In case you haven’t heard, Mother’s Day is the day after tomorrow. My newsfeeds on Facebook and Twitter are full of great posts on how to appreciate your mom, how to grieve the mom you lost, and how to be a great mom. On Sunday, Instagram and Snapchat will light up with pics of moms who are loved.
It’s just lovely.
I guess it depends on your perspective.
In this Mother’s Week, where everyone is waxing eloquent on social media, yuck hit the fan here. Last night, I was covered in it and I feel like I’m still wiping it off this morning. It boils down to this.
I failed her.
It wasn’t the “you never take me to Disney” kind of failure. I didn’t hear “you never let me hang out with my friends” or “I always have to do the dishes.” If only it were that simple.
I wish it were that easy.
Instead, I failed her heart.
It was the “you don’t listen to me” kind of failure. I heard “you never let me just vent, instead you are always trying to fix me.” Her own sweet heart bled through the tears.
Heart hurts are hard.
She is right.
Last night, I climbed into my bed still covered with my own yuck. It seems a long soak in the tub did nothing to remove the stench of my past failures as a mom to these three Es. There have been more than I could ever count.
I want to be the Mother’s Day mom… the Proverbs 31 mom… the fun mom.
Instead, I found myself wishing my children would have chosen a better mom.
The one thing I could not reconcile in the late hours last night? My children didn’t choose me. God did. For whatever reason, known only to Him, He chose me to be their mother.
He chose me to be the one who loved them first before anyone else knew of their existence.
He chose me to be the one whose pain brought them into this world.
He chose me to be the one who knows them best and loves them most.
And, I do.
Thankfully, today is a new day. And, the best way to love all 3 of them is to put on grace and forgiveness and pull my big girl pants up. I can’t wallow in the pit of yesterday because I will never come out.
Instead, I will show up today and be here to the best of my ability which means I won’t be reading Mother’s Day tributes online. There’s too much comparison there. Instead, I’ll just be here, in my own life. It’s much simpler.
I only have to be better than the mom that was here last night.
Shouldn’t be too hard.
She stinks at motherhood.