I haven’t purchased that many books on child rearing…I check out lots from the library, but I’ve only bought a select few. In some cases I buy them because I think I’ll want to refer back to them many times, or in this case, because they’re so wonderful that I know I’ll want to lend them to friends and to sip their goodness again and again.
Yesterday, I pulled from my shelf the book Mitten Strings for God: Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry by Katrina Kennison. For my many secular friends, don’t fear, there’s no religious overtones:) One of the book’s reviews says, “Inspirational and life-affirming, it offers reminders of what is of lasting value, such as grace, love, tranquility.” I agree.
This afternoon, I flipped the book open and found myself reading the following passage. It rang true, so I thought I’d share.
The fact is I’ve learned an enormous amount from both my children. Different lessons from two very different temperaments, all of them valuable. But it is true that Jack—forty-two pounds of spirit, vulnerability, curiosity, and sheer life force—has been my most demanding teacher, exposing all my weaknesses and requiring me to develop even greater fortitude. In his passionate, head-long rush into life, he has shown me exactly where my rope ends, where my patience runs out, where my edges fray, where my own outer limits really are. He taught me that in order to be an effective and loving disciplinarian, I must first be able to control myself.
Sylvia’s, er, outbursts don’t often make me lose my temper. More often I’m like a deer in headlights, carrying her around or sitting near her with a blank expression on my face and no ideas of what to do to make the situation better. Her passions don’t tend to ignite my own, but they do make me lose my mind a bit.
A couple days ago, during our first down-pouring rain of the fall, Sylvia threw her…I don’t know…fourth tantrum of the morning, and I really kind of lost it. We were walking home from Andrew’s preschool. I plunked her in the soaking stroller, put her rain cover on, and walked her home. She screamed, and I swore under my breath the whole way. It was a low point. As I was stomping home through the pouring rain with a leaky umbrella, I remember thinking that all of us have had unpleasant co-workers that make us want to change jobs. It was too bad that mine was my own child.
But we got home, and I retrieved her poodle and paci (who have the power to soothe her when nothing else can). Then I picked up my sweet, wet, shaky girl, and she put her little arms around her contrite, wet, shaky mom, and both of us held each other until we felt better. Then we held each other a lot longer. She’s a wonderful baby, an adorable kid. And she’s making me a stronger person. Look out world, here she comes!
I cannot keep shoes on this girl! I am so glad that the weather warmed up. It is such a struggle to get her shoes on, and then even when it’s 50 degrees and raining, I turn around and she’s barefoot. She must be related to my mom.
The squirrels haven’t eaten this pumpkin. Much. yet.
