When I started this blog, I intended to share funny stories about how my dinner was on fire and how I went on a late night hunt for the perfect sneakers for my son. Well, both those stories are quite true. My linguine frumped limp more quickly then I expected and landed their tresses in the flames of the gas cook top. With quick thinking and a flick of the kitchen towel after turning off the burner, the situation was under control with no damage. The meal of mushroom linguine was quite divine in spite of a few black singed tips cleverly masked in parmesan.
And the shoes, well, I had a hard time deciding if it was my immense love for my son or sure will for self preservation to send me running out at 8:30 pm to three stores, closing the last at 10 pm, and scoring a lace up sneaker that may bridge the old-too-tights and the new-but-can't-return-them-because-he-wore-them-out-of-the-store-but-they-are-way-too-big shoes. Well, this also ended divinely by mediating the usual morning drama of poorly fitting shoes and socks. Did I say he got new socks too? The claim of my darling when asked how his shoes worked out at school today was, "They worked great and made me run really fast when I was chasing the girls." Oh, boy. I heard later at conferences that he may have gotten a tinsee bit of trouble for the chasing.
So I have learned this week that all a boy needs to give him superpowers is well fitting silver sneakers. The fairy of the house is a bit more complicated. Well, isn't the common social stigma of the fairer gender one of complexity and headaches? My little female is quite simple really. She doesn't need a knight riding in on a white horse. No, she needs her mommy's cuddles. When she is feeling stressed, she needs her blankets. She sneaks quietly in my bed about 5 in the morning when it is dark and falls quickly back asleep. I look at her little face as the sun rises and see the newborn baby I held nearly seven and half years ago. She was a preemie. I had to wrap her up super tight in a swaddling blanket for five weeks or she would wail with much discontent. But, if she was rolled in her blanket with her little knit cap that fit on the end of my fist so that all you could see was her face, she slept contently. We called her Burrito Baby. I will have to tell her future husband to be sure to have afghans all around the house. If she is upset, all he has to do is wrap her up and hold her until the tide waters recede.
It is apparent to me as a parent that my children are amazing beings. They are stressed and anxious lately as they must know that Mommy is worried. Yet, somewhere between the sibling rivalry and the drama, they find their inner strength to teach me a few things. "Start with the end in mind, Momma. That is what we are supposed to do at school." They are learning the seven healthy habits and this is habit two, I think. So Monday, I moved my yoga time to the evening after they have gone to bed so I could spend my time volunteering at school, connecting with my parents over lunch, and getting some major chores done at home. All of that and time to take the kids to the pumpkin ranch after school and a treat for me to end my day with yoga. Wait, the day ended running around looking for the perfect sneakers for my darling dragon superhero.
Kids are really lucky, they have someone thinking about them and figuring this stuff out. Well, I realize not all kids have this luxury. Yes, I just called your parenting in all its flawed wisdom a luxury. So what happens when you wish you were a kid? What happens when you have a really big decision that no one can make but you. However, you really want to roll up in a ball and...well...actually you don't. What do you do when you have to face the big bad world all by yourself when you really rather be out running a marathon? Wait that wasn't right either. You rather be painting, quilting, reading a book, or creating the i-Pad 3. I think what you do is look at your kids. What would you tell them to do? How would you perotect them from the big bad wolf?
No one's life is totally perfect. Yes, my life was pretty perfect somewhere in my twenties. But, it wasn't. In my twenties I was date raped, I drank too much and threw up which ended my drinking career before I was 21, was cheated on and then called every Saturday night at 2 am by the boy for four months, was diagnosed with Colitis after farting my way through the first dates with a boy I ended up dating for 18 months, my best friend moved away to North Dakota, I sprained both my knees during a collision while skiing, I got four speeding tickets, I botched a dozen job interviews, and I miscarried two babies. And, yes, my twenties are incredible. I graduated college, I got a teaching job that was incredible and made me smile more then it made me cry, my art was shown in a New York gallery, I was a member of a gallery co-op, I learned to quilt, I fell in love, I got married, I fell in love twice more to two beautiful babies, and I moved into my dream house full of my own artwork with Long's Peak right out in my backyard. Heck, the first couple of years in the thirties weren't too bad either.
So when you ask, what should I do? Ask yourself, what have I always done? Then filter that to a simple lesson you would tell your kids and va la. Yes, each day is a mission, a mission impossible. So put on your silver sneakers and run into the fire. And, for heaven's sake, when your parents ask you to meet them for lunch, don't tell them you have too much to get done around the house. No, call them right back and tell them you will see them in ten minutes. But then, 90 minutes later, tell them you need to go and take care of a few of those must-dos that keep your space at peace. Each day is filled with moments of everyday super heroism. Yet, there is a balance. Fold away your cape or apron at the end of the day and just be with yourself for a moment. Recharge those batteries. Tomorrow is another day of simple heroics.
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