Finding Community at Kmart...

Oh, crap.

That was my first thought.

I'd just opened the door to Micah’s second-grade classroom.

All the little boys were handsomely dressed in white shirts, black pants and knee-high white socks.

Hmmm… that’s odd. Wonder what that’s about?

Then it dawned on me.

In all the Christmas hoopla, I had misread the memo from Micah’s teacher as “have your child wear a dress shirt” instead of “have your child wear a white dress shirt."

What was I thinking? They were performing The Nutcracker, after all. Duh.

I can’t remember now exactly what roles they were playing … soldiers or pages or mice or some such thing. But I can tell you one thing for sure. The role didn't involve wearing plaid.

In my mind, Micah might as well have been wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with “I am dressed like this because my mother is a moron.”

My wide eyes locked with his teacher’s. “Uh, did we forget something?”

Worse yet, poor Micah looked like he wanted to be swallowed up into a black hole. I would have gladly joined him.

Finally, I came to my senses. My mom problem-solving skills kicked into turbo drive.

“I can fix this. I can. I’ll run to K-mart. I will be back before you know it.”

“I have to have the children in the auditorium in 15 minutes. I don’t think you can do it,” his teacher said.

“Watch me!”

Never underestimate a mom on a mission.

On the drive over, I began the oh-so productive exercise of berating myself.

Why do I do things like this? Every other mother managed to remember how to dress their child. Why am I such an idiot?

Mom self-talk can be brutal.

I sprinted into K-mart and frantically began looking for a size medium white shirt. They had oodles of every other color.

I am convinced that no one has ever prayed harder over a garment of clothing. Finally, I saw it. One lonely white, size medium shirt with Micah's name on it.

At warp speed, I ran to the check-out line.

The clerk scanned the tag then looked at me quizzically. “Is there some kind of program or something at one of the local schools?"

“Yes, actually," I said sheepishly. "The Nutcracker. I misunderstood what they were supposed to wear and had to run over here to get my son a shirt. How did you know?”

“Well, you have no idea how many moms have been in here this morning buying white shirts."

We moms can be so hard on ourselves.

Somewhere, somehow along my motherhood journey, I became convinced I had to meet some unattainable, unwritten standard. And the more I tried to achieve it, the more I became convinced of my own inadequacy.

Then I’d look around, compare myself to other moms and heap on even more self-condemnation.

Believe it or not, this did not make me a better mom. Amazing, huh? In fact, you can ask my children. It made me insufferable at times.

The self-imposed pressure to perform – for perfection -- was crushing. For me and for my family.

I can’t tell you exactly how it happened.

Perhaps I just got tired of pretending I had it all together when I didn’t. Maybe I just got tired of shouldering the awesome responsibility of mothering alone. But one day I'd had enough. And I finally got it. I accepted God’s grace.

I continue to give my best, but I no longer expect of myself a perfection I can never achieve.

And I feel freedom.

Isolation, after all, isn’t God’s idea. He knows there's strength in numbers.

A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken. Ecclesiastes 4:12 (New Living Translation)

You’ll find acceptance and grace here. And hopefully, support, community and some kindred mom spirits, as well. I know I have.

Maybe I'll even run into you at Kmart.