At the end of a long day, many mothers find themselves hanging on by a thread. They replay the day’s events in their minds, honing in on a highlight reel where the negatives often outweigh the positives at a staggering rate. Often, amidst their silent “I’ll Do Better Tomorrow” pep talks, they might find themselves shouting threats to their kids, like promising to send them off with the nearest gypsy if they don’t return to bed right away. As they hear the familiar sound of little feet thudding overhead—a noise they once fervently wished for—they wonder if they have the energy for one last tuck-in.
This was me on the night of “the incident,” which my family now fondly refers to as “The Pumpkin Catastrophe.” It’s a story we all laugh about now, though it led my husband to hide the scissors for a solid week and a half.
My six-year-old daughter came home from school with a tiny pumpkin, a gift from her teacher. That evening, chaos erupted in the backyard as my two oldest daughters fought like, well, cats and dogs. Maybe the fight was about the pumpkin, but more likely it was about asserting their very existence. One daughter had a fistful of her sister’s hair while the other clutched the pumpkin tightly. Meanwhile, my youngest was throwing an all-out tantrum at my feet. With a looming deadline and the effects of PMS kicking in, all my previous attempts at mediation had failed. I dug deep for patience, but the well had run dry, and something inside me snapped.
I’ve heard that in sports, when an athlete makes a pivotal play, everything around them goes silent as they become hyper-focused on their goal. That’s exactly how I felt in that moment with the pumpkin. Without a word, I marched over, snatched the pumpkin from their hands, held it high above my head for dramatic flair—eyes wide and nostrils flaring—and unleashed a primal “RRRAAAARRRRRHHHHHH!” before smashing it to smithereens at my feet.
Silence fell over the scene as I walked away in disbelief at the Hulk-like rage that had suddenly emerged. If I were a smoker, this would have been the moment to flick a lit match over my shoulder while saying something cool as the world behind me exploded.
For a split second, my daughters stood frozen, mouths agape in shock, staring at the pumpkin remnants splattered on their shoes. The wailing began as soon as the back door swung shut.
As I regained my composure, I realized I had just demonstrated everything I strive to teach my children not to be. Without wasting any time, I stepped outside to address them—after taking a few deep breaths, of course. “Girls? Come down from the tree! We need to talk!”
“No way! You’re scary!”
The first words out of my mouth were, “I’m truly sorry. Please forgive me. I was really, really mad.” I wanted to add, “because you were acting like total jerks,” but I bit my tongue, saving that for a more suitable occasion—like perhaps their wedding toasts.
Apologizing is something parents often have to do, though it’s not always easy. Sometimes it’s for major incidents like destroying a cherished pumpkin, and other times it’s for minor things, such as, “Sorry I blamed you for not flushing when it was clearly your sister’s mess.”
Seeking forgiveness opens us up, making us vulnerable. A heartfelt apology while standing amongst pumpkin debris is far more challenging than quietly sweeping it away and pretending to be the Perfect Pinterest Mom. But we still apologize. We show our kids that we’re not infallible, that no one is. We acknowledge that we don’t always know the right thing to say or do, and neither will they. Making mistakes is tough, yet owning up to them is crucial for growth.
We also teach them that sometimes, apologies come with consequences—a lesson to remember the next time you feel the urge to smash something. For more parenting insights, you may want to check out this related post.
In summary, asking for forgiveness from our children, while difficult, is an essential part of parenting. It not only helps us model accountability but also fosters understanding and connection in our families. Remember, no one is perfect, and it’s okay to admit when we’ve made a mistake.
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