I’ve been told I have a bit of an attitude problem by the people who love me the most. Which makes me question said relationships, but that’s for a different post.
The thing is that I totally thought I had this under control. I mean, I do have a bit of an edge, but more in a sarcastic, funny kinda way.
When I was a bit snappy to the gymnastics teacher, before I realized she would be MY kid’s gymnastics teacher.
To be fair, she started it! (or so the story will go from this point forward)
Asking me in a very dismissive tone ‘who is this? where had he been? is he supposed to be here?’. Okay, so we missed the first two classes, but jeez lady take a breath!
So I replied.
Just as snottily, bordering on rude.
And maybe even a little bit mean. Maybe.
She took it.
And then proceeded to lead the children to their assigned spot on the gym floor.
Shit. Was she OUR teacher? Please don’t be. Please don’t be…shit.
Shit. She was our teacher.
I felt myself shrink, not an easy feat for a woman of my size. But I did.
My stomach turned and I felt sick.
I had just berated the woman who, for the next twelve weeks would be my son’s teacher at his absolute favorite thing ever. He loves, loves gymnastics.
So I swallowed some humble pie and made nice before class ended.
When I’m wrong, I’m wrong. And it’s important to model that for my boys. It happens. We make mistakes. We’re not perfect. And it’s never too late to try and fix it.
And so it came to pass that I, full of sass Nay, vowed, once again, to breathe and most importantly, think before I speak.
Hold me to it.
For my kids’ sakes.