I’m Sorry.

There was the era of “children are to be seen, and not heard”, where parents were never wrong, and if they were in error, were not expected to admit it, much less say sorry.

Now, according to many sitcoms, we’re in the era where parents are portrayed as the ones always making mistakes (rather than the children), and actually apologizing for doing their jobs as parents.

There’s got to be a middle ground. As parents, when we admit we were wrong, and apologize to our children for yelling/offending/wrongly accusing/you fill-in-the-blank, we model what it really means to admit a mistake, be humble, be truly repentant, and how to ask for forgiveness.

I recently read a blog post of a friend of mine, where she shares one such conversation in her house. Wow! I’m too proud to share my foibles with the world. But because she does, she not only models this important skill for her children, but for the rest of us as well.

Karissa was kind enough to let me reprint an excerpt from her post. As she says, “Aren’t kids the best at bringing about humility?  Sometimes I love it, sometimes not so much.  But I know it’s good.”

Not Me Monday

Here is the conversation that so did NOT take place in my kitchen an hour ago:

Mama (rounding the corner in the kitchen – trying not to yell but squeaking slightly):  “Holy cow!  What have you done to my cabinet?  I had just organized all the dishes and tupperware exactly where I liked them all to be.  All the ones I use are in the back!  And all the ones I don’t use are in the front!  Why in the world did this seem like a good idea?!  How much time do you think it’s gonna take me to get this all back in order?  I’m so frustrated with you!”

Rylee (conscientious oldest child that she is):  “I was trying to find a baby bottle to feed my kitty some water Mama.  I’m so sorry.”

Mama:  “Go to your room please.”

Rylee: “I feel bad Mama, I’m sorry.”

I fuss and fret around the cabinet, take everything out, piles of dishes everywhere and have myself all upset.

Over what?

Dishes, tupperware?

Mama (to all four sitting on the kitchen floor with me): “Is anyone hurt?”

All: “No.”

Mama: “Is anything broken or lost?”

All (starting to smile again):  “No, no…”

Mama: “It’s just tupperware isn’t it?  They’re just dishes aren’t they?  Do you think mama needed to freak out about it and get all worked up about her cupboards being all mixed up?”

Caleb:  “Probably not Mom.  You can fix it.”

I am brought to my knees literally in front of all my children in my jammies on the dirty kitchen floor.

Mama: “I’m so sorry, will you all forgive me?”

All: “Yes, of course Mama.”

Next time, I resolve, I have got to think clearly enough to ask myself the questions that I sometimes forget until later…

Does this really matter?  Is this at all significant in the spectrum of life?  What am I communicating to my children when I worry about stuff that is so…small?  Why exactly am I freaking out about _________?  Could I laugh about this instead?

Goodness, it’s hard work raising children, that’s about all I can say about that today.  I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but seriously it’s tough some days.

-posted by Miss Analiisa, who is grateful for friends like Karissa, whose transparant way of living her life helps me to become more like the person I want to be.