My life is sometimes a fairy-tale. Unfortunately, that fairy-tale is entitled, “Baldylocks and the Three Boors” … Once upon a time, there was a kindly old soul named Baldylocks and he had three boors. Every morning, Baldylocks woke up to make breakfast for the three boors. The first boor complained, “My oatmeal is TOO HOT !!!” The second boor whined, “My oatmeal doesn’t have enough MILK !!!” The third boor sat quietly, because in his oatmeal just happened to be perfect on this day, so why bother saying anything if you don’t have something to complain about.
So I’m having a bad evening – a little tired and cranky – and, sure, the kids are doing stuff they shouldn’t be but I’m crabbing at them more than their behavior deserves. Come dinnertime, I’m in a truly foul mood and in the process of getting a cup of water for my middle boy, I accidentally knock it over and spill it all over the counter and down to the floor. It’s entirely my mistake , I’m angry with myself, and it shows on my face. My son sees the look on my face and without a second thought, he puts on his biggest smile and says, “It’s okay Daddy, accidents happen.”
My anger fades and is quickly replaced with such a feeling of pride in my son. Sometimes I feel I’ve been blessed with beautiful kids in spite of myself.
My three year old just couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted this evening. I asked if he wanted ketchup or mustard on his hot dog and he said “Mustard.” When I brought him his hot dog he got mad and said he wanted ketchup, not mustard. After a quick rebuttal, I realized that it was futile so I ate the hot dog with mustard and got him another with ketchup. At this point, he decided he wanted the black bean burger his cousin was eating (she’s in town visiting). I promptly ate the hot dog with ketchup and prepared a black bean burger, giving him a quarter of it so that he doesn’t mangle the rest into something inedible (I, of course, quickly ate the remaining three quarters). Then he argues that he doesn’t like hamburgers, he wants a hot dog…
I ask my niece to take the bigger kids to watch a movie on the computer while I take young Harry upstairs. He and I snuggle in front of a big box fan and he’s crying (and my stomach is gurgling). I feel bad for him – he just can’t figure out what he wants and he can’t find the words for it either. Normally I’d get frazzled in this situation and I’m surprised to have this moment of clarity and understanding instead of getting irritated.
Maybe it’s because it’s tough to be angry on a full stomach.