KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON (For Her)

The slogan KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON appeared on a motivational poster in war times more than 70 years ago. Lately it has popped up as a widely used meme covering umpteen topics, from movies to politics to parenting to Internet culture. 

For me, today was the epitome of KEEP CALM. It seemed that my day had the faculty for turning sour at each and every turn. But what eventually followed continued to be enjoyable, if I let it. Which I did. Simply because I had an impressionable three year old watching me. Me. This painfully wounded and deeply scarred me. My motivation for Carrying On is that she won't also have the tendency to have fear as a default or to unremittingly stress or to desire to give up or to struggle not to judge.

Nothing motivates change as effectively as hungering for more for your child. I want more for her than what I experienced with my self inflicted years of loneliness and the struggle with relationships. I want more for her than the expense I had to invest into counselling. I want more for her than the incessant negative self talk I had to reprogram. I want more for her than I am even capable of imagining due to where I started from.

So when she was buckled into her carseat today and got locked in the car I kept my calm trying to get her to un-click a buckle she has never been able to operate. I feared the temperature would get too high and I felt like throwing up. I wanted to go home and hide. But I smiled at her and encouraged her and assured her help was coming. She cried. Of course. But I had to KEEP CALM AND KNOW IT WILL BE OKAY. And it was. And she cheerfully went off to play. 

And when she ran ahead and placed her hand next to a sliding door and it opened on her arm up to her elbow I pushed the door back and hugged her tight. I wanted to be so angry with myself for looking away and letting another incident happen in the same day. I wanted to give up on my shopping list. But I asked her to wiggle her fingers and bend her wrist and wave her arm. She cried. Of course. But I had to KEEP CALM AND BELIEVE I'M A GOOD MOM. And I am. And we continued into the store where she happily asked questions and straightened shelves and helped me locate items. 

And when ten o'clock rolled around and she had just got into bed because of a late bath from playing in the mud I still read a story and said our prayers. I wanted to cut everything short in frustration with myself for ending up in this situation yet again. I wanted the day to end. Tomorrow she will cry from lack of sleep. Of course. (And maybe I will as well.) But I will KEEP CALM AND HAVE PATIENCE. Because she will also laugh and smile. (And I will as well.)

KEEP CALM AND HAVE PATIENCE.

I will have patience with her because she is unceasingly learning and growing. I will have patience with myself because I am still learning and growing. I will have patience with life because then, and only then, can I concede to letting it make us who we are actually destined to be.

KEEP CALM AND LIVE LIFE TO THE FULLEST. 

That Humbling Thorn

I just had my 20 year grad reunion. (I know, I know, hard to believe.) I'll tell you, I was pleased as punch it wasn't in 2013. Only two years difference. But I am certain the whole venture would have been incomparable if I hadn't gone through the recent struggles that seemed to cement the journeys that began nine years ago with marriage and intensified with motherhood, with all the roller coaster rides in between through to this day. 

I've probably changed more over the years than the average person. Though I'm sure I need to give others more credit for their improvements and their growing up. I'm not saying I'm anything special. To say I needed plenty of work is an understatement. 

Two years ago I was finally learning to love who I was and what I could do. This was following a very rough year of postpartum depression. My search for a path out of dismay led me through diet and activity changes that really augmented my influence on my own health. (Really, there was a time I thought healthy meant adding veggies to Kraft Dinner.) I became physically fit and gained energy. And as I felt better about how I looked I realized that I had actually criticized who I had been too much (like everyone else does to themselves). I went from feeling that I used to be ugly to maybe thinking that I've been acceptable, or even more than good enough, all along. (Maturing is so nice. Imagine having confidence in high school?) 

But pride is a very slippery slope. I began to become obsessed with my workout routine. Sure the endorphins were exhilarating. And quite stress releasing (I am married, after all). But so was the weight loss. If I had stayed in that state of mind I would have become quite fixated on how I would look to those who attended my 20 year grad reunion. I would have compared my weight to the other ladies. I would have probably had a melt-down trying to choose appropriate attire that I would feel comfortable wearing that would show off the efforts that I had made to be trim and muscular.

With all that personal focus, what else would I have been worried about? I know that 20 years ago I thought proper grammar use was an indicator of all-encompassing value in a person. And I was controlled by the idea that admitting any shortcomings in any area was announcing that one was a complete failure. And we won't even get started on past hair issues. 

