Spilling Eggs
Nothing is more endearing to me than my son’s wish to do the things I do.
He gets his toy mower out in the yard and tries to follow me step for step.
I’ve repaid his kind feeling by trying to be like him: I auditioned and landed a role as Bob Cratchit to be on stage with him last year, for example. Him bringing me joy is a barometer of my spiritual condition. If he brings me frustration, something is amiss.
Sincere imitation or emulation is the highest praise. It is silent and sure. As actions speak louder than words, these are equivalent shouts of love from the mountaintop.
My son asked for a robe for his sixth birthday so he could be up in the morning with me. He asks me to wake him up so he can cook breakfast with me.
The morning is usually the only time I have to myself so I’m often conflicted about his wish to be with me. Writing is a solitary endeavor. There is a part of me that is a very solitary man. I once camped alone across the country for six weeks. My first sober job was a night shift in Portland, Oregon. And I was happy.
My wife likes to joke that I’d be happier alone, or at least happy. I try to tell her that’s not true. Just because I was happy to be alone doesn’t mean I’d be happy to be alone again after starting a family. My life as a husband and father has released my soul from solitary confinement. I don’t want to go back. But that doesn’t mean a part of me still finds comfort in solitude.
Much like sobriety, family is exposure to that great and wondrous middle ground. The plateau of existence. A flat and steady place. It is territory that I was deathly afraid of before I got sober. Now I know it is where true contentment lives.
I write all this to say that I treasure my time in the morning before the rest of the house awakens.
It is like feeding my creative furnace the fuel I need for the day. I am in a far better place when I am up to meet the morning than when I’m slow to rise and the morning meets me.
So when my son—at once the source of true joy and a disruptor of my solitude—is standing in his robe before me at 5:30 in the morning, saying, “Let’s make breakfast daddy,” I’m in a bit of a conflict. There is no sending him back to bed. He’s as willful as I am.
One morning this happened when I was in the middle of something really good. I was writing what I had been wanting to write for days. And I was on a roll. It felt like finally releasing that crick in your neck that’s been bothering you. What’s more, it was Saturday. There were no lunches to pack, no tie to wear. I had the entire morning in front of me. Asked to make breakfast and frustrated about it, I stood up. My son and I stood toe-to-toe in our robes, looking like some stand off of domestic foolery.
“Fine,” I told him.
He was giddy. And were I not caught unprepared and mid sentence, I may have revelled in his joy a bit more. Instead, I begrudgingly brought down a mixing bowl and eggs. “You know what to do,” I told him. I labored back into the room, lured by the glow of my laptop screen and the jab of that blinking cursor. I’ll just round out my thoughts, I thought. But, of course, I couldn’t. My concentration was interrupted. I didn’t know how to finish the sentence I had started. What was a clear voice of truth was now muddled by the nag of responsibility.
I sighed and closed my screen.
When I get back into the kitchen, there are eggs all over the floor. And my son is using a dish towel to unsuccessfully clean up the mess.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I just spilled a little bit, daddy. Just a little bit.”
“It looks like a lot a bit. Those towels are not for raw egg, son. What are you thinking?”
I continued to berate him about working more carefully and neatly and slowly. And how reusable towels should never absorb raw poultry. And how—just move over and let me clean up. I thought, at one point, how tragic it was that I had to abandon something great to start a load of laundry.
After the eggs and the sausage were cooked and the bread was toasting, we had a down moment. I saw my son thinking. “Daddy,” he said. “Can you make the eggs next time? I don’t want to make the eggs anymore.”
Well shit.
I felt a twinge of guilt. A voice in my head echoed it’s me it’s me it’s me. I heard the memory of my late sponsor, reminding me it’s never too late to re-start my day and I can re-start my day as often as I need. I heard the voice of my new sponsor encouraging me to communicate my stepwork in terms a six-year-old could understand.
“Bud,” I said. “I’m starting my day over. It’s not your fault that I’m in a grumpy mood.” The wisdom of recovery hijacked my thoughts. “Thank you for cleaning up your mess. You can’t help spilling eggs sometimes, and I’m proud that you cleaned it up. Everything I said earlier was about me. It was not about you. You did everything you should have.”
