The F Word

My head is spinning with the things on my mind, the things I ponder when my head hits the pillow because it’s the only time I can hear myself think. There is an episode of The Simpsons when Marge refers to a magazine called Fretful Mother. I became a lifetime subscriber to that fictional publication the minute I had the first inkling of motherhood. I joked with Kramer just today, “You know, I read in my Fretful Mother that I haven’t been applying enough sunscreen because those SPF numbers imply a GENEROUS application and frequent re-applications.” I don’t really know where I actually read that alarming little tidbit but you can see why it would be perfect material for the FM readers.

My worries and what-ifs are just there: will Libby go to Princess camp and how hard do I push when she is crying and clinging to me in her tattered organza dress and tiara this afternoon? How do I motivate Isaac who has convinced himself that reading is too hard despite his love of books. I just don’t want him to fall behind and struggle. We are waiting around for the school district to makes changes for the year Libby starts school and they will likely be going to a different school and I get a little sick thinking about it. And why did I agree to co-chair the school fundraiser in October? Am I brave enough to try something I’ve been secretly dreaming about when both kids are in school? I’m in charge of our family camp “talent show” act in two weeks and I’ve got it diagramed on paper – it might be a bit much.

While these thoughts bounce around in my head clamoring for attention I also hear a little whisper reminding me to be a faithful mother too - faithful that this family will continue to grow no matter where it is planted and we’ll do our best with whatever comes our way. And most of all to have faith in myself so I can rest at night when Isaac and Libby are safe and well. Aren’t my best intensions better served by faithfulness than fretfulness after all?