Parenting Ad Absurdum


Santa Trauma


One evening last week, after a crash that sounded louder and distinctly more glass like than usual, my husband and I raced up the stairs to the kids’ bedroom and discovered that that half of the light fixture had fallen from the center of the ceiling to the carpet below. The light fixture was old, like most things in our house, so we speculated that it had perhaps overheated, and herded the kids down to our bedroom, in case the rest of the fixture were to come down before the morning. The kids were understandably upset, but after some water and some hugs, my three-year old, Alex, was bouncing and smiley again. Jack, my five-year old, was not. He gasped and sobbed and shook, and as we tried to calm him down, I heard Alex say, “so, there were stuffed animals flying around…” Ah. Perhaps the light fixture had not actually overheated. Seeing the distress on his older brother’s face, Alex loyally changed the subject to sugar cookies, but I, the slow-witted mama, asked carefully if perhaps someone had thrown a stuffed animal and accidently, ACCIDENTALLY, mind you, hit the light fixture. “Well, I didn’t,” said Alex. Jack then confessed, between sobs, that yes, a flying monkey may have been involved.

At this point he was borderline hysterical in his crying, my shoulder was soaked with his tears, and there was no question of punishment, my goal was only to let him know that I understood he hadn’t meant to do it, and get his breathing rate to return to normal. Eventually, he calmed down a little, and so we turned out the lights and said good night. Five minutes later, the convulsive sobs started again.

Even in the worst of times, I am a mild disciplinarian, and I could not understand why he was so desperately sad over his mistake. It broke my heart. I sat with him, and tried to explain again that Daddy and I were not angry, that accidents happen to all of us, and that it was going to be just fine. Eventually, between his breathy, by this point, exhausted, puppy-like yelps, I heard “Santa…is going to put me…on the naughty list, and I won’t…get my stormtrooooooooooooopers!!!!!” Oh, the depths of the heart of a five-year old! I promised that I was going down to my computer immediately to send Santa an email to clarify that Jack was not naughty, that it had been an accident, and that even if it had not been, Santa would still understand that Jack is, on balance, an extremely nice little boy. Which he is.

May this be as traumatic as it gets for him for a good, long time. Cause his mama can’t take it.

Categories: Uncategorized
Peryl Manning