That Silly Ol' Cat and I....

I don't know why in the world my mind went there this morning... I haven't thought about that cat in YEARS!  But, she sure was on my mind today!

Her name was Kiki.  (as in key-key). She was our cat in the late 80s/early 90s.  And, she was the mother of three litters.  I had a "favorite" from each litter... Starbuck, Stripe, and Spotty.  Yeah, I know- real original names, huh?  LOL!  (I was only a child back then!)

Anyway, Kiki was a wonderful cat.  She was very affectionate, sweet, and adorable. She aimed to please.  But she began her parenthood as a HORRIBLE mother.  She had no natural "mothering instinct" that most animals have.  You see, she was the runt of the litter and abandoned as a kitten.  No mother to love her.  We raised her by bottle/syringe. 

When she had her first litter- she left the babies to die.  In fact, in order to get her to feed her babies, we had to lay her down and pet her and coax her with treats so she would stay still.  She didn't bother keeping her babies warm or nurturing their needs.  She just didn't know what to do.

By her third litter, though- she was getting the "hang" of it.  In fact, she went on years later to care for a stray kitten we had found abandoned on the roadside.

What made the difference?  I'm not sure.  I don't know if she just had to be "taught" since she was abandoned as a kitten herself, or if it just took time, or if it all just "clicked" for her one day.

You see, I could very well be called a "Kiki".  I didn't have a lot of mothering "instinct" when my first child came about.  It had been beaten (philosophically) out of me since I was a very young girl. I had been abandoned to the continuing emergent fallacy of glorified feminism. My mother was a "career" woman- and that is what was expected of me... and what I aspired to be...   until I got older and met some Mama's who stayed at home to care for their husband and children and LOVED what they did. But by then, it was almost too late.  I didn't think about learning from them.  I just admired what they did.

And when my first child came... I thought nothing of allowing him to scream for hours on end.  (He *did* have severe colic, and I was told there was NOTHING I could do....)  Sure, I fed him, I clothed him, and I loved him... but there was very little "nurturing" going on apart from basic "needs".  I barely ever held him.  With each child I learned a bit more.  Learned how to truly *love-on* my babies.  I can't help but wonder if the reason why each child tends to be more relaxed and content than the previous is because their Mama has learned a bit more.  Why each child seems to view me more as "Mama" than mere "Milk-Machine" at tender ages.  I'm learning more with each child.  Each one becomes all that more precious to me. It isn't that I don't cherish and love the first one as much as the sixth, for as I've grown, my love for him has grown as well... but I've just learned to love much earlier--- I've realized how precious each child is. 

Then I think ahead to my own daughters... will they, too, be Kiki's?  God forbid!  (And I am NOT using that term lightly--- I *really* mean... may God forbid it to be so!)  My daughters do not need to be destined to be Kiki's.  They can learn from their own Mama.  They can watch and see their own Mama in action.  They can practice being nurturing with their little brothers.  They can learn now, so they are not clueless later.

My prayer is that my daughters grow up not to be Kiki's... but to be Mama's who are very adept at loving, caring for, and nurturing their sweet little babies.  That they will be able to look back and say "Thank You, Mama... for teaching us to love.  For preparing us for our OWN little ones."

Yes, Maybe I *am* CRAZY...

But I love it just fine, thank you!

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I got a comment from someone at the OB yesterday, who was awaiting her appointment. She had a little girl (about 7 years old or so) and a little boy (who I'd guess to be about 4). She was expecting again and told me that it was an *oops*... ( To which I inwardly cringed at the notion of a child ever being an "oops".) Anyway, I had only my 5 year old daughter with me and the other mother asked if I was "hoping for a boy to complete my family". I said, actually, we *know* we are having a boy... then my 5 year old happily chimes in...

"Yeah... so that makes 4 boys and only 2 girls. We are going to see if we can get two more girls next time!"

The ladies jaw dropped and she said "Are YOU CRAZY!?!?!?!"  All I could do was smile a happy, crazy smile...

I think she was relieved to have her name called next. I couldn't help but laugh when my 5 year old looked at me astonished and said... "Mama... what was wrong with HER!?!?" (She of course doesn't understand the ideology of the world on children... but she knew SOMETHING was wrong with that woman who's mouth slacked like a cod-fish!)

If  having and loving children is crazy (no matter if it's 2 or 12)... if enjoying those blessings as they come is crazy... if wanting another sweet treasure to hold is crazy... if seeking to turn blunt arrows into fine weapons for the Lord's use is crazy...

Then I guess I am crazy!  For each and every one of them!

What Children Remember

I have been pondering much lately on my childhood, and upon the childhood of my own children.  I am normally not a pessimistic person.  I enjoy looking at the bright side of the clouds.  However, I am by no means an idealist.  My tendency is always toward realism.  Reality.  The reality of my own childhood... the reality of what  my children are living... and how to make my ideals for my children's future, a reality.

I love my parents.  Dearly.  I am closer to my parents now in my early thirties than I probably was to them in the first two decades combined.  Yet, still at times, I look back and long for a chance to redo it all. I felt alone much of the time. Real or Imagined... it was what I believed it to be. There were many happy times, but more painful, lonely, or sad times than I cared for.

I may sound bitter, but indeed I am not.  I faced some dark times, but all I have to account for those times (with the grace of God) is who I am now. And I am happy.  I am even joyful.  But, there is still that empty area in my heart that smarts a bit when I look back to those growing  years.

This brings me to my thoughts upon the childhood of my own children.  What will they remember?  Will they look back with fondness or longing?  I must admit, I see much of my mother in myself. While I do not work outside of the home, I find failures in the same right.  As I interact with other families and see the things which are so important to them, I realize I am falling short in many areas.  How often my children are told that their Mama is too busy cleaning to play with them, that their Mama requires quietness.  I am not saying there is not a place for cleaning or that there is not a time for quiet.  The problem is where the priority is.  I want a spotless house. I want a quiet and orderly house.  When it is not one of these, I become off kilter and my family suffers for it.  My children I fear, will not remember a house full of laughter, or of play.  They will not remember a house where love abounded and children were welcomed with vigor.  I tell my children they are blessings.  But, do I SHOW them that they are truly blessings?  Sadly, more often, I believe I convey to them through my actions that they are bothers.  This breaks my heart.  Oh, the tears I have shed over the past few weeks.  It is past due that I take action.

I must surrender to the Lord in this area.  He has not commanded me a pristine house.  He has commanded me to love and to rear my children.  I am convinced that the only way this can be done is by actually spending time with them.  Not barking orders for them to come get their toy on the floor, or telling them constantly that I am too busy to do anything with them (by either vocalization or attitude).  Of course, I will not allow my house to fall into disarray, for I believe a tidy home enhances pleasure when done right and a messy home detracts from it.  However, I will be reminding myself of the very fact that one day, my dear little ones will look back at their childhood.  I want it to be one of fondness.  Of a tidy house, but even more so- of a family who played together, laughed together and loved together.

It's okay if there are dishes in the sink, or a toilet left unscrubbed for a day.  My children won't remember the toilet or the dirty cup... they WILL remember the relationships though... and whether they were considered a blessing, or a burden.