Would I have even attended? These anxieties were enough in the halls of high school. Who needs them in their late thirties?

Maybe my tremendous insecurity was actually rooted out of my judgment of everyone else?

But I now know that value comes in all forms. People have many different purposes. Many. Different. Purposes. And in order to fully serve those purposes they can't be everything. 

I can't be everything. And that's okay. And because of an injury, I couldn't be that girl who competed in mud runs and races. I couldn't brag about my ability to do push ups or run steep hills or climb the monkey bars. Those were things of the past. That thorn in my side had humbled me. 

Instead, I was able to just enjoy being with people I went to school with without worrying about what they thought about me. I wasn't the smartest or slimmest or prettiest or the "est" of any category. But that wasn't even on my mind.

(Seriously. It wasn't. Tell that to 18-year-old me.)

And as the weekend concluded I was kind of thankful for the injury that put my daily exercising to a halt. Maybe one day I'll be healthy enough to get back into it to some extent. (For sure. I gotta get running again.) But I won't be comparing the results to how anyone else appears.

Life isn't about being pretty enough or smart enough or having nice enough hair. It's about enjoying people. Sure, it's easier to do certain things with those who are like minded in a particular area. But I like having people in my life who encompass all the different ways this universe can be experienced. 

Experienced with people. Not in comparison to them. 

A Day in a Continuum

It's a new year. A time when people pertinaciously attempt those changes that they've pondered making... again. A time when the scale is distrustfully worshipped. The fridge is decisively analyzed. And the lists are valiantly declared.  

The goal is to set a course that will result in finishing the year in a more estimable place than at this beginning. Thinner. Healthier. More organized. And happier. Definitely happier.  

The planned method to reach that goal is often a lofty one. A self-depreciating, rule filled regimen that requires unwavering determination. Without taking into account the amount of road blocks. The nostalgia over such a previously insignificant part of a memory. The salivating glands at the idea of something forbidden. The it's-not-fair cries inside when observing simple day to day rituals so innocently taken advantage of by innocent bystanders.

Until finally, it's enough. You can't take it. It may only be New Year's Day, but next year you will be stronger.

But probably not. Not out of motivation to win the battle of a day that gives so many the illusion of a new beginning when the world just keeps ticking on the same as before. Not out of worshipping this commercialized event calendar that tells us when to love, when to fantasize, when to give, when to change.

I thought about following the routine. Marching out my own acceptation of this yearly affair. 

But the tumultuous path the last year took has left me with too much of a new acceptance of the way things have become. And more importantly, are naturally becoming. Change is in my every day and so this season isn't a break in my steps at all but merely a part of the continuum that means I must be getting somewhere. I hope. 

Simply put, a New Year's resolution just doesn't fit two aspects of my current journey. One is my ever changing opinion of the world around me and the way it should be and the other is that same phenomena subjectively applied to my own life, my own home, my own body. 

I am 30 pounds heavier than this time last year. And I don't care. I have a family who loves me. I'm healthy. I'm beautiful. Take away the cellulite and I think I would actually like this current form better. (A new wardrobe would increase the comfort.)

I don't stress over my hair anymore. And I don't regret it. The more I worried about it the more I hated it anyway. (And hate is an understatement as I think my hair has resulted in an embarrassing amount of tears and tardiness.) I've grown to love the natural look. I think it adds a softness. An air of contentment. Definitely more contentment in my daily routine. 

My floors are gross. So what? I've got two dogs, a toddler, and a husband. And I enjoy their company. I'm enjoying my child's presence to the fullest. That's more valuable than the opinion of someone who doesn't have her heart on my sleeve like my little one does. Anyone can critique the hair balls and foot prints. I don't care. I'm going to the library. Hiking the surrounding forests. Testing the coffee shops. Going bowling and swimming. Visiting family. Watching the mind of an inquisitive toddler expand. The floor can wait. (I don't even think I cringed writing it that time.)

These declarations may seem mundane to you. But not to someone who this time last year would have found these ideas far fetched. The opinions of others has always mattered too much. The fear of failure has always clouded my choices. 

