I Think I'll Move to Whoville
A few weeks ago, I heard a grandmother share a question that her granddaughter will sometimes ask her when they're spending time together. "Grandma, can we make some memories?" Awww. How precious, right? Only the thought that crosses my mind isn't, "Oh, I should be making precious memories with my children." It's more like, "That's what Grandmas are for. What mom has time for that?"
It didn't stop me from trying a little memory making of my own, though. This morning, since the boys had already spent more than their daily recommended time in front of The Great Brain Melter (a.k.a. the TV), I thought I'd let them help with some of the baking I was doing. And then, 2.3 seconds later, I was contemplating just letting them rot their brains some more. At one point, I was so ready to finish the cookies on my own that I let Sam feed himself spaghetti unsupervised just to distract him. And then I gave him a midday bath.
I'm sorry, but I just don't think two little boys fighting for space as they are perched precariously on a step ladder and touching every potentially messy thing in sight while I'm trying to make something edible is fun. Sure. Now that they're asleep and I'm sitting here with only the sound of the keyboard in my ears, I can look back and feel a small smile making its way onto my face as I picture their angelic faces and helpful little hands. At the time, not so much. At one point, I did announce to them, "This isn't fun!"
I know. Horrible.
We read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas a couple nights ago, and I kind of identified with the poor Grinch just a little. I mean, all that singing and NOISE wafting up from Whoville below. I feel his pain. Sometimes you just want a quiet moment to yourself.
I must admit, though, that those little Whos down in Whoville really knew a thing or two about Christmas. Things didn’t exactly go their way. That quiet-loving, roast-beast-hating Grinch took away all their Christmas stuff, leaving them with some pretty sad circumstances, and what did they do?
They didn't miss a beat! They just hopped right on out there in that little circle of theirs and started belting out their happy Christmas song. It's like they didn't even notice the stuff was missing! And that got the Grinch’s attention like their years of picture perfect celebrations never had.
Maybe they're the ones who came up with a little sign I saw the other day:
Christmas is not your birthday.
I think I’ll make that my Christmas motto this year. It goes along with a little something I have to remind myself of pretty regularly: This is life is not about you, Amy.
Oh, Lord, help me to laugh when the floor is covered in sugar. Help me to smile when they're throwing punches. Help me to sing when the dishes are piled high. And when I don’t, help me to receive your forgiveness and move on.
Make me a little less like the Grinch and a little more like Cindy Lou Who. Teach me that it's not about perfection, it's about redemption.
It didn't stop me from trying a little memory making of my own, though. This morning, since the boys had already spent more than their daily recommended time in front of The Great Brain Melter (a.k.a. the TV), I thought I'd let them help with some of the baking I was doing. And then, 2.3 seconds later, I was contemplating just letting them rot their brains some more. At one point, I was so ready to finish the cookies on my own that I let Sam feed himself spaghetti unsupervised just to distract him. And then I gave him a midday bath.
I'm sorry, but I just don't think two little boys fighting for space as they are perched precariously on a step ladder and touching every potentially messy thing in sight while I'm trying to make something edible is fun. Sure. Now that they're asleep and I'm sitting here with only the sound of the keyboard in my ears, I can look back and feel a small smile making its way onto my face as I picture their angelic faces and helpful little hands. At the time, not so much. At one point, I did announce to them, "This isn't fun!"
I know. Horrible.
We read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas a couple nights ago, and I kind of identified with the poor Grinch just a little. I mean, all that singing and NOISE wafting up from Whoville below. I feel his pain. Sometimes you just want a quiet moment to yourself.
I must admit, though, that those little Whos down in Whoville really knew a thing or two about Christmas. Things didn’t exactly go their way. That quiet-loving, roast-beast-hating Grinch took away all their Christmas stuff, leaving them with some pretty sad circumstances, and what did they do?
They didn't miss a beat! They just hopped right on out there in that little circle of theirs and started belting out their happy Christmas song. It's like they didn't even notice the stuff was missing! And that got the Grinch’s attention like their years of picture perfect celebrations never had.
Maybe they're the ones who came up with a little sign I saw the other day:
Christmas is not your birthday.
I think I’ll make that my Christmas motto this year. It goes along with a little something I have to remind myself of pretty regularly: This is life is not about you, Amy.
Oh, Lord, help me to laugh when the floor is covered in sugar. Help me to smile when they're throwing punches. Help me to sing when the dishes are piled high. And when I don’t, help me to receive your forgiveness and move on.
Make me a little less like the Grinch and a little more like Cindy Lou Who. Teach me that it's not about perfection, it's about redemption.
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