Adieu extra pounds!

Recently, a friend and former colleague posted on her blog, announcing to the world that she had joined Weight Watchers. She poured her heart out, proclaiming that it wasn’t about looking sexy in the size 2 dress (although she wouldn’t complain if that happened in the processJ).  She talked about not feeling “right” in her own body, about clothing not fitting, and about not feeling healthy.

I was in shock.  Had I had the courage to write out my thoughts, I could have written that blog for her. Word for word. I sat immobilized for about 5 minutes and then I started looking online. I joined Weight watchers the next morning.

And I didn’t do it to look sexy in the size 2 dress. Really? When was I ever a size 2? In Middle school? I did it because I want to dance at my kids’ weddings. I want to chase them over rocks and play soccer with them, without losing my breath in 10 seconds. I want to fit into regular sized clothing. I want to live to 100 years old with my wonderful husband and meet our grandkids together. Maybe even dance at their weddings.

I also had to confess, out loud, that this is not just baby weight. Sure, giving birth to twins has an impact on your body, and it sure didn’t help. Sure, had I been a bikini model pre-kids; I might be switching to one piece for the remainder of my career. But I have always struggled with weight to some extent, and if I don’t come clean now there’s no chance of making it work.

I have lost 11 pounds in the last 4 weeks, and I still have a lot more to go… but I’m pretty psyched.  Let me tell you why.

1-      I can now fit into jeans that haven’t zippered in ages. It’s a great feeling. And they don’t even dig in when I sit down… which is fantastic.  Oh, and I have a chance of the jeans being the right length. Not too long because I have to buy the size that matches my waist. Cool, huh?

2-      I don’t sweat nearly as much as I used to. It’s funny what you take for granted until it’s gone, both positive and negative. I can’t wait to see how it will decrease even more as I lose more weight.

3-      I love that I can feel my body conscious behaviors disappearing, and that they may well be gone by the time my kids can copy them. It may sound terrible, but I think more of my daughter with this one. For some reason, we don’t think as much about boys and body issues.  My daughter copies me in so many ways, probably in more ways than I realize. Overweight people tend to smooth shirts over the tummy, cross their arms and check mirrors self consciously, just to name a few. I have no doubt that I am guilty of some such behaviors, and I do not want to pass them on to my daughter if I can help it. I want her to walk with her head high, whenever possible.

4-      I love that I am potentially extending my healthy life span with every pound I lose. That I am adding one more life event that I can potentially attend and one more activity that I will potentially be fit enough to complete with the younger generation. It feels great to think about it.

5-      I love that I am already less inclined to hide from a picture. Come on, those of you who struggle with weight know exactly what I’m talking about. “Oh no, that’s ok… I’ll take the picture”. Right. Like you have no ulterior motive. Guess what? I don’t believe you. Would you be more willing to jump into the photo if you liked how you looked in your outfit? I’ll bet you would.

6-      I love that my kids are living a healthier diet, giving their little bodies an even better start to life. Lots of veggies and lean meats. Less cake and ice cream. (Note, I did not say NO cake and ice cream. J) One must have yummies too…

I’ll keep you posted when there’s more to say. In the meantime, happy eating everyone!

My top ten rules for life in general

Ever since I was relatively young, I have loved Robert Fulghum. Those of you that know his name and my style won’t be surprised in the least. Those of you that don’t know him, well…

Robert Fulghum is a writer and his writing takes the form of multiple short vignettes. He spins stories of fascinating people, connecting them with the world at large in bizarre and unconventional ways. I love it.

One of my favorites discusses the game of “hide and seek”. He describes the game (which you already know, I’m sure) and then talks about that person who hides too well. So well, in fact, that nobody finds them and they are forced to give up their location when people stop looking. He correlates this behavior to those people who “hide” in life. Those who are diagnosed with terminal illnesses but don’t’ tell anyone until the very end. Those who suffer in silence. Those who don’t share their victories or woes.

My very favorite vignette, however, is his list of rules for life.  His most famous vignette claims that the most important rules in life were learned in kindergarten and are forgotten by most adults. He claims that if most adults followed these very basic rules, the world would be a much nicer place.

For example

-          Play fair

-          Clean up your own messes

-          Say you’re sorry when you hurt someone

-          (And my FAVORITE!) Always buy lemonade when a kid is selling it.