I didn't resolve to change these things a year ago. Most definitely I would have chosen the distinct opposite. But it was many events over the last year that broke things. The forgiveness I had to give. The black and white I finally had to see. All while busy raising a child. It adjusted priorities. It helped me see what will matter in the end. 

I'm not saying someone resolving to lose weight is erring. I'm not saying someone determined to be a better house maker is on the wrong path. I'm just saying the desired growth isn't from a day pronounced to be the catalyst. It's from opening up to the miracles of revelation available every day. The stories of strength from each struggle. The recognition of what matters in the hustle and bustle. The taking responsibity for oneself that has to be adopted as a lifestyle. 

I can look back at my rough year, the stressful year of 2014, and label it's denouement as a successful year. It stressed me out until I let go. Day by day it worked on me. Improved me. Helped me to walk into what will be an amazing 2015. 

I Will Still Wash Her Feet

My daughter refuses to go barefoot. Not even for a minute. She wants to wear socks to bed. She begs to keep them on in the shower. She panics when we change them. Her socks stay on at gymnastics even though it hinders some activities. Cutting her nails is torture, if I even get a chance to see them. 

My sweet girl has been traumatized by a cut to the foot and now she wants to keep her feet safely covered.

I understand. I have struggled to rid the aftereffects of many terrorizing experiences. After a hard and unexpected smack to the jaw I hated having hands anywhere near my face for years and years. After totaling my car on a winter trip nine years ago I have remained unable to drive on a snowy highway. I even have a silly habit of storing my bread in the freezer because I'm afraid of accidentally eating moldy bread again. The moldy bread incident was 17 years ago. 

I know that life includes unfortunate events. My daughter is going to have to deal with some. It is part of learning. Hopefully, oh hopefully, not too many ordeals will be inflicted by me.

You see, I was the one who cut her foot. Yup. Me. I sliced her foot. 

Totally by accident. But still, she sees my hands near her feet and she can't even hear my words of reassurance through her worry. She asks over and over if I'm going to cut her foot. Her dad is astounded by her fear. It pains me to know I caused this stress. That her mother's loving touch induces panic if her socks come off. 

I caused her anxiety. And I inevitably will cause more. Not to this extent. But in general it is something I probably try too hard to avoid. I've barely punished her for doing wrong. I worry too much about my words. I even question my facial expressions when I respond. But everything in me wants her to enjoy life and not be traumatized by growing up. I so much want her to not be traumatized by me.

I would label my own childhood as very stressful. It had too many objectionable twists. It made me an insecure, fearful, untrusting, judgemental, indecisive, procrastinating worrier. And most certainly, the majority of incidents or situations were not planned or intentional or preferable in the eyes of my caregivers. Some repercussions were likely not even realized.

Like most parents, I try to avoid duplicating the scenarios that I deemed frustrating in my upbringing.

But I'm starting to see that it won't guarantee an ideal path. There will be regrets, no matter what. There will be mistakes, no matter what. And most importantly, there will be times where my actions won't be perceived as I intended.

Of course, the blade in my hand wasn't supposed to cut her skin. I went to scrape a rough spot on her other foot and she panicked and kicked the blade. And instantly saw blood dripping from her flesh.  

Mistakes. Misunderstandings. Set backs. That's life. There is no such thing as doing it right. There is no such thing as the perfect upbringing. It is about trying. It is about learning as you go. Developing trust. Refocusing when life gets off track. And re-building that trust when something unfortunate happens to break it. 

I'm praying it won't be years of having an issue. Hopefully it will only be short lived. Something I will mention to her later and she won't at all recall. But, if not, life will go on. Add it to the things she will need to work on.

I can't undo mistakes. I can't let worry block moving forward. 

I'm still going to wash her feet. Hopefully, not with too much anxiety. 

Now Said To Then

Now said to Then, "Don't worry. It will change. Really." Now knew how utterly impossible those words sounded. Now remembered how terribly deep and unimaginable the pain was daily. 

Then asked, "Do you truly remember? Can you empathize any more? Do you recall how all-encompassing the pain felt?"

How could Now forget?

She reluctantly walked down the hall. Her head painfully pounded in fear as she felt completely ignored by the crowd in her invisibility. Yet she simultaneously felt mocked by each set of eyes that happened to look her way. Shoulders slumped, she shyly kept her eyes gazed on the bare floor, avoiding any contact. But longing so much for some positive connection. 

