The Making of M.O.M.

I would like to thank you all for coming today. Honestly, I'd say that I'm shocked and in awe that you'd come all this way to award me with such a title, but I'm not surprised.

I mean, it's not every day that you happen upon a woman like me. The things you say about me are, indeed, true. I am so deserving of this title that when the awards committee called me, I laughed a little and then wondered what had taken so long.

Yes, it would be me who had to tell her 2 year old, again, not to lick the toilet. Ever. Even if you think it's chocolate.

It would also be me who allowed her almost 9 month old baby to play with an electrical adapter. It was unplugged. But you know, the principle of the matter is that I would have never let my first born baby play with cords of that nature. But alas, I just looked at her content self and continued texting my BFF.

I have earned this award on so many levels, but the thing that is the clincher for me, I think, is my attention to ~~detail~~ sarcasm. When my pre-teen stormed out of the room in an emotional rage it may or may not have been me who mumbled under my breath, "If you'd have stayed 8 years old like I told you this wouldn't be an issue." I may have also told her she is, in fact, bossy and to stop acting surprised when people assign her that title.

I am also going to confess that I earned this title fully when I went to turn on the sound machine in my 4 year old's room and, upon discovering her used pull up laying on her dresser, pinched it by the edge, carried it across the house and slung it in her general direction. I believe that life is best learned in a state of surprise, so I also felt it necessary to call her name as the urine laden disposable underpants were hurling at her head.

Think fast and stop peeing the bed. It's like my catch phrase. And by catch phrase I mean, seriously, catch!

You also should know that this isn't an award I will take flippantly. Oh no. I will wear this title as a crown upon my head and, in honor of it, I will continue to tell my children who are STARRRRRVVVIIIIINGGGGG and asking every food related question in their vocabulary at 5:45pm as I am frantically finishing up dinner that our meal will consist of "food and food with a side of food." Delicious sounding, isn't it? I know it's important to encourage proper nutrition and because of that when they ask what kind of food, I will reply with a bright, warm smile, "the kind you eat."

Modeling behaviors you wish to see in your children is oh-so-very important and I take this title you have given me so seriously, that I will always endeavor to show my children that YELLING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FROM 24 INCHES FROM MY FACE IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT EVEN IF YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT YOU'VE FINISHED ALL YOUR SCHOOL WORK AND CLEANED YOUR ROOM AND NOW YOU'D LIKE TO HELP ME WASH ALL THE DISHES AND FOLD THE CLOTHES.

Hard work ethic and ear buds have helped me push through those training sessions.

I know that many of you wonder how I juggle it all, especially the baby and the 2 year old. Naturally, the 2 year old is eager for my attention and I try so very hard to show her that she is just as special and loved as her baby sister, even though the baby needs my attention more frequently for nursing sessions.

Of course, since this seemed to be a battle ground, I offered for my darling two year old to have a taste of Mommy's milk and told her that she too, when she was younger, drank my milk. She seemed eager at the idea and so I gently unlatched the baby as my elated 2 year old leaned in. I prepared myself that it might not end well since the 2 year old now has a mouth full of teeth and hasn't suckled in a very long time. As she neared me I squeezed once, quite firmly, and 2 steady streams of milk shot forth. One landed directly into her mouth and the other into her eye.

As she shrieked and thrashed on the floor I excused myself to empty my bladder in a more suitable place than the glider rocker in the nursery.

Since I believe that every moment has potential to be a teachable one, I also reminded her that there's no use crying over spilled, or mis-directed milk.

So you see, it is with grace and meekness and a quiet, humble spirit that I accept this awarded title that the committee has chosen me for this year. I've never been one to boast in an award in such a way and I hope my acceptance speech has demonstrated exactly why I feel that I am 110% the obvious candidate for the title of

Okayest Mom of the Year.

If you would like to schedule a mentoring session, please be sure to stop by my house. Our door bell is broken, but please do not hesitate to send in the panty-clad toddler, who is in the driveway, eating an uncooked, frozen pizza, in to look for me.

Thank you all. Have a wonderful evening.

She had tied the drawstring of her robe tight around her waist. Her linen pants hung loosely around her legs and were stuffed into the tops of her laced up boots of peace. Her cloak hung heavily on her shoulders, which was ironic since the armor that protected her vital organs felt remarkably light.

Picture her with me.

Truth sat low on her hips while righteousness covered her chest. Protected by her faithful shield, salvation upon her head, on the defensive with the glimmer of her sword, spirit. She was ready. She had trained, prepared and knew the battle would be intense. In fact, there had been many small battles leading up to this day.

