confession #1

(as I suspect there may be more to come)

I'm not feeling like the best parent in the world right now.

So, we did get just enough snow today so that the kids could go sledding. And I used the time while they waited and watched the snow fall to empty, clean and reorganize both my pantry and refrigerator. Hooray! So far, so good.

In our town, most kids tend to converge on the centrally located, private golf course to do their sledding. Thanks to my self-refrigeration session last night (see earlier post), I was in no shape to supervise, much less partake in, a golf- course sledding session today, but my friend Sandy said she and our friend Jennifer would be there, not to worry. Plus, Max is now fifteen and rather responsible for his age; lately, he's watched his younger brothers at home without incident when Paul and I have gone out.

After ninety minutes on the course, Max called and asked me to come pick them up. It's really cold and he doesn't want to get sick before his audition tomorrow. (See how responsible?) So, when I get there, I park on the non-existent shoulder of the road with my hazards blinking. I honk, the boys run over, throw their stuff in the back of the mini, and then pile in.

As they are clicking their seat belts, Max announces that they didn't like their new sled and oh, also, they lost it. Max enjoyed using and is still in possession of his new "luge", but Sam and Isaac have no idea where their new sled is. They took turns using their old sled, while someone else, identity entirely unknown, made off with the new one. They aren't concerned because they didn't like it anyway. Evidently, it "went like four feet and then 'uh'."

I am NOT happy about this and lecture them all the way home about their shocking carelessness and lack of responsibility and how Daddy and I are not ever going to buy them a new sled again. How they'll just have to continue to share, since they could not keep track of their BRAND NEW, NEVER BEFORE USED, SLED. Whenever my kids are silent in the back seat during a Mommy rant, I generally take this as a sign of indifference and I typically respond to this by getting LOUDER. Meanwhile, all during my lecture I am wondering what a responsible parent, albeit one with a cold, would have done in this situation. My guess is that she would have parked on a side street somewhere, locked the kids in the car with just the right amount of heat blasting and great educational music playing, and gone trudging off through the snow in search of her children's last-night-of-Hannukah present. Which I did not even consider doing for a moment.

I take a brief break from lecturing them, breathe, then change gears and promise them popcorn and cocoa upon our return home, but no sooner do I step into the house, but I am yelling at the first minor infraction: SHUT THE DOOR TO THE GARAGE! No, NOT after you take off your boots, Sam, NOW!" At which point, my sweet darling son, Sam, screams and then bursts into tears. At which point I feel like a monster, and yet I defend my right to scream, reminding him of the two or three times recently that I have discussed the open-door-in-the-middle-of-winter issue in a nice, calm voice.

As I sit here, typing furiously away, they seem to be completely over the entire incident. They have had their cozy snacks and they are all watching Star Wars together under afghan blankets in the living room. My punishment is that I am now second guessing myself and beating myself up for my earlier behavior. And I seem to be the only one wondering what will happen to that sled at the end of the day.