{"id":5864,"date":"2013-11-17T06:31:22","date_gmt":"2013-11-17T06:31:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/?p=5864"},"modified":"2016-06-08T11:29:16","modified_gmt":"2016-06-08T17:29:16","slug":"cleaning-up-the-heart-break","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/2013\/11\/17\/cleaning-up-the-heart-break\/","title":{"rendered":"Cleaning Up the Heart Break"},"content":{"rendered":"
\""In<\/a>

“In some families, please is described as the magic word. In our house, however, it was sorry.” ~Margaret Laurence<\/p><\/div>\n

We were on our way out the door, which has always been a little stressful since having children. There\u2019s just something about making ourselves and<\/i> our kids look presentable\u2014all at the same time\u2014that causes tensions to run high.<\/p>\n

On this particular evening, I\u2019d actually put on something other than my typical Writer\u2019s Uniform\u2014meaning I was not wearing anything made out of Dri-fit fabric and my hair was not in a ponytail. We were finally experiencing fall-like temperatures in the South, so it was cool enough for jeans, a sweater, and boots.<\/p>\n

I was actually feeling pretty good at this departure. My kids were<\/i><\/b> <\/i>in Dri-fit material from head to toe, but their hair was combed so we were good to go.<\/p>\n

My older daughter decided to use the restroom one last time before we headed out to meet friends. That\u2019s when I heard: \u201cMom, the toilet is clogged!\u201d<\/p>\n

I quickly ran to assess the situation desperately hoping she was mistaken since The Official Toilet Plunger of the family (my husband) wasn\u2019t home.<\/p>\n

Much to my dismay, my daughter\u2019s assessment was accurate. Someone had used the bathroom and apparently it required an entire roll of toilet paper to do the job. The muddy water was scarily close to the top of the bowl.<\/p>\n

Although it was tempting to get upset, I swallowed an \u201care you serious?\u201d and stifled an exasperated sigh. I didn\u2019t even ask, \u201cWhich one of you did this?\u201d although I had my suspicions based on the fact that Little Sister was now cautiously peering from around corner.<\/p>\n

With clenched teeth I said, \u201cI\u2019ll get the plunger.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I searched every bathroom and even the garage and yet the plunger was nowhere to be found. By now, I was getting sweaty. The stylish\u00a0boots were not made for running around the house and neither was the sweater. I was suddenly\u00a0irritated that I had abandoned my comfy Dri-fit.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t find the plunger!\u201d I hollered as I came down\u00a0the stairs. \u201cEveryone look for it!\u201d I demanded.<\/p>\n

The girls slowly meandered around house as if the plunger would be sitting in plain site on the kitchen counter beside the coffee pot or propped up in the recliner.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will go upstairs and look once more,\u201d I grumped.<\/p>\n

Finally I discovered the oddly shaped, yet highly effective tool. It was hidden behind the stool in the girls\u2019 bathroom. \u201cI found it!\u201d I announced, as if anyone cared.<\/p>\n

I carefully made my way down the stairs because boots and stairs have known to be a dangerous combination for me. That\u2019s when I heard it\u2014the distinctive sound of a flushing toilet and the unmistakable sound of rushing water hitting a tile floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cNOOOOOOO!!!!!\u201d I cried out practically tumbling down stairs in hopes I could somehow stop the catastrophe.<\/p>\n

I rushed into the bathroom to see my younger child standing in the middle of a nasty pool of liquid that was growing larger by the minute. She was literally paralyzed.<\/p>\n

I felt steam coming off my forehead that was now officially in need of sweatband.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy did you flush it???\u201d I yelled, feeling my eyes bulging much too far out of their sockets. I must have looked quite frightening\u2014my child burst into tears. \u201cWhy, why, why would you flush it?\u201d I repeated angrily knowing this was an incredibly stupid question. My child thought she was helping. If she knew this action would result in an exploding toilet, she never would have flushed it!<\/p>\n

\u201cI am sorry! I didn\u2019t know!\u201d she explained what I already knew between dramatic sobs.<\/p>\n

My lovely\u00a0boots were now in toilet water. I felt sweat dripping down my back onto my best pair of jeans. Things could get very, very bad, I thought to myself. I could keep yelling and even throw out a few profane words \u2026<\/p>\n

Or<\/p>\n

\u2026 I could remember to breathe and spare us both some pain.<\/p>\n

Instead of yelling one more word, I miraculously released a huge, mammoth-size exhale. Apparently I\u2019d had been holding my breath in anger and I needed this release quite badly.<\/p>\n

My child did not know how to interpret the exhale. She looked at me nervously\u2014is Mom gearing up for a major meltdown? Just then Big Sister ran in armed with two spray bottles of disinfectant and a stack of old cleaning towels. She even had her shoes off prepared to go battle.<\/p>\n

This small but incredibly kind, sisterly gesture helped me take another deep breath.\u00a0My older daughter\u2014who is quick to note when a mess does not belong to her\u2014said nothing of the sort. She was attempting to spare her younger sister from further anguish. Perhaps she remembered more clearly than her sister the wrath of their perfectionistic mother who just a few years ago completely lost it<\/a> when things went awry.<\/p>\n

But things are different now. Thank goodness, things are different now.<\/p>\n

I calmly took off my boots, set them in the sink, and joined my older daughter in sopping up the putrid mess. Little Sister handed paper towels to Big Sister when they were needed, but she did not mutter a single word.<\/p>\n

