I'm Sorry Mommy

Yesterday after the kids came home from school they were playing nicely in various parts of the house while I was at the computer.  Next thing I know I hear the back door shut and John is standing next to me and in the sweetest most sincere voice says, "I'm sorry Mommy!" then walks away.  That totally caught me off guard.  I asked, "What are you sorry about?"

The conversation was pretty one sided as I played detective to uncover the mystery of this great remorse I heard from John.  Finally I said, "Show me." John lead me into my bedroom . . . did he write on something, pour something all over the bathroom, dump out all of the moon sand on the carpet I wondered.  No, he walked over to the patio door, and then I realized what the "I'm sorry Mommy" was for.

The glass in the door was shattered! (On the outside thankfully).  "John, what did you do?"  Mind you, this was one of those "good" mommy moments that I'm sure was directed by divine intervention, because I did not yell and I did not even raise my voice.  Who finds a shattered door and maintains composure and patience?  It was a miracle!

It took a bit to get the story out of John, and I still don't know that I totally understand what happened exactly because when I would ask what happened he would respond, "It broke."  "How did it break?"  "I did it!"  "What did you break it with." Silence.  "Did you throw something at it? What did you throw at it?" Still silence.  "Show me what you broke it with?"  We walked outside. There were several objects that could have been the weapon . . .  a dirt clod (not likely), a plastic bucket (could be, it was cracked too), and a tiny rock (maybe).
 

Finally after a bit of pestering John for the weapon he went over and picked up the little rock amongst the glass pieces on the ground.  Really a tiny little rock could do that? I guess if it was thrown hard enough, and John can throw pretty hard when he wants to.

The next step was how to punish discipline a little boy who very innocently broke the glass out of the door?  And one who was so honest about it. I don't believe he knew that it would break despite Paul and I repeatedly telling him not to throw dirt clods at the house.  . . . He would have to help me clean it up. Oh, this was going to to be plenty of misery indeed.  He hates the shop vac.  So with noise reducing ear muffs on John helped me push the shop vac to the backyard and suck up the glass.

With John I sometimes wonder how much he "feels", cares, understands and is aware of his actions.  The emotions behind the words in the simple phrase, "I'm sorry Mommy!" that I heard yesterday speak volumes to my heart!