Note to self: Laundry is like death. You can't hide from it. Eventually it will come to claim you. (And smells just as bad.)
On this morning's walk with the 2 y.o., I let him push the stroller. How wonderful that such a simple act can inspire confident in a young person. "I vewy stwong, Mommy. I a big boy. I can push it MYSELF."
(Those of you familiar with small children know the shiver that runs down my spine at those words.) Doing it myself is big with little people.
But it's such a hard line to walk with them. You want to give them the confidence they need to get through life and you want to encourage them to feel independent. Yet this clashes with the need to be somewhere (with no time to wait while the child tries to fasten his own seat belts), to fix it (because it's done incorrectly) or to help. So you spend the day with conflicting emotions warring inside you. You want to keep a smile on your face and your tone light; but you're grinding your teeth to hold back the screams. Especially when the child begins to be frustrated with his inability to do whatever it is he's trying to do by himself and his desire to keep doing it. (Just thinking about it puts my stomach in knots.)
Now I know why my mother used to hum. All the time. I thought she just liked music--or she was weird. And here I am, grinding my teeth and humming to hold back the torrent of obscenities roiling about on my tongue.
It's the Circle of Life...hmmhmmmhmmmmmm...