At the close of each day, there’s a mom who feels stretched to her limits. A mom who mentally replays the day’s events, honing in on the highlights—or, more often, the low points, which usually far outnumber the good. She pauses her internal “Tomorrow Will Be Better” motivational speech to shout threats to her children, warning them that if they don’t return to bed right away, she might just trade them for a lifetime supply of chocolate. As she hears the thudding of tiny feet above her—a sound she once wished for—she wonders if she has the energy for just one more bedtime tuck-in. This mom, having exhausted her last reserves of patience throughout the day, questions whether one night’s rest will be enough to recharge her for tomorrow’s chaos.
That mom was me during what my family has come to refer to as “The Great Pumpkin Catastrophe.” It’s a story that still brings giggles, but it led my husband to hide the scissors for a week and a half!
My six-year-old son, Alex, brought home a small pumpkin from school. For the next few hours, my two oldest daughters, Lily and Mia, fought over it like it was the last slice of pizza. Lily had a handful of Mia’s hair while Mia was clenching the pumpkin in a vice grip. Meanwhile, my youngest, Zoe, was throwing a fit at my feet. With a looming deadline and a raging case of PMS, my attempts at mediation had failed miserably. I frantically searched for patience, but my well was completely dry, and something inside me broke.
I’ve heard that athletes experience a moment of silence when they’re on the verge of making a big play, as adrenaline and focus take over. That’s what happened to me and the pumpkin. Without thinking, I marched over, snatched the pumpkin from their grasp, raised it high above my head—taking a dramatic pause for effect—eyes wide with fury, and let out a primal “RRRAAAARRRRHHHH!” before smashing it into pieces at my feet.
The silence that followed was deafening. I was just as shocked as my children by the sudden outburst of rage I didn’t know I had. If I were a character in an action movie, this would have been the moment I tossed a lit match over my shoulder while the world exploded behind me.
For a brief moment, my kids stared in disbelief, their mouths agape at the splattered pumpkin mess on their shoes. Then, the wailing began as the back door swung shut.
Once I regained my composure, I realized I had just modeled everything I teach my kids not to do. Without wasting time, I went outside to address the situation—after a few deep breaths, of course. “Kids? I need to talk to you!”
“Not a chance! You’re scary!” they replied.
My first words were, “I’m really sorry. Please forgive me. I was beyond mad.” I nearly added, “Because you were acting like total goofballs,” but I held back. That could wait for another time, perhaps during their wedding speeches.
Apologizing is a familiar act for parents but not always a favorite. Sometimes it’s over major missteps, like obliterating cherished Halloween decorations, and other times, it’s for minor issues, like wrongly blaming them for a messy bathroom. Asking for forgiveness is challenging; it requires us to be vulnerable. It’s far easier to sweep the pumpkin remains into the grass and pretend everything’s fine than to confront the mess head-on. But we apologize because it shows our kids that we’re not perfect. We demonstrate that we all make mistakes, and that’s okay.
We also teach them that sometimes there’s a cost to our actions—something to remember when you feel like smashing something.
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Summary:
In parenting, humility and the willingness to apologize are essential. When a mom’s emotions boiled over during a chaotic day, it taught her valuable lessons about vulnerability and the importance of modeling good behavior for her children. By acknowledging her mistakes, she not only demonstrated that everyone makes errors but reinforced the idea that owning up to them is crucial.