They Teach So Much

Ah my children. They are delightful. They are terrors. They are everything in between. Almost every day, they teach me something new. Sometimes Ethan teaches me that my mouth has been far less-than-perfect, and that I need to really start watching the words I use. But lately, the biggest thing I'm taking away from the kids is the joy of LETTING GO. Children live in the moment. For the most part, yesterday is forgotten and tomorrow isn't a concept my kids get yet. Ethan understands "later," "in a bit," and "soon." And these are all relative.

For the longest time, I've been afraid to fail. I was always striving for perfection that is not only unattainable, but exhausting. When I was a child, I use to Q-tip the intricate carvings of my bed to get rid of the dust, because my poor deluded head thought my mother actually would notice if I did. In middle school, I wanted one of those t-shirt folders that department store employees use to futilely fold the t-shirts on display tables that customers inevitably never fold back. In high school, I took as many AP and honors classes as I possibly could. (It's not like it was a bad thing...) In college, I even got suspended the last semester of my first year at UNC-Chapel Hill for copying some of my roommate's and lab partner's lab report because I didn't want to settle for anything less than an A. That irrational fear of not getting the A cost me a lot of time, money, credit hours, and tears. In the end, I got through it and graduated in four years. No big deal. I learned a lot from it. (I should know by now not to tempt fate so much, because I am the poster child for statistics.)

But the other day, Riley was walking along the couch. Ethan was being obnoxious and he kept pulling on her and antagonizing her. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't intervene. Not because I didn't care or that I was lazy, but just because if she were to fall, besides randomly splitting her head open on a toy I didn't see or landing a certain way that would precipitate her losing mobility, what's the worst thing that could happen? She'd cry? I think I can deal with that. These children have taught me to let go. I cannot spend my life worrying about every little detail. Every little nit-picky thing that, in the end, probably won't even matter much. I get so wrapped up around the axle about things that don't matter to anyone but me! I exhaust myself trying to put on this facade of being a "Supermom." I hold down this house and two children by myself a majority of the time with little help. I think that puts me in the category by default. I am definitely not tooting my own horn, but I need to give myself a bit more credit. I yell and scream at my son for leaving two Legos out after he picked them up. I want him to understand the importance of putting his toys and belongings back in their proper place, but is yelling about it and getting worked up really going to help the situation?

I love these kids. They bring out the worst in me. But, by God, they also bring out the best.