Yesterday sported some highs and some lows.
Shall we start with the low that ended on a high … then stay there?!
Slow Walker morphed into a sommelier yesterday. Not just any sommelier, a Master Sommelier, the ultimate connoisseur of fine wine … Oh, did I say wine (possibly wishful thinking!) … I meant whine.
Yes he wasn’t serving the season’s Nouvea Beujolais, a fine Cabernet, or a memorable Merlot … No he was gracing us with well honed, “WHYYYYYYY’s” followed by a few “THAT’S NOT FAIR!!!’s, and the lovely gold medal winning “YOU”RE SO MEAN!!!” (For some reason, I especially don’t like that last one… he spews it when he’s really frustrated). The piece de resistance burst of anger purposefully punctuated with several stomps and the pelting of a ball or stuffed animal across the room earns significant bed time, sometimes a visit with the whacker.
Today, he dished more than we ordered and was sent to do some bedroom thinking – alone. In his defense, I probably wasn’t listening to him. Not that his preferred method of coping with my inattention was acceptable, but I can understand his frustration. I just didn’t have time to get into it. Friends had dropped by to swim (I can’t stop myself from chatting with a live audience), Jon & I had dinner plans (the time for which was barreling at me) and the electricity went out (shower, hair washing plus blow drying were a must for the evening, along with a skirt). Not to mention I hadn’t changed since morning exercise. Steer clear of the gal whose been sporting a jog bra the whole day. My head was aching and my time was crunched. No time for the whine.
After banishing the kid to his room, I busted my tail to get ready and shoot for only a slightly tardy dinner arrival. Wondering why the blow drier seems to work so slow whenever time is crunched, I hear an “I’m sorry Mom.”floating through the crack in my bathroom door.
“WHAT??!!” I really couldn’t hear him over the dryer.
“I”M SORRY MOM.” He genuinely yelled back.
I opened the door and saw a sincerely sad kid who felt terrible for what he had been doing. I swooped the repentant offender into my arms, then held him for a nice, long, lingering hug (who cares if we’re late).
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry, too. I was not listening to you. And I’m sorry for that.”
“Me too. I really love you, Mom.”
At this point, I’ve melted into a pool of mush on the floor. People think that the “make-up” thing one might have with their spouse after a spat is great (we’ll save that topic for Mary Flo). I’m here to say that there isn’t anything sweeter than an unsolicited, 100% genuine, “I’m sorry”.
In this case, the “I’m sorry” was followed by yet another musical phrase, “I’m working on it”. Oohhh, what more could a mother want. A repentant heart and effort to improve. I still think I could have lived without the whine, but it all disappeared with the utterance of those words.
The application is huge. How often do I humble myself to admit I’m wrong? Do I park my injured ego at the door and consider my own misgivings? Do I go the extra mile and actually try to change?