Flunking Mommy 101

by Beth Duewel

The day started out delirious enough.

 "Mom, I forgot my lunch can you please bring it to school, and can you bring some medicine?-I have a bad head ache."

Hmm, that means no time for a shower, I thought as I glanced in the mirror and affirmed that my hair had definitely had a party the night before and forgot to invite me. And here I had rationalized that doing a morning of laundry didn't require that I be squeaky clean.

In a rush and half-way to the school, I realized that I too had forgotten the very purpose of my trip and left the infamous paper bag on the counter... right by my keys, where I would be sure to see it while whizzing out the door!  Oh well, I'll run through fast food and treat her to her favorite fruit parfait, I thought as I fished through the ashtray for change. I even scraped up enough quarters to treat her friends to apple pies. 

However, while dropping off her lunch the office-worker informed, while peering over her glasses, that I had broken the school rules by bringing lunch in a fast-food bag. Apparently, the food was supposed to be incognito in a brown bag. Hmmm. I suppose just like the one sitting on my counter.

I could only guess that the vision of a fast food bag might be enough to incite a riot with a bunch of hungry teenagers. So while walking out the office door, Brittany giggled and thanked me for my efforts, while I snorted and thanked her for being my accomplice. Oh, well.

On the way home though, I couldn't shake the feeling of failing as a mom. Maybe it was the way the woman squinted at me while eying my hurried hair.  Or maybe it was my sheer frustration over my own forgetfulness-but either way a feeling of incompetence started to trickle. Now, I know this type of emotion has a tendency to wash over any mother from time to time, but lately it had seemed to want to invite me for a long sappy shower. I mean, did I smell that bad?

Just the night before, I had to face facts. I'm flunking third grade math. It may have only been a fraction, but common denominators don't seem to be able to crowd in line in front of the brain cells attempting to remember my mother's meat-loaf recipe. And if that wasn't enough, the night before last my son's homework provoked an unmistakable urge to look at the camera and confess that I am not smarter than a fifth grader. Ouch.

Oh, if only I could return to school and heed the teachers shaking finger and stern warning: "Someday you'll need to know this!" I didn't realize that that "someday" would be when I had children of my own and they asked me detailed questions about World War I. Oh, sorry honey, mommy doesn't know that...I think I was day dreaming during history class. 

Maybe while I'm at it, I could request a Mommy 101 class to attend as well. I mean I'll already be there, might as well make it worth my while. It could be fun. I could sit in class (very alert) and commiserate with all the other moms who are wondering if there parental skills are adequate for their high position on the family tree. Although, I dare say I may have dropped a few branches with the "paper bag" incident. I suppose flunking Mommy 101 wouldn't be soooo bad.

Yes, it's true that confidence as who I am as a mom has always been an obstacle for me. My mom died when I was twenty: a year after I was married and three years before our oldest daughter. Needless to say, the first night I stayed up with my colicky brown eyed wonder, I cried more than she did. My poor husband had two bundles of...um...joy (yeah that's it), to contend with.

Understandably, I was experiencing delayed grief and a sense of missing something, something more than I could gain from book knowledge. Don't get me wrong-although I found the insight from the parenting books helpful, nothing could replace a "been there done that" know-how, with a lot of love spoken between the lines. In short, I longed for a lifeline to my mom. You know just to ask those important questions like; did I do this or that as a baby? What did you do when I cried all night long? Is baby pooh the color of mustard reeeaaaly okay?!?

My husband was extremely supportive, but just as dumbfounded when it came to parental graces. His mom died when he was eight, leaving him with little memory of his childhood. No, two parents stumbling in the dark over squeaky toys while searching for the thermometer wasn't a whole lot of fun. 

Then, in the blink of an eye, the years click by and there is grace: God's grace. Grace that lines the love notes that my children write and coin me as "the best mom ever." Grace that offers forgiveness and helps me learn from my mistakes. And with that grace comes the notion that says a parent-work is always in progress. You can read books, ask questions, and even stop daydreaming in history class-but nothing but only love can prepare you for what it takes to be a parent. And don't you know we get paid the BIG bucks. Those scratched out coupons offering back rubs and toe massages. Ahhh.

So, every day is a new day and a new attempt at overcoming my parenting obstacles. And I can say with confidence that despite my faults and faux-pas I am a good mom. After all, I took lessons from another "best mom ever."  Now it's off to the grocery store... to get more brown bags, of course!

For sin shall not be your master, because you are not under law, but under grace.
Romans 6:14 (NIV).

Copyright © 2008 - Elizabeth Duewel. All rights reserved.