Most Worried Mom

A gracious acceptance for a title I have earned.

I would like to thank my children for being the very reason I’m here to accept this award today. I’m thankful to be winning something, although I’m a little worried what everyone will think about this particular award. 

I’d really enjoy winning the Fun Mom Award, maybe for the time I let the kids skip school and we threw a party, balloons and banners included, just because. I’d have to leave out the part where I worried about if I was making the best choice for them. Maybe I could win the award for Most Calm Mom, for the time that moron cut off my 15 year old son while he was driving and  following the law by going the speed limit and you know, only going on green lights. I’m sure you can tell I would have liked to roll down my window and yell at that impatient man, making sure he understood that my son only has his permit and he is still learning. I didn’t do that though. I gripped the door tightly, while anxiety and panic raged inside me, and calmly told Brady to keep doing what he was doing. It was only after, when I was telling my husband what happened that the worry about what could have happened set in.

What will happen when I’m not there to coach him through jerk drivers? Will he make the right choice? Will I get a call that he's been in an accident? How can I protect him when he’s out in the world, driving himself?  

Is there an award for Most Patient Mom? That award sounds lovely, and amazing, and also one I will probably never receive. Maybe if my kids could quit picking on each other in the back seat while I’m trying to drive. Maybe if they would just clean up the rubber bands from the floor when they are done making the bracelets, or the markers when they are done drawing, or the paints when they are done painting. I’m so happy that their creativity is flourishing, but I just can’t win Most Patient Mom with all of these messes. 

Did I not teach them to clean up after themselves? Am I being too particular? Am I annihilating their creativity with this ridiculous idea of a clutter free home? Will I look back one day and miss these messes and be plagued with guilt with how I handled them?

That’s not why I’m here though. I’m here to accept the award I actually won. I’m here to graciously claim the title Most Worried Mom. 

When I pick the kids up from school, I walk into the building, up the stairs and make an immediate turn to the right where my eight year old son’s bright smile is waiting for me. Easton is always smiling and bouncing. His body buzzes with energy and joy. This boy of mine exudes joy, especially when he’s talking about sports. Before I get the chance to ask how his day was, he exclaims “I scored two goals today!” I respond, “Goals? Aren’t they called touchdowns?” I’m caught off guard about the word goals because it is routine for him to tell me about his recess game of football as soon as he sees me approaching. Most days I haven’t even made it all the way to him before he blurts out which team won, who scored the most touchdowns, and any other field drama he can think of. This recess football is serious business. 

He looks up at me, clearly confused and says, “No in soccer they are called goals, and we aren’t allowed to play football at recess right now so I played soccer.” 

“Wait, what? Why aren’t you allowed to play football during recess and since when?!” I ask. 

He informs me that recess football came to a stop about 3 weeks ago because there was too much arguing on the field so his teacher said they had to take a break.  I am plagued with guilt almost immediately. 

Do I even listen to my kids when they tell me things? Am I not paying close enough attention? It’s been THREE weeks, how did I not notice he wasn’t talking about football at pick up or the dinner table when he shared his favorite part of his day? Did he tell me and I missed it? If he didn’t tell me, why not? Does he think I don’t care? How can I ask more thoughtful questions? How can I make sure this catastrophe doesn’t happen again?

The worrying thoughts invade my mind and I mull them over the entire twenty minute drive home from school.

I start preparing dinner almost immediately after we walk in the door from school. Hungry people in my home turn into angry, emotional, monsters quickly. (I’m mostly talking about myself, but I suppose the kids are like this too.) Most days I make two dinners because my six year old daughter has about five foods total she will eat and well, I want her to eat. Every night as I’m cooking pasta, or tacos, or pork chops and mashed potatoes, or whatever else the rest of the family will enjoy, I pull out the air fryer and pop Zoey’s chicken fries in. Sometimes she’ll agree to macaroni and cheese instead. Most every night as I’m cleaning the kitchen after dinner, the worrying begins.

Will she ever eat anything besides these five things? Should I be forcing her to eat more? Is this my fault because I didn’t force her to eat different things? Do I not cook enough options? Is she getting the nutrients she needs? Why is she so picky? Is there something else going on here that I should be concerned about? Will meal times always be a struggle? I know toddlers are picky, but should we be past this? 

I worry as I wash.

I’d like to tell you these are the two main things I worry about, but then I’d be lying. Sometimes I lose my temper. Sometimes I yell when I know I shouldn’t. Sometimes I forget things. What day is crazy sock day at school again? Sometimes I say I’ll do something, and then I don’t. I make mistakes. If you were sitting across from me at my table having coffee and you told me about the mistakes you made, and the worry you carry, I’d look into your eyes and tell you that you are a great mom. I’d promise that your kids know you love them, and that you are doing the best that you can and that's all you can do. I’d tell you we all make mistakes, and that's ok. If God can forgive us (and He does, every single time) then you can forgive yourself too. I’d mean every word of it. And then when you left, and I was alone with my thoughts again, I’d worry a little bit more for the both of us. 

Should I have sent him to his room for that? Am I teaching her that crying isn’t ok? Am I ruining them? Is my own propensity to prefer quiet and order hindering their emotional development? Did they move their bodies enough today? Should I have let them have that screen time? Do they know how loved they are? 

Every single day presents something new, or something old, to worry about it. Motherhood is filled with opportunities. I wake up with a fresh start to get it right, but that also means I have a chance to get it wrong too. Don’t even get me started on the things that are out of my control. Worrying is just what I do. I worry a lot. I worry about the small things. I worry about the big things. I worry that I’m not accurately deciding what is a big thing and what is a small thing. I worry about their safety, their happiness, their hearts, their futures, their salvation.

I’m sure you can see now, this is the perfect award for me. I am thankful for it. I’m thankful I have three beautiful children who are the light of my life every single day. I’m thankful God gifted them to me to worry about. So, thank you, this award means everything to me. Just like they do.

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "Acceptance Speech”.