The Broken Lamp

He stood outside, sobbing-- no, wailing-- "Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!" I had just shut the door to my room (something I very rarely do) and sat down, tired and achy from busy times and just needing a few minutes to regroup, but my son sounded so upset... He sounded hurt. I opened the door. "Mommy," Benjamin hiccuped, "I'm SO sorry! I broke your lamp! I'm so sorry."

Scenes began playing out in my mind: kickball in the living room, a shoving match between siblings, an all-house Nerf gun war, torturing the dog by throwing his ball out of reach. The house was so quiet now. What had been unfolding moments before when I had retreated? I couldn't remember. I took a deep breath and reminded myself this was a child, my child. 

I gave my son a hug and kissed the top of his head. "Are you OK?" I gently asked. "Is anyone else hurt?" "No," Ben said. "No, Mom, but I broke the lamp!" Visions of that Berenstein Bears book flashed through my head.

It's a good one, but clearly not applicable here. Benjamin was telling the truth, not blaming some soccer-ball-camouflaged bird.

Before I could ask, "What happened?" Ben offered it up: "I wasn't screwing around, Mom. We weren't playing in the house. I just didn't see the cord and I tripped." OK, it happens. I was determined not to let my blood pressure creep up and make my head pound more... I wanted to be a gentle, understanding mom, to model forgiveness.

But what the heck?! I love the living room lamps. They're different from each other and unique to the world. One requires a pretty unusual shape and size shade; I searched high and low to find the perfect one. Now, was there glass all over the living room? Was the lamp still plugged into the wall outlet and was someone at risk of getting shocked? Would I have to vacuum or sweep or drag out the carpet cleaner? Did anyone get the dog out of the way so he wouldn't get into the mess?

I took my son's hand and we made our way downstairs. It was so quiet.

When we reached the living room, his sisters looked up from their work at the table: "Don't worry, Mom." "Don't be sad, Ben." "We fixed the lamp!"

The lamp wasn't actually broken, but the shade was. It was the hard-to-fit, hard-to-find lamp shade, and now the metal frame was all lopsided, misshapen and, well, broken. But, while Ben owned up to what happened, his sisters were trying to help him, and to help me.

Who could be mad about that?

That broken lamp is the best thing that's happened in Krinkeland in a long time.