The Tired Mom's Mite

I started today with a meltdown and am finish it feeling refreshed and hopeful. It’s nice when that happens.

Liam has been showing signs of toilet training readiness since before James was born, but I didn’t want to tackle the project until after the baby came. I decided a little while ago that we would try the three-day method, and waited for a weekend (plus a Monday) that weren’t already completely booked with activities. The three-day method requires that you stay home for the whole three days and focus only on potty training. Once the three days have elapsed, the child will be trained. Or so the book says. The calendar was clear this past weekend, so we started on Saturday. And today, Liam was back in a diaper. It’s not that it went terribly. He actually made some progress. It’s just that Mommy is really really tired! After two big accidents this morning, I called Brendan for some moral support. We decided that is was better for everyone’s sanity to just put the diaper on and leave the house. I’m glad I did – we all needed to get out!

For the past couple months, I’ve been going to a mom’s group at St. Mary’s on Wednesdays, so I headed there this morning. We meet in the church basement and the kids play while we visit and read Scripture together or listen to a guest speaker. When we do lectio divina, it’s always using the Gospel for the following Sunday. Today, our Scripture reading was the story of the widow’s mite. In our conversation following the reading, we talked about how difficult it can be to set aside time for prayer, but that the Lord is pleased even with our humble offerings. Caring for infants and toddlers, we will very rarely get the uninterrupted hour of daily prayer we would like – but we can offer what we have.

This idea of giving what we have resonated with me, not only in terms of prayer, but in every facet of my life as a mother. In the midst of my frustration over potty training, I was feeling the depth of my weakness: my fatigue, my impatience, my selfish desire for comfort. I wanted to do better, but I felt I couldn’t give anything more. And then here was this story of the poor widow, who out of her poverty, gave all she had. I was reminded of the beauty of an offering made out of poverty. I’m not perfect, I don’t have endless patience, I yell at my precious wide-eyed toddler and then feel badly about it… but I can still try to do better tomorrow. I can still give all I have, even if I am poor. I know this doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t look after myself – I need time to re-energize and recharge – but more often than not, I will be called to give out of my poverty. There’s a certain comfort in that, when I really stop to think about it. God is pleased with my efforts but he knows they are not enough on their own – so he steps in to make up the difference. He gives me grace to get through the day, friends to give me support and advice, and a husband who comes home early on the days he knows I need it most. So perhaps my poverty isn’t all that poor after all. Or maybe that’s just part of God’s contradictory way: in our weakness, we find strength.    

A few photos of my sweet boys (who make it all worthwhile!):

In their matching jammies from Nana

All Saints party at the Baker's (Liam is a monkey but refused to put the hood part on)

Story time with Liam & James!
(Yes, that's the monkey costume again - he found it in a bag and asked to put it on!)

Over the Sea to Skye

Two years ago, on the first weekend of November, Brendan, Liam and I set out on our first road trip as a family, to the Scottish Isle of Skye. This weekend excursion would set the tone for our entire sojourn in Scotland, providing the opportunity to forge new friendships and solidifying in us the desire to make the absolute most of our time abroad. We both fell immediately in love with Scotland, and this trip, at the outset of our travels, branded the hills in our hearts. Impossible not to love a place this beautiful:

On this second anniversary of our arrival in Scotland, I find myself once again remembering. I’m nostalgic again, perhaps more so this year because the infant now in my arms looks so much like his big brother did two years ago. Dressing James in Liam’s sleepers and seeing the familiar expressions on his little face remind me of my initiation into motherhood, set against the backdrop of our first family adventure. I’m happy to be home, to be settled in our new house, to be able to share my beautiful boys with family and friends, but remembering still evokes in me a longing for what was. I think there are several reasons for this.

Our time in Scotland launched us into family life and was the beginning of my vocation as a mother. I think there’s always a certain romance about the beginning of things, if they are happy things, as these were.

I had never before had the opportunity to travel abroad with such freedom. The prospect of being able to go virtually anywhere we wanted in the UK and on the continent was exciting to me. And I was travelling with Brendan, whose enthusiasm is invigorating.

Stirling is beautiful and I found a home in its beauty. I’ve noticed through the years that most Maritimers I’ve met are particularly identified with their home – home is part of who they are, and they speak of it with affection and reverence. They have a deep appreciation for place, which I had not experienced personally until I discovered Stirling. I love my home, but not so much for the place as for the people – my family and friends make this place special to me. I loved the people I met in Stirling, but I also loved the place. It spoke to me in a way no other place has – I never tired of looking out at Dumyat and seeing the Wallace Monument, of admiring how differently the light painted it each day. Place has new meaning to me now, and although I still think that having a vibrant community can make any place livable, there is something to be said for the character of the place itself.

Because we knew our time abroad was limited, we dedicated ourselves to making the most of it. We were not faced with an indefinite horizon that allowed us to get lazy about how we spent our days. We knew the time was short, so we packed in as much as we could. Having the end in sight inspired us not to waste any time. It’s still possible to live with that kind of purposefulness – after all, life itself has a term, for some shorter than for others – but when the end of a chapter is not so clearly defined, it’s hard to keep up the motivation.

Our time away opened my eyes to the exciting possibilities of life. If we could do this, what else could we do?! I know I can’t always be living for the next exciting adventure, and that to be truly happy, we have to find joy in the simple things, but going to Scotland taught me not to be afraid to think outside the box. Many opportunities will come our way, and I don’t want to be afraid to try something just because it’s out of the ordinary or might require more effort to organize. I don’t want to shut out the possibility of being surprised by the bends our path will take.

Reflecting on the things I learned from our adventures abroad is important to me. We didn’t go to Scotland just to go to Scotland. We went to learn and to grow, and to become a family. I’m grateful for that. And both Brendan and I have given ourselves the challenge to continue along the path of intentional living, so that no matter where we find ourselves as a family, we will always seize opportunities to learn and grow.