"Don't Cry Over Spilt Milk"

is the mantra that runs through my head, when I'm trying to find a Zen place in the face of a day’s worth of toddler chaos. Unfortunately, a few hours into said day, I start talking back to the voices in my head.

“But this is the THIRD time she’s literally spilled her milk! You said I can’t cry. What about screaming? PLEASE let me scream, please! I’ll feel so much better,” I say plaintively.

Some days, I do scream….but I don’t feel better.

Other days, I remember that I actually subscribe to the philosophy that making messes is part of the process of learning. On good days, I teach my daughter a spirit of experimentation and a love of discovery, unencumbered by the fear of the outcome of her endeavors. I remember that I really love this quote from Roald Dahl.

(Dahl was referring to stuff like climbing trees, but giving a toddler a glass of milk qualifies as “risk” in my book.)

On good days, I give her the space to make messes, so she can learn to clean them up. I show her that mistakes can be opportunities and that mistakes can be fixed.

I am a believer.

What no one told me was how much tension would exist between my tolerance level for chaos and my philosophy about how to grow a healthy child and learner. 

How about when motherhood seems a feat of endurance? Bad days where the disaster around me seems to be keeping pace with my internal state of mind. Days when I feel less of an idealistic teacher and more like Sisyphus.

That's when it's best to let go the mantle of both idealist and Sisyphus. I need to strip away my beliefs about how things should go.

Nothing stands between Claire and me -- our relationship is at its most essential.

I see a child just being. I see a mom loving her child and her child's beingness very, very much.

At the heart of the matter, that's all we need to remember.

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Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

 

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Life of the Party

I dared throw a party one time in high school, while my mom and step dad were out of town. It wasn’t my best decision ever. I spent the whole time sober, watching drunken people do stupid things.

The other night, Elmo landed on the floor in a way that suggested he'd had one too many.

I realized that inebriated teenagers and toddlers have much in common. 

Like living with a toddler, I witnessed lots of stumbling and falling down the night of that party. I cringed each time a heavy and/or breakable object was pitched in the air. The floor became a garbage can strewn with random debris. And people couldn’t seem to keep their voices down.

I felt like the “no” police spoiling all the fun. I repeated myself a lot. I expended way too much energy waiting for disaster to happen.

After the festivities were over, I was the sole person left to clean up the mess.

Thankfully, Claire hasn’t burned her bangs off trying to light a cigarette on the stove like Angie Shivle did that night.  Plus, I was this close to throwing everyone out. Things can get chaotic around chez Demas, but my love for my daughter always keeps me from cracking.

Most importantly, having Claire is my best decision ever.

The House of Yes

Claire’s balloon comes floating by her high chair. Tiny, sticky fingers reach up, grab the string and start inching it downward. George and I both see what’s coming. Should we intervene? Too late. The balloon is smashed into the tray a few times and released, replete with remnants of yogurt, sardines and rice. “Bye, Bye” Claire says and waves, as it ascends to where it came from. How about that? She has found a way of making a mess on the ceiling without throwing anything. I didn’t think that was possible. It’s pretty ingenuous, really.

The beautiful irony of the whole thing is that Claire does not paint the ceiling with sweet potato by design. She doesn’t even know she’s doing so. It’s just the innocent by-product of exploring her world. How could I possibly say no? Is it really so bad when she pulls the cat’s tail? Or takes all of the clothes out of every single drawer in the bedroom for the hundredth time that day? She doesn’t know any better, and she’s having such a great time!

I’m finding that my job as mother is becoming more and more about weighing the damage of her actions against the fun she’s having. I’ve decided that if she’s not killing herself or another sentient being or if Spray and Wash or some other heavy solvent will take out the damage, I’m down for whatever she has in mind. This philosophy does not come without a few daily cringes though. Living with the amount of chaos a toddler can generate is a learned skill. I’ve found that it’s best just to surrender to Claire’s way of seeing the world.

I’m not so sure she’s too far from the truth, either. Ask any Zen master and I’m sure he or she will tell you that order is transient anyhow. Besides, Claire will be “civilized” soon enough. For example, I’ve already begun teaching her how to put the clothes back in the drawers…Hmm? So Claire is teaching me about the meaning of life; I’m teaching her…household chores? Makes you wonder who’s raising whom, doesn’t it?