The other day I asked if you wanted to know something about me. Begged you to ask me something, really. And you did! Yay! I answered some of them in round 1. Here’s round 2.
Stacey asked lots of wonderful questions.
Stacey, girl, you get a whole post to yourself! I’m already a little too verbose according to all the “this is what you should do in a blog” studies, but I can’t make myself not talk like we were chatting over koolaid, so, lengthy is what you get.
Let’s break it down, shall we?
“Your kids look happy and healthy, so it must be working fine.”
~The kids do seem happy. Except when I make them do school work or chores. Eat their veggies or quit arguing with their sister. Brush their teeth or go to bed. But then, I hear that’s normal. And my marvelous pediatrician assures me they are healthy (even that skinny minny one of the bunch!)
Are your kids calm or rowdy?
~Oh my goodness I’m rolling on the floor laughing at this one! They are ridiculously rowdy! They wrestle until someone gets hurt (and they always get hurt, right?!), they jump off couches, climb walls (literally, they have competitions to see who can climb to the top of the door frame the quickest), they’ve somehow managed to tear the netting around the trampoline (how is that even possible?!), they rough house in the grocery store line, the 3 year old throws shoes from the back of the van. Oh, the rowdiness!
“What’s your most effective way to deal with noise level in the house?”
~I dream of carpet. We have these great Pergo fake wood floors throughout the house. Awesome for spills and potty training, however, the echo factor is not my friend. Sound bounces off every wall in the house. Times 5. And I didn’t grow up in a house full of people. Though I have sisters I didn’t grow up with them (they are so much older), I was used to my parents (quiet people by nature) and me. No one in my space, no one to share with, no one talking nonstop. It was all about me. Man, what a paradigm shift. I try to tolerate it for the most part. Until I can’t stand it anymore and then I send them outside. Or start a quiet show (here’s the main reason I hate Spongebob – the racket on that show does me in). We do cycles around here. Quiet first thing in the morning, rowdy for awhile, quiet for school, rowdy, quiet for rest time, rowdy. That way they get what they need and I don’t scream like a crazy person when I go into sensory overload.
“How did you know how many kids you could “handle”? How did you get to 5 and stop? How do they all get “enuf” attn? I’m not criticizing, just looking for ideas on how to balance the needs of my 3.”
~Ooh, this is a biggie. Hold onto your hats for all the gems hidden in this one. First of all – we re-evaluate after every child. I always thought I wanted a big family (five was the number in my head since I was in junior high). Then we had our first son who was an awesome surprise. And I was knocked onto my selfish hiney. What on earth?! But I was so madly in love with him in spite of my selfishness and longing for the fast lane of big city working, that we immediately started trying for a second child. At the point that we had 2 in the house I kinda lost my mind. Daily. Cried, lashed out at God, demanded my husband help me (but it was never enough, it never is, is it?), spent a lot of time tending to needs, but angry. It was not how I had imagined it. We were really struggling with the quiver full movement and our beliefs on that subject at the time. I remember wanting more children though. And my husband saying, very wisely, we can’t be having more children if I can’t handle the 2 we have. And I remember falling apart and telling him it wasn’t about having more or not, but about trying to figure out how to have the 2 we had and do it well. Because I wasn’t. Time passed and I cried at my second son’s first birthday when I wasn’t pregnant that time around. We even tried oral birth control (my husband and I felt a very strong conviction to stop them after one month). A few months later and we tried for the child who would be our one and only girl. By then, God was growing a little fruit in my life. It had gotten easier – this parenting gig. My attitude had changed – I enjoyed being home. And it didn’t hurt that my girl was so laid back. Matt was ready to be done. Two boys and a girl – no more. But I was so sad – threw fits, begged, was not a gracious woman about it. One more time. And we were blessed with BigMan. That’s it, though. No more. Done. We didn’t have much money (never a great excuse, but understandable since my awesome husband is the one out working so hard for us) and that’s it. I remember asking before donating all of our baby stuff if we were really through. Repeatedly. I was becoming a constant drip. He finally said, ”Whatever you think.” I knew that was it. We had already discussed it, I donated the stuff. I prayed for contentment. Or maybe a change of heart for him. Or both. My husband got a new job, a raise. And when my body was ready again I began praying. But never said a word to him. I knew this time I wanted it to be different. I didn’t want to fight, fuss, beg. I wanted it to be his idea. I prayed for contentment, the changing of his mind, peace, whatever, just … something! And one day he changed his mind. He talked to me about having more children. And God blessed us again!
How do they get enough? I don’t know. I’m glad you asked me now and not a few weeks back when I was a mess. Because the answer I have for you now is how I really feel, not some grey slump. I believe that it’s a trade off. That for everything they give up in a large family (one on one time, more stuff, undivided attention) they gain so much more. They gain a better understanding of the world and the way it should work. They gain insight into scripture that’s hard to impart when there are less children in a home. Putting others first and loving your enemy become daily battles. They have constant companionship. And I’m able to give them more than the average public schooled child (oh, I know I’m stepping on toes, and I’m sorry, really I am, it’s just true when you break the numbers down) I’m there around the clock to kiss away their booboos and tears, to correct unseemly behavior, to smile at them, to rub their back. Even if it’s not the amount of attention they would get if there were only two of them, it’s constant.
How did we get to 5 and stop? Well, because when I asked my husband what our baby’s nickname should be he said, “The Finalist!” and laughed. And I did too. Especially after that hard pregnancy. And the outside world will tell you risks go up as I get older (and I am, you know, getting older). And our faith has to be stronger than what it is. Because I know that’s really the issue. Trusting that He has it under control. All of it. Would I have more? Yes. (I think. I don’t know.) Will we? I don’t know. Am I okay with that? Absolutely. I do know that my husband informed me the other day that he’s so sick of hearing people say to him “You are through having kids now, aren’t you?” That he’s begun answering “Nope, we’re aiming for ten. Just call us Duggar lite.” Is he kidding? Of course. Is he really? I don’t know.
“And finally, are you feeling better? I read how you were down a while back…I hope your heart is healed.”
~It is! My heart is strong again! And as with all His miracles I don’t understand it. I just rejoice in it. Awhile back I talked frequently of pondering my shortcomings, of struggling, of the beginning of gaining perspective and then my confession of my waning faith. I knew that night was special. But how could a night be more special than leading your daughter to follow Christ and to see your two older sons who’ve already decided to follow Him decide they are ready to be baptized? All at once. A few short hours after praying for God to help my unbelief. Un.believ.able. I knew my tears washed away so much grey, but I didn’t know the extent of the gloom until days had passed. The sun shone again. Seriously, night after night, I slowly realized I didn’t hear even the faintest whisper of one guilt-ridden “you failed today.” Not one “why would you have this many children? You aren’t doing any of this well.” It was gone. As was the paralyzing fear that I had been living in about the well-being of my children. Gone. Y’all, I’m gonna get downright crazy on you. The oppression lifted. The heaviness was wiped away. Even though I’d been praying through it all that time night after night, I hadn’t faced the real issue – my lack of belief in Him. My faith in a God I couldn’t believe in anymore. Just as James said in James 1:5-8 “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him. 6But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord; 8he is a double-minded man, unstable in all he does.” I was truly unstable in all I did. I confessed it as the sin it was and asked for help in a belief that I didn’t have anymore. And there He was, holding my hand, lifting my burdens all over again. Just like He always does. And the rain passed. Yes, Stacey, my heart is healed! I found forgiveness for myself and I feel free to shine again!
