Say it Now, Mean it Later – A Lesson in Contrition



An apology is the superglue of life. 
It can repair just about anything. 
~Lynn Johnston


This morning was a particularly (though quite normal) crazy morning in the Plummer house with three little ones trying to get dressed, fed and out the door to school in less than 30 minutes.  I had overslept, myself, so when I came downstairs I found Renton and Emily re-packing their school snack bags (adding more fruit snacks and yogurt) - and Micky trying to eat everything out of his right then and there.  There was going to be little time for breakfast and I think the kids knew it.

I scooped them up and announced cheerily that we’d have breakfast at the school coffee bar that morning as a treat!   (Hoping to spur them to move a little faster out the door).  Everyone went happily to the car and it even looked like Micky was going to get in his own carseat without any complaints.  (The usual process is he sits in Emily’s seat til she drags or screams him out of it, then he sits in Renton’s screaming himself as Renton tries to coax him out, then he plays alternating limp noodle/stiff-as-a-board as I try to pick him up from the back of a three-row SUV and get him into his own seat in the front and buckled in without getting kicked in the face or jewelry or clothes ripped off in the process.)  Then Micky spotted one of his school drawings in the back of the car and made a beeline for it.  No Micky!  In your seat.  “No, Mommy!”  Was the confident, determined, defiant, challenging . . . (you get the idea) reply I got and I knew all hope was lost.

Let’s just fast-forward through the part where I had to force-buckle Micky into his seat then carry him kicking and screaming to his pre-school room where a quick peck on the check and “I love you Micky Moo” earned  me a slap in the face.

Yes, let’s just skip right to the calm breakfast of home-made apple struedel and Horizon milk for the kids and me enjoying a small coffee in the serene Elim café. . . . Ah . . . I feel more relaxed already. 

Okay, back to reality.  Emily decided she wanted a bottle of water instead of the milk.  She had a re-useable bottle of water in her snack bag so I suggested she drink that rather than me paying a dollar for a tiny bottle of water from the café.  Wasn’t going to fly.  The lip curled.  The tears began to well.  “Emily,” I said.  “That’s not how you get what you want.  Try breathing it out and we can talk about it some more.” 

(“Breathing it out” is a technique I learned to combat my own anxiety attacks and I have found it works WONDERS with forestalling or shortening full-blown meltdowns with the kids too!  Here’s how it works:  Take in a REALLY deep breath just through your nose, then blow out like you’re blowing out candles on a birthday cake.  The breathing out is the key – the louder the better!  Instant relaxation.  Try it – it works – I promise you.)

So, Emily had to “breathe it out” a few times, but she finally calmed down enough to explain she wanted to save her water in her water bottle for class when she couldn’t get to the water fountain.  Fair enough – I got her the water.

By now, the kids were running late and had about 2 minutes to get from the café to their rooms upstairs.  Normally, Tuesday is the dropping-off-Emily-first day.   But today we were running late and we were getting ready to pass Renton’s classroom first.  “Renton, we’re going to have to drop you off first today, honey.”

“What?!?!”  he shouted.  Oh boy, I thought to myself, here we go again.  “Renton, we’ll drop Emily off first the next two days to make up for it, okay?  You’re late this morning so we’re making an exception to the rule.”  Before I knew it, he’d turned his back to me, slipped in through a side door and disappeared, without so much as a “Good-Bye.”

Emily and I passed the second door to his classroom as Renton was hanging up his bookbag.  When he saw us he started to close that door too, making sure I saw the very serious scowl on his face.  I stopped and motioned for him to come outside.

I squatted down so that I was eye-to-eye on his level, placed my hand gently on his arm, and said to him calmly but seriously, “Renton, it is not okay to act like that to your Mom.  You need to apologize right now.” 

Renton just looked at me, waiting. Emily was watching intently, too.

I continued, undaunted, “Renton, you can mean it later, but you’re going to say it right now.”

Renton took a deep breath in and breathed it out.  Then he gave me a big hug and said, “I’m sorry, Mommy," and ran back into his room.

I think he may even have actually meant it.