Yesterday afternoon I sat down at the computer to just chill for a few minutes. The crazy part of my afternoon was over- kids had all been picked up from school, snacks had been given, homework folders gone through, and lunch boxes emptied out.
I had been brought up to date on who said what at recess, who got in trouble at circle time, and how interesting learning about fractions is. The neighbor girls had rung the door bell so I sent everyone outside to play. I knew 2 loads of laundry needed to be folded, but I also knew I should take advantage of the quiet. I sipped on my iced tea and got caught up on some news.
That’s when I heard it. I literally had only been sitting for 3.5 minutes when I heard a loud BANG. Hmmm. I glanced outside and all the kids seemed to be fine- laughing, playing, running around. I went and checked rooms, nothing was out of place. Weird. I went and sat back down.
Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw Ben pass by the front window on his way to the garage. He looked…….nervous. I heard the garage door open and reluctant footsteps shuffling my way. I turned as he came into the room, his head hung low and shoulders drooping. He walked right up to me. “What’s the matter?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
“Well,” he mumbled, “I am definitely going to have to go on time-out for this one.” Uh-oh.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I just got way too hyper and a rock accidentally broke the window. I am so s sorry.” He said.
A few seconds of silence as I tried to process the news. “I guess you need to go show me,” I said as I stood up.
“Okay, I’ll show you, but maybe we should hug first before we go out there.” He said back. The kid is always trying to butter me up.
We walked out front to the other side of the house and there it was- a very broken window, and one little rock laying underneath as evidence. Now my head drooped. I took some very deep breaths. I was about ready to lose my temper when an image suddenly popped into my head:
I’m 15 years old and I’m pretty into my own awesome self. I had been driving with a permit for almost a year and of course, I thought I was an amazing at it. My mom was sitting in the front seat, the music was on and I was feeling well, let’s face it- a little too hyper. I took the corner pretty tight as we pulled onto the main road and my mom yelled out, “Nikki, you just hit the mailbox!”
“I did not hit it!” I said back, “I didn’t even feel anything!”
“Yes, you did,” she said back. “It scraped the side of the car!”
“Did I hit the mailbox?” I glanced back at my two little sisters sitting in the back seat looking like deer caught in the headlights. Being very wise beyond their years, they both sided with my mom.
“Keep going because we don’t want to be late- we’ll check the car when we get there.” My mom said.
“Nothing’s going to be there.” I was absolutely positive I didn’t hit it. The rest of the car ride was eerily quiet.
When we pulled into the parking lot everyone got out. And there, scraped all down the side of the car was the evidence. And my mom’s head drooped. And I felt nauseous as I looked at her and saw the frustration in her face. But she didn’t yell. She didn’t lose her temper. She was disappointed and that was enough for me. She hugged me and said, “you have got to be more careful!” We talked about not being too cocky- not letting your excitement overrule common sense. And I’m sure I paid my dues for that one- but I remember feeling loved even when I did something wrong.
I felt my anger drain away as I glanced from the window to a little boy with tears running down his cheeks. A little boy who was already promising to help dad fix it. A little boy who needs to learn from his mistakes. I knelt down and gave him a hug, and felt like I was going back in time 20 years as I said to him, “You have to be more careful.”
We talked about why it happened, and what he did wrong. The he said, “I’ll just go put myself on time-out now.” And he did.
