Sam Smith’s song “Stay With Me,” will forever be my anthem for the summer of 2014. Despite my belting out I’m on my knees only to realize much later the actual lyrics are You’re all I need. The month of August came and went blasting me into new perspectives and refreshed determination. I started securely and ended with so much uncertainty. I lost my job and I thought my marriage was over.
Through the last two months I have been blessed with compassion and understanding from so many connections. My appreciation for friends, family and colleagues who reached out, both in direct and subtle ways, can never be explained. I am truly honored for all of the people in my life, those who are still present and those whose paths crossed at opportune times. The lessons I have learned through stressful times and challenges difficult to overcome, have been invaluable.
Thank you to my family for unconditional love and support. For encouraging me when I was down, for special unexpected deliveries, for sharing your own personal stories of heartache, for offering reading material, opening your home to me and for being a faithful ear. I am so thankful for an incredibly unique cast of characters I get to call my family.
Thank you to my friends who are like family. Attending a stress relieving happy hour, receiving a letter or phone call, and meeting up for a meal has been powerful tools in helping me maintain sanity. I know in the last year I have lost my emphasis at staying connected to friends as my energy has been devoted elsewhere. I am touched to have so many friends who intentionally make themselves available for me.
Thank you to former colleagues in my recent position. I have regrets with how things unraveled and I didn’t have the closure I wanted with the team members, residents and families I had grown so attached to. I appreciate hearing there is no animosity directed towards me, only understanding it couldn’t have been any different, so I will continue trying to make peace with it. The connections I made there, my advocacy for the team and their hard work was all genuine. My hope is some of the progress we had made will stick beyond my employment.
Thank you to my daughter for tolerating the uncertainty in our lives in stride. She was during this time and continues to be my everlasting joy.
And thank to my husband for clearing the muddy waters, for recommitting to why we are together and the future we will develop successfully. If there is anything we have learned in our six loooooonnnnggg years of marriage, it’s that it takes work. I know we are prepared to put in the overtime necessary to get life back on track and we are already well on our way.
Life happens for a reason and the challenges we are presented with have purpose. I know this to be true and in the midst of crisis, this reminder came from my friends and family. Because of the love I felt during the hard times, August was the both the best and the worst month, and I felt so much happiness despite my life’s circumstances.
A typical Monday usually starts with hitting snooze. Lately, by the time the alarm sounds, I have already been alert and consciously dreading the days events ahead. Mentally trying to psych myself up to conquer the world. My mind looms over the tasks of the day, appointments scheduled, people to contact, issues to deal with and the limitless amount of illogical distractions associated with middle management. I hit snooze again and sometimes even a third time doing the exact opposite of what I encourage others to do and stress over all the improbable situations that may potentially go wrong.
With my body aching, partially due to not taking care of myself physically and also from the toll my emotions has taken on my body, I roll out of bed and begin a hurried preparation for the day. I stand in front of my closet aimlessly waiting for pants and a coordinating top to leap off the hanger, inevitably I settle on an outfit and sluggishly shower and dress. My hair and make-up routine go quick and end with a “Well, good enough,” attitude because my mind is already consumed with imaginary conversations I will have to have later at work today.
The best part of my mornings are rousing my sleeping beauty for her day at pre-school. Amazingly the child who always pops out of bed ready to play in the mornings every Saturday and Sunday chooses Mondays to try to sleep in. We rush to get dressed. This can be taxing for a four year old who wants to express her own independence and pick out an outrageous wardrobe or one which doesn’t suit the weather and can easily spur an early morning tantrum. Breakfast in itself can even cause frustration when the oatmeal is too hot, the milk spilled from the cereal or she only wants bacon when there is no bacon. As she is headed out the door with Daddy there can be up to four times we have to stop for something else forgotten… The share box, the water bottle, a sleep sack, the leotard for ballet class today, oh and don’t forget the folder…
Today has been different. This morning I woke up refreshed and not stressed about what lies ahead in a department I am responsible for and yet have no control over. This morning I was free of the dreaded conversations, problems and people who had previously consumed my life. This Monday I was able to be excited about the projects and organizing I have neglected in my house for eleven months. Today I was able to be the first instead of the last to pick my daughter up from school and cherish a mid-afternoon dance off. This afternoon I was able to grocery shop earlier than 5:00 when we typically battle a child’s growing dinner appetite, and instead thoughtfully plan out some weekday dinner meals I will actually have time to prepare. Today I was able to write a blog post, something I haven’t done since I started working full time last fall.
