I've been working on this entry for a long time...in my mind...and thanks to my brilliant plan to have kiddos skip naps while hubby is away, everyone is asleep at 8 p.m. and I'm finally typing it out. I jotted down these quotes a few weeks ago, but today is 5.18.10, the last day of pre-K before the long, hot summer. Kiddos were excited. I was teary. But that's a subject for another entry.
The other day, I bought a new stick of sunscreen. Miller asked if I had gotten it because the other one was broken. I said that the other one was empty, not broken. She responded, "No. Remember last summer when you threw the sunscreen and broke it?"
Wow. Ouch. OUCH. I did remember. Flashback to last summer - August (I think it was August. I feel slightly less horrible if it was August, but only slightly). I was as big as a hippopotamus and had just put on my maternity swimsuit which itched like crazy and barely covered my swollen belly. I was sweaty. I was irritable. I was trying to get my kids dressed and greased to go cool off in the miserably tepid water of the community pool. I was so angry that I was having to ask them a million times to put on their swimsuits and sunscreen. I mean, there I was, huge but sweet as pie, trying to take them somewhere fun for them (and not for me), and they were making me beg them to get ready? PLEASE. Fury bubbled up and boiled right over, and I threw the sunscreen stick across the room. And the plastic broke.
And the other day when Miller asked me about replacing it, besides feeling sad, ashamed, ridiculous, etc., I wondered: Is that what she remembers about last summer?
People often say things to me such as: I just know you're such a sweet mom. Or: I can't imagine you yelling at your kids. Statements like this, though made with kind intentions, make me cringe. Because, as moms go, I can be sort of a disaster. I do yell, and I throw sunscreen, and that's not the only thing I've ever thrown, or even the most recent thing I've thrown, though I've yet to throw M or R.
We have bad moments at my house. I lose my cool at least 7 times a week. AT. LEAST. And though most of my bad moments don't include throwing, they include words and tones and expressions and volume I immediately regret.
But what about the good moments? What about the hugs and kisses and snuggles and I love you's? What about hilarious conversations and laughter and singing together and dancing and swinging and running around the yard? What about the days when I keep my cool and take a break from picking up the house, and we cook and go to the park and read and color? When my children look back on their childhood, will they remember the good things about me? Or just the bad?
I went to a counselor a few years ago when the bad seemed to be daily outweighing the good, and through tears and more tears, I asked her this question: "What if my kids don't think I was a good mom?"
Her answer: It's not about you.
I think about that response all the time. It's true, but it's hard. What could be better than my kids thinking they have a great mom? One thing - my kids thinking their mom has a great Savior whose grace is great enough for their sunscreen-throwing mom. Even better - letting Him use all my crappy moments to point them to the Father who will never disappoint. Better still - seeing them know Him and love Him.
I've been humbled to the dust in this journey of motherhood, and I hate it but I love it. I know my good moments are all from the One who is Good. I know my bad moments are forgiven. I know I'll have more good as I go along, thanks to the One who promises not to leave me right where I am. I know my worth isn't in what M remembers about last summer, or in my ability to be a perfect mother, but in a perfect God who loves sinners like me.
Some recent quotes:
M: I cleaned this table as good as a whistle. Right, mom?
On our way to a recent superhero birthday, R told me he wanted to spend some time with his friends and asked if I could just drop him off. Seriously. A child with a red shirt about 3 years R's senior was a little too rough on the trampoline. On the ride home, he asked me several times: Why did that red man push us down?
The following quotes need to be prefaced with the fact that R uses the word "down" often and in unique ways; he also loves violence; he's also been told (by me) that he can't hurt anything unless it's hurting him.
R: I need to blow my nose before I sneeze down Miller.
R: I need to shoot a bird. Because birds can peck you down.
R: I saw that cat with a beard. And I almost had to fight it down.
That precious, crazy, wonderful boy just turned four years old. One morning this winter (see above), R ate breakfast in his hat and scarf and I snapped a picture. The one of M & R was taken during a show that M thought was scary. My cherub isn't watching t.v. during her photo op. Yea for me!
I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners. Matt 9:13
Yea for me.
