Sunny&80…

It’s that time of year…when that 48 inch piece of PVC pipe candy-striped with colored electrical tape holds the answer to the question that’s plagued my daughters all winter long.

“Am I tall enough?”

Every day since it closed last fall, my two-year old has asked me,

“Mom…is Snoopy’s House opened today?”

Every day since it closed last fall, my five-year old has asked me,

“Mom…how many more days until SUMMER???!!!”

It’s fun, to remember the ache for summer to come in the dead of winter.  The anxiety of knowing it’s closer when spring arrives.  When Cedar Point finally opens for the season, my kids lose their minds.  And I pick up something to hang over their heads every day until it closes.

“Better behave…or we’re not going to Cedar Point, today.”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

My kids are privileged, because they live the next town over from “Snoopy’s House.”  It’s literally possible for them to go there every day…so the fact that we sometimes don’t just kills them.  It’s sounds spoiled and ridiculous, I realize.  Not so long ago, I, myself, remember packing my bag on Friday to high-tail it up here from Brecksville as fast as possible to our family boat at Cedar Point Marina.  I would step out of that van and smell the lake…the funnel cakes…I even remember the smell of the dock after it rained…or in the morning when it was covered with dew and spider webs.  That was just my life on the weekends.  Imagine my kids getting to go up there every day if they want to.

I’ve questioned my parenting abilities lately, wondering why my kids seem to have lost missing good behaviors that used to be lodged into their little brains.  When, really, it’s summer’s fault.  How could I have forgotten how exciting it is?!

The beach, the lake, boats, Cedar Point rides…and we don’t have to drive from suburbia to get here.  We live here!

Just writing that down is like a deep breath of therapy for me.  I gotta admit.

What turned the switch on?  What rescued me from that land where, at the end of a bad week, I just want to sit down and pull my hair out strand by strand?

The stick.

That 48 inch tall piece of pvc pipe…candy striped in colored electrical tape.

The look on my kids face when they come nose to nose with that stick.  Oh, man.  Priceless.

In the moment I watched them measured for the first time this summer, hoping beyond all hope that they are good enough…tall enough… I remember all the disappointed kids I had to turn away during my time as a Dragon Lady on Iron Dragon.  But also, all the elated ones.  All the first time riders that  were so relieved not to have another year of “eat your vegetables so you’re tall enough to ride” for another year.  You can almost hear the relief.

Both my kids get to ride new rides this year.  Watching them light up as they experience a new thrill is amazing.  As a parent, I never get tired of watching ‘firsts.’  Especially first rides on the Troika Troika Troika. Totally awesome.  Dad is relieved, because that’s one more adult sized ride, and one less slightly cramped kiddie ride.  We’re getting closer.

It’s sometimes hard for me not to rush things.  After all, I am a runner.  Faster is better.  Perhaps my most recent bout of injury, resulting in a frustrating week off of running, is God sending me a message.  In the midst of being so mad at why this can’t just happen to lazy people who don’t give a crap about running everyday while the sun comes up…walking through Cedar Point trying to pull my Radio Flyer full of cuteness with the opposite hand of the side that I’m injured on…analyzing every step to see how painful it is and if the IB profen is kicking in or it really just feels OK today…in the midst of all my mental belly aching…

Little Lo saw Woodstock.

“Woodstock!!!!!!!!!!!” She yelled, and ran faster than her little legs have ever gone before over to that big yellow bird for a hug.  The look on her sweet little face as she held onto that birds wings and danced with it refocused my own brain.

I want to hold on to the toddler years.  They are good years.  Terribly frustrating, insane, crazy, and part of the reason I’m constantly injured…but totally awesome.  Any day that makes me appreciate my glass of wine after little person bedtime like it’s the holy grail is a good day, full of life….full of hilarious stories…way to many to have the time to write down here.  As I looked in the mirror after putting them down for naps after another fun trip to “Snoopy’s House,” I had to remind myself how old I am.

It’s been a good run, so far.  Who cares if I miss a week, or a month, or even a year of running?  I might accumulate a slight spare tire from eating desert twice a day, and enjoying a beer or two on my front porch listening to the lake or laughing with family and friends.  Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, I need to drop the stick.  Just like my kids can only control so much of how fast they grow…I can only control so much of how my injury heals.  In the meantime, there’s a lot of life to enjoy.

Happy Measuring…

Megs

“I marker-ed my face.”

