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“…she may well perish with the shame of having such a mother.”
–Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice
Oh, moms. We try, don’t we? I’ve never met a mother who didn’t try—who didn’t want the best for her kids.
But.
Try as we may, we aren’t perfect. Every year on this blog, in honor of Mother’s Day, we share our shortcomings. Mother’s Day Confessions are a lighthearted look at our motherhood mess-ups. No pretense or pretending here! Confess with me, and then, let’s celebrate our day by resting in God’s grace. He is always enough, even when we aren’t! (2 Corinthians 12:9)
Mother’s Day Confessions — 2012
- One evening, I stood in the hall between my kids’ bedrooms and complimented Nathan on his clean room. “It’s so clean, I could do cartwheels in there!” Then, with a look at the girls’ room, I added, “…But this room is much less conducive to cartwheels.” The girls burst into tears, I apologized profusely, and everyone went to bed feeling terrible.
- I didn’t pay attention to a change in Molly’s ballet schedule, and I dropped her off at the studio an hour late. She called in tears. “I don’t know what happened but this isn’t my class and these aren’t my friends so can you please come GET ME?!”
- I don’t tuck my kids in bed anymore. In fact, most often, they come tell me good night…because I’m already in bed.
- My most frequent answer to Nathan’s homeschooling questions this year was, “No idea. Google it.”
- One night, I missed a three-inch step off my friend’s front porch. I flung my arms out, trying to regain my balance in the slow-motion fall. In the process, I punched Molly in the nose and glasses. Then I grabbed her by the shirt collar, and nearly pulled her down with me. I more than doubly outweigh her, and yet, I apparently expected her to catch me.
- Driving home, I saw an old wooden rocking chair on the side of the road. After trying for ten minutes to get it into our little car, I made Nathan carry it all the way to our house. Through our entire neighborhood. While his friends rode circles around him on their bikes, and he blushed with embarrassment.
- Speaking of that rocking chair, you may remember this story about a confrontation with our HOA. Now, here’s the rest of the story. After a tender moment in prayer for our enemies, as Nathan headed back outside to play, I offered this Christlike advice: “…and if she ever talks to you like that again, just say, ‘Lady, who peed in your Cheerios?’”
- “You’re probably the only mom who makes every devotion be about sex, Mom.” (Hey, YOU read James 1:15 and tell me that isn’t a sex ed class waiting to happen.)
- “Mom, can we PLEASE wash my sheets? These STILL have blood on them from when I got that bloody nose, like, a LONG time ago.”
- Anne: “How do fish have babies?” Me: “The mom fish lays eggs, and the dad fish squirts man juice on ‘em.”
Okay, your turn! Leave your confessions in the comments, and you’ll be entered to win a copy of Mom Connection: Creating Vibrant Relationship in the Midst of Motherhood, by Tracey Bianchi, new from MOPS! I’ll do a random drawing at noon on Tuesday, May 15, when I’ll post more about the book. Good luck, and Happy Mother’s Day!
A re-post from a couple years ago that I hope you’ll re-enjoy…
Warning: This post contains much more information than you care to know about Amy Storms. Seriously. You can read on, but…you’ve been warned.
I get urinary tract infections a lot. I had them often in childhood and they still recur a few times a year. I even had one on our honeymoon. It’s all part of the glamour that is my life.
During a particularly awful UTI a few years ago, kind-and-thoughtful Andy teased me about my every-five-minute trips to the potty. I tried to explain just how uncomfortable the infection is. But when I whined about how much it “burned,” he gave a disgusted shudder. (See? Too much information. Perhaps a little mystery is a good thing.) Andy poured me another glass of cranberry juice and called the doctor.
Soon enough, I sat alone in the waiting room. Bored, I pulled out my phone to text—and tease—Andy. I typed these words:
“My body BURNS for you.”
I know. I don’t really even know what that means. I’m blushing now as I type it again. But I also had a fever at the time. Let’s blame it on the fever.
Just then, a nurse came out and called my name. My thumbs hurried to finish the message as I followed her to the hallway scale. I pressed send, and thankfully—thank You, God!—my wise and careful phone double-checked: “Send to Alex?”
Alex?
ALEX?
Even with a fever, I knew that wasn’t right.
I had selected “Alex,” not “Andy,” in my contacts! Andy is my good husband, who would only roll his eyes at such a silly message. Alex was a high school boy in our church’s student ministry, who would be quite shocked (and very likely nauseous) to hear that my body BURNED for him.
“Send to Alex?”
I typed furiously and yelled aloud at the phone. “No. No! Don’t send to Alex! DON’T SEND TO ALEX!”
Message canceled. Crisis averted. The nurse told me to step up on the scale, and I sighed in relief.
And that is how I nearly went to prison, and how Andy nearly lost his job as a children’s pastor, and most importantly, how I learned to never, ever flirt-text with a fever.
