When I was little, I once broke a soap dish clean off the side of the shower. Among other things. (I mean, among other things I broke or got into in my childhood, not that on that particular day I broke all sorts of things off the shower. I didn't need anger management.) I don't really remember what I was doing but I used it to pull myself up and look out the window, or something like that. It snapped straight off and I found myself holding it. I looked at the wall. I looked at my hand. I looked at the wall. I looked at my hand. That stupid soap dish was decidedly not where it belonged. I did not want my father to know. Although I'm sure he found out within moments.
The Rock Star had a "soap dish" moment yesterday.
We were just about to leave for Vacation Bible School. Troy was at the church and the three of us were in the bathroom. Garrett had climbed up onto the counter to feed his fish, Matthew was protesting his teeth being brushed, and I was wrangling the younger's mouth into an open position and telling the older to get down because we feed his fish before bed time and didn't need to do it right then. No. Right then we needed to get shoes on and Get. Out. The. Door.
In some sort of psychic moment I noticed that, for whatever reason, that the cabinet door was agape. For whatever reason, I thought about reaching over and closing it. For whatever reason, I thought something might happen to it. For whatever reason, I ignored this premonition.
What happened in the next few seconds seemed to occur in slow motion.
Garrett jumped, backward, down from the counter top.
His legs split and the cabinet door went straight up the center. He landed on his back and immediately started sobbing. The cabinet door fractured and was held on by only an inch of wood that managed to stay intact. I saw the broken cabinet. I saw the crying child. "Oh no!" was all I could manage to say for the first couple of seconds.
Garrett cried, somewhat hysterically, and came to me. He folded his body into mine, consumed by racking sobs. "Are you okay?" I asked him. "Garrett, are you okay?"
"I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm so sorry, Mommy."
"Are you okay?"
"Garrett! I know it was an accident. Are you okay?"
"My bottom hurts!" He sobbed.
I checked his bum. The tip top of his leg, just before his butt, had a long, red scratch but he was otherwise fine. He must have told me 50 times that he was sorry. I repeated that I knew he didn't do it on purpose and that I forgave him.
And then I gave him a specific instruction. "Do not tell your father about this until after VBS is over tonight. Do you understand me?"
"Okay. But I need to tell him what I did. I have to tell him what happened."
"I'm glad you're honest, but believe me. In this case, it would be better to be honest after VBS." I believe that honesty is always the best policy. I also believe that sometimes you don't add stress to your husband's life. I might not be able to back that up biblically but there it is.