1m2aSandbox

Yesterday I got an email from our church,
stating that this Sunday’s topic is “gut-level
forgiveness: How do you forgive people when you’ve been
punched in the gut?”


It started me thinking about how well I am (or am not) teaching my
girls about forgiveness. I know they meant figuratively punched in
the gut, not literally, but certainly most of the forgiveness that
has to go on between me and the girls is on the physical level: I
can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been punched in
the eye by flailing arms; had my hair pulled out by an
over-enthusiastic toddler climbing all over me; been cracked with a
stinging blow on my nose, drawing tears and blood; or even actually
punched in the gut by a toddler unwilling to have her diaper
changed.

Yes, it's almost as exciting as Christmas
day for me. And sadly enough, I'm not exaggerating.


I don't know where to start! Earth Day's become so mainstream
that you can throw a rock and hit a store doing a giveaway. Many of
them are, unfortunately, just trying to cash in on Earth Day for
their own selfish purposed (shame on you, Disney!) so I won't tell
you about most, but I will tell you this one - Pottery Barn Kids is
giving away free plants, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. Take it home and enjoy
taking care of it - and eventually planting it in your back yard -
with your child.


Looking for ways to celebrate? Google "pick your own" and your
state, and find out if there's a place near you with some
strawberry picking or rhubarb picking or whatever available. Head
to your local Home Depot and spend a buck on a seed packet and
start some seeds in dixie cups and your kitchen window. Throw out
your stinky, icky cleaners and crack open a bottle of vinegar and a
box of baking soda. Ride bikes to school with your kids. Buy
organic for the day. Go out to dinner at a place that supports
local farmers.


DO SOMETHING!


And then tell me about it. I wanna know - how do you celebrate?

Maddie’s always had vivid dreams
– she spent part of her twos and threes battling bad dreams a
few times a week, and now has extraordinary, fanciful dreams with
some regularity. And feels the need to share them with us.


In excruciating, time-bending detail.


Here’s a recent sample from this morning's breakfast
table:

I think it’s no secret that Cora is,
um, rather attached to Mommy. She’s nearly three years old,
and is usually stuck to me like glue. If we drop Maddie off at her
classroom and I stay behind to talk to a teacher while Cora and my
mom walk on ahead down the hall, Cora will spy me back behind her
and run to me, embracing my leg and saying, “Mommy! I found
you! I was worried about you!”


To be fair, she’s gotten much better about my absences than
she used to be, and will take my working with fairly good grace as
long as she knows about it beforehand. If I park in front of the
house, where she’s got a window, and fail to tell her
I’m leaving during her quiet time, she’ll hear the
alarm chime as I go out the door, scramble to the window, and watch
me drive away, sobbing and beating against it with her fists.
“Mommy, no! Mommy, come back! COME BACK!” But if
I’m honest with her and tell her I will be leaving BUT I will
be back before bedtime, she’ll accept it pretty well.
Especially if I sneak out the back door and avoid a dramatic
exit.

A local ballet studio had a one-night-only
show this weekend. They invited other local dance companies to
perform, and it was, for them, a big deal. With general admission
at five bucks, I considered taking the girls.


And I have to be honest here – after reading about it, I
decided not to take them. The reason is purely selfish: I’m a
dance snob, and after spending my life doing it professionally and
with friends in some of the best companies in the world, the
thought of watching teenagers struggle through Don Quixote or Swan
Lake was, um, less than appealing. So I left it there.


But then a friend of ours brought it up, mentioning she was taking
her daughter, and I realized I needed to change my tune. It was one
night, cheap, and something the girls absolutely adore –
dancing. So I squished my snotty standards way down deep, and we
headed off for a night at the ballet.

We were driving somewhere yesterday when
Maddie asked out of the blue, “Mommy, are you going 35 miles
an hour?”


Startled, I glanced down and saw that, thankfully, I was going that
speed. “Yep, I sure am,” I answered. “How did you
know?”


“Because that’s what the sign says the speed limit is
here,” she said, pointing to another sign as we moved on.

Yesterday I helped a friend out, watching
her two children while she got some work done. I say I helped her
out, but it’s actually great for me as well – her two
girls are very close to Maddie and Cora’s ages, and everyone
plays together well. That morning I’d gotten an email from
another friend suggesting we hit the park for a play date, and I
told her I’d bring my foursome and we’d play with her
daughter.


Even as I said this I had misgivings – having three
almost-five-year-olds doesn’t always work, and someone was
bound to feel left out at some point. So before everything went
down, I had a long reminder talk with Maddie about how we
don’t exclude friends, and that she needed to make sure
everyone who wanted to play with her was able to.


Unfortunately, this just doesn’t happen at that age.