I try to be kind---it's just always "come natural" to me, and it's certainly a lot easier than being a grump. And I can't find or imagine a moment in this world that MEAN would be appropriate or acceptable.
I read once, during the time that all my children were very young, that there are two kinds of Mothers. One, hearing a crash somewhere in the house, shouts, "What did you BREAK!!!??"
The other, the more coveted sort, calls out, "Are you OK?"
I resolved that the latter was the one for me. I kept to it: it became second nature, then first, and we went on for years in such accord, as a matter of course.
Then, there was that one day that it was hot and I'd grasped a handful of ooey-dead-but-not-quite-stiff fishing worms, by running my hand innocently into DS#1's jeans pocket. Then, I'd had to take a cut potato to the broken lightbulb that just WOULD NOT come out of the lamp.
And then there was the dropped gravy bowl---said bowl would hold about two cups, but by the time the stuff had run like lightning from the central splash, it had filled up the entire kitchen linoleum and was making its way toward the den rug---the Augean STABLES had not that much liquid. I sorta corralled it into the dustpan with a baker's-bench scraper, and thus into the sink, but it was a MESS, and I don't mean maybe. Super-hot mopping water and half a Mr. Clean to get up the greasy film, even after two rolls of paper towels.
Oh, did I say it was HOT? Deep South HOT, with a blaze unknown in gentler, more tepid climes---like, say, the Kalahari. I'd been in the garden before daylight, to take advantage of the "cool spell"---why, it had barely reached ninety before 6 a.m.---and we'd shelled and washed the beans, and I'd sweated and stood over boiling pots of blanching beans, in the afternoon-sun-filled kitchen, and I think I'd just. had. enough.
About the third crash, the fifth yell from afar, I just took leave of my senses, and, motto and parable aside, I screeched, "YOU'D BETTER BE BLEEDIN' !!!!
I apologized and it was accepted, but still I cringe at the memory.
Any similar Mama stories?