Crazy Train

O: Mom, the Easter Bunny is just a suit, a bunny suit, with a bunny in it, right?

K: Exactly. 

This past weekend was a whirlwind of excitement: egg hunts, chocolate bunnies, time with family, and a trip to the Getty.  

The Getty is one of my happy places.

There has not been a lot of time for writing or quiet reflection.  This week I have taken on more than I should have and am learning several important lessons from riding this self-inflicted crazy train:

1. Ask for help. I have a wonderful community of people.  All of them would love to help me out, if they can.  I try to imagine how good I feel when I can really help someone who needs it. That seems to make the asking easier.

2.  Prioritize. There are a million things that need doing, but only two of them need doing today.  Some of them can wait until tomorrow or even next week, and some of them are just never going to get done. (see below)

3. Triage. Some things aren't going to get done.  This is a fact.  Take a breath, deal with it.  Release the desire for perfection, or more to the point,  the desire for the perception of perfection.  I had some grand plans for O's 4th birthday party this week.  Instead, she is getting store-bought cupcakes and a couple of balloons, and it is going to be okay.  

No, seriously. It is going to be ok. How can it not be?

4. When in doubt, there are always cookies. Because sometimes I have chocolate-flavored feelings.  I'm not proud.

C is for Cooooookie. That sure as heck is good enough for me. 

Two Loners and a Social Butterfly

O: But mama, I miss my friends.  How am I supposed to feel happy without people that are not you and dad?

Jim and I are loners.  We really enjoy solitude. We are often overwhelmed by large groups. We are happiest at home.  We will make plans, with people we genuinely like, then have to give each other pep talks in order to get out the door. One of the reasons I knew that he and I would be good partners, was that we figured out, very early on, how to be alone, together.  

May she always know that love can be this beautiful.

Somehow, in spite of her parents, O is a social animal. She loves being around people. She thrives at school and in large groups.  She can talk to and befriend anyone.  I think she takes after my dad.  After a few days at home without outside contact, she is climbing the walls, craving that interaction and stimulation from her peers. Honestly, I am in awe of her at times, her energy for people, her empathy, and her complete willingness to see everyone as a potential friend.

My best guess is that in the neighborhoods of yesteryear, or maybe even still, on the streets of small towns, this kind of thing works itself out.  The introverted parents attend the requisite number of community functions and then retreat to their shag-carpeted dens to read science fiction, while their extroverted off-spring wander from house to house in a neighborhood of best friends, a full-social calendar achieved with very little effort.  Los Angeles, however, is the land of the playdate, a culture where having parents with some mild social anxiety can seriously conflict with the filling of a tiny person's dance card.  

O has forced me outside of my comfort zone more times than I can count, and in trying to act in her best interest and respond to her needs, I have found myself, inadvertently acting in my own best interest. Because I recognize in her a need for community, I found one for myself as well. That community of friends, of other parents, of other children, has become invaluable to me, and my sanity. It is yet another reminder that these tiny humans we are living with come with their own wants, needs, and passions that we might not be able to fully grasp or comprehend. Yet, if we can step back and try to learn about them, we might learn something about ourselves as well.

That is what joy looks like, in case you were wondering

A special thank you to all of those families who have endured my awkward behavior at playdates over the past three years, and I owe a debt of love and gratitude to O for helping me find my community that I didn't even know I needed.  

Making Time

O: When is tomorrow? Is it right now? Or is it a long way away?

You can't make time.  Days are only so long.  Moments are impossible to relive, or recreate.  The closest we can come to making time is being mindful about how we spend the time we have. It is so hard to stay present with the looming specter of "what needs to be done" hovering over your shoulder.

This week, I am doing a drastic audit of my "what needs to be done list" and finding, on closer inspection, that many of those needs aren't really needs at all.  

This needs to be done.  Daily.  Hourly if possible.

The list is shrinking. I wish I could tell you that it was easy and I felt better, more connected, but if I'm being honest, a lot of the letting go feels unsettling.  Somehow, the length of that impossible list of needs kept me anchored.  It is challenging to stay present when the present is a big jumbled mess of dirty dishes, laundry, big feelings, little bodies, and boogers.  Today, in fact, I failed more than I succeeded. Tomorrow, though, I get a whole twenty-four hours to try again. 

Pebbles and Boulders

O: (sobbing) But mama, I need. I need. I need.

K: What do you need, my love?

O: I don't know.

The indignities of childhood are innumerable: scraped knees, hurt feelings, bullies, bragging, tattletales, and countless disappointments.  When your kids are little it is so tempting to swoop in, to cuddle, to soothe, to pacify, to clear every single pebble or boulder that they come across. They are ours for such a short time, why wouldn't we want to smooth their path while we still can?  

It is so tempting to be mommy-fix-it.  Taking away their hurt and being the hero can feel irresistible, but that is not about them. It is about me.  When I solve a problem or sweep away a stone, that is my victory, not theirs.  It shows them how much they need me, instead of how capable they are.  It robs them of an opportunity to learn a new skill, to think about a problem in a new way, or to discover something inherently powerful in themselves.  

I try to be mindful of what and when I fix.  Sometimes, it's ok to stumble on a pebble.  Sometimes, a boulder is there for a reason. It isn't always pretty. There is usually screaming and sometimes tears, real ones, wet and fat, running in rivers down their sweet, round faces. The worst is when there is no good solution, only that they have to learn to sit with their sadness.  That is when it is the hardest not to swoop in and fix. That's when I cry with them. 

