It had been a long day that required extra patience. My kids seemed to find anything and everything to fight about all afternoon.
My daughter had been looking forward to our nightly reading routine all evening. I was exhausted but told her we could begin reading after she brushed her teeth. A moment later, I heard a loud pounding noise from the bathroom as she aggressively pulled at the top drawer. I stomped down the hall, already raising my voice as I approached.
"What are you doing?" I yelled. "You're going to break that! Can't you see it's stuck? Stop it!
My body felt a release of tension that had been lying just beneath the surface all afternoon.
There were tears in my daughter’s eyes. I had clearly startled her with how loudly I yelled and how quickly I grew angry. Attempting to backtrack, I took a breath and showed her how to gently close the drawer, move the hairbrush that was lodged sideways, and easily open it. With tears in her eyes and an angry look on her face, she said,
"Thanks. Now please leave me alone."
We bantered back and forth about tone and respect until my daughter said,
"I just want to go to bed. I don't want to read books with someone who's mean to me."
Her angry brow and tear-filled eyes told me she wouldn’t budge on her resolve to shut me out. I scoffed and said, “Fine.” Walking away I annoyedly whispered under my breath,
“She’s unbelievable. I’ve been patient with her all day. Why is she so stubborn?”
So many nights throughout my 12 years as a mom, things have been left here. We go to bed rattled and agitated without repairing the seemingly small shattering moments of the day.
Now I know the beautiful gift that rupture and repair offers in our relationship with our children.
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