Seven Mothering Takes

I've always been guided, in my mothering life, first by the advice (and who knows if it's true or not) that “you're not that powerful.” Meaning, unless you really set out to ruin their lives, they'll basicslly be fine. And second, that horrible stat that if mothers take their children to church by themselves the children only retain the idea of going to church like 30 percentof the time, or something ghastly, but if the father takes them by himself, it jumps up to 80 percent. When I read that, so long ago, I figured, since it was all on Matt, that I must be allowed a lot of mistakes and probably even to actually fail on occassion, who knows. I'm sure all this makes me a Bad Mother, certainly a heretic of the prevailing consensus that every single. tiny. thing. I do as a mother will affect my children for their whole lives and so I had better be really really really really careful. Well, I blew that over long ago by having too many children to pay attention properly to anyone. So here are seven ways I'm a Bad Mother but I'm praying its actually a Good Thing.

One

I yell too much. Gosh, I yell practically all the time. People always raise and eye brow in surprise when I or the children mention this. I yell way too much. Especially when we're trying to get out the door. Then I become a veritable totalitarian crazy, “go go go go! what do you think you're doing? are you kidding me? you better find that shoe so help me..” and so on and so forth.

How do I salve my conscience? I'm preparing them to be yelled at by other people–their bosses, their drill sergeants. They will arrive in the army and think, this is great, I'm really enjoying this nice rest.

Two

I have a really hard time leaping about with sympathy when they get hurt. Look, if you're going to climb up on the back of the couch and try to leap over to the opposite chair and miss and land on the sharp part of the coffee table, don't come wailing to me. That was a poor choice. My standard line, which Matt thinks is super calloused and that I shouldn't really say and certainly not in puplic, is “I'm sorry you're hurt but you better not cry or your enemies will defeat you.”

How do I justify being a meany? Life is tough, kiddo. You can't cry about everything. Make it something big and worthwhile. If you're crying all the time nobody will play with you. And if you use up all the bandaids without any real blood in view, the whole family will bring recrimminations down on your sorrowing head.

Three

I let them eat white store bought bread and sugar cereal.

I know, this is probably the greatest and most traumatic thing you'll read on the internet all day. My children are regularly fed certifiable junk from the grocery store that I do not cook myself, from places I know nothing of, manufactured by companies that probably hate me…well, they can't really hate me because I give them piles of money. They probably love me.

How do I live with myself? I don't know, I'm too tired to care any more. Also, when I was laboring lovingly over every loaf and cinnomon roll, shoving flax seed into everything, they looked exactly the same as they do now. I figure its better to feed them at all. Sometime I'll pitch in five cents for their food therapist.

Four

I don't read to them every night. After they have their milk and brush their teeth, I shout at them to go to bed and rub the tops of their heads in a slightly affectionate manner. When they wake up in the middle of the night, I grunt at them to go back to bed.

This, in my view, is the biggest of all failures. My very own wonderful grandmother sang to each of her eight children their own special song, in their own bed, and probably prayed with them at bedtime. I think my own mother had O Little Town of Bethlehem for something like ten years, and her brother always had I Know That My Redeemer Liveth, from the Messiah. My grandmother had a beautiful voice. When I stayed at her house she sang Lady Moon to me which I have been searching around the internet for and can't find. And then my own mother carried this on with me. Except she only had me and she got out of it for a year or so by sending me off to boarding school. I had I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say every night for a long time and then Christians to the Paschal Victim. She has a soothing and beautiful voice.

I don't really have a good excuse for this. Every now and then, in a fit of guilt, I get them all in my bed in the evening and read and sing. And then we all get sick or we're all stuck at church late and it flies out the window for a few months and then I get it back. If they ever want to make me feel terrible, when they're all grown up, they'll definitly be able to lob this one at me and make it stick. Still, I gave them life, didn't I? Stop fussing.

Five

I haven't taught them to do laundry. According to every big family mothering blog, this is a real failure on my part. They should all be doing their own laundry by now and mowing the lawn and stuff.

Whatever. I'll get to it before they leave home. Its too daunting for me to face right now–letting my ten and eleven year old do all the family laundry. Gak.

Six

I don't listen to them enough.

I DO listen to them, but not enough. I make a point of listening to each of them at least once a day, for up to five minutes, but I don't listen to every single thing they say at every single point they want to say it. And I absolutely draw the line at hearing about Minecraft or Ultimate Spiderman.

My excuse? Well, they need to develop a robust prayer life. God, as I say to to them all the time, is listening to you. I, your mother, cannot listen to you right this second. Furthermore, not every human being is going to be interested in your every mediocre thought. You need to work on interesting things to say and get them out in timely and interesting ways, I say, waving my hands. Or, sometimes I say, That is very interesting, please tell me about it in an hour.

Seven

I don't pray for them enough.

I DO pray for them, all the time, but I know its not enough. I should spend every waking and sleeping moment imploring God to make it all ok. And I haven't had time to pray into their futures, like for the people they could end up marrying. Sometimes I do in moments of sheer panic, but mostly its for the day to day stuff. O God, Please help her read. O God, please help him obey. O God, please help her stop whining all the time. O God, please bring them good friends. O God, please help me. And so on and so forth.

For this, I make no excuses, accept to ask for forgiveness and try again. In this, I do totally rely on the power of God, that he will make up the difference, that he will dry their tears and listen to them and feed them with himself and be a true song for them and clothe them with himself and be the voice that guides and loves them. And maybe along the way he'll use some of the inadequacy and failure that I bring to the table. Don't leap in and tell me I'm a wonderful mother in the comments. Its not about my awesomeness. Its not about my amazing love and gifts. Its not about all my stunning sacrifices. If it was about any of that, my gray hairs (of which I have counted fully 17) would go in sorrow down to Sheol. It is about The Lord and his mercy.

Happy Mother's Day! Have a Great Weekend! Go check out Jen and read her lovely book!