Mommy in the Morning: Lessons for my Littles (Mother's Day 2017)

My three little HutchPuppies, I have some things to tell you after a long night. 

Sometimes mommy looks like she does in Easter pics, all dressed up with sunlight streaming behind her curled hair. Expecting the snap of the camera and preparing for it.  

Dressed up and confident. 

Sometimes mommy looks like she does most days, pushing a shopping cart full of safe food, wearing a Star Wars t-shirt while her toddler is sprawled on the store floor, tantruming. She plays a word game on her phone and waits it out, idly smiling at the people giggling at the dramatics of the little girl kicking on the floor. 

Dressed typical and confident. 

Sometimes mommy looks like yoga pants and coffee at the park while her kids play happily and she gives knowing looks of solidarity and “don’t worry about it, I've been there SO many times, can I help?” looks to other parents of tantrumers. 

Dressed down and confident. 

And then sometimes mommy looks like this:

A shadow of herself after a long night of getting a child safely through a seizure and back to sleep.  Staying up to play the what-if game, googling new symptoms, texting her sisters who are the Aaron and Hur to her Moses arms, questioning whether she should call Cincinnati... Up all hours of the night talking herself back into faith as her heart pounds out of her chest, even when the immediate threat is gone. It’s because she knows it’s never really gone, even if her little man doesn't. She'll forever bear that information as long as he doesn't have to. 

Under the covers and uncertain.

Just let him be a kid, she pleads into the space she's staring into as the coffee grows cold in the mug she clutches. 

And then, no, I don't care about that right now; just keep him alive.

Wait, I do care about that, I want both.

I want him happy

I want him safe. 

I want him. 

I want.

I...

don't know.

Help me, God. 

Help us. 

And then she enters into the place God wanted her all along. 

Morning begins. 

Mommy awakens. 

Here is a secret, my littles: as mommies, we all wake up looking like this from time to time and in some mommy seasons, it’s like this every morning.  Eyes swollen from lack of sleep and/or crying. 

Thinking. 

Planning. 

Googling. 

Worrying. 

Praying.  

Pleading. 

SleepingWaking.

Checking.

SleepingWaking. 

Checking.

SleepingWaking. 

Checking.

As you sleep, peacefully unaware.

Whether it be bad dreams, a stomach virus, life with an infant, childhood fears, our own bully fears, or being on seizure watch, all mommies wake up to mornings like this: 

When you're hungover from a long night of whatever and you can almost feel the new wrinkles being forged across the skin of your face by the night you just survived; by the claws of fear that don't want to let you out of its grip... Wrinkles become battle scars after nights like that. 

When you can feel how swollen your eyelids are because you can't open them up as wide as usual, and it makes you even more sleepy than you already are and you desperately want to give into their heaviness; they drape and droop and browbeat you into giving up...

When you see a black smudge of eyeliner trailing from the side of your eye (war paint) and you don’t even attempt to tame your wild hair.  You just grab your coffee, cry some more and sit. Stare. Sip. Repeat... 

It's then that you force yourself to be thankful for something...anything...that the night has ended and the sun has faithfully risen, but you know night comes again. It always comes. 

You start to feel like you are disappearing into the background; you wish for it and then you are saved from the depths by the weakest little early morning voice, whimpering...

"mommy..." 

You come back to life. 

How is it that humanity can be saved by the cry of a little one in so many different ways? Jesus...

You take a deep breath and even if you're still crying and exhausted, you make breakfast, change diapers, give medicine, look at the calendar, make lists, answer millions of questions, call the insurance company (again), check your email for instructions from the doctor, get big sister ready for dance try-outs and try not to do it appearing lifeless. 

Hey littles, that is the mommy life. Sometimes mommy looks put together, sometimes mommy looks like she’s falling apart and it’s all beautiful and needed. You need to see that this is the reality of living and loving and it's ok. You need to see mommy feel it, give into it, and then be pulled out of it by the strong arms of a Savior. How else will you know the normal process? Some of my trials exist so yours don't have to. It's motherhood.

Sweet littles and bigs:

Mommy is so, so tired sometimes 

that you don’t get the best of her.  

I'm sorry, and that’s also ok. 

Sometimes the little man the she tries 

so hard to keep alive at night, 

she snaps at the next morning. 

I'm sorry, and that's also ok.

I know it doesn't feel fair. For any of us. It seems that some of your friends' families get bright, sunshiny weather, while we get thunderstorms and hurricanes. Your friends play ball, go to Disney every year, and eat out wherever they want, but let your mommy tell you something that is crazy important:  FAIR. IS. AN. ILLUSION. 

Illusion: (noun) something that deceives by producing a false or misleading impression of reality; a perception that represents what is perceived in a way different from the way it is in reality; very thin, delicate; for appearances 

So the illusion of FAIR deceives you, FAIR is a liar, FAIR is perceived differently by everyone in every situation, FAIR is weak, delicate, easily disrupted and changes all the time. You don't find strength in FAIR. 

DON'T. BELIEVE. IN FAIR. 

Everyone has their stuff they carry 

and just because it looks lighter than yours, 

you never know how weak or strong 

the arms are that carry it. 

Instead of judging the contents of their baggage, we simply show them how to let go of it; whose arms to place it into. It's our job as citizens of Heaven, as aliens in this world where we are ambassadors for Christ. 

We never judge the validity of someone else's pain and struggles and we never assume we have it worse, ya got that?  Life is so much bigger and better than that!  Arms locked, this is what The Hutchinsons will tell the world!  It is Good News, my little HutchPuppies, and you GET TO tell it.  

But that’s a lesson we work through.Together. 

While it may not feel worth it now, it's building you up into the adult you'll soon be.  You go into the fire (trials), come out, and then when your imperfections are revealed by the heat of the flames, you can allow them to be taken off of you. Removed forever. 

As a family, we may go into the fire more than others, but our arms are locked in unity at all times-- so sweet babies when you go into that fire, mommy goes in, too. We all go. I myself have PLENTY of imperfections to be removed anyway, so a fire will do me good. 

Trials are fire.

Fire reveals imperfections. 

Imperfections exposed can be removed.

Removed imperfections by fire become testimonies.

Testimonies save others from ever entering the fire you just came out of. 

Purpose. 

Worth it. 

Hard. 

I would never choose it for myself or you, my littles, so I have to be thankful the choice is taken out of my hands by Perfect Love. 

So much of life can be summed up like this: while it may not FEEL good, it IS good. Emotions can be beautiful as scenery on your path, but don't trust them as guides. 

I may look like this some mornings, 

but see those sparkles in my eyes?  

Those are you, my children, and those are what keep me going

Mommy looks like a lot of things and that’s more than ok, it’s expected.  My swollen eyes and blank stare just show that I love you and I've spent a long night waging war in the strength that God has given me.  When you grow older, I hope you’ll remember that more than anything.  

I am weak, but He is Strong. 

Yes, Jesus loves me. 

I would live looking and feeling like this as long as you live knowing how sustained and loved you are by your Heavenly Father. And as well as I humanly know how, I will hold you up, too.  Always.


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