Being Defeated

 I am feeling devestatingly defeated today. Disheartened and disillusioned.
Sometimes – just sometimes – this parenting gig is not all it’s cracked up to be.imag1294.jpg

No one is well rested in this house. Smasher yells the house down before passing out late, and Juju is known to party til midnight. Yesterday Boo went to school with a two day old braid, I brushed my teeth with chewing gum and Smasher accidentally had chips for breakfast. I couldn’t keep up with bible study, and Smasher peed on the playroom floor. I cried in the bathroom while cleaning him up.

Today was immunization day for Juju. If that isn’t awful enough: prior to being seen, Smasher and I accidentally walked in on someone using the bathroom at the doctors. Afterwards, he started pooping his pants and later pressed the emergency button so we had nurses fussing at the door and through the clinic.

Now at home I can’t tell if I can leave Juju to put herself to sleep, or is she crying from post-needle-wooziness? Boo has been nagging me all week to wash her karate “uniform” which I said I would. And then didn’t. You can hardly walk through the bathroom from all the laundry spewing out of the basket. I have two hours to have it washed and ready to go after school to her dad’s house because tomorrow is her second lesson and I know this is important to her.

While getting Juju to sleep, Smash had an accident in the lounge because we were both to busy to remember to go to the bathroom. Now JuJu is asleep and the laundry is on, I apologise to Smash for losing my cool, and he lectures me about shouting.

This right now is my entire life. Exhaustion, exasperation and dwindling enthusiasm. Rinse and repeat; every long and dreadful day.

Right now I’m demolishing a toastie and surveying my house. A crime scene: the remains of ten toy boxes and two laundry baskets brutally murdered and strewn throughout the cottage.
I am the provider of the home. The queen of comfort, nourishment and nurturing. And right now I can’t even do that, let alone anything for myself.
So what’s the point?

I’m a Christian, and can spew out all the cliches. Things happen for a reason. God doesn’t give you any more than you can handle. He places you where you need to be. And blah blah blah.
It may be somewhat blasphemous but oh boy are there days when I throw my hands up and ask “are you sure there hasn’t been some mistake?!”

It’s so hard to see the big picture today. There’s lots of scattered pieces, most of them being smooshed by little toddler fists. It’s hard to find joy or peace amongst the chaos. It’s hard to see the important work in raising little people. It’s hard to let go of those far reaching dreams and desires of achievements greater than the everyday. It’s hard to be still.

For now I will simply hold onto my little stinky, shouty blessings and attempt to embrace the chaos of my home. I’ll fix my face and get on with it. I’ll give my defeated heart up, and let Him have this. Just because I can’t see the point, that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. I’m where I’m supposed to be (even if it feels like a ridiculous notion, at best.)

And tomorrow I’ll rise with my eyes fixed on Jesus, and give the parenting merry-go-round another shot.

(written Friday 26th February) 


2 thoughts on “Being Defeated”

  1. I have a friend (Christian, a minister actually), who interprets those Bible cliches differently and, IMO, it’s much more comforting. Rather than you are given what you can handle, she teaches that you are given the *tools* to handle what’s coming at you. Sometimes it will be overwhelming and suck and you need help (need to ask for help). But help is a tool. Love is a tool. Crying in the bathroom is a tool! And God helps you find those tools to smash through the bullshit days.


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