Imperfection - In Your Face
“What were you THINKing?” I shout.
The words come - ironically enough - out of my mouth without thinking.
I’ve purchased nineteen water bottles this year alone. OR so it seems. I’ve lost count but do know I pop into Marshalls on the regular to see if there’s one she’d like. Give it to her with agreements in place and new ways to keep track of it.
Drinking water is important but trusting your kiddo will hit the drinking fountain enough times during the day to stay hydrated is unlikely. And it’s dry here in Colorado so reluctantly, I buy more - cheaper and cheaper ones but still more.
Tate loses everything that’s not attached to her. (And let’s face it, some things that are).
This morning we joke some about it but then lock eyes. I remind her, as I hand her her new water bottle (after making her go two weeks without one), that part of growing up (which I know she’s so eager to do) is really paying attention to your things. We go over the plan for where she’ll keep it and how to store it.
That afternoon, in the kitchen, busily unpacking from her field trip, Tate shares funny stories about friends on the bus and complains about certain chaperones being notasfun as others, while I’m throwing away the empty wrappers, leftover sandwich crusts, rinds of her orange and squishy cucumbers she neglected to even touch.
Realizing yet another water bottle has flown the coop, I interrupt her flurry of openness to ask her where it is.
“Ohhh, yeah. It was in my backpack most of the time,” she smiles proudly, “but then I was carrying it for a while because I didn’t feel like unzipping and putting it away …”
I try hard not to roll my eyes, since I can’t stand it when she does. Holding my lids steady while focusing on loosening my jaw, which is already clenched.
“And then, on the big ride after lunch, they said I couldn’t bring it on so I guess I just set it down on the ground and jumped in and got buckled, oh and then …”
“What? Why did you DO that?! Did you think it’d be there when you got back? What were you thinking, Tate"?”
Louder and harsher than I’d ever intended. I say it over and over as she bristles.
I took a sharp left turn straight out of our flow, away from her openly sharing with me as she reveled in the adventure of the day, down my own path of overreacting.
Disconnect 101.
And then I’m reminded - figuratively smacked across the face - with more than one truth I’ve always been committed to teaching …
“Why? Why did I do that, Mom?! Because I am IMPERFECT. Because I make mistakes. Because, guess what, mom - I’m HUMAN!”
My eyes are big.
“I had it all day, had all my friends even help me keep track of it. Milo held it for me while I was in the bathroom, and then Alexa waited for me when I ran to put it back at our classroom pergola. I tried really,really hard, Mom!”
“That’s so great, honey. Then WHY, why did you just randomly set it down before getting on that last ride?”
“I told you. Because I’m imperfect and I make mistakes, Mom!!!”
Right. Oh, right. You did. Just tell me that …
I quiet now - taking in that I want to soften my reactions, and allow for mistakes in our home. I take in just how boldly she’s naming this, that I’m not walking the talk. Wow.
All I want is to go back to the sweet, open sharing that was just warming our kitchen one minute ago- that I’m so grateful for as I know well that not all girls her age are eagerly sharing every detail, the way she was /does …
She then hits me with.
“And by the way, respectfully Mommy, I suggest practicing ‘detachment’ here - detaching from things - like you’re always talking to me about.”
I’m chewing on the side of my cheek, flummoxed by all of it, and wanting to giggle at how easily she brings in the Buddhist principle.
I’m humbled, yet again, by the wisdom of this girl, my greatest teacher, who’s job on this earth is apparently to hold up the clearest, biggest mirror she can in front of my face.
Make me think. Question. Prioritize.
I’m sad, regretful, proud, mad, happy, impressed and unsure.
All at once. On the daily.