“Okay,” he said.
And there it was.
Like Scrooge’s three ghosts visited my heart at once. I was restored to an adult. A father. A man. What’s more, I’m restored to a man in recovery from drugs and alcohol who knows that resentful behavior is a shortcut to a slip.
We’ve got to crack a few eggs to make an omelette as the saying goes. I’d add that we have to spill a few eggs to raise a child.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours.
Previous Post
Next Post
Merry Christmas Mark. I understand the frustration of being interrupted from the need of solitude. And I greatly appreciate the lesson your son taught us in what is sometimes more important than ‘our’ need. Thank you, and him.
That sums it up so nicely. Thank you Colleen for reading and reflecting. Hope you had a good Christmas.
Awesome post, brother. Fantastic lesson in it as well. I needed that one, bud. Merry Christmas, and thank you.
Thanks Jim. Still laughing at your hold on a minute Sparky comment from before. Haha. Glad I could get this one to you in the nick of time.
😁👍
This brought tears to my eyes, Mark. Some of those were of regret at how differently I handled these situations when I was in your shoes. (My youngest is now 26!). I finally forgave myself when I heard someone share about a “living amends” in a meeting. And because you know me well I will say it: it won’t be long before he no longer wants to do that with you so try to enjoy it! Love you, Mark….Merry Christmas!
Thanks for that reminder. I’m inconstant need of reminders like that I think. Hope you had a good Christmas with that beautiful family of yours. Hope you survived the joy of it all. Here’s to an early get together in the new year?
my son was 15 when i got sober so there are a lot of these times in my memory of his childhood (and probably a lot more that i can’t remember because, well you know…). my son has grown up to be a wonderful caring and thoughtful human being, probably in spite of me. one thing i always did was say sorry for stuff as soon as i realised, even in my drinking days, and that’s what came through to me from your post. really enjoyed reading it.
I’m glad you enjoyed. It’s not easy to do these things. These recovery things. The little people in my life are the hardest ones to practice these principles with. That self-righteousness I have flares up quickly. But as my sponsor tells me, what incredible lessons they can learn by observing that sort of behavior.
I am certain, whatever happened between you, your son grew up great because of you not in spite of you. Life is incredibly difficult. Preserving however we can is the greatest lesson we can give our children.
Always pleasant to occasionally read about someone elses experience. I too enjoy a bit of solitary – I get that travelling by train and then walking to work. For the rest I enjoy the company of others and generally sharing new found positivity. Have a great Xmas Mark and family.
I’d love to hear more about this newfound positivity you’ve discovered David! That’s the ticket right there. Happy to share and glad to hear from you. Hope you had a merry Christmas as well!
Beautiful! Miracle of the Mundane and Magesty in the Every Day. Merry Christmas, Mark!
Merry Christmas to you too! I don’t know if I mentioned this but I’ve been unable to comment on your posts (including the recent one) but I have been enjoying reading them and reflecting on them all the same.
Many Happy Returns and Thank You, I really enjoy and appreciate your writing. Always leaves a message of learning that is positive and hopeful.
Merry Christmas Mark, a beautiful write, thank you 🌷
Merry Christmas, Mark. I relate to this in so many ways. It’s true that it is hardest to practice these principles of recovery with our children. I make more amends to my 5 year old daughter than I do anyone else. I believe it is a substantial part of why our relationship is so good; because I can sure act like an ass to my kids when I’m trying to control them and expect too much.
It’s easy to slip, I agree. Kudos on practicing amends to them. I’m working on it. A lot of self-righteousness to sort out. Merry Christmas to you Dan!
Hey Mark.. Good healthy read for me always, thanks.
It didn’t feel right. My posting a comment on this thread turned selfish at each attempt. Phony. Not sure why exactly. Maybe because I’ve been emotionally constipated and finally I just went heavy over on addictionland. Maybe the holidays. The overlapping family dynamics..Maybe just the familiarity of blinding self centered fear.
I get caught surviving, detached. Far enough away. Emotionally safe and protected on my mountain top scenic overlook.
