Our child is perfect

     I am a card-carrying member of the Type A Club.  My house is always clean, my husband and I never fight, and my child...well, he's perfect.  His blonde hair is combed to the side and there's not a hair out of place.  He never gets sick, always obeys, and he's already potty trained, at 20 months.  I typically have the house immaculate, the table set, and supper hot and ready when my incredibly hunky husband walks in from work each day.  I gleefully greet him at the door, my pearls in place around my neck, as he dips me for a romantic kiss before crossing the threshold.  Our son claps in celebration as he watches, then returns to quietly playing on his own, but never making a mess.  Oh, did I mention he can already read novels?  He can already accurately pitch a baseball at 45 miles an hour.  We get at least 8 hours of sleep each night and have tons of money.  Do you need some?  Bless your heart.

     Raise your hand if you think I'm being facetious!  Only two things mentioned above are true: 1-I'm soooooo Type A  2-My husband really is hunky.  Have you seen him?

     I have been pondering this blog for a while and today was finally the day that tipped me over the edge to do it.  I started out the day with my usual list of items to accomplish but it seems as though hardly any of them got done.  What I thought would be a normal day ended up with Marcus being diagnosed as having Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease (don't worry - just a yucky virus, not a DISEASE) followed by a tirade of whining, screaming, crying "hold me!" and mess-making.  I didn't get supper made, the house was FAR from tidy, and that load of laundry I washed and dried yesterday is STILL in the dryer.

     Let's stop and start with this:

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.  Therefore, let us do good to all people, especially those who belong to the family of believers."  ~Galatians 6:9-10

     "Lord, I'm weary."  I told Him that this evening when my husband left to go to the gym, then off to his guy's night out.  "Come to ME all who are weary, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28), He told me.  I still felt myself getting angry with because my husband got to go work out and enjoy the company of others.  He wasn't quarantined to the house.  Why couldn't IIIIIII go?  The answer: "God opposes the proud and gives grace to the humble." (James 4:6) "Simmer down, Sister.  No need to be haughty and proud."  I need to check myself.

     So what's the truth?  How does our life REALLY look?  Well, it's quite simple.  I strive for our life to look like that, but it flat out doesn't.  Some days, the house looks good when he comes in.  Some days I actually have supper cooked when he gets home.  Some days I have both (gasp!). But our precious son is FAR from perfect.  He's a lean, mean, mess-making machine and he's out to destroy everything in his path.  He's strong-willed, aggressive, and flat out loud, but I love him with all my heart.  Some days I think his little giggle can cure cancer.  He's working on that whole "obeying" thing, but some most days it's a struggle.  Yes, he's peed in the potty before, but again, it's a work in progress.  He does like to read, though (as long as there are pictures of things he knows how to say).

     Why do I write this?  To ENCOURAGE you (1 Thessalonians 4:18) that you're not the only one who wants that perfect life but falls short.  To ENCOURAGE you to press on and keep working TOWARDS those goals (be it daily tasks or high and lofty).  And finally, I write this so hopefully someone will tell me that I'm not alone.  Tell me that I'm not the only one who wishes I had it together, but I don't.  That doesn't mean I should just give up all together.  Where would we be then???  But I need not get so frazzled when every little thing doesn't go my way or when I'm thrown a curve ball.  I'm learning to roll with it.  How about you?

He's been in pajamas most of the day and I am dressed in a ball cap & a snot-covered shirt.  Hello, Mrs. Cleaver.