So… in the spirit of Robert Fulghum, I would like to present you with MY top ten rules for life.

1- “Always buy lemonade from a kid who’s selling it!”- My apologies, my dear Robert, but I stole this one because I love it so very much. I agree with you. A child selling lemonade is not just selling lemonade and frequently could not care less about how much money he/she makes. They are taking a risk, putting themselves out in the world. Asking their community to take a chance on them. When you buy their lemonade, you tell them YES. Your risk was worth your time. Take a bigger risk next time. Oh, and when the lemonade tastes like crap, don’t pour it out until you are out of sight.  

2- “Always apologize to kids in situations where you would ask them to apologize to you”. – I’m a klutz. As a result, I frequently bump into things and people. Including my kids. I always apologize to them, while looking them in the eye. I also have the memory of a goldfish. When I promise them something and forget, it’s the same deal. And then I deliver something even better, just to make a point. If they are taking notes, they will learn the value of keeping promises.

3- “The individual items of a young child’s outfit don’t have to match each other; they each need to match the child.”-  My daughter is now smack dab in the toddler years. And yes, she has many opinions. Right now, she loves her dresses and gets mad if I wear a skirt and don’t put her in one. And you should see the outfits she chooses. She’s the cutest clown I’ve ever seen by the time she’s done. But her skirt matches HER. So does her shirt. And so do her shoes. Most of the time, the socks match each other, but that’s no guarantee either. But you should see her smile! That is one proud little girl!

4 - “Don’t question mom when she has ‘that’ look on her face.” – Especially a stay at home mom. If she looks like she’s being rigid, assume she’s tried it other way before. And it failed. ‘nuff said.

5- “Learn what the people you love sound like when they’re not ok.”-  People whine and fuss all the time, people of all ages. Sometimes we need to tune them out and ignore them, for their own good, because we love them. Sometimes, however, their obnoxious behavior is a cry for help. Listen well enough to know which is which so that you don’t ignore the cries for help, whenever possible.

6- “Pick your battles wisely”- Not everything that pisses you off is worth fighting about, especially if you are a strong willed woman like me. If it won’t matter in a day, a week, a year… let it go. Is it really worth the time and energy? Aren’t there more important places that energy could be spent?

7-  “Hugs rule the world”- Sometimes I find myself fighting with my kids. Sometimes they deserved it. Sometimes they didn’t.  Recently, I had a really good head to head with one of my kids and he stomped into the other room. I took a deep breath and realized that I hadn’t picked my battles very well (see #6 above), so I went into the other room and hugged him. No words. Just a huge hug. He wrapped himself around me like a monkey, sighed contentedly, and all was right again. My daughter frequently gets herself all worked up. When words are no longer progressing us, I open my arms to her and ask “Is it time for a hug?”.  At least 80% of the time, she runs into my arms and the battle is over.

8- “Get dirty”- Yes, I mean you adults too. There is a reason why ice packs, baths/showers and washing machines were invented. Use them. Eat messy food, even if it gets on your shirt. Wash it later. Play in dirt and don’t whine about it. Seriously. What’s the worst thing that can happen?

9- “Don’t compare yourself to others so much.” – Whenever you think that somebody else has got it covered, think again. You don’t know what happens behind closed doors and you certainly are not in their head. Every time I meet someone who seems perfect, that illusion fades as I get to know them better. And don’t misunderstand, this is a GOOD thing. A GREAT thing. Imperfection is the best. Those hilarious pet peeves and bizarre niggles are what makes you special. So don’t compare yourself too much. You might be tempted to eradicate one of the fantastically endearing “flaws” that everyone loves so much about you.

              10- “Don’t take it for granted”-   By “it”, I mean everything. The good stuff… because you never know what’s going to happen next. Just ask the mom whose kid has an accident and is in the hospital, wondering if he’s going to be ok. She took her boring plans for the day for granted that morning. She would do anything to take it back.  

A real reality check

I’d like for you to bear with me, on this blog. I’m going to repeat some of the sappy sentiments that I have dealt with in previous blogs. But I have a good reason, and I do have a point. So please bear with me and read on.

 Today I feel very grateful for my whiny, difficult and healthy children. The 3’s have brought about a whole new set of challenges and my capacity to tolerate high pitched, incessant whining is not admirable. I snap more than I should. Sometimes I downright yell when I should be managing or employing parenting techniques that would have avoided the ugly situation altogether.

