Did I lure you in with that awesome clickbait title? I hope so. I totally resorted to that, and I’m fairly proud of it. It reads like, “Oh my gosh, my kids did the WORST thing ever and you’re not even going to believe it!”
In reality, the "what" that my seven and nine-year-olds did this morning was extraordinarily wonderful.
My oldest two cherubs (yes, today they're cherubs) cooked my hubby and me breakfast in bed.
Cooked. Like, used the stove and the coffee maker and borderline succeeded. Who cares that my "omelette" (read: egg fried in oil until it was so brown and crispy that it could literally be cracked in half) was slightly overdone?
Who cares that my coffee maker's filter was filled past the brim, resulting in a delicious cup of grinds swimming in dark-roast goodness?
I certainly don't!
My. Children. Cooked. For. Me.
I didn't pay them to do it, and no one bribed them or guilted them into it. They woke up before us, they went downstairs, and they decided to serve their mom and dad.
Let's pause for a moment to allow everyone to do the Carlton dance, because a celebration is in order. This, my friends is #WINNING!
As we were starting our fall soccer season in September, I told my 1st grade boys' team (yes, I coached soccer this season...don't laugh...hard), "Boys, you win some and you lose some. It feels great to win, but it matters even more how well you lose."
In motherhood, it often feels like we moms are caught in a never-ending losing streak. Can I get a witness? One miserable day melts into the next, and some seasons are rough and awful and our kids are crazy and it's discipline, discipline, discipline all the seconds of all the minutes of all the hours of all the days.
Sometimes we feel like big fat losers, and when you're a big fat loser who feels like you're the losing-est of all the losers in the legion of mothers, it's hard to lose well. It's hard to extend grace to yourself. It's hard to accept a loss and not allow it to etch a big "L" for loser into the core of your identity. It's hard to take the field again when the next game comes around, because you're used to losing and you just want to quit.
It's hard to like your kids, even though you love them.
It's hard to smile when your husband gets home from work instead of bursting into tears when you hear his key in the door, grabbing your keys and running for the nearest exit.
It's hard to cook for your children, presenting your hard culinary work to the most honest group of food critics known to mankind. That chorus of "Ewwwww's" will slice your heart open every time.
It's hard to meet with teachers who are weary of your kid's constant rambunctious behavior, to hear again how he's struggling and to feel like you're doing all you can but it's still not enough.
Motherhood is hard, and it's full of opportunities to learn to lose well.
Losing well is hugging your child a little tighter than normal after an especially challenging day.
Losing well is dying to yourself and your instinct to flee when your husband hits the foyer and asking him how his day went before you launch into a tirade about how terrible your time was with the kids.
Losing well is calmly smiling and not blowing a gasket while telling your kids it's unfortunate that they don't care for the meal you prepared, but that they will be eating it anyway.
Losing well is seeing the best in your child even when others can't, and it's remembering that all of us started off snot-nosed, rambunctious, and majorly lacking in the self-control department. It's having grace for your littles even when you don't see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Losing well is remembering there is always light at the end of the tunnel, even if you can't see it yet.
This morning was a light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel moment for me.
It wasn't about the breakfast (me and my crackalackin' egg can attest to that). It was about my kids and their hearts. They considered my husband and me before they considered themselves. They set their own hunger and agenda aside and served us. After several days of feeling like the losing-est of all losers in the legion of mothers, this morning I felt pride, overwhelming love, and satisfaction. I saw a bit of the payoff of the seemingly losing days, and I saw rays of light shining up ahead.
I saw a glimpse into my kids' futures, and those futures looked bright. I saw people who could feed themselves, and others! I saw kind, considerate, loving, highly-functioning members of society. For a second I saw it, and that second was enough to remind me to keep on losing well.
Because we're not really losing, you know? It's like the old adage says: Sometimes you have to lose a few battles to win the war. Motherhood is a war, and it's often ugly and plenty bloody. But it's a just fight, and the people we're fighting for are our children. And they're worth it.
Let's lose well, mamas. Let's encourage one another in the hard seasons. And let's celebrate the moments when we experience a win, and let's remember the wins often. The wins are what give us perseverance as we keep fighting for our people.
I did tell my daughter that she did a very, very bad thing when she showed me she could prepare coffee. I foresee many days in the near future when I will lounge in my bed long after the sun rises, beckoning my first born for my morning cup of joe. Never mind that it will be filled with grounds; beggars can't be choosers, amiright?
Feel free to laugh!
Read more from Jordan in her first book, #FeelFreeToLaugh, now available on Amazon.com!