That Mom
“I’m tired of being that mom,” I told my husband over the phone on Monday night when he called to check in at the day’s end.
That mom.You know who I’m talking about. You’ve seen her in the grocery store as she struggles to retrieve the cereal-box bombs her child has rocketed through the air. That mom. She’s the one whose toddler runs through the yard in fancy gold sandals and nothing else. That mom. She’s the one who is always squealing into the preschool parking lot just as class begins.That mom. She’s the one who drops her child off for practice at the wrong soccer field and shows up for her required shift in the concession stand at the wrong time. That mom. She’s the one who isn’t carrying her cell phone on the day that her kid is lying flushed face in the school nurse’s office. That mom. She’s the one who who brings a tutu-clad ballerina to the dance class photo shoot with orange Dorito chip highlights in her uncombed hair. That mom. She’s the one who whose baby seems to constantly sport a soggy diaper, whose wrist watch seems to consistently run ten minutes late, and whose children seem to wait interminably for her arrival. You know who I’m talking about, because that mom makes you look totally pulled together, even on a bad day.
I know her, too, because I live with her every day. Sometimes she is hiding just beneath the surface of my look-good life. And on other days she is standing tall and screaming loudly, “Move out of the way! That mom is coming through!”
On Monday, that mom slipped out of hiding and my old buddy discouragement followed close at her heels. I drug my uncooperative preschooler into his Monday morning speech class fifteen minutes late. After my gushing apology to the teacher, Josh completed one measly round of flash cards before he jumped up, tugged at his pants, and announced that he “needed to go poopy!” We spent the last ten minutes of the already brief half-an-hour class in the bathroom where Josh marveled at the automatic flushers and shouted friendly greetings in between grunts to every pint-sized student who passed his stall.
After the fruitless speech lesson, we raced to the library to return our latest stash of overdue books and used a few of Joshua’s new and improved words to explain to the librarian why Clifford the big red dog was sporting a purple Crayola mustache on page fourteen of Clifford’s First Sleep-Over. From there, we headed to the local farm and home store to purchase a long list of boring necessitites like light bulbs, extra large garbage bags, and dog food. While Josh marveled at the tools in the gardening aisle, Maggie decided that she needed her own set of hedge trimmers. Though I provided a wise and calm explanation for why a large sharp utensil doesn’t belong in the hands of a two-year-old, Maggie clung to the overgrown scissors like a bride holding tightly to her groom. My ingenious offer to trade the weapon for a lollipop fell upon deaf ears, so instead, that mom hauled a screaming red-faced toddler out of the busy store after a dramatic scene at the check-out counter.
Finally, we zig-zagged across the parking lot and stepped into McDonald’s to pick up a fast food feast for Hannah who had invited us to join her in the school cafeteria for lunch. I was excited to see my first-graders surprised face when we arrived with the unexpected lunch treats in hand. I hurried my little ones out of the car and quietly thanked God for a school that welcomes families without reservation. Relieved to have left that mom in the parking lot of the farm and home store, I waltzed into the cheery cafeteria with two preschoolers, three happy meals, and a huge smile. That’s when I noticed the first grade table was empty. All except for my blue-eyed girl who still sat waiting for her lunch guests. The lunch hour was over and recess was about to begin. Rather than dining in the clank and clatter of the cafeteria, we ate in Hannah’s empty classroom and that mom fought back the tears that threatened to baptize the cold chicken nuggets sitting atop the miniature school desk.
Later that night after that mom had whispered bedtime prayers over her sleepy treasures, she curled up in her old leather chair and opened the pages of her well-worn Bible. “Help,” she moaned to the Lord as she recited her day’s list of failures and mishaps to the All-Knowing One. And quietly, through His living word, the One who shaped that mom from dust and dreamed her into being said: You have been set apart as holy to the Lord your God, and he has chosen you… to be his own special treasure. (Dt. 14:2)
Yes, answered the One who knows my flaws and loves me still, You are that mom, chosen and treasured by me.
The Overflow: But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. I Peter 2:9-10
So glad that there are a few more of “those moms” out there. Congrats on family dinner! That IS an accomplishment that deserves a ribbon 🙂 We actually pulled out a board game tonight when the rain drove us inside– felt like a Hallmark moment for “that mom” !
I can be that mom, too, much as I would love to deny it. I don’t think it’s possible to be on time on a regular basis when you have a big family (or kids in general). I am also unable to return library books on time. I’m ridiculously proud of myself for actually making a good dinner tonight that we could all sit at the table for. It’s been crazy busy. Now I have to direct my kids in rediscovering the family room floor, as I try to sit and rest my uncooperative back.
It somehow makes it easier to know that our friends actually don’t have it all together, and deep down, we’re all that mom. Thanks for making me laugh and encouraging me today!