Mommy Guilt and a Beautiful Thing Called Balance

The picture above was taken on Saturday at our Upwards end of season celebration. It was a fun way to end our commitment to Upwards basketball, and a gentle reminder for me of lessons learned.

About 6 years ago, I was self-diagnosed with a condition called Mommy Guilt. I have since discovered that many women suffer with the same condition. Some of them go undiagnosed for many years. Most go untreated. The condition is chronic- there is no cure. The primary symptom for me is "the list." I call it the good mommy list. You may be familiar with this list, it goes something like this: good mommies bake cookies from scratch, good mommies never yell, good mommies keep a spotless house, good mommies listen attentively all the time, good mommies don't buy sugared cereal - you get the idea. The only treatment I have found to be effective is a complicated therapy called balance.

Let me tell you a little bit about my initial diagnosis. It was the summer of 2002. My oldest daughter had just turned 4. I also had a 21 month old daughter and a 3 month old son. I was trying desperately to be a good mommy. So, I had signed my 4 year old daughter up for a well-rounded summer of "opportunities." That summer, we were committed to swim lessons, Kindermusik, ballet class, and a preschool art class that I was teaching. (Yes, she really was 4 and yes I had 2 younger children, and yes, I really had committed her to all those things!)

One afternoon on the way across town from swim lessons to ballet, Abby had a melt down to which I had a less than perfect response. She was crying that she was tired and she wanted to go home, her 3 month old brother was crying because he was overdue for a bottle, and I was crying because I felt like one big failure. I realized that my fear of not giving her enough opportunities had lead me to a complete lack of common sense which resulted in more mommy guilt because of my stupidity.

Fortunately, a good friend had given me an excellent mommy book as a baby gift, and God used it to open my eyes to the ridiculousness of my thinking and the reality of my Mommy Guilt condition. That summer, I made some changes in my perspective. I began to think about what I hoped to accomplish as a parent. The one thing that I knew I wanted, more than anything else, was children who were head over heals in love with my Jesus. I realized that to achieve that, we were going to have to let many of the "opportunities" available to us go right on by.

I began to look at the example of my savior and how he took 12 ordinary men, invested large amounts of his time and energy into them, and ended up with a group of radically transformed world changers. I realized that their transformation didn't come from a 12 step Bible Study or even from 12 years at the finest schools Jerusalem had to offer. It came from breakfasts around the fire, afternoons fishing together, and conversations on a hillside. Now don't get me wrong, I don't claim to have the wisdom or knowledge of Jesus. But according to Deutoronomy chapter 6, I do have the responsibility of discipling my children.

So, even though Abby would do great on a swim team, we do most of our swimming on lazy afternoons at Grandma's pool. Lizzy has the build and fearlessness of a great gymnast, but we do all of our flips on the monkey bars at the local park. I know that they have the potential to be great at a variety of things. But, I'm just not willing to pay what it costs to pursue those things. Occasionally, we do budget some time for those types of things- like Upwards or our current pursuit of piano lessons. But, we try very hard to count the cost first.

I feel quite confident that when my children are 35, they're going to be much more thankful for their memories of family dinners, tickle time with daddy, and walks around the block than they would be for a box full of trophies or ballet recital costumes collecting dust in my attic. If I'm wrong, I guess I'll offer to pay for their ballroom dancing classes- maybe that will help to take care of my mommy guilt.