by 
It seems tasteless to tell you that the backdrop feeling of my life is that I don’t know half of what I’m doing as an adult — it’s like telling you that a thorn melon tastes like the devil’s sink drainage water; you already know.
We jokingly say that adulting is a scam, that we were duped into growing up, but it’s all true. Me I [Kenyan English] want someone to take care of me and tell me when it’s time to eat, particularly food I haven’t bought or cooked and with oil that I don’t know or care where it came from.
But God, in His wisdom, decided to make me an adult. And because he has a strong sense of humour, he also decided to make me a mother. Let’s pause and laugh because, how do I have humans depending on me, expecting to stay alive under my care, and even calling me “Mom”?
Despite my deep feelings of inadequacy as a human and a mother, I decided to give it my all as much as possible. One of the best parts of being a parent is preparing my kids and driving them to and from school every morning and evening. And that is one privilege I’d never take for granted.
It’s the best part of my day, but not the easiest. If there is one thing that has me doubting my salvation and ability to be a caregiver to anyone still losing their teeth, it’s my morning routine with the girls.
It’s generally a time when all odds are against us. The three and a half of us are usually sleepy and grumpy. Z is the least temperamental, while T and I are generally teetering on the edge of insanity. I’m by no means a morning person, and Miss T is generally a person with no sense of time. Her name is Taji, the crown itself, and she lives by the mantra that a bride and a queen are never late. It’s the rest of you who are early.
I have to devise ways to make her work faster, which means doing everything for her. By the time we’re out the door, I’m breathless, my head is this close to bursting, and I’m mapping the day ahead of me, and 24 hours are still insufficient.
Feelings of failure
But it’s very easy to mess up a child’s day by how they start the morning. So, I made up my mind to be very cautious of my tone and my words, especially in the morning when I feel like I should be getting breakfast in bed on a tray garnished with a leaf and a flower instead of fighting off the urge to lift a forbidden finger at the motorists on Ngong Rd.
Once I hand them over to the teachers, I sit in the car for a second and do a thorough post-mortem of the day [which hasn’t even began yet], and the verdict is that I’m failing miserably on all possible fronts. Questions run through my mind, questions whose answers I don’t like.
“Am I a good mom?”
“Are any of my lessons to these children being heeded, or do they fly over their heads like a stray paper airplane?”
“Are our efforts at bringing up godly children going to bear fruit? Is it worth it?”
“Do I know what I’m doing?”
“Did God know what He was doing when he made me a mom?”
“Did God know what He was doing when he made me a mom?”
One day last week, as we flew past a corner I had driven past for a couple of months, Miss T suddenly said, “Every time we drive here, I usually think we’re going to fly off the road and hit that post.”
My right foot instinctively eased off the gas, and my hands clutched the steering wheel a little tighter. For a moment, I didn’t know what to think. Before I could gather enough words to let my baby know that I went to a driving school and have a valid DL that I didn’t have to bribe a cop to get, she added, “But I never worry because I know mom knows what she is doing.”
She wasn’t particularly talking to anyone. She wasn’t clutching at the ceiling grab handle hanging to dear life, hoping her mom didn’t turn the car into a flying machine. She knows that hitting that post on that corner is possible, but the higher and comforting knowledge is that her mommy is driving, and she knows what she is doing!
I didn’t have to tell her [or you, dear reader] that I failed my first driving test. Ah, the faith of little children! No wonder we’re told to be like them!
I know God made me and designed my life to be exactly how it is right now, my sins and wickedness notwithstanding. He controls everything, even my erratic emotions and my ability to be a good mom, whatever that looks like.
You may not see it, but your kids look at you with wonder eyes and thank God for you, even as you beat yourself up and drench your pillow with mom-guilt tears. Keep doing what you are doing, change what needs change, and be a good steward.
It may not seem like it, but God knew you were well-equipped to do this. Ask Him how, and enjoy the journey. Twenty years from now, the only people who will remember you working all those extra hours are your children. Put the hours in the right place.
