Thank You for My Eardrums

“I just want to poke my ear drums out with a pencil,” is what I tempted to post on Facebook yesterday.  It had been one of those days, after many days building up on me, of vacuuming and then as soon as I roll up the cord and put it away, I have a toddler sprinkle cracker crumbs as he jumps around on the floor to the unknown drummer in his head.  It was the millionth time of stepping in a gunky chewed up and spit out banana piece and trying not to be too grossed out as it oozes between my toes.  

It was the “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy”

“What!?”

“Watch this!” as he proceeds to chew his food. 

Why do I have to watch him chew his food?  

And then as soon as I glance away to clean up a spitting up baby, or help with a math question, the “mommy, mommy, mommy,” chanting continues.  

It was the little meltdowns and battles that seem so petty to me.  It was the phone calls and visits from other people wanting me to listen and decide things for them when I just want to tell them the truth about what a jerk they are, but instead just smile and hold it in because how will my outburst help them really? 

It was pulling stuff out of fridge to make dinner amidst chaos and realizing I forgot to buy a main ingredient, so instead I make something that of course certain children think is disgusting and they never in their life could handle putting even a drop of it to their lips.

It was one of those days.

So, just before I posted that thought about eardrum pencil piercing, a thought flitted across my mind: “How sad it would be to not be able to hear.”

I was stunned.

I thought about all the things I would miss out on if I couldn’t hear.  The crickets chirping in the summer evenings, the whoosh of the diesel engine of the school bus pulling up telling me my buddies are home, the click of the door opening when my hunk gets home from work, the sizzle of frying butter, the giggle of kids getting tickled, and yes, even the incessant “Mommy, mommy, mommy.”

I am so lucky I can hear.

And I am so lucky to be picking up food off the floor all day long, because it means we have food.

And I am so lucky to have carpet all over the house, even though it is hard to clean, because having a carpet means I have a house, which means when it rains, I stay dry and when it is really hot outside, I stay cool.

And that really annoying washing machine that gets unbalanced every other load and shakes and thumps across the basement floor, leaking water if I don’t sprint to catch and stop it, well, I am really lucky to have that.  It means I have a way to clean my clothes.  In my house.  Without having to do it by hand.  And that I have clothes.  Lots of clothes.

And that tiny bathroom in our house where I slam my hip into the doorknob at least once a day, well, that means we have indoor plumbing and the privacy of a door that locks.  Also, I get the excuse to squeeze around my hubby when we brush our teeth and act like I don’t mean to invade his space. J

And those little kids that stress me out and make me feel completely crazy and tired and stressed and like taking a pencil to my eardrums.  I am really lucky to have them.  Because how lonely I would be without them.  I can have children.  As many as I want.

And I am doubly lucky because I get to stay home all day with them.

Not only that, they want to talk to me.  They want me to watch them.  That feel important when I look at them.  

They love me.

They love me.

Last night I became conscious of the fact that my greatest trials (and I recognize that they are really so trivial and “petty” to others), they are my greatest blessings. 

You can bet that this is about how my prayers went last night,

“Thank you Father, for carpet, for eardrums that work, for tiny bathrooms, my clothes and the ability to clean them, for messy little fingers and a house that looks like a hurricane just went through it no matter how hard I try, and thank you for the people I love most.  Thank you for giving me the life I always wanted.  And thank you for putting up with me complaining about it all the time.  Thank you for being eternally patient.  Please, help me be more like you.”