My Children Are Embarrassing

They actually look pretty cute and innocent in this photo. 

So this week, we’ve been spending some time at a wonderful family camp in the mountains of Colorado. Just one week on the heels of our epic road trip with toddlers, we set off again on a five-hour drive to Sonrise Mountain Ranch. Some people in our church gifted us with this week at camp, and so far it has been beautiful, restful and spiritually refreshing. But it started off kind of rough.

The combination of too little sleep the night before, seven hours of travel (including too many potty breaks to count), and rolling into camp as events were already underway, left all of us feeling a little frazzled. We made it through dinner, but by the time we had gathered for worship and introductions in the lodge, it had become absolutely impossible to control our children.

My 4-year-old, who has developmental issues, alternated running away from us and doing an exuberant interpretive dance. Following his cue, my 2-year-old danced around the room, laughing impishly and evading our attempts to wrangle her back to our corner of the room. And the baby was, well … being a baby. Every so often she let us know (loudly) that she was ready for bed. There was nothing we could do to get our unruly children under control.

That’s when I felt tears brimming in my eyes. I was just so embarrassed. This was one of those moments where I really wished my children were a little less like themselves and a little more like the Von Trapps—lining up neatly and politely to impress the crowd with a goodnight song.

I know that at “family camp,” these fellow parents completely understand what we’re going through and aren’t there to judge. But still, why did MY children have to be the ones acting up? Everyone was super-kind and gracious to us following the debacle. (My son almost landed on a baby—not ours—during his interpretive dance, and my daughter at one point yelled, “I’m done!” loudly during prayer—just in case there was any question.) I appreciated the encouragement, but my pride was hurt. Really hurt. And even back at the cabin I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as I replayed “the incident” over and over again in my head.

But here’s the facts: I have a child with special needs. I have a delightfully spirited, precocious, creative 2-year-old. And I have a baby. Sometimes my kids are going to be embarrassing. And for all my parenting flaws—which I know exist—I can’t change who they are … who God created them to be. If that bruises my pride, so what? Kevin and I plan to do our best to raise them to be compassionate, polite, godly adults, but right now they’re kids. They’re our kids. And when they embarrass me, I just need to remember that one day I’ll embarrass them too. Just kidding. (Kind of.)

But seriously, as a parent, I’m going to have to let go of my pride sometimes. So they’re not behaving the way I wish they would … that’s part of the process. My daughter won’t be 2 forever. Before long, public interpretive dance will be a thing of the past. And you know what. I have a feeling I'll miss these embarrassing moments. Well, at least some of them.