I, NOT ROBOT

I fell down the steps last week – a slow motion, tail-over-teakettle tumble with a cartoonish skidoo-on-a-football finish. I was in a heap at the bottom of my staircase and I cried. Real tears. I sucked it up after a few seconds, but in those first moments my kids didn’t know what to do. One literally ran, fraught with grief and fear, into the other room. When asked later about his reaction he said, “Mom, you told me empathy is part of what makes us good people.”… Ahhh yes, grasshopper, you’ve been trained well. The other two witnesses stood there transfixed by the water that was inexplicably falling out of my eyes. They eventually snapped out of their trance and got me ten different ice packs and a helping hand off the floor. My youngest was still crying his own tears in the other room… ya know… in solidarity.

I have cried in front of them before - (many) tears of joy and during sad movies, but they’d never seen me cry out in actual pain before - physical or otherwise. It’s hard to watch someone who’s normally strong and brave (ahem… that’s me) break down and weep over a bruised elbow or a lost loved one - I remember being shocked by my own father’s tears at his sister’s funeral. But I am not a robot that’s impervious to pain. Boom. Myth officially busted.

Clearly, this is my own doing. While I am fiercely protective over my kids being exposed to ‘grown up issues’, I don’t want them to think that an adult, no matter how 'strong', shouldn’t cry when they are truly in pain. OK, OK, so I didn’t break any bones or even sprain my ankle on my flight down the stairs, but I was scared and my elbow really did hurt… I swear…

I will never seek solace from my kids for my own challenges or problems – that’s not their job or their responsibility, but perhaps I could more readily welcome an icepack and a tissue when I’m lying in a mound on the floor. Sometimes crying is therapeutic and sometimes it helps you pee less. And you don't always have to retreat to your bedroom closet or take a shower to let it out (that's me, giving me advice).

Crying is AOK at any age (save for crocodile tears - those I can do without). And what better way to simultaneously annoy and remind my kids of this life lesson than to sing, “Domo arigato, Mom Not Robot-o” over and over again. It'll get stuck in your head in 3...2...1... You’re welcome.