Keeping it Together
I remember so vividly, as a child, eating dinner at Pizza Hut with my family. I remember having a great time, my older brother, my mom and dad. I was maybe 10 (so my younger brother wasnt born yet). We were enjoying each others company, when I reached for another piece of pizza and accidentally knocked my Sprite over. ALL over. I remember my dad quickly getting up, barking “RACHAEL BREE!!!! Get up, Get up…go get napkins. HUUURRY!!!”. I remember the flush of my skin, the blood pumping through my veins, and the tears welling in my eyes. I wanted to scream “BUT I DIDNT MEAN TO”, yet all I could muster was “I am sorry”…and ran to get more napkins. My dad was not normally a yeller, nor was my mom, so when he did bark or raise his voice, it was business. I don’t remember the rest of the meal after that, though I am sure the mess was cleaned up, and we continued on our way. But what I remember from that night is that feeling of being barked at and the fear of being in trouble for an accidental mistake.
When I started having kids, I silently vowed to myself that I wouldn’t get upset over spilled milk (or Sprite or Kool-Aid, or whatever it may be…unless it was dilibearate). However, we all know that things and situations appear much different when in the throws of raising your own children. I think back to that evening at Pizza Hut, and have a different perspective now that I have my own kids. I am sure the last thing my Dad wanted to do was clean up Sprite at dinner. The pressures of life had tapped his patience, and I got the end of it.
Where am I going with this…well…last Tuesday, I received three boxes full of stuff from my childhood. My mom had finally gotten sick of them taking up space in her garage that she sent them to me (plus they were all girly things, and now that I have a daughter, its time to pass the torch, so to speak). One of the boxes contained a baby (as in toy baby) bed. It was wrapped in bubble wrap and then surrounded with packing peanuts. REAL packing peanuts, not the environmentally safe ones, but real, styrofoam ones. LOTS of them. TONS. When I opened the box, my patience level immediately tapped out and I was immediately frustrated with the mess these things make. Needless to say, I got the toy out, showed it my kids (who were more interested in the contents of the other boxes), and set the box with the packing peanuts aside. Cut to the next morning, about a half an hour before we need to be in the car for school drop off…and my oldest says “Mom, can I get in this box?”. Sure, Nathan…why not. TOTALLY failing to remember or verify WHICH box he was getting into.
I will let the images tell the rest of the story…but do know that I kept it together. With every fiber of my being…even a little trip to my husband to chant “I am not going to freak out about this, I am not going to freak out about this, I am not going to freak out about this”, I kept it together. It is SOOOO incredibly hard to NOT freak out at your kids for playing in the packing peanuts and tracking them ALL OVER THE HOUSE. It is SO hard to not go there, knowing that after drop off you were going to have to come home and spend an hour cleaning up packing peanuts and trying to keep your 16 month old from eating them. It is SO hard…but I did it…and it is in moments like this that I am eye to eye with my dad (both my parents really). I understand barking and spilled Sprite and packing peanuts all over the house. I understand. I get it.
“Hmmm…what are these crazies DOING?”
My helper…
