Catching a Break originally published in Family Talk Magazine

Catching a Break

I have about two months between deadlines in which to ponder and prepare whatever enlightening (or not) piece of parenting I’ll capture in the next MomSpot. Two months is a long time, until there’s a deadline attached to it. A lot, after all, can and will and does happen in those 60 or so days. And so, with the occurrences of modern, rural, family life, I find myself with much to do, a lot to say, but often at a loss for what’s important enough to share…Consistency is a rare in my life, but I appreciate it when I catch a glimpse. You know, if you’re a faithful Family Talk reader that every two months the issue will release online and shortly thereafter show up FREE at many of our favorite local businesses.

In preparation for this issue, I pondered the truth that parenting is not always fair. Actually, I pondered milkshakes. Parents don’t get to openly indulge without consequence or some form of retaliation. We can’t just buy a milkshake for one and consume it in front of our envious kids. Well, we can, but that’s not very nice, after all. In unison, now kids, “That’s NOT FAIR!” And so, I refrain. Probably better for my figure anyway. Except for when I can sneak it, remembering, of course, to hide the evidence.

I have to make decisions, often quickly, about whose turn it is to use the Xbox, eat the last slice of pizza, put away the toilet paper...And, usually, at least one party disagrees with my decision. Luckily, that party is generally not my husband, whose consistency is much steadier than mine.

There are times, after a frustrating, exhausting, or celebratory day that all I want is a milkshake, but I have either just enough money for one or I have enough money for four but two of the four aren’t getting along and are, therefore, not as deserving as the other two….

“Mom. Mom? Mo—om….MOM!” Kid one.

“Shut UP.” Kid two. The elder. I’ve TOLD him not to say that!

“NO! MO—OM!!!” Kid one. Again.

I’m in the shower. Soaking wet in the shower, clothes in a pile on the floor, mirror steaming--almost in Calgon take me away land when the shrill cacophony creeps in through the half inch space beneath the door—the locked (they’ve already tried it) door. I breathe in steam and exhale the understanding that their dad will handle it. He’s out there—with them—surely he’ll handle it.

Thud. “MO---------OM!” Kid two. But who? or what? was the thud?

Seriously? Thud. I hear it rev and before it can reach siren pitch again I throw the handle in reverse H to C. Drip. Drip. “What.”

“Mom?” Kid two. The younger.

“What?” Goosebumps. Cold. This is not what I envisioned when I popped the cap and inhaled the scent of a distant spring meadow where lies a house where no one yells….

The knob rattles again as if by sorcery it might now be unlocked. Really? Fat chance.

“Talk through the door.” That’s me. Dripping. Shivering…

“Mom. Um, can I come in?” Two.

“Um, no.” Me.

“Well, Mom, do you remember whose turn it is to use the iPad? [But there’s no time to answer because…] Because Aidan says I used it last, but I haven’t used it in a LONG time and I think it’s my turn…” Aidan’s the older. This is the younger. And NO. I don’t remember.

“Where is your dad?” Me.

“Do you know who used it last?” Two.

“Where is your dad?” Hello? Is anyone hearing this?

“He’s in the other bathroom.”  Two. Wait, what?!

“Doing what?” ME.

“Tak-ing a show-er!” I reverse the handle C to H and wait… “Mom?” The water never reaches lukewarm. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Please, it isn’t a Mom versus Dad thing. It isn’t even We versus They. We aren’t superheroes. If it’s anything it’s idealized versus realized. Fantasy versus reality. A clear lack of communication. A truth revealed: Life, dear ones, is not fair.

I used to covet a box of coffee ice cream. The kind no one else liked—all mine. ALL MINE! Until, number two, the little one—our daughter—developed a taste for it too. Now, I don’t even buy the stuff. Terribly selfish, I know, but kids don’t observe rules of self-control, divvying up what’s left. Leaving a fair helping for the next person. I can’t handle the anticipation of my favorite ice cream colliding with the realization that it’s been completely devoured by someone a third of my size and fifth my age. Kids get excited about having the last of it—whatever it is. Chips. Ice cream. The last word. If there’s more than one in close proximity, it’s bound to happen at least once. They argue. You tell them to stop. They go [or are sent] to their rooms. And you hear it. “I said enough! NO MORE!” But it’s there, nearly inaudible, only perceptible by you with your fine-tuned mom ears, and the dog.

“did too.”

 “stop.”

“you stop.”

 “i didn’t do anything.”

 “whatever.”

And so it goes until someone explodes into a scream, asks, “Can we come out noooooow?!” Declares, “I’m hungry!” or Farts which results in everyone suddenly laughing hysterically and thereby forgetting the feud.

Last Tuesday night, I took the dogs downstairs to their kennel like every night before. Sock feet on hardwood stairs like every night before, but on this night, I carried a dog reluctant to go to his crate. I carried him, which meant that I didn’t reach out for the hand rail. My feet Slid, I fell. On concrete. I bruised. The dog is fine. Fair?

I probably should have broken something landing with a jar and a thud like I did. But the x-rays revealed no broken bones. Just swelling and bruises, and a lesson: don’t go running around in sock feet. Didn’t your mother ever teach you anything? Yes. But did you ever listen? Apparently not. I broke my arm falling from the same stairs when I was my daughter’s age.

By grace, I was delivered from much more serious injury. I caught a break, the good kind. The kind when God says, “You don’t deserve it, but I’m going to soften your fall.” What’s not fair? I knew better than to risk the series of feats I set into motion. It didn’t work out so well, but it could have been far worse.

Life isn’t fair.  Sometimes all I want is read a new book, but what I have to do consumes my time. My husband and I want a quiet evening alone after the kids go to bed, but someone just can’t sleep. It rains. On the weekend. You buy a new to you house or even a brand spanking new house and something breaks. The car dies. A pipe leaks, a breaker trips, someone falls. Breaking is a part of life, just as much as squabbles, interrupted showers, and last words. But what I’ve pondered most, since my fall, is that so is catching a break. We don’t often ruminate about the times when things go our way—especially if we still end up with a few bruises—but when we end up better than we should—when we get the milkshake even though we know we definitely aren’t deserving, we should take pause, give thanks, and remember to show grace to those who are equally undeserving every chance we get.

Copyright © 2016. Carrie Ellen Campbell. All Rights Reserved. http://carriellencampbell.blogspot.com. Please respect Carrie's intellectual property. Sharing blog posts is permitted, but no part of this material may be copied, downloaded, reproduced, or printed without express written consent. Contact Carrie at: carrieellencampbell@icloud.com.