Who Took My Stapler – Becky Kopitzke

A few weeks ago on Instagram, I invited some of you amazing moms to share your hearts with me and I would post some of those stories each month. My regular contributors are dear friends, but there are mounds of awesome moms out there – stories, insights and tales that need to be told. This insight is one of them. Becky, I am so glad that (through Heidi) – we were able to meet at She Speaks. I cannot wait to read more from you. And you need videos! Your personality is electric!  – Courtney

 

Who Took My Stapler?

by Becky

 

Before I had children, I owned possessions. Now I share community supplies.

 

“Who took my stapler?” I yelled upstairs from the basement office, where I’d just spent 60 fruitless seconds searching through desk drawers and under stacks of manila envelopes.

 

“What, Mommy?” My seven-year-old called back from the kitchen.

 

“My stapler,” I said, emerging from the stairs. “Do you know where it is?”

 

“Oh, I borrowed it. I needed it for my craft. I’m writing a book.”

Really? I’m writing a book, too. And I need my stapler.

 

“Can I have it back, please?” I glanced behind my daughter at the kitchen table where my stapler sat tipped on its side amid a pile of construction paper scraps and Elmer’s glue bottles. Of course, there were no more staples left in it.

 

Such is the life of a mom.

 

Nothing is mine anymore. My hairbrush is fair game for any female, my bathroom cabinet is overrun with sparkly pink hairclips and Tinkerbell Band-Aids, my slippers are now a pair of jet skis for plastic dinosaurs, and my private stash of Rolos is half eaten before I even get a craving to rip open the bag.

 

Why can’t I just have my own stuff, for crying out loud?

 

“Then he said, “Beware! Guard against every kind of greed. Life is not measured by how much you own,” (Luke 12:15, NLT).

 

Imagine if everything we moms possessed were untouched by other people.

 

No more missing staplers.

No more chocolate fingerprints on the piano keys.

No more piles of someone else’s laundry spilling out the hamper.

No more scratches on the furniture or crayon marks on the walls.

No more favorite faces peeking around the shower curtain.

 

No more sweet voices filling our quiet hours.

 

No more laughter, dreams, or memories generated by the chaos of community beneath one roof.

Hmmm. Do my Rolos really matter that much?

 

Well . . . .

 

Okay, no.

 

Definitely no.

 

Never in a million lifetimes no.

 

So I’ll risk my desk supplies, my makeup drawer, my slippers and my sanity—all for the precious payback of day after day shared with the people I love far more than possessions.

 

When I measure my life in those terms?

 

I am filthy rich indeed.

 

And so are you.

 

Becky Kopitzke is a freelance writer, speaker, singer, dreamer, lunch packer, snowman builder and recovering perfectionist. She lives with her handsome husband and their two young daughters in northeast Wisconsin, where a pink indoor trampoline fills half the once formal living room.

 

Becky believes parenting is one of God’s greatest tools for building our faith, character, and strength—and it’s not always pretty. On her blog, Time Out: Devotions for Moms, she offers weekly encouragement for fellow imperfect moms, pointing our weaknesses, blessings, and victories to God.