Today has been really challenging. Parenting at home 24/7 is hard work. Draining, life-altering work. 

If anything could teach a person how self-absorbed they really are, it would be taking care of kids. You discover that up until the beginning of parenthood, you were pretty much able to do what you wanted, when you wanted. When you got married, another person got involved, but at least they were an adult. Then the baby came along, and suddenly, a spontaneous, “Hey, let’s go to a movie tonight!” was impossible to execute.

Things get a little less hands-on as they get older, but you still don’t get to run your agenda. At least, not without considering and involving the kids. With our kids at their current ages, I can sometimes practice good leadership and get them moving in the direction I choose. But no matter how much I plan and anticipate and lead, I can’t control the outcome. That’s when I have to surrender to God and just try to surf the chaos. E.g., yesterday’s trip to Publix.

I used to be very judgmental of parents like me. I couldn’t understand how any mother could “let” her child (or in my case, children) scream and yell in a store or anywhere else in public. Now I understand that knowing each kid and doing your best to direct and discipline them is hugely difficult. I think you probably spend your children’s lifetimes trying to master it. But here’s the real kicker: even when you do everything right, children – like all humans – will ultimately do what they want to. Hopefully, you can train or guide or discipline them to stop doing it, but you can’t expect instant results.

That did not sit well with me. In fact, I refused to accept it. So for my first 5-6 years as a parent, I put all my energy into preventing bad behavior. It was how I defined success. Then a few years ago, I slowly realized I’d been chasing an illusion. The only “control” I can exercise as a parent is self-control. I can’t prevent anything. Seriously. ANYTHING.

I hated that. For whatever reason, I believed I needed to stop misbehavior before it began. And since I believed I was a “failure” as a parent whenever I couldn’t, they had to be perfect too. What a tremendous burden that placed on them. I was never physically abusive, and I never called my kids names, but it seems like I was angry all the time.

I came to the conclusion that all I can do is what’s right. I can advise and lead. But what the kids do in response is up to them. (This applies to husbands too, by the way.) Of course, if kids respond inappropriately, I have to then apply logical consequences for their actions. (This part probably doesn’t apply to husbands.)

 In the process, I also learned a lesson that was a lot harder to accept: I am going to mess up.

Frequently.

Spectacularly.

I wanted to be perfect, so this acceptance took years. For now I’ll just condense how it happened: I had to truly own another truth: God will love me anyway. Kind of a “no duh,” huh? But knowing it intellectually is different from owning and acting on it. Only when I did that  was I able to claw my way out of the bonds of perfectionism. Over time, my kids were finally able to be kids, with all the messiness and misbehavior that entailed.

I am still struggling to find balance. I know I now tend to err on the side of grace, so I have to work really hard to enforce truth. But I’ll tell you: life as a parent, for all its mind-numbing work (I’m kidding – I think), is sure a lot more fun for me. And after a few years of watching my two oldest gradually stop flinching when they did something wrong, I know it’s a lot better for all of my kids.

There’s so much more to my story than this, and I’ll have to decide how much of the journey I need to share. But in the meantime, here you go. Agree with me? Think I’m nuts? Comment away!