The Monkey and the Microwave

It was quiet for a change at my house. We were all eating dinner together, nicely, peacefully. Hannah, our nine year old, was actually putting food in her mouth, something we often have to beg her to do. My husband and I were having a real conversation about nothing and everything. And, our seven year old daughter was eating with fairly decent table manners.

Hmmmm..........

I just knew something bad was bound to happen soon. After all, what was a family without a bit of unexpected excitement?

Suddenly, as my husband and I were talking, I noticed his eyes get wide and he started screaming "NO!"

I turned behind me to find that Jordyn, who had somehow gotten up from the table without my noticing, had climbed up on the kitchen counter and was putting something in the microwave.

"NO!" I shouted in unison with my husband. "Jordyn, stop!"

Jordyn looked at us with a bit of confusion in her eyes. "But, I'm only trying to heat my pasta up!" she announced quite innocently. "I want to be a big girl, like Hannah!"

I felt sorry for Jordyn. I truly did. I completely understood what it was like to feel small and insignificant. And I remember vividly trying, as Jordyn had, to act so much older than I was in order to impress the people in my life. Yet, as I lifted the metal fork from the plate she had attempted to cook in our microwave, I couldn't help but shudder at the thought of what might have happened.

"Jordyn, did you know that you can cause a fire by putting metal in a microwave?" I asked her quietly but with firm undertones.

"No," she replied, and burst into tears. "But I was only trying to be a big girl."

How could I be angry at that?

We constantly tell our children to act their age, act mature, be responsible. Yet, when they try to do so, we get angry at the fact that they did it all wrong. I guess I need to remind myself frequently that my kids are only that. Kids. And I can only expect so much from them. I need to be elated when they succeed, but supportive when they mess up. Even if messing up involves a small fire in the kitchen. No, I'm not encouraging experimenting with flames. And I'm certainly terrified of my children hurting themselves or others. That's why I tend to lean towards the overprotective side of motherhood more times than not.

However, as someone who once set the toaster oven on fire attempting to heat taco shells, I've got to have some sense of understanding for my kids when they make the exact same mistakes I did when I was their age.

After a long explanation about microwave usage and a firm promise from Jordyn that she would never attempt to use any appliances without our permission, the four of us sat back down to dinner and finished where we'd left off only minutes before.

I suppose I'll never rest easy again. With cars and microwaves and other dangerous devices, this parenthood thing is gonna land me in a psychiatric hospital one of these days. I can only hope that when I'm admitted, my husband will make sure to watch the kids closely while I'm gone........