She looked disdainfully at her clothes. Embarrassed at their lack of contributing to any acceptable status and hoping that nothing would bring her any attention. Attention that brought hot blood flowing to her face and made her dizzy and confused.

Why couldn't she appreciate any acknowledgement? Why couldn't a smile or question pierce the loneliness and bring her out into the moment in her crowded surroundings? Instead she was left behind this huge wall that blinded her from seeing any relational opportunity. It suffocated her. Her every muscle ached. 

She bit her lip to keep away the tears. Her stomach continued to cramp as always. She could think of many excuses to leave. She had run away so many times. But where would she go? The solace from one pain would only bring her face to face with another. Then, she would ultimately be expected to return again.

She realized at that moment she wasn't breathing. She felt faint. Every sound shamefully accused her. Every laugh felt directed at her miserable presence. She couldn't take it any more. 

What if she didn't come back? Would anyone notice? Would the daily routine followed by any other human being have to be adjusted for her absence? 

No. Their lives would only continue. Oblivious to those who's eyes desperately cried out in pain for fellowship. Who's hands mortified her as they again trembled in self doubt. Who's feet plodded forward despite the distraction of anguish that never left.

Then knew it would never go away. The tormenting shadow followed her every moment, clouding her eyes and pushing weight onto her shoulders with every thought of mistakes made and assumptions proven and heartache cemented and embarrassments endured.

She piled on the shame with every effort to cope. Every attempt to drink away the timidity. Every effort to puff out the inner turmoil. Every trampish grasp for affection. 

Why was it like this? How could she stop caring? Stop thinking? Stop failing? Stop worrying? Stop snowballing? 

There appeared only one solution. It lingered in the back of her mind always. A permanent solution. The accusations would be gone. The misunderstandings would become unnecessary. The pain would disappear. 

Or would it? What if the anguish remained for eternity? If it followed her to the other side?

"No!" Screamed Now. "It will change! The pain will lessen. The heartache will fade. The doubt will decrease. The confusion will subside.

"And in their place hope will grow. Love will bloom. Appreciation will creep in. Faith will strengthen. Joy will present itself. Healing will begin."

But Then could not hear. Would not hear. Instead, she had to discover the new life slowly. She had to actually attempt her escape. She had to cry her tears. She had to call out in desperation. She had to learn to forgive bit by bit by bit. One impossible step forward and two difficult steps back. 

Your Later sees your Today. Trying to dry your tears. Attempting to give you a glimpse of what will be. Cheering you on in your battle. 

You don't hear Later. Just like my Then didn't hear my Now.

Just believe it exists. That will be enough to help you keep going. You are heading toward something.

There is a future. 

Because I Told You So

"Why, mommy?"

"Because I told you so!"

It is the easiest answer in frustration. It is the quickest answer when busy. It is the simplest answer when we don't want to reveal our own insecurities or weaknesses. It is the finite answer when there are just too many questions.  

But what does it really say? It says not to ask questions. It says not to seek understanding. It says to never try to persuade or debate. 

Of course, I don't think it's right for a child to push continuously when they've been told something. And questions can easily turn into an argument that a child shouldn't have with an adult. (I remember my mom telling me I argued too much. We'll see how I feel faced with the same resistance.) I know in some situations an explanation is not needed and in other situations our tone should get prompt obedience because of safety issues.

But "because I told you so" is a very closing response. 

Fast forward to adulthood. Why do you do what you do? Work the way you work? Believe what you believe? Because someone told you to. 

The last thing l want is for my child to go along with something she doesn't agree with and not question whether it is right or wrong. I want her to be open to thinking about what she is doing and why she is doing it. 

I don't want her to be afraid to seek understanding. To open up a dialogue and talk about anything.

You could think that as a result she would be less likely to successfully work under authority. But I think it would do the very opposite. It would be easier to respect leaders if one has confidence in their own ability to be informed on making a decision. I am more comfortable working under someone if I know I can clarify instructions. It is stressful to work under someone when this kind of dialogue is not permitted.

There are many who struggle to do what they are told because they had no freedom. Sometimes people stick to something because it is the opposite of what was forced on them previously. I don't really like to wear slippers because my step dad insisted, saying that I would ruin my socks. I figure there are other acceptable options. Like cheap socks. 

