“My butterfly shirt, Mama. Butterflies! Purple butterflies. I wear my butterfly shirt.” Charlotte chants to me as I hold up another outfit (not the butterfly shirt).

“Why don’t we wear your new flower shirt? The one you picked out with daddy.” I say with a slightly pleading voice.

“My butterfly shirt, please, Mama?” At least she’s asking politely. But how many days can she wear the same shirt, really? It’s only day three at the moment. Charlotte knows what she likes and what she wants to wear. For now, she’s on a rotation of clothes: a purple butterfly shirt, a purple unicorn dress, a pink Easter dress with a bow that spins, and her Paw Patrol pajamas. And repeat.

Each morning I brace myself for the task of getting her dressed. And each morning if it’s not one of the above-mentioned pieces of clothing, a meltdown ensues. A full-out meltdown complete with tears, screams, arms flailing down the hallways as she runs to the corner of her room. Some days I relent, allowing her to wear the pink Easter dress for a hike in the woods, and other days I pull on a new outfit as the tears come falling.

I see the teardrops fall from her eyes and watch as she tries to catch her breath. I grab her for an embrace and want to tell her: remember this, Charlotte. Remember the emotions compelling you to cry, scream, and slam doors. Remember the strength of those feelings, the wellspring of tears, and the righteous anger and use it for good. Feel it all. Bring it with you into the world where you will be forced to do things that scare you. Be brave. Take these strong opinions you have of clothes and turn them into strong opinions caring for your neighbor and this planet. Feel so deeply for others who are hurting that you hurt, too.

Remember this about your heart—it is big and joyful and all-encompassing for this world and all its people.

Remember this.

For a few minutes, breakfast is calm. And quiet. Plastic colored spoons move smoothly from oatmeal bowls to mouths.

Lifting the spoon to his mouth and holding it for all to see, Isaac smiles, “Oatmeal! Strawblueberries,” his word for both strawberries and blueberries. “Happy party!” he yells lifting his spoon even higher. I quickly reach for his spoon willing the oatmeal not to slide off to the floor or his clean clothes. “NO!” He tells me and moves the spoon further away flinging the food across the table.

“Oh no, Isaac,” I say trying to be calm. “We don’t throw. Give me the spoon.”

“NO!”

Charlotte now takes her spoon and follows suit,”Happy party!” Cueing Isaac’s laughter.

“There’s no playing with your food. Give me the spoons.”

A chorus of nos rises while I notice the all-too-familiar look in Isaac’s eyes. I try to be quicker than he is and take his bowl away, but I’m too slow. He grabs his bowl and pushes it across the table. “I throw!”

Finding it hard to speak calmly with oatmeal scattered across the table, I speak slowly, “I know you threw that. We don’t throw.” This time I’m quicker than he is and grab his milk cup before he can throw it, too.

It’s not only breakfast though, but blocks and trains and balls. If he doesn’t get his way, beware of flying objects. His not-yet-two-year-old mind can’t process his powerful emotions in a way that doesn’t involve throwing when what he wants doesn’t match what I want for him.

With every tantrum, with every overturned cup leaking on the floor, with every block that barely misses my glasses, I want to tell him: remember this, Isaac. Sometimes you won’t always get your way. There will be days when you’ve worked for something and it still isn’t given to you. And on other days you’ll be compelled to give in to someone else because it’ll be the right thing to do. These strong emotions are part of you. They’ll help you work hard for the dreams you have, but they’ll also allow you to recognize when to let others take the lead.

Remember this.

RELATED: I Don’t Ever Want to Forget These Days With You

With the setting sun, I hear the final restlessness of the day fading from both kids’ bedrooms. Looking to the monitor Isaac’s thumb is nestled in his mouth and his legs scrunched beneath him. I see him make a final wiggle into the perfect spot before his eyes close and stillness takes over. Next door Charlotte holds her book propped up on her knees, her hands too tired to keep it upright. “One more book, Mama, then light off.” I hear her chanting into the air. After finishing her latest favorite book, Paw Patrol, she gets up and returns it to the shelf before rushing to the light switch.

“My light off, Mama,” I hear her say as she runs into her bed pulling the blankets over her body. For her, too there are a few final movements and then the placing of her hands under her cheek, her preferred sleeping position, before she gets still and sleep overtakes her tired eyes.

For a few minutes, I watch them both. Asleep and calm.

Remember this, I say to myself.

Remember these children. Their silent, sleeping bodies. Their breath that gives them life. Remember that they’ve been entrusted to me, these precious gifts of God. They are mine to care for and love, to fill with courage and hope. To teach and to open myself to the wisdom they impart.

Remember this, I smile.

Remember these children as they are now, and how they’re being formed to change the world.

This post originally appeared on the author’s blog

You may also like:

I Don’t Ever Want to Forget These Days With You

Lord, Please Don’t Let Me Forget

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Kimberly Knowle-Zeller

Kimberly Knowle-Zeller is an ordained ELCA pastor, mother of two, and spouse of an ELCA pastor. She lives with her family in Cole Camp, MO. You can read more at her website or follow her work on Facebook.

Each Child You Raise is Unique

In: Kids, Motherhood
Three little boys under a blanket, black-and-white photo

The hardest part about raising children? Well, there’s a lot, but to me, one major thing is that they are all completely different than one another. Nothing is the same. Like anything. Ever. Your first comes and you basically grow up with them, you learn through your mistakes as well as your triumphs. They go to all the parties with you, restaurants, sporting events, traveling—they just fit into your life. You learn the dos and don’ts, but your life doesn’t change as much as you thought. You start to think Wow! This was easy, let’s have another. RELATED: Isn’t Parenting...

