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?

Thanks Slow Walker for finishing well.   You Rock, kid!

And… Thanks for walking the road with me.

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