J has fine motor issues. He has gross motor issues too for that matter. Nothing major. Nothing that requires a professional, but enough that he is in a booster group at school.
After a meeting at school explaining the program, I came home armed with a bag of goodies to improve his fine motor skills.
I looked at the contents, and thought so simple, so straight forward and put it aside.
I know what he needs. I know what activities will improve his gross and fine motor skills. I was after all a KS1/ kindergarten/ junior primary (or what ever you call it) teacher in my life “BK” (Before Kids)
But I’ve become one of those parents that I used to roll my eyes at.(How many of my children’s teachers roll their eyes at me?) You know- the ones who don’t ensure that the children’s homework is done. The ones who don’t listen to their children read everyday. The ones who forget to send in a shoe box and small animal for the habitats topic.
I don’t understand why.
Four years ago I had a baby, a four year old, 6 year old and an 18 year old. Yet I still the energy to listen to my girls read than I do now that it is said baby’s turn to learn to read.
I was able to privately teach two children the piano, yet now I struggle to teach my own two.
I was able to juggle a bed time routine that involved breastfeeding an infant and reading bed time stories to the older children, yet now I feel guilty as the children haven’t had a bedtime story in months. (So much for my plan to read aloud more with the children)
Somedays I have the energy to do it:
Somedays we write in our journals, read, do crafts, fine motor activities or have a music lesson.
Somedays I don’t.
Somedays, the children have had a busy day at school and are grumpy.
Some days, I have had a busy day and am tired and need to get supper out.
When I think about the different stages I have been at with my children, the different countries I have lived in, my different overall moods and feelings, I start to wonder.
What’s the difference?
Why have things changed?
Ultimately it leads to- Who am I?
Somedays I don’t know any more. Then I start to wonder why.
‘Why have I changed?’
Could it be that I’m trying to hard to be the perfect wife? Or the perfect mother?
Am I trying too hard to have a ‘Martha Stewart’ house when it’s not in my genetic coding?
Then some days I know who I am.
I am a child of God, who was created to appreciate the great outdoors, who loves interacting with children through education, crafts or such like and who is lifted to another place on the wings of a song.
Some days, when I know who I am and are being true to me, I am at peace. I have energy. I am motivated to spend time with my children. J gets to do some reading or fine motor activities. The girls will have a piano lesson and things in our house become quite… Um… almost Martha Stewart-esque.
So perhaps the upshot of this little ramble is that somedays, no rephrase that, most days- I need to be me.
The person that God created me to be.
To stop striving to become someone else.
Someone with a perfect house.
A perfect faith.
A perfect figure.
A perfect family.
With my lumps n bumps.
With my cluttered yet you-are-always-welcome-in home.
With my love of the great outdoors, family time, animals, the environment and music.
Because when I am true to the person that God created, my cup runneth over, spills into the lives of others and I am at peace with my purpose in life.