Yes.  She “marker-ed” her face.  And her fingers and her toes…and my kitchen table.  Oh, and a little bit on the coloring book, too.  That’s what I get for drying my hair.

Moms, you know how it goes…Our own hair takes a back seat…especially on Monday morning.  Especially for someone like me, who crams a run and a shower into the madness that already encompasses our mornings.  But…I just got a hair cut.  And…I love it!  So much so, that I actually felt motivated on a sunny Monday morning, to dry it, straighten it, and wear it down.  There’s no way I could squeeze it in before pre-school drop off…so I put a hat on over my wet hair and looked forward to coming back home and spending that hour in between school drop off and my youngest daughter’s music class in my new bathroom…where I can can actually plug the hair dryer and the flat iron in all at once…and doing my hair.

Now, usually, as soon as I set off to get something accomplished, my kids are peeking in every 5 seconds with a demand, request, comment, tattle, tragedy…it’s always something.  I can’t read books, blog, take a bath, dry my hair…get dressed…no.  They have to be in the know…and apparently so do I.  But this glorious Monday morning…I got 10 whole minutes to myself to do my hair in peace.  Hmmmm… I enjoyed it so much I took a picture of my hair cut and put it on facebook.  Even changed my profile picture.  Could it be, that my little Lo was just old enough to entertain herself for 10 whole minutes…going on 15?

I happily pranced down the stairs to get her ready to go to music class…and that’s when I saw WHY she had been able to amuse herself for 10 whole minutes…going on 15…

She had found her big sisters fabric markers, tucked away in their own pencil case in Brianne’s art easel.  Lo decided that the 3 boxes of brand new crayons in her drawer weren’t good enough for her new coloring book.  So, she took the markers and sat back down at the kitchen table to create new masterpiece in her Alice and Wonderland coloring book.  Then, after coloring the picture for a while, she had an even better idea.  Lo decided to marker her face.  And her hands.  And her feet.  And her legs.  And my kitchen table.  And….well, she was dotting her eye lids when I pranced so happily down the stairs and our eyes met.

I had a moment.  A moment where I usually would have lost my mind completely…yelled at her, spanked her butt and sent her to her room.  But that sunny Monday morning, I had a moment.  Maybe it was new hair cut, putting me in such a good mood that even a markered child couldn’t destroy it.  No.  I knew that hair would be back in a pony tail by noon…and it was…

Lauren looked me straight in the eye…and in that tone of voice she uses when she tattles on herself (which is a lot…before she’s even been caught doing something…and sometimes she makes up stuff she didn’t even do…which is totally weird…), and said…

“I marker-ed my face.”

“Lo!  What did you do?!” I said back to her in a bewildered and shocked tone.  She continued to look at me like she KNEW she was about to get disciplined.  Then she said,

“I did my fingers and my toes…”

It was seriously everything I could do not to laugh!  Who was I?!  This was not me.  I’m gifted with volume, and my girls know it…especially when they misbehave.  I’m sure that’s what Lauren was expecting.  But, I just couldn’t do it.  Something urged me to see if the marker would come right off before I flipped out on her.’

“Go look in the bathroom mirror, and let’s say a prayer it comes right off, Lo.”

If that little peanut knows how to pray, believe me…she was.  I was!  I wanted so badly for it to just come right off so that my calm state remained in tact.  Wouldn’t you know…permanent fabric marker…and it came right off her face.  And her hands.  Not so much her toes…but we got most of it.  Came right off my table, too.  The fear in her eyes was proof enough that she’d learned her lesson before I’d even had to say it.

And honestly, look at her face?  What a nut!  How could I be too terribly angry with her?  After all, she was just being herself.  Lo has been destructive ever since she was a baby.  Messy eater.  Sticks everything into her mouth…including but not limited to rocks, dead fish on the beach, and Q-tips.  Into everything.  Ask my husband how many stickers he’s peeled off the floor.  When she discovered crayons she decided to update the color of our kitchen floor.  She has no regard for her body when she leaps into the air.  No worry about how she’ll land or what she’ll damage when she looses her balance in that last ballerina spin…or clips the table on her 50th lap running around the house.  That’s just my Lo.

Maybe it’s that a part of me wishes I had that carefree spirit that Lo Lo does.  It’s a cool part of who she is.  It reminds me to relax, sometimes.  Now, when she’s yelling…I mean yelling…at the top of her lungs at other kids on the play ground?  That’s when I yank her back to reality, into the van, and back home to sit in her room.  When she hauls off and clocks her sister for no reason at all but to provoke a situation?  Looks at me and screams “NO!” as if the louder she says it the more seriously I will understand that this time she means it?  Listen, the kid doesn’t have free reign.  She knows when she’s crossed the line.  She cries before I even punish her.

