Workers

Did you hear that story in the news about how in the city of Atlanta, they're taking down all the "Men Working" signs because someone objected to the sexist overtones, and now all the signs just say "Workers?" Well, I am "working" on this blog page, trying to make it prettier, but severely hampered by my ineptitude with Photoshop. Be patient, please, while I consult with my muses -- Tim and Jenny.

I haven't blogged much this week, mostly for lack of energy and cute anecdotes to relate. My head is very, very busy, though -- even though my body, enslaved to the 100-degree heat wave we're having, is anything BUT busy. At least, it doesn't WANT to be busy. But the maids and nannies forgot to show up to work all week, so the poor mistress of the house is -- gasp! -- in charge of staving off domestic chaos all by herself.

Funny, they forgot last week, too.

You know, before you have kids, and even when they're wee ones and mostly agreeable, you're smugly convinced that you will NEVER ... and your children will NEVER ...

And then God chuckles tolerantly. And with a mind to prove you otherwise, lest you be haughty beyond all enduring?

OK, so let's take one of my hot-button issues as an example. We were NEVER going to have food be an Issue in our house. No no, we would just provide a variety of whole, preferably organic and naturally colorful foods, and our children would happily graze away on nature's bounty. Their palates, conditioned to sushi and pad thai and gazpacho and pasta with fresh pesto, would shirk from processed junk or anything containing partially hydrogenated oils. I wouldn't really care WHEN they ate, although I'd require them to sit down with us for the joyful dinner hour, because I'd rest in such comfort with WHAT they ate.

All I can say is ...

(How do you spell this word? Think early '90's, people ...) TCHAHHHH!

Which being interpreted is ... you ridiculous fool!

So now I feel myself morphing into a tight ball of anger over the fact that I buy wholesome groceries and certain people in this house will hardly touch them. They rummage for anything processed, anything with sugar, anything given to them by the Candy Fairies we seem to encounter on a weekly basis. They (one in particular) will happily munch on hotdogs and white buns at the neighbor's house, like a prisoner eating his last meal, and then claim to "not be hungry" when I set a home-cooked offering upon the table.

And I'm super frustrated with myself for getting to this point, for being resentful when I should be loving. At a meeting last night I attended on the book of Luke, I so enjoyed how the jubilee of grace, which is really just the person of Christ, sets us free from all our anxieties, which just come from giving room in our hearts to things other than Him. It all seemed so easy last night, to just live in this joy and let it spill over into these interactions I have with my band of three disciples.

So why so angry today? I feel it building in me like a coiled snake, especially the food issue. I guess at the bottom is the fact that there ARE other things in my heart -- mostly my expectations and aspirations for my children. I get frustrated because I want to be appreciated, I want my labor for them to be valued, I want to see that my values are taking hold in them RIGHT NOW. I want them, if the truth be told, to be more mature than they are, to stop being so CHILDISH. To hurry up and be 22 and prove to me that it all did pay off, and not only do they eat decently (fruit, even!) and clean up after themselves, but they also let me know that, gosh, Mom, thanks for all those meals and loads of laundry and books read aloud.

Hmmm ... let's see. Who's doing the growing up, here?