. When they feel most unworthy and insecure, they are most in need of praise and security. When they make choices impossible to understand, they are most in need of understanding.
And when they are angry or sad enough to shout that they hate me or wish I wasn’t their mother, that is when they are most in need of exactly me: with all of my impatience and insecurity and frustration, all of my love and forgiveness and here-take-the-last-bite-of-bread (but don’t touch the brownies), they are most in need of me.
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This was originally a guest post on MamaBlogga for Mother’s Day. I intended to write something else for this space last week, but didn’t. I hope it is etiquette-ly soon enough for me to put it here. And etiquette or not, I realize this is quite pontificatory, not something I usually aspire to, especially in regards to motherhood, but the more I think about it, the more I know it’s true — and also, the more I recognize how utterly hard it is for me to act on said knowledge. Instead, whining makes me yell, screaming makes me want to stab someone (usually myself). I’ve been a mom for ten-plus years, and it ain’t getting any easier.
Admitting ignorance/need for divine help is the first step, right? Although this I do know: it’s worth it. (I think).
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we MUST be from the same blood. I drive myself crazy. I have thought about this concept over and over and over again. i’ve decided i just have issues with self-control and my temper. I just ordered Linda Eyre’s book “I didn’t mean to be a witch” last week……i’ll let you know if it’s any good. (I LOVE their “teaching your children values” book- it’s got great ideas for creating more PEACE and LOVE in homes)
–suzie
I’m okay with it. You’re not even the first guest from that series to repost.
I don’t find this pontificatory at all—I’d call it more epiphanic. But acting on that is always hard. I totally feel ya.
We are so alike in this regards it’s scary. I know when they are the most difficult, they are also the most in need of love. But I have such a hard time giving them what they need because I’m trying to keep from going crazy, and sometimes it’s all I can do to not go insane. Loved this post and that last picture is ADORABLE!
This is exactly why I love your blog–maybe today I work on my frustration. Though, it’s not easy when my kids already do a terrific impression of me taking deep, calming breaths…
Golly she’s lovely.
So true, especially for me with my step kids. There are those times that I have to decide whether to step up and do something that’s out of my comfort zone for/with my step kids or let the opportunity to build a tighter bond slip away. I’m so much happier when I do it even when it’s hard. I’m talking little things like hugs still, and helping with school assignments they whine about at 10 pm (when we thought they had done all their homework after school with their mom), etc.
Lovely Photos, sweet baby.
Here is your requested link to the Patheos article http://www.patheos.com/Resources/Additional-Resources/As-Sisters-in-Zion-Mormon-Feminism-and-Sisterhood.html
Somehow, it missed getting linked. Sorry about that. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for your thoughts over at MMB on my post, sorry it rubbed you the wrong way, that was not my intention.