On Monday, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I received word that a schedule was changing and that there was nothing I could do about it and the change negatively affects our son.
On Tuesday, I woke up, and realized I was being a total
baby, bratty, emotional, overly-obsessive mom the day before, and had the
opportunity to see this…..
While checking out the remains of the local sandcastle
contest. I’m just going to say, it’s
pretty cool (and a little crazy if you want to take a step back and get some
perspective) to live in an area where they have sandcastle contests. For adults.
For real.
Flash to the meeting I went to on Tuesday morning, moments
after the… incredible beach walk and sandcastle remnant appreciation, birds
singing, flowers blooming, lovers loving observation…..and an hour later I’m in
a puddle again. Of my own tears, that literally,
are bursting out of my eyes, and showering down from the dark cloud of
pre-tornado winds that have formed above my head. My head that knows better, my head that has a
brain and a spirit that is desperately trying to remain aware (and hopefully
grateful) of how fortunate I am.
There are silly days, there are wonderful days, and
sometimes there are dodge-it days where I try to run, jump or hide from the bummer
news hurled in my direction. I know in
my heart that I can’t let a parenting expert with a well-meaning recommendation
get me down. I know I can’t expect
everyone to understand what is going on in my life, and I know that sometimes I
just need to relax and accept that what is happening is temporary. But it’s still hard. Even with all the blessings, it’s still hard
for me to not be upset that the “game-changing” parenting technique won’t work
for us, and that the technique is only actually something that can be used with
kids that can speak. It is devastating
to me that the “miracle cure” actually just makes my son worse and our family
even crazier. I love giving advice, I
love learning new things, and I enjoy getting new opinions. But I don’t know how to reconcile these “I”
things with how I can cope when they all roll in together and break my heart
just a little more.
Sometimes, it feels like I keep opening the chocolate bar
and peeking at the golden ticket only to turn it in and realize that I’m not
allowed into the chocolate factory. I
try and see the blessings in not being admitted. Too much chocolate is bad for you, the
weather is nice here outside the factory, and too many sweets could give me a stomachache,
whatever. I see the beauty and delicious
joy of what is in front of me. But I
struggle with still looking for the ticket, and hoping it might help. And I struggle with making sure I’m doing
everything I can to get a ticket, or to improve our odds, or not miss the “thing”
that will be what makes a difference.
However, I know that too much time spent looking outside and
looking for something else can end up cheating you of the experience right in
front of you. After all, Charlie really
missed his family when he was at the chocolate factory. And I can’t be two people. And in the end, the ocean is really lovely so
who cares anyhow?