 But that’s not my point.

 My point is that I feel grateful for their healthy status and simply thinking about it is choking me up.

 Why, you ask?

 Because a fellow preschool mom of mine is currently sitting outside a pediatric ICU, her 5 year old son sedated inside. He fell out a 2^nd story window. Headfirst. Onto concrete. The next 48-72 hours are going to be potentially the longest of her life, as they determine what damage has been done.

 He may be ok. They have reason to be optimistic. But at this point, they don’t know and I can’t even allow myself to imagine how she feels because it might break me in two.

And not that matters, but she didn’t do anything wrong. She let her kids play upstairs alone. Haven’t we all done that? This terrible accident was just that, an accident.

 And suddenly I feel very petty, very silly, for my annoyance at my children’s whining. Because really, what’s the big deal? Right?

So tonight, I ask you for two favors.

1-      Please pray for my friend and her precious child. Even if you don’t usually pray.

2-      Hug your kids. Hug them tight. Try to be nicer to them when you and they are both tired.  I know that I plan to try.

… and to all, a good night.

This is a test, of the system called life.

Many religious people will tell you, if asked about a particularly difficult or trying time in their life, that they felt God was testing them. You know… checking out what they were made of. Making sure they didn’t get too comfortable.  They claim that the situation mandated a complete introspective overhaul. Made them come to terms with some thoughts and feelings that they had been avoiding, either accidentally or intentionally. They claim that they emerged better; stronger… more prepared to take on the world ahead of them. They swear that it was all for the best, in the long run.

 I’m not particularly religious, as many of you know. I do, however, have a strong sense of faith. And fate. Not in the sense that we are powerless to make change or that free will is just an illusion. Not in that way. But in the sense that some moments were not meant to work out, because something better was waiting in the aftermath. Or that some problems were meant to be presented, because your current mental state needed a boost and this problem was ideal to fuel that particular brand of growth.  

Adults talk about breaking up with a partner they thought would be their spouse, and the devastation of the loss, only to meet someone who makes them even happier than they imagined they could be. Medical diagnoses that provide a reality check, allowing someone to make their health a priority before it’s too late. You know… the silver lining of the crappy situation. It could’ve been worse…

My husband and I find ourselves in the process of making a big decision. Well, ok… it feels like a big decision to me right now. Who knows how I’ll view it in the rear view mirror. But right now, it feels huge. The solution is in progress, and the process of putting the details into place has made me think, really and truly think.

And I have some opinions that I didn’t know I had. Really. I’m not lying, at least not to you. Lying to myself… now that’s entirely possible.  But if you had asked me a year ago, I would have fervently denied such beliefs. I have fears I wasn’t entirely aware of because they were never called out. I have strengths I didn’t perceive the depth of because I had never been asked to draw upon them.  I have pre conceived notions that are not, in fact, a reality. Some of them are even too embarrassing to admit out loud. I am in the process of discarding them. Right now.  

So maybe I am being tested. Hmmm...

What makes this particular issue even more profound for me is that it isn’t about me. It’s about one of my kids. And he’s too young to contribute, so we have to think and act on his behalf. Attempt to read his mind, assess his needs, and react in a way that will give him what he needs.  I hope that we make the right choice. I’d hate to let down such a precious and innocent little soul. I’d never forgive myself.

 I have had the blessing of talking this decision out with a few wise and perceptive people. My parents, who are doing a great job standing back and keeping it our choice.  My husband, the wonderful man and best friend that he is. Friends that have tolerated my ramblings patiently, waiting for the essential and interesting content to emerge, eventually. It’s a blessing, not living alone in your stress. I will never take that for granted.

And as I write this, I am struck by a revelation. An epiphany.

I am not going to let my son down. If fact, I have already NOT let him down in the time, energy and love that I have invested in him and his needs. We may not be done solving this particular issue, but we are actively searching for ways to let him be himself. Just himself. And we adore him. And he knows it. Beyond a doubt.

All is well. Maybe this was a test of my calm. Or rather, a message telling me to calm down and maintain focus. For him. Because he deserves my best work and there’s no way he’s NOT gonna get it.

Thanks, whoever you are. I heard you. Message received.

