Or: It’s Not Khaled’s Fault

I had a very sobering moment with my youngest yesterday, but I have to give you some context first.

This moment really highlighted how differently I’ve parented my older children compared to my younger ones, especially the youngest.

The Context

When I do cardio I cannot be talked to. At all.

I get so stressed out that I can’t stand any distractions because, like most people, I hate cardio. Every time I do it, it takes every ounce of my concentration to shut up the voice in my head saying:

“You deserve better than this… Why would you do this to yourself?”

When I was training for a 10K once, my kids (with my blessing) acted out what it’s like to talk to me during a treadmill run, in front of their grandparents. Needless to say, it wasn’t flattering. It involved a lot of snapping, abrupt “Stop talking to me!” warnings, and me shouting:

“GO! AWAY! NOW!”

Not a good look, but it was a good laugh.

Today, the final part of my workout, the “finisher” (what a sadistic name), included cardio. And not even proper cardio. Just:

• 1 minute of uphill fast walking
• 1 minute of kettlebell swings
• 1 minute of burpees
  (repeat 3 times)

I wasn’t even in running mode. But it was enough to get me into Crazy Cardio Anger mode.

Just as I started, Khaled walked in and said he needed to ask me something. I told him, “Not now.” A minute later, he came in again.

I snapped:

“Stop talking to me. I need five minutes.”

A few minutes after that, I heard “Mama” behind me, but I had my back to the door. And I lost it.

“STOP TALKING TO ME! Do not talk to me now! GO AWAY!”

Obviously, the perfect response.

I thought it was Khaled. That sounds bad, I know, but he’d already come in twice, and I’d already asked him to leave me alone.

I’m not trying to make excuses, though it sounds like I am, but the point is… I thought it was Khaled talking to me again for the third time.

Then I saw him from the corner of my eye.

It wasn’t Khaled.

It was Bader.

His eyes were wide and confused. He walked in a little more, slowly approaching me and said:

“Are you… are you really angry?”

His eyes were already tearing up. He was on the edge, waiting to see if I’d break into a laugh and say, “No, of course not silly! Sorry, I’m being ridiculous.”

Did I say that? No.

Would you like to know what I said?

“Yes! I’m frustrated! Go away until I’m done.”

Why? Because I am truly unhinged. I was mid-kettlebell swings, and apparently kettlebell swings make me angry now.

Why? (Again) I don’t know. Because I was finishing my set? Because I’d lost my temper and was too deep into it to pull myself out? Because I needed to just move and not think or I’d give up on exercise altogether?

Whatever the excuse is, it’s 100% on me.

He walked out, teary-eyed and shell-shocked.

I put the kettlebell down, called him back, gave him a hug, and apologized.

I told him I was sorry. That I shouldn’t have shouted. That I thought he was Khaled (will regret this one later), who had already interrupted me twice, and I lost my patience. And that it was wrong. I should’ve stayed calm.

He was still a bit off. Still teary. But smiling and trying to come back from it.

And that’s when it hit me:

Thank God he isn’t used to me being like this.

Now, I don’t think I’m a yeller. I don’t yell all the time. But I have yelled. And I definitely snap.

My older kids have seen a lot more of that side of me.

But Bader? He looked like he didn’t even recognize who I was.

I told him, “Give me three minutes. I’ll come find you.”

A few minutes later I was on the floor stretching, chatting with Saud, when Bader came back in.

He stood at the edge of the room and said: “It’s not Khaled. It’s not Khaled.”

Perfect….

I got up and said, “No, habibi. Khaled can talk to me. It’s not about Khaled. It’s not about you. It’s about me losing my temper. Mama is a bit crazy when she does cardio, but I’m working on it.”

It’s funny how one small moment can hold up a mirror to years of parenting.

Do our youngest children see a version of us we wish we had always been?

More patient. More self-aware. A little softer. Not because we’ve changed who we are, but because they came along after we learned the hard way.

Does anyone else feel the same?

The moral of the story is:

never do cardio. Obviously. Cardio doesn’t build character in this house, it tests it. And sometimes, it breaks it.

Okay, there is no moral. We’re human and we mess up.

But I do have one piece of advice for moments like this: when you’ve done something that hurt or upset your child, and you know you’re in the wrong:

Apologize clearly. Take responsibility. Avoid the “you made me” sentences , where the blame for your reaction is on anyone or anything else. Mean it.

And then move on.

The more you dwell on it, the bigger it gets.

I have to resist the urge, when I’m sitting with him later, or cuddling at bedtime to bring it up again, to apologize again, to check if he’s really okay.

He is okay.

I’m not yelling at him left, right, and center. There have been, and will be , plenty of loving moments to drown out that one.

Don’t give it more weight than it deserves.

The Punchline

Today, while I was on the treadmill, Khaled came up to me smiling and said:

“It’s Khaled — but can I talk anyway?”

And we had a big laugh.