I took a leap of faith last week and quit my job. It was not planned nor was it a method I would have chosen. I quickly came to realize despite the stress, my dedication to the position, to the team and the community I was working with; the corporation did not appreciate my advocacy or questions and it was best we parted ways. The uncertainty of what it means to be unemployed in society at this time is concerning and I am optimistic about how my path lead me to this and I know my purpose will be fulfilled elsewhere. So I can happily say, this is the best Monday I have had in a long time.
Daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother,
Saleswoman and business owner always in a suit and heels,
Lover of her family, Minnesota sports teams, travel, birds, gardening and politics,
Smart wit and great humor,
Polish and of Catholic faith,
Attentive to details and taking great care in cooking and cleaning,
Inspiring each live she has touched to be a little more gentle, a little more understanding and to act with love.
Happy 100th Birthday to my Grammy, I love you.
This is her first birthday our family will be remembering her without her present. I know her lessons will last my lifetime and will continue to have a powerful influence on future generations of our family. After her passing in December 2012 (link) I took some of her photo albums, as pictures are so important to me. Here are a few of my favorites.
My dad with his older brother Mike
Uncle Mike with his first of two daughters, my cousin Michelle
Me as a baby with cousins Molly, Jessica and Grammy
They loved to travel.
Grammy with me on a trip to Florida in 1982
Eleanor, her 3 children, their spouses and 7 grandchildren – 1993
Her and 3 sisters growing up
Grammy with Sandy
Her first daughter Sandy, with her daughter Jessica
So in Love!
At my bridal shower in 2008.
Her oldest child Sandy, her husband Douglas and their first born Zachary
Next month will be the five-year anniversary since moving into our current home. Remembering back to the months of house hunting with our realtor John makes me laugh. We might have been one of his more frustrating couples to work with since we had inquiries into multiple locations spread around the Kansas City metro area and fickle possibilities of what we were hoping for in our first home together. Old versus new, split level versus ranch style, garages, fireplaces, walk in closets, full renovations versus freshly done renovations, acreage versus small plots… We made it nearly impossible for him to narrow down the possibilities. After one missed opportunity in Grandview, one unaccepted offer in Overland Park, and one day too late offer in Brookside, we were exhausted with the search and prepared to find somewhere to rent when we gave it one last shot.
We returned to a house we had stopped at before in South Kansas City, we called it “the refrigerator house” since the stainless steel feature in the home we clearly remembered and liked. From the outside it looked really small, as most of the houses in the area were constructed in the 50’s with a two bedroom, one bathroom layout. This home had an addition added later to create another living space and bedroom onto the back of the house and the basement was finished off with another living space and second bathroom. There was nothing spectacular about the house, it didn’t fulfill everything we were looking for in a home and the colors were all wrong. The location was great, we feared wasting money on rent over building equity in a home and knew our first home wouldn’t be our forever home so we made an offer.
Shortly after moving in walls began getting painted, window treatments were hung and the house became our home – even after we had to repair the refrigerator. We became friendly with some neighbors and other neighbors we were seemingly invisible to with no acknowledgment at all. The first autumn in the house rolled around and I noticed a homeless woman digging in our recycling on the curb Thursday mornings before I went to work. Peering out the window I could see her torn skirt, old shoes, an over-sized coat and a scarf covering her hair. One morning I sadly watched her digging in the blue box at the end of our driveway and pull out an empty detergent pail, she carried it across our lawn and out of my view. I quickly moved to another window to catch her path from another angle, and watched as she passed across the street and added the pail to gardening tools in the yard across the street.