Time traveling back to the 80's

Beautiful spring weather has hit early this year and we could not be happier. The kids are playing outside and I am in a tank top. Oh, and flip flops. YES!!!!! My toes are finally liberated. It’s about time. They were seriously feeling confined, my poor little piggies.

We have a screened in porch that is my own personal heaven. It’s lovely. The air moves through but the bugs stay out. I dare you to beat that.  It’s big enough for a big table (for the adults) and a little kid’s picnic table. The kids eat at their little table and dinner feels even more humane. Making a long story short… it’s awesome.

My husband, the techie geek extraordinaire, set up speakers on the porch and the TV streams music outside.  Last night, he put on an 80’s station. That man must really know that the way to my heart is through my musical memories. It was just what I needed at the end of a long day.

And I tell you this. Whoever said that time travel is impossible was not on our porch for what happened next. Anyone there would have known, beyond a doubt that I traveled back in time, landing smack dab in the middle of my teenage years. As I danced like a zombie to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”, my husband laughed at me and the kids just eyed me curiously. Their eyes were clearly saying, “Mom… whatcha doin’?  You ok? “It didn’t get any better for them when Cindy Lauper started singing “Girls just wanna have fun”. I totally rocked out and they just observed, eternally amused. Song after song, my soul immersed deeper and deeper into the 80’s. When they played Flock of Seagulls, I was a goner.  I implore you. Just go away and leave me in the revere of my retro place. I’ll be back by bedtime. I promise.

It reminded me of an incident, years ago.

 During my high school years, I spent one fabulous summer at a theater camp. We stayed on a college campus and my dorm had one long hallway that cut the building in half. One side of the long hallway had balconies that backed onto the woods, while the other looked out onto a particularly boring view of campus. That particular summer there was an enormous amount of rain, so the woods always wafted a wonderfully damp smell. You know… wet leaves on a chilly night. My room was on the side that faced out onto the campus.  After lights out, I used to sneak out of my room and go across the hall to my friend’s room. We would sit on her balcony and talk all night. You know, the way high school girls talk all night about the most important “nothings” of the world. We would burn incense and listen to Enya. (I didn’t it was Enya at the time. I just loved the music. ). We would blow bubbles and watch them pop, moonlight shimmering on the fragile, mystical balls. By high school standards, some of my most profound and enlightening conversations took place on that balcony. Not that I remember any of the content, mind you. I guess the content wasn’t what was meant to travel with me after all.

A few years later, my freshman year of college, I was sitting in my room studying when I heard it. Enya. My window was open and the music was coming from another open window, not far away. It was like an electric shock. I closed my eyes, and magically, there I was. On that balcony. Surrounded by the combination of incense and damp woods. I could practically touch the bubbles. I was there. Transported to the past by some simple notes.

 It shouldn’t surprise you that I spent the next half hour walking down the hallway, knocking on doors. I was determined to find out who was listening to that song and learn the name of the artist. I was successful and have listened to Enya ever since. It still relaxes me in a way I can’t quite define or justify.

 I guess we all just need a little time travel sometimes.  It’s good for the soul.

Priorities...

I took a day off recently, got a sub for my teaching. Those of you that teach know what a project that is, getting ready for a sub. When you teach the class yourself it’s a ton of work, as you know, but at least you don’t have to write out every little detail. After all, you know what you’re thinking. An outline will suffice.

 Your sub, however qualified he or she may be, needs details. Lots of them. A lesson plan triples in prep time when someone else teaches your class for you. This is precisely why so many teachers go to work sick. It’s easier than staying home unless you are truly on death’s door.  

 This day, however, was a special occasion. My kids go to a Jewish preschool and it was Purim. A Jewish holiday. For those of you not well informed on Jewish holidays, it’s the Halloween of Jewish religion. It’s a carnival. Even the service in the synagogue has noise makers in it, no joke. I think it was the only one that didn’t put me to sleep all year when I was a kid.

 The preschool teacher did a fabulous job teaching the kids about the holiday. Enough detail to cover the basic story. Not so much detail to confuse spongy little 3 year old minds.  The language used by the teacher was hilarious. She reminded me of a great kids’ movie. The kids thought they got all the jokes but the adults heard every adult joke they missed. Everyone was paying attention.

