Mom, I have a story for you. You wouldn't believe what Autumn did to her Barbie Pony Princesses. As I tell the story, I hear her audible sighs - the acknowledgment that she remembers when I did something similar as a child. She laughs at the hi-jinx and commiserates. Her insightful questions help me open up and look at the situation critically.
I explain how I didn't lose my shit when I found the Princess Pony massacre. I held it all together when Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, and Apple Jack were strewn across the floor - heads on one side - bodies on the other - braids everywhere.
She just broke $100 worth of toys. Her favorite toys right now. I take a deep breath. She looks to me with pleading eyes to fix it all and make it better. I recognize that there is no immediate peril. But I feel terrible. For her, for me, for not knowing what upset her to trigger this?!? Wondering what is to come down the road for me next week, next month, and next year.
I told Autumn, "next time call me. Say Mama I need you. I don't know how to fix this? I might not be making the best choice."
My mom said I reacted better than she had when I did something similar. She remembers yelling at me. I do too. I don't want Autumn to remember me reacting that way. So I didn't. I remained calm. I spoke in dulcet tones.
Until next time.
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