It’s remarkable how swiftly the truth can surface. Just the other day, I found myself in a rather revealing predicament. My two daughters and I had just returned from a long drive from Austin to my parents’ house for dinner. The journey was far from smooth.
We set off around lunchtime and had to make a pit stop. Unfortunately, once we resumed our trip, the girls fell asleep—just as I began to feel drowsy myself. A quick coffee break woke them up for good, and soon, the car was filled with bickering over music, which escalated to light hitting and playful teasing, much more irritating than actual blows. As if that wasn’t enough, we encountered unexpected traffic coupled with the incessant complaints of boredom and urgent bathroom needs, often in less-than-convenient locations.
Finally, I parked at a rather sketchy Subway. As I tried to open the back door for the girls, I realized it was locked. Frustration took over, and I exclaimed, “I can’t stand this car!” Now, before you judge my reaction, it’s worth noting that my vehicle has an automatic locking feature designed to prevent car theft. However, I live in Austin, a place where such crimes are uncommon. I frequently open the doors for my daughters, so I found this design feature incredibly annoying.
At the dinner table, just as we were about to eat, my five-year-old Emma piped up, “Mommy, this is the part where we do the special thing!” My seven-year-old Mia chimed in, “Mommy, we’re going to say a praaayyyyeeer!” It made me smile, realizing they thought I might not be familiar with this tradition, considering I had spent my first nineteen years living with my parents. Now, my husband and I follow different practices as Unitarian Universalists.
Emma then informed Grandma, “We don’t say prayers at home!” My mother replied, “That’s perfectly fine. We enjoy saying a prayer before meals.” I added, “It’s important to appreciate the food we have. Many people contributed to bringing it to our table.” We all joined in the prayer, and I encouraged Emma to share our dinner tradition.
Emma explained our family custom of sharing one good thing and one bad thing about our day, emphasizing the importance of listening. She decided Mia should go first. Mia began, “Well, my bad thing is that on the drive, Mommy was really grumpy.” I looked at her, not sensing any malice—just honest observation.
She continued candidly, “Mommy was yelling sometimes and used some bad words…” I glanced at my parents, who were smiling, and soon, I found myself laughing. My dad remarked, “I’m learning a lot from this tradition!”
As we continued sharing our good and bad moments, everyone participated actively, and I cherished our family tradition. After dinner, I addressed my daughters, telling them they were now old enough to handle a three-hour car ride without being overly needy, especially given the abundance of activities available to them. I also expressed my regret for not managing the situation better. However, I still have to admit, I really dislike those locks.
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In conclusion, this experience highlighted the ups and downs of family life, and the importance of communication. While the journey may be filled with challenges, the moments spent together are what truly matter.
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