I lost my cool all over all five of my kids, I was mad and scared and I yelled at them.
Then I had to apologize.
Let me tell you a story.
During this strange time of quarantine, our local school district has been running the normal bus routes and dropping off lunches. The kids are thrilled to have a change from my lunch options and I am grateful for the help. Plus, it adds a fun break to our day.
Every day around 10:15 in the morning, we all put our shoes on and walk up the hill to the mailbox. We wave to the bus and get lunch. Last week, we were a little early and I suggested that the kids take a walk around the perimeter of the property while we wait. The energy level was pretty high that day and I thought a little exercise might help. While they were gone, the bus came and went. As I headed back down the driveway, phone in one hand and a sack full of lunches in the other, I could see all five kids walking up the driveway towards me.
All of a sudden, Edison starts screaming.
This isn’t completely out of the ordinary for him. His reaction to being physically hurt and mortally offended are the same. So I wasn’t too alarmed at first. I yelled down the driveway to ask what happened. No one answered, no one even moved. They all just stood there staring at him still screaming. That seemed odd, so I picked up my pace and yelled again asking someone to tell me what was going on. As I got closer, I could tell he was hurt, so I threw the bag and my phone onto the side of the driveway and broke into a full sprint. I’m not sure why I couldn’t run with my phone in my hand.
As I got close enough to him to see all the blood pouring from his face, I started frantically asking questions as I ran. “What happened?” “Where is he hurt?”
No responses. They all just stood there frozen.
I barely slowed my run as I reached him, I just grabbed his arm and we ran the rest of the way to the house together. Him still crying and bleeding, me still screaming questions over my shoulder. I got to the house grabbed a washcloth and started cleaning him up. I didn’t take long to find he had a small, but deep, cut across the bridge of his nose. To my relief all his eyes and teeth were still intact. Still holding a cloth on his nose, I made the other four kids come stand in front of me.
“SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED?!?” I screamed.
They all started talking at once. Basically, they were playing a game where they try to bounce rocks off our red dirt driveway by throwing them. Fun game until someone catches one in the nose. I spent the next few minutes explaining, very loudly, how a crisis is to be handled. You either help or you go get help, you must take action. I pointed out how each of them had done it wrong in this particular crisis, including the one who was bleeding.
I was mad, I was scared, I was not calm. Pretty much the trifecta how to make bad parenting decisions. I also pointed out that if I catch any of them playing “the rock bouncing game” again I would take away fun. All fun. For the rest of their lives.
Oh yeah, proud parenting moment.
I got the bleeding stopped enough to see that it wasn’t going to need any stitches, but that it might leave a gnarly scar. I sent everyone in the house and took him to cuddle and calm down in the hammock.
Over lunch, I apologized. I said I was sorry for yelling, sorry for being angry, sorry for not pulling myself together. I asked for their forgiveness. Something that may be the most humbling thing I’ve ever experienced. Let me tell you, asking for forgiveness from someone you just had to put a straw in a juicebox for will change you. They all freely forgave me, also humbling, and we went on about our day. The story was retold when my Man got home from work that night but for the most part the incident faded away.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday, I went alone to the top of the driveway to pick up the lunches. I have started leaving the kids at the house while I go. It’s a nice five minute break for me and a few days before the rock incident, two of my boys had decided they would race down the hill, one on foot, one on a bike. It did not end well. Three quarters of the way down the driveway, both of them sprawled out in the dirt, covered in road rash and a bent bike.
I know the start of a pattern when I see one.
Yesterday when I was about half way back to the house, Edison came running out of the house and started towards me. When he got close enough for me to hear him, he yelled to me, “Thor cut his hand and is bleeding lots!” When I reached the house, General had Thor sitting on the kitchen counter holding a wet washcloth to his bleeding finger. Duchess was at the sink keeping her big brother supplied in rinsed out cool washcloths. I didn’t see Batman at first, but later found out he was on his hands and knees with antibacterial wipes, cleaning up the trail of blood drops across my living room.
The littlest one had a small, but very deep, cut on his finger, from a woodworking tool that was supposedly out of his reach. I’m sure it hurt like crazy, but overall he was fine. Later that day around the lunch table, I told them all how proud I was of them and how they handled the situation. They all took action to take care of someone who needed help. I was impressed with their quick thinking to help their little brother.
To be honest I was a little surprised how well they handled it. It wasn’t until Batman looked at me, a little puzzled, and said matter-of-factly, “Mom, we were just doing what you told us to do.” Then I made the connection between the two incidents. I still don’t think I handled the first situation well at all. But, I did make an impression. Hopefully they will always remember the lesson they learned, not the image of their mother freaking out.