Eventually I met my neighbor, who I initially viewed as a homeless woman, her name is Lucy. In the past five years I have grown to love the garden growing, garbage gathering, mismatched clothes wearing, widowed friend. She explained to me how she collects pop tabs off of the cans people put in their recycling she gives to her church and the Box Top stamps she finds to bring to her granddaughter. Fearing the woman’s frail condition and level of activity I began putting our pop tabs in an envelope for her.
A few years ago Lucy’s doctor told her she needed to stop taking on so much; cleaning her house, keeping up her garden and roaming the street for treasures in trash was too much at her age. Her son’s have tried to convince her to move to a retirement community, and it seemed like during times when Lucy struggled with insomnia and confusion she considered it. Then when spring would roll around and the flowers returned to life, so did Lucy.
Having raised her family in the home, which presently has orange shag carpeting I imagine was installed about 40 years ago, she knows the neighborhood and history of previous occupants. She meets all of the neighbors, even the ones who haven’t acknowledged us in five years. She delivers flowers from her garden, often in reusable gems from recycling bins like bottles and plastic cups. During certain times of the year there are daily deliveries of flowers from Lucy, sometimes a sweet smelling surprise found on the front deck or a small bouquet in her empty milk carton from the Meals on Wheels lunch.
Five years ago I never would have guessed how I would feel about my house. I like my house, the location is great, it feels like our home, best of all I love Lucy. It’s wonderful having a neighbor who is happy to give and receive hugs, I feel humbled to hear “Bless you” from an older woman in tattered clothing, and I don’t mind getting pulled into conversations with the neighborhood historian. Plus it always puts a smile on my face to get a fresh bouquet of flowers.
You know the old cliché about being born sisters and choosing to be friends? I am fortunate to have this be true in my relationship with my sister. She was born a little over two years after me and I cannot remember a time before she was in my life. In childhood we varied from the best playmates to typical sibling rivalry. There were times, being the older sibling, I used to get so irritated having a tag along sister invading my time with friends. And there were times I was overjoyed to have her to team up against our older brother, only to have it later being the two of them teaming up against me. As teenagers, it became more difficult to get along consistently. Both of us exercising independence and unique interests, it became easy to judge and criticize each other unfairly. As we matured and both moved past high school our relationship strengthened again. It became clear while each of us had our own great friends we are really best friends. Friends who laugh at nonsense, finish each others song lyrics, work to repair arguments, travel to see each other anywhere in the world the other may be, and friends who are honest, supportive and do their best to help each other. My sister and I are mirrors in so many ways and complete opposites at the same time.
My sister has been an inspiration to me for a long time and especially in the last year as it seems everything she touches turns to gold. She is emotional, yet passionate. She is impossible to wake up, yet never late. She loves people, though maybe animals more. And she is dedicated and hard-working even when it doesn’t come easy. My sister is talented, creative, popular and fun. She is exactly the kind of person I would choose as a friend.
In the last year she has had so many successes and reasons for celebration. Sometimes the success and celebration comes with heartache, well it does for me anyway. As I write, she is riding across the country to New York City where she and her fiance will make their home, or shoe box as it is in NYC. She left early this morning, on my birthday no less, for the start of the next chapter. And while I am thrilled for her adventure, living it big in the city, I can’t help but be sad. No more spontaneous meeting up for dinner, drinks or frozen yogurt and it will be a long time between hugs. She just left and I already miss her.
I often write about my daughter. About how funny, how brilliant, how inspirational and how fantastic it is to be her mom. Even though all these things are true, our days aren’t always filled with cotton candy, rainbows and sunshine, lovey-dovey happiness. Oh no, far from it. Parker is a product of my husband and I and shows for it with all the independent stubbornness capable of being supported in her two and a half-year old frame.
Today was one of those days where every direction, limitation and plea for cooperation was met with equal or greater opposition. If I said here, she went there. If I said up, she went down. And when I said no, she took it as a yes with a running head start. Battle after battle, talking it out followed by Parker’s apologies and eventual follow-through with requests. It seems on days like today I have to work twice as hard to maintain my patience and consistency to prove I’m not going to give in, hoping it will curb tomorrow’s behavior.
