A broken mug

As a whole I am not a sentimental person.  I do however have a few possessions that I value because they are my favorite.  One is my gigantic Eeyore coffee mug.  I have had it longer than I can remember, it holds nearly a whopping 3 cups of coffee.  It is the best.

Or it was.

A few nights ago, just as I was leaving from a meeting.... I got a text from my teenager.

"I broke your Eeyore coffee mug.  It slipped out of my hands.  I couldn't catch it."

My immediate response was "Are you ok?"

She replied, "Yes."

And then I said "That is all that matters.  It's just a cup.  You are more important."

Now you are probably wondering what is so remarkable about this reasonable response. It is remarkable because it is a new one for me.  Not that long ago, I would have certainly been concerned for my child's welfare....but I would have been volcanic about it being broken.

My normal response would have been...

Why are you using my cup?

This is why you shouldn't touch things that are not yours!

There are 100 cups in the house, why did you have to use mine?

This is why I never buy anything nice!

Does any of this response sound familiar to you?

Just a few months ago, I was reminded of the anniversary of my friend's daughter passing.

She was a spunky 8 year old, who was living her life to the fullest, and defying odds every day she was on this earth.  They were told to abort her, that she would never make it out of the hospital.  Yet she graced this earth for 8 wonderful years, touching the hearts of many, and paving a way for children who have her same condition to live a longer life.

How could I be upset over a stupid coffee cup, when I have a friend mourning the absence of such a prominent figure in her life?

I'd break and throw away everything in my house that has any value to me.... in order to keep my kids here with me.  I know heaven is great.... but I'm going be selfish on this one.

When I got home, my husband confessed to me that she was a wreck over having telling me.  Her sisters had chided her with the standard "mom is going to be mad, you are going to be in so much trouble".  In fact, I believe I heard something about them vying over which one of them was going to tattle on her.  I also think that is why she texted me.  She knew she wanted to tell me first.  But, she also was so worried about response, the text was safe.  I'd have time to cool down before I got home. 

I told him, I was glad she was brave enough to tell me.  Even if by text.  She could have easily tried to hide it or fix it.  We've all seen the sitcoms based on just this scenario.

Funny how 15 years into this thing called "motherhood" and I am just starting to figure it all out.

Or, maybe not.  Apparently I need to have a conversation about tattling again.