Monday, June 16, 2014

Good Gifts

Ok. Can I just say this:

Cauliflower pizza dough?

YUM.

You have to try it. Have to.

To Serena at Domesticate Me (http://www.domesticate-me.com/cauliflower-pizza-crust-with-roasted-vegetables-and-goat-cheese/)--thank you. So. Much. 

Yum. 

Next in the line up will be cauliflower mac and cheese, eggplant bruschetta, and cauliflower "rice", among other tasty and healthy dinners that I will force-feed my family. 

It is important to note that my son, that annoyingly picky son of mine, would not eat the cauliflower pizza dough, saying he liked the regular octane stuff better. Harrumph. But that won't stop me from trying, no siree. 

It is also important to note that I am probably as picky as that annoyingly picky son of mine. Ditto with the daughter. 

It's actually impressive how much influence we parents have on our children, especially when said children seem to always want to go their own way, seemingly oblivious to any guidance or direction offered from their well-meaning world tour guides. 

Tour Guide. I've never thought of myself like that before, but I suppose that's what I am. I person who has been here on the earth a little longer and knows a little more that the little people who are following me. It's my job to guide them and point them in the right direction, warning them of potholes and bumps in the road and places to stay away from. 

I try really hard to be a helicopter tour guide, hovering over them (like right directly over them, like 2 feet over them, like smothering them over them), but I'm learning that while it feels safer, it's no good for them. They aren't learning how to navigate their own compass when I'm right there to do it for them. 

It's hard. 

I wish parenting came with a rule book or something. 

My daughter was invited to a pool party the other day, so I made arrangements for my son and planned to go with. 

Someone didn't like the plan, and informed me as such. 

Um. 

I know how to swim, mom.

(Insert helicopter mom)

I'll be honest. I had an incredibly hard time a) not being worried and b) not being worried. A pool party? With water? And a diving board? And boys??? How would she be okay if I wasn't there to watch?

I know what you're saying in your head. 

Let go, woman! Cut the apron strings, for goodness sake!

It's haaaaaaaarrrrrdddddddd. So hard. 

But I'll say this. I think you're right. 

Half-way right, at least. 

Our foursome--the source of both my greatest joys and most consuming worries.
{emily giffin, the heart of the matter}

If only I could (or would) trust God as much as I want to, then my anxiety would probably be greatly reduced. I say probably, but I mean definitely. 

I think.

Which indicates an extreme lack of trust.

God doesn't ask for me to put my kids lives at risk. He only asks that I trust that He loves them as much (or more, even) than I do. 

The world can be a scary, constantly fluctuating place, and the unknowns are what scares me the most. But whether I'm around all the time or not, I can't protect my kids from everything, and eventually they're going to have to learn to think wisely and protect themselves.

And trust in God.

Which they don't have a good example of through me. 

So as hard as it is, I need to be the example of a mother who is wise, who thinks through decisions, who does the best she can, and who ultimately trusts God. Especially when the influence doesn't come from what I say (necessarily). I comes from what I do.

If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more then will the Father who is in Heaven give to those who ask Him!
{matthew 7:14}

**hello, autocorrect! Now that I've gone back through and re-edited (I see that I was particularly concerned about protecting my chickens rather than my actual children), this post should make more sense if you are reading it again :)


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