By the end of the day I was exhausted counting down the minutes until bed-time and still prepared for Parker’s next challenge. She had dumped out a large bag of foam blocks to play with and after a short while abandoned the blocks for crayons and paper. “Parker, you need to put the blocks away before coloring,” I instructed her.
She looked up at me with a Crazy Lady Leave Me Alone glare and said, “Mommy you not cooperating!”
Yes, exactly what I have been telling her all day.
My Basics of Buddhism class finished last week at the Rime Buddhist Center in Kansas City. I’d highly recommend taking the course if you are interested in becoming Buddhist, are spiritually/religiously curious, or just need an excuse to commit to get out of the house once a week for twelve weeks – which all three was the case for me.
Since learning the basics, I recognize my thinking about life and relationships matches well with Buddhism. I know my Buddha-nature is begging to come with the combination of cultivating wisdom and generating loving compassion. Ultimately meditation is critical and needs to be part of my life as much as food.
Yet, while I agree with so many of the Buddhist philosophies I cannot call myself Buddhist and cannot accept all of the vows. As part of the vows taken by a wanna-be Buddhist, Eight Mahayana Precepts are agreed upon. The first precept is not killing and this is a no brainer when it comes to humans, and even most animals for this vegetarian. Except in the Buddhist tradition not killing includes all sentient beings, from the largest whale to the smallest maggot. According to the teachings, one-act of killing can carry 500 lifetimes of karmic retribution.
I learned about these vows several weeks back and they were steady on my mind while I was out raking one day. The spring weather was finally getting warm consistently so I knew the conditions were finally right for the garter snakes to be emerging. The snake population in my neighborhood is so high it could fill a hundred reptile centers and still have snakes left roaming. I have wanted them gone since the first sighting. After four years of living in my home the surprise in seeing them slinking around the grass, sunning on the bushes, and climbing up my fire pit chimney has worn off. I no longer get the chills or feel the need to run screaming, okay maybe I do get the chills and stay at least five feet away. On this day out in the yard I pondered how a Buddhist would view the snake problem, accept them as part of nature and not be ill willed towards them? Sure enough, when my raking was nearly done I turned back towards what I had already cleared to see a garter snake freshly risen from his winter estate.
Feeling as if this was a test I had predicted for myself, I gave the snake a half-smile and decided it would be Buddha-like enough to help him move out of my raking path to the other side of the fence. I gently used my rake to encourage him to the fence line where he briskly slithered through the chain-link. Pleased with my acceptance of nature and assistance
The actual snake from my yard, picture taken from a safe distance away by camera phone.
towards my not so favorite creature I went on with my chore until I heard some rustling in the area I had sent the snake. What a miracle it would be if another animal had found the snake to make a meal out of. It would still mean good karma for me since I helped him with good intention, I figured as I made my way to the fence to check.
Peaking over, it was clear my original prediction was far from true. I had helped the snake move directly into the path of another snake waiting and ready to mate. My practice at being more Buddha-like was resulting in snake babies. Challenged and not defeated by the incident with the snake, I continued to try to make efforts in my daily life to consider what would a Buddhist do? And the challenges grew from an abundance of hated snakes to hundreds of seemingly insignificant ants. I first spotted one ant on my kitchen floor. Then a few ants on the floor. Then an ant on my kitchen counter and two in my bathroom.
In the Buddhist tradition, each living creature has a connection to you and through the cycle of death and rebirth each living creature has shared a past life. Meaning the ants, the snakes and my least favorite people in the world have all been my mother and have all been your mother in a past life. This newly learned belief was present on my mind while I wiped them clean off the counter and rinsed them down the sink, feeling slightly more guilty about a few deaths in the insect world.
I tried to keep my killing to a minimum, except this past weekend I couldn’t take it any longer. The ants must have sensed my trepidation and had infiltrated my kitchen, marching in one long line up my dining room wall and along a floorboard. All apprehension of killing living beings and any thought to the ants being my loved ones was lost in the excitement of wanting them all dead. I excessively laid out poison and gleefully spoke to my tiny relatives – “Drink up guys and bring your friends.”
Buddhist, I am not. And if I am reincarnated into an ant for my karmic retribution, I promise to stay out of your kitchen.