Molly may not have a future in her daddy’s pastoral care ministry of counseling and compassion.
“Mom, my friend [____] just texted me,” she said as we drove away from the dance studio. “Can I reply?”
“What did she say?” I asked, knowing Molly had just seen the girl a few minutes earlier in ballet class.
“She just said, ‘I miss you.’”
“Okay. Yes, you can answer.”
(Noise of clicking thumbs.)
“What did you say back to her?” I asked.
“I said, ‘It’s been like ten minutes. MAN UP!’”
Conversation #1:
“Whatcha playing up there?” I asked, when the girls came downstairs after being in their room a while.
“Hotel. We check people in and out.”
“That’s fun. Who do you check in?—Each other? Your dolls?”
“Oh, no! So far we’ve had Barack Obama, Sara Groves, Selena Gomez, and Ben Stiller.”
Okay…
Could a more random list of imaginary hotel clientele possibly be compiled? I think not.
Conversation #2:
Molly: “They should make a board game of Words With Friends.”
Nathan: “Molly, that’s…Scrabble.”
Molly: “Oh, yeah! It kind of is!”
A recent text from Nathan…
Tomorrow marks my 17th year with Andy. We’ve only been married for 14 years, but on October 21, 1994, on the edge of Grand Lake in Oklahoma, we kissed for the very first time.
Probably more information than you care to know, but there it is.
This picture was taken sometime in 1994, too, at Andy’s grandparents’ home in Joplin, MO. I call it “Perm and Poof.” And again with the kissing!
Anyway, I love you, Andy Storms! Happy Kissiversary. You had me at, “I find you very aesthetically pleasing.”
“What is going on with my shirt?” I asked my friend the other day at church. “I think I have a dryer sheet on my back.” She reached down the back of my shirt and pulled out two pieces of toilet paper.
“It’s just a tissue,” she said. I laughed, thanked her, and walked away, wondering how on earth I managed to get toilet paper in my shirt.
And then I remembered.
Several months ago, when I started using hot rollers, another friend gave me some tips: what size roller to use, which direction to roll my hair, and the most helpful advice at all…“If a roller gets too hot on your head, stick a square of toilet paper under it.” That toilet paper tip saved my ears, my forehead, and last Sunday, the back of my neck.
At some point as I fixed my hair that morning, I managed to knock the toilet paper pieces out from under the rollers, and down the back of my shirt. And I carried it there all the way through church.
Some girls use toilet paper to pad their bras. I pad my back.
I’m so ready to start school next week, simply because I crave routine. Frankly, summer, sometimes your carefree attitude makes me a little nervous. Call me boring, but I love structure, schedules, and new school supplies.
I also love for the temperature to not be 100º.
But, our summer was still fun, in spite of its proclivity for chaos and heat. It started with Anne and Molly dancing in their academy’s performance of Alice in Wonderland. Anne was a morning glory, and Molly was, quite obviously, a mushroom.
Anne also got her first pair of pointe shoes this summer! My friend took this picture through the studio window, and I love it. Doesn’t it look like a Norman Rockwell scene?
Toe shoes are Anne’s greatest love right now. She went to a three-week ballet workshop, which ended like this…
Molly attended a ballet workshop, too. This was after her performance there.
Nathan saw the new Harry Potter movie with his friend. They went at 12:50 AM, because Nathan is the kind of kid who goes to midnight premieres in full costume.
Molly turned nine…
…and Nathan turned 12! This is him after church camp, with his new hero, Conor. Conor was our church’s junior high intern, and Nathan hasn’t stopped talking about him. So thankful for fantastic youth leaders like Conor.
Somewhere in there, our family went camping. We did lots of this…
…and this…
…and we left the campground like this.
And through it all, Belle the basset hound remained in some subtle variation of this.
That’s summer. The end. Let’s go, fall!
I found this jotted down in an old note, and it made me laugh:
“Uh, Mom. Why do you have a book called Child Training Tips? I don’t think we need trained.” -Molly Jane, age 5
I laughed because I remembered how offended she was! And because, she hasn’t changed a bit.
For the record, Child Training Tips by Reb Bradley was one of my favorite parenting books when my kids were little, just in case you’re interested. Because, like it or not, we all need trained.
Anne: “God knows EVERYTHING!” <slaps herself across the face> “He knew I was going to do that!” <smack!> “And that!” <smack!> “And that!”
Me: “What are you reading?”
Andy: “Your book about addiction.”
Me: “Do you like it?”
Andy: “I can’t stop reading it!”
Molly, when Nathan rolled his eyes at her poor football toss: “What?! We’re girls, and we throw like girls!”
Molly’s prayer and commentary before our recent camping trip: “…and help us not to get eaten by any wild animals. Amen. I was goin’ for worst case scenario.”
Me: “Nathan, you’ll catch more flies with honey.”
Molly: “Well, that is a really good way to put it, Mom!”
Anne: “Almonds aren’t really my nut.”
