All-Star Sunday: Little Cuts & Bruises by Danielle Corrigan

I met Danielle when I worked at the front desk of a dental hygiene college as she was a student there. I was also happy to see a face I recognized at church as well. I really wish she still lived close by so our kids could be friends as they are both close in age to my two little ones. I have enjoyed staying up to date with her and her little family via social media. She is a mom who enjoys motherhood and embraces all it has to offer!


I am a Mom of two kids.  My daughter will be 3 in December and my son will be 9 months old in a few days. My husband and I waited 5 years before we had kids. For a number of reasons. One of them (for me, at least) was wanting to learn more patience before raising children. I have never had very much patience. I am obsessive, compulsive about a number of things, am stubborn, particular, and very structured. Maybe it comes with being an oldest child, with the added fact that I went through my parent's divorce before I was 4 and then my Mother's re-marriage when I was almost 7. The re-marriage was a very GOOD thing, mind you. But going through both of those things probably added to my spicy personality when I was a child. In any case, I do not believe that patience is a personality trait. I think that it is a characteristic that one acquires and develops through life experience. Like wisdom. I guess that means that I don't think I will ever achieve the level of patience and wisdom that I desire until I am a ripe, old age. Oh, dear. It's a good thing we decided not to wait to have children until then, right?!

This is how I have recognized my developing patience:

Tonight after my daughter got out of her bath and I was putting lotion on her legs, I once again noticed all of the little marks on her knees, little scratches and bruises scattered all over. So then I thought to myself, she is one active child. Which then made me think that I don't remember her crying about any one of those little scratches and bruises. I think the most recent one she fussed about...I kissed, put a band-aid on, and that was it. They are all just a result of being a kid and having fun. So all of this made me think about how many times I feel scratched and bruised from the rigorous journey of being a Mom. But how they don't make me cry, because they are a result of being a Mom and having the time of my life. Alright, so maybe sometimes they make me cry a little bit, but that's okay too. As I would tell my daughter, sometimes we fall down or go "bonk", but we can learn from it, put a band-aid on it, and it will be alright.  

Here is a glimpse of what this Mom sees in the mirror most nights-

- I see spit up strewn on my shirt, that just so happens to be the one I slept in the previous night.

- I see tasseled hair, that looks as if my bed head was never tended to. Or just a messy ponytail.

- I see dark circles under tired eyes. And teeth that need to be whitened. 

- Then I get an odor up my nose, from my hand, as I brush my teeth. One that resembles the messy diaper 
from hours earlier. (Even though I have washed my hands so many times that they are cracked and near bleeding). Maybe the odor is coming from my shirt. I don't really know.

- So then I want to jump into the shower. But only after I clean my bathroom at 11pm at night because it won't be getting any attention the following morning. Plus, I would stink again after cleaning, so the shower has to wait until nearly midnightAfter I finish some late night chores, take a shower, and finally crawl into bed..I wonder when my ongoing Mommy-brain will ever calm down enough for me to fall asleep. (This could be another blog post entirely...Mom-insomnia. I used to sleep like a rock).  Before it does, I think about how much I love my kids. I think about how I would endure endless scratches and bruises to ensure their happiness. How I wouldn't trade anything for them. Even fancy clothes, fixed hair, a facial/manicure/pedicure, and a kept house. Yes, sometimes those things are necessary and even do able. But that's beside the point. 

- I think about how the spit up on my shirt reminds me of my cute baby boy who lets me hold him, snuggle him, and kiss him endlessly. 

- I think about how my frumpy clothes that I wear all the time indicate that I expect to get down on the floor and play with my kids. 

- I think about how my messy hair is from my daughter's piggy back ride and our wrestling match.

- I think about my dark circles under my eyes that represent the fact that I am there for my kids at night. Whether it's teething, sickness, cold, hot, thirsty, scared, or potty. I am there. And I am lucky enough to have them be there. (UPDATE: One of the littles had a whimpering episode as I was writing this! Had to go settle her down...ok maybe my husband did since I was writing this. Which is also another could-be blog post, Helpful Husbands).

- Then I think about cleaning and showering late at night when everyone is asleep...and am reminded that I chose to spend the day being a present Mommy. 

Lastly, I think about how I feel like I have imaginary scratches and bruises all over my mind and body from running this ongoing Mommy-marathon. A marathon that is SO WORTH IT. I will miss every. single. one. of these moments some day. One day, when I am old enough to look at myself in the mirror and think, "Look at that well-groomed, patient, wise woman!"....I will wish I had some spit up on my shirt. 

1 comment:

H. said...

Beautiful! It reminds me of the quote by Marjorie Hinckley: “I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails.
I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp.
I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbors children.
I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden.
I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder.
I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived.”