Something in my son snapped yesterday. I’m not sure yet what it was or where it came from, but it grabbed my attention by the scruff of the neck and won’t let go of it. And, of course, the biggest part of it happened in public. Isn’t awesome how kids work?
Had it been a scene in a movie about a kid who had taken more of his crummy mother’s abuse than any human ever should have to endure, we would have all stood up and cheered his resolve and defiance. But it wasn’t a movie about that, and I (as far as I know, anyway) am not a crummy, abusive mother. Everyone who was shopping at Food City yesterday thinks I am, though.
There’s just something about a five year old screaming “Let go of me! Don’t touch me like that again!” that makes people’s heads swing around. I’m glad that it does – sometimes kids are really in trouble and need someone to take notice. But I had only taken him by the arm and led him back to the cart so I could talk to him one more time about listening to me and not running off. And did I mention that the second through fourth times he screamed this I wasn’t even touching him? Nice. But it gets better.
Somehow in the middle of all of this, little brother lost his shoe. He didn’t want to get back in the cart to put it on, though, so he fought me and wound up hitting his back on the grocery cart because he was trying to stand up while I was putting his feet through the holes. Tired, cranky, and extremely upset at being relegated to the top part of the cart instead of the cool truck at the bottom that he couldn’t seem to stay in, he – of course – started wailing. This would be the point at which Wonder Brother stepped in and again started with the screaming, this time demanding, “Don’t touch him! You did it again! Don’t you ever hurt him like that again!” Great. Did I hear someone calling the cops? Where’ the pineapple? I just need pineapple and we can leave…
Rest assured, we had a fabulous talk when we got home about how there are really bad mommies in this world who want to hurt their little boys on purpose and how I’m not one of those bad mommies but when you scream things like that in the grocery store people think I’m a bad mommy and think they need to help you by calling the police and how the police can take real bad mommies to jail and so we need to be careful about what we say but if I’m ever really, really being a bad mommy and you do need help, then, by all means, scream as loud as you can. I’m sure it wasn’t confusing at all. We were friends again for about 90 seconds until I told him it was time to take a nap. Apparently, I am abusive (naps, after all, are so cruel).
There seems to be no shortage of sources in life to tell me how I am failing miserably at raising my child. “You let him do too much of this” one source might claim, or “He doesn’t do enough of that”, I’ll hear from another on TV. “The child in this situation might never learn to relate to people on a normal level” the literature reads. “Hurry and fix this, or your five year old will never be valedictorian in high school” (ok, I generalized that last one). All of them are well-intentioned suggestions, of course, but all I seem to hear is “Wow, you are a wonderfully horrible mom. Seriously, did you think you were helping your child to grow up and be successful? How can you ever expect him to be normal if this is the way you’re teaching him to live?” I know I’ve always been hard on myself, but I can be hardest in this area. The way I said it to the Lord this morning in my prayer time was that I can handle being a loser on my own, but not when it affects my children.
It all got to me big time this morning, and I spent my prayer time in tears (until my husband called to see if he left the tax check on the counter…he did, by the way, and I’ll take care of it today. There – do you feel as interrupted as I did? That’s why you should never answer the phone during your quiet time – I could have very easily gotten all of that off the answering machine…but I digress). I journaled and cried, and prayed and blew my nose, and fought the sick knot in my stomach that reminded me there’s no way to go back in time and do it over, only right this time.
And then His truth started playing in my head: I AM bigger than you. You aren’t the only one responsible for these children, because I AM. All is not lost because I AM. No matter how many times you mess up, they will be ok. I AM, remember? I AM.
What a gift our Father’s grace is. What an amazing blessing His mercy can be every day if we let it. There’s never been a perfect parent aside from Him, and He was Father to our children before the world even knew they existed. Yes, we still have to be responsible parents, but isn’t it a relief that the one who gave us this job extends to us more grace than we ever give ourselves sometimes?
There are still some things I want to change in my sons’ lives. I’d love for them to eat better, watch less and play a little more outside. But I think the best thing I can do is get them well acquainted with their heavenly Father who will never steer them wrong. I praise Him for His mercy and grace this morning. And I am so thankful that He is the great I AM, because I am certainly not even close to being anything. Thank you, Papa.
