Spilled Her Coffee, Broke Her Shoelace

While I was on the phone last evening, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. At least: I THOUGHT I saw something. I prayed I didn’t see it, but then it happened again and I knew for certain that I did. It was Blu, the parakeet being THROWN.
“Here ya go,” I heard my daughter cooing in the special high-pitched voice she saves especially for animals and babies, “Aaaaaaand… fly!”
And the poor wing-slipped bird was hurtled, angry-bird style across the room. I quickly excused myself from my phone call and ordered my daughter to put her bird away and then come talk to me.
“Birds don’t like to be thrown,” I said, chalking up another sentence to my list of Things I Thought I’d Never Have to Say… And Then I Had Childrens, “Look at Blu. She’s is terrified! She’s shaking! I’m afraid I’m going to have to ground you from Blu for one day. She needs a break and you need to not be throwing her.”
“Okay,” my daughter said, her head hanging.
Not even an hour later, the girl pulled the bird from her cage and began playing with her.
“Don’t try to sneak that bird out,” I warned, “You’re grounded, remember?”
By then, my husband was home from work and he started to get after her too. In our defense, our angelic daughter has taken GREAT pride lately in her “sneaking” abilities.
“I’m a great sneaker, Mom,” she tells me.
But before her Dad could even finish getting out his reprimand, her eyes grew big, they darted back and forth between her father and I, and she burst into big, fat tears.
“I forgot,” she tried to explain, “I forgot about the grounding.”
She honestly had. I pulled her in my arms and apologized for accusing her of sneaking. But she didn’t stop crying. I felt terrible about it and I tried to think of something to cheer her up.
“Hey,” I said, wiping her big tears away, “I need to go to the store. Get your boots on and come with me.”
“Okay,” she nodded and ran off.
As we drove the ten miles to the store, I asked her the same question I ask her at the end of every day.
“Sooo,” I looked in my rear view mirror at her in her booster seat, “What was your favorite part of today?”
“Having Hailee come play,” she answered.
“And did you have fun at school?” I asked.
“Yeah, but…” she paused and then her voice got choked up, “Someone just talked mean to me…” the tears come rushing out, “I just felt SO yucky inside and I don’t think ANYONE wants to be my FRIEND!”
She cried and cried and cried and cried and suddenly the bird situation made perfect sense. Normally something like forgetting she was grounded from her bird wouldn’t hardly faze her, so I was really surprised when she burst into tears over it.
Now I understood.
Let the records show that Lacy Deets has officially had her first Bad Day at School. As we talked about it, she began to feel better. I just ACHED for her because I know exactly what a Bad Day at School feels like (don’t we all? I mean, those of us who “survived” Junior High). When we got to the store, I got out of the car, got her down from her seat, and just held her and hugged in the parking lot.
Then we went inside and she was a different kid entirely.
She just needed to TALK about it. But you know what? She didn’t really know she needed to -she’s still figuring all that out. She’s learning the hard way what it means to be an emotional female, and I don’t envy her. I’m just grateful we took a little alone time together.
Anyway, SHE may not know how to handle a Bad Day at School, but I do.
As we walked around the store, I let her pick out something for herself and then I picked up something for her without her knowing. It’s the universal cure for Bad Days at School… chocolate.
When we got home, she settled in with her self-chosen Lunchable and hefty bag of chocolate.

Heaven help me be more aware lest I don’t even realize my child is hurting inside.
And Heaven help the state of the world wide economy that it never reaches the point where chocolate becomes unavailable.