Keep Reading

Our Kids Need Us as Much as We Need Them

In: Kids, Motherhood
Little boy sitting on bench with dog nearby, color photo

During a moment of sadness last week, my lively and joyful toddler voluntarily sat with me on the couch, holding hands and snuggling for a good hour. This brought comfort and happiness to the situation. At that moment, I realized sometimes our kids need us, sometimes we need them, and sometimes we need each other at the same time. Kids need us. From the moment they enter the world, infants express their needs through tiny (or loud) cries. Toddlers need lots of cuddling as their brains try to comprehend black, white, and all the colors of the expanding world around...

Keep Reading

Your Kids Don’t Need More Things, They Need More You

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Mother and young girl smiling together at home

He reached for my hand and then looked up. His sweet smile and lingering gaze flooded my weary heart with much-needed peace. “Thank you for taking me to the library, Mommy! It’s like we’re on a date! I like it when it’s just the two of us.” We entered the library, hand in hand, and headed toward the LEGO table. As I began gathering books nearby, I was surprised to feel my son’s arms around me. He gave me a quick squeeze and a kiss with an “I love you, Mommy” before returning to his LEGO—three separate times. My typically...

Keep Reading

This Time In the Passenger Seat is Precious

In: Kids, Motherhood, Teen
Teen driver with parent in passenger seat

When you’re parenting preteens and teens, it sometimes feels like you are an unpaid Uber driver. It can be a thankless job. During busy seasons, I spend 80 percent of my evenings driving, parking, dropping off, picking up, sitting in traffic, running errands, waiting in drive-thru lines. I say things like buckle your seat belt, turn that music down a little bit, take your trash inside, stop yelling—we are in the car, keep your hands to yourself, don’t make me turn this car around, get your feet off the back of the seat, this car is not a trash can,...

Keep Reading

So God Made My Daughter a Wrestler

In: Kids, Motherhood
Young female wrestler wearing mouth guard and wrestling singlet

God made my girl a wrestler. Gosh, those are words I would never have thought I would say or be so insanely proud to share with you. But I am. I know with 100 percent certainty and overwhelming pride that God made my girl a wrestler. But it’s been a journey. Probably one that started in the spring of 2010 when I was pregnant with my first baby and having the 20-week anatomy ultrasound. I remember hearing the word “girl” and squealing. I was over the moon excited—all I could think about were hair bows and cute outfits. And so...

Keep Reading

A Big Family Can Mean Big Feelings

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Family with many kids holding hands on beach

I’m a mother of six. Some are biological, and some are adopted. I homeschool most of them. I’m a “trauma momma” with my own mental health struggles. My husband and I together are raising children who have their own mental illnesses and special needs. Not all of them, but many of them. I battle thoughts of anxiety and OCD daily. I exercise, eat decently, take meds and supplements, yet I still have to go to battle. The new year has started slow and steady. Our younger kids who are going to public school are doing great in their classes and...

Keep Reading

You May Be a Big Brother, but You’ll Always Be My Baby

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother with young son, color photo

It seems like yesterday we were bringing you home from the hospital. Back then, we were new parents, clueless but full of love—a love that words can hardly explain. I can vividly recall holding you in my arms, rocking you in the cutest nursery, and singing sweet lullabies, just like yesterday. I can picture those times when you were teeny-tiny, doing tummy time, and how proud I was of you for lifting your head. And oh, the happiness on your face when “Baby Shark” played over and over—that song always made you smile! We made sure to capture your growth...

Keep Reading

“It Looks and Tastes Like Candy.” Mom Shares Warning about THC Gummies All Parents Need to Hear

In: Kids, Living, Teen
Hand holding bottle of THC gummies

What Aimee Larsen first thought was a stomach bug turned out to be something much more terrifying for her young son. Her 9-year-old woke up one day last week seeming “lethargic, barely able to stand or speak,” his mom shared in a Facebook post. At first, she assumed he had a virus, but something about his behavior just didn’t seem right. She called an ambulance and asked her older sons if their brother might have gotten into something, like cough syrup or another over-the-counter medicine. Their answer? “Yeah, THC gummies.” THC gummies are an edible form of cannabis that contain...

Keep Reading

Dear Daughter as You Grow into Yourself

In: Kids, Motherhood, Tween
Girl in hat and dress-up clothes, color photo

My daughter, I watched you stand in front of the mirror, turning your body left and right. Your skirt was too big and your top on backward. Your bright blue eyeshadow reached your eyebrows and bold red blush went up to your ears. You didn’t care. I watched you marvel at your body, feeling completely at ease in your skin. You turned and admired yourself with pride. You don’t see imperfections. You don’t see things you are lacking. You see goodness. You see strength. RELATED: Daughter, When You Look in the Mirror, This is What I Hope You See I’m...

Keep Reading

My Child with Special Needs Made His Own Way in His Own Time

In: Kids, Motherhood
Mother holding child's hand walking across street

I want to tell you the story of a little boy who came to live with me when he was three years old. Some of you may find this story familiar in your own life. Your little boy or girl may have grown inside you and shares your DNA or maybe they came into your life much older than three. This little boy, this special child, my precious gift has special needs. Just five short years ago, he was a bit mean and angry, he said few understandable words, and there was a lot about this world he didn’t understand. Unless...

Keep Reading