But for now, I think I’m just going to have to hide the scissors…because I think my mom is right.  The hair will be  next.

Happy Marker-ing!

Megs

“Mommy!  Where are my bunnies and my puppies?!” Lo wails.

She carries around some small treasure at all times, and the baby bunnies and the puppies are her favorite ‘little’ toys of the moment.

My Little Lo.

The baby of the family, perhaps that’s why she has a ton of nicknames. Lo Lo, Loey Bear, Lo Lo Bear, Loey, Lo Lo Baby…it goes on and on.  I was so particular not to baby talk to my first child, but the second requires a bit more will power.  Just knowing that she’s the last baby (and rest assured…she IS) makes me want to savor every little ‘baby’ thing that she does.  Even things that I considered ‘terrible two’ behaviors for my older daughter, I consider explosively cute coming from Miss Lo.

Cracking up at Lo when I know I need to discipline her for something makes me acutely sympathetic towards Brianne, that’s for sure!  She’ll be 5 in a couple of weeks, and I have to remind myself to tone it down a notch on disciplining her for things the first time.  Her ‘stages’ that she goes through, though frustrating as all get out right now…will most likely be the very things that crack me up when Lo goes through them.  Frustrating still, but on a different…much more adorable…level.  Not that one child is cuter than the other…oh, boy…can you see where this vicious cycle goes?

Back to the point at hand, it takes a lot of will power not to baby my baby.  With Brianne, it was easier.  She talked early, loved animals…collected and drug them around the house…loved to run with me…a really independent child.  Lo, is a total princess.  It’s all babies and dollies and mommies and daddies and princesses and princes and fairies and fairy godmothers with her.  Brianne skipped walking and took off running.  Lo is still content to walk around on her tippy toes.  Seriously, I don’t even know how it’s physically possible for her to walk on the very tips of her toes like that!

Lo tip toes around the house, my dainty little princess, sipping tea (no exaggeration) while careful to hold it over a saucer in case of a spill.  In her dollhouse, which is bigger than she is, every baby is tucked in with a blanket.  Every pet puppy or kitty or bunny has a pillow and a blanket.  Every dolly’s name is “Honey,” and they usually all have some sort of ailment than needs immediate attention.

It’s not unlikely to see Lauren come tip toe-ing down the hallway, rocking her doll in her arms, saying, “It’s OK, Honey…it’s OK.  Mommy’s got ya.”

So, not only is she the baby, but she’s into everything little and small…mothering every toy and tiny collectible treasure that she has.  Naming them all “Honey.”  It’s too cute to resist!

But maybe that’s the point.  Perhaps, my baby needs to be babied just a little bit.  No worries, you don’t need a translator to decipher our conversations.  I”m all for leaving English words spoken the way they are supposed to be.  But the tone of play…jumping into her imaginary world…that, I”m discovering, is just as fun as sneaking into her room and playing with her dollhouse when she’s not looking.

“Lo Lo,” I say in a high voice layered with fret, “is Honey going to be OK?”

“Uh-Huh,” she mutters and she looks at me with a concerned sigh.

Then I realize…she’s mimicking me.  That’s how I am when she’s sick.  I stay by her side until she can sleep peacefully on her own…doting on her in complete concern and worry- because I am.  (I HATE when my babies are sick.  It’s terrible.  Rips my heart out.)  When she falls (which for Lo happens quite a bit..little bit of trouble with gravity…), I rush to the scene and scoop her up in my arms whispering in her ear, “It’s OK…Mommy’s got ya.”  And, my heart just melts.

Observing how my extra sensitivity to my baby Lo has affected her mannerisms, I’ve learned to turn back and apply that to Brianne, too.  In doing this, I’ve found that she, too, mimics that behavior.  Illustrating it’s never too late to show compassion.  They pour out the same compassion that is shown to them.  I witness it when they play with their toys  in their imaginary play-lands, and to their friends.

It’s plain to see that my daughters know they are loved and cherished, even in times of dispute and disobedience.  They have faith that I will always be there for them.  To “scoop” them up and tell them , “It’s OK, Mommy’s got ya.”  Knowing it’s not just me, but God, too, that puts His arms around them with unconditional love.

