A few days ago, my girl was crotchety. She dodged her friend. On request, I found that her companion was inconsiderate to her. I taught her to confront her and tell the truth.
The following day I received a call from her friend. She was sorry, but suggested that she was not mindful of being inconsiderate. She was home since she was not keeping well. I briefed her, promised to talk to S (my younger daughter), and inquire her to call her back once she was back from school.
That evening, my daughter was unprepared to call her back. She reasoned that her friend was sorry each time, but did not mean it anyway. I felt that it was my obligation to message her friend. I told them to sort out things by themselves. I was not ready to act as a mediator.
As S got prepared for the gymnastic lesson, she was crotchety. My niece, K, was waiting for her. It was already late. S was perplexed about discipline at the exercise center for the same.
“You are late, and it's alright to be rebuffed for that,” I was hard on her. She went to the course with a little face.
She returned early from the course with a lit-up face. On request, she said her uncle did not take them to classes. Instead, she and my niece worked out and returned home.
A few minutes afterward, as I combed V’s (my elder daughter's) hair, I turned to S, “Did you say sorry to K? She missed her course because of you. And this is not the first time.”
“I did not. I plan to give her a bar of chocolate afterward and after that apologize.”
“Giving chocolate is fine. Did you say sorry? ” I was specific.
“I didn’t. I will.”
“Saying sorry is fine. Do you truly mean it? ” I look at her.
She looks back into my eyes, and after a short eye conversation, we burst into chuckling. Incapable to urge the setting, V inquires about our snickering.
With a wicked grin, turning to her sister, “Nothing V, it’s Amma’s hidden lecture.”
We all burst into laughter.
the spring — raising my kids
of my spoken words