In my current household it appears that stalling is a growing tactic. Getting from the car to the house or vice versa is taking so much longer. But as I have my agenda in my mind and it is halted by an inquisitive follower, I'm hoping to be able to recognize those opportunities in which I can take a moment longer and help her expand in her discernment of her world and it's never ceasing "why". 

Now, "Get in the truck!"

"Why?"

"Because we are running late. Again."

Of Course You Want Food

Everyone handles stress in their own way. We can try to understand someone else and how they cope. But we can't fully empathize because of our separate experiences. Our childhoods. Our focus. Our mistakes. Our hopes. It all uniquely conglomerates and creates an individual path to dealing with pain, stress, regret, exhaustion, or whatever else is weighing us down.

My main coping mechanism is avoidance. Just what I'm doing now. I feel overwhelmed with what I have to do so I won't do it. Unfortunately, I also married someone who, round about in his own way, over-busies himself so he has no time for certain things. Put us together and it means some things just aren't getting done. 

But another coping method we do not jive in at all is the idea of food for comfort. The worse my sleep, the heartier the breakfast I crave. The more things on my mind, the more chocolate calls my name. A rough day is made better with a nice homecooked meal. Or butter chicken. And after dark my stress turns into a gluttonous attempt to fill myself with joy through my pie hole.  

I figure the way to the heart is through the taste buds. But my husband doesn't want to eat under stress. What?! How could that be? I am unable to comprehend. 

He can't eat when he's busy. He can't eat rushing out the door. He can't eat when he's stressed. He can't eat when there are calls to make or arguments to settle. He can't eat when discussing anything. The last thing on his mind in a bad mood is taking time to stuff his face.

I'm sure if you go into any home there will be some sort of argument that seems absurd. There will be some situation that has grown over time in a way that those not involved could never truly comprehend. And in our house, it's food. 

I beg him to eat when he doesn't want to have anything. I tell him how important a consistent diet is for his health. All because it makes sense to me. My solution will make him feel better. He'd realize it if he would cooperate. 

Or not. 

Maybe, just maybe, it's not going to change. Just like the friend who doesn't like to talk about her problems probably never will open right up. Just like the coworker who can't face his actions probably never will be honest with himself. Just like the family member who will never feel close no matter how much anyone tries. Just like the introvert won't become a social butterfly. Or the overly expressive person won't be able to hold it in. 

We're not all created to make it through with the same crutches. The same outs. The same revelations. 

What I need isn't what the next person needs. When I need dark chocolate ice cream with chunks of fudge, the next person might just need a hug. I don't get it. My coping came out of a childhood restriction from chocolate and a severe shyness. But for them, imagine if in response to their need no one would ever give them a hug? If they were offered chips and cheezies and milkshakes and cake, when they just longed for affection. 

When I need a nice juicy burger with cheese and bacon, the next person just might need a nap. I'm not on board. I recall my mom taking me out for burgers after a night out or the stress of a breakup. But for them, imagine if in response to their need no one ever let them rest? If they were dragged out for fries or hot wings or pie and ice cream, when they just needed to be alone. 

Often, it just isn't better until we take that moment to go back to our comforts. Whether or not they match the needs or wants of those around us. Yes, we all need to learn to deal with things properly. Especially when a five dollar ice cap isn't going to help financial burden. Or a long book isn't going to erase the extensive to-do list.

But when we have to face things together we have to remember that we might not always want to go in the same direction. This requires a bit of observing and listening and being patient and letting go. 

Now, I'm exhausted. My daughter fell asleep, but I didn't. So I'm going to go to the fridge and find some energy. 

My Undone List

Often we have a set of tasks we decisively set on completing. A list of things we need to have done. And this is good. Lists are good. Goals are good. 

But sometimes life comes in and says, no way, that is not what is going to happen. This is quite a pet peeve of mine. Especially when it is what life says to other people. I get so annoyed when friends or family fall through on plans. When they don't do what they said they would do.

I think I get more aggravated because I question how much is life really getting in the way and how much is just excuse. If it really mattered, would they have done it anyway?

It seems life is intent on teaching me that sometimes, I can't just means I can't.

My husband is returning in a few days from a job away. While he was gone I had huge overhaul plans. I was going to get rid of things not used. I was going to amaze him with my hard work. And it started okay. 

