I am a paranoid mother.  Ok, so I don’t know if paranoid is the psychologically correct term, if you are into that kind of thing (being psychologically correct), but  I do get nervous.  When confronted with a situation or a proposition, I think to myself, passively at first, “oh, what’s the worst that could happen?” 

At that point, my thoughts inevitably lead from a simple afternoon outside in the backyard, to one of my children being kidnapped and then who-knows-what else while I spend the rest of my life in an agonizing search for the baby I lost when I let him step out that back door.  So, the passive question, ”what’s the worst that could happen?” turns into a small anxiety attack, when chances are, that  whole mother’s worst nightmare scenario really isn’t going to happen.

My neighborhood has got to be one of the safest places in the world, my neighbors are lovely, and the crime rate resides at approximately non-existent, but is that enough?  Do the crime statistics, and the lack of a registered sex offender in my hood provide my with a false sense of security?  Is my optimism another form of ignorance?  Ugh, my crazy rantings sound even worse when they are staring at me on a computer screen! 

I don’t want to be a helicopter mommy.  You know them, the moms that hover over their children at the playground, never letting them experience so much as a scrape or skirmish.  But, I have this innate urge to protect my offspring.

Last week my kids were watching Winnie the Pooh.  I never thought that silly old bear would teach me so much.  In that particular episode, Rabbit had grown the perfect pumpkin.  The pumpkin was so perfect that he just HAD to protect it.  The gang started building a variety of contraptions to protect the pumpkin from all the ills of the world, but with each finished contraption another weak spot was revealed.  For instance, they built a fence all the way around the pumpkin, but it was left vulnerable on top.  Their efforts eventually led them to building a completely enclosed structure around and on top of the pumpkin.  Nothing could get in.  Nothing could hurt it.  I’m sure you can see where this is going, but I’ll finish the story anyway:).  Rabbit quickly realzied that his pumpkin was getting weak, the lack of sun, water, and fresh air made it frail and start to wither.  It turned out that smothering the pumpkin was actually killing it, not helping it.  And so it goes. 

If my kids are never able to spread their wings, take a risk, and be exposed to life, they will never be able to flourish.  If I never allow them to feel defeated, how will they know the joy of success?  I could do my best to never let them scrape a knee, or stub a toe, but at what cost?  What journeys will they be missing, and will they really be growing?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I firmly believe that there are times that I will need to walk along side my kids, I will arm them with the protection they need to fight their battles, but eventually, I’ll have to do it.  I’ll have to let go.  And I know if when I do, I will be better for it, and they will be too.

So until that day comes.  The day that I’ll have to let go, I’m going to do everything  I can to put all of my crazies aside, and watch my perfect pumpkins grow.

Happy Thursday everybody!  I am so excited about today’s blog feature.  I am excited to have the opportunity to feature Lisa from Adventures in Motherhood.  Lisa is a busy mom of six beautiful children.  On her blog she shares many of her joys, and struggles of being a mother.  She has graciously given me permission to feature this beautiful post, when you’re finished reading, please be sure to visit Lisa and her clan over at Adventures in Motherhood. . .

A Little Magic

When Kevin, my 13-year-old, was very small and occasionally had trouble going to sleep, I used Magic Sleep Dust on him. It was so long ago that it’s hard to remember how I even came up with it. I would have him lie down in his bed and close his eyes, and then I would pull some Magic Sleep Dust (invisible, of course) from my pocket and sprinkle it over his closed eyes, ever-so-gently tickling his eyelashes so he could feel it. “Now, you have to keep your eyes closed or it won’t work,” I’d tell him. “You can’t open your eyes until morning, no matter what, okay?” He would nod his little head, with his eyes screwed tightly closed and a grin on his face. And it never failed to work. Of course he would keep his eyes closed so the “magic” could work, and he’d fall asleep.
 
Somewhere along the line, I lost this. Over the large gap of time between when Kevin was very small and susceptible to magic and the time when the next child came along, and amid the ever increasing chaos of bedtime with the steady increase in the number of kids who need to be put to bed, this little magic trick was forgotten.
 
