I have been writing a lot less lately.  And I don’t really know why.  I guess it’s because I have too much to write about and too little time.  I have been busy.  Crazy busy with the course I am doing.  But not too busy to think.  I am a restless creature, I am.  Can’t help it.  So, lately I have been thinking. Thinking long and hard about my parenting techniques.  And this is what I found.  My baby loves me to death and I love her to death.  I am a reasonably good parent.  I do not expect my child to respect me just because I am her mother.  I do not expect her to owe her life to me or be grateful to me just because I brought her into this world.  I spend a lot of time being silly with her, bullying her (occasionally), spoiling her rotten, teaching her, loving her, hugging her, kissing her, comforting her and everything else that good parents are meant to do.  But I also realised that I yell a lot.   Much like this :  So, I thought a little more and remembered something a speaker said at a TED talk which was that it is not our job to make sure that our kids are perfect.  It is our job to say,”You know what? You are imperfect and you are wired for struggle but you are worthy of love and belonging”.   So, today I fought the hardest battle of all with that stupid little devilish voice in my head.  Today I captured the voice in a bottle so tiny and cramped that the little devil would have to struggle to breathe in there, let alone talk.  I guess it hadn’t seen this coming.  So, once it was immobilized from shock, I put the  lid on so tight that it would stay trapped in there until I decided to let it out.  Then I quietly watched my little one spend 20 minutes brushing her teeth, 40 minutes eating one slice of bread and half an egg, and going about all her morning chores so slowly, I could have gotten a tortoise ready in half the time.  We left home 15 minutes later than usual.  We reached the little road that led to her school gate with 4 minutes to spare.  Then I watched her walk towards the gate as slowly as humanly possible, admiring the trees, the birds, other cars driving by, other kids running past her.  She walked on at her own pace, without a  care in the world until another older kid reminded her that the gate would close in less than 1/2 a minute.  That’s when she started to run and I think she made it.   The point is, she made it (albeit barely) without my having to yell at her.  She went to school much happier and I felt much better than I did most days.  And I like that.  I am learning to let go, simply because sometimes things are much too heavy 🙂


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