I cleared out of a bunch of stuff. I washed the siding by the entrance. I searched and destroyed a dozen wasps nests. I cleaned out and organized the pantry and the storage room and the fridge and freezer. I was checking things off the list. And I had another whole three days off, and a few evenings, to hit 'er hard and get 'er done. 

But then on Wednesday I started to feel unwell. By Thursday I felt horrid. I left work and went home. But a few hours later I was up in the hospital severely nauseous with excruciating stomach pains. They determined it was probably viral and sent me home to bed. I was useless but hopefully by the end of the weekend I would be able to get a little bit more work done.  

But it was not so. Sunday morning I went back up when it became very clear that I was not getting better. I'll spare you the details. 

So my diagnosis was changed from viral, and run it's course, to bacterial, and requiring treatment. But tests had to be done to determine which bacteria, and that may take days. 

So here I am, on a Sunday afternoon, getting nothing checked off my list. All my energy must be used to feed my toddler and try to convince her I'm not a Jungle Gym. To wipe her bum and make sure she washes her hands. Other than that, it's been sleep, books, movies, watching her play (which is quite entertaining), Facebook and Pinterest. Nothing productive. 

No weed eating. No moving the lawn. No emptying out the shed to organize. No dump run. No cleaning the fish tank. 

Not only will my self imposed list not be done, but my husband may just return to laundry piled up, dirty dishes, and a layer of grit on the floor. 

My first thought was, would he have stopped working feeling like this? He is a hard worker. He pushes through everything. I feel he may not be aware of how awful I feel. Not that he would actually judge me. He wasn't the one who made the list. I think I may have to let go of some pride as well. I intended to have my man in awe. I wanted him to be proud of me. And I wanted him to learn something. I wanted to show him a list that got done.

But it appears I just have to trust he loves me and he's happy that I'm okay and he won't be excited to see what I did. He'll be excited to see me.

And I'll be happy to see him to be with him and enjoy his company and watch him with his daughter. Not to show him my amazingly accomplished list. 

She Is Not Me.

As the freckles start to dot the bridge of my daughter's adorable nose I see more of myself in her face. (Well, somewhat, as I don't find my nose adorable). As she hungers for more and more books I find pride in her familiar curiosity. As she desires to greet strange animals I recognize her mutual connection to nature. I smile as she tidies up and points out things out of place, hoping that this will help her instead of hindering her future by stressing her out. I laugh as her request for a snack or meal often reflects my most desired nourishment, chocolate. 

Day by day I notice myself in her expressions and preferences. There is one area, though, in which I cannot relate. 

It wasn't until I was at least a quarter of a century in age before I was even close to comfortable inviting someone new into my world. Even then, it was a big step for me. 

A while ago my daughter was at a party with a group of familiar people when she invited a little boy at the next table in the park to play. It seemed if anyone came along that she didn't know, she would eagerly invite them in.

I've seen her approach many strangers at the park. Even asking teenagers to play tag. She constantly asks people their names. 

And it baffles me. It is so different than my own actions as a child. My shyness was already quite strong by two years of age. Eye contact was difficult. Asking any questions was torture. 

As I watch her grow and learn I have to remember something important. I can't let my stained view of past events and situations determine how those same situations would effect my confident child. 

Because she is not me. 

Yes, when the little boy refused to talk to her and she questioned why, she was confused and curious. But that doesn't mean she was feeling the pain of rejection that tormented me for years. She doesn't know the deep sorrow of feeling like no one is actually truly there. And I don't want my face and my reaction to tell her it should bother her more than it does. 

Maybe he was shy. Maybe he was grumpy from being tired or hungry. Maybe his parents told him not to talk to people he didn't know. Maybe he just found her too cute. Or too confident. 

Yes, when the friend played with her well until a closer friend came along, she didn't understand the sudden change. She just wanted to keep having fun. But that doesn't mean she spiraled into a snow-ball of thoughts of why she wasn't good enough. She doesn't have the constant worry that she is failing in her actions. And I don't want to be over concerned for her and make her surmise that it is her fault. 

Maybe she is a good enough friend but the other friend needs more attention. Maybe they had plans to get together and were excited to see each other. Maybe people take turns with their affections and it would come back again.

Maybe, just maybe, we need not over analyze. Imagine that! Imagine the freedom in just letting it go. Moving on. Enjoying the next opportunity.

