Compassion

I consider myself a good mom, even a momma bear. I am grateful for all of my kids. I do everything I can to provide for their basic needs.

I am not, however, a patient person. It's my biggest character defect. Once I get an in my head, I am unable to let it go. I hate to wait on things or people.

This defect, more than any other, has the biggest negative impact on my relationship with Christ, my family and my friends. I tend to have my own timeline for when things should happen. If that timeline isn't met, I become a foot-stomping, tantrum-throwing, petulant 3-year-old.

The word I hate to hear is "wait." I hate to hear it from other humans and I hate to wait on God. I have been like this my whole life. It is a contributing factor in my obesity. It's something that is slowly killing me.

It also means I'm slow to have compassion, especially for those to whom I'm closest. I spend the most chronological time with my kids and even though they're the youngest people in my life, they are the ones for whom I have the least compassion.

Today was an example of me lacking compassion. My older two don't nap everyday. When Jeremy was Bekah's age, he still napped everyday. The fact that they share a room makes it tricky to get them to take consistent naps.

Bekah could use a nap about three times a week. I am lucky to get her down for one. Jeremy does well with one nap a week. If I want them to nap, I have to separate them. That means I don't get a break myself.

I usually aim for "quiet time" 2-3 times a week. I put both the kids in their room and make them stay there while I do administrative work, catch up on my DVRed shows, whatever. It allows me to catch my breath and recharge my "patience" batteries.

You see, those batteries don't get completely charged everyday. It becomes like a cell phone battery; after a while, the battery doesn't hold as much of a charge.

That battery is used as much as the battery for my iPhone. I start off the day with it being used by the kids and it never lets up. So when it turns to lunchtime and behavior goes sour, I'm not working with much in reserve.

Today, we had physical therapy for Doug. This has become a difficult activity. It conflicts with Doug's nap time, causes Bekah's "mommy" gene to flare-up and generally causes the green-eyed monster to arrive in a cloud of smoke.

Jeremy, who's been obsessed with his trains, refused to share one of his freight cars with Laura (the therapist) to use with Doug. Mind you, he's got about 20 that he uses.

Today, I didn't have patience for it. I sent him to his room for the remainder of the session. After Laura left, though, it got ugly.

He wouldn't go to his room on his own. In the back of my mind, I knew that today had to be a nap day for one or the other. Bekah was the heavy favorite, but when things went south with Jeremy, he moved to the top of the list.

I was not the mom I wanted to be in that moment with Jeremy. I didn't have compassion for my 5-year-old. I knew he probably needed a nap. He struggles with talking about his feelings. I think it's tough thing to want more attention from mom and not always know how to ask for it.

I expect him, at 5, to be great at sharing. I expect him to be able to articulate his feelings. I expect that he can amuse himself for an hour without bugging me.

This is a boy who still needs me to button his pants after he goes to the bathroom. He is awful at drinking out of a non-sippy cup. He still can't dress himself on his own.

What about all of that would mean my son is emotionally independent? Why would I expect him to come to me, reticent, saying "Mom, it's tough for me to share your attention with my younger siblings. I want to have an opportunity to be with you on my own. When I can't, I get really upset and act out inappropriately. I apologize and will now go for a nap on my own."

No, he's 5. His reaction is to treat his brother's therapist poorly, throw a tantrum, refuse to nap, kick the closed door of his bedroom and generally be 5.

The problem with being impatient is that the anger is more pronounced. I know there's a theory about taking 5 minutes to calm down but when I can't even put the laundry away by myself, it's a tough thing to practice. The solution is patience--it tends to breed compassion.

I am sure today was not the last day I'll lose it with my kids. I am hopeful that, if I start to get more sleep, pray more and shout less, I can try to show my babies more compassion. They really do deserve it; really, I do too.