A few weeks ago I had a really wretched day of motherhood. I had been hit, kicked, spit on, noses wiped on my shoulder, told that I’m mean (the worst mom in the world actually), cleaned up half a tube of toothpaste smeared all over body parts, wiped up pee and poop, swept up a full container of hot chocolate powder dumped on the floor and used as an indoor sandbox (after sweeping it into a pile and leaving the room to get the dustpan… they got into it again and re-distributed it all over the kitchen floor-unreal!), bathed mud covered children who had unhooked the sprinklers I had strategically placed to repair the lawns dead yellow spots, to create mud holes where mud holes should not be, and I took all four kids to nursery at church while I attended a preparedness class followed by chasing kids with wipes trying to catch all of the blue frosting from cookies as they ran about dropping frosting everywhere despite my repeated demands that they sit and eat or hand over the treats!
By the time we got home, I was not feeling the joy of motherhood. I was feeling battered, beaten, hen pecked, exhausted and discouraged. Do you ever feel this way? Then one of those moments occurred that washes away the pains of a hard day of parenting and returns my mother heart to peace and love and reminds me of the greater eternal perspective of what I am trying to achieve.
After nursing, brushing everyone’s teeth and saying our family prayer, I tucked everyone into bed and sat down on the stairs between the two kid bedrooms and began our children’s hour routine. This relaxes me as much as it does the children. After the last story, Abby came over to me and asked if I would rock her like a baby and she could wear her rocking shirt until she falls asleep. I dismissed this idea and told her to get back into her bed and that it was too late. She persisted and after saying good night to the boys, I turned again to Abby and she had retrieved her “rocking shirt” and brought it to me. She was given a shirt from Brigham’s parents that says, “My mom ROCKS”. I realized in that moment, as she stood there in nothing but her underwear, holding up her “rocking shirt” for me to see, that she understood this phrase to mean that her mom holds and rocks her. My heart collapsed with and intense outpouring of love for this sweet four year old and her plea to be held, rocked and loved. My terrible day flashed before me and it was immediately washed away by this one moment of intense love.
I helped her pull the “rocking shirt” over her messy-end-of-the-day-tangled ponytails and scooped her up in my arms. We sat down together in my Great Grandma May’s rocking chair and began to slowly rock. We rocked and rocked and rocked as I stroked Abby’s hair and soaked in the joy of motherhood. I reflected on Abby’s simple interpretation of “My Mom Rocks” and re-evaluated my role as mother. To be a mom that truly “ROCKS” is to take time to “rock” and to take time for all of the other activities that mean so much in a little ones life. I hope I’ll remember what Abby taught me tonight and focus more on being a mom that “rocks”.
I snuck back into her room and captured this photo. You can see her “rocking shirt”. My little sweetie, Abby.