My tendency to overthink can lead to a habit of over explaining. But sometimes an in depth explanation is unnecessary. Life is too short. And full of opportunity. Opportunity I missed when too busy questioning why or why not.  

I am certain as she ages it will bring up more issues from my past. Her world is not my world and I'm heading into the unknown but I know there are certainties. Rejection. Misunderstanding. Heartache. Failure. 

But she doesn't have to be ruled by these things as she comes across them. She doesn't have to let them disable her. She doesn't have to let them direct her future. 

Life is a stressful place. But looking at my daughter as she enjoys getting out, enjoys new things, enjoys people, enjoys life, I must remember that growing up I missed out on many opportunities to live. Just because I didn't experience life like that myself does not mean that I can't accommodate a treasured childhood in my offspring.  

She's freckled and tall. Creative and curious. Observant and analytical. In touch with animals and nature.

But she is not me. 

Toddlerhood Teaches Me

I was tested, surprised, shocked, stretched to my limit the moment I became a mother. I quickly learned how free my time had been previously. I gradually adjusted to the fact that I could live on little sleep. 

As my child developed from a baby to a walking, expressing, demanding toddler, the lessons kept coming. My list will grow, but here is a snippet of my experience. 

1. I can carry more weight than I thought physically possibly. For much longer than I thought possible. Usually solely on one side. While I have to perform day to day tasks. Before becoming a comfort-and-transportation device I would have held someone else's baby (half the size of my current mini-me) for only five excruciating minutes and cramped up.

2. Unless I want to be a hermit, public bathrooms are unfortunately necessary. I can try to avoid them. But toddlers need to go when they need to go. And hopefully my toddler will still need to go after experiencing my cautious disgust for a room full of mysterious germs from innumerable strangers. My disdain mixed with my effort to hold in my desire to spew out warning after warning after warning (don't touch that, don't put that down, don't rub up against that, don't, don't, don't) is enough to make me dizzy. "Let me out!" is not the best expression when trying to create a relaxed atmosphere for someone I am hoping to get out of diapers. 

3. Dawdling is required. Figure out how to adjust. A developing, curious mind can't be told all day to hurry up, or the imagination is not going to reach its potential. Sometimes, when there are no appointments, no deadlines, no raw meat packages waiting to be refrigerated, you just have to ignore time. Meander along the cement barriers. Observe the ants following a trail. Admire the clocks or ornaments or pictures in the store window. Stand and admire the passing train. Sometimes you just observe. Sometimes you discuss. Sometimes you participate. Sometimes you go off into your own world and wait for the moment to pass. But whatever it is you've got to get to, it will be there when you're ready. 

4. Maybe. Maybe your plan won't happen. That's the way it has to be from time to time. An hour of errands with a toddler isn't ever going to come anywhere near the productivity of an hour of errands alone. Sometimes things just need to be cut. I vote for folding laundry. Most definitely. It's just not necessary. 

5. Some things are necessary, no matter how difficult the torture is for the little one. That means sometimes toddlers are unhappy. No, kiddo, I can't hold you while I chop carrots. But the carrots are getting chopped. You'll survive. The neighbours may not think so, but you will. 

6. Who cares what the neighbours think. There are so many random opinions on opposite ends of the spectrum that it would never be possible to please everyone. So why try? My kid isn't going to be allowed to do what some others do (no matter how amazing). And she'll be doing other things that some parents wouldn't allow. 

7. I can change my mind about what I allow. It's called life. We have goals. Paths we are trying to take. And these little minds that contain much less information than we have in our own noggins still have the unfathomable power to persuade us to do things differently than we intended. The pre-mom me would be in denial of this possibility. She would be in shock witnessing some of my actions. But, as it turns out, ice cream happens more than I'd like to admit. Bed time is way later than I intended. Eating in the car is apparently a necessity. I've been informed. And, as number six states, it's okay if you don't agree.

I don't agree with myself sometimes. But that's parenting. Making mistakes. Taking the plunge when I don't know where it'll take me. Pushing through. Because, wow, through all the stress and stretching, it sure is amazing. 

I look forward to the lessons I will continue to learn as my daughter progresses through the different stages of life. I teach her. She teaches me. I'd say motherhood is the most demanding but rewarding academia.