Time Out

A piece of hot dog hits the floor. Even though I'm on my computer across the table, I see it fall. I can see her with my special peripheral mom vision, looking at me with her big eyeballs, daring me to stop her.

Without looking up, I say, "A - DO NOT throw your food on the floor. If you're done, just get down."

She drops the rest of the hot dog pieces onto the floor and sweeps her arm across the table so that the plate and the rest of the food nearly follows. With my swift super mom speed, I catch her arm, just in time, before the plate crashes on the ground.

"Are you done with your food?"

She grabs a piece of cheese, goes to put it in her mouth, but then throws it down on the table. I get her out of her chair.

"I want you to pick up that hot dog."

She scurries away to the corner of the kitchen.

"Ok, pick it up or you get a time out. Do you want a time out?"

This can go either way. Some days, she says, NOOOOOOO. No time out. And she just picks it up. But not today. Today, she's in the mood to play games.

"Yes," she says with a big teasing smile, "I want a time out. Will you take me into my room?"

"Ok, go into your room. I will not carry you. You can stay in there until you want to pick up your hot dog. Do not come out until then."

She happily trots off to her room and shuts the door. It takes her 30 minutes, but eventually she trots back out and happily picks up all the hot dog and throws it in the trash. She's a stubborn little goat, but I am a big stubborn goat, and I've been at it longer. I don't want to step on hot dog bits, but I'm also not the little goat's servant.

Oh, the fortitude this parenting takes!

Watch Yo Mind

I know I've talked a bit about this before, but I was a practicing Buddhist for over a decade and I miss it. I miss the shiny Buddhas, I miss all my friends, I miss teaching and listening to teachings, and I miss the quiet and peace of mind! Oh boy do I miss that.

Today, they had a celebration at the temple for 20 years of this lineage being in Seattle. It was a big deal. I never go to the temple anymore, but despite my migraine I knew I couldn't miss it. I wanted to take A, of course, because those friends were such a big part of my life in my journey up until she came along, and they are all curious about why I disappeared to be a Mom.

So, as they do, they started with some prayers and then a series of speakers, people who were instrumental in developing the center talking all about the history. I don't know why, but I thought it would be fine to bring A into the temple. I was so determined that I just didn't think it through. She can't sit still for five minutes for any reason, so there's no way she was going to do it for an hour or more. I didn't even consider that bringing her out in public sometimes can be downright harrowing, and this place requires even more discipline than the average public situation.

As I'm sitting there with of all my dear friends and teachers, in front of an eight foot Buddha, I'm just white-knuckling it, trying to relax, while my sweet child engaged in the following activities:

- Began to cry when I closed my eyes and sang prayers
- Talked, out loud, the entire time. A running commentary.
- Took my phone and enjoyed getting into my work email, trolling through my contacts, texting a friend (who was also in the audience), purchased an app, did a number of extensive Bing searches for who-knows-what, updated both my Facebook photo (twice) and my status, and looked up the location of neighborhood bars.
- Announced that she was looking for pictures of Muppets (loudly)
- Took off my necklace and swung it around
- Dug in my purse and got out a mirror, put it on her face and declared it a mask (loudly)
- Harassed the woman in front of us (who was very kind and sweet to her)
- Put her hands on the stained glass windows
- Walked to the front to stare at/charm the speaker
- Fell out of her chair
- Laughed out loud when the monk was talking about building more Dharma centers around the world (the crowd LOVED this)
- And, finally, took the keys out of my purse and attempted to stick them in an electrical outlet

When the keys were ripped (as delicately as possible) out of her hands, she began to whine in her monster voice. That's when I decided we've had enough and we both busted out the door with as much grace as I could muster.

For 45 minutes, I'm thinking about the quality of my mind. Buddha says to be patient, compassionate and practice contentment. I'm sitting right in front of Buddha, and I'm starting to get super tense and irritated with my kid's antics. I'm also pretty self-conscious about not being "that mother", who lets her kid run wild at inappropriate times. I'm desperately trying to find a balance here, and I'm running out of luck. She's either going to cool it, or she's not. Either way, I need to stay calm and respectful about the situation, to my fellow Buddhists, and to her. Maybe I don't get to hear the whole thing, and that has got to be ok.

I'm thankful for being able to be there as long as I did. I'm making a note about bringing A to the temple when she's a little older, and maybe trying to sneak in some time to go by myself. I'm also unbelievably grateful that I had over a decade of practice training my mind, because without it, my messy toddler-raising world would be way more out of control than it already is.

Spider Town

The spider population around here is tremendous! There is one big mama in particular that gives me shudders. I don't quite have the heart to rip her web down because it's not really in my way, and I know she's just trying to live. I also fear that if I pulled on it, she could come swinging down and smack me in the face (or anywhere on my body!). Oh man, she is intimidating.

Also, I am glad I'm not another spider. And this is why - there you are, just minding your own business, trying to rebuild after the rain.

 

 

You get a little too close to big mama...

 

And BLAM! She snaps you up, spins you furiously, and crushes you into a little ball. (This is where I start to scream, just a little.)

 

 

Pretty soon you are a tiny, unrecognizable snack. (I can't believe I've just witnessed this, and I start to back up and get A into the house, quickly!)



 





This is A's take on the whole thing: "Don't worry Mama. She won't eat you. It will be ok. I will save you!"

 

And this is where I realize my toddler is more mature than I am. Oh boy.

Just The Facts

"I like to pet cats," A says to me at the breakfast table, quite matter-of-factly.

"You do?" I say, wondering where she got her mits on a cat.

"Yes, I do. They are soft."

"Yes, they are," I confirm.

"And they like to lick me. Dogs lick me too."

I am too busy chuckling to respond, so she shines her brightest smile and says,

"You know?"

Oh yes, I know. She is indubitably delicious. Cats and dogs aren't stupid.