I’d like to pretend it was a day when I had been bombarded with unusual inconveniences and unruly behavior from my children. But it wasn’t. I’d like to pretend that I had suffered through the day and my behavior was justified. But it wasn’t. I’d like to pretend that I was sick or tired or under a great deal of stress. But I wasn’t.
Truth be told, it was just an ordinary day, filled with nothing more than minor irritations. A child spilled her milk, another took his brother’s toy. Someone threw a temper tantrum. No one got a nap.
But for some reason, it did not feel like an ordinary day. It felt personal, like every little irritation or inconvenience was aimed directly at me. I could not stand to hear one more whining tone, or listen to one more argument. I did not want to determine who had what first, or tell someone to stop doing something to someone else. I did not want to clean up one more spill or get one more person something he couldn’t reach himself or remind one more child of the rules.
It didn’t seem like anyone was remembering the rules, even though they were the same rules we’ve had in this house since the dawn of time. So I was astonished, simply astonished, to find my seven-year-old sitting in the living room with my sharpest pair of scissors in his hand, the scissors he’s not supposed to touch without asking, the scissors he’s never, never to use except at the table.
“What are you doing?” I exclaimed as I came over to him.
I looked down and saw him sitting on the carpet in a pile of red shards. He was holding one of my new folders in his hand. It had been cut to bits.
“What are you DOING?!” I said in a much louder tone.
He looked up at me, but no words came out of his mouth. I couldn’t believe he was sitting in my living room cutting up my folder with a pair of scissors he was not supposed to use—ever.
“You’re cutting up my folder?!” I was shouting now. I would like to believe I was simply speaking sternly. But I wasn’t.
“You’re using my good scissors to cut up my folder! I can’t believe you’re doing this! You know better!”
“Mom, I…” he began.
I didn’t want to hear it. There was nothing he could say that would make it any better. He knew the rules, and he had disobeyed. He had taken something of mine without asking, and he had destroyed it. I was in utter disbelief.
“Go to bed,” I demanded. He put his head down and headed for the stairs before the tears began to flow.
I got the rest of the children to bed. No stories. No cuddles. Mommy was not in the mood. I came downstairs and looked at the pile of red on my carpet. I couldn’t even stand to see it. I turned off the light and went to bed myself.
In the morning, that pile of paper was still there. I fully intended to make my son clean it up himself. But I wanted to put the scissors away before the twins woke up and used it to cut their hair. Or worse. That’s why we have rules about scissors, I thought, remembering the time my son cut his hair down to the scalp and spent the rest of the summer looking like a holocaust victim.
I picked up the scissors. Something caught my eye. It was a heart, crudely fashioned out of red. Then I saw another. And another. Three little red hearts made out of my red folder were stacked up on the floor. They had scribbles all over the backs, but the biggest one was decorated on the front with washable Crayola. “I Love you,” it said in second-grader handwriting.
I felt the sob in my throat. And I cried.
I cried because I had forgotten the rule, the greater rule, the rule about love and kindness and believing the best about my son when all the evidence was against him. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”[1]
Love is everything I had not been to my son. I called Jonathan upstairs. “Look what I found,” I said, not really knowing how to begin.
He nodded. “Yep. I made those for you because the boys scribbled on your folder, and I thought that since they had ruined it, I would make you feel better.”
I didn’t think I could feel any worse. “Oh, Jonathan,” I said, squeezing him to me. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded again and smiled, but he had tears in his eyes. We sat and hugged for a long time, both of us thinking about how much better it is when love reigns.
“Let’s put this up on the fridge,” I said, taking the biggest heart. We stood back and looked at it up there. “It’s good to be reminded of the rules, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” he said. “Love is always a good rule.”
“Yes, it is. It’s the greatest.”
[1] I Cor 13:4-7, NIV
Thank you for recommending I read this, I really needed it. Being a single mom and starting a childbirth education business I get tired, stressed and verwhelmed by not having someone to “take over” for a minute when I need a break and having to always be “on” for my kids. I will certainly be thinking about this story when my sons are at my last frayed nerve.
Being a single mom is the hardest job. I had the opportunity to try it for nine months when my husband was studying abroad. My third was just a few weeks old when he left. I was fortunate to have a wonderful support system (I actually lived downstairs from my in-laws at the time). Do you have any one who can give you a break? It’s no wonder you’re frayed some times. You are working very hard, all the time. I wish I could buy you a cup of coffee (or just give you an afternoon alone!).
