I would say if I am consistent at anything… I am consistent at flopping when it comes to motherhood.
I wouldn’t say I am a BAD mom.
I just…
I KNOW ME.
I HAVE ROOM TO GROW. A LOT OF ROOM.
I am impatient. I have high expectations. I am short-tempered.
I get cranky. I want my way. And I want it now (see: impatience).
So when I woke up Mother’s Day morning before everyone else … (I have always been an early riser, but usually at least one kid is awake before me on a “sleep-in-ish” day…), I remembered it was Mother’s Day and my mind started spinning.
I don’t deserve a day. I don’t deserve special attention or admiration or compliments related to my role as a mom. I AM TERRIBLE. I AM HORRIBLE. So-and-So is so patient… So-and-So is so crafty… So-and-So is so fun. So-and-So LIKES to play board games… So-and-So is so involved at the school… So-and-So… So-and-So… So-and-So… So-and-So… My poor kids. I’m going to be a better mom… I need to be a better mom…
Swirl. Swirl went my thoughts.
Kick. Punch. Slap.
My youngest wandered in… rubbing her tired eyes. Her scratchy voice asked, “Can I snuggle you?”
ALWAYS.
My son. His almost-teen self popped in to give me a card and a kiss.
My middle daughter soon peeked around the door with breakfast…
I opened the cards… I opened them with my feelings of inadequacy swirling.
I don’t deserve the cards… the love, the admiration, the Ritz crackers dipped in chocolate mint for breakfast…
Their innocent admiration.
Either she doesn’t know Jesus… though I would give my life for her.
I know I am not thoughtful as Jesus, nor as sweet as a sugar cube… I may be as beautiful as a flower, though. *Heh. Joke.*
But I was a little girl once. I remember spending hours in my mom’s closet trying on her shoes. I remember when she would get ready to go out with my dad… how I thought she was the most beautiful woman. Honestly, I don’t ever remember thinking any other woman was as beautiful. I remember my complete center was my family. My mom. And my dad.
My dad expresses a lot of regret as far as my raising. My dad and I are A LOT alike. I hear his words in mine when I think about how I am failing my kids. I feel so unworthy to get to be the mom of three really amazing kids.
Really amazing.
When I hear my dad express his regrets, yes… I can acknowledge everything was not perfect. And I didn’t need it to be.
I adored my mom and dad. I NEEDED them. I wanted only them. They loved me.
I love mine.
And here I am. Dozens of years later… rich in imperfection… but also rich in love.
Just like my Mom and Dad.
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