Other Posts Reflecting My Experience in the Class:
Who would volunteer to go visit a prison? Hardened criminals, manipulative and egotistical minded individuals locked away from society for good reason. Those people behaved badly and did things they knew were wrong, they knew better and should be punished. Why would anyone volunteer to go visit a prison?
I would, and I did go. For me, I don’t carry the typical view of Americans incarcerated like the description above. From years of working with youth, I have watched children learn from violence, addictions and unstable environments. I have seen them removed from their homes and placed in worse conditions in some foster-homes and group homes. I have noticed the pattern of getting in trouble with the law starting early in life when kids don’t have proper role models. I have observed the discrepancies which take place in how youth are dealt with based on race and socioeconomic backgrounds. I have been disappointed by the influence mental health has on effecting behaviors which get ignored in the judicial system. I don’t judge youth as being bad seeds, I can see the good in them and understand who they have become is a reflection of what they have been through. They way kids think, speak and behave couldn’t be any different. They honestly don’t know ‘better’ it’s the only way they know how to be.
It’s easy for us to have pity on children and have sympathy for the situations they have been through. Why does this stop with children? We accept kids don’t know better, and somehow by the age of 18 magically people should now know right from wrong, how to handle anger or cope with stress, how to create a substantial income legally or who to trust not to lead you down the wrong path? It’s hard for me to buy this, if their circumstances were different I know their actions would be different too.
In America we have established a system of ridiculing, harshly judging and locking up victims of unfair circumstances. Victims of abuse, addiction, trauma, poverty, learning disabled and mentally ill. Justifying the incarceration of hundreds of thousand non-violent offenders. Encouraging wealthy investors to build prisons and profit off the contracts to incarcerate some of America’s most oppressed population. This is occurring at such alarming rates we are leading the world in locking up our citizens.
From a class I recently took, volunteers were invited to attend a prison and visit with the inmates as a celebration of Vesak, a Buddhist holiday celebrating the birth, enlightenment and death of Buddha. (For my first story on this click here.) On the day of the prison visit I felt nervous, not in fear it would be dangerous, it was more related to how I would manage my own frustration with the prison system and maintain equanimity through the experience. It wasn’t until I showed up for the ride to Leavenworth when I found out we would be going to the U.S. Disciplinary Barracks, the Department of Defense’s maximum security military prison. According to Wikipedia: Only enlisted prisoners with sentences over ten years, commissioned officers and prisoners convicted of offenses related to national security are confined to USDB. As I would later hear from the inmates, this is the most dangerous prison in the United States since all of the inmates are trained to kill.
To me, this visit suddenly took on another level of social justice problems. These inmates were more likely to be incarcerated for violent crimes, yet I still hang on to the notion they are also victims of their circumstances. Being in the military trains them to be violent, asks them to go to war and causes them to witness unimaginable trauma. It is impossible not to be effected by these circumstances, and many individuals are mentally unprepared to cope. The military has seen a substantial increase in the rates of domestic violence, assault, murder and suicide in the last ten years – directly related to tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Countless enlisted men and women joining the services to serve and protect their country end up with their lives ruined by war.
On the drive to Leavenworth I road with a fellow classmate and talked about gardening, TV shows and travel. We shared our anxiety about what we were going to see and I confided I desperately wanted to know the circumstances of each of their crimes and what lead to them, even though I knew I wouldn’t ask. We presented our id’s at the gates to Ft. Leavenworth and caravaned with other vehicles through the base up to the prison. It seemed to be the furthest possible location on the grounds passing officer’s homes, army barracks, a cemetary lined with identical and symmetrical tombstones, down long winding roads, dead-ends and finally approaching ‘The Castle.”
We entered into a quiet building about 7:15pm and climbed a staircase to a front desk manned by two guards in combat uniform. The lobby felt like a high school with lockers, restrooms and a seating nook overlooking the dense wooded area beyond the parking lot. We each had to be cleared with a background check ahead of time and present our identification to get a visitors badge. Our group of 15 people were escorted by another guard, entering only a few at a time. One giant glass door slamming locked behind us so the next giant locked door could open. After the breeze way another guard with a baby pimpled face asked if the first guard would need assistance escorting us to our meeting room. I was sure these two finished their varsity sports, attended senior prom and put in resignation at McDonald’s about 12 months ago before heading off to boot camp, completely unaware of the commitment they had made and how deeply it would impact their life.