I live in my parent’s basement right now which, at times is really helpful and at others adds to the stress. I try to look at it as a growing experience and not grit my teeth too much 🙂 …. luckily I am dating an amazing man who is super supportive and he is my breath of fresh air. Sadly, we currently live 5 hours apart, but hopefully that will change.
Thanks for the encouragement
Beautiful Post!
This might be the first time I’ve cried after read a blog entry. You deserve a plaque or something. Admitting to your weakness to yourself is hard, even harder to admit it to someone who you respect but hardest of all to admit it to the one who looks up to you. You’re a brave woman. Bravo!
Thank you so much for your honesty… I was so touched by this story – it’s a very, very good and timely reminder for me. All too often I lose my cool with my 4 1/2-year-old.
Thank you, Keisha. I visited your blog (I can’t seem to post on it–I’m not sure why). You are a witty writer and your love for your son shines through! Thanks for visiting and reading my little story.
thank you for sharing! I have been in similar situations with my young children and know exactly what that lump in your throat feels like. Parenthood is an amazing (sometimes agonizing) journey, isn’t it!
Thank you, Jennifer. I homeschool my children as well and appreciate the honesty you share. We all have days when we wish we could hit the un-do button, but then we wouldn’t learn nearly as much, would we? Blessings to you as you continue in your journey!
Hello again! I just had time to go back and read your entire blog and realized you have 5 under 5. WOW! I have 4 under 5 and thought it was hard. I am totally going to being reading your blog more now…you are now my inspiration! So glad I found it! And great job on this post and the success you are having. So exciting! So I just read my comment above and realized I made a typo in my website address. Is it wierd to ask you to change it for me? I am knew to this blog world and trying to figure it out! Thanks, The Orange Rhino 🙂
Thanks for reading, and welcome to the site! I tried to click through to yours and it wouldn’t let me. The typo explains why. 🙂 I’d be happy to fix it, and I’ll be visiting your site soon. It’s strange to think that 4-5 children makes a large family these days, but it certainly keeps things interesting!
Wow, this is beautifully written and you so eloquently captured something I’ve learned about myself. I much too often yell at my kids for silly things before I realize that all they are trying to do is help me. Like when my 2 year old took out the milk today and spilled it I went to yell at him because it was such an inconvenience but really his intentions were good. The thing is, I can’t yell. I promised my boys I would go 365 days without yelling! I am on day 17. I am going to bookmark this post and read it for inspiration on days I am struggling. I love your concept of Love Rules. Because really, that is the whole reason I’ve taken on The Orange Rhino Challenge. So THANK YOU for writing so perfectly what I struggle with and for giving me much needed resolve to keep on not yelling.
this is so beautiful…thank-you…
Wow. While we don’t have any children of our own yet, I was still moved by this. It sounds like your son is well-trained: both in his quick move to bed and his gracious acceptance of your apology.
i need to remember the rules on a regular basis. the ‘Love is slow to anger’….I really have a lack of patience and I am REALLY trying to remember to love deepy.
Thanks for this story. Loved it the first time, love it the second time.
Ah. This is a great story! I have had several moments like this with the girls, too! One time, one of the girls had torn up a book (AGAIN!). I discovered it on a day when my nerves were already shot from people not remembering the rules. I went in the bedroom to yell at Theresa for tearing up the book, not realizing at the time it had been Chelsea. I was stopped dead in my tracks (before yelling) when I saw Theresa picking up the pieces of another book. She smiled sweetly at me and said “I’m cleaning up Chelsea’s mess for you, Mommy. I didn’t want you to be mad at her.” When I went to ask Chelsea about it, she was tearing up yet another book, in the bathroom. Yep…sometimes we need to believe the best about our kids…and we need to keep a better eye on the little ones. 🙂
Like Grandma, I cried the first time I heard the story and have tears in my eyes again. It isn’t easy to apologize to our children when we’re wrong, but what an important lesson it is – to show them that when Mom and Dad are wrong they also need to say they’re sorry.
I remember this. It made me cry then and when reading it now, I was close to it again.
oh tears, I see myself in your story, thanks for sharing. good to read when I have been up most of the night with a sick 3 yr old- its going to be a full mommy day.
Elizabeth Ranheim
ps- Karen sent this to me