Mom Fail #3,477

I forgot pajama day. I picked my son up from preschool (*yes, we started preschool in January) last week and I watched, horrified, as all the children filed out of the classroom wearing PJ’s. My son came out wearing jeans with torn knees and a batman T-shirt. Now, on the scale of world catastrophe/human suffering/poverty, this ranks low, but when your full-time job is mothering, then missing PJ day at school feels like ultimate failure.

My husband dropped him off at school and neglected to mention it to me, probably because he knew I would have rushed back to school with PJ’s for my son. But instead of telling my son how terrible I felt, that I was an awful mother, and I’d make it up to him by buying him ice cream, I waited to see if he’d mention it. He didn’t. I looked at his little face, scrutinized it for sadness and saw a happy little boy with a construction paper craft dripping with glue in his hand. Phew, deep emotional scars averted. I hoped.

I don’t know if it’s because I used to feel capable and reliable—in my pre-kid days, I mailed notes to friends, called my nieces and nephews on their birthdays, sent out Christmas cards, and brought meals to new moms. But something about having three children has made me the worst friend, housekeeper, wife, neighbor, cook, and Christian person. And it’s not even making me the best mom. I win at nothing. Guilt strangles me at every turn.

I took the kids on a walk in the afternoon, pushing my one year old in the stroller as the other two kids rode far ahead on the sidewalk. I didn’t even feel nervous that they were out of sight because the roads in our city have such wide shoulders.

Moving from Chicago with her narrow lanes, Colorado’s wide roads used to feel strange and unnatural to me, but now I’m thankful for the extra space. As I thought about this, something hit me.

Mothers are gifted with wider roads. We are given the largest margins possible that allow us to veer off the sidewalk and not get run over because of our carelessness. God gives mothers more space.

There are times in life when we will be able to make meals for friends, send Christmas cards with hand-written notes, lead book clubs and groups at church, teach Sunday school, be the room mom, the soccer coach or the friend who watches friend’s kids on a regular basis, but these years when we have tiny kids at home are not those times.

Last year I went to an elaborate Christmas party put on by a friend.

“I wanted to do a party, too, but when I saw you were throwing one, we decided to just come to yours,” I said, embarrassed by my laziness.

She looked at me hard.

“I would have never attempted a party like this when my kids were little like yours,” she said. “I just started doing this last year when my youngest turned eight.”

It’s taken me nearly six years, but I am ready to say yes to support, self-forgiveness, and grace, and no to guilt. I’m ready to stop comparing myself to the super mom I think I should be and accept the human-person-with-limitations that I am.

I’m ready to stop comparing myself to the super mom I think I should be and accept the human-person-with-limitations that I am.

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And I’m ready to let myself off the hook, put my achievements, abilities, and education in storage for the season, and pat myself on the back for getting dinner made, children clothed, occasionally bathed, and teeth brushed (okay, so my husband mostly does the teeth).

Yes, I forgot PJ day. But if my son reads this one day, I hope he doesn’t hold on to all of my missteps and foibles, but remembers how I read him books, sang him songs, let him “help” make waffles, tickled him relentlessly, danced with him in the kitchen, told him about Jesus, took him to parks and museums, and occasionally even got down on the floor and pretended to be a wolf, tiger or octopus caught in hot lava.

If you are on the other side of this season and see one of us at the grocery store wrangling our one, two, three or more kids in the cart, will you please smile at us? And will you tell us something we really need to hear?

Can you please say, “Mama, you’re doing a GREAT job.”

At any rate, I know God sees me, holds my guilt and smooths my hair like the tender Father he is, whispering as I fall asleep, “I know, honey. I know you feel bad, but I also know you’re doing the best you can. And you know what? That is more than enough.”

