Do-over Please?

I walk into the dining room, which also doubles as our classroom.  The table is barely evident for the stacks of books and papers that cover it. I announce it's time for school to which my daughter rebuffs, "I'm not doing school today."  Her eyes narrow in determination and her arms cross her chest in defiance.

"That's not a choice," I respond.  "Now, where's your math book?"

"I'm sitting on it."

"A, come on, hand me your math book and let's get started."

"You can't make me," her voice is quiet and cold.


That helpless feeling fills my body.  She's right.  I mean, I could physically move her body from the book while she kicks and screams, but I can't force her to actually do the math.  "Well, if you aren't going to complete your school work then you can vacuum.  I lean over to pick something up as she tosses a book in frustration.  I look up just in time to catch the corner of the book in the cheekbone.  The culmination of a long morning of defiance and a rotten attitude.  I jump up and grab my face.  Tears of pain spring to my eyes.  "What is wrong with you!" I shout.  Jesus, help me, I think. I don't know how to parent her when she's like this.  "You," I say, pointing wildly like some deranged lunatic.  "I need you to go to your room."  My finger flies toward the stairs as if she needs directions to her bedroom.  "I don't want to be around you right now."  My stomach sinks.  I know that wasn't the right thing to say, but I'm truly at a loss, and my eye is throbbing so intensely I swear it's visibly pulsating.

I walk downstairs to alert my husband, who's helping our son. that I need to leave for a little while.  He looks at my eye, winces, and let's me know he's on it.  I jump in the car and erupt into sobs.  This is probably not the right course of action according to all of my parenting books on strong-willed children, but the introvert in me desperately needs to create distance and to be alone to process everything.  I drive a mile to McDonald's and order an large unsweet tea through heavy, wracking sobs.  I pull to the drive-through, eye-swelling, tears pouring.  The cashier is probably so unsettled by the crying maniac at her window that she refuses to make eye contact.  I know I need to deal with this properly, so I offer this prayer on the way back home:  Lord, I'm weary.  I'm baffled.  I don't know.  I just don't even know where to start.  Help.

I arrive home to see my husband teaching Annie multiplication of two by two digits.  "I'll take it from here," I whisper.  A looks up, tears brimming, and says, "I'm sorry the book hit you, Mommy."  I'd like to say the day improved from there, but alas, we had already pulled the thread and unravel it did.  My daughter, who is lovely 85% of the time, has difficulty pulling the emotions together once they start to get out of control.  Thank you, pre-teen hormones combined with a naturally spirited-temperamental personality.

An hour later, I find myself locked in another battle with my headstrong daughter.  "We need to leave for piano in ten minutes."  I walk into the dining room to find her desperately trying to complete fifteen minutes worth of written piano homework.  "A! You've had seven days to complete that."

"I know," she cries.  "I'm not going to finish."

"That's a consequence of your poor choice.  It's time to go."  I'm met with frantic wails, but I reiterate that she must face the music.  Minutes later, her piano teacher opens the door to greet a sobbing nine-
year-old and a harried mom with a bruised cheek.  I shake my head and assure her we're fine, just a little battle weary.  While A is in piano, I decide to walk the neighborhood and reflect on the day, otherwise known as beating myself up for all the parenting errors I made that day.

I was giving myself a good mental lashing when I heard Luke 22:31 (not audibly-the day hadn't been that bad) "Simon Peter, Satan has asked to sift you like wheat."  How strange?  What has that to do with a bad parenting day?  I thought about it again. "Simon Peter, Satan has asked to sift you like wheat."  Now, I don't know what happened in the heavenlies that morning when I asked God to guide each step of my day, but it certainly felt as if Satan had been sifting me, more like holding me upside down and shaking me by my ankles.  My thoughts drifted to Peter's denial of Jesus just hours later. Peter screwed up big time, but......but, Jesus forgave him.  Jesus gave Satan permission to sift Peter, perhaps, because Jesus knew that's what it would take to strengthen and to prepare Peter for the work ahead.  Maybe that's where the Holy Spirit was leading me. Because when it comes to parenting, I wish I just failed three times a day rather than ninety, and I don't always feel up to the task.


With each step of my walk, I recalled every mistake made that day.  Pushing too hard, shouting, emotionally distancing myself because sometimes it's just so hard, and that's how I protect myself from the outbursts of an emotionally charged child.  Peter failed Jesus in Christ's darkest hour.  He even denied he knew him, yet Jesus lovingly rebuked Peter simply by asking three times if he loved Him.  Gentle Jesus who's mercies are new every morning.  Jesus, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry for all the ways I fail you, fail her.  Help me. Help me be the mom she needs, the mom you created me to be.  Washed in the cleansing balm of forgiveness, I continue to think about my beautiful, tough-as-nails daughter.

I'm an eternal optimist.  A sometimes makes Eeyore seem downright jovial.

I'm a people-pleaser.  She seriously could not care less who she pleases.

I'm a diligent hard worker.  A seeks out the path of least resistance.


I was expecting a min-me and God blessed me with something wild, wonderful, and unpredictable, yet to a woman who does not like her clear-cut goals and plans interrupted, that's scary.

A and I are so opposite, yet God gave me her because He knows we need each other.  I'm not going to lie.  It is sometimes so difficult to parent her.  There are days that though, I love her madly no matter what, I mean wildly love this bronco of mine, there are days, it breaks my heart to say it, that I don't always like her.  Just fleeting moments of this child isn't very nice.  Of course, parenting her is usually a delight, but on those days it's hard, it's back-breaking, bone-weary hard.  All those qualities that will create a wildly successful adult who refuses to accept rejection and laughs at the idea of following the crowd; those qualities are wrecking her mama.  Yet, I won't give up on me or on her.  Just as He's perfecting me and making me new, He's doing the same for her and has trusted me with assisting Him in the process.  I slow my pace as I near her piano teacher's house.  My grace is sufficient for you because My power is made perfect in weakness.  That's really what it's all about isn't it, Jesus?  In parenting, in marriage, in life.  God uses all situations to bring us to faithful dependence on Him.  He supplies strength to the weary, especially the weary mamas of the world.

A walks out of her lesson.  I greet her with a smile and take her arm as we walk to the car.  "I forgive you for hitting me with the book and for losing it over school.  Do you forgive me for not handling your defiance in the best way?  I'm sorry I yelled, but I though my eye was going to fall out."  We giggle.  I stop her, turn her to face me, kneel and take her shoulders.  "God tells us His mercies are new every morning.  Let's pretend it's morning and have a do-over."  I pause then continue, "You know I love you more than life, right?"  She nods.  "I mean it."  I feel the tears sting."

"Mommy, let's go.  You're being embarrassing."  I stand and she takes my hand.  Once in the car, I start to turn the ignition when I hear, "Mommy, I love you."  I don't bite back the tears but allow them to flow.  Parenting is literally the hardest job on the planet, but never forget, it's without a doubt the most rewarding, especially when you remember that God, through you,  is creating a beautiful, beautiful thing.