Everyone
has an angry catch-phrase. Everyone.
And you know what I’m talking about, too. That string of words that
inadvertently flies from your mouth in a fit of panic or rage… the go-to
mumblings that pour out of your mouth with no warning whatsoever. It’s the set
of words you yell and then instantly look around, hoping to God that no one
else other than the Almighty himself was around to witness your less than holy spewings.
If you’re reading this and you’re feeling your cheeks burn with shame, then you
know what your angry catch-phrase is! But if you’re sitting there feeling angelic,
patting yourself on the back for not being a slave to the evil tongue that
afflicts everyone else around you, I challenge you to complete this one task:
Ask your children what your angry catch-phrase is. Because if anyone will know,
they will. Trust me. If they haven’t pointed out your flaw yet, it’s because
they’re too busy parroting your words at their siblings (only to get scolded by
you for using unkind words…. Come on, you know it’s true.).
Stupid Idiot. That’s mine. There are
others I know, husbands even, (whom shall remain nameless) that require some
bleeping out every time they get upset. You know who you are and I’m not here
to judge. (Just remember that I’m a better person than you.) But never once did
I realize just how much I say these words together until my children brought it
to my attention. For one, I’m a bit ashamed of myself - partially because I
shouldn’t be yelling this constantly (how old am I, anyway?), but largely
because stupid idiot is just
redundant and not a good use of the English language. The writer in me would’ve
hoped I could come up with a wittier retort to my momentary distresses, but
alas, I have fallen prey to impulsivity and reactionary behavior yet again!
When I’ve
spent 20 minutes searching for the car keys? Stupid Idiot. When I’ve lumbered to the top of two flights of stairs
with an arm full of laundry, only to realize that the one article of clothing I
need must still be in the dryer? Stupid
Idiot. When the food scorches to the bottom of the pan, filling the kitchen
with smoke, because I was too wrapped up in quizzing a little person on this
week’s spelling words? Stupid Idiot. Honestly,
I couldn’t even tell you if I’m meaning that the inanimate objects such as the
keys, laundry, or pan are the recipients of my tongue-lashing (because once
again, that would just be silliness) or if I’m reaching deeper and aiming the
words towards myself for not being able to find the keys, the shirt, or for
scorching the pan. The two words, in and of themselves, are not all that
terrible. However, when put together – and then directed at my adopted, emotionally-challenged,
self-loathing, anxiety-ridden children – my “go-to” becomes a “gone-too-far”
pretty quickly.
Two weeks
ago we had an incident. It was a frigid morning, too cold for the kids to stand
at the bus stop. The big kids took off in a sprint across the icy sidewalk,
racing to see who would get the coveted front seat for the short trip down the
driveway. Cameron won the race (despite being about as sure-footed as a duck –
seriously, he runs like his thighs have been sewn together or something). With
a big flourish, my oldest child flung the door open, hip-checked his sister to
the side as he lunged into the van, and then slammed the car door in victory.
Sadly, he didn’t check to make sure that his sister’s fingers were cleared
before doing so.
I watched
as the look of horror changed to horrific pain on Taylor’s face. Her eyes were
wide as saucers. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. She tugged her arm, but
her hand remained stuck in the door. I swallowed my gag as I ran to her as
quickly as my slippers on the ice would allow, ripping open the van door and
frantically removing her winter layers until I could get to her hand. It was
then, while I was inches from her face, that she found her voice. She let loose
a scream that would’ve scared a ghost. After a few seconds, I was half-tempted
to put her hand back in the door, just so it was quiet enough to think!
Once I
was sure that her fingers were all still attached, I looked at Cameron. He
immediately began to jabber…. “It was my turn for the front! I didn’t know she
was there (despite hip-checking her seconds before slamming her tiny nuggets in
the door)! She should’ve moved!” And then it happened.
“Stupid Idiot!” And no, this wasn’t
directed at the van door, nor was it directed at myself. This was a
full-fledged insult toward my 8-year-old. Other things followed (all the while,
Taylor is wailing in the background) like “Why can’t you ever just think? Why
do you always have to put yourself first? Can’t you ever just pay attention to
your surroundings???”
Ok, so
now there are two crying children, I’m in pajamas with no coat and it’s like
-25 degrees outside, the baby isn’t strapped into his seat, the school bus is
coming, I don’t know if Taylor needs to go to the ER or not, and, oh yeah, my
mother-in-law had the pleasure of witnessing the entire thing. Having an
audience for your screw ups is fantastic, is it not? If Children’s Services
could see me now…..
Fast-forwarding
a few hours….. Taylor lived, as did her fingers. Cameron made it to school. The
baby got buckled in. I didn’t get frostbite.
I spent
some time talking with my son that night. “Cam, I am so sorry I called you a
stupid idiot.” He began to cry. “That’s ok,” he sobbed. “I was stupid.”
“Well…..
ok, yeah, that was really stupid. But it doesn’t make you a stupid idiot. We
all do stupid things. Take me, for example. I yell stupid idiot every time I get upset, even if it’s at my kids. Now
THAT’S stupid.”
He smiled
as snot ran down his face. “Yeah, that is pretty stupid,” he said.
Two days
later, Cameron and Taylor were running for the van….. Cameron won….. the door
began to close while Taylor was still in the way….. “CAMERON!!!!!!!” I wailed.
The door halted.
“Sorry,
Mom! I’m not trying to be a stupid idiot,” he hollered.
“Yes he
is, Mom!” Taylor hollered back. “I saw him!”
I’m a
fantastic mother. Stupid Idiot.
No comments:
Post a Comment