As a mom I’m always talking and thinking and writing about the silver lining and finding the magic. I’m always looking for that edge where even if you fall off it, there’ll be a rainbow to greet you and your scraped knees.
Life is about choices and no, this is not some sappy graduation speech (although I love me a good sappy graduation speech) but instead more of an observation… an epiphany? We choose. We choose what we eat, wear, what we do (if we’re lucky enough), and our nail and hair color. Yup, we all choose. Most importantly, we wake up every morning and choose to be happy or not. You choose to ride the happy train or stay slumped in the backseat of the mopey metro.
As mamas we have a choice. We all do. Maybe not so much in the gender of our kids (although nowadays you can also sway nature if, for instance, you’ve had 5 boys and want a girl), but more so, when it comes to how we handle our kids and ourselves and all of our stressful/dysfunctional situations!
So, yes… it is up to me where I zoom in. Sure, I can focus on the fact that my 3 year old has tantrums about putting on shoes, and losing one worn-out hair band, and not getting an extra serving of what she thinks is chocolate-covered chewy candy (but is really goji berries – mommy’s little secret).
I can get frustrated and hide in the bathroom when my one year old whines about not walking yet and refuses to use a walker so spends a lot of time whine-crying. You know that cry, the whry: no tears just whining.
Of course I can keep a journal of how nauseas I still am with my third baby bump and how many times a day I pee and how the one thing I’m craving can only be found on an island in Sifnos, Greece and is sold by a man from a dinky cart on the beach who has possibly died.
But I’d rather focus on the good, the sweet, the juicy inside of the cinnabun. When I first got married my husband used to call me the inside of the cinnabun and that he wanted most of our moments to be like the inside of the cinnabun. That bit really needs a name. The inna-cinnabun?
So focusing on the good I see that my baby son is so cute when he rushes to the door right when I get home from nursery with my toddler. Whether that’s for his sister or me I really don’t care. It’s that awkward stagger to the door where he needs someone to hold his hand because of the frequent faceplanting.
I can see the amusement in his choice to eat anything other than banana and yogurt and that anything else will be flung across the room. Newspapers placed all around him catching some of the splatter helped me out to see that silver lining… you know, amid the mess… literally.
When I’m looking for the magic, I see in my daughter a lot of wit, sweetness, and amazing dance moves. So what if she needs those shoes to get grooving. It’s something I have to accept and not zoom in on because 50% of the time she’s not having a tantrum about something totally illogical and insignificant. Okay, so it’s 60% tantrum-40% magic. Fine, so 75. Alright, 90. But still the 10% tantrum-free time is magically worth it.
Focusing on the good stuff. The sweet stuff, the ohmygod-I’ve-had-an-espresso-my-life-is-amazing-and-I’m-psyched-for-the-arrival-of-my-third feeling. Well, kind of.