Had it been a scene in a movie about a kid who had taken more of his crummy mother’s abuse than any human ever should have to endure, we would have all stood up and cheered his resolve and defiance. But it wasn’t a movie about that, and I (as far as I know, anyway) am not a crummy, abusive mother. Everyone who was shopping at Food City yesterday thinks I am, though.
There’s just something about a five year old screaming “Let go of me! Don’t touch me like that again!” that makes people’s heads swing around. I’m glad that it does – sometimes kids are really in trouble and need someone to take notice. But I had only taken him by the arm and led him back to the cart so I could talk to him one more time about listening to me and not running off. And did I mention that the second through fourth times he screamed this I wasn’t even touching him? Nice. But it gets better.
Somehow in the middle of all of this, little brother lost his shoe. He didn’t want to get back in the cart to put it on, though, so he fought me and wound up hitting his back on the grocery cart because he was trying to stand up while I was putting his feet through the holes. Tired, cranky, and extremely upset at being relegated to the top part of the cart instead of the cool truck at the bottom that he couldn’t seem to stay in, he – of course – started wailing. This would be the point at which Wonder Brother stepped in and again started with the screaming, this time demanding, “Don’t touch him! You did it again! Don’t you ever hurt him like that again!” Great. Did I hear someone calling the cops? Where’ the pineapple? I just need pineapple and we can leave…
Rest assured, we had a fabulous talk when we got home about how there are really bad mommies in this world who want to hurt their little boys on purpose and how I’m not one of those bad mommies but when you scream things like that in the grocery store people think I’m a bad mommy and think they need to help you by calling the police and how the police can take real bad mommies to jail and so we need to be careful about what we say but if I’m ever really, really being a bad mommy and you do need help, then, by all means, scream as loud as you can. I’m sure it wasn’t confusing at all. We were friends again for about 90 seconds until I told him it was time to take a nap. Apparently, I am abusive (naps, after all, are so cruel).
There seems to be no shortage of sources in life to tell me how I am failing miserably at raising my child. “You let him do too much of this” one source might claim, or “He doesn’t do enough of that”, I’ll hear from another on TV. “The child in this situation might never learn to relate to people on a normal level” the literature reads. “Hurry and fix this, or your five year old will never be valedictorian in high school” (ok, I generalized that last one). All of them are well-intentioned suggestions, of course, but all I seem to hear is “Wow, you are a wonderfully horrible mom. Seriously, did you think you were helping your child to grow up and be successful? How can you ever expect him to be normal if this is the way you’re teaching him to live?” I know I’ve always been hard on myself, but I can be hardest in this area. The way I said it to the Lord this morning in my prayer time was that I can handle being a loser on my own, but not when it affects my children.
It all got to me big time this morning, and I spent my prayer time in tears (until my husband called to see if he left the tax check on the counter…he did, by the way, and I’ll take care of it today. There – do you feel as interrupted as I did? That’s why you should never answer the phone during your quiet time – I could have very easily gotten all of that off the answering machine…but I digress). I journaled and cried, and prayed and blew my nose, and fought the sick knot in my stomach that reminded me there’s no way to go back in time and do it over, only right this time.
And then His truth started playing in my head: I AM bigger than you. You aren’t the only one responsible for these children, because I AM. All is not lost because I AM. No matter how many times you mess up, they will be ok. I AM, remember? I AM.
What a gift our Father’s grace is. What an amazing blessing His mercy can be every day if we let it. There’s never been a perfect parent aside from Him, and He was Father to our children before the world even knew they existed. Yes, we still have to be responsible parents, but isn’t it a relief that the one who gave us this job extends to us more grace than we ever give ourselves sometimes?
There are still some things I want to change in my sons’ lives. I’d love for them to eat better, watch less and play a little more outside. But I think the best thing I can do is get them well acquainted with their heavenly Father who will never steer them wrong. I praise Him for His mercy and grace this morning. And I am so thankful that He is the great I AM, because I am certainly not even close to being anything. Thank you, Papa.
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