I’ve always been an over-apologizer. I can’t say why or when it started. My parents never held me over burning coals or lashed me with bamboo while forcing me to apologize, so it’s kind of a mystery. The worst part isn’t that I say “I’m sorry” on occasion; it’s that I find myself apologizing for almost everything. Including my kids.
At restaurants I find myself apologizing to the servers, “I’m so sorry, but can my daughter have more lemonade?” I find myself groveling, “I’m so sorry!” to other customers nearby when one or more of my kids gets up from the table. And God forbid if my child spills their drink. I feel so guilt-ridden that I practically scrub the floor with my pocket mop. (Note: I don’t really own a pocket mop.)
The grocery store is my biggest apology-eliciter. If I have my kids with me, you can assume I’m asking for forgiveness from everyone I pass even if we haven’t made eye contact. I may as well be apologizing for the plain fact that my kids were born.
It’s ridiculous. I’m tired of it.
I have always been told by friends and family that I need to stop apologizing. I guess I always saw it as a sign of authenticity.
It’s not that I’m not genuine. I find myself to be a nice person and accommodating to other’s needs. But I have started unnecessarily apologizing on behalf of my kids and that’s not okay. I don’t want them to grow up and think every little thing they did in their childhood warranted an apology.
The time my four-year-old threw a floaty at his swim teacher’s face as an evil gesture? THAT warranted an apology. Or the time the same child smacked a stranger’s bottom so hard while we were at a museum? Yeah, that was a good time to express a little bit of regret.
But the time my six-year-old was dancing in the aisle at the store and blocked someone for about four seconds? Not really apology-worthy. Is it frustrating? Sure. Or when my oldest lingers a few seconds too long at the frozen yogurt bar? Is it annoying to others? Perhaps. But asking a stranger to forgive your kid for doing something that wasn’t really wrong in the first place isn’t necessary.
If I keep asking strangers to forgive my kids for being normal kids, what kind of confidence will that give them? Will they always fear that their actions are wrong or apology-worthy?
As of today, I’m going to stop over-apologizing. I’m going to make some changes to how I react to my kids’ behavior. So from now on, if you see me in the store with my kids and one of them happens to be in your way for a few seconds, I’ll kindly say, “Thank you for understanding!” because I won’t be sorry.
Amy Stine is a stay-at-home mom of three crazy children, a dog, cat, and husband. She writes her own awkward stories at Tales From The Circus and is also a Contributor for Austin Moms Blog. When she’s not fetching snacks or cleaning up spills, she’s chasing the family dog to retrieve stolen socks out of his mouth. She hates mayonnaise and chin hairs equally and is still perfecting the art of the arm fart.
It’s been almost 10 years since we first locked eyes. The thought nearly takes my breath away and the tears sting as they well up. How has it been that long since you first curled your chubby little fingers around mine? It seems like it was just the other day I was rocking you soundly to sleep each night. Was it really that long ago when your scoots turned into crawls which tottled into steps which sped into sprints? I remember the moments you snuggled your little body up under my chin and our hearts would beat in rhythm together. ...
Truth is, I’ve been mothering now for about 18 years. In the womb, or out, as soon as new life is fresh knit together, we become mothers. Mothering for the past 18 years, yes. But this past decade just traveled has taught something new. We mother our sons, you see, as they bold-faced take on this world. Chaos reigning, voices loud, chests puffed out. Tenderness too, but fleeting, as adventure beckons at every turn. To mother sons is to fuel them—their bodies first, as those never stop—then their hearts, their souls which sometimes seem almost untouchable, unreachable but we know...
For the first time since the Industrial Revolution, most of us are home with our kids ALL. THE. TIME. And they are bored. They love to tell us just how bored they are. Unlike the 1700s, however, we now have unlimited ways to cheaply entertain the kids, along with a self-imposed responsibility to do so. I am here to say this needs to end. I am a parent and a teacher, so I have seen both sides of this nasty coin. As a mom, I understand the pressure we put on ourselves to be the best parents we can. We...
You didn’t say a word. You didn’t have to. You rolled your eyes, and subtly shook your head, and let out a sigh that said it all . . . and I noticed. It’s clear to me you’re judging and in disagreement, perhaps even disgusted, with the way I’m managing my kids. Perhaps you think I’m over-reacting about something seemingly insignificant, that I need to dig a little deeper for some patience. Maybe you’re of the opinion that my expectations are too high and I’m being too hard on them. It’s possible you know our story (that two of our...
The day starts by helping get my daughter ready for school. We do our secret handshake as she rushes out the door and onto the bus. It’s then just the three boys and me for the morning until we load up and into town to drop off my 5-year-old for afternoon kindergarten. The drive is long but pleasant. Kids nursery rhyme music aside, I love the silence. It’s now just the two boys. One is three years old and the other is three months. It’s a long afternoon with some house minding and lots of demands from my toddler. He...
I met a lady today who introduced herself as a mama of three boys, and I knew we could be fast friends. As a mama of boys myself, I’d imagine we’d probably spend hours swapping stories about breaking up fights and learning superhero lingo and the ER trips for the most bizarre things. We could look at each other without saying another word and understand the challenges and the joys that come with being a boy mom. We get it. We know how it feels to be unsure of ourselves, entering a little boy’s world for the very first time. RELATED: Mothering Boys is...
There’s a meme that’s been circulating on Facebook recently. It reads: “‘In my day, they didn’t have all this Autism and ADHD and stuff.’ ‘I think what you mean is that people used to go undiagnosed and get absolutely no help and were forced to suffer through their lives because they had zero support or understanding.’” Every time this pops up in my newsfeed, it reminds me of the worry I felt the day I explained to my then 84- and 85-year-old grandparents that my young daughter, Evie, was just diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. RELATED: Loving a Child With...
Dear Coach, I want you to know I respect and honor all the time you give helping build our children into adults. I know you take time away from our own family, to give to ours, and for that we thank you. You are one of the most influential people in my child’s life and it’s up to you as to how you will be remembered in their eyes and in mine. Will you be the coach who builds up their spirit and teaches them more than the game? Or will you be the coach who screams at them and...
Trigger warning: This post discusses domestic violence Long after my husband fell asleep, I lay in bed crying as quietly as possible, choking back as many tears as I could so he won’t hear me. A warm wet puddle forms under my head until I feel suffocated and must get up. In the bathroom, I blow my nose and clear all the emotions that have overcome me. This wasn’t the first time I cried because I was having a girl and it wouldn’t be the last. I have never had gender preference with any of my pregnancies, so the crying...
Dear Son, I blinked, and I don’t know where my baby bear’s gone off to. Those chubby little hands that would tug at my pant leg are nearly as big as mine. You’ve outgrown your cute hats and mittens and have opinions on everything you put on. You wear an actual wristwatch, you follow sports, and you know more about baseball than I do. And it seems as if I’m looking at you from more of a distance these days. I’m still where I’ve always been, but you’re branching out a little farther, and I want to make sure you...