Friday, October 21, 2011
I'm going to admit something, and if you've read this blog for any length of time, you're response to my admission will probably be something like, "Well DUH!" Nevertheless, I feel I must confess it anyway. Ready? Okay! (she said like a cheerleader) ...
"I'm not as compassionate as I'd like to be."
There. Anybody shocked by that? No, I didn't think so.
So when your mother is lacking in compassion, bedtime is not the time to mess around. (My girls have not figured this out yet, unfortunately.)
The other night, after tucking the girls in bed, I went to the laundry room to fold some clothes that had already spent the day hanging out in the dryer. While I was doing this, Megan came up beside me ...
Me: What are you doing out of bed?
Megan: My hand hurts.
Me sighing: What do you mean?
Megan: It's burning. My hand is burning.
Me: Well, you can get some ice to put on it if you want to.
Megan: That won't work. I've tried it before.
Me: Okay, then how 'bout a washcloth with cold water on it?
Megan just looks at me as if to say, Really, Mom? Is that all you've got?
And now I'm just irritated that she's still up. So I lay aside any trace of compassion I may have had and just give it to her straight (and perhaps with a touch of sarcasm) ...
Me: Meg, just get the washcloth. I'm sorry if I don't have the perfect remedy for 'Burning Hand Syndrome', okay?
Nice, huh? Yeah, she walked away a little like Charlie Brown and got herself a wet washcloth, then went back to bed without any further issues. And yes, I felt awful.