Fifteen minutes and one overly disinfected floor later, I discovered my child sitting outside the door with her knees tucked into her chest. Her little pink glasses had slipped to the tip of her nose, her tearful eyes shining. With her head slumped down, my usual cheerful child appeared heart-broken.<\/p>\n

Her broken-heartedness hurt my own heart.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am sorry I yelled,\u201d I said quietly, the words feeling awkward coming out of my mouth. Even now, admitting any wrongdoing feels clumsy, like I am speaking a foreign language. \u201cI am sorry I blew up,\u201d I continued a little louder. \u201cNext time you see a clogged toilet, please don\u2019t flush it,\u201d I added gently.<\/p>\n

\u201cI promise. I won\u2019t, Mama,\u201d she vowed looking up at me with hopeful eyes. I could tell she wouldn\u2019t make that mistake again.<\/p>\n

I slowly sat down next to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Embarrassed by her tears, she buried her face in my sweater that I hoped didn\u2019t smell too badly after the extensive cleaning job.<\/p>\n

As I sat there just holding my child, I couldn\u2019t decide whether to laugh or to cry. The timing of this experience was truly providential.\u00a0 Just six hours earlier, I\u2019d been interviewed by a popular women's magazine about overcoming yelling. What are the chances, right? And while I was describing a painful yelling memory from my highly distracted years to the reporter, I unexpectedly got choked up. As I held my child, I replayed the conversation in my mind:<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you crying?\u201d the reporter asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy daughter remembers that particular incident. She recounted the whole event to me years after it happened. She remembered how angry I was and how scared she was. It hurts to think about it today,\u201d I explained, my voice catching.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019ve worked on it, and you have really changed,\u201d she reminded me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I said, \u201cI handle things much better now. I\u2019ve learned to accept that things can\u2019t be perfect, and my expectations are more realistic. I stopped overcommitting myself\u00a0and quit rushing myself and my family through life. I am not under so much pressure now,\u201d I said finding my voice again.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what?\u201d the reporter began, preparing to give me an unexpected gift. \u201cI think showing emotion is okay. It is healthy. I lived in a family that didn\u2019t. My parents kept feelings bottled up so everything would appear perfect. I never learned how to express disappointment, anger, or fear. I never learned to say I am sorry. I never learned how to ask for help or just let my feelings out.\u201d After a slight pause she said, \u201cGive yourself a break. Let it go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Let it go.<\/i><\/p>\n

I am a big fan of those healing, hopeful words.<\/p>\n

And that is what I decided to do\u2014because the old me would have never gotten past the soiled floors and the stained boots. The old me would have yelled, \u201cForget it! We\u2019re not going to see our friends now!\u201d The old me would have sulked for hours and probably ruined a perfectly good evening. The old me would have handed out a mighty dose of blame and shame, but never an apology.<\/p>\n

But things are different now. Thank goodness, things are different now.<\/p>\n

The Me I Am Now<\/em> stood up from the spot next to my child and said, \u201cWell, we better go. Our friends are waiting on us and rarely do I ever get this dressed up!\u201d<\/p>\n

My daughter, who\u2019s always been quick to forgive, gave me a relieved smile and took my outstretched hand.<\/p>\n

As we walked out the door, I had a thought: Maybe my daughter will remember this experience one day. Perhaps her child will overflow the toilet and she will get a little mad at first. But then she will remember that it is just water (mostly), and that it can be cleaned up. And perhaps she\u2019ll remember that we all make mistakes because even her mom did. But it\u2019s what we do with those mistakes that makes or breaks the chance to salvage a broken heart.<\/p>\n

\"hold<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

**********************************************<\/p>\n

My friends of The Hands Free Revolution<\/a>, thank you for allowing me to be imperfectly me and keep things real. Thank you for sharing your struggles and triumphs to let go and live through email messages and blog comments. Through this community, hope is being found\u2014not just for me\u2014but for those who come here to read, cry, smile, and realize today can be different than yesterday. If you are new to the site and you want to know how I transformed my highly distracted life (with many stumbles along the way), my New York Times bestselling book, HANDS FREE MAMA<\/a>,\u00a0tells the whole story from start to finish. My\u00a0<\/i><\/b>second book, HANDS FREE LIFE<\/a>, details 9 doable daily habits that bring more presence, peace, and acceptance into your heart and home.\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/i><\/b>Good News: Many of you asked me to tell you when the ONLY LOVE TODAY<\/a> and I CHOOSE LOVE<\/a>\u00a0bracelets would be back in stock and\u00a0now they are! <\/i><\/b>Having a wearable reminder to choose love\u00a0has been a long-time dream of mine, and I am grateful to my family for helping me make it happen. My talented sister-in-law manages\u00a0the Hands Free store<\/a> that now carries the leather bracelets<\/a>, the non-leather reminder bands<\/a>, the hand-lettered Hands Free Pledge print,<\/a> and a vintage t-shirt<\/a>. I so appreciate your interest & support!\u00a0Thanks for being part of The Hands Free Revolution<\/a>!<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

We were on our way out the door, which has always been a little stressful since having children. There\u2019s just something about making ourselves and our kids look presentable\u2014all at the same time\u2014that causes tensions to run high. On this particular evening, I\u2019d actually put on something other than my typical Writer\u2019s Uniform\u2014meaning I was […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[55],"tags":[1158,1067,971,1043,1155,1156,1157],"gutentor_comment":87,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1fUJF-1wA","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5864"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5864"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5864\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5864"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5864"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5864"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}