We walked down a long corridor, passing metal doors with small glass windows to other wings of USDB, it reminded me of entrances to different sections of the state mental hospital where I used to work. There were some inmates passing us in the hallway, none were handcuffed or escorted, and I got the impression I wasn’t in danger being there. We entered a room, about the size of a classroom with two long tables set up for us to eat and visit. The prisoners we would be visiting were already in the room and waiting spread out amongst the folding chairs. I shuffled in shyly with the other guests, waiting for instructions which never came. Eventually assuming the responsibility to find a spot to sit down and introduce myself to those around me. My classmate and I sat down next to each other for some security and comfort. We overly smiled and shook hands with the prisoners across and next to us and then felt the awkwardness sink in unsure of what to talk about. I bit my tongue to prevent the question of “What did you do to get here?” from blurting out.
At the start I was painfully conscious of my body positioning and every word I uttered into conversation. We shared how each of us started taking the Basics of Buddhism class, both those from the outside and those from within the prison. We related on why we started a meditation practice and how the practice was going. The prisoners shared the need for meditation to help calm their minds down, cope with emotions and come to terms with being at USDB. During dinner I felt by apprehension fading and my body relaxing. Two of the prisoners I had met were born in other countries, one joining the Navy from his home in California and was last stationed in Hawaii, never imagining he would end up incarcerated in Kansas.
Another prisoner I spoke with told me about being from the East coast, stating he quit college half way through to join the Marines. He had been enlisted for almost a decade, traveling the world and completing three tours to war. We discussed the paths of life, influences which shape us and how everyone makes mistakes. “It would be boring to be perfect,” he remarked, “No one is perfect.”
“Everything is perfect,” I challenged his view. I explained my perception, nothing could be the way it is now without everything else which fell before it. Perfection is neither good nor bad, it is just as it should be. We couldn’t have been at the table meeting each other in USDB had any circumstance in his or my life been different leading up to that day, not good or bad, just perfect. The veteran agreed and said he has become keenly aware of situations in his life, choices he has made and what has lead him to where he is at right now. He feels it is exactly what was supposed to happen and put him in touch with life again. We talked about people who are aware of their past, intention and purpose.
“And then there are the floaters,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I was a floater for a long time too.” From the discussion I took that a floater refers to a person who is existing with indifference to themselves and the world around them. Someone who is oblivious to their impact or lack of impact on others. Individuals who don’t carry attachment to relationships and situations, rather busying themselves with getting by in life without thinking or place value too highly on material things.
There are victims of crimes and then there are the criminal victims of circumstance. Their actions are not legal and are not to be condoned, yet our judicial system is not creating a healthier society. The problem will continue to perpetuate as long as there are floaters unaffected by what is happening and stay disengaged from these conditions in society. We need to help each other wake up to stop judging criminals, change the criminal system and correct the errors which lead individuals to do bad things.
If this post peeked your interest and you want to learn more, here is some recommended reading:
A few months back the baby crib came down and was replaced with a toddler bed for my growing tiny tot. Then a few weeks afterwards the realization set in, too many growing up changes happening too soon and Parker was not accepting them all. A pack and play was assembled next to the toddler bed for sleeping and temporary reassurance. The pack and play remained up for both naps and bedtime, while the fancy new toddler bed sat lonely, only getting an occasional hop, pretending to put Mommy down for a nap or movie time cuddles.
Despite the obvious lack of space in the confining pack and play, Parker chose to sleep there and didn’t try to climb out until this week. She casually walked out of her room following a nap one afternoon, so I promptly set her back into the pack and play to demonstrate how she escaped. Swinging her leg over the rail and onto her toddler bed as a step down, she proudly showed how she braved her long limbs into her escape plan.
