The past few days have been a little rough with my eight-year old son, Sam.
I'm not sure why but we've been at each other. Maybe it's because we're both first born, type A, OCD personalities that have a specific expectation of how we want things to go down and when they don't, well, we're emotionally charged and pissed off at the world.
And so it was with our last spat over something completely inconsequential that I realized, I have to get better at apologizing to the people I love, and in particular, to my children.
There is something very powerful about modeling the importance of being vulnerable. Laying your cards out for everyone to see and owning when you've made a poor choice, which most of the time, involves yelling at some insane decibel about something that really doesn't matter.
So after a day of doling out ridiculous amounts of consequences that I never followed through with, I tucked him into bed. Curling his hair between my fingers, I looked down and said, "Truce?"
He said, "Of course, mom."
I told him that I was sorry for being impatient, sorry for not letting him speak his mind, sorry for being a helicopter parent, and sorry that in general, we had a bad day.
I love the tar out of my kiddos. I want nothing more than for them to be loving people in the world. I hope that by showing them that I make mistakes all the time and that I'm willing to apologize to those I've hurt in the process...my example will make a positive impact upon them.
But of course, I don't know.
Until then, I pray that an honest, authentic, "I'm sorry," is the great equalizer providing the chance to start anew, recognizing that tomorrow will bring a new set of challenges, but also a chance for a loving re-do.