You guys,
Sam and I were arguing. We were driving home from an unfamiliar place and Sam needed to see the directions on the screen. But Layla wasn’t feeling well, and she had just picked a song to listen to, and she wanted to “see the picture,” which meant she wanted the Spotify app to remain open on the infotainment screen, not the map.
She’d already been crying. Her neck hurt, her butt hurt, her throat hurt, the straps were too tight, she was sweaty. At least we could give her the song she wanted, and the picture on the screen.
I remembered the way in, and knew we just had to follow the road to the exit and make a left, but I pulled the map up to confirm. Yes, left in half a mile. I quickly put the Spotify screen back on, a picture of colorful pastel stars and the title, Toddler Tunes, across the center.
Sam touched the screen with an aggressive finger, putting the map back on.
“I need to see the map,” he said. Layla screamed. I put Spotify back on.
“You just follow the road straight out and then make a left,” I snapped.
“Are you effing kidding me?” Sam said, which is something he often says when he’s mad at me, which I hate.
“Can you not curse?” I said.
“I didn’t curse,” he said. “Could you be any more condescending?”
“We already checked the map!” I yelled. “You just follow the road and turn left!”
“Oh my god,” Sam said, “you—”
“Stop fighting!” George yelled, silencing me and Sam. It was the first time he ever said it, the first time any person interrupted one of our arguments.
I had wondered when this moment would come. In past arguments, George either remained quiet or would try to get the attention of one of us, which always felt like he was trying to distract us.
“I think we should have a talk about this when we get home,” George added.
I felt the smile forming on my lips before I remembered how angry I was at Sam. The song ended, which meant it was George’s turn, which meant a chapter from the audio version of The Magic Treehouse series. I always try to listen to the story with George because sometimes he has questions or wants to know what happened, and I want to be ready to pause it and tell him. And also if I don’t pay attention, and tell him I don’t know, he might scream at me.
But as the story played I was in my head, trying to figure out my next move. George said we should have a talk about this when we got home. I wanted to honor that, even if he forgot about it, even if he was more interested in watching Octonauts as soon as we walked through the door, even if I’d prefer to ignore Sam for the next hour, and hopefully cool off, and by then Sam would realize how ridiculous he was being with the directions, and he would apologize.
Waiting and stewing was not an option this time because we had been called out by our 4-year-old for fighting. I could not let this moment pass me by. I wanted to step up for George. I wanted to be a better mom.
Just the other day, I stood with the kids on our front lawn, the first really hot day of the year, and watched them silently and happily eat their strawberry popsicles. I kissed them on the tops of their heads and said, “I love you guys.” Layla paused eating and said, “I like you and I like Papa.” Then George looked at me out of the side of his eye. I sensed a moment of hesitation and was curious how he’d proceed, and then he said, in the most sincere and genuine tone, “I like Papa better than you but I like you still.”
I had suspected this, felt this, but was still surprised by the directness with which he said it. It’s not that I wanted him to prefer me over his Papa, but I did want to make sure I was doing my part. And now I was presented with an opportunity to get something right.
Even as I knew what I had to do I didn’t want to follow through. Sam was wrong. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t be such a completely ridiculous person who freaks out about things that don’t warrant a freak-out. It was literally one road until the left turn at the traffic light. I’m terrible with directions, even worse than Sam, but come on.
I was losing time. We’d be home soon, and I needed to know exactly what I was going to say. I had to think about this from Sam’s perspective. Put yourself in his shoes, Charlie. Be empathetic. You can do this.
Sam pulled into our driveway and we silently unstrapped the kids from their carseats. As soon as we were inside George asked for the TV.
“Hold on, bud,” I said. “You said we should have a talk so we’re going to have a talk. George and Layla, I’m sorry Papa and I were fighting. We shouldn’t do that in front of you. We shouldn’t do it at all. We’re working on it.”
“It’s okay,” George said.
I turned my gaze towards Sam. Apologizing to the kids was the easy part. I was still mad at him.
“I shouldn’t have turned off the map,” I said. “I know you get stressed out when you don’t know where you’re going so I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”
The kids jumped onto their separate chairs in the living room and since Layla doesn’t like Octonauts they agreed on Peppa Pig.
Sam and I moved around the kitchen, unpacking the cooler and pulling out the leftover steak and chicken salad from the fridge for lunch. Be done with it, I told myself. Don’t say anything else. Leave it be.
“So you’re only sorry for snapping at me?” I said.
Sam closed the fridge as he rolled his eyes. “What else am I supposed to be sorry for?” he asked.
“Uh, for overreacting about the directions?”
Sam and I need a GPS for everything. I still use it for places I know how to get to, like Whole Foods, just in case. But today was out of control, especially because our poor sick babe was crying in the back seat.
“I don’t think I was overreacting,” Sam said. “There was another road to turn left, and I didn’t know if I was supposed to turn there… and I don’t think this is something I should be stressed out about. Do you?”
I had not noticed another road on the way out. I was focused on trying to keep the sick child from crying. And I guessed, now that he mentioned it, it didn’t make much sense for there to be any doubt about where he was going.
“No,” I said.
—
Until next week,
Charlie
My calendar is open for 1-on-1 Zoom calls to discuss whatever you’d like…writing, publishing, parenting, hard conversations? Let’s talk about it! If my slim window of availability doesn’t work for your schedule, just reply and we can work something out.
When are they going to make a GPS for those of us who have trouble navigating arguments?
…”and genuine tone, “I like Papa better than you but I like you still.”
There were many things to call out in this one but that quote had me chuckling. They know just what to say!