Have you ever learned a hard lesson from your kids? This is one of those posts I’m not proud of, but it’s necessary. Sometimes we learn lessons about marriage from unlikely sources.

These lessons are not quickly forgotten.

It had been one of those weeks. My husband had returned home Friday night after being away on a business trip all week. Monday morning had come too quickly, and I was tired and not happy about it.

I’d overslept, jumped out of bed, and darted straight to the basement to gather some stuff so we could start home schooling. I was not in the best of moods when my kids started fighting.

“What’s your problem?” I kind of growled as my youngest daughter entered the room.

“Good morning, Mom,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine. What’s your problem?” I asked abruptly again.

“Well. . . we’re about to have our Zoom session with our Spanish tutor, and I want the lights on and Middle Boy wants them off,” she said softly.

“Why would he want the lights off when you need them on to read during your lesson?” I asked.

She was already nodding in agreement even before I’d finished my sentence. “That’s what I said, but he said that the light makes it hard to see the computer screen.” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed as if to say, “I tried to tell him.”

“Well, tell him I said to leave the lights on,” I snapped.

As she turned to walk upstairs, I could have sworn I heard a victory smile slowly creep across her face.

I hear low murmurings and then more footsteps. Middle Boy came in.

“Good morning, Mother,” he began eloquently. “By the way, how did you sleep?” he continued but then got right to the point. “Youngest Girl wants the lights on during our lesson. I don’t know why we need the lights on. First of all, it’s daytime, the blinds are open, and the sun is shining so it’s a total waste of electricity.”

“Aren’t you guys about to have a Spanish lesson?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“If she needs the lights, leave them on. Now, go back upstairs and get ready for your lesson,” I said dismissively.

He knew he was defeated, but this child is tenacious. He pressed on.

“Mom, there’s plenty of light in the room. She’s just being difficult.”

“That may be the case,” I snapped, “but if she feels she needs the lights to see, leave them on.”

He started to launch a rebuttal, but I raised one eyebrow–only the way a mom can–signifying that was my final answer.” He accepted defeat, murmured a compliant “yes, ma’am,” and plodded off.

I am certain I heard footsteps quietly walk away at the top of the steps as he mounted the stairs.

About an hour later (Spanish lesson over), Youngest Girl sauntered down the steps again and asked if she could delete her brother’s number from her phone.

“Why would you want to do that?” I asked.

“Well, he sent me the same text message 40 times, and I just don’t want to have to delete them all if he does that again,” she said.

He sent a mean text

The same message 40 times? She pulled up the text message and casually handed over her phone.

The message read:

MIDDLE BOY: “I was AFRAID you didn’t have the ability to be a total worthless drama queen who has to have the universe tailored exactly as you wish. You are the worst thing to happen to this family since, well, ever. I hate your freaking atoms with every fiber of my being.”

And, he’d sent it to her 40 times!

I was shocked! Appalled. Flabbergasted. Mad. Slightly amused (at his control of the language). But, mostly mad.

“Middle Boy, get down here!” I screamed in my the evilest mom voice.

Footsteps. “Did you send this message to your little sister?” I shoved the phone up into his face. (Good moms, like good attorneys, ask questions we already know the answer to.)

“Why on earth would you talk to her like that?  What do you have to say for yourself?” I was seething.

I’ve tried to raise these kids to be kind, I thought, but sometimes still they act like jerks. Where on earth do they get that from?

He turned to her, and just as eloquently as he had insulted her, he apologized.

“Youngest Girl, I get mad, sad, and angry at you almost every day. But, those are just feelings. Everyday I make a conscious decision to love you and nothing you can say or do will change that. I love you from the bottom of my heart. You are my little sister, and I want to care for you and protect you. I would die for you. Will you forgive me?”

Whaaa?

But, I couldn’t let him off that easily.

“Why on earth would you say something so mean to your little sister? You’re lucky I don’t take away your phone! You guys are driving me nuts! Get upstairs, start your work, and I don’t want to hear a.noth.er. word.”

Then, I turned to her and growled between clenched teeth, “Don’t you have something you want to say?”

“I am sorry for being difficult. Will you forgive me?” she squeaked.

Hug. Hug. Kiss. Kiss. Fight over.

Big stick moment

I was shocked at how my kid spontaneously spewed such venom at his sibling! I mean, where did he get that from?

I’m short from time to time, but I would never say anything like that. I stormed around the basement collecting books and mumbling about their behavior (because I had to let them know that I was still mad) when I passed by the bathroom. The door was open, and I saw my reflection in the mirror.

Sometimes God speaks to us softly, and sometimes He clobbers us over the head with a big stick. This was a big stick moment.

I remembered how I had behaved when my husband had returned after being gone all week. I was tired from being with the kids all week by myself. I wasn’t kind or patient. I was irritable.

Where did my kids learn that behavior from? Me. Kids watch everything we do. They can tell when I’m unhappy with my husband even if I don’t say a word. They can tell when I feel like sending him a mean text 40 times.

“Hey, Mom” Middle Boy called down to me, snapping me out of my pity party, “want me to fix you something for lunch?”

Just then, Youngest Girl came downstairs and handed me a glass of tea. “I poured you a glass of tea, Mom. It’s the last of it.”

I felt like a jerk. My kids were showing me grace—kindness that I did not deserve. They were showing me the grace I should’ve shown my husband, even though I didn’t deserve it.

Lesson learned. I apologized to my husband that evening (and eventually to my kids).

In the wise words of Middle Boy, feelings are just that: feelings. They have validity, but they should not dictate the way I treat the people I love, especially my husband.