It was another typical weekday afternoon.  My husband was working a 24 hour shift, so I was flying solo. It was the one day of the week where no one had any activities, so it was the perfect day to catch up on math homework, and reading, and piano practice for Little Man.  Except for even on a day with nothing scheduled, it’s not like there’s an unlimited amount of time. Dinner still has to get put on the table, everyone has to eat and the kids have to get ready for bed so that they’re rested for school the next day. 

Little Man and I sat down to do his math work.  I asked Mini Me to choose between three activities that she loves to help keep her busy (and out of his way) while I helped him. Now, normally she’s great at sitting quietly and drawing away, or building with her Playstix.  But today, after a few minutes of me helping Little Man, I heard an odd scratching sound.  I looked up, and saw Mini Me in front of the fridge, “drawing” on the door with a magnet.  Then I saw it—all the gashes in the stainless steel finish of the door caused by the edge of the magnet scratching against it. 

Guys, it was MY moment.  You know what I’m talking about—the moment you handle a situation just like you’re coached to do in parenting books.  Or like how Danny Tanner handles his daughters on an episode of “Full House.” (Ugh, I aged myself, I know.) I didn’t lose my patience.  My blood pressure spiked, but only minimally.  I just sat there, and calmly said, “Oh, no baby girl, please stop! You’re scratching the fridge door.” I got up, sat down next to her, and asked her to hand me the magnet.  Then, once I realized the scratches weren’t superficial, I sat there.  Still as a rock.  Not saying anything.  And when she tried to talk to me, I simply held up my hand, gestured that I needed a moment, and took deep breaths.  One breath, two, three….until a short while later, I was able to talk to her and help her reflect on her actions.  I got a heartfelt, unsolicited and teary apology. I got a very sweet hug. And a, “Next time, I will remember that if I want to write, I’ll do it on paper.”

I was so proud of myself for handling the situation without yelling and for helping her reach her own conclusions about her actions and what to do next time. And then, it hit me like a sack of rocks—the guilt.  Guilt that when my son was that age, I never handled his transgressions with such empathy or grace. I always yelled, always flew off the handle. And if I didn’t yell, I expressed disappointment and frustration dramatically. Now, my journey from then to now is another story for another time. But the guilt.  Ugh.  Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I remember it (hopefully). But maybe it was.  Was it???

I sat there, near tears, remembering how things used to be just a few years ago.  How exhausting the roller coaster of emotions were for me.  Chastising myself for being so unnecessarily hard on my sweet little boy. After all, he was (and is) just a kid.  I felt like a failure to my son, despite the fact that I had just experienced a parenting victory with my daughter.  I thought, “How could he possibly forgive me for being so unyielding, so inconsiderate of where he was in his ability to comprehend life at that age? I suck.”

The weight of the guilt was suffocating.  But as I sat there pondering, things settled into clarity again.  We are all doing the best we can in the moment.  Judgement from anyone (including yourself about yourself) isn’t valid.  It’s easy to say you should have known better, done better, said something different, whatever.  But the reality is, what happened, happened.  The only healthy choice you have is to move forward with intention to change and a positive attitude.  You may not be able to forget all the times you were harder on your kids than you should have been, but you can forgive yourself.  Not stopping to reflect on exactly what happened and why does not allow for personal growth. Replaying in your mind every time you didn’t act with grace or patience won’t change what happened. As much as you try to make sure things are the same for every child of yours, sometimes the older child will be the guinea pig.  The younger child gets the benefit of experience gained from parenting the older sibling, despite your best efforts to create equality. But regardless of how fair or unfair things may seem at the time, as long as you are learning from your mistakes, everyone wins.  Not only do you become a better parent, but the children see your effort to choose change and be better the next time around.  Consequently, they model the behavior they see. The mindfulness that you practice as a parent will then be practiced by the child.  Everyone’s emotional intelligence is raised, and everyone lives a more productive and balanced life. Everyone wins.  The world becomes a better place for our children, which as adults, is exactly what we want for the future generations.

So, I inhaled another deep breath, this time with love and clarity, and exhaled the guilt.  I hugged my kids.  I moved on with the evening, guilt-free and more in-tune with everyone.  Grateful that at least for today, I was mindful enough to act with intention; I was able to use my breath as a tool to center myself so that my emotions didn’t get the best of me. That’s progress. And that is more than enough.