Only As Happy

I've heard my dad say, quoting James Dobson, I believe, "A father is only as happy as his unhappiest child."

I'd like to add an addendum to that: my children, especially the older ones, are generally only as happy as their unhappiest mom.

Which leaves us in a sad catch 22. If my happiness is limited by the happiness of my saddest kid, and my children's happiness is limited by mine, then the child who currently has an issue has the ability to drag all of us down. Furthermore, with 14 children, there are very few moments when no one has an issue. The other night when we left Awana, there were at least 5 children crying in the van. And 3 kids rode home with dad. So nearly half the children in the vehicle I was driving were out loud sad.

This presents a problem. For everybody. So even though James Dobson said it, I'm resolving to reject it, somewhat, if I can. I think my children deserve to have a mom who is happier than the unhappiest child. I think they need a mom who has the joy of the Lord, even in the most hormonal moments. Even with potty training issues. Even with papers due and young boys drag racing through the foyer in unbreakable broken little tykes shopping carts. Even then.

Youngest daughter runs into my room at breakneck speed tonight, declares, "I gotta go potty!" I am, of course, nursing at the time, because that's what I do. I say, ok, GO! [This is why it is my firm and reaffirmed policy NOT to potty train anybody when I'm pregnant.] She runs into the bathroom, runs back out to tell me she needs my help, I yell (in my best Mama Dugger voice), "Get your butt in there, pull down your panties, and PEE IN THE POTTY!!"

She goes in, flushes the potty, closes the door, LOCKS IT, pulls her pants down and empties her entire bladder (and a jug of water she may have been hiding, I don't know, it was a lot) on the floor.

I get up, put the baby in bed, and storm into the bathroom, telling her to get on that potty. "Are you angry, Mama?" I am. It is my intention to have her sit there for the rest of her third year of life, or till she gets it. Eventually, though, I am ready to be done with my time out, and I get her fresh britches, give her a warning about next time, and a hug, and we pray and ask Jesus to help her not pee on the floor. A good night kiss and she is off to bed with peace.

I have the song in my head, an old Keith Green song, "I want to, I need to be more like Jesus. I want to, I need to be more like Him."

I need to maintain my grip, to maintain my "abide". It's so simple - if I abide in Him I can ask Him anything, but apart from Him I can do nothing. Why would I not abide?

But I don't. I get distracted, or stay away because I think He won't be pleased with me, I'm feeling rebellious, or just filling my brain with garbage.

For example, I keep loading and deleting and reloading and redeleting spider solitaire on my phone. It is a waste, of course. But when I'm nursing I have a lot of that sort of time that is easily filled with things like spider solitaire or browsing Facebook. And yet. There is no life there, and I feel so empty when I do those things.

I'm often too tired to read the Bible when nursing, especially in the middle of the night. But I could pray. I could talk to my Savior. Why wouldn't I? What better use of that time than to talk to my Friend?

I think, really, I'm only as happy as I am near to Jesus.