“I’ll Always Be Here for You.”  It’s Brianne’s favorite book.  It’s mine, too, because I mean every word.  I will always…in my own imperfect way, attempt to pay forward the love and grace given to me.  Why encourage my girls to be ‘tough’ and rush them to act  ‘grown up.’  Seems a little backwards when we’re instructed to have a “child like faith.”

Happy “Baby” Talk,

Megs

“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.   Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. “  Matthew 18:3-4

I have a crumb obsession.  They fall to the floor, I grab the broom, and sweep them up.  Like, immediately.  And, oh, the lengths I go to keep them from falling to the floor in the first place.  A gigantic kitchen table, with two benches that are so heavy that once pushed up close to the table my kids can’t push them back out.  It pretty  much forces them to eat over the table.  And so they do, right?  Ha.

To look at my kitchen floor, you would think that I let me kids dance on the table, and on the bench they sit in, and all over the kitchen, for that matter.  My daughters are two and four, and have learned nothing about eating over the table despite my constant nagging on the matter their entire little lives.  It’s a crumb-tastrope in there.  No matter how much I sweep the floor, I always miss some crumbs.  Either that, or my kids follow behind the broom and drop new ones.

The day I clean the house?  That’s when the juice-tastrophe’s and milk-tastrophies and chocolate pudding plops and slimy banana bombs hit the floor.  Blueberries plummet to the ground and get stuck on my nice clean sock.  The cat barfs up a hairball.  It’s inevitable.

So, now…the day I clean the house…I plan to be done cleaning right at naptime.  That way, I can revel in the sparkly, beautiful, fresh-smelling house…all by myself…in peace and quiet.  Then, I go into the kitchen and start making a mess of my own.  That way, I can at least account for my crumbs in the smell and taste of freshly baked goods coming out of the oven.  And when I sweep up my own crumbs, after what I’ve cooked and baked has left smiles on the faces of my family…it’s not nearly as annoying.  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

It may seem silly to be frustrated by crumbs on the floor, and odder still to find a subtle joy and sense of accomplishment in sweeping them up at times.  But, not to me.

As long as I have crumbs to prevent and sweep up, I have a purpose.  It’s simple…but it keeps me busy all day long.  See where I’m going with this crumb analogy?

I do the same for my daughters, essentially, in trying to prevent and solve their little problems as the days run by.  Problems with each other, with friends, with me, with homework, with chores, with bedtime, with eating dinner…you get the point.  In a sense,  motherhood…life… would be easier without problems to prevent and solve.

Or would it?

Where would the sense of accomplishment be in being handed an ‘easy’ life?  Would I appreciate, or even recognize it if I had it, or would I- being human- have to find something to prevent or fix or solve or make better?  As my older daughter prepares to turn five in a couple of weeks, the thought of Safety Town and Kindergarten screening reminds me to find joy in my crumbs.  These are good crumbs.  Having two daughters, as exhausting and daunting a task as it may be to raise them up, is sharpening me.

Little by little, I’m learning to relax about the crumbs.  OK, I’m not.  Crumbs on the floor drive me crazy, and I have to sweep them up…like…immediately.  But, the problems and challenges that arise with my daughters…now those, I’m learning to embrace.  I’m human.  I’ll never be perfect, nor is anyone’s life meant to exist without purposeful challenge.    There will always be something to fix, learn, and improve.  But there are also moments at the end of each lesson in life when the light-bulb comes on and I take an attitude of thanks for the whatever I’ve just come through.  My daughters are no different.  Expecting them to not to fail and have problems just isn’t realistic.  I’m finding joy in recognizing a situation I can help them navigate through.  With a lot…A LOT.. of prayer, I’m beginning to find the patience and compassion to guide them through some of their toddler woes.

“MOM!!!!  I JUST DON’T FEEL LIKE IT!”

Good, thing, too.  Because just when I think I’ve found a way to gather enough patience to make it through a five year old melt down…she ups the anty.

“Brianne,” I say calmly…purposely and forcibly calm…”just eat your dinner and then we’ll get ready for bed and read a some books.”

“No.  I don’t want to,” she says curtly.

Sigh.  I’ll get the broom…

Happy Sweeping!

Megs

The Enchanted Land of Little Girls.  It’s the world my little girls live in.  It’s pink and purple, full of tutus and tea times, dress up and make up, magic wands and fairy dust.  There are new adventures around every corner, limited only by the amount of string you allow your imaginary kite to fly.  Laugh if you will, but I learn a lot from my time in this pretty and fluffy little land.

