Crash, Boom...Toddlers Like to Break Things

I was downstairs doing the dishes when I heard the crash. Like a bat out of hell, I sprinted up the stairs to find Pickle crying in Daddy’s arms. As it turns out, she was standing on her stool and trying to hang from a towel bar. Daddy asked her several times to stop hanging from it, but she’s a threenager. So…naturally, she pulled the towel rack out of the wall – gyp and all - and bit the dust. The crying was the big-gulp-of-air-screaming type with big ol’ crocodile tears. It made my chest physically hurt to hear her gulping for air. I snuggled her in and let her cry for a bit. I asked her if she was hurt and if that scared her…nodding, she touched her head. She had a nice goose egg to show for it. Thank goodness it was just a towel rack - drywall can be replaced. I think the combination of being scared shitless, worrying about being in trouble, and the owie on her head was quite the shock. We assured her that we were glad that she was okay and accidents happen...and we loved her so. Those big brown eyes, full of tears...they get me every time. I hope that we'll always find the right words to comfort her...parenting is a scary, wonderful, heart-exploding venture.

I'm sure when she came crashing down, he was struggling with holding back the "teachable moment" while he comforted her. These threenagers...they take you to the brink of losing your shit, then back to wimpy saps a moment later. It's good stuff...this parenting...and really freaking hard, dammit. After she fell asleep, I told el husbando that we should let her help him fix the wall…it would be a good lesson. Sure, she’s only three…but it’s never too early to experience the consequences of one's actions.

Speaking of consequences...did I ever tell you about the time I was a complete asshole? Yeah, there are actually a lot of those…however this has been forever known as the “garage door incident”, which also sealed the deal for my life of “instant karma”. Picture this: I’m sixteen years old and I drive my little-not-so-little brother to school every morning. I’m not very sweet in the mornings and every single day he would say something…so I would reach over and smack his chest. Total dick-move, I know…just wait. One particular morning, same scenario, I forgot to open the garage door before I backed out of it. Yep…crash, boom, bang. I look at my brother, both of us big-eyed with the “oh shit” look…and our mom opens the garage door, looks out, shakes her head, and shuts the door. I don’t remember how we immediately remedied getting out of the garage, but I’m sure he helped me out and pulled the sucker apart. Our parents were very much into “lessons”….teachable moments and shit. Well, I arrived home from school that day and mom had already priced out the new garage door…which were custom, chosen to go with the house they designed/built a few years before. And to make the lesson even more valuable, in addition to the $700 I had to pay for the new garage door…she made me stain it too. You think I ever put a rig in reverse before looking again? Not a chance.