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A spilled frappuccino is a sad thing. Especially when it was
a full frappuccino. And it has spilled all over my rug. And – here’s the worst
part – it belonged to a 5-year-old. A 5-year-old who was so eager to get the
lid off so he could spoon out the delectable whipped cream waiting for him on
tremble. I saw the eyes begin to water.
cry over a spilt frappuccino? A strawberry
frappuccino? Well, that’s like
asking a bird not to fly. It’s just not gonna happen.
get another one?” No, we could not. “After nap, momma. Can we got get another
one after nap? Pleeeeeeeeeeease!” He begged. I knew he wanted so much for me to
say yes. If he could just get another frappuccino, everything would be fine.
up what seemed an endless puddle of pink. I wanted
to say yes. I didn’t want him to be sad. I wanted to make it better. I mean, a lost treat is a BIG deal in the
world of a little kid. And I wanted to stop the crying before it turned to wailing.
things and that’s it.” He cried harder. “I’m sorry it fell. I know you are
disappointed.” He begged some more. I stood my ground. I finished cleaning
while he cried. Then I took his hand and we went upstairs to snuggle and read before
our – I mean his – nap.
while we were out running Christmas errands. He was so excited by it. And as we climbed out of the car, I urged him to
hold it carefully, not to drop it because it would break. I think he wanted to
see if this was true, because seconds later there it was….shattered in shards
of glass and glitter on the garage floor. I watched my little boy crumble and
it broke my heart. So we got in the car. We drove back to the store. I admit it – I bought
him another snowglobe.
of mothering and countless meltdowns and tantrums, you start to get a little tougher.
The tantrums are just frustrating. But when my kiddo is genuinely sad,
disappointed, hurt…my urge is of course to step in and make it better.
Frappuccinos are spilled. We lose things and we don’t get them back. We drop
things and they are broken for good. We don’t make teams. We ask someone to
prom and she says no. We fail a test we studied so hard for.
drive 5 minutes down the road and get a replacement, or to pull out the blender
and whip up a smoothie, throw a little Redi-Whip on top. But I realize more and
more that my job as a momma isn’t to erase hurts and disappointments, but to make
sure my children learn how to deal with them. Instead of fixing their problems,
my job is to simply be the shoulder to cry on, the listening ear, the safe
arms. This way, when the hurts and disappointments are bigger than a spilt drink,
they know how to cope and they know that they can.
intervention. The spilled frappuccino was forgotten, leaving only the scent of strawberry wafting from my rug.