My most recent “method” has been pretty advanced, it’s called: surviving.

The other day one of them had a meltdown at a friends house. I was late to get somewhere and I was in a hurry. The ending was abrupt and she didn’t take it well. She dug in her heels and I dug in mine and what ensued next was a battle of wills that escalated to level: shit show.

Afterwards I thought back wondering what I could have done differently. The nagging question I couldn’t get away from was: why was I in such a hurry?

I am always in a hurry, and I don’t know why.

Yes, I was late, but no one was going to die if I took ten minutes longer than I did.

I don’t think I could have avoided the tantrum, but I know that I didn’t help by adding in my stress to the concoction of emotions she was already feeling. Here sweetie, how about I add this lighter fluid to your fire??

I wake up in the morning and I already feel behind. The kitchen’s dirty, everyone needs breakfast, and I usually need (or want) to get out the door. I channel all my stress into rushing. I constantly feel like I’m driving down a road going as fast as I can and someone is tailgating me honking their horn. I don’t know if that’s part of my struggle with anxiety, or just my personality.

When one of my strong-willed kids has a blow up I try to rush through it the same way I do everything. I think I was looking at all those parenting techniques as quick fix-its. I expected them to work like a button I could push to stop the meltdown (FOR THE LOVE MAKE IT STOP) but that’s not realistic (at least for us).

What I haven’t tried is waiting. (Waiting…patiently.)

I don’t mean “waiting” as a new parenting technique to somehow teach them to stop (there’s no secret plan here), but waiting for the sake of waiting. Waiting because I’m a grown up and I could use some lessons in slowing the eff down.

Waiting because they’re little and I’m creating space for them to be little.

These meltdowns and tantrums are like storms. They will blow over. I know from experience that we will cuddle afterwards and we will be able to talk then, but they can’t talk in the moment. I have to give them space, and I have to give them time.

Yes, I need my kids to respect me and listen, however, there’s barely ever the rush I think there is for that to happen. The only rush is coming from my own impatience and embarrassment.

My husband and sons went out of town this week and so it was just me and my two girls. I decided to experiment and I gave myself one goal: slow down.

I can’t tell you how many times I felt the familiar angst and hurrying feelings rising up in my chest, but (most) of the time I asked myself this:

 What the hell is the hurry?

And then I told myself to SLOW DOWN.

And it was amazing.

There was only a couple meltdowns, but when they did happen I reminded myself that I didn’t have to be anywhere but there in that moment, and that I had all the time in the world to wait for the emotions to wind down.

I’m not saying all this because it’s a “fix” for all strong-willed kids everywhere. It’s not. It isn’t a fix for all moms and dads either, because we are all different.

All I want to say is if you are “hurried” like me, I feel you girlfriend. The struggle is real.

My new summer goal is this: slow the crap down.

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Today we had many battles you and I. We had battles in the sun, battles in the sand, battles over popsicles, and a battle while I walked you screaming and kicking back to the house. You were red and fuming, I fought back tears. We’ve had thousands of battles you and I.

Today our battles were about little kid things, someday they might be about curfew or boys or doing the dishes.

No matter what, here’s what I want you to know:

We are not defined by these battles. We are not defined by the storms, we are defined by the times I hold you tight and by the I love you’s and the kisses.  We aren’t defined by hard days or hard moments, we are defined by the fact that I love you and I will never stop. We are defined by the truth that I will never ever give up on, or grow tired of you. You are mine forever and for always.

Those moments though they’re hard and unnerving, there’s no where I’d rather be.

Yes, sometimes inside I’m fuming. I wonder how it is possible we’ve done this this so many times before. I’m embarrassed, I’m tired, and I wonder if I were better at being your mom if we wouldn’t have blow ups like this.

Sometimes I simply wilt under the disapproving glances of strangers.

In my heart though? I’d do it all a million times again, my dear. I’d carry you up a hundred more flights of stairs while you’re kicking and screaming and I’d abandon a thousand more carts in Target to take you to the car.

I choose you, in all your sweaty, screaming, kicking, fuming, glory.

A lot of the time I’m stuck in now, I just want you to hold my hand to cross the street and say “okay Mama” when I say “no”. Sometimes I’m simply too tired and worn out to remember my joy, but I look at you now perched on the counter eating a slice a bread and I smile.

I like you; I like your strong will.

You aren’t the kind to be deterred by one or a million consequences. Your voice is vibrant and sometimes I believe it really can’t be swallowed. That’s okay. Someday you will channel that strength into something that matters deeply to your heart.

We have all the time in the world to figure that out.

Some people might call you hard or difficult (I do too sometimes). Some people might wonder where I find my grace every day…but they don’t see what I see. They don’t know that out of sea of well behaved children I’d choose you again and again and again.

After a tantrum I hold you. We snuggle in your bed and you ask me to sing a song. I breath deep because you smell like sunshine. You’re worth every single battle today, and every single one tomorrow.

