We live in one of those neighborhoods. With the HOA and the dues and the little man who rides around in a little white car on a trash can placement power trip. It's crazy. I know. We love our neighborhood, our neighbors, etc. Well, I'm probably a displaced hippie and my husband is a small town Ron Swanson (Bacon? Yes please). We don't give a flip about weeds. We really don't. We think they're green like grass. They get cut like grass. They live like grass. We don't like chemicals either. So we think it's funny when some smartie person comes up to us and tries to give us advice. Like, "Wow, you have a lot of weeds." And I wanna say, "Wow, you are smart. Real smart, you are, my friend." I don't, because we love Jesus and we homeschool. And we have children who need to see a mommy with self control every now and then. But, really? Maybe we really do need to move... (The dichotomy of life is finding a balance with smartie people and not letting them bother you all the while loving them like crazy. Has anyone figured this out? Man, you're annoying, but ooh I love you so much I could squeeze you! This is where I exist sometimes.)
Well, don't you know this man cutting grass for some company (probably hired by someone that actually cares about weeds) on one of those big ol tractors came scooting by, stops, turns off the flipping machine (he's seriously committed here, folks, cause y'all, that's fossil fuels) and says, "You know, weeds grow faster than grass. You are cutting your grass more because you have more weeds than grass." We stand there holding our yuppie bags just purchased from Trader Joe's and Whole Foods with the most confused look on our faces. All I wanted to do was bring my overpriced food into my house and feed my kids before I took them to the equally overpriced, but pleasant, kids hair cutting place. We get into the house and were like, "Really?"
I thought it was a good sale. I mean, who wants to cut the grass more often? Because we are used to people not liking our "style", hubs is thinking he's insulting the level of which he cuts his grass. Like he says, "Did he say I cut the grass too short?" I say, "No, honey. He says you cut it too often. Like if we had less weeds, you wouldn't have to cut it as often. If we pay him $30 to come and spray." Hubs thinks he'll figure it out himself. (I later find out he's already got a system in place for these weeds. For anyone interested...) He's good like that.
Well, then I was thinking. Parenting is hard work. I have these little gardens of life upstairs playing quietly. (Not fighting, that's why I mention their current activities. Nod to my earlier post on my blogging with children rules I have...in a few moments, um, precisely 3, they could be screaming. But, now, they are quiet. I am typing. This might be what heaven feels like??) They are gardens alright. Constantly growing up some sort of vegetable I hope I recognize and know how to take care of. But there are these weeds. And man oh man do they grow fast. So fast I can prune and then turn around and BAM, more weeds.
Let me tell you, it's not for sissies. Some people say, "Well, she's just a sweet ol mama. Let's underestimate her." No. Don't do it. We are not a force to be reckoned with. You'll regret it because once a woman becomes a mama, she's a beast. She's a powerhouse of needless knowledge like which diaper doesn't leak and where to buy the best ground beef at a good price. You see the details of her life. Monotonous. Repetitive. But in reality, it's constantly driving her further and further away from comfort of her old self and she becomes a beast. A beast that can thrive (not just survive) on little sleep, leftover Pb&j crusts, and coffee. Yes, coffee. Don't take away the coffee. Or she will attack. And her retaliations feel like the end of times movie "Left Behind". (I went there.) She loves those kids more than life itself. Beastly love. Strong love. Unbreakable love. Love that disciplines because we all know we don't want to raise brats. We are raising the next generation.
Can I tell you an easy way to parent? I've seen it a few times in my several years of parenting. Ignore your kids faults. Ignore your kids, actually. Hire babysitters galore, farm them off to people to watch and let them handle them. (Typing this breaks my heart. I may need to stop here. But I won't. Cause I'm a frickin beast.) Nope, I'm NOT talking about both parents working, needing childcare for their sweets, public school versus homeschool (seriously) or even date nights with your favorite. I'm talking about a heart posture of I had kids, they are so difficult, I will ignore their rudeness, talking back to me and dad and basically anyone in authority (not talking standing up for themselves...there's a line), beating up on kids physically or emotionally, fighting the pressures of eliteness (a blog to come), ignoring that they need a coach. They need you.
It's a huge responsibility. I am so glad we had them when I didn't feel this way. I am so glad having kids I was so naive. You know what, I am tapping onto my hippie Jesus freak and loving them. Yep, I'm just loving them. It's pretty basic, really. It's limitless if you're connected to the fountain of love, God. He gives and gives and gives and it doesn't run out and just when you think you might not have it in you he gives more. I fall back in his love, his strength his knowledge and wisdom and know I may not have it all right. But I love them. I love them crazy. I love them tough.
We have a ways to go with helping our gardens grow. But we're trying to do the hard work of pruning, pulling weeds, paying attention when they need fertilizing, support, placement towards the Son. Because before you know it, they will be fully grown, ready to take on the world. And I pray, Dear Jesus, use me so they may have their best foot forward.
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