The 1-2 Punch
I really hate to say what I'm about to say. Although it's the truth, I feel like I'm one heck of a jerk to admit this about my children...
My kids really know how to kick me when I'm down. I'm talking down-in-the-trenches-sucker-punch-you-in-the-teeth down. Yes, they can be the sweetest, most delicious mini-people this side of the sun. But darn it if they don't have an innate sense for perfectly timing my low moments with a few well-placed blows of their own.
A few weeks ago, a normal Sunday morning was shattered with the news that my husband's family had lost one of their own. The death was one that no one saw coming and it rocked our comfortable little world. Family members immediately started assembling, funeral arrangements began, tears were poured out on each other's shoulders. Air mattresses blanketed the floors of our home. Friends brought meals and late nights brought more tears and questions. My house was filled to the brim with family, yet there clung an emptiness in the air.
All the while, my mini-people carried on life as usual. Toddlers can't afford to slow down, even when it's clear that something is wrong in their parent's world. It is their job to play and learn and be in the mix. I did my best to create "normal" for them, amidst the whirlwind that had become our home. I took them to a neighbor's house to swim...by myself, I might add. I guess you could say that yes, one child puking into the pool and one climbing and falling off patio furniture is pretty standard kid-practice for us. Hello normal! I took them for a play-date at a local playground and enjoyed watching the fruits of my potty-training labor go down the toilet, so to speak, as my eldest decided he was having too much fun to keep his pants clean. As if...
I truly thought I was a shining example of how to parent in times of crisis. If this was a test, it was a painful one but I was acing it. Right? Once the funeral was over and family began slowly drifting back to their respective homes, I found myself beginning to grieve. I had been so busy playing hostess and Wonder Mom that I hadn't allowed myself too much time to be sad. The morning that our house officially cleared out, my firstborn found me leaving for the grocery store. He had other plans and requested his shoes and the park. We needed to restock the fridge and park-time just wasn't in the cards.
"Mom, you always say no."
Pause for the first register of pain that comes after getting slocked by your bunk-mate in prison. (I'm a stay-at-home mom. Netflix soothes me.) The kid had really gone right for the big feelings. How in the world could he say that and why, oh why, was he choosing NOW, of all times, to bring this lovely sentiment to my attention? Could the kid not see that I needed a gosh-darn second to process?? The temptation to cry into a giant tray of leftover muffins was knocking at the door. But I sensed this was one of those "teachable moments" that the parenting magazines are always preaching about. I calmly asked my son what I should say instead of saying no.
"You should say 'I love you'."
Huh. Was not expecting that one. Not at all. It's funny, he never mentioned saying yes instead of no. He didn't say that I need to say yes to the park or pool every single time. More "I love you". That, I could definitely do.
Who knows if the kids sensed the heaviness that lay in our home that week. I figured forcing the normal activities would be enough to keep them sheltered from the pain that we, as grown-ups, were all experiencing. And maybe it was. Perhaps they're none the wiser. But I'm actually grateful to my three-year old sage for sharing such a profound parenting tidbit at a time I'll never forget. Where there is heartache and life's cruel twists and turns of fate, I will absolutely remember to say, "Kid, I love you".
My kids really know how to kick me when I'm down. I'm talking down-in-the-trenches-sucker-punch-you-in-the-teeth down. Yes, they can be the sweetest, most delicious mini-people this side of the sun. But darn it if they don't have an innate sense for perfectly timing my low moments with a few well-placed blows of their own.
A few weeks ago, a normal Sunday morning was shattered with the news that my husband's family had lost one of their own. The death was one that no one saw coming and it rocked our comfortable little world. Family members immediately started assembling, funeral arrangements began, tears were poured out on each other's shoulders. Air mattresses blanketed the floors of our home. Friends brought meals and late nights brought more tears and questions. My house was filled to the brim with family, yet there clung an emptiness in the air.
All the while, my mini-people carried on life as usual. Toddlers can't afford to slow down, even when it's clear that something is wrong in their parent's world. It is their job to play and learn and be in the mix. I did my best to create "normal" for them, amidst the whirlwind that had become our home. I took them to a neighbor's house to swim...by myself, I might add. I guess you could say that yes, one child puking into the pool and one climbing and falling off patio furniture is pretty standard kid-practice for us. Hello normal! I took them for a play-date at a local playground and enjoyed watching the fruits of my potty-training labor go down the toilet, so to speak, as my eldest decided he was having too much fun to keep his pants clean. As if...
I truly thought I was a shining example of how to parent in times of crisis. If this was a test, it was a painful one but I was acing it. Right? Once the funeral was over and family began slowly drifting back to their respective homes, I found myself beginning to grieve. I had been so busy playing hostess and Wonder Mom that I hadn't allowed myself too much time to be sad. The morning that our house officially cleared out, my firstborn found me leaving for the grocery store. He had other plans and requested his shoes and the park. We needed to restock the fridge and park-time just wasn't in the cards.
"Mom, you always say no."
Pause for the first register of pain that comes after getting slocked by your bunk-mate in prison. (I'm a stay-at-home mom. Netflix soothes me.) The kid had really gone right for the big feelings. How in the world could he say that and why, oh why, was he choosing NOW, of all times, to bring this lovely sentiment to my attention? Could the kid not see that I needed a gosh-darn second to process?? The temptation to cry into a giant tray of leftover muffins was knocking at the door. But I sensed this was one of those "teachable moments" that the parenting magazines are always preaching about. I calmly asked my son what I should say instead of saying no.
"You should say 'I love you'."
Huh. Was not expecting that one. Not at all. It's funny, he never mentioned saying yes instead of no. He didn't say that I need to say yes to the park or pool every single time. More "I love you". That, I could definitely do.
Who knows if the kids sensed the heaviness that lay in our home that week. I figured forcing the normal activities would be enough to keep them sheltered from the pain that we, as grown-ups, were all experiencing. And maybe it was. Perhaps they're none the wiser. But I'm actually grateful to my three-year old sage for sharing such a profound parenting tidbit at a time I'll never forget. Where there is heartache and life's cruel twists and turns of fate, I will absolutely remember to say, "Kid, I love you".
Comments
Post a Comment