thanks, but...

"I couldn't do it."

If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me... we might have been able to cover Sam's Duke bill without insurance. And that amount of that bill would have covered the cost of our house twice, our van, and part of our truck. Yee-ouch. I appreciate the sentiment behind the comment because, if nothing else, it lends value to my effort. But saying, "I couldn't do it," is something that is appropriate to say if you hear me talk about planning to swim the English Channel or do an Ironman triathlon while pushing Sam in my running stroller. Because those are things that I might attempt to do if I were crazy. Or really, really, really fit. But mainly, those are hard things that I would choose to do. Optional hard things that I might attempt because they are challenging. Battling your baby over drinking bottles to keep him alive, pumping all day and all night because you are convinced it is the best thing for your baby's health, giving heparin shots twice a day, giving up virtually all social interaction because of your baby's shattered immune system, dealing with severe chronic reflux- these are not hard things that I chose to do. I did them (and still do them) because I honestly feel that there is no other viable choice. Just like so many other mothers that deal with chronic reflux, or have a child or children with special needs, who have husbands that work crazy hours or deploy, those mothers that stay up all night catching their child's vomit in a bowl, giving tylenol enemas for fever because that poor baby can't keep down liquid meds, mothers who have children with diabetes and require constant monitoring, mothers who have children that can't have gluten or red dye, mother who undergo chemo, mothers that die inside because their adult child is struggling, mothers that mother their children and also mother their parents at the same time- these mothers do hard things. These mothers do not get up in the morning and say, "I am going to do hard things today! Because I am awesome! I am Mother, hear me ROAR!" No. These mothers do things that are hard because there is no other choice. Not really. I do the things I do because I have carefully weighed my options (if there appear to be any) and have determined that there is No. Other. Choice. To all the moms who have said to me, "I couldn't do it." I challenge you- what would you do? I bet you'd do the same thing I did. I bet you'd put yourself aside and give every bit of yourself- and you'd probably do it better than I have.

I don't know how you do it!"

Me either. And if you figure it out, let me know, ok? Just kidding. I know how I do it. I don't. At least, I don't do it by myself. I'm not awesome. I'm not Super Mom. If I ever met Super Mom, I seriously doubt that we would get along. In fact, I might purposely accidently trip her on her way out of the Super Mom Cape Store. Super Mom isn't real. But if she were, I bet she wouldn't lose her temper as much as I do. I bet she wouldn't break down crying during her daughter's gymnastics practice when she sees a 1 year old deftly drinking from the same sippy cup that her 2.5 year old is drinking from- except she has to hold her son's cup so he won't choke. And he's not drinking juice like the 1 year old. He's drinking formula. She wouldn't cry tears of jealousy over that. She is the Proverbs 31 woman that homeschools five kids while also selling Creative Memories, Thirty-One and Scentsy from home. She is mature. She doesn't sometimes ask her son, "Why can't you just be NORMAL?" She is able to find the time to sit down and have quality time with her daughter even though her son is sick. She is able to give 100% to both kids all the time. She doesn't dread going to bed at night- worrying about what exciting/dreadful events the night may hold.

Yeah. I'm definitely not Super Mom. I kind of wish I was. I am dirty and stained, ragged and bruised.

"I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread."
                                                      -Bilbo Baggins, The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

I am barely holding it together on my good days. I feel like I've been through Hell and sometimes still visit. I am weak, He is strong.

I lift my eyes to the hills-
  where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
  the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip-
  He who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
  will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you-
  the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day;
 nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm-
  He will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.
           Psalm 121 (NIV)

He does not slumber or sleep. He will watch over me. I will lift my eyes. When I lift my eyes, they cannot be on myself or my circumstances. My trouble comes when I fail to lift my eyes. He doesn't always calm the storm, but he will walk beside me on the water through the storm. Sometimes the wind blows so hard that I can't hear Him. 

So, to all of you that have said these things to me: thank you. I know you meant it in a complimentary manner. But please, if there is credit to give, give it to Whom it is due. When I fail, it is because of my human-ness. When I succeed- it is only because my Jesus has enabled me. He has filled my weak empty places and glorified my circumstances.

And if any of you still retain any doubts about my humanity, keep following this blog. Because I am the poster child for the fallen mom. I only fail on days that end in "y."