There I am in the kitchen, my face flushed and voice raised, yet not a single soul in the house seems to hear me. “I need some help!” I shout, waving my hands, which are awkwardly encased in oven mitts. “Dinner is ready! And someone is at the front door!” Yet, silence reigns supreme. With six kids in the house, you’d think someone could pause their video game or homework to check on the frantic 37-year-old woman in the kitchen.
Frustrated, I storm to the front door and fling it open, only to catch a glimpse of the UPS guy retreating to his truck. “Yeah, you better get going!” I consider yelling at him, a means to release the mounting anger within me. “Take your brown clipboard and get into your brown truck before I… before I…” I realize there’s really no productive ending to that thought, so I gather my packages in my oven mitts and head back inside.
“Dinner!” I shout again, my face now resembling a ripe tomato as the pot on the stove threatens to boil over and the table remains unset. I start calling out kids’ names, even tossing in a few from the neighbor’s house for good measure. “All of you, to the kitchen now!” I hear footsteps from both the basement and upstairs, and only one child emerges, bleary-eyed and oblivious.
It’s been a long day filled with laundry, errands, and an hour spent fixing the garbage disposal after someone decided a plastic spoon was a suitable “disposal” item. No one seems to care about my clear frustration, and at that moment—just like that pot on the stove—I am bubbling over with irritation.
“I can’t believe how selfish you all are!” I yell, dramatically tossing down my oven mitts for extra emphasis. “Make your own dinner!” I stomp upstairs.
Three minutes later, I return to find the table set and six pairs of eyes staring back at me. Quietly, I finish preparing the meal and serve everyone their food. “I’m sorry,” I tell them. “I was frustrated, and I needed your help. But Mommy shouldn’t have yelled.” They nod, because let’s face it, they’ve heard this before. I’ve messed up—sometimes repeatedly—which means they’ve grown accustomed to my apologies. We handle all apologies here, from the toy “borrowing” incidents to my dinner-related meltdowns.
“We should have come to help sooner,” my son says, glancing around at his siblings. They all nod, a mixed bag of apologies in their expressions. It’s not an exuberant response, but it’s something.
In our household, we’re all a work in progress when it comes to apologies. My mom raised me to avoid saying “I’m sorry if…” Instead, she taught me to say “I’m sorry that…” The difference is subtle yet significant—the former suggests the wrongdoing might not have happened, while the latter takes full ownership.
I’m sorry if I hurt you.
I’m sorry that I hurt you.
I’m sorry if I didn’t listen.
I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.
There’s real power in a genuine apology, and it’s a gift to give one completely. Just last week, a friend asked if he should apologize to his son for a more serious issue. This was an “I’m sorry” that spanned years, a heartfelt acknowledgment of his past mistakes. “Here’s what I’m thinking of saying,” he explained, and the words he crafted were beautiful, reflecting all the hurt he felt he had caused.
“It’s perfect,” I replied, because it truly was. “But don’t forget to say ‘I’m sorry’ too,” I added. Sometimes, it really is that simple. If you strip away all the extra words, what a child truly wants to hear is a heartfelt “I love you, and I respect you enough to admit I make mistakes too.”
As parents, we occasionally stumble. We might drop the ball. It’s a tough job. Luckily, we can learn from our errors, own up to them, and move forward, a little stronger each time. It’s okay for our kids to see that we—moms and dads—are human too. Eventually, they’ll figure it out anyway, and I bet they’ll love us for showing them that we can falter and still care deeply. By understanding our apologies, they’ll recognize how hard we try and how much we genuinely want to get it right.
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In summary, apologizing to our kids is crucial for fostering understanding and growth within the family. It shows that we are human, capable of mistakes, and still deeply committed to loving and supporting them.