Parenting and the Realm of Reasonable Possibilities

One of the most maddening life truths of parenting is the inordinate amount of time you will spend trying to interpret the ridiculous randomness that is children's behavior. Why did you lick the TV? On what level did you think that was a good idea? Why did you stick a piece of candy in your nose? What, exactly, were you thinking when you ripped all the pages out of that book?  Why are you peeling pieces of fabric off the couch? What on earth makes you think those pieces of fabric will taste good??? When you grab decorative Brazilian artifacts at a missions conference and take off running, what, exactly, IS YOUR PLAN?

They constantly amaze us with both their sweetness and wonderfulness but also with their uncanny sense of breaking past - and I mean just BLOWING RIGHT THROUGH, what we refer to as the Realm of Reasonable Possibilities

I have been waiting to tell this story for a while...One, I was still waiting to cool down a bit. To process it all a little more. And two, well, legal reasons. 

So you see, we were at this...popular establishment...one fine December, hosting the First Priority staff Christmas party in a borrowed shop, since our crew is so big there are few places that will hold us all well so that we can mingle reasonably. This Popular Establishment happened to be closed on Sundays at this point, so it worked out well for us to bum a key and promise to keep the place spic and span.

*Image courtesy of Unsplash.com under CC0. 

*Image courtesy of Unsplash.com under CC0. 

We had a FANTASTIC time with the FP crew. There was good food (casseroles!) and fun games and hilarious karaoke (wait, I think there was karaoke; I know there was a stage involved) and everybody had the bestest time ever and we all hugged and high-fived and Merry Christmased one another as we left. The Captain and I and one other couple were the last to leave; we had taken the privilege of this borrowed space very seriously and had spent the entire night picking up every last little piece of lint so that the Popular Establishment would be ready to go the next morning. 

It was just perfect. The absolute most perfect staff Christmas party ever. 

I sent the big girls (they were 3 and 5 at the time; Sweet Love was but a wee babe) to the potty before we left because, well, they were 3 and 5 and we had about a 45 minute drive home ahead of us. We finished sweeping the floor one last time, just to make absolutely sure we were leaving the place better than ever, and were about to take out the last tiny bit of trash when we heard an unbelievably loud noise come from the women's restroom. 

The Captain and I RACED over to the bathroom door, and flung it open. I was already well into the "third time mom" way of thinking, and figured that worst case scenario, they had climbed on the changing table (this place had a wooden standalone in the corner) and flipped it over. That was the absolute worst case scenario, and even though we were rushing a big part of me was like "Meh. Nobody's screaming, so they're okay. No big deal, man."

So imagine the shock as we opened the door and there, my friends, was the sink. The SINK. The PORCELAIN SINK. Laying in the floor, cracked into a million tiny bits. And my children, eyes as big as grapefruits, staring at the gazillion chips of broken sink all over the floor. 

That moment. That SINK. Destroyed, no, decimated our Realm of Reasonable Possibilities as parents. It was absolutely a moment of entering that fourth dimension, or maybe even another planet, just blinking and wondering where are we, what is happening, who are these children, why is this sink broken?

The Captain moved first and stood in front of/over/beside the...pile of sink...with both hands on his head, like How in the world am I going to fix this? On a Sunday night? At 10pm? While I, rather hastily, turned on the children. What. Did. You. DO?! in that teeth-clenched, scary mom voice. 

Eventually and after a few rather uncomfortable phone calls to the precious, kind, understanding owners of this Popular Establishment-which-I-still-cannot-bear-to-enter-out-of-sheer-embarrassment-because-my-kids-broke-your-SINK, all was well.

Turns out, there was a sort of pre-existing condition with the sink and everybody (else) was just grateful that our girls weren't hurt.

Hurt? We didn't even think about that. Bless. Fine moments in parenting, I tell ya.  

 (*When asking my children permission to share this story, Sassafras asked me to include the fact that other kids climbed on the sink, too. The Captain and I maintain that, while this is true, it was still she and Pearl WHO BROKE IT.)