I had no choice today but to take all four kids to Wal-Mart (something I try to avoid at all costs). It wasn’t too bad either. We’ve had worse.
Today only included one temper-tantrum from the 5-year-old and this:
A smashed loaf of bread.
Now a smooshed loaf of bread doesn’t usually warrant its own blog post, but how I reacted to the loaf probably does.
When I shop with all four kids, I toss (gently, of course) my 2-year-old twins into the basket and place the groceries around them. So when I placed the loaf of bread in the danger zone, I should have predicted the result.
But the boys were being soooo good.
Five minutes later I glanced at the cart and one of the boys (who shall remain nameless) was STANDING on top of the loaf, his left foot TOTALLY supporting all of his body weight, Grandma Sycamore gasping for breath underneath.
I moved him off the loaf and picked her (the loaf) up to see if she was rescuable. As I did I explained to my son how bread is soft and little boys are strong and we can’t stand on bread. Only I was using big words that I’m sure he didn’t’ understand. Yet something in me felt the need to defend the loaf—possibly at the sake of my son’s feelings.
I never raised my voice and all feelings were left intact but, at that moment, a stranger walked by and said, “it still tastes the same.”
And he was totally right.
How many times do we over-react about a smashed loaf of bread and risk hurting real people’s feelings when—in the end—it still tastes the same?