What your kids will really say about you

Someone meets me at the door as soon as I walk in from work and asks, "What's for dinner?  Do we have to eat cereal again?" 
Somebody whines and says why do I have them fold the towels and when they never even use any towels and I think it best not to ask when was the last time they had a bath?
Somebody tells me they forgot to clean their room and clean out the litter box and start the laundry and feed the cat. 
At least I fed the cat yesterday. 
Where does my menu planning go in late July or August?  I wish I could be one of those face book mothers who make 12 crock pot dinners in two hours and put them in the freezer and only go to the grocery store once a week.  I read about it, print them off, but never do it.  I can't find two straight hours in a day.  And my kid doesn't take naps in the afternoon anymore. 
Who knew that no matter what age, kids  need to fed, watered and groomed?  Everyday.  Even on vacation. I still stand in amazement that husbands and children expect dinner every night, when I could just skip it.  And why can't we order take out every night.
And while I can do very, very hard things,  I can not do easy things like getting gas.  I hate to get gas.  I don't know why.  First, you can never read the screen because of the glare, second the fumes  always get on my hands and then inevitably no matter what pump I choose, it is always out of service  or I have to walk inside.  I hate to fold clothes.  If it were left solely up to me, I would leave them in the laundry basket forever and do away with drawers.  I hate to load the dishwasher and I have been known to re run it, just because I didn't feel like unloading it. 
So, I just hide out on the toilet lid and sob and sob and try to lower my raised blood pressure and figure out what we are going to eat.  I try to blame my stress and anxiety way too often on work.  I was a hospice nurse during all of Davis' elementary and middle school years.  I went back to school full time when he was in the eighth grade and choose to work on an oncology unit.  But the truth is, I am just a broken person who forgets that I don't have to do it all and only by the grace of God do I accomplish anything on any given day anyway.  I am a broken person who all too often thinks it all depends on me and none of it depends on God.    
I’m a stressed mom. I’m stressed too often. I worry that Davis’s most prominent memory of his childhood will be my contorted anxiety face walking in the house and snapping at him when he tells me homework is not done, the cat is hungry and he forgot to bathe again.  At times he asks me, “Mama, are you stressed?” Sometimes he tells Vance when he comes home: “Mom is all jacked up today."  So, maybe the stressed mom will be the story Davis will  tell.   But, right alongside it, let him also tell of the mom who prayed on toilet lid, "Lord have mercy on me, a sinner."   Let him tell the story of the mom who sat in her  chair at night and clutched her Book of Common Prayer and just really cried before God.  "Only in you, Lord can there be perfect peace."  Let him tell the story of the mom who reminded every night "say your prayers."  And let me be the mom who tells the story of Davis, "Mom prayer is alot like bread.  You should use like you eat bread and milk."