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[*Aside: For those of you thinking, “Wait, I thought they weren’t doing preschool this year” … turns out my very structured little boy didn’t appreciate my free spirited/unstructured/spontaneous ways, and afternoon preschool three days a week during the (theoretical) naptime of the other kids = a (theoretical) break for me. I still follow too many #unschooling moms on Instagram, though, wishing I were that mom … wait, this post was supposed to be about letting go of mom guilt/comparison … and I’m actually off Instagram for Lent, so that helps 😉 ]

Thank you for meeting me here in this space. The theme for March is “Simplify,” so you can start here to read posts you may have missed. If you are a writer or just a person with words burning in your soul and are interested in guest posting, email me at scrapingraisins@ gmail (dot) com. I’m looking for personal stories on this theme in the 500-1000 word range. If you haven’t yet, be sure you sign up for my mid-month and monthly secret newsletter for the latest posts and even some news, discount codes and book giveaway information that only Scraping Raisins subscribers get!

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Mom Fail #3,477. "I’m ready to stop comparing myself to the super mom I think I should be and accept the human-person-with-limitations that I am." --Leslie Verner

October 8, 2017

When Your Kid is the Bully

I watched with horror from a distance as my 5 year old son stalked two children much younger than he was and poured water on them—and their mother. For thirty seconds, I actually pretended he wasn’t my son. The museum was crowded and I had my other child with me. Maybe the mom would never know that little boy was my son. But when he started throwing wet straw on them, I knew I needed to intervene.

Another day, I looked across the park to find my son throwing mulch at two boys probably three years older than him. The boys had sticks taller than they were, and the boys were creeping closer to my son.

“WHAT was that all about?” I demanded, marching him away from the park.

“I told them I wanted to fight,” he said.

Shaking my head, I inwardly vowed to never go to the park again.

A few months ago, my two year old daughter pushed another girl off of the play structure that was higher than I am tall. I happened to not be on my phone, cooing at my baby or gabbing away with another mom and I caught the girl by her dress—just one foot off the ground.

What’s worse than having your child get bullied at the playground? When your child IS the bully.

The best advice I have received as a parent happened one day as my kid was losing it at the grocery store. I don’t remember which child, though it could have been any one of the three. A woman pulled her cart up to mine, looked me in the eye and said this,

“Just remember, it’s their age, not their personality.”

Thank God, because at this rate my children will be horrible, selfish, out-of-control human beings. OR they are acting exactly their age.

Growing up, we must have watched the movie Overboard a hundred times. In it, Goldie Hawn’s children are especially terrible. But when the teacher at school begins to complain about them, her character, Annie, jumps to their defense. “They may be rotten, but they’re MINE,” she says.

A bad week of feeling like a failure as a mother demands that I spin this story towards the spiritual. Because for my sanity, I sometimes just need to dig around in the mud for meaning in mundane life. Here’s what I got:

As unruly, loud, obnoxious, disobedient, frustrating and obstinate as my children can (often) be, God has just as much a right to label me as “rotten” to my core. And yet just as I cannot really walk away from my children (though I’m tempted to pretend they aren’t mine), God doesn’t disown us just because of bad behavior. Again, thank God.

God loves bullies just as much as he loves the bullied. The Bible says it is his kindness that leads us to repentance. To all who condemn God’s children, he responds, “They may be rotten, but they’re MINE!”

To all who condemn God’s children, he responds, “They may be rotten, but they’re MINE!”

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Perhaps my children acting out is forcing me to wrestle my own perfectionism to the ground. Because sometimes I care more about other people thinking I’m a good mother than I do about actually being a good mother. And God won’t let me get away with that attitude.

So while I am tempted to confine my children at home for the remainder of their days as children, staying in our safe playground in our private backyard, I will continue to risk badness at our neighborhood park. My children leave me open to attack by other bystanders who have their phones out, ready to mom shame. Or, more likely, out of the ashes of my smoldering pride, a new friendship may be born out of the many “me, too” moments shared only by parents who have been there.

So, yes, my child just hit your child. I am sorry and I am doing the best that I can to teach them to be decent human beings. But before we label them, let’s wait and see what the next twenty years will do for their impulse control. God knows I’m still a work in progress, so I’m trusting my children are, too.

