Dear God,

Dear God,

I have a request. You’re God so I’m hoping you can help me out with this one. Well, I know you CAN, so I guess I’m also hoping you will help me.

See, I’m a mom. An overthinking, anxious, stressed, worrisome mom. But you already knew that, as per my previous prayers. I’ve got these two great kids that you put in my care. Who would have thought that raising two kids would be so tough?! Well, you had that figured out already when you chose them to be my kiddos so you knew about the chases that would take place around the house trying to get my girl to her room for a time out, and the nights I would spend on my son’s floor when he was sick, and the follow-through that had to happen when I threatened to cut my daughter’s constantly tangled hair. Did you laugh at that one?! I’m guessing you did...

Anyway, I am trying my best at this whole mom thing, but I don’t think I quite understood the whole “Full-Time Mom” thing when I signed up for it. It’s not 9-5 or a 40 hour work week, as were my previous full-time jobs. It’s pretty much “Round The Clock” scheduling, (did you forget about the sleeping thing that seems to be imperative to us human forms?) Even when I’m not with them, I still worry about them. I dream about them! They have infiltrated every part of my life and seem to always know the exact time I go to use the bathroom. Is that just a special gifting you gave to children? That’s not very funny, God. I’m just asking for 4 or so minutes of personal space to do my personal business... I don’t feel like I’m asking too much here.

As you can imagine, this 24 hour thing leaves me a bit vulnerable and exposed. I don’t really have much of an opportunity to hide my numerous imperfections and short-comings. And those two great kids are smarter than they look. They know where my buttons are and they push them. Often. And then my weaknesses are right there in front of them. I have not yet found a way to stop the bigger one from hurting the younger one whilst I make dinner. It seems to happen most often when my hands are yucky or wet and 25 things are cooking all at the same time. (Yes, that’s a lie, but if it’s an exaggeration for emphasis, does that really count? I know you get me, God.) This is when I hear squealing and crying and I turn to see the bigger one wrapped around the littler one like an octopus squeezing its prey. It’s like clockwork! Every. Night.  And, if I’m being honest, which I am because you’d know it if I wasn’t, I’m not the sweetest mom at that moment. All forms of frustration and aggravation show up at my face. The words come out loudly, my expression is the one that has created all these wrinkles, and my face turns beet red, I’m certain. It’s not super pretty, God.

And these sorts of situations arise frequently! Please don’t misunderstand (which I know you won’t because of being God and all): I really do love this mom gig, despite all my complaining (btw, do you hear the ones I mutter under my breath, too?) and I think I’ve gotten a little bit better at it each year, but about that request: do you think that maybe you could plant the good memories of me in my kids’ long term memory and the angry, ugly memories in their short term memory? I’d really prefer when they are my age that they remember the mom who played the music really loud in the truck while she beebopped along or remember the mom who made Family Breakfast every Saturday morning. Or even better: remind them of the times I showed them unconditional love and demonstrated grace to their little selves.

Maybe if I knew that the good mom things would stick out stronger than the bad mom things, maybe then I’d show myself more grace.

I appreciate your consideration in this matter, God.
Love,
KC
(One of many frazzled moms just trying to do her best...but you already knew that.)