Leftovers...

Leftovers...
 
Today, as I spent my lunch leisurely blog hopping, I came across a blog that has touched my heart and lifted my spirit in so very many ways. Her style of writing speaks to me and fills my spirit with promise and hope. Sometimes with a little bit of "yep! me too!". In pointing out things she sees in herself, she helps me see the same in myself.
 
I'm not proud of these things, but I fervently beleive that seeing these things, and identifying them within myself will help make me a better woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend and person.
 
One such post, titled "Leftovers" has hit my heart spot on and has resonated within me right down to my chipped toe nails. Below is an exerpt from her blog...
 
"How often in life am I giving those that matter most, my Leftovers?
These boys, who are my heart and soul,
often get whatever is '"Left-over" of me
whenever I think I am done with the rest of my commitments.
They get the little blob of energy that's left of me, after running around all day.
A cold slab of minimal effort, because I just want to be done already.
The crumbs that are left of my patience.
(Well, any that haven't already crumbled from dealing with other people's children.)
And if they are really lucky,
I might even top it off with the tiny little dollup of fun that I might actually have left.
But more often than they deserve,
they get the frantic, task-oriented Drill-Sargent Mom who is running short on time.
Or the exhausted, Do-It-Yourself Mom who is ready to collapse.
Even, occasionally, the grumpy, short-tempered, ornery Mom who is at my wits' end.
They get a signature on their homework slip for reading a story to me
while I made a mental grocery shopping list.
They get a "Woo-hoo" from me in the kitchen, amid the dinner preparations
when they play perfectly through their piano piece, all the way over in the Music Room.
They get a smile and an "Mmm, hmmm" when they show me their latest cool Wii maneuver,
Or tell me about the awesome play they ran in the football game at recess that day.
Neither of which, if quizzed, I could describe 30 seconds later.
They get a half-hearted high-five when they tell me their chores are done.
A two minute back tickle at bedtime, so I can rush to a set of photos that need editing.
Or a quick kiss goodnight as I run out the door for a Ladies' Night Out.
How often am I half-listening?
Looking past them?
Talking at them?
Or even in the same room, but far, far away in my thoughts?
All Leftovers...
I am serving them Leftovers.
Spending the majority of myself elsewhere
and then giving the little bit that's left, to them, as if it is enough.
I'm there, always, but am I really there?
I'm going through motherhood's motions, making mental lists.
Always the lists.
Planning ahead to the next thing.
The To Do's that can never be all the way done.
You know them...
The cyclical routines that fill our days."
 
"As I think of that now, I realize that this is the time.
The time for me, as well, to be done with lesser things.
The time to focus on what is most important.
Most lasting. Most eternal.
More than ever before.
Not the good things.
Or even the better things.
But the best things.
The very best things.
As you approach the center of a bullseye,
the margin for possible error becomes more and more narrow.
The degree of accuracy necessary becomes more and more pointed.
We are approaching that bullseye, my friends.
At an ever-increasing rate.
I, for one, am consciously re-committing to be done with lesser things.
To stop serving the Leftovers of myself to my family.
But instead to be fresh, ready and more present in the present.
Ready for them with a Feast."

I want, and need to top feeding my family leftovers. I work a full-time job (definitely beyond more than 40 hours) outside of our home. I find myself stressed and overwhelmed when I arrive home at the end of the day after picking up Fredlet from daycare (which he really does love). I need to refocus my efforts and my mind onto the things that are most important - the things that are not things ag all. It won't be long before Fredlet does not want to cuddle up in my lap and be read to for the 60th time that day. The time is short where tickle time is fun for him, and he's interested in playing with me as his favorite play mate. My husband means the world to me, and oftentimes I am short with him and take out my frustrations on him, rather than releasing them productively. Instead of spending quality time with and enjoying him, I'm often running about trying to catch up on one of a thousand tasks that I think need to be done.
 
I am so grateful that I can see the lesser-positive things in myself through others writing. I am so grateful for those who have the talent to write with such a way that others can benefit and be uplifted. Thank you for sharing yourself and your sweet sweet talents!

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