Grace & An Easy Bake Oven

When I was seven I got an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas.  I've always loved cooking, but when you're a seven-year-old your freedom in the kitchen is limited (especially with all things that get hot). So, this little gizmo seemed like my ticket to cooking independently bliss.

I remembered after the wrapping paper was picked up and the parts of various toys were appropriately scattered about our living room I took (or probably my Dad took because hello, heavy!) that Easy Bake Oven to the kitchen table and unpacked it with glee.

It either came with or I was gifted a cake making set.  Right away I knew what I would do.  I would bake up eggs for my family as Christmas breakfast and then make a little cake for myself (and for them too... if they wanted it -- maybe).

So I unpacked and studied instructions and got to work.  I turned on the oven (which had a bulb to do the cooking... a BULB) and waited for it to warm up.  It took forever, but I was a happy camper so I waited.  Then I cooked an egg.  FOREVER.  Or so it seemed, but when you're seven five minutes can feel like days.  I remember finally giving up on the egg and moving on to the cake.  (Because really it was always all about the cake!)  And guess what?  It took FOREVER!!! And right when I thought it was done and pulled it out (most likely against my Mom's advice) I beamed with pride because I had made a cake!  By myself!  With my oven!  And then it collapsed in on itself because the center wasn't cooked.  ...After like, 1 hour of baking!

I'm pretty sure I never used that Easy Bake Oven again.  Sorry, Mom & Dad.

Parenting is a lot like cooking with an Easy Bake Oven when you're seven especially when you're in the thick of the toddler years and the disciplining.

With my oldest, we've been disciplining awhile.  But he's a few months shy of 3 now and independent and he understands things.  He understands that not taking a nap is more fun than taking a nap.  He understands that if he lays on the floor of a grocery store and screams and cries because he doesn't want to be there will get him attention and might make us leave.  He understands that if he pushes his brother, his brother will no longer be in the way; problem solved!  And right now parenting feels like that cake.

Things felt so good and we were making progress in all kinds of areas.  We transitioned them from co-sleeping to their own rooms.  J learned to count to 10.  E learned to walk.  Success was abounding!  And in my mind I felt like we'd made it through the twos without too much terrible.  So mentally, I pulled the cake and beamed and cheered and patted husband and myself on the back and of course the cake went flat in the middle.

And after all that waiting and work!!!

With E, we're just beginning disciplining more now that he's 18 months and saying "no" every 5 minutes and testing his boundaries.  But when you can see one year out and you watch that cake go flat after so much work you get so discouraged.  And you feel like...

I'm the worst Mom.
I'm failing.
I can't do this.
I'm horrible at this.
They'll never obey.
It's all out of control.

And so on and so forth.

The difference is that unlike my Easy Bake Oven, I can't give up.  I can't box it all back up and shove it to the back of my Mom's pots and pans cabinet.  This is my work and my job and unlike any other job in the whole wide world it's Eternal and it matters.  I've been assigned the task of bringing up two humans.  They'll be two men someday!  And sometimes, after days like today, that thought terrifies me as I picture grown-man-J lying on the grocery store floor kicking and screaming and crying about whatever.

I'm just keeping it real here tonight.  I don't have the answer or great wisdom to share if you feel in the thick of it parenting through these little years and are flustered and floundering.  I can just tell you you're not alone.  This is hard.  And friends with older kids say it gets better and that they are hearing the discipline and the correction and they will grow out of this fight-you-on-everything stage.  And I believe them, I do, and I try not to will time to speed up, I do, but some days I just want to fast forward to five and six and see what kind of little boys they are and how I did it.  How I got from here to there (hopefully) successfully.

But that's not possible.  And that's where grace comes in.  So much grace.  Daily grace.  Begging for grace.  And asking God to show me His grace to show them and His mercy and His patience and understanding time and time again.

Because you know what?  To Him, I'm probably a lot like an Easy Bake Oven cake.  I'm doing so great and feeling positive and seeking Him in this parenting role and I pull myself out too soon and I fall flat as I flounder and kick and scream and cry my way through the trenches of parenting.

I'm really no different than my 2.5 year old; at least not to Him.

And thus, grace.  Endless grace.  That's all I need.