The truth can be a harsh companion. Just the other day, I found myself in a rather embarrassing situation. I had just returned from a long drive with my two young daughters, Olivia and Mia, to my parents’ home for dinner. The journey from our residence in San Antonio was anything but smooth.
We set off too close to lunchtime, which necessitated a stop along the way. As expected, both girls dozed off shortly after we resumed our travels, but I soon realized I was fighting off sleep myself. A coffee break revived them but left me frazzled.
What followed was a cacophony of sibling disagreements, playful hits, and an incessant round of “I have nothing to do,” all while navigating through unexpected traffic. I found myself pulling over at a less-than-ideal location, where I attempted to open the back door for my girls—only to discover it was locked. Frustrated, I exclaimed, “I can’t stand this car!”
Before you judge my reaction, consider that an engineer designed my car to lock automatically while driving for safety reasons. However, living in a city like San Antonio doesn’t warrant such measures. I usually have to open the doors for my children multiple times a day, so it felt particularly frustrating in that moment.
Once we were finally seated at my parents’ dinner table, Olivia excitedly announced, “Mommy, this is where the special part starts!” Mia chimed in, “Mommy, we are about to say a praaayyyyeeer!” Little did they know that I was quite familiar with this tradition, having grown up with it myself. However, my husband and I now practice different customs as Unitarian Universalists.
Olivia then declared to my mother, “We don’t say prayers at home!” My mom responded, “That’s okay; we like to say a prayer before meals in our house.” I added, “It’s important to appreciate the food we have, as so many people worked hard to prepare it.” We joined together in prayer, and I encouraged Olivia to share our family’s dinner table tradition.
As the youngest, Olivia often feels overshadowed, but she takes the lead in our “Good Thing, Bad Thing” activity at the dinner table. She explained that each person shares one positive and one negative aspect of their day, emphasizing the importance of listening. She decided that Mia should go first.
Mia began, “Well, my bad thing is that during the drive, Mommy was very grumpy.” I shot her a glance, but she wasn’t being hurtful; she was merely stating the facts. She continued, “Mommy yelled sometimes and even used bad words…” I glanced at my parents, who were trying not to laugh.
Mia continued, “She’s stressed from work and got mad at us for saying we were bored.” Gradually, the table erupted in laughter, including me. My father remarked, “I’m learning a lot from this tradition!”
We continued sharing our “Good Thing, Bad Thing” reflections around the table, creating an atmosphere of support and understanding. After dinner, I spoke with my daughters about two important points:
- They are old enough to manage longer car rides without constant needs, especially given the array of entertainment options available.
- I apologized for not handling the situation better.
Despite my remorse, I still find myself irritated by those car locks.
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In summary, parenting is a blend of challenges and joys, as illustrated by one family’s dinner ritual that fosters open communication and understanding.