Less than a week ago, I was cruising down the highway, kid-less, Chick-fil-a salad on my lap, all dolled up, headed for a fun and relaxing mom’s getaway weekend.
It was awesome. I learned so much. I ate two whole servings of hotel hash browns for breakfast (and a cup of steaming coffee) without being interrupted by anyone a) asking me for my food or b) pooping their pants. I sat still in a chair all day long, scheming about how to be a better mom. I had adult conversations, and ate Dove chocolates anytime I wanted.
I left feeling so rejuvenated to be the world’s. best. mom when I came back. And for 24 hours, I was close to it. I guess it was about day three when the poop really
hit the fan smeared on my jeans while Ty wrangled and cried like I was giving him 23 vaccines. Real life, in other worlds, smacked me in the face.
Today, if you saw me right now, you would think I have been in solitary confinement and torture for the prior week, not rejuvenated from a better-mom conference. Honest to goodness. It’s rough.
Also, Sam must have had a sixth sense that my heart has been softened about discipline. He’s responded by shouting, “No, Mommy” in my face at the top of his lungs, poking his brother with forks, and telling me, “You’re so naughty. You’re a naughty Mommy” over and over, in the front yard, while throwing buckets and shovels.
Ty, similarly, must have picked up that I’m trying to be more patient, and wanted to help me practice those skills by using only a whine tone for the hours of 7am-6:30pm. And also, this morning at 5:00am, for about forty minutes. He is giving me so much practice.
I had also resolved to get up earlier and pray and read my Bible, and shower. I did it for two days. Then, the boys got up crazy early and I didn’t have time. And last night Sam slept in our bed with an asthma flare-up, so I was exhausted and skipped it.
I’m just a big, fat failure of a mom.
And the only thing worse than being a big fat failure of a mom, is doing that after such wonderfully high hopes.
This afternoon as I was hanging up the laundry, I remembered a blog I wrote awhile ago. It’s called “In Defense of Calvinism.” Last time I checked it’s not one of my most popular posts, but I just love it.
And I also remembered this verse:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;[a]
his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:21-22, italics mine)
I have always loved that God gives us new mercies in the morning, but I think I got the ending mixed up. I’d always think of it like, every day, God gives me a fresh chance to be good.
In the morning, it’s GOD that is faithful, not me.
I am so thankful for fresh starts. And conferences that make me want to be better. And conversations with friends that put things in perspective. And girls’ nights out. And date nights. And nap times. I need breaks.
But thank you God, that you’re going to be faithful even if I’m not.
“Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you” (Psalm 116:7).