Today I effed up.
The day started out benignly enough, with coffee and my ritual early morning facebook perusal. I fed the kids and folded some laundry while listening to snippets of the Today show in the background (Angelina Jolie is getting a double masectomy?! What?!). I even had a bra on before 8 am. Today was going to be a good day.
But somewhere between my bowl of breakfast quinoa and 10 am, things derailed. Maybe it was the dawdling five year old who just wouldn't finish her fact sheet. Maybe it was the nixie one-year-old, who screamed bloody murder at the market because I wouldn't let her get out of the stroller and walk, while sampling a bite out of each apple in the end-cap display.
But people, I lost my crap.
I yelled at my kids. And not just talking-loudly-yelling. Like mean, scary-lady yelling.
I ignored my daughter's cries when she had legitimately hurt herself, just because I was tired of whining.
I was cranky with my husband, who-- bless his heart-- was sick and worked all day long.
I fed my kids frozen pizza for dinner, and other than the raisins they had with breakfast, I am pretty sure they didn't have any fruits or vegetables all day.
There's still a load of partially washed/partially-crapped-upon diapers in the washing machine that I have yet to deal with.
There are three basketfuls of clean and folded laundry sitting on the treadmill, waiting to be put away. This also means that the treadmill is not being used.
They have been there for a week.
At least.
I stood in front of the open freezer today, spoon in hand, and scooped the "sweet spot" (the part of the ice cream that has an extra swirl of cookie crumbs or other chocolate-y goodness) directly into my mouth while my kids fought and fought and fought in the the other room.
Then asked for snacks.
Then told me they were bored.
Then fought some more.
Then asked for more snacks.
Today I felt dreadfully ill-equipped to walk in the role of Mama/wife/lover of Jesus.
I was unkind to the ones I love the most.
Today I effed up.
But I serve a Savior who doesn't define me by my worst behavior. Actually, who doesn't define me by my best behavior, either.
My best days, my best deeds, my best moments as a mother-- when my kids eat kale at all three meals and read for entertainment and use their imaginations and not their fists with their siblings-- even those are filthy rags. I can't purchase a pardon with good parenting or a positive attitude. I can't absolve myself with a clean house or well-behaved children.
I need Jesus. I desperately, critically need Jesus.
I effed up today, but I will rejoice in this day that reminds me of my dependence on my God. I will boast in my weaknesses, my failures, my shortcomings-- and crave the strength of the Master. I will beg for His help to love these little ones, to turn my heart toward my home with joy, and to serve my family cheerfully.
Today I effed up, but the morning breaks with new mercies.
