Really? Really.

He made me do it. For real.

My angel baby. No, really, he is. Really. Well....read on.

Parenting is humbling.

Today I picked up Luke from preschool. Today it was -15. Today I was bundled up in snow stuff. Today Jolee was bundled up too. Today I had my hands full before I even stepped outside.

I picked up Luke just like any other day. He ran up to me, gave me a hug and a big smile. Inside I thought, "Whew, he is in a good mood."

We gathered his stuff, and he said, "Mom, tell me to guess who is in the car." Uh oh. I knew where he was going with this. Yesterday my car didn't start so Papa drove me to pick up Luke. I had asked him to guess who was in the car. Today my car started. Today Papa was not in the car.

I held my breath for a second and then bit the bullet. I said, "Sorry Luke, Papa isn't in the car."

And then came the crying...and short little screams...and the throwing of himself on the floor. I tried to explain, to reason with him. What was I thinking? Reason with a tired 3-year-old? So I picked him up and tried to settle him. He wanted to be carried...with his backpack, and snow stuff, and Jolee in her car seat...well, lets just say my muscles were not feeling their normal super-momish strength today. (Oh, and by the way, this 3-year-old weighs nearly 40 lbs...60 if there is kicking and flailing involved.) So I picked up Jolee and all the stuff, grabbed his arm and half dragged him out of the classroom. Where he then threw himself on the floor and screamed.

Oh yes he did.

So I said I was going to the car and turned the corner. He followed at a snail pace screaming and yelling all the way. A few more feet to the door...I found myself sweating and thankful for each painfully loud step he took.

And then...

A teacher came down the hall. For half a second I felt a little hope...like maybe, just maybe she would say something to Luke and encourage him out the door. A little help? Please?

And then...

"Hey, kids are trying to learn here!" And she gave me an exasperated look that said loud and clear, "Please get your kid out of here you poor pathetic excuse for a mom." and she kept walking down the hall. I gave her a blank look...its all I could muster...managed to snag Luke's flailing arm and drag him out the first heavy door. Right then he screamed, "You are squeezing my head! Ohhhhhhh, you are squeezing me!" Another lady appeared, and again I thought, "Oh, a little help. Thank you so much for holding the..." Oh. Not only did she not hold the door, but she pushed her way past, looked at Luke, and then at me like, "Child abuser! What are you DOING to the poor sweet kid?!"

Really? Yes really. Sigh.

I guess the lesson I'm supposed to learn today is...parenting is humbling. I can go from a mountaintop high--full of pride for my little guy to the lowest valley--questioning why God would ever, EVER give me children when I am so unqualified. I suppose that is why I'm not supposed to get my self-worth, my self-esteem from how my children behave. I've got to let the bad roll off...pick myself up (hopefully after a nice long, uninterrupted nap) and try again. And pray again. And try again. And renew my confidence in the Lord, not in the performance of my sweet, sinful, angel babies.

After all, if I had wanted my child to throw an outrageous public fit I would have brought my branding iron and poked him all the way down the hall.