The Story about the Van Door

Last night, scrolling through Facebook, I came across this post by Jen Hatmaker:

"Spent the day in Nashville with my publishers and adorable PR team, planning for "For the Love" which you will have this summer. I think we got work done, but all I can remember is laughing and telling hilarious stories. 

Beth's comment to her toddler daughter about what to do with her precious apple slices comes to mind. (Can't handle. These are so my people.)

Which brings me to this: what is your most hilarious, worst Mom Meltdown Fail? Like when I told my sassy-mouthed (then) 5th grader to get a shovel, go in the backyard, and dig his own grave? 

Let's hear it. I swear you are not the only mom who lost her crap really bad once."

My first thought (of course) was "I don't have any stories like that."  Then I began reading through, and the memories came rushing back....

Two years ago, we bought a minivan.  Finally we could have more room for our growing family!  We got the Chrysler Town & Country with Stow N Go and automatic doors.  We were super fancy.  Months later, I had planned out a fun family outing.  We dropped Chris off at work so that we could pick him up after work and go to the zoo's special Member Night, with extended hours and probably a bit quieter than during the day.  I don't remember details about how the rest of the day went, but probably it was stressful, with three boys (ages 6, 4, and almost 2) home all day, with the summer heat, with me just not managing my feelings very well.  The time came to load up in the car, and again, I can't remember why, but I was rotating car seats around. (I hate dealing with the car seats.  When we get past this age I will probably try to burn them for the catharsis.)  I was sweating and the boys were whining and I reached the point of Mommy Meltdown.  I began to yell and bark at the kids to JUST SIT DOWN IN YOUR SEATS.  Someone was stressed about a seatbelt that wouldn't buckle, and I went around to the passenger side, grabbed the handle, and with an animal roar, I ripped the door back...and it just kept going.

YES.  I pulled the door off our minivan.  The children became very quiet as they stared with wide eyes at the Thing That Just Happened.  I tried (feebly and unsuccessfully) to reattach the door, to slide it back into the track.  And then I realized that I couldn't drive a car with NO DOOR.  I called my husband to tell him he needed to somehow find a ride home.  Then I had the biggest meltdown ever, crying and talking to myself, and oh yes, sweating even more.  All while my three children watched from their seats.  I could not think.  I did not know what to do.  The world had tilted off its axis as I paced around my garage.  So I made a decision.  I called a friend.  This is someone I'd known for about a year, a fellow mom who always seems so calm and collected and is constantly giving me good advice.  She is a treasure.  I knew that I was taking our friendship to new territory by inviting her into my chaos.  I remember feeling keenly aware that this is not something I'd done...ever...with a friend.  With my voice still hysterical, I explained the situation.  And she was the exact right person to call.  In her calm, firm voice, she said, "Rachel.  Take the kids out of the car.  You are not going to the zoo today.  Just go back in the house and wait for Chris to get home."  I nodded desperately.  "Okay, okay, yeah that sounds good.  Okay, yeah, I will.  Okay, okay kids, let's get out of the car."  My voice was still in that strange, hysterical place.  And for probably the only time in their lives, my children very quietly exited the car and marched back inside and sat still and staring.  I pulled a carton of ice cream out of the freezer and served it up for the boys.

My dad came by later to sort of jimmy the door back in place, then we locked it and drove it to the mechanic, who fixed it for only $50.  A short time later, we were loading the family in the car and I was getting frustrated again and pulled on the door too hard and Chris begged me to please, please just use the buttons to open the sliding doors...something I still do to this day.  The boys would bring it up every time we got in the car for several months, "Is the door broken?  Mommy, did you pull the door off the car again?  Can we drive our car Mommy?"  Clearly this affected us all very deeply.

In fact, this crowning moment of Mommy Failure spurred me to check my anger.  Last year for Lent, I chose to give up yelling at my kids.  It was something that was happening far too often and I felt out of control.  So for six weeks, I would catch the rage as it bubbled up, walk into the kitchen, take deep breaths, grab some candy, stop and pray for peace.  I usually lost control about once each week, the shouting would come out of my mouth and I would stop mid-sentence and will myself to speak in a regular volume.  And the really magic thing is that I don't go into full-blown Mommy Meltdown these days.  I'm racking my brain trying to remember the last time I threw a couch out the front door or hurled a toy downstairs or spanked my kid so hard he bore a red handprint.  My friend remarked this morning that our family seems a lot calmer these days.  It's true.  There are arguments, of course, the kids fight over toys and I raise my voice because I TOLD YOU TO PUT IT DOWN AND COME TO THE TABLE, but overall we are much less stressed than we have been in the past.  

