Guilt-Free Glee

Something strange happened to me somewhere between the birth of our first and fourth child.  I used to slowly exit the room when I was entrusting our firstborn son to the care of his daddy, fretting every step of the way.  Now I practically throw the four rugrats at him as I gleefully RUN out of the door for my girl’s night out, never looking back, baby!

I used to heap instructions on him about feeding the kids healthy snacks and getting them to bed by 8 pm, sharp.  Now I realize they won’t enter a sugar-coma from eating the fruity pebbles for dinner and if they stay up past their bedtime, dancing like rock-stars to blaring music, that doesn’t mean their chances at Yale will be shot.

In fact, I’ve learned they are BETTER for it.  They are better for having time without me doing things I don’t usually let them do and gosh darn it, I don’t feel guilty for leaving them to rock out with their daddy anymore.  In fact, sometimes I think it takes more guts to leave our children than to cling to them.  Because if we leave them, we have to be okay with them not NEEDING us.

We have to have our OWN identity beyond the mommy-diaries and admit that sometimes kids are having a blast without us.  We have to be okay with them not being in tears while we are gone.  They may not be lamenting about how terrible a night is without their dear mother and how they wish they could be eating broccoli for dinner instead of food that makes their milk turn BLUE (Isn’t that against the law in some states?  Does any other parent think it SHOULD be?!).

Until our identity is grounded in who God thinks we are (children of the King, precious, delighted over and valued so much that He sent his own son to die for us) then we will always carry a burden of worry and guilt that is heavy and absolutely pointless.  Worry about what others think.  Guilt over who we can or can’t be.  Worry about not being needed every second of the day.  Guilt over our kids being too…KID-LIKE!

Whew, it’s just kicks my butt too much to haul that load of crap around, pardon my French.  So I am letting go…and squealing my tires a bit when I tear out of the drive-way as I leave to meet the girlfriends for some greasy food.

…And I’m not going to feel guilty about that either!