 At first I wasn’t planning to go. But then I saw the signup sheet on the wall and I counted the names. Oh crap! My kids were going to be the only ones without a parent there. Talk about motherly guilt. It took about 3 seconds to write my name on the signup sheet. My kids were not going to be the only ones with parent involvement. No chance in hell.

 That was when it ceased to be a difficult choice. I found the sub. I wrote the sub plan. I even raced around to get the copies made and drop it off in time for the class. And I didn’t resent one second of the chaos.  My kids will never have to know how close they got to being disappointed.

As a mom of young kids, many of my friends are in the same boat. It’s no coincidence. After all, we hang out with those that understand our daily lives.

A friend of mine called me the other day, upset.  Basically, she felt like a terrible mom. She’s not a terrible mom, for the record. She’s an awesome mom. Her kids are proof of that. They are adorable. Sweet.  Funny. They love to play and laugh. They behave well for mostly everyone but her. You know, typical great kids. 

But she doesn’t see it that way. She doesn’t see the glimmer of curiosity in her kids’ eyes. A curiosity that she is fostering beautifully, by the way. She sees the tantrums and whining. And of course she does. She’s the one who manages these unfortunate (although age appropriate) behaviors and it overwhelms her perspective. Especially since she spends all day every day with them and getting in the car to go out is an event that requires multiple strategic steps. 

 I face the exact same predicament. After all, my kids are 3. So very 3.

But this pinpoints the essence of what it means to be a mom. Priorities and perspectives. What we see doesn’t always line up with others see. And we don’t always make the decisions that we wanted to make.

But sometimes we do.

Last week, my daughter threw the monster of all tantrums. Really. It was diaper and pajama time and she threw herself on the ground instead. She was pretty mad, to put it mildly. 10 minutes later, she was naked and still totally unwilling to get dressed. 5 minutes after that she was daddy’s job. Mommy’s restraint was gone and the temper I had lost up until that moment was going to look tiny when I really exploded. I walked away, tucked my son in instead.

But as I left his room, I walked back to hers. Daddy was about to sing her a song. She was content. Then she saw me. The lip pouted out and she got mad all over again. I leaned over her and kissed. I stroked her face. I told her that she was my beautiful girl and that I loved her. I told her I was sorry and that I knew she was sorry too. I told her that we would both be nicer tomorrow.

She let me sing her to sleep instead of daddy and she smiled at me when I kissed her goodnight.

I guess, in the end, I did the right thing. Sigh. Priorities…

I'll do it myself!

My parents tell a story. They think I was about 3 at the time. We were at a planetarium and they (obviously) have to turn out all the lights to see the stars. I got scared and my dad had to take me out. As we sat outside, he looked at me and asked me why I had been scared. He told me “nobody else was scared”.

As the story goes, I looked at my dad, stared him directly in the eyes and stated. “Well… they are them and I’m me.”.Hmmm…. I told him.

 And I had told him. I had told him exactly who I am. I didn’t care what someone else did or did not like. They were them and I was me. I could like or not like whatever I chose. So there.

 The other day, after nap, my daughter was sitting at the table eating a goldfish snack. She was focused in that fun way. She was picking up each and every goldfish and telling me about its travels before she ate it. One fish was swimming to school and another was swimming to chick-Fil-A. Yet another fish was jumping in and out of the pretend water. Such creativity in that little mind.

I gazed at her and realized that no little girl had ever been so beautiful.

So, I asked her. “Honey, are you mommy’s beautiful girl?” She smiled at me and proudly stated. “No! I am MY girl!” Ahhh… Like mother like daughter. She wasn’t MY anything. She was all HERS. Hmmmm… I wonder where she got that particular personality trait. Certainly NOT from me… J (Insert sheepish expression here)

I am so in for it when she’s a teenager. If I need a glass of wine now, I’ll need the whole bottle to myself then. Sigh.

My son has strength of individuality, but he doesn’t quite display it the same way. I don’t imagine that he would “tell me” like she did. He’s like his dad. He’d probably sit quietly, listen to me, then go do whatever he felt was right for him without calling attention to himself. That’s what he does now.

I wonder which way is healthier?

What ARE they thinking?

My children are in preschool this year, their first year. I love their school and the benefits they are reaping from being there.  I read the daily reports from the teacher and I want to go to school with them. How fun it must be!

As I was thinking about next year (yes, it’s that time again…) I started the process again. This time, much more confident and in control. Instead of feeling like the car was driving me, I felt like I was driving the car. The difference felt great.

