Mary had a little flock.
They bickered at the stile,
But when they frolicked in the field,
She counted all worthwhile.
Recently, a fellow mother of four and I compared notes on the struggles and joys, but mostly the struggles, of raising four children. We agreed that sometimes it's just plain hard. Sometimes we aren't the mothers we'd like to be. Sometimes our children get a little lost among the many sheep in the fold. Sometimes herding our little lambs through daily activities and duties is a little like herding sheep over a wall... or squirrels through... through... well, just like herding squirrels. You'd be insane even to attempt to herd a group of squirrels. (Incidentally, according to A Squirrel Place, "Squirrels are solitary animals. They do not have a hierarchical structure, and therefore, no group name was established." This might be why one would not attempt to herd them). Anyhow, getting four children through a day can be difficult, with bumps and nips (hopefully not literal nips, but sometimes...) and a whole host of exasperating moments. Even when all goes smoothly, a simple day can be such an intricate dance of getting every detail just so that when you finally sit down to talk face to face with one of your children, it's almost like reconnecting with a long lost friend. "Hey, I remember you... How are you, old friend?" Eyes light up as the child basks in the glory of having a solo in the spotlight of Mom's attention.
It sounded pretty grim, really, talking about how much we love those sometimes rare, but always wonderful moments when we are fully devoted to one child and able to connect with that child individually rather than as part of a group. But the siblings remain, and neither my friend nor I would have it any other way. Despite the challenge of finding one-on-one time with our children, a challenge that seems to be diminishing as my youngest gets older, we would have no smaller flocks than we have. And the longer I tend this flock of four, the more thankful I am to do it.
From time to time, I stand in awe of my children. In a post I wrote yesterday, I wrote about my children enjoying one another at the playground. It was an impromptu trip to the park, and one I will cherish always. Andrew and John began by exploring the woods, while I supervised Elisabeth and Luke on the playground. I listened to the sweetest little girl voice urge, "Come here, Little Brother. I'll help you," as she lifted him up onto the equipment over and over again. Later, John and Andrew helped Luke climb ladders. It was a perfect hour of blissful sibling cooperation. (I almost wondered if they were really mine...)
They inflict their bumps and nips with the best of them, but they also have moments like those at the park in which I want to fade into the background, recording, but never interfering with their sacred expressions of brotherly and sisterly love. No one can know how much they love each other, but sometimes the secret of which they themselves are unaware slips out. That is when this mom counts it all worthwhile.
It sounded pretty grim, really, talking about how much we love those sometimes rare, but always wonderful moments when we are fully devoted to one child and able to connect with that child individually rather than as part of a group. But the siblings remain, and neither my friend nor I would have it any other way. Despite the challenge of finding one-on-one time with our children, a challenge that seems to be diminishing as my youngest gets older, we would have no smaller flocks than we have. And the longer I tend this flock of four, the more thankful I am to do it.
From time to time, I stand in awe of my children. In a post I wrote yesterday, I wrote about my children enjoying one another at the playground. It was an impromptu trip to the park, and one I will cherish always. Andrew and John began by exploring the woods, while I supervised Elisabeth and Luke on the playground. I listened to the sweetest little girl voice urge, "Come here, Little Brother. I'll help you," as she lifted him up onto the equipment over and over again. Later, John and Andrew helped Luke climb ladders. It was a perfect hour of blissful sibling cooperation. (I almost wondered if they were really mine...)
They inflict their bumps and nips with the best of them, but they also have moments like those at the park in which I want to fade into the background, recording, but never interfering with their sacred expressions of brotherly and sisterly love. No one can know how much they love each other, but sometimes the secret of which they themselves are unaware slips out. That is when this mom counts it all worthwhile.
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