As of late I have been contemplating the meaning of happiness and how it pertains to our everyday lives. Is happy being married, financially stable, having children, reading, having food to eat? If "Men are that they might know happiness" then I must eventually define what happiness is to me.
My dear mother has been given the privilege of living next door to an especially strong and courageous woman. This woman is from Rwanda. She escaped in the middle of the night while literally running for her and her granddaughter's life. She had spent hours, days, months in hiding while trying to just stay alive. This woman has expressed awe and wonder at how we American mothers look at our children and teach them how to enunciate words, how we teach them to potty train at 2, and how we groom then flawlessly. Where she comes from those types of behaviors and not permitted simply because they have time merely to survive, and certainly not to thrive. And yet she is happy. Happy to be alive, happy to live in our amazing country. Happy for shelter, and food, and friendship.
So why then do I find my self not happy to have these same blessings in my life? Don't get me wrong; I am appreciate of them. I am grateful for them. And yet sometimes I sit quietly and yearn for more. More of what has been the question on my mind. I have a lovely home that keeps me safe and warm. I have a soft clean bed to lie in while I sleep. I have clothes that not only keep me covered and warm, but are actually current in that latest styles and trends. My cupboards are filled with all sorts of food. Not just rice and beans, but every kind of food imaginable from multiple types of cereal to exotic things like sushi paper. My children are healthy and growing in every way. My husband loves me and likes me. What then could I possibly be missing, especially when compared to this giant of a woman who has endured more than I can ever hope to imagine?
The conclusion I have come to is this: I am not, nor have I ever been, living in true survival mode, where my only goal in life is to live. Literally just survive. Maslow's physical, and safety needs have more than been met. I have been blessed with more than this woman could dream of. I have been blessed with all the necessities and many of the non-necessities of life. And while I can be grateful for that I must want more. "Where much is given much is required" has been a reoccurring thought in my mind. I must want to help my neighbor more. I must want to be a better mother. I must want to be a better friend, and be a better woman. I MUST WANT MORE BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN GIVEN MORE. I must seek to magnify each and every talent/quality I have been unworthily blessed with and I must use it to bless my own life and the lives of others.
Having reached that conclusion I have committed to changing my ways. I am seeking happiness. True happiness. Not that kind that comes from buying a new car or a bigger nicer house. Not the kind that comes and goes. I am seeking my very own personal happiness. The kind that comes from being a litter better and trying a little harder. The kind that comes from holding a sleeping baby and listening in awe to each miracle breath he takes. The kind that comes from setting a goal and reaching it after months of hard grueling work. I will find happiness as my children speak kind words to each other, or as my husband, tired from work offers to do a days worth of dishes for me. I will find happiness daily in all of the small but great things in my life; my child's laughter, meeting a new friend, slobbery kisses from my baby, sweet kisses from my husband, reading a book, a moment of quiet. I am happy. But I will still seek happiness, day in and day out I will seek it.... and I will find it.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
My children hate me....Oh well!
Today my children hate me. Am I hurt, you might ask? Not in the slightest!
Last night I came home to yet another hurricane in our front room, up the stairs, kitchen, and family room (don't even get me started on the bedrooms). Of course I knew how it had been left, so on the 20 minute drive home from my lovely in-laws I prepped the kids (yes, Tim too). I made it quite clear that when we got home there would be allowed a 20 minute pick-up time. They could each go through each room that had been ram sacked and pick up their individual belongings. I was sure to let them know to pick up and put away everything that may be dear to their little hearts. I explained that the repercussion of not doing so would be that anything left on the floor became my property and I would be throwing it away. No amount of jumping up and down, crying,or pleading would stop me. I repeatedly went over this with them. Did I already mention that the drive was TWENTY MINUTES LONG? Surely my point had been made, right? I knew that those busy little bees would just rush right in and gather all of their precious belongings, right? Nope. Not even a one.