Yesterday, being sunny and 60 after a winter full of ‘below zero,’ the kingdom of little girls decided to venture out of the castle and over to Grammy and Papa’s to fly kites.  It was there, I witnessed a literal example of what happens when The Enchanted Land of Little Girls and the actual world, full of things like wind, rocks and gravity, come colliding together.

Now, as a side note, I hope teaching my older daughter to tie her shoes and drive a car will be easier than teaching her how to fly a kite.  There’s a little bit of patience involved in all of that.  I may be doomed.

As for kite-flying….first, came the independent streak.  “Mom, I can do it myself.”

Thump.  Kite on the ground.  Thump.  Kite on the ground.  Thump-

“Mom!  It won’t fly!!”

Eager to rush her into stage two, where I rescue her from her frustration by teaching her the correct way to fly the kite, I pick up the kite and launch it into the air.  After quite a few failed attempts sent the kite crashing into the rocks, I needed backup.

On to stage three…call in Grandpa because I can’t remember how to fly a kite.  Together we whip up a strategy, and  I offered to hold  Brianne’s kite up for her until the wind kicked it up a bit, and then signal her to take off running.

“Just for a little bit, then you have to stop and let it fly.” I explained to her.

The wind picked up, I gave her the go…and off she went.  It flew, alright!  Success!

“Brianne!  It’s flying!!! Look!” I exclaimed.  “Brianne!  Bri!  BRIANNE!”

Still running.  And letting more, and more string out.

“It needs more string to go higher and higher up into the sky.” she yelled from a distance.

She finally stopped, and shortly after she turned around to glance at her kite flying high up in the sky (Mary Poppins ‘Go Fly a Kite’ blaring in her ears-this I’m sure), a tree ate her kite.  In her mind, the scene was about to be glorious.  Her kite way up in the sky, her letting more and more string out…

The look on her face as she saw the tree munching on her kite was not that of total bliss.  Nor was the one she sported while yanking and tugging on the string to get it down from the tree.  One last tug and it was out…and started to fly again…right into Grandpa’s head!  The dance he did to try and get out of that kite’s way was the funniest thing I’ve seen in months.   I hit the ground laughing harder than my kids do when they’re tickled.  It may not have been the seen from the movie where the whole family is laughing and smiling at the kite flying through the sky…but the whole family sure was laughing and smiling!

That kite made it through three more rounds with that tree branch, before the light-post sent it into early retirement.  It’s a tricky thing, trying to explain to a four year old how much string is the appropriate amount.  And a test of my patience to keep reeling it back in over and over again….helping Brianne re-launch the kite over and over and then watching and waiting to see if it would fly.

Children are like that, aren’t they?  As parents, we do our best to put together a sound and sturdy kite, with just the right amount of string.  We try to create a clear path, void of trees that the kite can be caught in, forgetting that some of the most valuable moments are getting caught up in the branches.   Forgetting what its like to use our imagination.  To dream big.  To just lift the string up to the heavens, and just let go…

In Brianne’s mind, she was imagining that kite flying up so high she could barely see it.  She’s wasn’t concerned with the rules of kite flying or with gravity pulling it down.  The thought never even crossed her mind.  She’s focused on making that kite soar.  Even my two-year-old Lo took off running with her little kite…not doubting for a second if it could fly.

After all, she lives in The Enchanted Land of Little Girls.  Her imagination is used to soaring.  She hears Cinderella’s voice ringing in her ears telling her never to give up on her dreams.  This kite flying experience will be the talk of the tea party, tomorrow, I can guarantee that.

I hope my daughters always have the courage  to let the string out to the sky and just let go.

Happy Kite Flying

Megs

It started with lying on the ground on her back in protest.  It then escalated into shrill screams directed at me with no purpose other than to rattle my eardrums.  Next up, the foot stomping…often paired with the screaming.  When that got old, my two year old began to experiment with words.  Telling me “NO!” soon became boring.  So she took it up another notch.   Through this she discovered that there were three words in particular that I didn’t like her to say, at all…ever.  After a stern “No!” she would sit there and grind her teeth (that’s how I know she’s thinking of her next move).  Several days into this, she finally came up with her next big protest.

“Lauren, sit down in your seat at the table, please,” I directed her, one morning at breakfast.

“NO!  POO-POO-TEE-TEE-SHUT-UP!”