Now, I have to say I have been ambiguous about the use of the pack and play. In a sense it’s nice to restrict her movement when it’s time to slow down and fall asleep. Although the structure became an obstacle in her room to manuever around and it was intended to be temporary in the transition. I have been ready whenever she was and her climbing out seemed to be the obvious sign it was no longer necessary.
As much of an explanation can be comprehended by a two-year old, she heard it while I disassembled the pack and play. “It’s time to use your big girl bed now,” I told her.
“Why not?” She asks, as this is the standard response for questioning even when the ‘not’ part doesn’t fit in. She appeared bothered, as if the folding boards thinly covered in foam and synthetic material was the most comfortable sleeping arrangement possible. After some convincing Parker was more excited about the impending night back in her new bed.
Bedtime loomed closer, I felt my nerves rising. Would she stay in her bed, would she fall asleep and would she stay asleep through the night. No matter how often I try to prepare, it’s impossible to predict the behavior to expect from a toddler. Our nighttime routine stayed exactly the same and when it was time I laid her down just as smoothly as I had the previous night in the pack and play. Momentary success as I closed the door and wished Parker sweet dreams.
I continued my evening downstairs until nearly an hour later I could hear her footsteps, then the door knob and then her chattering. Back upstairs I went, preparing to set a strict tone of needing to stay in bed.
“I not sleepy Mommy,” she pleaded to me with her big brown eyes as I escorted her back to her door. “I stinky Mommy,” she said with more urgency. “I need to go potty, need to go potty,” she said rapidly as a final distraction before I silently steered her back into her room. Climbing into bed she reiterated “I stinky Mommy.” I knew she was using any tactic possible to delay going to bed, and I also figured while I was there I should check her claims to be sure. Against my wishes I switched on her lamp and asked her to stand up to peek in the back of her pull-up. Sure enough, she needed to be changed.
Parker was delighted to have a captive audience now, she released her delirious inner comedian while I laid her down to wipe her clean. She sang The Wheels on the Bus using different tunes, voices and tempos with each line. I did my best to contain laughter, knowing it would only encourage her more. I couldn’t keep from smiling at her ridiculous state and was relieved to have my face in the shadow of the light so she couldn’t see my response. Parker went back to bed easily and sang herself to sleep.
All this week we have been redirecting her back to bed, though each night seems less and less. We also have been getting up several times during the night to bring her back to bed when she comes into our room after we have gone to sleep. The second night in her big girl bed I woke up early in the morning to find her laying between us, oblivious to when she arrived or how she climbed up, although from her mummified sleep I knew she had been there a while. Since I was exhausted from the frequent wake-ups the night before, I fell back asleep before having a conscious thought about needing to move her back.
The next few nights were more of the same. Redirections to go back to her own bed, and carrying her back to her room after we had gone to sleep. One early morning my husband awoke when he heard her door knob and from his position in bed he had a clear view of her charge from her room to my side of the bed. My recollection of the event was a terrifying jolt from my peaceful slumber by an excited tot, exercising her new-found freedom from the confinement of a pack and play.
There are so many people who struggle through life dependent on the next thing. If I get to do (fill in the blank) then I will be happy. When I get (fill in the blank) I will be better off. If he/she stops (fill in the blank) everything will be fine. On one hand it is necessary for growth to create goals to work towards, however, allowing those plans to dictate your mood moment to moment is detrimental. Your happiness is not dependent on whether you pass or fail, whether you have support from those around you or what monetary gains you create along the way. If you are waiting for the accomplishments to arrive before you will feel content, you may find those accomplishments short-lived and quickly replaced with new obstacles to overcome. And when you are placing your happiness on the responsibility of the actions of others, you will never find peace.
To find satisfaction within your own life you must be at peace with the present moment, flaws and all. Eckhart Tolle says “Whatever the present moment is, accept it as if you had chosen it.” It is part of the path of your life, exactly as it should be, both the good and the bad. The challenges you face are opportunities for learning and practicing new skills, there is nothing you cannot overcome and there is no challenge which does not serve a purpose for you. Stop looking outside yourself or waiting for the moment for things to change, happiness is being at peace with the present and the path you are on.
Inspired Living KC 