When Your Kid is the Bully

March 17, 2016

3 Myths of Perfectionism {Thursday Thoughts for Writers}

As a former teacher, I’m the sort of person who gets distracted by typos in the song lyrics during a church service. If someone’s blog post has more than three errors, it’s hard for me to keep reading. And with my own writing? I am constantly fighting back the demons shouting at me, Who do you think you are? It’s not good enough!

Do you struggle with perfectionism as a writer?

These are 3 of the myths of perfectionism that I’ve been striving to overcome when those voices just won’t keep quiet:

1. My writing is not good enough.
Everything that I write is a part of my journey as a writer and as a person. I have really enjoyed Sarah Bessey’s writings and though she recently deleted over 1,000 blog posts from her archives, she said that each one had been a personal altar for her where she met with God. Sometimes writing is just personal. (She also likes to call herself a “good-enough-ist,” which is oh-so-encouraging).  Blogging is a place where I explore areas that God is intersecting with my life. At times my blog is my altar where I, too, can personally meet with God.

But often writing is public. I’m learning to trust that though I will not be changing the world through my writing any time soon, I may have the opportunity for one other person to stride next to me and share my journey for a while. And this makes it worth it.

2. If I revise again and again, then eventually it will be perfect.
I probably read something I’ve written about 20 times before I hit publish (double that if it’s a submission somewhere other than my blog). I also beg my husband to proofread every.single.post I write. Though I still think that you shouldn’t sacrifice certain aspects of writing because of laziness, I also know that I need to cut back on the revising.  When it turns from being responsible to being obsessive, I just need to publish the thing. Margaret Atwood said, “If I waited for perfection…I would never write a word.”

3. I just need to wait longer to publish what I’ve written.
I’ve had some pieces sitting as Word docs for months. I’m just waiting for…what?  It is mainly out of fear that the well will dry up and that tomorrow will be the day I run out of ideas. To continue on the Sarah Bessey train, I love the post she wrote called In Which Art is Like Manna. She writes, “Art is like that daily manna-bread to me. There is always enough for the day. Gather it, eat it while it’s there, turn around and release it by sharing it.” I need to trust that God is always going to provide for each new day of writing.

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The truth is that good enough IS enough. As you let go of the expectations and pressure that you place on yourself and simply write out of the pleasure of living and writing about living, that is when your writing is “good enough” to share with others.

In his blog post, Overcoming Perfectionism, Jeff Goins says, “Art is not perfect. Art is human. And I want to create beautiful art. Not stale perfection. I don’t want to “get it right.” I want to make it beautiful.”

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In what ways do you struggle with perfectionism?

Resources:
6 Ways for Writers to Overcome Perfectionist Tendencies, by Jeff Goins, has some great advice (and the comments from others are super helpful as well!)

Related Posts:
Bread & Fish

Art & the Alabaster Jar

Writing is Narcissistic (and 4 Other Reasons Not to Write)

Previous Post: On Race, Rights & Raising a Black Son~An Interview with Rachel Yantis

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3 Myths of Perfectionism {Thursday Thoughts for Writers}

On Thursdays this year, I’ll share thoughts, tips and inspiration for writers. I’m certainly not an expert, but am simply seeking personal encouragement in this art and want to share with anyone who’s also trying to find their way as a writer. These short posts will come from books, articles, the Bible, my own thoughts, and other people. Subscribe in the upper right corner so that you don’t miss a post. If you’re new to the series, find all the posts here. Come meet me in the comments–I’d love to read your thoughts on writing.

Happy writing!

Leslie

http://www.foreverymom.com/how-talking-to-your-kids-about-race-helps-fulfill-the-great-commission/

Category: perfectionism

Mom Fail #3,477

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When Your Kid is the Bully

3 Myths of Perfectionism {Thursday Thoughts for Writers}

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