On the way home from Chipotle tonight Lincoln dumped a 20 oz. soda on the floor of our Honda Odyssey.
“Lincoln, why didn’t you hold your drink!?”
“Hold ON TO IT next time!!”
“What were you thinking??”
He’d placed the cup in the small cup holder in his booster seat, and it came out as I turned a corner. The van was dark and I couldn’t see his face back in the third row. Did he hear me? Did he care? He doesn’t say much.
The kids were strapped into their seats and couldn’t reach the cup on the floor, and I couldn’t easy pull over. So we drove home while the soda sloshed back and forth on the floor.
After we arrived home, I went inside to grab a towel before heading back to the van. And that’s when I noticed Lincoln. He was still in his seat. The others had gone in the house. He sat there alone in the dark not sure what to do or say. He held his Nintendo and looked down. He finally looked up, and I knew immediately that I’d overreacted.
This is one of those times as a parent I wish I could take a mulligan. If I could rewind the last 20 minutes of the drive home, I would act differently. Maybe I would think before opening my mouth and realize my 6-year old son has felt sick since last night. Of course he didn’t want to the soda to spill so why make him feel worse than he already does?
When I pulled Lincoln aside a while later and told him I was sorry, he didn’t say much before skipping upstairs.
Later tonight I went upstairs to find Luca, Lincoln and Anna on our bed with Kim. I joined them, and we laughed together while the kids had a discussion about their anatomy which lead to more laughter. Kim wants a king size bed so all six of us aren’t all scrunched together.
I felt bad about what I’d said to Lincoln and especially the tone I used. But he was too busy telling stories and giggling to act concerned when I sat down next to him. I ran my fingers through his blonde wiry hair. I kissed his warm forehead, and he looked at me. He didn’t have to say anything this time because his green eyes told me he’d forgiven me.
Maybe one day, Kim will get her king bed. But tonight our queen was the right size.
Nordquist Blog 
Your actions afterward may have spoken louder than the initial act. I think Lincoln will remember the times you weren't afraid to say sorry. And I'm guessing at some point, he might incorporate that character trait in his own life.
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Okay….another amazing slice of life!Fo your a couple of unsolicited but hopefully helpful”verified” lifeafterkids mom suggestions:1) go out and get rubbermats for wherever you can on the floor of your van and/or if you car co doesn't have their own, ge aftermarket or go to Home Depot and cut and paste plastic runners – today a soda tomorrow muddy soccer shoes and/or vomit 😉 2) Do not be afraid to say the words, “I am sorry” – after the event, or the next day – while Lincoln “knows” it – in my humble opinion – what you feel needs to be expressed and while you do such an amazing job on paper – both you and he will have a valuable additional bonding moment (and teaching moment) as you say the words, “I am sorry, I made a mistake.” That is a valuable lesson that will indeed take him through life's twists and turns with grace and ease.Have a Happy and Blessed Sunday.
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*sniff*
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What parent doesn't have at least one story like this, may one hundred, or even more. I'll never forget the look on my daughter's five year old face after I'd asked her to retrieve the sack out of the car. After she returned the fourth time empty-handed, I took her by the arm, angrily marching out to the car and barking at her all the way. I pointed in the car and demanded, “Pick up that sack!” Suddenly a stunned look of relief washed over her face and she said,”Oh, you mean the bag. I didn't know what a sack was.” The shame and tears filled me for yelling at an innocent child who was so innocently trying to comply but couldn't because of a simple language barrier. Then there's the times when I've yelled at the kids and they knew exactly what I was saying. Wish I hadn't always been so clear those times.
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What parent doesn’t have at least one story like this, may one hundred, or even more. I’ll never forget the look on my daughter’s five year old face after I’d asked her to retrieve the sack out of the car. After she returned the fourth time empty-handed, I took her by the arm, angrily marching out to the car and barking at her all the way. I pointed in the car and demanded, “Pick up that sack!” Suddenly a stunned look of relief washed over her face and she said,”Oh, you mean the bag. I didn’t know what a sack was.” The shame and tears filled me for yelling at an innocent child who was so innocently trying to comply but couldn’t because of a simple language barrier. Then there’s the times when I’ve yelled at the kids and they knew exactly what I was saying. Wish I hadn’t always been so clear those times.rn
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Way to make me cry! I remember the first time I discovered a child had scribbled in a book at my house. I assumed it was my oldest child, because her sister (I thought) was too young to do it. Books are pretty sacred territory for me, so I screeched at my oldest–as if she had commit murder or something. It turned out that her little sister was the culprit–I caught her in the act of scribbling in yet another book.
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Way to make me cry! I remember the first time I discovered a child had scribbled in a book at my house. I assumed it was my oldest child, because her sister (I thought) was too young to do it. Books are pretty sacred territory for me, so I screeched at my oldest–as if she had commit murder or something. It turned out that her little sister was the culprit–I caught her in the act of scribbling in yet another book.
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