For Thanksgiving, I'll Be The Turkey. I Mean, Bring The Turkey.

I got a message with this story in it, and I just had to share. For those of you who are up to your necks in pumpkin pies, crying your eyes out over chopped onions (and maybe several other reasons), and scrubbing paint off the floors that was intended for (not so) well thought out holiday crafts. Or for those of you like me, who didn't even attempt any holiday crafts this Thanksgiving. (It's better for everyone, really.)  If you are repacking your 3 year old's suitcase for the 15th time, this is for you.  If you are about to head out the door and make your 85th trip to the store for something like paprika, this is for you. My child is begging me for food, because that is the only way people get fed around here, so I will get on with it.....


“That Mom”

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“That Mom”


Every now and then I attempt to be “that mom.” You know the one who wields a glue gun whilst craftifying something worth being on display at the Hobby Lobby. And the one who joyfully reads aloud to her children without being sneaky and skipping pages. Yes, her.


But it never works out for me.


I’m telling you the minute I start trying to shine my mommy halo, it slips down like a noose around my neck. Take for example the brilliant time I decided to attend a book warehouse clearance sale. I loaded up my kids and decided this was the perfect time to help my people fall in love with books. I wrongly figured a sale could help anyone feel the literary love. Not so.


My kids could have cared less about the books.


They wanted what was in a crate off to the side of all the book shelves. The brightly colored packages were laced with promises. I plucked one from my kid’s hands to read that this package contained the coolest science experiment kit. Anytime a brightly colored package uses the words “cool” and “experiment” on the front, a mother should beware. Especially when said package is marked down to $1.


She should be very wise and tell her children, “no.”


But I was tired from all the efforts to convince them to love books. I rationalized in my brain that we’d dedicated our morning to this sale, we should at least walk out with something educational. So, I bought several of the kits.


Sea monkeys. That’s what the kits were supposed to grow. Key words, “supposed to.” Anyhow, my kids were beyond excited to get this party started. So into the container went the chemicals, the water, the little food crystals and plastic green trees upon which the sea monkeys could play once they hatched.


It’s at this point I should share this is one of those ‘good news’ / ‘bad news’ stories. Yes ma’am, which would you like first?


The good news… something did hatch.


The bad news… they weren’t sea monkeys.


After leaving the experiment overnight, I woke to find my kitchen invaded by the biggest, nastiest, hairiest, giant flies you have ever seen. I’m not sure if our sea monkeys had some kind of mutation situation going on or if some sort of larvae had gotten into the packages we purchased and ate our sea monkeys.


Either way, it was awful.


The moral of this story is simple. Some moms are equipped by the hand of God to be “that mom.” They have been formed with the 3 C gene. Cooking, Crafting and Cleaning come easily and naturally to them.


Others of us have been delightfully chosen to provide the comic relief necessary to keep this world entertained. And to keep future therapists in business.


I feel certain I will be called into some counseling meeting one day where one of my kids reveals the great devastation caused by mommy having to kill the special “flying sea monkeys.” Oh mercy. Y’all will defend me, right?




Lysa TerKeurst
 
 
And now some proof that I'm raising wild Indians....
 

HAPPY THANKSGIVING FROM THE FIDLERS!

WE PRAY IT IS FULL OF LOVE, LAUGHTER AND THE KIND OF MEMORIES THAT LAST A LIFETIME!