Story Number One:

Despite the title of this post (and despite the picture, which corresponds to Story Number Two), I’m going to start with the
bad and the ugly: It was last Thursday. I had Penny and William to myself for
the day, and I woke up determined to be a fabulous mom. We would bake brownies and
sing songs and clean the house in anticipation of some family visitors. It was
going to be great.

But Penny was having a rough morning. Within two hours I had
yelled at her, yanked her arm hard enough that she tripped and fell down, and I
had accidentally locked her inside the kitchen (long story). Needless to say,
tears on her side, simmering rage on mine.

Story Number Two:

William grabbed Penny’s glasses for the third time. He had
already had a time out on the side of the road (we were walking home from my
grandparents’). He had been warned that another grabbing incident would get him
a spanking, and we had explained that spankings hurt (he’s never had one
before). Now it was time.

So we stopped the stroller. I looked him in the eye and
talked about what was going to happen. I took his hand and slapped it. Hard.
His eyes got big, welling with tears. The corners of his mouth turned down. He
reached out his arms. “Pick me up, Mama!”

I held him tight. Penny, the victim of his crime, was so
upset by his punishment that she started to cry too.

When we got home, we had a family gathering in our kitchen. All four of us, cross-legged on the floor. We talked about what
had happened. Why William got a time out and then a spanking. Why it’s a bad
choice to grab. And then William looked at Penny. He said, “I’m sorry, Penny.”
She said, “I forgive you William.” And they hugged.

So what do I take away from these two stories? I had
similarly good intentions in both cases. My kids misbehaved and I reprimanded
them in both cases. And yet one was a disaster, and the other a beautiful
moment.

All I can say is that sometimes I get it right and sometimes
I don’t. And in the times I don’t, when I’m impatient and when I overreact, and
when I want to walk out of the house and slam the door, I hope I can take a
moment to reflect on what went wrong. To say to my kids, “I’m sorry.” And I
hope they will say, “I forgive you, Mama.” And then we’ll hug. 

(P.S. As a total aside, I would like to point out the photo at the top of this post. On a 95 degree sunny day, Penny was prepared for the rain and William for the snow. And both of those preparations included pink items with polka-dots. Hmm.)