I started this blog post the other night after a frustrating evening. In a moment where God must have certainly been teaching me more about patience, the draft of my post suddenly crashed. If I were writing about anything other than patience, I probably would have cried. Instead, I was able to appreciate the irony (and – to a lesser extent – a life lesson). I begrudgingly returned to my blog today to start the post from scratch only to find a pop-up asking me if I wanted to restore what I had started writing (uhhhhhh, YES PLEASE!). Having started this post a couple of days ago but finishing it up today, I have been able to further reflect on patience, self-control, composure and poise. However, despite the further reflection, I cannot say that I have increased my capacity – try as I may – in any of these areas.
You are fiercely independent.
You are my stubborn, spirited girl.
You have the ability like no one else to drive me absolutely crazy.
You whine (often incessantly). You scream “no!” (and yet still haven’t mastered the word “yes”). Dinners are sometimes a battle (until we remember to add ketchup). You have started the “up! … Down!” game. The “all done!!! ……. More!!!” game.
But in the midst of intense impatience and frustration, I remember how you fell asleep on me a couple of days ago – for the first time in months (albeit, it was after you refused to nap for almost 2 hours……). I love how now that you’ve been learning and using so many words, you randomly come up to me and say “lap” because you want to sit with me. Today we were laughing together and you took my face in between your hands and I melted.
During a frustrating dinner a couple of evenings ago, you desperately wanted bread. But we wanted you to eat 3 bites of spaghetti first (or – heaven forbid – even one bite…). You screamed as if we were making you eat cockroaches. And then your brilliant daddy thought “hey, let’s add ketchup!” (you’ll eat anything with ketchup…) and you easily ate three bites as if you were eating a gourmet lobster dinner. After this incredibly frustrating dinner, I watched you tenderly “feed” your stuffed animals. And I remember that as I cooked dinner that night, you – my fiercely independent girl, and yet my baby – came running to me during a “scary” part on Bubble Guppies, and you watched the rest of the scene hugging my legs. As I washed the dishes, you screeched in joy as you and Jedi played, and then came running to me, squeezing yourself in between my legs and the sink. This morning as I was preparing some food, you – for no apparent reason – came up to me, again squeezed in between the cabinets and my legs, and sat on my feet like they were your own personal couch.
I’ve been trying to teach you patience, but I’m not the best teacher in this area… Regardless, something you’ve learned from me: the word “patience.” You were fussing in the car the other day, and I asked you to have “patience.” You repeated the word all the way home – sometimes calmly, other times whining the word.
In the midst of impatience – both yours and consequently mine – I reflect on this…
You’re stubborn, but I’m hoping your stubbornness evolves into determination.
You’re spirited, but I know you’re lively spirit is part of your wonderful outgoing personality. I hope your spirit results in unending passion for people and issues you care about.
I love your independence. But I also love when you come and hung my legs while I’m trying to make dinner. I catch myself becoming impatient that you’ve interrupted my path, and then realize that I love that you do it – despite your independence, you’re still my baby girl and you still love running to me. So I stand there and cherish your arms around my legs. More often than not, I don’t have to remove you from my legs – you’re off running to do something else.
Because you remind me so much of myself, I love learning from you: seeing some of my shortfalls and the characteristics I need to work on (patience perhaps!?). And revel in attributes that I most admire of myself.