Picking up the Pieces

I've debated about writing this post, because it demonstrates a bad mothering moment I had, and I'm ashamed to admit that I have them. But the truth is, I don't want to forget the important lesson that I was forced to remember during a weak moment of mine, so that knowledge outweighs any self-preservation I have in not wanting to post this. 

I love working on puzzles. When Josh and I were newlyweds, we worked on them quite often together on a table in our living room. But after we became parents, the puzzles only came out once a year: at Christmas time. Whenever I see an unfinished puzzle, I can't help but to pick up the pieces and try to finish what was already started. It's a quirk that I can't stop. On numerous occasions, I've walked into homes with a puzzle that's out on a table, and I'm instantly drawn to it and start working on it.  

This Christmas vacation, we worked on several puzzles: one that Uncle Ben had started in Stanley, one at my parents' home in Tremonton, and one at Josh's parents' house in Salmon on New Year's Eve. Each of these puzzles was 1,000 pieces, which is my favorite size--500 seems to be to easy, and anything over 1,000 feels too daunting. While we were in Stanley, Aunt Janet gifted us a 1,000 piece puzzle from their store. The boys helped me pick out a good one with a colorful scene of a small town with the focal point being an older storefront. 

We started the puzzle on New Year's Day, and the boys and I worked steadily on it for 5 days. One evening I was working in the kitchen and saw my whole family hunched over the puzzle board and thought it was so adorable, so I snatched a photo of them unaware.

After the 3rd day, I was the only one really invested in it anymore. It was a welcome distraction for me, and since I love puzzles so much, I didn't mind working on it alone. By Day 5, I was committed to finishing it and wanted to see it done. I worked on it for several hours straight, and got it 3/4 of the way done. I was feeling so good that most of it was done. Then I stopped to make dinner and have Family Home Evening, as it was Monday night. 

After the FHE lesson, Josh left to go into town to pick up Ammon from basketball practice. The boys went to the family room to pick out a game for us to play together. The puzzle was set up right in front of the game shelf (as you can see in the above photo). They discussed which game they wanted, and finally decided on what game we'd play together. Jonah and Micah came back to the living room where I was, and Kanyon said he'd get the game. But he couldn't reach the game because the puzzle table was blocking it. He figured he'd move the puzzle so he could get to it (although he could've gone under the table to reach it). But instead of asking for help, he picked up the table, and tried to carefully maneuver the puzzle board in order to reach the game that was behind it. In the process, he tipped the board too much and the puzzle started sliding off. I witnessed it from the other room where I was, and it seemed like it was all happening in slow motion. I yelled "NooOOOO! (in slow motion voice), got up, and ran into the family room. I grabbed the puzzle board from him, as he was completely unaware that he'd been holding it slanted and that the puzzle had been sliding off, because he was so focused on trying to hold it at the same time that he was picking up the game from off the shelf behind it. After I picked it up from his hand, I realized that almost half the puzzle had already fallen to the floor. Because I'd invested so much time in it that same day, it felt like a slap to the face. I looked at him, and started screaming, "WHY can't you EVER ask for help?!! LOOK what YOU did! I did ALL that work for NOTHING!! All YOU needed to do was ask for HELP!!". As soon as I was done screaming at him, he ran straight to his room, plopped onto his bed, and started loudly sobbing uncontrollably. 

I instantly felt terrible for screaming at him, but at the same time, I was so irritated that he didn't ask for help (he always struggles with asking for help; quite frequently he ends up throwing tantrums because he gets so frustrated when he can't accomplish something alone, but he refuses to ask for assistance).  I played a card game with Jonah and Micah as we listened to Kanyon howling from his room. I was hoping that Josh would return home soon, because he's usually so much more patient with Kanyon than I am. After I was done playing with Jonah and Micah, I texted him to see how much longer it would be before he would be home, but he said it was going to be about 10 more minutes. I'd already been listening to Kanyon sob and howl for 20 minutes by this point, and I couldn't take it anymore. So, I had an inner dialogue with myself to suck up my ego, and to see the situation for what it was really was: I did not want the fallen puzzle to be more important to me than my son. 

I went into his room, and he yelled at me to go away, but I didn't. I told him I was sorry for yelling at him, and again he yelled at me to go away. I told him I shouldn't have yelled at him, and that it was wrong of me. He sniffled and heaved and cried. I told him we were having ice cream for dessert, and told him he could come have some. He said he didn't want ice cream. I was sort of bribing him, because I know he loves ice cream, and I thought it would distract him from his crying, but I couldn't believe it wasn't working. "You don't want ice cream? But you love ice cream!". He responded (with sniffling breaths in between every 2 words), "I feel... like having... a root beer float... instead". "Okay, you can have a root beer float", I said, and I went and made him his request and he calmed down enough to eat it in the dining room.

When Josh came home and walked in the door, he immediately saw the puzzle all over the floor and asked "What happened here?". I told him it was a long story, because I didn't want to get into it right then with a freshly-calmed-down boy nearby. The boys helped Kanyon pick up the pieces after they were done with dessert, and we left the remaining half of the completed puzzle out on the table, but I refused to work on it anymore. And apparently, nobody else wanted to touch it after that, either. 

I don't like looking at unfinished puzzles, because I just want to see completion. But I left that unfinished puzzle out on the table for over a week, and every time I passed it, I looked at it without the urge to finish it, as it was a reminder to me that picking up the pieces of a broken, unfinished puzzle was a lot easier and a lot less important than picking up the pieces of a broken, damaged relationship. I hope that I never forget this lesson, just as President Thomas S. Monson said in 2008: "Never let a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved."