Things my Two-Year-Old Taught Me: XXVI

Curiosity killed the cat.

I’m beginning to think it’s true.  But not for the reason the old adage implies.

If you are, or have been, a parent to an almost three-year-old, you know a thing or two about curiosity.  You know what it's like to have said kiddo ask you questions all day long about everything he sees, hears, smells, tastes, touches, and everything he does NOT see, hear, smell, taste and touch.  You know what it is like to hear the same exact question repeated in the same exact intonation consistently for at least 10 minutes, even though you’ve answered it with precision every. single. time.  You know the delicate walk on that very thin line between encouraging curiosity/questioning the world and going absolutely, totally insane.

And if you aren’t a parent to an almost three-year-old, and will be soon, you now know what you have to look forward to.  (you can thank me later).

Conversations like this, for instance:

bug: Why that car get gas for?

me: Because it ran out of gas.

bug: Why?

me: Because gas doesn’t last forever.

bug: But why it needs more gas?

me: To drive.

bug: Why?

me: Because in order for your car to drive, the engine needs to use the gas you put into the gas tank to create energy.  Once the gas is gone, the engine doesn’t have any more fuel for energy, and it can’t make the car go anymore.  It’s the same reason you need to eat food.  The car eats gas.

bug: Oh.

(pause)

bug: Why I need to eat food for?

And it is never ending.

As I mentioned, there is that fine line.  On one side of the line lays everything you know about curious children.  Curious children are smart children.  Curious children seek out answers and enlarge their understanding.  They do better in school.  They understand the world.  They communicate more effectively in social settings.  They are more successful - however we define that.  And you want to encourage questions.  You want to encourage learning.  You want to be the epitome of a perfect parent.

But let’s be honest.  There are only so many times you can hear, “What he do that for?” in a day before you want to duct tape the child’s mouth shut.  And when, after the 80 billionth time of you answering “I’m getting ready,” your nearly three-year-old asks “what you doing, Mommy?” YET AGAIN - and you say, “For the love of Pete, I’m still doing exactly what I was doing two seconds ago when you asked me.  Nothing has changed.  I’m doing the EXACT SAME THING!”... well, maybe you should cut yourself some slack.  I mean, even perfect parents who encourage curiosity have a breaking point.

So, maybe I’m not entirely certain if curiosity killed the cat.  But my two-year-old has taught me that it sure as heck will be the death of me.

Things my Two-Year-Old Taught Me: XXV

In lieu of a tangible lesson my two-year-old taught me recently, I would like to share with you a sampling of conversations between said two-year-old and the people in my life - with the morals I’ve learned from each one.  (If you are a facebook friend, you have read many of these already, as I often use them as my status.)

(Sitting in church, during the main meeting... the teenage brother/sister pair ahead of us were acting like typical siblings)

bug: That man hit that girl!

me: Shhhh...

bug: He hit her!  What he do that for?

me: He was just teasing.

bug: We don’t hit!

Wrong is wrong.  Right is right.  There is no “gray area.”

me: Are you excited to sleep in your new sleeping bag?
bug: Yep! 

me: It’s cool, huh?
bug: I'm a lucky boy.

Ah, it’s the simple things...

(At the store, referring to a fellow customer)

bug: He has a mustache!

me: Yep.

bug: What he have a mustache for?

me: Some people like mustaches.

bug: I have a mustache too!

me: No, I don’t think you do.

bug: Well, I WANT a mustache.

Don’t we all want what we can’t have???

(Took a walk through an upscale residential neighborhood)
me: Ooo, mr, I like that house!
mr: mmm-hmmmm... (pretty much ignoring me...)
me: or that one! I'll take that house!
bug: You already HAVE a house.

Always the voice of reason, that one. He is his father's son.

bug: my pants are falling down!
me: why?
bug: (offhand) oh, because of grabity.

Thanks to mr, our kids will definitely be science nerds.

(During the opening prayer at church)
bug: Who is that man?
mr: That's President Kindt.
bug: He's praying.
mr: Yes. Shhh.
bug: he's a good boy! Good boy for praying, man!

Lots of praise makes even the most unwilling Stake President want to pray.

bug: I want my cookie now!
me: who said you could have a cookie?
bug: I did!

So, bug’s boss around here now.

bug: My shoe is black!
me: Actually, it's navy blue.
bug: Yep, and maybe black, too.

What does “NAVY” blue mean, anyway?  Where did that come from?

(At my Grandma’s funeral, after explaining what a funeral is...)
bug: I want to go see the birds.
mr: What birds?
bug: The ones inside the hall.
mr: Um, I don't think there are birds inside.
bug: (Glum) Oh. They passed away.

Perhaps death is a bit abstract for two...

(On Daddy’s birthday, we took a picnic to his work.)
me: bug, do you have something to say to Daddy?
bug: Happy birthday Daddy! (hands him some bark from a tree) Here's some wood, I got it for you!

A cheap present is better than no present.

(Trying to distract bug from imprisonment in his car seat)

me: Look! Horses!!
ezra: Those ARE horses. Good job mommy! You're so smart.
me: Um. Thanks.

Smart for a two year old and smart for a mommy aren't necessarily the same.

bug: Put the corn in the microphone!
me: In the what??
bug: In the MICROPHONE!
me: Why in the world would I do that?
bug: To make it hot!
me: Do you mean microWAVE?
*PAUSE*

bug: Um... yeah.

So if the corn goes in the microPHONE, what’s the microWAVE for?

(While I was talking nonsense to mini)

me: What do you think about that?
bug: (Putting his hand on my shoulder and looking at me seriously) Mommy, mini can't talk yet.
me: That's true.
bug: (nodding) Don't worry. She will soon.

He’s so rational.  He can always calm my fears.

me: do you want spaghetti?

bug: no, I want yogurt.
me: man cannot live on yogurt alone!
bug: Well, I'm NOT a man.

Again, rational wins out.

(bug’s new favorite question is "what is ____ for?" All day long... "what is she for?" "What is the car for?" "What is this book for?" "What is yellow for?"...)

bug: What is the dinosaur for?
me: I don't know. What are YOU for?
bug: To play! To have fun!

Now we know his philosophy on life.

(Looking at a picture on the computer)

bug: What's that?
me: It's a special picture of a baby in a mama's belly.
*PAUSE*
bug: Did the mama eat that baby??

This is how children are traumatized early in life.

AND FINALLY:

(As mr strapped him in the car)
bug: I need my nose wiped!
mr: I don't have a wipe. Can you wait until we get home?
bug: I'll just use my tongue.

Boys are gross.

What?? What???  Isn't that what a tongue is for???

Things my Two-Year-Old Taught Me: XXIV

Preface:  It's been weeks since my last "Things My Two-Year-Old Taught Me" post, and I realized recently that very, very soon I will need to change that to "Things My Three-Year-Old Taught Me."  Truth be told, while I enjoy every other post I put on this blog, I miss these little life lessons, funny or profound (sometimes both).  So I'll hopefully be back to making these posts more regularly, before my two year old gets too old.

Like most almost three year olds, bug is very active.  He literally runs in circles around the couch in our living room, repeatedly, without tiring, for long periods of time.  He chases his cousins, he runs away at the park when it’s time to go, he jumps around his bedroom and leaps from his bed during “quiet time” - he moves constantly.  Sitting in the church pew, riding in his car seat, being tucked into bed... even normally considered still moments must be flipped and twirled and turned end over end.

Except for those inexplicable moments.  The ones I was about to categorize as rare, but ultimately couldn’t, because they happen frequently enough to be considered a pattern.  The moments of extreme concentration.

While at the park the other day, bug took a break from his fanatic whirlwind.  He stopped by the tunnel, still as a statue.  It caught my attention immediately, obviously, and I wondered if something was wrong.  I called out to him, but he seemed oblivious to his name.  I know it’s irrational of me, but I despise it when he ignores me.  I mean, he’s two, he’s got his own agenda, and what two year old doesn’t ignore their parents sometimes?  It’s expected - the whole asserting their independence thing.  But even understanding that it still annoys me.  It’s irritating that he does it simply TO irritate me, and then even more irritating that I rise to the occasion.

So I called his name again.  And again, louder.  My irritation grew. 

Finally, I took the baby from the swing and went to investigate further - or give him a time-out.  Depending.  As I got closer, it was clear that he was staring at something, concentrating very closely.  He wasn’t ignoring me after all.  He was genuinely engrossed in something I simply couldn’t make out from my viewpoint.

I came up to him and asked, “bug, what are you doing?”

He looked at me and smiled, then, pointing to the object of interest said very quietly, almost in awe, “look!”

It was a ladybug.  It sat on the plastic tunnel, unmoving.  Perhaps it was considering bug as closely as he was considering it.

“Um, yes.  I see it.”  I said.  It was just a ladybug, after all.  How excited could I get?

“It’s a ladybug!”  He said with quiet excitement, still pointing.

And then it moved.  In the blink of an eye, it flexed its wings once, twice, then settled again.

And I realized I had never held a ladybug up to his eyes before.  I’d never let it crawl along my hand and pointed out its black spots and it’s fragile wings.  Sure, he knew what they were.  We’ve read lots of books about ladybugs.  But you can’t experience the world through books.

“Do you want to hold it?”  I asked reaching for it.

“No!”  He grabbed at my hand.  “Let’s just watch for a while.  We’ll just see.  OK?”

And while at first I thought he was just being his cautious self, it dawned on me that he was right.  Maybe we should just watch it for a while.  Just study it and appreciate it.  And not interfere.

I drove home that day with the stirring of a new wonder in my chest.  An almost three year old may be reaching for independence.  He may be able to run and jump and feed himself, or even put his shoes on.  But not quite three years really is pretty fresh in this world.  An almost three year old still sees wonder in everything around him.  Even in the simplest beauties that I take for granted.  Walt Streightiff said, “There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million.”   And isn’t it part of my job as a mom to help him notice those wonders?  To teach him, but not interfere?  To let him experience the world and hopefully continue to feel it’s amazement's throughout his life?  I mean, that’s the FUN part of my job.  And why am I wasting it?  Why had it taken me almost three years to point out a living, breathing ladybug?  And why am I quick to react with impatience or jump to conclusions?  Just as small and everyday things may be seemingly insignificant, actions and behaviors may not be all they seem, either.  bug may be curious about a rock, not simply trying to avoid me.

We watched that ladybug for a few more seconds, until it became restless, stretched its wings out and flew off.  bug seemed let down as he asked me why it did that.

And if I’m not careful, all of these moments, all of these simple wonders, will slip away just as easily and quickly as that ladybug did.  And bug will be just as let down.

Go HERE for the giveaway from Mandibidy!

 

Things my Two-Year-Old Taught Me: XXIII

 Secretly hiding in the corner is much more effective than sitting on the potty.

Green m&m’s taste better than any other color.

What the imaginary monster wants wins out over what mommy wants any day.

If you’re sassy and about to be put in the corner, all you have to say is “Just kidding!” and you can totally get out of it.

The only thing a little sister is good for is trying to pawn your veggies off on.

Dogs are the coolest animal on earth, from a distance.

If mom says no, ask dad.  If dad says no, ask grandma.            

Who needs an entire CD?  The best way to sleep at night is listening to the same song over and over and over again ALL NIGHT LONG.

The only thing cooler than a fire engine is a train.  The only thing cooler than a train is a school bus.  The only thing cooler than a school bus is a garbage truck.  The only thing cooler than a garbage truck is a plane.  The only thing cooler than a plane is... wait.  There’s NOTHING cooler than a plane.

Two yr olds don’t “need” naps.  Which is why you find them fast asleep on top of their toys instead of in their beds.

If you take a toy I’m playing with, it’s naughty, but if I take a toy YOU’RE playing with, it’s “sharing.”

The only safe place during a storm is next to Mom.

things my Two-Year-Old Taught Me: XXII

On occasion, I do clean.  I even try to teach my two year old to help. 

Example 1 -

me: “bug, can you put your bowl in the sink?”  

bug: “What bowl?”

me: “Your bowl.”

bug: “I don’t see it.”

me: “It’s right by your hand.”

bug:  (runs into the other room)

Example 2 -

me: “Put your shoes in the cubbies, please.”

bug: “I don’t see them.”

me: “They’re right by your feet.”

bug: (runs into the other room)

Example 3 -

me: “It’s time to clean the play room!”

bug: (runs away)

me: “bug, can you grab that car and put it in the box?”

bug: (runs right past it)

me: “bug, it’s right there.  Pick it up please.”

bug: (looks around him on the floor) “I don’t see it.”

me: “It’s by your foot.”

bug: (runs into the other room)

I was starting to wonder if he had trouble seeing.  I have notoriously awful sight.  I am legally blind without my contacts.  (no, not an exaggeration) mr also has eye issues, but refuses to admit it.  I know this from multiple experiences where he thought living objects were leaves and such.  He’s too vain for glasses.

So, perhaps bug has already inherited our nasty eye genes?

Perhaps he simply doesn’t understand what I’m asking him to do?

Perhaps I am asking too much of my almost three year old?

Today I walked into the post office to mail a letter.  We don’t go there very often, especially during the school year when I watch K.  Three kids under three in a post office is a little overwhelming.  So, there were a lot of new things to look at.  A cool scale, envelopes and boxes, pretty wrapping paper, greeting cards, posters, mail boxes, people...

“I want a sucker!” bug exploded, loudly.

“What?”  I responded, caught a little off-guard as I chose envelopes and wrote out addresses.

“A sucker!”  He exclaimed.  At which time, K also picked up the chant.

I looked around.  What in the world were they talking about?  I saw no suckers.  Anywhere.  I didn’t even see anything that looked remotely like a sucker.  

“I don’t have any suckers.  If you’re good here, I’ll give you some gum in the car.”

(I do, in fact, give them gum every so often.  Is that ingenious, brave or stupid?)

They did quiet, but every so often one of them would blurt out the sucker proclamation again.

When it was our turn at the counter, I handed the postal worker my envelopes and prepared to pay.  He took my money and asked, “Would your kids like a sucker?”

I’m pretty sure the entire post office knows my kids want suckers!  I thought... why offer unless...?

And he turned, walked back to a removed counter, picked up a half-concealed bowl of suckers, and brought them forward to an eagerly awaiting bug and K. 

To say I was surprised is an understatement.  I really have no idea how bug saw the suckers in the first place.  They were all but invisible to the naked eye.  How is it possible that in a place so full of new and fun things to look at, he zeroes in on the suckers, but at home he can’t find a car or his socks if they smack him in the face?

And when I thought about it, I realized it happens all the time.  

In the grocery store -

bug: “I want that balloon!”

me: (looking around) “What balloon?”

bug: “That balloon!!”

me: “I don’t see a balloon.”

bug: (pointing up) “Right there!”

I look up and locate the balloon - a tiny red dot clear on the other side of the store up among the rafters of the ceiling.  If there is a balloon anywhere in the vicinity, he will find it.

In the car - 

bug: “Look!  A bus!”

me: “really?  I don’t see a bus.”

bug: “Right there!”

me: “bug, that’s just a van.”

bug: “No!  A bus, a bus!”

And I spot the yellow-orange of a school bus, small in the distance, driving in the opposite direction.

It’s like he has radar.  Anything bug-related sends sonar directly into his mind.  He could find a basketball amid a patch of pumpkins.  If there is a parking lot full of silver cars, he will pick out the one Escape that looks just like mine.  His powers of observation extend far beyond normal human ability.

So does he have a seeing problem?  Does he have trouble understanding what I ask?  Do I ask too much of him?  No, I’ve discovered the real issue is selective seeing.  It’s a lot like selective hearing, which he also suffers from.  Someday, he’ll make a perfect husband. 

ps, welcome to any newbies coming over from featuring you friday at Sassy Sites!  Thanks for coming!

Things My Two-Year-Old Taught Me: XXI

*Don't forget to enter my very first EVER giveaway in honor of my birthday right here.  All you have to do is leave a comment on that post!*

Recently, we’ve had a visitor at our house.  He insists on sitting next to bug during meals.  He loves playing cars (but he doesn’t like the loud ones), he buckles his own seatbelt and loves to dance.  Although his arrival wasn’t planned, I don’t mind having him around.  Actually, he’s a very polite, if somewhat overly-quiet, guest.  I honestly wouldn’t even know he was around if not for bug - who always brings it to my attention.  His name is Pawster the Monster, Pawster for short, and he is - you guessed it - an imaginary monster.  He is green.  He is NOT furry.  He has a small mouth, a giant nose, two legs and one eye.  He can fly AND turn invisible.  He is a good singer and his favorite food is chocolate animal crackers (which we must now ALWAYS have on hand).

I believe I’ve passed on a genetic predisposition for make believe.  When I was about 4, I had a carload of imaginary friends.  They were about 3 inches tall and rode in the backseat with me on car trips to keep me company.  Their names - the ones I knew (because who can keep track of, like, a hundred names of 3 inch tall people who all look very similar?) - were Sarah, Geneva, Melody, Tobi, and Mushroom.  I don’t know who named him, but I always felt it was a little unfortunate.  And this was the very simplest form my imagination took.

My very first best friend and I would plan elaborate stories and play them out.  When I was 6, my favorite was the roller-skating carhop where we met our prince charmings and lived happily ever after.  When I was 7, my favorite was the secret underground hospital we set up in her garage in order to help the resistance by caring for their wounded and dying.  Inevitably we would meet handsome resistance fighters struggling for survival and fall madly in love, after which would ensue a very dramatic narrow escape scene through the alley and bushes, up over the shed roof and into the trees with all of our patients in tow.  We never lost one.  We were very good nurses.  When I was 8 my favorite was the two musicals we wrote, directed, acted, sang and produced (for an imaginary audience - although we always planned on inviting the neighborhood) while her family watched from the windows, snickering.  I was a dress designer, a teacher, a writer, a concert pianist, an oscar award winning actor and a detective all before I was 12.  When I was asked to do chores, I would pretend I was caught in a Cinderella-type tale, which was why - I patiently explained to my mom - I ALWAYS had to wear the handkerchief just so in my hair, every time.  Sometimes, in the car, I imagined I was being whisked away from the life I knew in a traumatic and mysterious turn of events in which it was discovered I was switched at birth and had to be returned to my REAL family.  I would sadly look out the window and say goodbye to all my friends as I passed them... I could usually squeeze out a tear or two before the grocery store.

I always had something going on, I made up songs when no other songs would do, I wasn’t lonely, and I never wanted for any toys because everything I imagined was better than what I didn’t have anyway.

I don’t remember how old I was when my imagination took off.  Was I two, like bug?  (I do remember that when I was bug’s age my dad convinced me there was a bird living in the vent in my parents’ room.  I was in high school before my parents told me the bird was actually my father standing outside by the opening of the vent talking with a funny voice.)  But I do believe my humble beginnings in imagination have contributed in very large part to the person I am today.  I know we can’t live in a fantasy world and we shouldn’t teach our children to depend on things that aren’t real.  But if encouraging bug to play make-believe will allow him to be open-minded, creative, authentic, fun, spirited, lively, and innovative, then I’m pretty sure Pawster can stay forever.  Heck, he can have my bed.  Well, the foot anyway.  (not that I think I encompass ALL of these qualities or anything, but I’m kinda creative and sometimes fun...)

So when bug insists on feeding every stranger who says hi to him in the store imaginary grapes, or asks me where his imaginary wallet is, or tells me he forgot his “phone” in the car and needs to get it... I play along.  If he wants to be a super hero, I’ll let him - even if it means bringing the cape shopping.  Because maybe someday, he really, actually, will be.

Things my Two-Year-Old Taught Me: XX

It’s been a rough one.  And by one I mean three.  And by three I mean weeks, not days.  bug is having some nightly behavioral um... “issues.”  

Now you will tell me that he’s just being a two year old.  That all two year olds assert their independence.  That all two year olds have tantrums.  That all Two year olds tell you they “don’t go to bed” because they are “too busy” and then throw their car in the toilet and run away screaming.  That all mom’s wish they could lock their two year old in their room until they stop screaming, kicking the closet and pounding on the floor without being considered a bad mom.  Ok, maybe you won’t tell me that last one.  But I wish you would.

I think he has nightmares.  And I can relate.  (warning: here comes an unplanned digression).

I dreamt about Death.  Not death as in dying, but death as in the super tall, black cloak, scythe carrying guy.  I was about 4 when it started.  Not kidding.  I don’t even know where a four year old gets that image, but there it was in my subconscious.  The dream was always the same, but took place in different locations.  I would be standing there with Death.  He’d give me to the count of 10 to run and hide in the best spot I could find.  The unspoken but clearly understood rule was that if he couldn’t find me, I won and if he DID find me, I lost.  Lost big.  In my dream, I could only imagine what he’d do if I lost.  Then the frantic part of the dream started.  The part where I would search and search for a perfect hiding spot, but find nothing suitable.  The part where I somehow knew he’d reached the number ten and I was in trouble.  The part where I would panic and try to run and, of course be weighted down by some invisible force.  The part where I would get into some randomly placed elevator only to discover it didn’t work/took me right to him/plummeted to the ground/was a top secret elevator I wasn’t supposed to be on/turned into swiss cheese.  The part where I suddenly thought I’d done it, I’d escaped, I’d beaten him... then felt my heart drop to my feet when he found me.  And he ALWAYS found me.  And right when he found me, just like magic, I would snap awake with a jerk.

I hated those dreams.

Once in a while I still have them.  I’m in a musty attic...I’m stuck in the back of a closet... I’m hiding in the wall behind a bookshelf like Anne Frank.  Why do the bad guys always win?  And why was I dreaming about bad guys when I was FOUR?

So I can I totally commiserate with bug on the “I’m too afraid to go to sleep” level.  The trouble is, when he doesn’t sleep, I don’t sleep.  I hate being awakened by his screams, and I have to admit that at 2:00 in the morning it’s hard to remember that I was little and having nightmares at one point in my life.  I’m not my most agreeable self when sleep deprived.  And it’s even worse the next morning.

Put much more eloquently than I ever could, JoJo Jensen said: “Without enough sleep, we all become tall two-year-olds.”  Which isn’t pretty.

What have I learned?  

Sleep is important.  For him and me.  We’re crabby without it.

I love him, but I’m happier than happy to get him to sleep - especially after a drag out battle.

I can’t protect him from those nightmare-ish images that stick in the mind and fester.  I wish I could.  I wish I could take the scary Death images and the monsters and the growling animals and anything else his little two year old brain can concoct and pack it away under lock and key.  Then we’d both get the sleep we need, and more importantly, he wouldn’t be so scared at night.

But then I consider:  Those scary nightmares make the soft and pleasant dreams that much more lovely.  Sure, they’re hard to get through and uncomfortable and downright awful.  But when you know the fear and the sadness, the bad and ugly, you can really, truly appreciate the happy, calm and peaceful fantasies.  And, when it comes to dreams OR reality, isn’t that the point?  

I wouldn’t deprive him of those experiences for the world.

So for now, I’ll have to try my best to be patient in the middle of my quiet night, when it’s broken by a terrified cry.  I’ll have to shuffle more quickly to his side and swallow my annoyance at being interrupted mid snore.  I’ll have to hold tighter and sing sweeter so he will come to know the importance of opposition and the beauty of dreams.

bear, blankie and daddy.  All you need for sweet dreams.

Things my Two-Year-Old Taught Me: XIX

Dirty dishes will stay dirty dishes.

Two year olds will not stay two year olds.

Play more.

Work less.

things my Two-Year-Old Taught Me: Part XVIII

I’ve always been a little perplexed about bug’s obvious overestimations about carrying things.  When I tell him he can bring one car upstairs to play, he will bring his three favorite cars, two balls, a book, his pink bear (thanks, Oma), and the blanket that goes with him everywhere (because, in bug’s words, “I’m a blankie kid!”).  He will then want to go back for the kitchen sink, and be overly upset when he can’t possibly make it up the stairs with all of it.

I’ve attempted repeatedly to explain the concept of carrying only one or two things at  a time.  He seems to understand me.  It is possible for him to only hold one item in his hands.  I’ve seen him do it.  But the idea just doesn’t stick.  Before you know it, he’s hauling out the pile of stuffed animals from his bed and dropping them all down the stairs, leaving a path of plush breadcrumbs directing the way back.  The idea of abandoning just one behind him is utterly ridiculous!

Inevitably, I will end up carrying half of his “necessary” items wherever we may be going.  On the way outside to play in his wading pool, for instance, he “needed” three cars, a rubber duck, his bear, a towel, and a cup of water.  Can you guess what he ended up carrying all the way out the door?  Correct - his cars.  All else fell to me.  Along with the baby, of course.  And this got me thinking.

Of course, I help bug out when he needs it.  But I do it to myself, too.  How many times have I loaded my arms up with grocery bags, balancing two gallons of milk on one hip, leaving only a few fingers free for mini AND my keys?  All because I just can’t take an extra trip back to the car.  No, no.  That would be too difficult.

Ignoring for just a moment the precarious situation this puts mini in, it’s simply impractical and completely ridiculous.  I end up gimping along, bags swinging against my legs, gripping mini with a death grip, breaking both arms, breathing heavy, looking haggard, yelling at bug to stop running away and go up to the door already... only to struggle with the keys, close my foot in the outer door, and slam the doorknob into my back - most likely shutting bug outside in the process.  I’m then stressed, tired, weak, and frustrated with bug - when if I had just taken a few things and gone back, I would have saved myself hassle and headache.

But it doesn’t stop there.  What else do I carry around with me that loads me down and stresses me out?  All of the hurt feelings from unintentional offenses of others?  All the stress from extra projects because I just can’t say no?  Heartaches from the past?  Humiliation and sadness that I can’t do it all and be it all?  Worry that I have to be the perfect mom and wife and am not measuring up?  All of the above - and more.  I carry around feelings of inadequacy, anxieties for my children growing up in a world that is hard, failures and mistakes I’ve made, and a desire to do better but complete ignorance at where to start.  It’s overwhelming.

Why do I, unlike bug, insist on doing it all myself?  He understands his limits.  When he drops things, he realizes that he must ask for help.  And I know that I should too, but too often rely only on myself.  

Of course, I can ask mr or my family to carry certain things for me - projects or blunders or help letting little things go.  But sometimes there is more than even they can handle.  And what do I do then?

Someone wise said, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

(Matthew 11:28-30)

I think I need to remember this more often.  I don’t know about you, but I could use some lightened burdens sometimes.  I should take a page out of bug's book.