A few years ago, our city added radar speed signs to the neighborhood streets. These signs might drive some folks crazy, but I love them. They’re so thoughtful to show me my speed. Most of the time I’m on target. (Remember, I have a resident speed officer riding in the far back of my car, always quick to alert me of any driver error.) But some of the time I’m over. On rare occasions under. And I’m thankful for the reminder. I don’t mean to speed. I’ll just get to talking with whomever is sitting next to me, and I don’t realize.
I thought about those signs the other day. In as much as I appreciate them on my driving road, I especially appreciate friends who act as radar signs on my life road. I need them – folks in my life who will alert me when I’m getting close to the edge or when I’m crossing the line. Like the radar speed sign, I appreciate when they begin blinking and warn me to slow down and to rethink what I’m doing.
Friends walking the road with us rank as one of the most important components to living life well, and parenting well. And like the radar speed signs, road-walking friends are honest… authentic. Isn’t that the core of true friendship? Honesty. Even in potentially awkward situations. When food wedges itself in your teeth.
A few weeks ago, Barton went over to a friend’s house for a little kitchen creating. One thing led to another and before either knew what was going on, powdered sugar was flying. Coming off a bit of a stressful day and hearing the commotion, her friend’s mom rushed into the kitchen. In the midst of frustration, she zipped her daughter despite a quick plea, “It’s okay, Mommy. I’ll clean it up.” The fun was done. And who can blamer her. We’re talking powdered sugar.
Barton matter-of-factly told me about the afternoon when I picked her up. She felt bad for her friend, so we talked. No judgment, just contemplation about our own actions and reactions. Which I shared with my husband when I got home. “Honey – I think we might overreact sometimes. When talking with Barton today, she let me know – away from the heat of any moment – how much that hurts.”
Later that afternoon, the mom texted me to let me know what had happened. I was so touched by the way she owned her minor blow-up, didn’t try to justify and basically called a spade a spade. Long day + huge mess = less than stellar reaction. Hey – we’re moms. And remember the Mother’s Bill of Rights? No one’s asking for perfection.
Before long, Jon & I got the chance to test our own reactions. Walking across the kitchen later that evening, carrying a fresh pot of mac & cheese, I encountered Barton. For some reason, she decided to give into a hand-stand impulse and put into action her gymnastic moves … in the kitchen. In one fail swoop, she reached for the floor, flung her feet in the air and caught my pot with her heal. Noodles and cheese slow-motioned their way across the kitchen, hitting the windows six feet away and almost every inch of floor and cabinet in between. Contents splattered the ceiling and coated my hair. I had mac & cheese all over me. She stood up, mouth agape in disbelief. “I’m so sorry!” she sheepishly started as she braced herself for our response.
But thanks to my friend, her authenticity and thoughtful circling back, we chose civility over knee-jerk blow-up. “It’s okay,” I slowly assured her as I looked down at my shirt and wondered how we could get the cheesy concoction out of and off all the tiny crevices and surfaces. Our daughter could barely believe it. “It’s okay?!” she tested. I wish I could say I felt like laughing, but I didn’t. The mess was staggering. None the worse for the wear, she grabbed paper towels and began to dig us out.
My friend’s mea culpa flashed like the speed radar sign just at the right moment. If we hadn’t been authentically walking the road together, I wouldn’t have had the conversations. I just might have sped up and allowed an unassuming hand-stand to fire up my ire. But since she had me thinking, I could pick pasta from my hair with a genuine good attitude.
Radar signs have proven their effectiveness:
Living life connected with authentic friendships – the kind where we admit our shortcomings, celebrate each others successes and walk the road together – do the same thing.
So here’s to surrounding ourselves with, or at least having a few, sister-friends (or brother friends) who lovingly call it like it is. Radar Speed Signs who will graciously hit us with honesty and hold us accountable. Who aren’t afraid to admit their own shortcomings. Who aren’t competing against us, but stand ready to ascend mountains and to skip through the valleys – together. Who love us enough to tell us when we’re speeding, and when we’re going to slow.
Thankful to so many of you who are just that for me. … Thanks for walking the road with me.
Thank you for your wonderful book. Today my 17 and 18 year old boys began our own “experiment”. Actually, they have experience with some of the tasks, or as one calls it,”women’s work”. I call it Bachelor Training. Since they are familiar with making their beds and cleaning the bathrooms, I combined the two for this month. My 18 year old will be attending college in August, so I must get as many tasks under his belt as possible.
My husband and I sat the boys down yesterday and explained the new rules. To my surprise, they remembered everything we explained the day before. They jumped right in and did their thing. Yahoo! I am soooo excited !
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…and that’s a good thing.
I remember as a teenager coming home from school, plopping down on the orange faux leather couches in our playroom. As I put my feet on the glass table balanced only on a triangle of black metal cylinders (think 70’s retro – modern then). Next thing I know, the glass top is at a 90 degrees and a ceramic elephant planter I had watched my Mother painstakingly craft with pottery filing tools was flying over my head. I didn’t have to call her in the room, nor anyone else. The loud boom of the lovely piece of art smashing on the cement floor was a call all by itself. Fear and sadness pierced my soul. Her first reaction was to clean it up. No anger. No sadness. No blame. “But Mom, you worked so hard to make this.” Mom as I remember it – “No one is hurt and I can make another one (and some reference to spilled milk!)’. That was it – she never brought it up again!
Glad my Mom is your Mom, Kay. And that grace lives in you.