Well, at least she’s efficient…get’s them all out at once.  Pack as much ammunition into it as possible to get your point across.  Crazy little peep.  The funniest part of it all is the look on her face when she’s doing it.   She just looks at me with pure disdain.  As if I’ve truly offended her for the last time, and she will no longer tolerate my silly demands.  What’s funnier still, is that she fell off her chair ten seconds later. As she ran into my arms for comfort, I gave her the old “I told you so,” in response to which she gave me huge hug and said she was sorry.

No, that didn’t happen.  There would be no story here.  She didn’t appreciate my comforting at all.  Instead, she hauled off and smacked me upside the head.

It seriously hurt so bad I had to put her down and walk away to evaluate what had just happened.  When I came back into the room to discipline her for it, she had dug her heals in even harder.  At the first sight of me and sound of my voice she launched into a fit of “POO-POO!  SHUT UP, MOM!  SHUT UP!  TEE TEE! “

OK, so we’re here now.  As I reached down to pick her up, she took off running.  When I caught up to her and picked her up, she started smacking me upside the head again.

Up the stairs and into her room, I set her on her bed and gave her one last chance to calm down and be realistic.  Please.  That’s as funny as her smacking me upside the head when I wasn’t expecting it.

“Lauren, you cannot hit.  You cannot say tee tee, shut up, or poo poo,” I reiterate.  It’s time for you take a nap, now.

She kicked me and told me to shut up.

I slapped her hand.

Now, at no point in this whole madness did I yell.  I gave it up for Lent.  That, alone, tells you where I’m at with this, right?  Yet, one little slap on the hand, and her world ended.

Finally, she looked at me with apologetic eyes, as if she’d finally realized what she’d done to the Mommy that she loves so much.  It’s as if she just snapped right out of it.  I opened my arms and she climbed in for a snuggle.  Then, I tucked her in, told her I loved her and shut the door for  nap-time.

By 11:30 am, I had already accomplished so much.  I had handled a tantrum without yelling!  Yay for Mommy!  If only that could just last until my husband gets home at 7pm…he’d believe that it really does exist!

I start out every day with the greatest intentions in disciplining my children.  My mind is a constant fury of research and prayer to figure out how to ensure my daughters know that they are unconditionally loved, but not allowed to rule my house.  Sometimes, I make it through the entire day without losing patience one single time.  Ha ha ha ha .  Did you believe that?  I’m sorry…that was a mean joke.  It’s more likely that by 8 am I’ve already lost my patience multiple times.

Learning how to deal with my own actions when my patience is lost is the most difficult kind of endurance training I’ve ever put myself through.  But, after taking my husbands complaints about me yelling at them every night when he gets home from work…you know…the dinner-bath-bed- routine…to heart, and decided to make a change.  Or, at least try.  Because no matter how I justify why I’ve earned the right to lose my patience after an entire day of being smacked upside the head (figuratively, and literally!!!), I don’t.

“Treat others the way you want to be treated.”  It’s the point I’m driving home with my older daughter right now.  I am in her face about it, the way only I can be.  It’s kind of hard to teach her that lesson unless I model it myself.  So, when she told me that she doesn’t like the way I treat her when I yell, I accepted the challenge.

“Ok, Brianne.  I won’t yell at you if you listen to me.  We listen to each other, because we want others to listen to what we have to say, too.”  No, it didn’t work immediately.  But when I yelled, or she didn’t listen, we talked about it…and I just kind of stuck with it.  Maybe, if she  sees me trying to handle situations in a calm manner, than she will follow suit.  And it helps me be less rattled with the younger one…who is the complete opposite of her sister and requires an entirely different set of rules.  I just calmly take her out of the situation, and if it takes a little smack on the hand to snap her out of it, so be it.

There’s a lot to be said for removing yourself from the situation.  I need to check myself in that category quite often.  In my scramble to figure out how to be a good parent, I needed to remind myself that my children are a blessing…and that the best parent of all is  looking out for their best interest, and mine.  After all, He never lost patience with me….never gave up and made me feel like I wasn’t loved.  No, every time I yelled, stomped my feet, and ran away…he calmly slapped me on the wrist…and sat there with open arms until I snapped out of it.  Always open arms.  Always an ‘I love you.”  Unconditionally.  So, I think it’s only right that my children deserve the same kind of love, patience and understanding.  It’s a lofty goal to aim to be that way all the time…but if you don’t aim high, you’ll never get off the ground.

Here’s praying my patience lasts until noon tomorrow.

Happy patience exercising…

Megs