At the end of the 20 minute time I walked through each room and picked up items one by one sliding them into the garbage bag. Tim's socks (dirty socks, I must add), Tim's shoes, Spencer's cowboy boots (his most prized cowboy boots), Isaac's pajama bottoms, wii remote controls, more socks, paper, toys, you name it. I chucked it in the bag. As you can imagine the screaming started. Spencer wrapped his arms and legs around me pleading to not throw away his favorite boots. He exclaimed over and over, "Those are my most favorite thing in the whole wide world! How could you do this to me? How could you do this to me?!" All I could do was shake my head. Davis cried. Spencer cried. Tim and Isaac sat silent on the couch. Neither of them was going to give me the satisfaction of letting me know it upset them. Whatever. Didn't matter to me whether they said a word. I finished gathering all of the items and promptly walked out to the big city garbage can, heaved the bag in to it, and let the lid slam. Then ever so kindly as I entered the house I told them all it was time for bed. No matter what the responses I was going to stick to it and I was was going to remain cool and calm. Isaac, being my most stubborn child, walked right up to his room and didn't say a word (I'd like to think it was because he was afraid for his life, but he was probably just trying to tick me off more and there was no way I was going to let him know it was working!), and Spenc and Davis sobbed and sobbed. And do you think it tugged at my heart strings one little bit? No way, no how! That wasn't going to make me break! I sweetly kissed them hood night, explaining that when Mommy says something I mean it, and now they would know that the next time I warn them, they had better choose to listen. Then I promptly went outside and pulled the bag out of the garbage. I'm such a sucker.
Last night I came home to yet another hurricane in our front room, up the stairs, kitchen, and family room (don't even get me started on the bedrooms). Of course I knew how it had been left, so on the 20 minute drive home from my lovely in-laws I prepped the kids (yes, Tim too). I made it quite clear that when we got home there would be allowed a 20 minute pick-up time. They could each go through each room that had been ram sacked and pick up their individual belongings. I was sure to let them know to pick up and put away everything that may be dear to their little hearts. I explained that the repercussion of not doing so would be that anything left on the floor became my property and I would be throwing it away. No amount of jumping up and down, crying,or pleading would stop me. I repeatedly went over this with them. Did I already mention that the drive was TWENTY MINUTES LONG? Surely my point had been made, right? I knew that those busy little bees would just rush right in and gather all of their precious belongings, right? Nope. Not even a one.
At the end of the 20 minute time I walked through each room and picked up items one by one sliding them into the garbage bag. Tim's socks (dirty socks, I must add), Tim's shoes, Spencer's cowboy boots (his most prized cowboy boots), Isaac's pajama bottoms, wii remote controls, more socks, paper, toys, you name it. I chucked it in the bag. As you can imagine the screaming started. Spencer wrapped his arms and legs around me pleading to not throw away his favorite boots. He exclaimed over and over, "Those are my most favorite thing in the whole wide world! How could you do this to me? How could you do this to me?!" All I could do was shake my head. Davis cried. Spencer cried. Tim and Isaac sat silent on the couch. Neither of them was going to give me the satisfaction of letting me know it upset them. Whatever. Didn't matter to me whether they said a word. I finished gathering all of the items and promptly walked out to the big city garbage can, heaved the bag in to it, and let the lid slam. Then ever so kindly as I entered the house I told them all it was time for bed. No matter what the responses I was going to stick to it and I was was going to remain cool and calm. Isaac, being my most stubborn child, walked right up to his room and didn't say a word (I'd like to think it was because he was afraid for his life, but he was probably just trying to tick me off more and there was no way I was going to let him know it was working!), and Spenc and Davis sobbed and sobbed. And do you think it tugged at my heart strings one little bit? No way, no how! That wasn't going to make me break! I sweetly kissed them hood night, explaining that when Mommy says something I mean it, and now they would know that the next time I warn them, they had better choose to listen. Then I promptly went outside and pulled the bag out of the garbage. I'm such a sucker.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
