I know all about lofty ambitions, high goals, and aiming for the sky.
I also know about landing down in the mud.
Just recently, I put on the blog my wishes for my children – the goals Lowell and I are aiming for in raising them. Little did I know that within hours of publishing it, I would be landing *sploosh* in the mud.
It was a Monday and, although Mondays and I are not the best of friends, I had tried to be nice to Monday this particular day. Lowell came home from work really tired and decided to take a small siesta. All you Spanish people correct me, but I believe that’s what they call their afternoon nap!
I told him that I’d run to pick up the children from school, but once I got out to my Toyota, I realized the keys were inside the bedroom. Where Lowell was trying to accomplish his siesta. And I am not the one who wants to ruin someone’s nap.
However, I had a backup plan. I’d take Tigger to school.
If you’ll remember, Tigger is Lowell’s little orange mail jeep that cheerfully delivers letters to almost 400 addresses here in Idaho. I was about to seriously test Tigger’s cheerful attitude, however, . . . and that of its owner. Remember the unsuspecting owner was still in his siesta-time.
I hop in Tigger and begin backing out of the carport, making sure not to hit the Toyota sitting beside me on the right. Nobody told me to look out the left side and watch out for the pole thingy that holds the carport up!
You have got to be kidding me. I actually hit it.
Didn’t just hit it, but Tigger proceeded to belch out the awfullest crunch I’ve heard in a long time. And my heart did five somersaults before landing in the rocks on the driveway. I told myself it couldn’t be as bad as all that and drove on down the road. I mean, hey, I’m a mom of six children who over-dramatize things . . . and I figured Tigger was doing the same. Over-dramatizing it.
Once at school, I decided that while I’m waiting for the kids I maybe should have a little look-see. Expecting to see a scrape on the bumper, I rounded Tigger’s left corner and my heart did five more somersaults before landing in the mud.
I should have sat down beside my heart right there in the mud and had a good cry.
The bumper on poor Tigger had been partially yanked off and hung on at a 60 degree angle out the corner. Think of it like when you catch your big toenail on something and it rips part of it off to where the rest is hanging for all the world to see. Your big toe, that is.
Well, all of the world between my little house and church had to see Tigger’s bumper sitting cattywampus to the rest of him. And I still had to go home and tell Tigger’s owner, who was calmly snoozing and oblivious to the whole escapade, of my great big mistake.
But you must also remember that I had just picked up four children from school who could not believe what I’d done and drug me down the guilt path. Why do we rejoice in other people’s suffering? They wanted to be the ones to tell Daddy . . . while I wanted to crawl inside my little chicken coop and never come out again.
I hadn’t made a big boo-boo like this in a long time. And now my children saw, and slightly relished, my defeat. For once, it was Mama who must confess . . . and not them.
Ah, yes, the confession. I had it drafted, edited, and ready to articulate several times over before Lowell woke up from his siesta. But before I could barely open my mouth to take a deep, sustaining breath . . . someone blurted out that I had done something bad.
Oh joy. Kids can put things so bluntly sometimes.
But confess I did. And, yes, a few tears even slipped out. I’m not a good liar, and I’m pretty sure it looked worse since I was the one who had done it. But, truthfully, it was really bad. So bad I couldn’t fix it with baking a pie and smiling sweetly.
Instead, I had to do what we’ve tried to teach our children.
You own up to your mistakes . . . even if you must land *sploosh* in the mud.
But like Terrel said later, I timed it perfect since someone had previously bumped into Tigger and a new bumper was already there – just waiting to be put on. Bless Terrel’s heart for thinking of that, but I truly hadn’t been trying to “time” anything.
Is there a moral to this story, besides the fact that you are now privy to the bellyache I get when I see Tigger’s shiny new bumper?
Actually, there is . . .
A little mud is good for the soul now and then.
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