.
I can’t always repair my fragmented heart in the moment. Sure, I repair it’s mechanics, it’s ability to pump blood. Save myself. Forgoing the ability to feel with all it’s complexities. I remain emotionally stunted, uneducated and afraid. To feel? I rely on my everchanging epitaph. Forced to think whatever they think as if written in stone. A constant reminder of who I really am. They come into my heart and I am here. They leave me and I am gone.
My alcoholic end of the beginning for my beautiful children born to three different mothers. Good mothers all. Now just victims of my own delusion. A horrific tale really. A sad and horrific tale. I blame myself sometimes. I forget I have already blamed myself for all the world. The blame has all been used up….
Let me just say, I am with you as you tell your tale, provide, develop your willingness to give. As you mentor the boy by example, show your son the love in your heart is his. As you become the man he needs in his life, as you become the man needed in yours.
I hope I didn’t selfishly hijack the thread. I’ve been going deep lately. It’s good for me but may be inappropriate..
I don’t think inappropriate, no. Good timing for me actually as I am on a long holiday drive. Not sure exactly what was triggered by your response but clearly something.
Maybe there’s a writing prompt in here somewhere for your reflection. I don’t know where. What needs a closer examination here? May not be the easy response but the one you need?
Thanks for the reply..
It was actually an extension of what I was already writing. I have a guy who passes my stuff along to a pretty hardcore recovery center. A real home for misfit toys so to speak. Mostly people including himself who have been around the halls for a time but failed to grow and fell hard. Bound tight in their self imposed Christmas crisis. Usually without picking up. The selfishness and fear.
Simple unresolved issues that grow to their own boundary jumping levels creating more and more self destruction. Simple memories that overwhelm all thought creating a fire. The only tools available to douse the flames are guilt and shame. To them? Christmas especially can be a nightmare complete with a ghostly visit.
I was mainly catering to him or them in hopes of some identification. For him and those like him it was well received, comforting in it’s madness. Simple words to many of us yet hope for the seemingly hopeless.
Anyway, have a good trip.
That’s all except for the part about respecting you and your recovery. Your fine perception of manhood. That’s from me.
Beautiful post. Happy New Year!
What an amazing post, I was so touched by the whole post. I am truly at a loss for words. There is not one thing you should of changed this morning because you found the strength to pull through it. Children can teach us so much when we take the time to see and I never feel that a parent should keep from admitting that they were wrong to thier children. I love my children so much and there is one thing they know about mom is that I will always come back and apologize and say I was wrong because I tell them I am only human and I make mistakes just the same as you. I am proud of the strides you have made.
Appreciate that Tonya very much! It is really hard for me to admit my faults to my children for some reason. I think a part of me thinks that if they find a chink in my armor I will lose my authority. But I’m learning that’s not how it works. Thanks for your truly kind comment.
Hi Mark, Belated Christmas well wishes AND right-on-time New Year’s well wishes. Onto the post: I think some days I start over 400 times. LOL. But at least I start over. You are an amazing dad. Blessings my friend.
Thank you Lisa. Wishing you and Sober Identity and all the coaching you do the best in the new year.
Oh, my, Mark, this is exceptional. It has evoked tears. I especially love this, “resentful behavior is a shortcut to a slip.”
Thank you for visiting and following Spirituality Without Borders. I appreciate your presence there.
Thank you Rita for that kind and generous comment. You just made my day.
Thanks for the reminder that it’s never too late to re-start the day. Thankful for that. I teach school and often help students “re-boot” their days. Gotta give myself the same grace and reminder to re-start and reboot. Thanks for sharing.
I teach also! I like how you incorporated that principle in the classroom. Each year I tell myself I’m going to start my classes in some sort of prayer or meditation. Maybe next year is the year to do it.
This is some beautiful writing of a beautiful boy, a frustrated father, and a beautiful relationship. The father came to be beautiful too. Thanks for the share.
What a brilliant account of the internal struggle parents face. I love the idea of starting the day over!
You would have really dug my sponsor, Hurrah. He was an enlightened cat.