I don't want to raise a good child

We're reading Lysa TerKuerst's blog in our women's group, and as with the way I've seen life, things are laid out for some unbeknownst reason. I was having a particularly rough afternoon yesterday, completing math homework with Matthew, and writing homework with Gabriel-not because they didn't want to do it, but because they weren't "getting" it. We all were incredibly frustrated, and I remember thinking to myself, patience, patience, patience. Robert ended up helping both boys with it-no tears, less frustration, they "got" it.

After dinner at church last night, Robert took Rebecca home (she was overtired) and I had time to peacefully sit with other women. We watched a video, and read this post. I found myself close to tears, remembering just how hard it was having my three boys close in age, and how I wondered at times what the heck I was doing wrong. There were people I knew that appeared to have it all together, well behaving children and all. Yeah, my kids-far from that, but they were mine, and Robert and I attempted to do the best we could (given there's no parenting manual handed out at birth). I found myself mulling it over as I went to bed, and still find it on my mind this morning.

Fast forward to this morning's hustle and bustle routine. It was easier for me to have patience yestreday afternoon with homework than it was this morning-Elijah couldn't find his shoes, and I tore apart the house looking for them. In a last ditch effort, I called Robert who miraculously answered his phone, and knew exactly where the shoes were (fallen out of the laundry bin, and next to his bed?) We made it off to school, all the children on time, and just a few more grey hairs popped on my head.

I sit now with Rebecca and contemplate how I approach my children. I do the best I can. Some may think they have it figured out, some may think they can do it better, some think I'm going to scar my children for life. At the end of the day, I'm doing the best I can. Robert does too. We give hugs and love and cuddles to all our children. We remind them that doing their best is better than never trying at all. We remind them we love them, cherish them, and they are always our children, for better or worse.

I only wish I had read this earlier in my parenting days, remembering the days of Gabriel making breakfast, the two boys running around like crazy monkeys while I had a newborn to nurse and change. I am more at peace with who I am now, and who I associate with-because they see me for me, and know just how hard it is to be a mom, be a wife, be a woman. I'm not excusing my past wrongs, but instead I look forward to what lies ahead with my children. I look forward to what they teach me today, and everyday.