An old bike and 2 cans of spray paint

Everybody makes mistakes

I am slowly making my reamergance into the land of the living. Far from 100% but capable of basic functioning I decided to tackle a project with my oldest daughter. She is growing as young children are apt to do, and in the process is ready to graduate to a larger bicycle. A neighbor graciously gave us one of her daughter's old bikes last summer but it is in need of some repairs to be street worthy. I ordered a new bike tire and tube that will be arriving later this week and we decided it might be fun to give it a new paint job.

We went to the store and she picked out the paint she wanted- a metallic silver, and a second can of navy blue. I have watched an episode or two of custom motorcycle building on TV and I started to imagine attempting a flame paint job that would match my motorcycle. Perhaps a bit grandiose but I was excited about working on the bike together. After about 2 minutes of helping me strip down the bike she disappeared. When she reappeared it was atop her scooter with earphones trailing from underneath her helmet. I spent the next hour sweating in the sun trying to strip old stickers off the frame and sanding it down to paint. The exciting bonding project was turning into a one-man show. I managed to get her attention for a little help here and there but I had definitely moved from excited to impatient. Not long thereafter I decided I was done for the day. I was starting to cough myself into a headache again and my energy was gone.

I instructed the girls to clean up their bikes and come into the house. I went in to use the bathroom and as expected did not hear anyone come into the house so I guessed they were still out playing. When I stepped back outside the bikes and toys were still out and they had added something as well.

The tree was not particularly distressing to me, but the paint on the back patio was the proverbial straw... did she HOPE I would not notice? HOPE it would wash off? Or could she possibly have been diabolical enough to HOPE by writing her younger sister's name that the crime would not be pinned on her? I suppose there are far worse words to have spray painted on the cement but at the time I was beyond the ability to consider that.

The next several minutes consisted mainly of me yelling, threatening "huge consequences," and riding the flood of strong emotions. I put everybody in time-out (I should have included myself) and stomped around outside putting things away, reassessing the damage, and mumbling under my breath. When I got back inside I was able to start calming down a little bit, I wish I could say it was a conscious process but I think it mostly came from seeing the girls crying and looking overwhelmed with fear. I know that feeling and it helped me shift gears away from my initial knee jerk response of anger and wanting to fear or shame them into never doing something like that again, into a little more compassion and wanting them to learn from the experience. 

I worked on continuing to calm myself down while everyone got ready for bed. When things finally quieted down I told them that they had made a mistake and asked if they could learn any lessons from it. Their focus was understandably on the uncertainty of the impending promised consequences so I asked if they wanted me to offer a few suggestions. I decided to focus on 3 things with them:

1. Everybody makes mistakes.

2. If you are doing something and you get a feeling like you shouldn't do it, stop.

3. Some mistakes are harder to fix than others.

The second lesson they seemed to recognize and pick up on fairly quickly. They suggested that they probably should have asked before starting to spray paint things and that they did feel like it might be something they should not be doing. The third lesson is probably still a little too abstract for them to completely understand, but I think they did recognize that the paint was not going to come off easily so this was a mistake that was going to be hard to fix. However, the lesson that we came back to in the conversation over and over again was number 1. 

Everyone makes mistakes, but I worry that my eldest (like me) struggles to really accept that. I think of the many times I have shared that feeling of dread when I make a mistake. I worry about the consequences, what others will think of me, I conjure up the worst possible scenarios and start running them on repeat through my mind. I know nobody likes to make mistakes, but they are the place I have learned many of the important lessons of my life. But when I respond to my mistakes with shame or try to avoid responsibility I am not able to unlock those lessons. Instead of recognizing everyone makes mistakes shame tells me I am a mistake. What interest would I have in learning or taking accountability if I consider myself beyond repair? 

After affirming to my oldest several times that everyone makes mistakes, that she is a good girl and I love her, things eventually wound down and I put them to bed for the night. I went into the living room and sat down to write an affirmation and a few minutes later she wandered into the room. She asked to lie down on the couch next to me to fall asleep so I made room for her. She looked up at the blank page that she recognized as a blog entry and said that she knew what I could write about. I held my breath with anticipation and then exhaled with relief when she said,"everybody makes mistakes."