When You Stop and Listen…
the universe usually has something to say.
The Universe (or if you like, God, it’s the same thing, honest) - just as I was nearing the end of my rope this evening and feeling as if nothing was going quite right (it wasn’t wrong, it just wasn’t quite right) I found this in my inbox:
If the showerhead breaks and the toaster goes on the fritz, and you end up having to rinse off with the hose and munch on stale untoasted bread, count your blessings. Start with your baby.
See, now, this could mean many things. After all, my toaster is fine, my showerhead is functioning, I’m on a low-carb diet so bread is out of the question anyway. The bigger meaning here is counting my blessings and I get that. The baby part really hit home though. While it could be construed in a romantic sense, I’m applying it to the 19 month old, tantrum throwing, daddy wrangling, blue eyed, blonde, whirling dirvish that seems to run my life these days.
Sunday evening we try to have a family dinner. It’s the one of the couple of days a week that Mike is actually home for dinner. Tonight we decided to go out. It was a continuation of the “Doran Tour of Americana Cuisine” but that is an entirely different post.
I should pause to tell you that I’m very big on my kids thinking for themselves and developing their own opinions, but I do not, will not, and have no intention of bending on my demand for manners and etiquette at the table when we go out to eat. No elbows on the table, don’t chew with your mouth open, put your napkin in your lap, and don’t put your fingers in your plate. There are probably a few others but retribution for breaking them is swift and never without a warning “glare.” Continuing to break the rules can result in anything from a silent pinch to a swift kick under the table.
I am often complimented on how well behaved Ethan and Kate are. They’ve been trained. :o)
The third child is beginning to pose quite a challenge. Tonight she attempted to throw a tantrum at the table and tried to eat from her plate, like her favorite furry friends - the family dogs. I got a little tense, a little frustrated, and even more so with my husband who, instead of reacting to poor behavior appropriately, chose to indulge the baby so that she would quiet down. Which, of course, she did with a most knowing little grin.
Am I hearing a collective understanding sigh from the moms who are reading this now?
Truth is, I’ve been more than a little frustrated with my little “angel” today. From her insistence on dragging the broom around the house, to snatching things she shouldn’t have and running out of the room with them, launching herself face first into the floor when she is annoyed with someone, to just plain getting into anything and everything she possibly can. All perfectly normal for someone nearing the “terrible twos” but, needless to say, it does wear on the nerves.
Dinner was the final straw and when I saw my darling husband condoning ( “she’s ok, I’ve got her, she’s fine.”), defending (”she’s just a baby”) and complying (”here, what do you need? Do you want this? This? Maybe this?”) with our strong-willed, 19 month old… I wanted to bounce both of them across the floor, laugh loudly, and order a drink.
Instead, I finished the meal, got into the car and went to my happy place. You know, that special mommy fantasy of … oh, I don’t know… disappearing to a happy place where there are no kids to tap on you or pull on your clothes, where the laundry is always done, where no one under the age of 18 is allowed, where the drinks are cold and fruity, the men have six packs on their bodies instead of in their fridges, and a hot bubble bath is always waiting.
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Oops. Sorry, I was fantasizing about a swedish massage at my happy place.
Anyway, the angel had been put to bed and I was relishing the silence and inwardly pouting over what a horrible day/evening it had been. I sat down to check my emails one final time before sliding into bed and drifting off to my special, happy place, when I came across my horoscope. Now, I don’t put a lot of stock into horoscopes, but I do believe that God does try to get messages through to you all the time and you just have to be sharp enough to pick up on them. Tonight, it hit me between the eyeballs:
If the showerhead breaks and the toaster goes on the fritz, and you end up having to rinse off with the hose and munch on stale untoasted bread, count your blessings. Start with your baby.
Oh, the baby that it took us 5 years to conceive? The baby sister my daughter had begged us for? The baby I wanted more than anything? That baby?!?!?!
Yep. That baby.
So, like any good mom, I’m going to go to sleep now and dream about my happy place. I’m going to wake up tomorrow with a renewed sense of motherhood and I’m going to do what I always do, my very best.
Wish me luck.
I call this photo - “Peace of Mind” ;o)
Related Tags: Baby, toddler, terrible twos, restaurants, etiquette, table manners, motherhood, swedish massage, grateful, thankful, husbands
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July 31st, 2005
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Posted in: Personally
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