Before-bed read
Following a chaotic day of being stressed and grumpy with her kids, Rebecca Radicchi worried she’d never be the supermom her children deserved. But after a sweet bedtime conversation with her 4-year-old daughter, she learns that a little bit of grace can turn imperfections into perfect love
Ipull up covers, tuck blankets tight, gently kiss foreheads and flip light switches. Bedtime is a sweet ritual that begins with pulling on pj’s, brushing teeth and reading a story.
It is that moment of the day when we reconnect and the house finally falls silent. Another day is behind us.
I pad down the stairs quietly, my multitude of parenting duties complete for another day. But before my foot even hits our last step, rather than treating myself to a deep breath, I begin reviewing the day. I’m tallying my failures. At a time when I should be reveling, I’m mentally listing all the ways I think I’ve fallen short as a mommy.
It feels like I spent the whole day yelling and fussing about picking up toys, refereeing emotional sibling injustices, and demanding that screen time be balanced with backyard play, drawing, building or creating something. And goodness, I allowed entirely too much sugar: syrupy pancakes, a couple of Oreos at lunch, an afternoon Popsicle and a bowl of mintchocolate-chip ice cream after dinner. Good grief, I tried and failed once again at feeding the kids less sugar.
I’d not made time to have them read to me or practice those yet-tobe-mastered multiplication tables.
I’d envisioned starting to read a book aloud during breakfast, but hadn’t followed through. When water spilled at dinner, I’d groaned and sighed. Toys are scattered around the house, and I checked off very little from my to-do list. I’d been obviously grumpy when my husband came home. Had I laughed at all? Why couldn’t I be more fun? Did I look any of them in the eye? Was I cherishing every moment and making their childhoods magical, as all moms should? Everyone else is better at this.
Instead of enjoying a well-deserved rest, I’m judging myself—unfairly, as I’ll learn.
A little voice interrupts my thoughts. “Mom?” my youngest daughter calls to me. “Momma, this was the best day. I love you.”
Wait. Today? The best? What about all my fussing?
I turn toward her room, asking why she thinks the day was good. Her response: “We got to play all day, and you really took care of us. You are such a good mommy.” The sleepy opinion of my 4-year-old catches me off-guard, immediately diminishing my inner critic’s authority.
I climb back up the stairs, sit down on her bed, and say, “I’m so happy you had a good day. Wanna do it all over again tomorrow? I’m sorry I fussed so much.”
“It’s okay, Mom. We were kinda crazy. I loved today though.”
Her generous opinion of me, how she looks right past my flaws, causes me to pause to reconsider the day.
She deserves my apology, but as I start down the steps once more, I realize that I might need an apology too. Maybe I am being stingy with grace for myself. Maybe I’ve been listening to a harsh voice that I should be ignoring.
I need to forgive myself for having unreasonable expectations of my kids and myself.
I need to forgive myself for comparing myself to the curated social-media feeds of other moms.
I need to forgive myself for believing in an inflated caricature of the perfect mom.
I am intentional about teaching grace to my kids. I offer it to them and encourage them to pass along that same offer of forgiveness. But how much more effective might it be to lead by example?
On that ordinary evening after tuck-in, I laugh at myself, beginning a gradual shift in how I think about
“Maybe I’m being stingy with grace for myself. Maybe I’ve been listening to a harsh voice I should
be ignoring”
myself as a parent. Though it takes me some time to fully recognize mommy guilt for what it is, I feel lighter immediately, knowing that my kids see our days differently than I do. I can set down some of the mental burdens I have been carrying.
It’s time for a daily dose of grace in the morning and probably another at night. Letting go of unreasonable expectations would be so freeing. I need to stop inviting in false stories spoken by my inner critic. Who is setting these expectations anyway?
The next day, I wake up reminding myself that I am going to start moving toward forgiving myself more, acknowledging in advance that I’ll mess up, and lightening up. It is time to end this season of parenting selfdoubt and start learning to be okay with the messy beauty of our ordinary days. I need pep talks, prayer and less failure tallying.
Later, I take a moment to look around the breakfast table at the faces of little people who love their mommy and don’t notice every flaw. Their tendency to shower me with grace floods me with gratitude and a serving of hope. So, after I pour milk in cups, I sit down beside them and declare, “It’s going to be the best day.”