Guilty As Charged

Guilty.
Just plain ole' no-way-around-it guilty.

See...I have a problem.  And it's a big problem.

The problem is that I have good kids.

Whatchu' talkin' 'bout, Willis? 

No, I'm serious.  I have good kids.  Actually really good kids.  And it has become a problem.  Because I've started to become highly proud of them and have become actually very pompous.  I might as well smear Grey Poupon on their cheeks and serve them with silver platters. 

We know people whose children run their households.  Whose children aren't required to say their Yes, Ma'am's and meet their mamas in the kitchen with pleases and thank yous.  Children who are bullies.  And children who are disrespectful.  And mamas and daddies that turn their heads and call it a phase.

And Kirk and I lie in bed at night and discuss them. 

Oh, our kids would NEVER act like that.  
Our children are at least respectful of the rules.
At least our kids are good in public.
Can you believe so-and-so let their kid say such-and-such?
If one of ours said what so-and-so said, we'd tear them up until next Tuesday.

And then we'd go on our merry way pompously being so proud of our offspring.  Proud of their manners and their respect for other adults.  VERY proud of our ability to make them mind.  And maybe more proud of the fact that if we had issues at home with us, that our kids were labeled as the "good ones" in most social scenarios.  It feels good to have your kids bragged on....and we soaked up.

Um. Well.

And then the children came home from their weekend at grandma's.  And Kirk delivered the news that they were nothing short of hellions while there.  Bossing grandma around.  Being rude.  Not a "Yes, Ma'am" or "No, Ma'am" in sight. 

The husband was out in the deer woods.....leaving the children on their own to maintain their manners.

AND THEY COULDN'T HANDLE IT.

And I was horrified.  Mortified, really.  Because I thought we had it all together.  I have spent hours mulling over the perfection of my children's abilities to obey and be respectful. 

And to find out that they really can't and aren't...is, well, devastating.

Because I thought we were getting to a point where we had them trained.  That being respectful was just part of who they were. 

But I realize that we have so far to go.  That becoming lax isn't an option. 

One of the many prayers that I've prayed over my little boys is that they would grow to be respectful men.  That manners and love for other people would just ooze from their pores.

But they aren't going to become Godly men by me just sitting back and being proud.  And haughty.  And judgmental of others' parenting styles.

Now.  Do I think that my kids are now suddenly bad?

No.

But I do think that the Lord used this weekend where the boys were away from their parents constant hovering and reminding them of the right things to say and do, to shock me back into reality. 

Kirk and I do NOT have it all figured out. 

I fell to my knees begging the Lord to forgive me for my prideful nature.  And had a conversation with Him about the seriousness of my commitments.

Because from this day forward, I'm committing to do my part to raise my little people to be respectful.  All the time.  Not just when they feel like it.  Or when I'm around.  But all the time.

And from this day forward, I'm committing myself also.  To be proud to be their mom.  To be proud of their achievements. 

But not to be prideful.

Because those two things are different.  Very.Very.Different.