Because that is the power of a mother.  I have the ability to influence my children, to set the tone in our house, to train them up in the way they will go.  So how am I using that?  What are they learning from me?  (And not my words, because of course I am so good at saying all the right things and giving "important" lectures on why they are privileged white American males who have it so much better than the rest of the world and they should thank God for where they were born and the fact that they have clean water in which to bathe AT ALL, so never you mind if it is the correct temperature or the perfect depth or if you would like to soak a little longer...)  Am I showing them how to properly love other people?  Am I showing them that we all have feelings but that our feelings shouldn't rule our mouths and our behavior?  Am I teaching them what is REALLY important--not a clean house or combed hair but Truth and Justice and Mercy and Compassion.  There was a time when I really wondered if I was the right person to be raising my kids.  I wondered if someone else (Liga, probably) wouldn't just do it so much better.  But I am slowly becoming someone who is worthy of the title Mom.  I am learning to help my children fill their minds with attitudes that will help them soar, not weigh them down.  But I still use those buttons to open the car doors.

Lent 3: Meditation

"Look at the proud! They trust in themselves, and their lives are crooked. But the righteous will live by their faithfulness to God." Habakkuk 2:4 NLT
 
We are deep into the Lent season now, with Easter Sunday just two weeks away.  My Lent challenge is going well.  Not perfect, but well.  I find myself praying more, stepping away more, being that calm presence for my kids more.  It's interesting that when I decided not to boil over, it became easier to not even let the pot heat up.  I really challenged myself this past week, attempting to braid Girl's hair by myself instead of taking her to the nice lady who does them beautifully for $20.  You hold still while I practice this new skill...and Jesus save us both.

Jim Gaffigan has a great joke about the arrival of a fourth child; that it's like you're drowning, and then someone throws you a baby.  I thought I was ready to become a mom for the fourth time, but our experience was a little different.  It felt more like being capsized by the arrival of a three year old in respiratory distress who fought us trying to pull her to safety.  Unintentionally, I had assumed that a child who was *lucky* enough to be placed in our loving home would realize the lottery she had won and be so grateful that she immersed herself into our lives.  It was a stupid fantasy, and one that was quickly replaced by reality.  Real life is never quite as pretty as a movie.  Orphans aren't like Annie; they sometimes give all their love to the abusive caretaker and kick the person who reaches out to rescue them.

And so, during my time of meditation and reflection, I listened to a sermon from a church in Texas.  The message revolved around that passage from Habakkuk, about the difference between the proud and the righteous.  The people who seek God ALWAYS live by their faith in Him.  ALWAYS.  That means even when things are going poorly.  Even when life is so backwards or upside down that we think God must not even be aware of how screwed up it all is, that there couldn't possibly be a Master Plan at work, or else it wouldn't be this HARD.  Be faithful anyway.  All I could think of is our Girl, and how different these past few months have been from how I thought it would go.  How I wondered if this was really God's will for our family, for us to parent this child who has disrupted everything.  How each day I resolve to parent her anyway.  To do what is best for her, to care for her, to keep the long-term goals for her that we have in mind when dealing with the other kids.

We were having a bad day last week.  Sometimes this happens, and there's literally NOTHING I can do to make the kids turn it around.  All I can do is control how I respond.  Finally, the day ended (Thank you Lord), and I took Girl upstairs to get ready for bed.  As she pulled her covers up to her chin, I asked if we could pray together.  She nodded.  "Okay, I'll go first sweetie," I said.  I bowed my head and wrapped her little hands in mine, and I prayed.  I was honest.  I was real.  I prayed for myself to be a better mother, for our Girl to have good days when she listened and made the right decisions.  And then I prayed for her mom.  I asked God to Please Please help her get it together, so she could be a mother to her Girl again.  And a little voice whispered in the darkness, "Yes."  "We know you love her just as much as you love us, Lord," I continued.  And again, "Yes."  I don't know when the tears began, but as I said, "Amen," I realized my face was wet and they were falling on her comforter.  It was the most beautiful time of prayer I've experienced...maybe ever.  So is God in this moment, is God aware of what life is like for us right now?  Absolutely.  And he's asking us to be faithful.

Lent 2: On Fasting

Although I don't often look at it this way, my life right now is pretty sacrificial.  Food literally is taken out of my hands, off my plate, and eaten by another, more deserving person.  The book I sit down to read is pulled from my hands and I am commanded to stand and do the "Tooty-tock" dance, again.  I am awakened most mornings by insistent little people who move my body to better accommodate their cuddling needs, who stick their dirty diapers in my face to emphasize how urgent my presence is needed downstairs.  So when a preacher starts talking about fasting, about sacrificing, I find myself resisting.  "Not another sacrifice!" I mentally whine.  And maybe I'm highly evolved and have a perfect balance in my attitudes about food (or, quite possibly, I am like a 3 year old when it comes to denying myself in this way), but I've never been able to successfully fast in the traditional sense.  One year, for Lent, I gave up ice cream.  So in the evenings, instead of scooping a delicious frozen treat, I'd eat six cookies.

