He even loves Ostrich heads.

This, my friends, is a face only a mother could love.

Or, should I say, The Father.

I was sitting in my comfy chair the other night, trying to relax after a very long day. I had been working with a half-broken arm (okay it's really not broken, it only feels that way) for the past few weeks, and it had begun to get the best of me.

I like to think that I handle pain pretty well, but after a few weeks of constant pain, a girl has to get some relief!

I wasn't very happy-go-lucky, if you know what I mean.

More like, don't talk to me-leave me alone-I do not want to move-cranky.

Not to mention, about fourty five minutes prior I had hit my middle toe on the kitchen chair and thought I broke it.

It's not broken, but the pain was trying to tell me otherwise.

It was just the icing on my already cranky mood.

As I sat there grumpy as all get out, Mason came to me.

I had just told him to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

"Mom, I can't find my remote for my t.v., can you help me find it?"

The volcano began to slowly erupt.

Poor baby, he didn't know what was coming.

I had been fussing at him for a couple of weeks to find his remote, but he hadn't looked...or should I say, he looked like all kids do by picking up one shirt off the floor, and opening the closet for one half of a second then shutting it just in time to yell, "I've looked everywhere Mom and I can't find it!"

I got up from my chair madder than...I don't know...I was just real mad!

Not necessarily at him, but at the timing.

It was time for mom to have a nice quiet time out, not a treasure hunt for the remote.

I went into his room and began yelling and tearing apart the room for the remote.

I yelled, and he cried.

As I looked for the remote, I yelled some more, and he cried some more.

After about thirty minutes of my crazy momma rage, we found the remote and a charger that was also lost.

I stood on my soapbox and preached about responsibility and how not to take the blessings that we have for granted.

After punishing him from his electronics for a week for lack of responsibility, I tucked him into his bed.

To which, he grabbed my neck as tight as his little arms could squeeze, told me he was sorry and that he loved me.

And...

the guilt began.

I had gone too far.

All because of a remote and a DSI charger.

Seriously?

I lowered my head and walked into the living room.

My youngest daughter was sitting on the chair watching t.v. very quietly.

Most probably too scared to make a peep, so not to reawaken the beast in mom.

I told her good night and kissed her on the forehead.

I walked to my room disgusted with myself.

As I entered the room, my heart sank.

My bed had been neatly prepared for me to go to sleep.

My blanket and sheet were folded back neatly.

The book I had been reading was lying on the fold of my sheets, with my book light lying on top of it.

On the side of my bed sat a coaster, with a tall glass of water, with fresh cubes of ice floating in it.

I sat slumped on my bed in shame.

I wanted to stick my head in a hole...like an ostrich.

As I was creating havoc in my son's room with my crazy hunt for the remote,

my daughter was making everything perfect in an attempt to cushion things for me.

I felt horrible.

It reminded me of how we used to do with my mother.

We walked on eggshells so not to upset her.

We went out of our way to make everything perfect to prevent an uproar of any kind.

(To our surprise and disappointment, it sometimes didn't work.)

Was I becoming my mother, or worse...

had I already become my mother?

I asked my Father for forgiveness...for acting so irrationally.

I then walked into the livingroom and kissed my sweet girl on the cheek, told her thank you and explained that she didn't have to do that just because Mom temporarily fell off the deep end of reality. My explanation to her,

"Moms just freak out sometimes. It doesn't mean that I don't love yah or that you need to fix me. It means I make mistakes. I'm sorry. Thank you for being you. You are such a sweet girl. I love you."

I walked into Mason's room and kissed him on the forehead and simply said,

"Mommy loves you."

I walked back to my room, and began to read my book.

Thoughts invaded my mind.

I fought back the tears as I tried to read the words on the page, to distract my mind from what had happened a few moments before.

I'm hard on myself.

Probably more than I should be.

I struggle with being the perfect mom.

Or at least something close to it.

That's why I take it to heart when I do those crazy things.

It's unrealistic thinking on my part.

I fear being my mother, yet the total opposite isn't reality.

So, I try my best to float and drift somewhere in the middle of what I perceive to be, crazy and perfect.

I have to remind myself that it's okay to make mistakes.

They happen.

God is there for me each time I try to get it right.

And He doesn't leave me when I can't.

He's there to look this ostrich in the face and say,

"You're forgiven. It's okay. Now pick up your head and start over."

That I can do.

I can start over.

I found this the other day at A Deeper Story.

It blessed me beyond words.

I hope it blesses you.

He saved me.

He loves me.

He leads me.

He wants me.

He sees me.

He has purpose for me.

He is taking care of it.

He doesn't need me.

He forms the hearts of all men.

He is responsible.

He will have vengeance.

He is faithful when I am faithless.

He is first.

He is all.

He redeems.

He restores.

He reconciles.

He forgives.

He makes us new again.

He reaches down and sweeps us back into heaven.

He infuses value and worth and purpose and a mission into my very core.

He is God.

And I am not.

Micah 7:18

Where is another God like you, who pardons the guilt of the remnant, overlooking the sins of his special people? You will not stay angry with your people forever, because you delight in showing unfailing love.