Meaning

I've been trying to think of something to blog since Christmas and am coming up flat. Ugh. For a writer, I feel like a failure. The idea pool is dried up. I just can't think of anything meaningful to share with anyone.

At the moment, I'm pretty ashamed of the fact that I've made no progress on anything of significance over the past few days. Well, except for the fact that my house is clean, which was only accomplished by screaming like a shrew at everyone in the house and having to sit and cry in my bedroom because I felt so sorry for myself at having to live with such pigs. Charming, I know. But that's my winning personality.

Mostly, though, I've done nothing. Tried to knit a few times, but am really irritated at the fact that I can't make this one stitch look right, so I've knitted and torn out this piece about fifty times. And no, that's not an exaggeration, it's a sign of what an obsessive perfectionist I am. Which is why, if I decide to make something for someone, I'll tell them when I give it to them, and not before, so they don't expect it anytime soon. At this rate, I'll have the scarf I'm knitting done sometime before the second coming.

I've also brewed a few pots of tea in my new teapot. LOVE it, except I've realized that I need a tea cozy to keep it warm. Which means I need to drastically improve my knitting skills, because the patterns are a little more complicated than I have ability for.

I've written a couple of workshop proposals, put together some marketing and planning stuff for work, played a little Crackrat (which is so irritating with the tickets and XL garbage), walked the dog (twice!), taught a tax class (and let's not go into what a total snafu that was, thanks to the tech team forgetting that I still have another two weeks of class), tried to research why my little one has such bad eczema all of a sudden, brought yummies to the neighbors, stressed over the paperwork nightmare I still have to sort, thought about putting things together to refinance the house, and sat very firmly on my backside, making the Danica's butt shaped impression in the couch even more noticeable.

And in it, I have absolutely no satisfaction, because when it all comes down to it, none of it matters. This time next year, when I'm sitting in my even more butt-shaped spot on the couch, will I even remember any of this junk? Will anyone? And no, this isn't some, oh I'm so depressed thing. It's not that I'm depressed. I just wish I could be doing something more valuable right now.

This afternoon, I laid on on the couch with the girlies watching a My Little Pony movie. Riveting stuff. I pondered my whole "why aren't I doing something more meaningful" dilemma. I napped for a bit, until the little one woke me up, saying, "Mom! You're supposed to be watching with us, not sleeping." And as I stood corrected, I realized that right now, the most meaningful thing I need to be doing is sitting right here, watching this cheesy movie, and letting my little girls know that I am fully present in their lives.

When I was a little girl, the thing I wanted most was to have a mom and dad who were active in my life. They were there, sure, but I don't ever remember doing anything with my mom. She was always too busy. My dad lived on the other side of the country, so my time with him was limited. All I wanted was to be known and loved by them.

And so here I am, looking at my two little girls, mad because I haven't done anything of significance lately, and I realized that I've done some of the most meaningful things anyone can do with a person. During my knitting nightmare, the little one sat on my lap with her own needles and yarn, trying to make the mother of all baby blankets for her dollies. She saw me try, fail, and try again. We shared some of my special tea. I gave her a bath with oatmeal in it, hoping to ease the eczema (didn't work), and then, because her new Barbies had to have a bath with her, helped her clean all the oatmeal out of their hair. I made curlies in her hair, which meant we had dinner a little later than I'd planned, but it made her feel so pretty. I listened to the girls talk at dinner about the animal games they'd made up. I wore the ugly and extremely itchy bead necklace my little one made out of pipe cleaners and plastic beads because she thought it would make me a beautiful mommy princess.

What is the meaning of what I do? What am I accomplishing?

I used to have grand dreams of all the great things I was going to do. Sometimes I get frustrated because I'm not doing any of it. Occasionally, the voice of the college administrator rings in the back of my head as I hear her condescendingly tell me that I'm wasting my education.

But as I look at the little girl sleeping next to me, all of those voices stop making me so crazy. What does it matter if I save the world only to lose the most precious thing on earth?

I heard someone say somewhere that your calling is to do the thing that God has put into your life at that moment to the very best of your ability. Right now, God has put a couple of little girls in my life. He made me to be their mommy. I was created to be their mom. I keep saying that with a high level of awe, because really, it's about the most awesome thing I can think of. A very clear something that God has said, "here, do this."

And maybe, despite my earlier lamentations about having nothing meaningful to share, I've just shared the most meaningful thing God has shown me in a long time.