Author name: Missy Andrews

Australian author Mem Fox illustrates the effects of the little “l” law in the parent and child relationship in a children’s book entitled Harriet, You’ll Drive Me Wild. With short sentences illustrated by Marla Frazee in pencil and transparent ink, Fox tells the story of young Harriet, whose childish antics exasperate her mother, who “doesn’t like to yell,” by degrees until she reaches the boiling point: “There was a terrible silence. Then Harriet’s mother began to yell. She yelled and yelled and yelled.” I imagine most of us can identify with Harriet’s mom…

We live in a performance culture. The push to succeed begins in the cradle and dogs us to the grave. Many parents feel this deeply. A recent article I read recounts a sandbox conversation between two moms, one with preschoolers and one who had only recently discovered she was expecting: “You’re expecting?! How wonderful! Now, you’ve registered for pre-school already, right? You’ll need to get right on that. The waiting list is two years at all the right preschools, and if you don’t get into a good one, then any chance of getting into the right prep school is ruined – and if you don’t get him into the right prep school, then he’ll never get into a good college. And if he doesn’t get into the right college, he’ll never be successful and his life will be over…” – before it starts?! The poor kid’s life was mapped out, and he wasn’t even born yet – not to mention the mom’s life. She’d already failed and she hadn’t even begun…

January and February were difficult months for us Andrews types. The new year brought with it two car accidents, a health drama, and a broken furnace in the coldest week of the season. I would love to report that we handled it all with faces “set like flint,” hearts full of faith and unflappable confidence in God’s goodness, but that wouldn’t be honest. Instead, we hunkered down, forgetting our responsibilities, alternately trembling and petitioning God for relief… 

August is upon us, and if you’re anything like me, in addition to the sunshine and heat, it brings with it a crushing realization that the long list of summer to-dos that we penned with great hope in late May is not going to be accomplished. Mine sits before me, a glaring accusation. Where did the time go? The bathroom with 18-year-old wallpaper I was going to re-decorate, the vanity I was going to refinish, the pictures I was going to rescue from the vaults of my computer and finally frame on my walls, the books I was going to read, the coffee dates I was going to have with neglected friends and family, all of these proclaim my insufficiency…