Recently, I was pulling into my driveway with my youngest son Brody and one of his buddies for an after school playdate. I overheard his friend quietly saying "My mom is so mean. She yells at me everyday." I assume my son's friend had a rough morning at home... something I have a bit of experience with myself. Before I knew it, Brody was chiming in, "My mom is so mean too!"
My internal chatter begins: Wait. What? Me? I'm so mean? Am I? Oh man. I do raise my voice sometimes... and I'm not always as patient as I want to be. Was Brody just saying that because his friend was? First grade peer pressure to fit in perhaps? Does he really think I'm a mean mommy? Ugh.
I'm falling fast, people.
I am admittedly a bit attached to the idea that we are a happy family and regardless of how difficult life may be at times, we all love each other. At the end of the day there is a big part of me that just needs to be liked. I try to fully be present in each moment, appreciate each situation just as it is -- pleasant, difficult or neutral. After all, our human condition and experience changes like the wind.
As Byron Katie might say, "Would you argue with the wind?"
That evening as I was getting Brody ready for bed, I noticed the story of me being a mean mommy rolling over in my mind. As I put him to bed and we snuggled, I told him I loved him. His last words to me were, "You are the best momma in the world."
Yes. I'm that too.
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