While my task may never garner me framed certificates on the wall, lofty titles when I'm announced or extra initials added to my signature, it has gained me a refrigerator covered in lovely stick-figure images of me, the title of mama and a place at the head of a table surrounded by the loves of my life
So when I'm tempted to run and hide (okay sometimes I do stake out in the laundry room for as long as it takes for someone to realize I've gone missing), I recall that my vocation isn't to become an expert. In fact, there is probably some sin of pride involved in thinking myself so brilliant. My vocation is to remain open to life, to accept God's Will and to repeatedly humble myself by seeking His aid.
ZEBULLON, NC (Catholic Online) - One might think that with nearly seventeen years of experience under my maternity belt and exposure to a wide array of character traits, I'd have mastered this parenting gig by now. If I'd spent this much time and effort studying a particular field/subject, I'd have attained a doctorate. Surely, the same amount of time devoted to a single career path would have led to promotions and accolades.But alas anyone who considers herself thoroughly proficient in mothering should be honest enough to admit that she is less an expert and more of an adapter. Because the moment we think we've got it all figured out, a child will do an about-face or God will bless us with a delightful new bundle of joy, who will no doubt turn our well-learned lessons upside-down.
I remember how smart I once thought I was. Raising two little balls of energy (aka boys), I was proud of the fact that neither of them ever drew on the walls of my well-kept home. Certainly, it was my careful instructions, my thoughtful parenting and my wise securing of art instruments that was responsible for this kind of obedience and intelligence. Those parents, whose walls were littered with chicken-scratch scribbling, hadn't been putting in the time or paying enough attention to their little Picassoes. Then, came little ball number three and I'm pretty sure I heard God laugh at my pride. Mr. Clever waited until he was just old enough to scale the top bunk of his elder brothers' bed and it was up there that he, blue ball-point pen in fist, decorated my solid colored walls with his tot-inspirations.
Like so many other misguided parents, I began this journey with a clear notion that boys had no need of guns and competition was overrated. Following suit after their father's passion, we offered our eldest sons a kitchen set and to instill the proper fathering abilities a baby doll made its way into the playroom. However, I was ill-prepared to deal with the wrestling matches which commenced every sunrise. No sooner did my little loves carry their footy-pajama-ed selves into my bedroom each morning then they threw one another down and began kicking each other with ferocious concentration.??
Nothing was out of bounds when it came to competition either. From who could eat his cereal faster to who could jump higher, those first sons engaged in all manner of rivalry. And no one spends time in the company of boys without discovering that weaponry is developed from everything from a gun-shaped hand to a pointy stick. Despite what one might think, they were also the best of friends which I suppose is what boggled my female brain all the more.
Son number three entered the picture and as he grew he found himself the odd-man-out. It was painful at times to watch as he attempted to fit himself into the brotherly bond and transform the familial couple into the three musketeers. My husband and I did our best to shove him in between and instruct the trio on the value of sharing (toys, time and space), but ultimately that child needed to establish himself in the pecking order.? His role had less to do with mom and dad's well-planned parenting and more to do with finding his own way in the world of Brelinskyville.
My college roommate was raising her own duo of sons at this time and so inspiration led her to mail me her only copy of Dr. James Dobson's book Bringing Up Boys. A life changer for me, that book explained the value and necessity for male masculinity, as opposed to male femininity. Dr. Dobson knew my kids it seemed, he'd seen their kind of "odd" behavior and he enlightened me as to it merits. He demonstrated how boys learn to be men through competition and feats of strength. How they gain confidence and establish themselves as leaders through rough play and conflict. Dr. Dobson allowed me to remove myself from the picture, to separate my own feminine ideals from my parenting method.
Life changing, indeed, to realize that God has called me to raise these boys into men. Yes, they are my children, but they aren't truly little pictures of me, little extensions of my ideal-self, they are images of their Father, their Almighty Father.
So just as I'd established some new ground rules for myself, God smiled on me again and sent us a sweet armful of pink. Here she was, my first daughter, the fulfillment of my piggy-tailed, baby doll toting dreams. Someone who would think like me and act like me, or so I thought. However, if son number three gave numbers one and two a run for their money, he'd have nothing on this tiny sweetheart. Dresses and frills were tolerated only so long as required, but what she sought was inclusion and top-billing in the world of brotherhood. If they could run fast, so would she. If those boys could score a soccer goal, so would she or at least she'd dedicate every ounce of her female energy to trying.
Another pink darling came along and ...
Source: http://www.catholic.org/hf/family/story.php?id=50795&wf=rsscol
champs calvin johnson calvin johnson sound of music Peter Billingsley festivus festivus
কোন মন্তব্য নেই:
একটি মন্তব্য পোস্ট করুন