Mommy grace

My high schoolers leave the house before I get out of bed.
I hate this. Really, I do. For 13 years I drove my kids to school. I loved having them trapped in the car with me for 20 minutes or so every morning.
Five minutes or so into the drive, I'd announce, "Topic of the Day!"
Groans and sighs from the back of the van.
It's the same every morning, yet they acted like they had no idea it was coming.
I'd pose questions, situations and we'd discuss. Sometimes serious, "If you were to die today, would you have any regrets?"  Sometimes silly, "If you were a food, what would you be?" Usually a Freedom of Speech debate. Oh, ask my kids to give you my "Election Day/it's a privilege and duty to vote" speech.
Good stuff.
A mommy friend of mine recently had her third child. They are officially outnumbered. Having seven kids, I'm WAY outnumbered. But I remember having three and feeling paralyzed. I began to get teary-eyed thinking of my 22, 20 and 17-year-olds as 5, 3 and a newborn. Then my tummy tightened up as I remember taking them all to get a gallon of milk one day.
I pulled some of ideas out of my Mommy Bank and suggested a few of my tricks-disguised-as-games.
Now, it's 17 years, four kids, death of my First Mike and my cancer diagnosis later.
Now, I'm yelling at Little H when she pulls the laces from her shoes and is practicing how to lace them.
Now, I'm snapping at The Son because the trash didn't go out.
Now, I'm scowling at K because I got a form this morning and it was due yesterday.
Now, I am not having fun with my kids.

Where did that other mommy go?

The bus is coming to get Little H in 10 minutes and she is brushing her teeth  s l o w l y  . Then she starts to have a freak out.
There's a TAG in the side of her shirt. "Get it out. Get it OUT. GETITOUUUUUT."
Never mind she's worn said shirt probably eight times and not even noticed this mean 'ol tag.
I sigh. Grab scissors. And, not very gingerly, send the mean 'ol tag to the trash. I exploded.
"We have to go!"
Then, my Little H comes over and gives me a huge hug. Lays her head on my chest, pats my back and says, "It's OK, Mommy."
Oh, Little H. I knelt down and looked into her big brown eyes and told her, "I am so sorry I snapped at you. There is no excuse. I will try to do better."
She smiled up at me. She's full of grace.
I need to give myself grace.
I gave advice to another mommy friend with young kids last week. Apparently, I'm better at giving it than living it.
This friend, the supremely talented and witty young adult fiction writer, looked me smack in the eyes and said, "Give yourself grace."
She tells me to love myself. Right where I am.
The Bible, in 2 Corinthians 12:9, says,

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

Rest in God so Christ's power can rest on me. God's grace is enough.  For Little H. For me. For you.

Yep, I blew it ... again

Someone come get my Mommy card.

Today's Good Friday. The day's name puzzles me still. I get that it's good Christ died for me. Christ dying on the cross for me and YOU is crucial to what I believe. But calling the day Christ died good feels wrong. 

So, yes, it's Good Friday.
Or, from my corner, it's "I didn't mail the Easter care packages to our college girls yet and now it's officially too late." They aren't going to get a lovely, fun, yummy and full of goodies package from me.

It was the Caregiver's idea to write this on my wrists.

They weren't planning to come home for Easter. The 20-year-old is at Auburn University (War Eagle!) and will be in Atlanta with some sorority sisters. The 19-year-old is at Lynchburg College (it's a great day to be a Hornet!) and will be in D.C. with her roommate. 

I love it when all our kids are home. It happens rarely now. These two are so far out the proverbial door only their heels are still inside.

They will both have a nice Easter and a fun weekend. But since they aren't going to be home, I've been planning to send them each a box filled with chocolate bunnies, Peeps and peanut butter eggs. And other things college girls need. Toothpaste, shampoo, an ankle brace, pictures drawn by the littlest sister, etc.
Now it's too late. It's Good Friday. It's not going to happen. I haven't even bought anything.

Damn cancer.

Yes, I blame the cancer. CML (chronic myelogenous leukemia) has messed everything up. It's taken my energy, a lot of our money and my ability to think clearly (chemo brain is real). I can't do what I want to do and it pisses me off. I already ask for - and get - help from all angles. But making Easter packages for our college girls is something I wanted to do. It's important that I pick things out. That I pack the box. That I put my love into the box.
I thought I could get it done.
I was wrong.
And now I blew it. It's too late.
The girls? They'll be mad that I'm feeling badly about not sending their boxes. They'll tell me "it's OK" and "isn't what really matters."
It's not like they will be sitting alone in their dorm rocking in the corner because their mommy didn't send them an Easter package.
They are awesome and I love them.
They'll get their boxes ... eventually. But I'm bummed I didn't get it done for Easter.
Christ at the cross is all about forgiveness. Christ will always comfort and forgive when we ask.
Why can't I forgive myself?