As satisfying as it is to move the boulder for them, I try to imagine the pride and joy on their faces when they discover their own way around that boulder, or often, in O's case, straight through it.  I get the sense that P will be the type to burrow under her boulders, or vault over them, finding solutions none of us could have ever even envisioned.   

There is immediate relief in clearing that path, but there is true bliss in watching them move mountains.  It takes patience and self-restraint, but what part of parenting doesn't?  

(Insert Sound of Price is Right Sad Horns Here)

O: Mama, sometimes I have to try real hard to love you, but not daddy.  Loving daddy is easy.  

K: Truth.  You speak truth, and you and I are in the same boat on that one.  

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I'm exhausted.   I'm not capable of writing anything new today.  Please accept this ridiculously adorable photo of P with a Mickey Mouse bandaid on her head as my apology and peace offering.  

And to anyone else out there who finds they are hard to love, keep trying, and if you figure it out, let me or O know. 

Things I Have Said

K: P, stop mopping the dog! He doesn't need to be mopped.

A lot of people keep cute lists of all of the cute things that their cute kids say. I decided to keep a list of all of the crazy things cute kids have made me say. 

In the past 24 hours I have said:

1. All right guys, I am leaving, with or without you. (So clearly a bold-faced lie, even the baby didn't buy it)

2. When he said that thing about the spaceman, why did it make your heart hurt?

3. You can't have bread right now, because right now is not the bread-having time.

4. I can't put your shoes on my feet, because I am driving with my feet right now. In fact, I am driving with my hands and my eyes right now too. 

5. You are having a big feeling about that piece of trash, aren't you?

At this point, that bandaid is purely ornamental.

6. I'm sorry, but you can't have that knife right now.

7. Let's roll around on the floor and have a tickle party. No.  Just me.  I'm the only one who thinks that is a good idea?

8. Well, I think that, when brown bear and pink bear fight over the bouncy chair, you should remind brown bear that it is important to take turns, and that since she is older than pink bear, it might be nice and set a good example, if she let pink bear go first. 

9. The doors must all stay open, because all of the doors are my doors, and I am the decider about the openness of doors.

10. There is no Winnie the Pooh tonight! Pooh is off the table.

I must sound like a lunatic on a regular basis.  Anyone want to make me feel better and share the craziest thing they've said to their kids today? Anyone? Anyone? 

#thingsIhavesaid

Fierce

O:  I am going to scrub and scrub my skin until it is so beautiful, like a princess.

K: Why?

O: Because princesses have beautiful skin, because they are not real, not like the dinosaurs, who are real and have scaly skin with feathers and bumps. 

I am not raising princesses.  I am not raising tom boys. I am not raising girls.  I am raising two people, who happen to be female.  

Don't call them bossy. They are assertive and have excellent leadership qualities.  Don't call them dramatic. They have big feelings and are learning how to express them.  Don't help them on the playground or in the store.  What may look like laziness on my part is a studied choice. I am hanging back, purposely, working very hard to show them how to help themselves.

Don't make assumptions about who they will play with, how they will play, or what they will play with.  They don't. They just play.  Don't compliment them on their pretty dresses or tell them that they are cute.  Trust me, they hear that often enough.  

Ask them what their favorite books are, or how flowers grow, or to tell you a story.  Ask them what they are thinking about. They will tell you, or rather, O will tell you on P's behalf.  

I am raising two people, who happen to be female.  They are fierce.  They will have to be.  

There Are No More Babies in My House

O: I am not a tiny O anymore. I am a gigantic O who makes her own choices.

There are no more babies in my house.  O will be four at the end of the month and P is 20 months.  Somehow, last week, she stopped sleeping in the crib.  I'm still not sure how it happened.  I was cleaning their room and I started investigating what it would take to remove the one side of the crib railing. Next thing I knew, it was off and O, recognizing what a great fort this three sided crib/bed would make, quickly claimed it as her own.  I put the safety railings back on the toddler bed, and P climbed right in, like she'd never slept anywhere else.  We are realistically about 3 weeks away from being done with diapers all together, as P has been using the potty with more and more regularity since she was 6 months old. Yep, there are no more babies in my house.  

When did that happen?

Maybe we should get a puppy. 

Shooooooze

P: Shooooooooooze!

K: Do you want them off or on?

P: YEAH! Shoooooooooooze!

P has a thing for shoes. Shooooze is among her first words.  In the morning, when Jim is getting ready for work, P will follow him around carrying his size 13 dress shoes.  She brings my flip flops to me, when I am sitting barefoot at the computer and tries to put them on my feet. As for her own shoes, well...

Got to admire a girl who knows what she likes. 

Self Care and Kindness

K: I want you to always know that you are loved, no matter what.

O: No matter what?

K: Always. 

I am not always very kind to myself.  I am generally the last one on my own list.  I will often catch myself spiraling downward into a deep well of negative self-talk. I say things to myself I would never say to anyone else.  I hold myself to a standard that I would never apply to anyone else.   I am often very unkind.  

Somewhere along the way, it struck me. I should work to treat myself with the same love, kindness, and compassion that I reserve for my children, that the benefit of the doubt I extend to strangers is something that I also deserve, that role modeling forgiveness and self care is important and valuable.  

I'm really trying to remember that. You should too.