Mean Mommy

I’ve got a confession to make. I’m a mean mom.

Though it’s not exactly a secret. My kids have yelled it rather loudly, that’s how I know it’s true. I decided to see if I could discern a pattern, so I began to take note of the occasions the phrase was uttered. In the end, I wasn’t able to keep a running list because the reasons change with the breeze, too fast to keep up. Here’s a small sample:

No, you can’t have candy for breakfast. No iPads before school. Stop fighting now because in 7.2 seconds someone will be hurt. No, I’m not buying you glasses, you don’t need them. You are fully capable of picking your clothes off the floor and putting them in the basket 5 feet away, so do it. No, we are not having McDonald’s for the 3rd time this week. No, I’m not going to buy that cheap toy for you to break in 4 hours and leave cluttered in the room that you can’t keep clean. Yes, you actually do need to sleep at night.

Even the baby can sense this mean mom-ness, and though he doesn’t have the vocabulary to explain it, he’s perfectly capable of telling me how mean I am for not letting him drink the dog water. And sweet Wonder Woman, well she thinks I’m the worst for diaper changes and that horrible, terrible thing called a bath. My poor mistreated kids. 

If you haven’t picked up on the pattern, I’m mean when I set limits for the good of my children. Awful stuff, I know. What makes it hard is that my children don’t understand “good” from an adult’s perspective. Good is what makes them happy that very moment. Sugary drinks and junk food that result in cavities and extracted teeth 6 months down the line—and a painful dentist bill for me. Staying up late to watch TV  resulting in exhaustion and uncontrollable emotions the next day, which snowballs into timeouts and more discipline for sleep deprived behavior problems. Meals with the nutritional value of cardboard that don’t promote healthy growth. Dirty clothes strewn about which end up as tripping hazards and no clean underwear. 

As much as I’d like to dog on my kids for the lessons they’re still learning, I can’t sit over here and pretend like I’m not doing the exact same thing with God. I am a child telling God what’s good from my limited perspective. Things like more money, a nice home, the health and safety of my family, sleep. Things that make sense; it’s not like I’m asking for the goodness of winning the lottery.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28

I’m tempted to take this verse and twist it to meet my definition of “good”. But like my own parental perspective, God’s understanding of goodness far exceeds what feels good to me. What’s good is what breaks down the sin in my life. What’s good is whatever makes me more like Christ. A favorite song of mine, Reckless Love, says, 

“There’s no shadow You won’t light up 

Mountain You won’t climb up

Coming after me

There’s no wall You won’t kick down 

Lie You won’t tear down

Coming after me”

What if the wall that needs to be kicked down is my own pride? What if the shadows that need to be lit are the places of self-righteousness hiding in my heart? What if the process hurts? Does that make it any less good?

Maybe I need to cut out the things in my life that are the spiritual equivalent of McDonald’s nuggets. Maybe I need to be honest about my own dirty laundry, tucked away in the closet and piling ever higher. Maybe I need to admit that my own concept of goodness is as flawed as my 4 year old’s. 

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what is the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God.” Romans 12:2