If you’re one of my two boys, it only makes sense that when you spend every waking summer moment with your brother, playing video games, creating worlds with legos, cars, and superhero toys, you’re bound to get on each other’s last nerve.

We’ve had our share of day camps this summer, swim lessons, and even a family vacation, but when they’re at home, they easily—and very willingly—erk the other. Sometimes it’s on accident, but often it’s just to bug the snot out of their brother. They know each other best and they know how tick each other off.

When this happens, I’m often sitting at my computer working. I hear it coming. The rumbling starts low, but I can hear the annoyance in his voice. The other continues his button pushing until all hell breaks loose. In the end, one is crying, and the other is making fun of him for doing so.

Now my concentration is broken. And just like the anger rising inside the victimized brother, the heat within me is like water about to boil in a tea kettle. No longer able to focus on my work, my spout whistles loudly. “What is going on?!” I yell. And thus begins the, “He said/He said,” game complete with plenty of, “No I did not/Yes you did,” and “Mom, he’s lying/No I’m not (shove)!”.

When this happens, I wish I could say that I always sit them down, and begin a communication lesson with them.

“Tell your brother how what he did made you feel.” (They do so.) “Now, apologize to your brother.” (They do so.) “Now hug each other.” (They do so.) “Now, go play and be selfless!” (And they do so, skipping off gleefully and holding hands.)

But this is not the case. Because this kind of teaching requires time—something I don’t want to spend on them at the moment. So I half listen to their side of the story, get really angry, and send them to their rooms for time to “think,” so I can go back to my computer in peace.

After a recent day of this chaos, I sat on the couch after they’d gone to bed. And maybe, like many of you, I felt relief as quiet filled the house. It was finally, “me” time. But when I reflected on our day, the guilt settled on me like a thick fog.  Why didn’t I respond with more patience? I only have a few more weeks with them before they go back to school. I’m better than this.

Yet cutting through the shame, God reminded me that my kids have unexplainable and unconditional love for me. When my kids wake up tomorrow, they will bound down the stairs and into my arms. They will get nose to nose with me and through their boy-putrid morning breath say, “Good morning mom! I love you!” And their love warms my soul.

And God’s reminders continue.  He gave me these kids, on purpose. He saw that I was the best mom for these two crazies and if there was a better mom out there, they would have her. But they have me, mistakes and all. And as I try to raise them to love and follow Jesus, one of the best gifts I can give them, is to admit my faults, confess that I’m not perfect, and ask for their forgiveness.

And so on the couch that morning, I do.

And I use my irrational behavior as an opportunity to tell them that we all make mistakes, even Mommy. But there’s nothing we can ever do, no impatient response to kids or fighting with our brother, that will keep God’s love from us. His love doesn’t only go so far, it goes all the way to the cross.

So mamas, when we make mistakes, may we remember our kids are crazy about us, despite us. May we freely admit our slip-ups to them so they learn from our example of confession and repentance. And may we always remember and teach our kids that shame and guilt is not the life Jesus has for us. Instead, He died so we could live forgiven and free. And as a result, may we make God famous to our kids.