Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk. . . a.k.a. Mommy Blew it

When will I learn?

So, it all started off well and good. A white picnic blanket thrown on the living room floor, 2 sweet boys and their mommy eating a peaceful little lunch together in perfect harmony. Both boys ate a good lunch, so I thought this was a perfect opportunity to break out the chocolate PB drop cookies that I had made and some milk. Now normally the three of us have what I like to call "community snacks." We all drink milk from the same cup and share one plate full of cookies. This is how we typically do our afternoon snack, that is, when we have one. . . Anyway, I put the cookies on a plate and poured a glass of milk with exactly 2 ice cubes. Perfect.

My pride was at an all time high at this point. What a mom! A picnic lunch on the living room floor, cookies made from scratch, and everyone happy. I felt like a cross between Martha Stewart and June Cleaver. But, we all know that pride comes before a fall. . .

So, Joshua says, "I want my own glass of milk like yours." I was drinking from a plastic veggietales cup. So, I got Joshua his own plastic veggietales cup. Normally, Joshua still drinks from a sippy cup, but he does very well with a regular cup, and on occasion we let him drink from a "big boy cup." So, today I let him. We walked over to the blanket, all three of us together. I sat down with JCT & my cup and the plate of cookies. Joshua just stood there. I looked up at him, and as soon as I did he dropped his cup. He just dropped it. I don't think he meant to do it, but it was so odd. He didn't trip. . . he just dropped it. Boom. . . Splash. . . A tidal wave of milk. . .I stared at him in amazement. And, before I could stop myself, a very disappointed "JOSHUA!!" came out of my mouth. I wish that was it, but I kept on. . . "If you want mommy to trust you with a 'big boy cup,' you need to hold it with 2 hands. You can't just drop it." You know, as if I have never made a mistake. Then, I put the cookies on the mantle, and spent the next five or so minutes cleaning up the floor, taking the blanket to the laundry room, etc. All the while, my son sat quietly never taking his eyes off the floor. As I cleaned I could hear Lisa Whelchel saying not to scold children for mistakes but rather for direct disobedience. I could hear my voice, my tone. Conviction set in.

After cleaning up everything, I got him another glass of milk. I handed it to him. He wouldn't look at me. He refused to hold it. I gave him some kind of a little lecture about how we all make mistakes, and we can't let them keep us from going on and living life. You know, the whole get back on that horse theme. And, yes, I apologized for my reaction, my over-reaction.

Right or wrong. . . I pretty much forced him to carry the cup into the living room. In some way hoping to remind him that he could do it. He could drink from a "big boy cup" without spilling. He has done it many times. I couldn't let him give up after a silly mistake - that his mother blew way out of proportion.

Okay, now at this point the sweet little guy is completely in his turtle shell. He has retreated, and I realize that I am going to have to work to get him to stick his little neck back out. And, all I can think is that none of this ever would have happened if I had immediately reacted with, "It's okay, honey, we all make mistakes. You didn't mean to do it. Mommy spills all the time!" He would have been just fine. But, no, that was not my reaction, and, honestly, I have no excuse.

So,he sat down on the blanket, and I handed him a cookie - actually I forced a cookie into his hand. He took a mouse sized bite and refused to drink the milk even when I offered to help and put it to his lips. That is when the tears started. You know, the kind my sweet boy is famous for. . . the kind of tears that break a mommy's heart. The silent tears. The kind of tears where the only sound you can hear are the soft sniffles.

And, my heart hurt, badly. Tears stung my eyes. When will I learn? Joshua is so hard on himself. He doesn't need me to come down hard on him. He hates to make mistakes. He doesn't need extra criticism - he is hard enough on himself. He keeps me at the feet of Jesus. I am ever praying for wisdom in rearing his sweet heart.

I wish I could say that the story ended well, but in all actuality it didn't. He never ate any cookies or drank any milk. It took a while before I could get my sweet turtle to stick his little neck back out for me to hug. But, I learned a lesson. Unfortunately, I have learned and forgotten this lesson more than a few times. . .

Think before you speak, Mommy, think before you speak!!

And, I guess you could say that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I have not ceased beating myself up for over-reacting to his simple mistake since it happened. . .