From my Protestant understanding of the Lenten season, the purpose of fasting is to create more time with God, to spend the time one would normally be eating (insert chosen fast item here) in prayer and meditation.  So substituting another dessert doesn't really accomplish that.  This year, I went outside the box a little.  What is something that I can give up that won't stress me out more, but will instead give me a chance to turn to God, to repent and reflect on who He wants me to be.  The morning of Ash Wednesday was not a good one.  James decided he didn't want to go to school, refused to put on his shoes and socks and wouldn't even let me do it.  He screamed when we headed down to the car, grabbing the doorway as the other kids climbed into their seats without a fuss.  I had to drag him into his seat, force him to put on his seatbelt, and placed his shoes, socks, and coat next to him.  When we pulled up to the school, his teacher met us at the car (as usual), and I explained the situation.  I was sweating, frustrated, no longer interested in being kind.  Together, we talked him into finishing getting ready and getting out of the car.  She promised him an easy morning, an early trip to the cafeteria to get some breakfast, the iPad during free time.  I drove away, off to the dentist, and I realized that there is something selfish that I do quite often: I lose my temper with my kids.  I reach the end of my patience (to be honest, not a very deep well), and I yell.  I slam doors.  I have been known to throw a toy to another room, to lift heavy furniture and heave it into the yard, to stomp my feet and pound the table.  And I don't just lose control; I lose my kids.  After every outburst, it takes a while to calm down, to get to a point where I can be the loving mom I want so badly to be.  When I scream at the boys to CALM DOWN, STOP FIGHTING, BE QUIET, they scream back.  Sometimes they cry.  In other words, my temper affects everyone.

What if I didn't do that? I wondered as the dentist scraped my teeth.  What if, instead of raising my voice, I raised my hands and begged for God to come, be part of this moment?  What if I handed over frustration and asked for peace?  The first thought was, I can't do it.  How could I possibly last six weeks?  The second thought was, take it one day at a time.  One moment at a time.  If you yell on Tuesday night, start over fresh Wednesday morning.  And the third thought: Don't try to replace anger with food.  Don't rush to Wendy's for chili cheese fries every time you bite down on your temper.  And so I began.  I found many opportunities to pray, to take deep breaths, count to ten, walk away over the past week (thanks kids!).  I also made mistakes.  I didn't catch the anger swell and yelled "MICHAEL!" then clamped a hand over my mouth, took my breaths, said a prayer, and finished, "Please use your inside voice."  Sunday was the hardest day, because our Girl just pressed all the buttons over and over, and I didn't do my breaths.  I was impatient and didn't feel like counting to ten.  I was short and I was loud and I regretted it.

One of my greatest hopes is that my children will someday become aware of God, that they will come face to face with Him, and they will say, "Oh, we know you!  We saw you in our mom."  And one of my fears is that I will obscure God from them, that when they see a church or a cross or a Bible, they will remember a woman who listened to sermons on her iPod and then yelled at them to be quiet, who took them to church but didn't love them the right way.  And so I hope that this exercise, this Lenten sacrifice, helps me to accomplish the former, not the latter.  On those days when they are losing their cool and crying and hurting, I want to be a calming presence, a soothing reminder that there is a source beyond ourselves that gives us strength when ours is gone.

Lent 1: Ash Wednesday

Let me tell you a little secret...I don't like Lent.  Just because I love Jesus doesn't mean I love everything about following Him.  I don't like that the Bible can be unclear and vague, and that we spend our time arguing about what it could possibly mean instead of accepting that life has mysteries.  I don't like this practice of intentionally depressing ourselves, of fasting for six weeks before Easter.  I don't like fasting at all.  In the words of my three year old foster daughter, "I want somethin' that I want."  But it works, this Lenten season.  Because giving up Dr. Pepper or ice cream for six weeks is hard enough.  What if I actually gave up speaking harshly to my loved ones or gossiping about that lady I don't really like who has the bra-strap-fat-roll?  Jesus says in Matthew 25:40 "When you did it to the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!"  And usually we talk about this verse as we pat ourselves on the back, I fed the hungry, I took care of the sick, but what if we flip it around?  When I judged that woman with all the different colored kids or turned my back on a hurting friend, I did it to Jesus too.  It has brought me to tears on Good Friday, wondering how we could have done that to Him, how we all collectively could have hung that man on the cross and hammered in his nails daily, hourly.  And then I remember on Easter morning why it was necessary, why He came and why He died...to be the blood sacrifice to fulfill the law.  So that I wouldn't have to face the consequences of my misdeeds.

And so we begin with Ash Wednesday and the word REPENT.  Turn away from the sin that entangles you.  Come to the foot of the cross, not as part of the mocking crowd, but "turning to the Lord God, pleading in earnest prayer, with fasting, sackcloth, and ashes." (Daniel 9:3)  Confess to one another, because once we bring light into the dark places of our lives and our hearts, the darkness no longer has power over us.  And we can all agree that this world needs more light.  That whatever can bring peace and truth and love is something to praise, something to follow, something to humble ourselves before.  I know what I'm "doing for Lent" this year.

"Let us pray.

Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing you have

made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and

make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily

lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness,

may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission

and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives

and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and 

ever.  Amen."

From the Book of Common Prayer