The Love That Hurts

I suppose my introduction to blogging should be prefaced by a brief history of my upbringing. I am the quintessential middle child to two very educated, very different and yet eerily similar parents. My older sister and I (pictured above on Easter Sunday of 1980) share the same birthday. We're five years apart. And my little sister (she and I on the right) is 8 years younger than myself. In my home there was always room for us to be ourselves. My parents seldom told us what to think, they simply asked that we do so. We were required to be respectful but were given understanding if a situation required that we not be. My mother, Jennie was a school teacher and my father, Don was employed in some form of the criminal justice system throughout my childhood. When he retired he was a counselor at a medium security prison. I spent ample amounts of time with each of them and family time was always a priority. Extended family was sparse at best...
I believe I take after my father in most respects. He made me read when I got "bored" and forced me to look for tiny, unheard of countries on National Geographic Magazine maps. He is very much a realist, as am I. We had some hiccups in our relationship during my adolesence because of our very similar personalities, stubborn streaks and flaring tempers. However I was also fortunate enough to have taken on some of my mother's positive attributes as well. I am an optomist, a humanitarian and a lover of all things misunderstood. Both parents put a very strong emphasis on self-sufficiency and education. And while those things are very important we were also told quite often that "...anyone can get married, get pregnant and have babies, not everyone can take care of themselves or someone else." A strong belief has always been held by the pair that their three girls should be educated and not ever worry about having children or marriages. And if that wasn't their strong belief, it was my sister's and my strong impression. My father has many quotable quotes. The one that was most obnoxious came when he hugged us. "You're not good for anything except to love." This photo below is of me around age 3, in one of my father's rediculous and infamous Halloween costume get-ups. We were good for nothing alright, except to love and dress up like idiots... This went against all of my girly girl nature. I detested it and he knew it!

I never understood his seemingly pointless declaration until I became a mother myself and soon realized that there is absolutely no reward in parenting that will ever make up for all of the torment and worry you suffer over your children. Nothing they ever do and nothing I've ever felt has even momentarily taken away the ache and hurt of worry I feel every second of every day, even when they're perfectly happy and safe. Children are good for absolutely NOTHING. They ruin your body, take over your life, spend your money, get on your nerves and cause you to contstantly think of the world as one big trap door to disaster. And your only pay off is that you love them so much you'd die for them, without question. And I would scarcely consider it rewarding that I'm consumed by my unwavering desire to throw myself into oncoming traffic, leap across tall buildings, lie down on train tracks or be beheaded by terrorist captors in an effort to save my children. I try not to impose this mindset on my darlings. I do pretty well to keep my worries under wraps most of the time. But when they do something stupid and/or dangerous it forces me to verbally assault them with tales of the horrors that can befall them if they don't think about what they're doing and use caution in every aspect of their lives. Mind you they are ages 11 and 9. (my bratkins below)

My mental state of parenting as well as my mental drilling as a child has molded my belief about children and why people have them. I have never felt that being a mother is a title worthy of reward or praise. It is simply my duty and an acquired passion. I believe that praising my children to their faces and complimenting them to others is far more beneficial to them than bragging about them and forcing others to listen to me endlessly babble about what amazing, intelligent, beautiful kids I have. Forgive me while I rant for a moment... We all know people like this. The women who think that being a "mom" should get her attention or her picture taken. Or the women who can do nothing but brag about how marvelous her kids are while she shoves their latest of 11,000 pictures they've had taken in thier short lifetimes in your face, during which time you quietly gag yourself or mentally push her face down into a puddle of mud.
I also know people who can scarcely afford the children they have and yet somehow feel they should continue to have more. People who's religous beliefs propel them into "populating" out of God's interpretted will versus their resources to provide for them. I know women who have children in the custody of the state or in a relative's custody and who still continue to get pregnant. And most of these women will tell you that they don't believe in abortion. While the procedure is a harrowing, disgusting way of eliminating a human life, it's very interesting to me how someone can deduce that bringing children into the world with no resources or concern for their survival once they arrive is somehow better than this controversial procedure. I believe that God planted in women, the seed of desire to give life and fulfill life beyond our own existance. Biology is a very powerful thing. Still I feel it's no excuse for being an incubator rather than a mother. We are not only mothers to our own offspring, but mother's of the human race. Every child is our child. Every life is given through God's will by women. Few moments in my life have touched me more than the night I watched from my children's bedroom door as they slept, and quietly the whisper of God laid on my heart "They are not yours. They do not belong to you. These are my children and I give them to you in trust. They are a gift. You do not know how long you'll have them. Take care of my children." That whisper took my breath away and forced tears from a corner of my soul I never knew existed. I've spent many years puzzled by women who haven't heard their whisper. "Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think that is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat. I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love." - Mother Teresa