Thank God for Today

Yesterday wasn't good.

I've always thought I was a good mom. Certainly, far from perfect. There are moments I'm definitely not proud of and there are times where I feel like I'm killing it, but in the over all, a good mom.

It's stressful, this mom business. I feel like I'm still a kid myself and I'm playing at being an adult. I feel woefully unprepared and significantly under qualified. 

Most days you pull on your big girl panties and meet everyone and everything's demands and needs and attentions. It's a tightrope, but you manage. You change the burned out lightbulb and mop up the spilled milk and pick up the assortment of shoes and toys and laundry and Easter candy wrappers scattered throughout the house and throw out the leftovers you've been procrastinating on and you clean up the supper mess and start the baths and showers and get on the pj's and you read the bedtime story and change the diaper (after you've put on the jams because she pooped. again.) and try to fix the door jam that no one has any idea how it broke and figure out how to fix the tv and take out the garbage and a whole host of other things I know I'm forgetting that just fall into the regulars of nightly tasks. And that's just the household demands. That's nothing for work or relationships/friendships, family, God, church, and other civic and community responsibilities, commitments, and activities.

But, somedays (more often than you'd like) you just can't trudge through another minute. It all catches up to you and you feel so helpless. My mother-in-law so aptly describes it as 'shoveling shit against the tide'. And you break. And it's ugly.

Last night, I put the kids to bed. I tucked Bobby in, set the timer for his show, said his prayers with him and kissed and hugged him good night. Most impatiently. 

I just wanted to get to bed.

Then I went to the girls' room. They were arguing. Again. 

Parker wanted the fan on. Piper wouldn't help. Piper asked Parker to hand her the lotion. Parker wasn't listening.

"Why does everything have to be a fight with you two!?" I yelled.

The rest of the details of the argument are somewhat inconsequential because the outcome is always the same--

No matter how calm or even-tempered I start out, inevitably I end up having a monstrous meltdown.

Piper for the most part was trying to ignore my tirade and  ask me if tomorrow night I could come to their room and tuck them in first. 

I immediately got defensive about why I always go to Bobby's room first because he sleeps by himself. I was snarky and on the offensive with her. Just trying to best her in an argument. I can't get over the unceasing cascade of candy wrappers and other trivialities for fear that if I give an inch, they'll take a mile. I refuse to budge or cede to any request, no matter how unrelated or benign because I'm still mad about the candy wrappers or the door jam or what have you. Pick your poison.

But she bravely and calmly kept trying to state her point. Which is more than I can say for myself. 

She pointed out (in not so many words but the point remained) that I set standards for them, that I'm not even willing to hold myself to.

I tell them not to interrupt, but always interrupt when they're trying to explain themselves.

I expect them to listen and do as they're told, but I don't listen when I'm angry.

Again, I got defensive and tried to explain that I'm the mom. That I'm only trying to do what's best for them (But am I?). That I'm not doing them any favors by not scolding them when they're in the wrong. By not molding them into responsible, independent, accountable people.

I struggle to walk this line. To be flexible and let them be kids, to not stress about laundry and messes and have fun with them, but to teach them the importance of work ethic, commitment, accountability. I never feel like I'm on the right side of that line.

"But I'm still a person. You should respect me even when I make mistakes." With a quiver in her lip, you guys.

Gutted.

This so grown, but still so small, baby of mine, cut me to the core. 

She's right. I didn't even realize I was failing so spectacularly. But I was. I have been. I am.

I don't want to steal their joy. Their silliness. Their confidence. 

One day, (maybe they already do), they're going to look at me and think, 'Mom is never happy. She's always tired, always crabby, always frustrated, always upset."

And even worse, what if they think, "...because of us."

We forget to look at our interactions from their perspective. My love for them is unconditional. Full stop. There isn't anything they can do that will change how important they are to me. It's a given. Without a doubt. No question. For me.

But is it for them? Do they know that?

Patience has never been my virtue. Or organization. And it's a lethal combo when lacking.

I lay in bed for hours after they had gone to sleep, struggling with my guilt. With my ineptitude. What in the world is the matter with me!? I prayed. I cried. I begged God for the grace and humility and patience and clarity necessary to approach and support my kids in all circumstances.

In these moments where I'm falling apart, I remind myself that their capacity for trust and love and loyalty and forgiveness is greater than my own. I remind myself that they're good kids and that's at least in some part due to us, as parents (although the greater part of that credit goes to God). 

I can fix this.

No, yesterday was not good.

But there is still today. Today, I served up heaping amounts of patience and grace (for me, too). We had carry-out pizza and popcorn with M&Ms and Mountain Dew and played charades. Paper plates. In the living room. No laundry. No dishes. No baths. Just caffeine, sugar, snuggles, and giggles. 

Thank God for today.