But something very important occurred to me this time. My kids are so very fortunate. They have access to a level of intellectual stimulation that will allow their little child brains to grow so successfully. And it started early. When they were infants, we chatted to them while we held and rocked them… talk about what we were seeing, smelling and touching. When they got older, we counted steps while helping them navigate up and down, and teaching them numbers as well as practicing their gross motor skills.

In the car, we sing and talk about the sites around us.

And while I think it’s wonderful that our family is doing this, we are not the only ones. Thank goodness we’re not. There are millions of families out there, doing exactly the same thing, populating our planet with future thinkers.

We recently  took the kids to our local Air and Space museum. “Wow” is all I can say. It’s fantastic. It wasn’t the first time, but I always forget how cool it is. We told the kids about our trip the night before and my son ran for the door yelling “put my shoes on”. He wanted to go right away. He was seriously mad when he found out that he had to go to bed first, and wait till the next day. It was pretty funny

But once there, here’s what I noticed. Have you ever looked into the eyes of a happily stimulated child? They sparkle. They open wide and it seems like they never blink. Like they are afraid to miss something. They giggle and smile. And when they see something they like, their mouths freeze in the current position in awe.  You can practically see the neurons firing and intelligence and creativity expanding.

I just began teaching a really cool science fiction/fantasy world class for middle school age kids. We plan and write stories with our own fictional worlds. We create villain masks, and 3D maps of the worlds we create. How awesome is that?

The first class, we discussed the logistics of creating a successful world. We discussed character development and the necessity for detail orientation. We discussed the need for a clear and simple plot.

Then one of the kids raised his hand, tentatively. It was like he was concerned about the repercussions of his question.

I smiled encouragingly. “Do you have a question?”

He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes in concentration. “Can our main character be our villain?”

I smiled. “Oh yes!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

I looked him directly in the eye. “Absolutely! And you know what else?”

His jaw dropped. There was more?

“What?” he asked.

“He can win.”

Total silence. Then suddenly, enormous smiles around the room. They got it. They believed me. It only took about 30 minutes into the first class, and they GOT IT.  They could basically create whatever they wanted, as long as it was appropriate and attention was paid to quality planning and thinking. From that point on, I got some fantastic ideas from the kids. One boy wanted to write about a planet made of dust and sand but is struggling with what the living population of the planet should look like. We didn’t have time to figure it out, but we’ll put some good mental energy into the solution next week. And no… I have no intention of giving him the answer. The solution will be all him. My job is to help him think… not think for him.

I wonder what kind of creative thought my kids will have when they are in middle school.  I’ll have to be very careful, between now and then, to not think for them. To help them think instead. To foster their creativity. After all, I don’t want to accidentally squash a great idea.

Invisible Fences

So, we put our kids into “big kid beds”. Ok, not really. What we really did was remove one side of their cribs, attach a safety bar (so they won’t roll out by accident) and attach a little step ladder to help them climb in and out.

That’s really just splitting hairs, though. They may be sleeping in the same sleeping structure as they previously did, but they are no longer trapped in bed. They could get out whenever they want. Hmmm….

My husband did the work while I was downstairs with the kids and when I saw him coming downstairs with two crib side rails in his hands, I sort of cringed. It was just as much my idea, but I cringed anyway. Goodbye peaceful adult time when the kids are in bed and not asleep. Hello kid proofing the bedrooms so that when they get out of bed and make a mess, it’s not dangerous. Just annoying.

We figured it would be a good idea to let them see their new beds before bedtime, so we asked them to come upstairs. My daughter took one look at her bed and starting giggling. She began jumping up and down. When we suggested she climb into her bed ALL BY HERSELF, she went nuts with joy. She spent the next 15 minutes climbing in and out of bed, alternating with running down the hall shrieking in absolute glee. My son was mildly hesitant initially, but once he saw my daughter’s reaction, he wanted to do the same with his bed.

When it came time for bed that night, they were pleased as punch to climb in ALL BY THEMSELVES. They were so proud.

But here’s the funny part. They didn’t get out of bed that first night. Or at their nap (or rather non-nap) the next day. They played in bed but never got out. You might say it’s because we told them not to and they are good at following rules. But they’re NOT good rule followers. In fact, they normally do the opposite of what we tell them these days. They are 3, after all. So here’ my theory on why they didn’t get out of bed.

