chameleon

Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. I don’t know about you, but if there was a mother-of-the-year award, I’d be out of the running.

The day started out hectic. My husband had to leave for church before we got up. After a night of little sleep, I was already edgy. When I went to get Lauren up, she announced she was not going to church and pulled the covers over her head. I understood.

I tried to be nice and got out a dress for her. She refused and said she was wearing jeans … again. I reasoned with her, but she wasn’t budging. So I did the mature thing and stomped out of the room.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll just call Grandma and tell her not to buy you pretty clothes since you refuse to wear them.” Nice move, mom. Was I trying to sabotage Mother’s Day?

The morning degenerated from there.

I stormed downstairs and found an ant party in the full kitchen sink. Even though I would now be late to teach Sunday School, I had no choice but to clean up. I set out Rachel’s “healthy” breakfast — grapes and a hot dog — and got to work.

In between dishes, I went upstairs to call Lauren again. When I came back down, the dog had eaten Rachel’s food, and Lauren’s waffles were beeping in the toaster. I yelled at the dog then told Lauren her breakfast was ready, but I’d made it “wrong” so Lauren ran into the bathroom and burst into tears. Aren’t frozen waffles supposed to be easy?

We arrived at church late, but managed to survive. I ran into a friend and asked how her Mother’s Day was going.

She heaved a sigh and shook her head. “Not so good. And yours?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fabulous.”

She grinned. “I’m glad to know I’m not alone.”

The rest of the day went about the same. I stayed mad at the dog. The ants were still there. My Mother’s Day nap didn’t happen. And I found Rachel sitting on the dining room table covered in shredded lunch meat — don’t ask. The dog enjoyed that part, though.

Later that day, I called my mom, and we had a good laugh about my day. I’d stepped outside to be with the girls, and the dog came bounding up the deck’s steps, but she fell. She twisted her leg and whimpered in pain. In two seconds I was at her side, calling for my husband to come carry my poor baby inside (did I mention the dog weighs 100 pounds?). My mother laughed in my ear.

“You’re such a mom,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Not five minutes ago you’d had it with that dog and now you’re crying because she twisted her leg. You’re such a mom. No matter what happens, you can’t help but love.”

I laughed. Too true. I looked at my girls and thought about how much more I love them than the dog. I had to stand in awe of how deeply a mother can love. And then I realized that my love for my girls is a reflection of how God loves me. So, happy Mother’s Day to me, after all.