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April 25-May 8
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| Copyright © 2011-2014 EEW Magazine. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without permission is prohibited. |
Stephanie Johnson, Jennifer Johnson,
Lisa Perkins-Collins, and Annette
Jackson are staff parenting editors at EEW
Magazine. These modern Christian moms
are all about discovering and sharing ways
to make life easier and more rewarding for
moms doing their best to balance work and
family. Always open to new ideas and fresh
suggestions from other modern Christian
moms, EEW Magazine's parenting editors
would love to hear your questions, stories,
and ideas for this new column!
Email: moms@eewmagazine.com
Lisa Perkins-Collins, and Annette
Jackson are staff parenting editors at EEW
Magazine. These modern Christian moms
are all about discovering and sharing ways
to make life easier and more rewarding for
moms doing their best to balance work and
family. Always open to new ideas and fresh
suggestions from other modern Christian
moms, EEW Magazine's parenting editors
would love to hear your questions, stories,
and ideas for this new column!
Email: moms@eewmagazine.com
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My seven year old son walked in my
bedroom for the third evening in a row
clutching his favorite picture book. "Mom,
can we read this tonight?"
I paused and sighed deeply. It had been such
a hectic week at work and I had to get my
report finished in time for my early morning
meeting with the boss.
"Pleeease? Last night you said you would,"
he begged with a slightly sad and desperate
look. Immediately guilt came over me. I'm
not proud to admit it, but, for two nights in
bedroom for the third evening in a row
clutching his favorite picture book. "Mom,
can we read this tonight?"
I paused and sighed deeply. It had been such
a hectic week at work and I had to get my
report finished in time for my early morning
meeting with the boss.
"Pleeease? Last night you said you would,"
he begged with a slightly sad and desperate
look. Immediately guilt came over me. I'm
not proud to admit it, but, for two nights in
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Tell us at moms@eewmagazine.com.
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I stood still. For how long? I don't know. I felt paralyzed by that statement. "Oh God, forgive
me," I whispered as my paralysis turned to weakness, leaving me unable to stand. I sat right
there and cried.
I knew I had been too invested in my career, without giving enough time to my son. Busyness
was not an excuse. I had truly lost perspective. With that one question, my focus shifted and I
knew I had to make some changes.
After I gathered myself, I headed into my bathroom, washed my face, and came out with a smile.
My husband had already fallen asleep.
So, I clicked on my blue lamp, opened my night stand drawer, took out my journal, and wrote
these words:
Choosy moms... choose to make time for their children.
Annette Jackson is a wife, mother of two, and a staff editor for EEW Magazine. Enjoyed this
article? Email Annette at annette.johnson@eewmagazine.com.
me," I whispered as my paralysis turned to weakness, leaving me unable to stand. I sat right
there and cried.
I knew I had been too invested in my career, without giving enough time to my son. Busyness
was not an excuse. I had truly lost perspective. With that one question, my focus shifted and I
knew I had to make some changes.
After I gathered myself, I headed into my bathroom, washed my face, and came out with a smile.
My husband had already fallen asleep.
So, I clicked on my blue lamp, opened my night stand drawer, took out my journal, and wrote
these words:
Choosy moms... choose to make time for their children.
Annette Jackson is a wife, mother of two, and a staff editor for EEW Magazine. Enjoyed this
article? Email Annette at annette.johnson@eewmagazine.com.
a row, I had responded to that same question by saying, "Not now, honey. We'll read tomorrow,
okay?" I decided that I wasn't going to make that night my third strike. So I read the book,
which took all of five minutes.
He was happy. My conscience was clear. And I was able to get back to work after putting him to
bed.
Later on, before calling it an evening, I headed downstairs to the kitchen to see what I would
pack for my son's lunch. I opened the creaky door to the cupboard and saw that hubs (my
husband) had bought store brand peanut butter. My face flushed. I could feel the warmth of the
blood rushing to my cheeks first, then my ears. I think I could have blown steam out of both of
them.
"Choosy moms choose JIF."
I first heard the advertising slogan for JIF peanut butter on TV years ago. Just like that, it was
stuck in my head. I suppose the marketing message was effective because it suggests that if you
don't feed your child JIF brand peanut butter, you're the opposite of choosy. Perhaps, uncaring?
So then, are moms who choose Skippy, Peter Pan, or store brand peanut butter, less choosy or
discriminating about the quality of food they buy for their children? Not necessarily. But still,
JIF was all I ever used. No exceptions.
As I marched back up the oakwood steps, allowing my feet to drop heavily on each one, I
wanted to find out what had possessed my dear hubby to buy that no-name peanut butter.
Angrily, in one swoop, I snatched my son's fire truck off the staircase without breaking my
aggressive stride. I was on a mission to get to the bottom of peanut butter-gate.
Well, right in the middle of me being ridiculous, something strange happened. I felt convicted.
Next thing I know, I heard the voice of the Holy Spirit say so clearly, "Which is more
important? The brand of peanut butter your son eats, or the knowledge that he is more
important to his mother than her work?"
okay?" I decided that I wasn't going to make that night my third strike. So I read the book,
which took all of five minutes.
He was happy. My conscience was clear. And I was able to get back to work after putting him to
bed.
Later on, before calling it an evening, I headed downstairs to the kitchen to see what I would
pack for my son's lunch. I opened the creaky door to the cupboard and saw that hubs (my
husband) had bought store brand peanut butter. My face flushed. I could feel the warmth of the
blood rushing to my cheeks first, then my ears. I think I could have blown steam out of both of
them.
"Choosy moms choose JIF."
I first heard the advertising slogan for JIF peanut butter on TV years ago. Just like that, it was
stuck in my head. I suppose the marketing message was effective because it suggests that if you
don't feed your child JIF brand peanut butter, you're the opposite of choosy. Perhaps, uncaring?
So then, are moms who choose Skippy, Peter Pan, or store brand peanut butter, less choosy or
discriminating about the quality of food they buy for their children? Not necessarily. But still,
JIF was all I ever used. No exceptions.
As I marched back up the oakwood steps, allowing my feet to drop heavily on each one, I
wanted to find out what had possessed my dear hubby to buy that no-name peanut butter.
Angrily, in one swoop, I snatched my son's fire truck off the staircase without breaking my
aggressive stride. I was on a mission to get to the bottom of peanut butter-gate.
Well, right in the middle of me being ridiculous, something strange happened. I felt convicted.
Next thing I know, I heard the voice of the Holy Spirit say so clearly, "Which is more
important? The brand of peanut butter your son eats, or the knowledge that he is more
important to his mother than her work?"