Help! My Kids Annoy Me!

I love my kids so much, I’d die for them. I very palpably remember the moments I cried over negative pregnancy tests, howling and wiping snot, and begging God to open my womb. I do not take for granted the days I get to look into my children's faces and see generations past in their eyes. I know they are a beautiful legacy—the answer to my prayers.

But the thing is, these answered prayers… 

Sometimes they’re so. dang. annoying. 

They smear food all over the sofa. They play drums on their brother’s head. After patiently telling them not to make snow angels in a pile of dog food for the fifth time THIS MORNING, you turn around for a second only to find them engaging in round six.

Recently, I sent this text to a friend: “I think it’s just lonely sometimes being a mom to young ones. I love them SO MUCH, but once in a while, it feels like I’m stuck on an island with crazy people who want to kill me. I miss being a normal human woman who has the freedom to go to the movies or get my eyebrows done or dissect Taylor Swift lyrics or do ANYTHING besides barely scrape by day after day.”

I know I sound complain-y, and I certainly don’t mean to. But I do wish I could look at my sleepy, haggard self with grace-filled eyes and whisper, “You’re doing the best you can.” 

Life is uniquely wonderful and impossible at every stage. But when certain days beat us down, we women tend to shame ourselves— at least, I know I do.

How dare you, Mel? You begged God for the exact life you’re living, and you’re thanking Him by screaming into a pillow right now? You’re a bad wife AND mother AND Christian (Triple Threat Alert!). Also, when was the last time you brushed your teeth? Somethin’ to think about, sweetie.

These words are logically true; I believe them all the time. But I don’t believe it’s God saying them to me. I know this because my day-to-day battles don’t change—I’ve just plopped a big ol’ dollop of shame on them. No, that’s not the gospel. That can’t be the call.

Here’s what I do know: if one of my sweet mom friends looked at me with tears in her eyes, and told me she loves her kids so so so much, but she just wants ONE DANG MOMENT of peace and quiet, and she feels awful for saying that because she knows they’re the greatest kids and so many women would love the chance to live her life and she needs to pray more and read more and serve more and rejoice more and, and, and…

I would grab my friends’ weary hands, look her square in the face, and tell her what I believe Abba is speaking over me right now:

You are seen. You matter. The stuff you’re feeling right now? It’s NORMAL. It does not make you a bad mother, a bad wife, or a bad believer. All these struggles—they just mean you are human. They mean you still need a Savior.

Dear one, you are off the hook. You are doing the best you can in this short, passing season. And when you can’t do any more, you are free to fall into the arms of grace. The world may be telling you to have it all together, but Abba is not expecting or demanding perfection from you. All He wants is YOU. To draw near, talk to Him, cry to Him, listen to Him. To see your weakness as an opportunity to need His strength. This was true when you were infertile. It was true when you were a pregnant insomniac. It was true when you were in the NICU, too wounded to reach your baby’s tiny hand. It was true when you unfairly snapped at your kids this morning. And it is true now, as you cry over your self-inflicted mom shame.

Because no matter how your story changes, Abba remains steadfastly the same. And He is crazy about you. He has enough love and grace for your worst days. Of course, you should pursue a healthy perspective, wisdom, and othersmindedness; but in the bleakest of moments, remember that when the Father sees you, He sees His Son—perfect and complete, lacking nothing.

So send that shame back to its home under your feet, and be free to live as loved as you are.

Tired mama, wherever you are, I hope you know that I see you and I’m praying for you. I’m praying you feel the Father’s arms wrapped tightly around you. I’m praying you get a random call from a friend, offering to babysit your kids this week. I’m praying you sleep tonight more deeply and restoratively than you have all year. I’m praying your Christmas is infected with impractical, memory-making joy, and that the boring, adulting stuff doesn’t wear on you as much. 

I’m really, REALLY praying someone buys you a massage gift certificate. 

But more than anything, I’m praying you never feel alone as you love and serve your family, because your fellow moms and I are with you... and your God is fighting for you always.

Rest in that love, mama. And Merry Christmas.