I love you.

Mama

***

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You have fire in your heart, and I can’t wait to see what you do with your passion. Today, screaming. Tomorrow, voice for justice. There are no limits to what you’re capable of. But today, I do have limits. So, please, stop screaming.

Love,

Mom

I have two wild girls at my house. They are not easily guided, and they challenge every boundary I set. They are not quiet and they have an opinion about everything. They are also passionate lovers and joyfully exuberant about life in a way that is contagious.

But a door or a barrier to them means one thing: bulldoze that thing.

If you too are raising a World-Shaker, here’s some survival tips:

1. Extreme Opinions. So there was that one time we went to Target and she became fixated on a pretty box of menstrual pads. You woulda thought it was a Tickle Me Elmo in 1996. She didn’t seem to care at all that I prefer non-adhesive or no wings OR that I wasn’t even on my period. The moment when she ran shrieking down the aisle holding a pack of feminine products though? That was special.

If this happens to you: Exit gracefully. And by gracefully I mean panic, leave your cart and your friend and remove screaming child to sanctity of her own car seat. Close car door and breath deeply for 90 seconds. You need a lot of things right now, oxygen is probably one of them.

2. ALL THE FITS. My mom tells me that I threw one or two tantrums as a child. She ignored me and I never did again. HOLD. THE. PHONE. Whaaaaaa? Those genetics were definitely misplaced somewhere along the way. I don’t even think I have them anymore.

The window being up. The window being down. The word “no”. Not being able to wear stilettos in the snow. Sitting. Wearing clothes. Not being old enough for hip hop class. Bedtime. Sharing. Eating food. Hair brushing. All extremely offensive.

If this happens to you: We adopted a Loving on Purpose technique for this. It’s called “Fun to be around? Or room”. Meaning: you’re welcome to keep throwing that fit, but not around me because my ear drums are going to blow as well as my patience. A girl’s gotta let off some steam sometimes. She will rage for a bit, and then say “I weady be fun.”#winwin

Confession: My husband and I totally ask each other, “Fun or room?”

3. All the Passion. My child has an intense aversion to “dirty”. And by dirty I mean: touched by specks of dirt not visible to the human eye. God help me if that happens in Costco. Nothing stresses out the elderly more than a two year old stripping in December. I used to think baby without socks in August caused a scene.

If this happens to you: Just say “DONALD TRUMP for president!” That is definitely more horrifying than your nearly-nude baby. Conversation evaded. Every-time.

4. Library Shenanigans. There they were. A sea of well-behaved children with baby Uggs and perfectly placed hair bows ready for story time. My child was doing some sort of dance that was half sitting down and half spinning on her head. I felt the need to intervene about the time she started petting the girl in front of her.

If this happens to you: Envision you’re on a beach in Cabo drinking a Mai Tai  and reading a fashion magazine. You are so cool in that world. Plaster a smile on your face and wink at curious onlookers. Cabo, Cabo, Cabo…

5. Wardrobe Battles. All they care about is hand-me-down dresses from the eighties and a shredded Tinkerbell costume. Also, have you ever tried to put pants on a person who does not want to wear pants? Let me ask you another question: have you ever been told not to stand behind a horse? Both are great ways to get kicked.

If this happens to you: This calls for a stealth-mission: Project Fashion Intervention. Long after bedtime, remove the offensive attire. Some things can go to the thrift store, most need to be torched.  Maybe a romantic bonfire with the hubs?

6. The Arch.  The arch is a technically difficult move that should probably be reserved for gymnasts. Instead it happens every single time I put her in her carseat. It is accompanied by a lot of screaming. I feel a bit misunderstood in my effort to keep her alive.

If this happens to you: Find a phrase to chant like, “I cannot die from piercing noises. I cannot die from piercing noises.” or “I’m an adult. I’m an adult.” Until calm is achieved. Remember to use your inside voice. Next, shout “KITTY!” and buckle seat like a ninja.

7. Hurt Feelings. Recently both my girls have discovered what they think is a ‘loophole’: The feelings.  “That hurts my feewings”. Putting clothes on? Not roaring so loudly? Sharing? Eating dinner? You guessed it. Emotionally damaging.

If this happens to you: Find something both wise and compassionate to say like: “I know honey, I’m sorry, now eat your asparagus.” Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. This technique pairs nicely with a glass of cabernet.

Let me be clear: what I’m not talking about is having an open-range home where we are bossed around by tiny dictators. We have the same boundaries we’ve had with all our kids.

Even so…In this day and age, where women are getting more of a voice than ever (but have a ways to go, amiright?) – I hope my girls’s vibrant spirits are never broken. I hope they learn compassion and kindness, but that their voices are never quiet.

I hope they bulldoze every door in their way.

For now though…I’m just trying to get some freaking hair ties at Target.

So, with a glass of cabernet in hand, I salute you mama. They’re going to turn out great.

What are your thoughts on raising the wild women (or men)???

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