By Danielle Dayney
I’m typically an easy going person. I try not to raise my voice above speaking level. I volunteer occasionally. I’m tolerant and understanding. I am, for the most part, level-headed and kind. But every person has her breaking point and, well, mine was the stupid fruit bowl.
It wasn’t an extraordinary day by any stretch of the imagination. My one-year-old was teething, AKA not sleeping and mostly just screaming bloody murder. I skipped my shower when she skipped her nap. Then I opted for extra caffeine as I consoled her, which, in hindsight, was probably not the best idea.
When my five-year-old came home from school, we struggled to complete her homework. She would scribble and erase, scribble and erase until her letters were just how she wanted, making my blood bang furiously on my eardrums. All the while, I had a red-faced baby cradling my left hip, as I tried to simultaneously throw a meal together. I could feel the lump in my throat getting bigger with each breath. Tears were brimming my eyelids and my hands started to tingle. My anxiety was in full blown attack mode and I was on the defensive.
With homework finally finished, I served up my half-assed dinner at the kitchen bar so we could eat. I opened a craft beer, savoring its bitterness as it touched the back of my throat. It was cold and delicious. Silently, I prayed for my heart rate to slow down so I could enjoy quality time with my kids. I didn’t want the day to get any worse.
Almost immediately, my oldest started playing with something in front of her, a pencil, a stray gem from our jewelry making supplies. I don’t remember. Whatever it was, I took it away.
My prayers weren’t answered.
“Eat your dinner,” I said. I could hear the lack of patience seething out of my voice. I checked out, done adulting for the day. She didn’t listen. Instead, she picked up her fork and started tapping it on the fruit bowl.
Ding! Ding, ding! Ding, ding, ding, ding!
She was willing to do whatever it took to get attention: good or bad, it’s all the same to kids. I should’ve realized what she was doing, but my head was too clouded from exhaustion and anxiety.
“Enough,” I said through gritted teeth as the baby hurled a half-eaten nugget across the room. “Please eat your dinner. And no throwing your food.” My youngest swept her arm across her highchair tray, sending peas flying everywhere. My five-year-old giggled and I snapped my head back in her direction. “Your dinner,” I pointed my fork at her plate of food. I took a deep breath, in through my nose and out my mouth. I needed a moment, just one single moment, to–.
DING.
My peripheral vision went blurry and my hands started sweating. Suddenly the only thing that my mind could comprehend was the fruit bowl and how much it always got in the way. I hated how gray it was. I hated how the bananas always bruised from touching the rough edges. I couldn’t stand how it sounded as the fork gently tapped against it. My teeth were grinding back and forth as I thought about how the events of the day had led me there, to the fruit bowl.
I needed that stupid bowl GONE.
Without any more thought, I picked it up and threw it on the cork floor. Just like that. I thought maybe it would bounce.
It did not.
The sound of the clay bowl crashing against the floor and separating into hundreds of tiny shards was enough to make all three of us jump.
I thought to myself, What have I done?
I swallowed hard, noticing the symptoms of my anxiety begin to dissipate. I blinked and my vision cleared, my shaking hands were no longer sweating, and the fog started to lift. I turned back to my children, both staring at me with wide-eyed bemusement.
They were frightened by me.
“I’m so sorry, you guys. Mom made a really big mistake.” I lightly kissed the tops of both of their heads, smelling their lavender shampoo. Calm yourself.
“Mommy will clean it up,” I assured them.
I grabbed the broom and dustpan, took a deep breath, swallowed my pride, and reminded myself that I’m not perfect. I’m only human and sometimes humans break stuff.
This post was originally published on danielledayney.com.
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About the Author
Danielle Dayney is a freelance writer and personal blogger living in Fredericksburg, Virginia. She has a BA in Communications from the State University of New York. Her writing has been published on BlogHer, and The Mighty, plus featured on the women’s and parents’ sections of The Huffington Post. In addition, she’s been in the top three for various essays and micro essays on Yeah Write. This year, she won a Voices of the Year award at the BlogHer conference for a microblog she wrote. You can find her at danielledayney.com and on Twitter and Facebook.