She looked to her left and he stood there with her. Adorned with a matching uniform, he stood just a pace in front of her, prepared to take the worst of the blows, knowing that it was not only his calling but his duty as her protector, provider, prophet and priest. Yes, they would fight together but he was set over her. Not because she was inferior but because the goodness of the One who prepared this battle knew what He was doing.

A smile crept across her lips as she looked back out onto the hills in front of them. Battle is never easy, but after you've prepared for weeks and months and years when it's time to go, you can't help but be a bit eager.

Together, nearly in unison, they step into the war zone, knowing that it could last longer than they both have the energy or resolve to endure. However, they aren't relying on their own strength alone and they know this full and well. Emerging from the sky are cherubim, clothed in no armor at all but brandishing weapons that annihilate the enemy in one, swift stroke.

Rushing forward, metal clinks, blows are landed and they find little successes. Suddenly, the ground shakes, the sky grows dark. Smoke engulfs the battlefield. Disoriented and confused, they become separated in sight. She can hear him but the smoke burns her eyes with such pain that she must choose to close them for fear of losing her sight forever more.

She hears wailing and crying and listens intently to try to discern from which direction it coming, only to realize that it is from her own lips. Her heart is afraid and her voice betrays her by telling every enemy within earshot.

Trembling, she sinks to her knees and opens her eyes, desperately scanning the horizon. The smoke is so thick she cannot possibly see beyond her own arm, much less into the distance. The stench of burning trash and excrement lingers in her nostrils.

"Help! Where are you? Help me, please."

The roar of battle has ceased but the smoke remains. She can no longer hear him or the One who gives the orders.

"This is it?" she thinks. "This is not the battle for which I trained. No! This wasn't in the plan at all. How did this happen? No! This cannot be it." Her heart pounds in her chest and fear overwhelms her.

The silence is now deafening.

She crawls across the field on her hands and knees hoping to find someone, anyone, who might give a clue as to what has happened. There are no signs of battle, no wayward shields or swords. No members of the enemy camp laying slain on the ground. Nothing but the smoke even suggests there's been a battle.

This. This ground shaking madness, this was not what she had prepared for at all. She hopes staying close to the ground will provide reprieve from the smoke but it is as thick and pungent down low as it is up high.

She crawls across rocks and sticks and through mud but no where does she find remnant or clues to anyone else on this field with her. Finally, FINALLY, she finds a small wall of stone. She believes she remembers this one. It's old, and frail, but she's seen it before. The familiarity of it relieves her, though she knows it will be of little use since once before it was crumbled. Resting her back upon it, she tries to find her bearings.

The enemy. He must be responsible for this. He has to be. He is sneaky and vicious and cares not who he kills. Surely he is on the other side of this short wall, prowling, waiting for her to expose herself so he can finish her off.

Then she realizes that she's not safe. No where is safe. Though the smoke is thick still in most places, it's beginning to rise. He will see her, someone will see her vulnerable, and finish what the enemy has started. With fervor and with trembling hands she grabs the stones around her and begins rebuilding the wall. Higher, higher, stronger, taller it grows. It curves around beside her and yet she continues. Creating her own little provision, she gathers the uneven, worn, battered stones that had previously been ripped down and she rebuilds what was once deemed unnecessary.

Once she has it far reaching enough around her she stops and tucks herself into its sanctuary. Now, behind the wall she built from the ruins, she is safe. The enemy can't find her and once the smoke clears she can emerge on her own terms, sword drawn, and fight her way back to where she once was.

She waits. It is taking a long time for the smoke to rise. Shouldn't it have risen by now? Where did it come from anyway? This is not what she had trained for. She waits, she thinks, she tries to pray, but in vain.

And then it washes over her. He knew. The One, he knew. He knew this would be the battle all along. "How could you know and not prepare me?!," she cries. He knew and yet he did nothing to stop it, nothing to help her to know what to do in this scenario. She'd rehearsed and prepared for just about anything else but this. What is she to do now?

The One she trusted to train her, the One she trusted her life to, he knew. And somehow, somewhere amid all the preparations, he failed to train her for this. He knew, and he failed. Therefore she would fail, too. And he knew she would fail.

Her jaw set with anger and determination, she looks down at the armor upon her body. It is beaten and broken and flawed now. How is that possible? What battle has she fought? She doesn't remember any enemy blows because before she could really fight, her world was rocked. How can she be so heavily beaten up, for she was merely trying to survive.