On Being a Bad Parent

Lately it seems like we're always harping on the kids to pick up their stuff, take better care of their things, not kill each other.... blah blah blah.

A couple of weeks ago, we got the boys two hockey training balls so they can practise their stick-handling on the patio.  Problem is, they keep leaving them outside, forgetting where they put them, etc.  On Tuesday night, Chris and Aidan were outside playing hockey and couldn't find the training balls.  Aidan swore they were in the mudroom, but neither he nor Chris could find them anywhere.  I went outside to play with the girls, and within two minutes I found Quinn's blue training ball in the wood chips.

Simple logic said that if one ball is outside, the other is also outside.  Once again Aidan protested saying that  he was sure the ball was inside and that he didn't bring it outside.

Fast forward to  Wednesday morning when the usual morning chaos was occurring and yet again we asked Aidan where the ball was.  Yet again he said it had to be in the mudroom and the he didn't bring it outside.  We asked Quinn, and he claimed that they had both taken their balls outside to play.

ARRRGGGHHH!!!

I'm not proud to say it, but Chris and I both went off on Aidan.  It was a brutal tag team of

• accusations ("you never take care of your stuff! You probably hit it over the fence and were too lazy to go get it!"), 
• yelling ("why can't you just admit that you played with it outside and didn't bother to bring it inside?"), 
• punishment ("You owe us $10 to replace that ball because I'm sick and tired of getting you new stuff every time you loose something!"), 

and it went on and on.  Poor Aidan stood there with his head down and took it.
The cherry on top was me saying to him as we were driving to school: "I hope you're proud of yourself because now Mummy & Daddy are both in bad moods."  Ouch.

When I arrived home later that day, after the cleaning lady had come to the house, the first thing I saw in the middle of the mudroom floor was Aidan's red training ball.  It must have been been buried in all the mess of the mudroom, and the cleaner found it as she was tidying up.

Oh dear. 

I called Chris right away and said: "I think we screwed up." 

As soon as Aidan got home I pulled him aside and talked to him about everything and apologized, and apologized again, and again.  To his credit, he didn't say much (not even an "I told you so!" - he must get that from his Dad) and finally he just said: "It's OK Mom."

Yep... parent of the year right here!