Breakdown in the bathroom
So the other day Zee comes out of the bathroom looking extremely forlorn and tugging on his Sunday dress pants. He takes his dad's hand and proceeds to direct him to the bathroom where both Hubby and I are sure that he's going to show us a puddle on the floor (it wouldn't be the first time: read here for more). Oh, if only that were the case. I hear Hubby say, "Oh! How'd you do that?!" Realizing that this must be either the most gigantic puddle on the floor/wall/toilet or it's something I can't even imagine, I make my way to the bathroom. A cabinet door, half hanging freely and half attached to the wall greets me!
Oh my!
"What happened, Zee?"
Feeling so bad, and with pathetic tears cascading down his face, he just put his hands up to his cheeks, breathed in deeply and said, "Mommy, I ripped the wall. Oh no, I ripped the wall. Waaaaa...."
Well, it was all I could do not to cry right there with him. Not because of the wall or the cabinet, but because of the sound of his little voice. It was so sweet, so sad and so desperate that the only thing I could do was scoop him up and hold his little body until the tears stopped.
I looked over at my girls who where standing there with their mouths gaping open.
Not at the fact that there was a hole in the wall and that the cabinet door was hanging...
...but because the little brat didn't get into trouble!
They didn't say that...but I could just feel it. Rightfully so, he should have been reprimanded...he's been told before not to jump on the counter top because he might fall and get hurt...or in this case, his pant leg might get caught on the knobby on the way down and the force might just yank the door right off the frame and take a big chunk of 'wall' with it....but I just couldn't get mad at him. That face. Those eyes. Those hands on his cheeks. That forlorn little voice.
What else could I do?
He knew he'd done wrong; he didn't need me to rub it in or chastise him.
All he needed was a hug and to know that despite the damage to the cupboard that everything else was right with the world and that I still loved him.
Which I did.
So I hugged.
And Hubby spent the good portion of an hour gluing, taping, screwing and fixing.
(this isn't really how it looked; by the time I took this picture Hubby had already worked a bit of magic and had glued all the pieces back into place, however, this is SORT OF how it looked when I went into the bathroom)
Oh my!
"What happened, Zee?"
Feeling so bad, and with pathetic tears cascading down his face, he just put his hands up to his cheeks, breathed in deeply and said, "Mommy, I ripped the wall. Oh no, I ripped the wall. Waaaaa...."
Well, it was all I could do not to cry right there with him. Not because of the wall or the cabinet, but because of the sound of his little voice. It was so sweet, so sad and so desperate that the only thing I could do was scoop him up and hold his little body until the tears stopped.
I looked over at my girls who where standing there with their mouths gaping open.
Not at the fact that there was a hole in the wall and that the cabinet door was hanging...
...but because the little brat didn't get into trouble!
They didn't say that...but I could just feel it. Rightfully so, he should have been reprimanded...he's been told before not to jump on the counter top because he might fall and get hurt...or in this case, his pant leg might get caught on the knobby on the way down and the force might just yank the door right off the frame and take a big chunk of 'wall' with it....but I just couldn't get mad at him. That face. Those eyes. Those hands on his cheeks. That forlorn little voice.
What else could I do?
He knew he'd done wrong; he didn't need me to rub it in or chastise him.
All he needed was a hug and to know that despite the damage to the cupboard that everything else was right with the world and that I still loved him.
Which I did.
So I hugged.
And Hubby spent the good portion of an hour gluing, taping, screwing and fixing.
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