Our family had counted down the days 'til Les Miz and were finally midst the splendor of lush carpets and bright chandeliers. I pulled the seven tickets from my bag and we headed for the balcony, where an usher studied our tickets, then pointed six rows down.

And there were our seats - but something was terribly wrong! Like Goldilock's Little Bear, I felt betrayed to find people sitting in them. I double-checked our tickets, then showed them to the nearest usurper.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let's see," she said as she fumbled in her purse to find her own. "No, our tickets are for these seats."

And she was right. We both had sets of tickets for the same exact seats. Tripp summoned an usher, who appeared as confounded as we were. The pressure was mounting as the musicians warmed up and the lights flickered.

And then the usher took another look and saw that our tickets. . . . . were for the next day!

Gulp.

My mistake, no doubt about it. As in most families, in ours Mom is the social coordinator, events facilitator, activity director, personal planner, calendar keeper, and all-around cheerleader for the family. I'd ordered the tickets, I'd push-pinned them on the bulletin board when they arrived, and I'd dutifully entered Les Miz on our calendar. On the wrong day.

And so we'd wrangled permission to leave school early, gotten all gussied up, paid the babysitter, gas, toll, and parking - not to mention Tripp taking off work - all so we could do it again the next day.

Okay, so no one's perfect. And I didn't have to be a mother to make a mistake like that. But it sure helps.

Especially when you've got a lot of children.

Think about it. Unless you, dear reader, have twelve kids or more, I undoubtedly make many more mistakes than you do. Ask any insurance actuary. Just as they charge more for teen drivers, if they wrote policies for parenting they'd have to charge more to cover the risks inherent in being a mega-mom.

If only they could! I'd love insurance to cover the dings and dents in my confidence when I do something dumb, or just plain forget.

But being humbled is a good thing. It keeps me seeking the divine help I need to do better. Yes, I'm the one who forgot to sign my child's report card, to have him wear his glasses, to make something for the Valentine's Day Party. I'm the one who gets to the bus stop late and has to trail behind until the next stop. I'm the one who went to the potluck empty-handed, hoping no one would notice - or if they did would understand how desperately I needed adult conversation. I'm the one with the plants on suicide watch. I'm the one who - more than anyone else - knows I can do better.

But when I turn to Jesus, He gives me hope. I feel His love and acceptance. I no longer feel like giving up. Somehow this gives me the courage to keep on keeping on, no matter how imperfect the result.

So I'm thinking that what we imperfect moms have is a Blessed Assurance policy - which covers us better than an insurance policy any day.