To All the Moms Who Fall Short of Proverbs 31 (Just Like Me)

I’m not a patient mother.

It’s funny to me that I originally thought I’d be an education major (before, of course, being a mom). I joke at church about my being the last person they should choose to work with children, as I simply don’t connect with kids the way I think I should sometimes as a mom, and as a female. According to my husband, I’m the “mean mom” (I’m the

I’m not really a domestic individual. I’ve messed up laundry many times (the new washer might as well be a Rubik’s Cube), put things in the dishwasher that should never have went in there (and still have to ask where the detergent goes), burnt more things on the stove than I can count (spaghetti noodles should come with a flammable warning) and still confuse the carpet cleaner with the vacuum (they look alike!!). My LEO is trained in all the first responder goodness, so he’s the default one sought by C for a bandaid. I’m more of the “you’re not even bleeding, you’re fine!” type.

I hear my friends tell each other about how some days they just want to hide, rather than face the chaos of mom-ness. Sometimes, admittedly, I do. I’m blessed to have a husband who picks up my slack without complaining. I’m not bragging about my shortcomings; I’m not even defending them.

God, however, has an abundant sense of humor; In that somehow, among my many messes and mess ups, He saw fit to bless me with the sweetest little boy I’ve ever known. I’m not your stereotypical kind of homemaker, so He knew C would have to be satisfied with a limited culinary offering, a simple wardrobe (sometimes meaning a last minute dirty t-shirt that he probably wore last week but found hidden under the bed) and an interest in music, where both our souls find the most peace. I’m often times the rule enforcer (hence the “mean mom” title) and, occasionally, I’m told I’m not his best friend.

However, I have being a mother bear down to an art, because I love him with everything I have (God bless the first teacher/girlfriend/bully who tests it). I will wrestle like daddy, shoot with the boys and teach him to play guitar if he wants to learn. We will never run short of adventures, I’ll never tire of hearing him sing (though I might tell him to wait until after we’ve left the dinner table) and I’ll always be his biggest fan. I treasure every gray-hair-growing, sigh-inducing minute.Most importantly, I have prayed for him to be a warrior for Christ since before he was born, and I will help ensure he knows Jesus. He’ll never have anyone on his side quite like his mama.

I’m not June Cleaver, but he’s mine and, if the wildflower bouquets I get to put in shot glass “vases” regularly are any indication- he’s pretty OK with that.11180140_10100862855028919_743404043_n

If you, too, fall short of the P31 mother-type: you’re not alone. God knows our hearts and our love for our children, even when we burn dinner and wash the red towels with the white t-shirts.  He didn’t call us to be perfect moms. I’m just thankful to be called. 

Love you, boo boo. Thanks for making this day special for me. -mama


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