ODD mom moments

I received a call one evening from my neighbor. We’ll call her Jane. I could tell that Jane was being very careful about what she was saying.

“So I came home this evening and I noticed that my shed was open,” she began. “I went in and an overwhelming smell of paint hit me. I looked around and noticed a wet brush and an open can of stain.” 

She stopped briefly, seemingly unsure of what to say next.

She continued, “Well, I looked around and realized that my doghouse had been stained. Whoever did it, did a great job.”

I sighed. Of course it was my nine-year-old, Aurora. I knew it without even asking.

“Oh my heavens! I will talk to Aurora,” I said.

“I’m not saying it was her,” Jane quickly added.

“Yeah, well, I am saying it was her,” I sighed again. 

I hung up the phone and went searching for Aurora, praying that she was in a good mood. Laying blame upon her when she was already worked up was sure to create a monumental eruption. 

I found her playing with LEGOs in the basement. Oh, good. She should be happy if she is playing with LEGOs.

“Hey, Aurora,” I started.

“Hm?” she answered without even a glance at me.

“Hey, Aurora, Jane just called and said that someone went in her shed and got out the stain and stained her doghouse.”

She finally looked up at me with a blank expression.

“We are going to go over there now so that you can talk to her about it.”
“That wasn’t me,” she answered.

“She saw you,” I countered.

“No she didn’t,” Aurora said with contempt. “Noone was home.”

Ha! I thought. 

Suddenly realizing that she had given herself away, Aurora tried to cover, “Well, nobody would have been home if it was me because Jane is always at work during the day.”

I was just not going to go down that rabbit hole of Aurora logic, so I just said, “Let’s go. She wants to talk to you.”

“Not yet,” Aurora cried out. She looked panicky.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I just am not ready yet.”
“Ok, we will go in twenty minutes,” I conceded, knowing that she needed to somehow regain control of something…anything…even if it was just what time we walked next door.

Twenty minutes later I rang the doorbell while Aurora trudged up the driveway.
“Hey, Jane,” I said sort of awkwardly. 

I am sure the situation was more embarrassing for Aurora than for me. I have had a number of years learning to not be easily ruffled by Aurora’s antics. Still, this was a new situation, and I was not sure how to handle it. We were both awkward.

“Aurora is here to talk to you,” I said.

Aurora scrunched up her nose, averted her eyes, sort of twisted her mouth, and said simply, “Sorry.”

As I have said before, Aurora does not say sorry often. This was a special occasion.

Jane kind of half-grimaced, half-smiled. “It’s Ok,” she said. “The doghouse does look great. I was just worried about you breathing in all those fumes in that tiny space. That can be really dangerous.” 

Aurora said nothing, and we sat in silence for a few seconds.

“You are welcome to come over and play with the dogs anytime,” said Jane. “You probably shouldn’t go in the shed, though. It can be dangerous,” she repeated.

We stood in silence for a few more seconds.

“Well, I would like Aurora to make up for any damage she has done. Will you please let me know what she can do,” I asked.

“I will think about it,” she answered, “but I really was more concerned about her breathing in those fumes.”

We returned home. 

I should have apologized for not having more control over my child, I thought. 

This situation was tricky, however, because we shared backyards. We lived in a new neighborhood, and at the time nobody had fences yet. Aurora had direct access to their shed.

I should have said I was sorry she didn’t even clean up after herself. I should have said I was sorry she didn’t understand boundaries. I should have said something.

But I didn’t. 

I apologize a lot. I ache when my daughter is cruel to others. I find myself saying over and over over to my other kids, “I’m sorry that you are sad.” Or, “I’m sorry that she hurt your feelings.”

I ache when she yells at me. I say to her over and over again, “I’m sorry you’re upset.”

But I can’t apologize all the time. I really don’t know what the right balance is. I am sorry when others are hurting, but I cannot apologize for who Aurora is. 

Thankfully, in the doghouse escapade,  I had an extremely understanding neighbor who raised an ADHD child herself. Jane did not ask me to apologize for Aurora. She accepted Aurora’s apology, praised her good work, and invited her back again. She showed an even greater understanding of my child when she quietly placed a padlock on her shed door. 

How grateful I am for the Janes in Aurora’s life. 

Jane shared with me, not long after, an experience that she had with Aurora. Jane said that she had been outside working in the yard when Aurora walked up and started talking to her, asking her what she was doing, and telling her about what she’d been doing that day. She said, “This may sound simple, but I was having a rough day that day. I was depressed. Her easy conversation and her interest in what I was doing really affected me. It helped me to overcome some of my depression.”

Aurora is unlike my other children in that she is unafraid to approach people, even adults, and engage them in conversation. I believe part of this really does come from her lack of boundaries. She doesn’t understand many of the social restrictions we place on ourselves. In this situation her lack of boundaries helped her to be more friendly, more kind, and more interested in others. How can I apologize for that?