Why is this a thing? The need to have patience? The urge to pray for it and then the instantaneous regret because that is always the one prayer God decides to answer right away?
I want patience--I just don't want to have to endure ANYTHING to get it.
My children are little, and right now we don't have all that much going on. Some days it feels like a lot, but in reality I know that the day is not far distant that our one dance class and two preschool classes a week will turn into choir and soccer and homework and piano lessons and chores for multiple children. During that season of my life, a different kind of patience will be needed--the kind of patience that gives me peace as I run around like a chicken with my head cut off.
At the moment, my life requires the kind of patience that is the chicken getting constantly pecked at, peeped at, and asked for eggs (aka, when is the next chick coming along?). I learned a long time ago that the first rule of parenting is that you will have no control. Over anything. You might think you have control, but I think in that case you are probably doing something wrong.
At times I think, I should have control over myself, right? Is that too much to ask? Isn't that a basic human right? I'm an adult. Doesn't that mean I can make my own choices and control my own destiny?
That's a big fat NOPE.
The best choice I ever made for my motherhood destiny was to let go of my self-control.
For example:
Sometimes I want to ground my children to kingdom come; instead, I take a moment to breathe (a normalish time out) and then hug the problem out of them.
Sometimes I want to throw away the thousands of toys procreating on my family room floor; instead, I try to teach my children the art of cleaning up after themselves (along with a small amount of herd control via the DI).
Sometimes, I get upset that the dishes have sat in the sink for more than three days; instead, I ignore them until my husband sees them. (Hey, I'm not perfect.)
Sometimes, I would really like to shower and wear cute clothes and put on makeup every day; instead, I have realized that I need to treasure these moments when they come along and, on all the other days, wear lots of deodorant and body spray and embrace the fashion of the mombie: yoga pants and an old college game-day shirt.
I haven't given up every part of me--not even close. I've just given up on controlling every part of my life. And somewhere in there, I've gained enough patience to survive. The next ten seconds.
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