Some days, I feel I must be the worst mom in the world.
Take today, for instance. I had just finished cleaning the bathroom (and not just the “quick” clean…I’m talking the “scrub-the-tile-on-your-hands-and-knees” clean). I was in Ally’s room when I heard Rae singing in the bathroom, “I’m cleanin’ the potty! I’m cleanin’ the potty!” Great. (Are we noticing a trend here, people? She likes to push my OCD buttons.) There she was, in the bathroom, using the toilet brush to fling toilet water all over the Soft-Scrub cleaned bathroom. And I freaked. I mean, really freaked. It took all that was in me not to shove her down that toilet.
So my question is, why is that on certain occasions I’m calm and able to discipline without losing my cool, and on other occasions, the simplest things set off a Category 5 rage storm? I HATE it when I am more immature than my three year old. I HATE it when, instead of using opportunities to teach or mold character, I usurp all authority and act out of selfishness and rage.
I have such a hard time forgiving myself when I’ve acted that way. I always, always apologize, telling her that there’s no excuse for Mommy losing her temper like that. Aren’t kids amazingly full of grace? She always replies, “It’s okay, Mommy. I forgive you.” But I have such a hard time forgiving myself.
I’m pretty good at extending forgiveness to others. I don’t hold grudges and I try to show grace and mercy. But when it comes to treating MYSELF the way I would treat others, I find it very difficult. So I all I can do is fall at the feet of Jesus and say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And every time I’m tempted to beat myself up or tell myself what a terrible mom I am, I force myself to picture the cross. Even if I can’t forgive myself, I know that I am ultimately forgiven. Forgiven because of two scared hands and one loving Savior.