You should have seen me right before our mini-getaway last weekend: I was haggard, bloated, teary-eyed and greasy-haired. I was a mother.

But then we took a four day break, and I felt better immediately.

Not because I wanted to get away from my children. Not at all. I was just tired of disciplining.

I was exhausted from constantly being the firm hand, the solid wall, the immovable fortress of behavior in this home. I didn’t want to send anyone else to their room or put anyone else on the “naughty” step. I was tired of making my seven-year-old earn her video game time and enforce reluctant apologies from my three-year-old. I didn’t feel like bringing my want-to-yell voice carefully down to a calm and patient request for obedience.

Tired of staying sharp to the emotional ups and downs of my oldest.
Tired of grasping defiant wrists to hoist my youngest away from the playground when it’s time to go.
Tired of walking away from tantrums.
Tired of watching any and all forms of discipline fall into the oubliette of childhood.

I wasn’t weary of my children. I was weary of disciplining.

And when I realized that, then I cried.

[And most women will agree with me that a good cry fixes a lot of things.]

Does God ever get tired of being the firm fortress like I do? And I’m not even that solid; I jiggle and waver at the slightest change in plans. Does He ever lie down exhausted because He’s just had too much of me? I’ve ignored Him and spat on his attention for the last time. Does He burst into tears because I never seem to get it right? Are my emotional sweeps too great for Him to be comfortable with me?

Does He just need a break?

No.

Never.

Even when I choose to walk away from His gentleness or His good plans for me He still pursues me. He doesn’t need a break, He doesn’t melt into tears of frustration, He doesn’t need a nap. He just is. His love never wanes for me or needs a boost of adrenaline. He never needs a shot or four of espresso to make it through the afternoon.

And He disciplines me in firm kindness like the perfect mother I am not.

I resolved not to yell today.

Given, it’s only 4:25 in the afternoon and the day is still young, but so far so good.

And some of you may clickety, click right away from this blog after hearing that. You think, how much does she yell? It was so bad that she had to intentionally zip her lip and bite her tongue? She had to discipline herself to keep the yells away from her mouth like a chocolate chip cookie waiting to be dipped in 1% milk?

If you’ve never wailed in agony at your kids feel free to click somewhere else right now. I’ll wait. In fact, give me five minutes to find the perfect mother’s blog and then put her link here.

[Google searching....]

Couldn’t find it, but I’m sure she’s out there. I’m just not her.

Last night I head my oldest daughter yelling at her sister. Top of the lungs. Screech. Shriek. Scream. It was like she became another person altogether.

Immediately I knew where she’d learned it. I sound like that at the end of the day when they won’t get in the bathtub and they leave their toys in piles in the playroom. I sound like that when they bother and irritate each other with purpose and when they won’t share. I sound like that and she learned it directly from the one she spends the most time with: me.

When I yell, I become a different mother. I know it. And I wouldn’t want to be seven or three and be on the other end of me.

So I’m going to stop. Just like I will put down the chocolate chip cookie that begs to be devoured at 10:17 at night.

I refuse to beg my kids to obey. I will require it.
I won’t plead or yell. I will be more patient.
I won’t become hysterical. I’m going to try to be more calm.
And I’m going to really try hard not to yell anymore.