A few weeks ago, I had one of those parenting moments that left me feeling less than proud of how I handled a situation. We've all had them. It wasn't momentous by most standards, but afterward, I was left thinking "seriously, who's the child here...?"
And so what did I do? I spouted off an email to my husband at work claiming to be the worst person in the world - a complete idiot who must be responsible for all the world's pain and suffering. Nice, huh? Such drama.
His response to me could have been a standard "Oh honey, I'm sure it wasn't that bad... you're probably over-reacting... it's just a bad day... it'll be okay... this too shall pass... yada yada yada."
But no, there was nothing cliche in his response. I opened up his email, and nestled within a warm, genuine note to me, I read these words...
Damn.
Knock me over with a feather.
Okay then.
Will do.
Thank you, love.
(Then I grabbed my pens and captured the moment in one of the best ways I know how.)
