I Slammed My Kid’s Hand in the Trunk & Yelled at Him

I have three boys, all about five years apart. Two of my boys are grown now but I remember those days; always hurried and overwhelmed and completely worn out.

I wasn’t one of those perfect moms. My boys were never all clean at the same time and they were never all interested in the same thing at the same time.

Most of the time my boys had bumps and bruises that made them look like Klingons even though they wanted to be dressed like Power Rangers or Ninja Turtles. For a full month Jamie would only leave the house if I said “Come on Turtles, let’s roll,” like April O’Neill. For a full month Nic would only eat hotdogs. The Mommy-bag-of-tricks that I carried to keep my boys occupied, was the size of a U-Haul.

Which brings me to pictures. One of the perfect mom things that I did manage was to faithfully take my boys to be professionally photographed every year.

There was always one of my boys that had to be hidden in the back of the photo because he spilled something on his shirt. There was always one with a fat lip, a bumped head or a missing tooth. There was always one kid that refused to smile and another one that had to be threatened or bribed. Annual photos were never enjoyable. Ever.

Although, there was that ONE year when right as the photographer snapped the photo, one of the boys farted and they all busted out laughing… And now that is my favorite photo of all (see below).

And then there was that other year. It was late and I had just drug the boys through the grocery store after their photo session. Double torture. We were all extremely tired and I was frazzled and my patience meter was at zero. It was an ugly-mommy-moment in the making. Okay, let’s be honest, we all have them. Hallmark may not acknowledge those moments and most people don’t blog about them, but they exist.

My two older boys, Jamie and Alex, were helping me to unload the groceries while I carried a screaming one year old on my hip. After I grabbed the last two bags from the trunk, slammed it shut and headed inside the house, I realized that Alex (6 years old at the time) was standing by the trunk and whining about something. I couldn’t hear Alex because the one year old on my hip was screaming at concert-mosh-pit-level. And I couldn’t see Alex because it was dark.

I yelled at Alex to stop whining. He didn’t. I yelled at Alex to get in the house. He didn’t move. I yelled at Jamie (then 10 years old) to go and get Alex and make him go inside the house.

Jamie ran over to Alex and he frantically screamed back at me (Jamie has always been very dramatic), Mom! Alex’s hand! Is stuck in the trunk!

I had slammed Alex’s hand in the trunk after I retrieved the last two bags. And Alex’s hand was still there, halfway in the trunk. And the trunk was shut. Alex couldn’t come when I called him because his hand was shut in the trunk. Alex was whining because his hand was stuck in the trunk.

Fortunately 6 year olds have bendy bones and Alex’s hand was fine. I wasn’t fine. A perfect mom wouldn’t have slammed her kid’s hand in the trunk and then yelled at him. A perfect mom probably had elves to carry her groceries.

Actually, as I write this fifteen years later, I still feel bad.

In fact, I probably should never share this on my blog because maybe Alex forgot that I wasn’t one of the perfect moms.

Probably not.


One comment on “I Slammed My Kid’s Hand in the Trunk & Yelled at Him

  1. Kelly
    June 22, 2012 at June 22, 2012 #

    Awww. Sweet story. And I’ve never met a perfect mom.

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