I think they didn’t realize they could. I think it didn’t occur to them.  Tonight is night #2. So far so good. Not that I want my kids to see life as a series of limitations, but in this case… well… Yeah. I want them to see the limitations so I can relax.

And, as always… it got me thinking…

How many times have you been asked why you didn’t do something to solve a problem? You know. Something that would have helped you in a difficult situation. And when you are asked why you didn’t, you wanted to smack yourself on the forehead because you should have thought of it, but you didn’t. It just never occurred to you.

I know that I suffer from this “invisible barrier” way too often. I convince myself that something is out of my reach or I simply do not see a possible solution to my problem. I often lack creativity under significant stress.

My husband is the opposite. He does his best thinking under stress. It’s like the pressure ignites his creative planning instead of stalling it. I envy that, being the opposite. How fortunate he is. I’d love that have that trait. He’s the one who suggests that way “outside the box” solution that makes it all work out.

Our kids will love him for that.

I’m going to have to remember this, next time I find myself in the center of a complex problem. I will have to make a point of NOT getting stuck in my symbolic crib when I could easily just climb out. The solution might be just on the other side of the door.

The true definition of victory...

My son has many strengths, and they will no doubt propel him to many successes in his life. Patience, however, is not one of them. Especially patience for food when he’s really hungry. It’s like the waiting tortures him, the poor kid. His bottom lip protrudes and his whole face turns bright red. Tomato red, actually. Big alligator tears start to fall and his body goes limp. It probably would be funny if it weren’t my job to manage it in public. We have been working with him, attempting to teach him to wait. Maintain his frustration. Avoid emotional explosions.

 He loves Pizza. Ok, most people love pizza. But he REALLY loves it. He loves his food, but pizza is at the top of the list. No question.

 So we went to a birthday party at one of those cool jump places. I love those places. Huge inflatable structures to jump on, stairs to climb up and slides to slide down. How cool is that? Playtime was followed by a pizza lunch and cake. As we were entering the lunch/party room, the attendant informed us that pizza was already on the table, but the kids should wait to eat until we sang to the birthday girl.

 Oh crap. This was not going to go down peacefully.

 I took a deep breath and we entered. It’s fair to say that I entered with trepidation. My kids spotted the pizza and squealed with glee. They climbed up into their seats. My son reached for his food but I held his hand back gently. He yelled, objecting. I quietly explained to both my kids that we needed to wait for the birthday girl. My daughter acknowledged my words and waited, albeit reluctantly. My son… well… he needed to be asked again.  Bottom lip began to protrude and the red crept into his face. I took a deep breath. He started to cry. That little cry that leaves you with no doubt, this was only the beginning.

 I picked him up, hugged him, and felt his little body trembling. The big cry never came. At first I was shocked. And that was when it hit me. He was trying to control himself. He got it. He knew what we wanted from him and he was trying like hell to deliver it. His little body shook and his lips trembled. His big blue eyes filled up with tears and gazed at me pleading. He was asking me for help.

 And that was when my heart broke.

 We have all struggled with something that we could not quite control. Situations that invoke intense emotions despite our best efforts to hold them all back. As a middle school teacher I would often quietly ask a student if he/she wanted to go to the bathroom when I could see they were about to cry and were afraid to talk, lest they accidentally break their stoic façade. . They would escape gratefully ever time. I don’t know about you, but I hate crying in public. The feeling is bad enough without witnesses.  An audience is like adding insult to injury.

 And so, as I held my darling little son, I kissed his cheek and I rubbed his back. I assured him that I knew he was trying so hard to be patient and that he was such a good boy. I told him that I was proud of him, so proud of him. I told him that I loved him, so much. His eyes met mine and he knew. I swear he knew.

 We sang happy birthday and he got to eat his pizza. He consumed it with pride and was a model child for the remainder of the party. I think, in the grand scheme of things, that we are going to chalk this one up to a victory. He’s still such a little boy and his progress today was noteworthy.

 Oh, and to the mom of the birthday girl. The one who noticed the scene and sped up the process of singing Happy Birthday to ease my stress.  The one who made the needs of my son a priority despite the fact that the day was about her daughter. Thank you. Your willingness to help did not go unnoticed.