I Know What You’re Thinking {What We’re Doing For Lent}

Oh, good, it’s Lent, maybe Carolyn will give up blogging for the next 40 days.

I’m sorry to disappoint, but first, my people are sick.  Craig’s got a double upper respiratory-type infection, and Lexington’s starting to hack. Priority uno.

More annoyingly, I feel it’s important to share Lent and my hairshirts with you all as a way to evangelize– yeahyeahyeah okay the truth is that I need a little accountability for what I’ve chosen to give up this year.

I’m still nursing Collin, albeit not nearly as frequently as a 3 month old, but I still am ambushed with requests to “NURRRHHH?” 4-5 times a day, and as a mom of three tasmanian devils, I involuntarily fast most days anyway.
So while I won’t be eating meat on Fridays, due to still breastfeeding, and my thyroid gifting me the ability to feel like passing out each time I bend down ever so slightly, I figure I’d be more useful to God and my family if I can function this Lent.

What I’ve chosen to give up?  My time.

Making a huge swerve around boring youse all to death by explaining some of my anxiety/stress/coping problemos, the root of the problem is that I choose my time (writing/drawing/reading) over keeping up the housework. Sometimes that’s fine.  Other times…

It’s embarrassing.

For the next 40 days, before I’ve had my coffee -my hallowed, glorious coffee- in the morning, before I take the free moments to use for myself, I’m giving that up to wash some dishes or throw in a load of laundry.

For many moms, this is common sense.  But for me… let’s just say I feel like this:

I blog, as it fulfills my need for a creative outlet in the least messy way possible, e.g. pulling out my art bin full of art tools is akin to shooting off flares for my boys to come a’running and dive-bomb, desecrating every object I hold dear.
There’s not much to destroy when it’s all virtual.

By giving my time first to the house, I’m hoping that I can become more productive because, of course, I’m still going to have time for myself.
I’m just turning it into more of a reward than a right.
Again, probably common sense stuff that I missed in Housewife 101, but I’m pretty sure I missed the course altogether.

‘Kay.

I’m also attempting some Lenten crafty crafts with my boys.  As we don’t do crafts very often, because of the mess and immediate destruction of mostly my efforts, we’ll see how it goes.

Here’s the mountain we’re trying to climb this week:

Creating an in-home Stations of the Cross.  Every Friday, we will try to pray and think about Jesus as he carried His Cross to His Death.  While we pray, we read from scripture, while considering our own personal difficulties, or “crosses” if you will.

I’m making no delusions that attempting this with children the ages of 4, 3, and 1.5 is going to be perfect.  I’ll be impressed if we make it past the first station (there are 14), but the effort is the point. I want this to be a normal thing for my children as they grow up.

We’re also making a Lent Calendar.  Lexington is my boy who needs to know what we are doing each hour of the day, for how long, and what we are doing for the next few days (and his memory is impressive, and he doesn’t let me forget a single thing.)

I’ve found that a calendar is really helpful for him to understand time (He’s been talking about his summer birthday since Christmas).  So, thanks to a general facebook share from my friend Teresa, I’m copying offa this lady, and making a huge board, mostly for Lexington, to have a grasp on what 40 days looks like.

Progress update?

All I’ve completed of our craft are the printouts.

I think I’m in for a reeeeel healthy dose of humility this Lent because just as I was feeling good and proud of myself this morning for doing 2 loads of laundry, dishes, and keeping the boys occupied, Lexington pinched my mommy nerves by interrupting me as I sat down with a steamy cup of coffee to type this well-deserved post.

“Mom, there’s something I need to show you.”
“…can you tell me what it’s about?”  (usually it’s a speck of dust, floating in the sunlight)
“Well, you very need to come and see.  It’s brown and squishy, and I shouldn’t touch it.”

Brown it was.  Hot and fresh, straight from Emmett James. One of those gravity-defying diaper phenomenons that grows rarer the older a child grows.
And from the looks of it, he might’ve been curious about its physical properties.
Carpet scrubbing, bathtime scrubbing, third load of laundry washing, and a certainty that I have carpal tunnel in my left wrist later, I’m saying, good one, God.  Real good.