New Off Switch

My OFF switch was disabled long ago. Yes having four boys in five years may have added to my maimed button, but I was never good at turning that switch from full throttle to sleep mode. I could blame it on genetics, but then again, many see having full battery power as a positive thing. These days I have no trouble going from bright lights to "sleep mode" with the blink of an eye (literally); it's a different kind of "off" function that is the problem now.
I've seen parents oblivious to their children's whereabouts in a crowded, kid-friendly arenas, trusting the fifty other parents to notice any falls or folly with their young. This may simply be a different parenting style, but I struggle to keep both eyes in an adult conversation when my boys are not within reach. Maybe it stems from my time working in a spinal cord and brain injury hospital; maybe it comes from the innate desire to stay one step ahead of disaster, or maybe I just lack trust in others or in my boys themselves. However, I believe having a medically fragile, sensory-driven little boy changed me, for better or worse, my button is permanently on until I have all eyes closed and all bodies in bed. There's a fine line between letting go of Levi and letting him get hurt, which he does daily, and keeping him from the lurking doom that he's unable to properly navigate.
Don't get me wrong, Levi is smarter than anyone realizes, but his intelligence doesn't negate the fact that boys tend to do unintelligent things for absolutely no reason at all. The difference is that Levi doesn't have the strength to brace himself and his reaction time is always a few seconds too late.

We recently accepted a dinner invitation at the home of a sweet family with six kids. With four boys and two girls spanning from nine to infancy, I assumed this home was the right space to turn my button off for a bit and give my attention to meeting a new couple. Within the first five minutes, Levi was in quicksand. Well it was quick mud, but his brothers had tried to get him out with no avail, by the time my husband got to our screaming second child, Levi was covered (no exaggeration) from head to toe with thick Georgia mud. It was in his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. He looked like the swamp thing, and we spent then next ten minutes watering down our wailing kids in their front lawn. I'm sure we left a lovely first impression of our parenting style, and I doubt we'll receive a second invitation at that.
This scenario left me pondering my predicament. I function quite well either in the relaxing respite I've come to appreciate in my own home, or the high alert drama that accompanies four precocious boys in the outside world. My struggle occurs somewhere in the middle. When it's not time to sleep, yet not time to sound the rescue alarm. As Levi improves and strengthens, and as I close the door to biological babies, there's a small vacuum of air that I'm not sure how to fill.

“The proper aim of giving is to put the recipient in a state where he no longer needs our gift. We feed children in order that they may soon be able to feed themselves; we teach them in order that they may soon not need our teaching. Thus a heavy task is laid upon the Gift-love. It must work towards its own abdication. We must aim at making ourselves superfluous. The hour when we can say ‘They need me no longer’ should be our reward” (C.S. Lewis, ‘The Four Loves’).

I'm missing my reward, which humbles my heart. I'd hate to be so self-absorbed that I make my mission of motherhood my only meaning. The fast and ferocious manner in which I became a mama disabled my off switch in a different way, but it needs repairing. I want to find a button that enables me to embrace my expendability with joy. Bandwagons and barrages exist to fill vacuum air. Whether it's a job, a cause, a team, or a lifestyle, it can be easy to push the button too far one direction simply for the sake of avoiding any extra air. I hope to discover a new mode between off and on in order to reap my reward with gratitude not regret. I want the air to freely move about in the space God has me, so I can say at any given moment that I am superfluous because when I am less, He is seen more.

"I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation [including just a light breeze]... I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" (Phil 4:12-13).