The other day, out of the clear blue, apparently feeling nostalgic, Kevin said to me, “Mom, remember the Magic Sleep Dust?” And a little shockwave went through me as suddenly it all came back to me. Of course! Magic Sleep Dust! How could I have forgotten that? How is it that I’ve never used that on any of the other kids aside from Kevin? It made me feel sad, actually, and even a little mournful, to realize that such a long time has passed since Kevin was still in footie pajamas and open to magic, and that I allowed something so simple and yet so special slip through the cracks.
 
Last night, we dealt with the usual bedtime craziness. A little while after all the littles were tucked into bed, Lilah, our 3-year-old, crept out of her room. “Mama?” she said. “I can’t go to sleep.”
 
So I took her by the hand and walked her back into her room, settled her into bed, and said, “Okay, I have just the thing. Close your eyes, and I’m going to sprinkle them with Magic Sleep Dust. But it only works if you keep your eyes closed all night long, okay?” She had the biggest grin on her face! “Are you ready?” I asked. She nodded “Okay, close your eyes . . .” and I pulled some invisible Magic Sleep Dust from my pocket, sprinkled it over her eyes, ever-so-gently tickling her eyelashes, and then I kissed her forehead and got up to leave the room. I looked over and both of her sisters were sitting up in bed, watching raptly, speechless.
 
I didn’t hear another peep from Lilah for the rest of the night. Of course it worked. A little mommy magic always works.
 
It felt like a gift. Like this mommy still has a few tricks up her sleeve.

~Thanks Lisa!  I am most definitely going to try that one on my own kids tonight!

This past week I took my little girl to see the family doctor.   I took her in for her well child check.  For some silly reason, I am always a little excited about these appointments.  Our doctor has been my doctor for nearly as long as I can remember.  He saw me when I was young, he’s been my doctor through my pregnancies and the births of my children.  He is now their doctor as well.  When I take my kids to see him for their well child checks, it’s almost like show and tell.  I get to show him how much the kids have grown up, what they have learned, and how darn adorable they are. 

He always sings their praises, acts impressed and amazed at their accomplishments, and asks me sincerely how I’m doing. 

That’s why I was excited.

I couldn’t wait to show him how my adorable baby girl has turned into a spunky little toddler.  My grandma volunteered to babysit my two boys so it was just me and the little princess.  She was perfectly charming and very well behaved while we waited in the lobby.  Then when the nurse weighed and measured her she didn’t put up a fight at all. 

I was thrilled.

Then Dr. O. walked in.  He was excited to see her and immediately commented on how big she had gotten.  Then he playfully got down to business.  “Hey cutie, can you show me where your eyes are?”  I was grinning on the inside because she has known the answer to this basic question since she was a year old. 

She immediately pointed directly to the ceiling in response. 

The ceiling? 

I quickly piped in saying, “you know this, where are your eyes?” Another enthusiastic point to the ceiling.

He moved on.

Where is your tummy?  She had shown him that trick the previous year when I took her in for her 1-year check-up.  This time she didn’t point to the ceiling, instead she triumphantly slapped her knees.  She had a big grin on her face as I urged her to try again and show Dr. O. where her belly was.  Another slap on the knees.  

I couldn’t believe it.

Finally he asked her where her ears were to which she responded by pinching her cheeks.  I didn’t bother trying to help.  She didn’t say a word the entire time, and spent most of the visit sitting on the exam table with her tongue sticking out.

She was crazy.

By the end of the visit, Dr. O. was explaining what the signs of autism were and what I should be watching out for.

He told me that she should be able to say simple words like cat, and dog among other things.  I tried to assure him that she did, but when I asked her to repeat it she made some unintelligible sound then stuck her tongue back out.

Soon the visit was over and Dr. O. left the room.  Immediately my little princess picked up a magazine, proudly pointed at a picture of a dog and exclaimed “puppy right there!  woof woof!”

Oh well, I guess there’s always next year.