Giving thanks

"The daily practice of gratitude is one of the conduits by which 

your wealth will come to you."  

Wallace Wattles

When Pip started to talk, we began a daily prayer at dinnertime.  My husband and I don't subscribe to any organized religion, so we just made up our own little gratitude prayer and Pip repeated it after us.  "O Great Spirit, thank you for this beautiful day and thank you for this lovely food.  Peace and Love."  Short and sweet.  Big Daddy-O and I were big fans of our little prayer, but Pip quickly tired of saying the same thing every day.  

We decided to adopt a lovely ritual that friends of ours introduced to us: they simply call it, "thankful."  Now we just go around the table and talk about what we are thankful for.  I LOVE IT!  We usually start with Pip so that she isn't influenced by the things that Big Daddy-O and I say.   She is often thankful for us, or her frog, or the nice time she had playing at the park.  When my husband and I take our turns, I feel really connected to him.  The hour before dinner is often hectic, but when we give thanks we're sitting at the table, looking into each other's eyes, acknowledging how blessed we truly are.   

Morning Ritual

"Whatever we think about and thank about we bring about."

Dr. John Demartini

I read The Secret by Rhonda Byrne in August of 2007.  If you haven't read it, or watched the DVD, I highly recommend it.  One section of the book discusses the power of gratitude, and I remember being impacted by a very simple suggestion given by James Ray.  He writes, "Every morning I get up and say 'Thank you.'  Every morning, when my feet hit the floor, 'Thank you.'  And then I start running through what I'm grateful for, as I'm brushing my teeth and doing the things I do in the morning.  And I'm not just...doing some rote routine.  I'm putting it out there and I'm feeling the feelings of gratitude."

Thus far, I haven't been successful at making Ray's process a daily ritual, but I recall doing it intermittently throughout the early morning nursing sessions with my daughters.  I must admit that I have found the sleep deprivation aspect of motherhood to be the toughest adjustment of all.  I'm a woman who needs her sleep.  When my daughter's cries would wake me up and I'd look at the clock to see some ungodly hour glowing back at me with sinister, red numbers,  my first instinct was to curse, but when I remembered to say, "Thank you," instead, it made the whole experience much more tolerable.  (Yes, even at 3:12 am.)  Then, while I was nursing my baby, it was easy to feel grateful as I looked down at the precious little face at my breast.  (Provided my eyes were still open.)

I want to integrate James Ray's morning ritual into my life, so I'm really going to hit myself over the head with it!  This week's blogs will all have something to do with gratitude, and the Mama Mantra is simply, 'Thank you."   Every morning this week I vow to say, "Thank you," when my feet hit the floor.  What do you think?  Is anybody with me?

Eight Kids?

"Find what you love."

Dr. Wayne W. Dyer

We brought a cool children's  book home from the library this week: Incredible You!  10 ways to let your GREATNESS shine through, by Dr. Wayne W. Dyer.  In the introduction Dr. Dyer writes, "It is my desire to have these tiny, precious souls...close this book and feel so good about themselves that they feel in their hearts that nothing is impossible for them."  

Big Daddy-O read, Incredible You! to Pip the other night.  When I walked into the bedroom for my reading shift, they were just finishing the book.  "What did you think?"  I asked my husband as I crawled onto Pip's bed.

"I liked it.  It's really good.  Did you know this guy has eight kids?"

"No, really?"

"Check out the back cover," instructed Big Daddy-O.  Pip was lying motionless between us as I read the back jacket aloud.  Indeed Dr. Dyer has eight children.

"Can you imagine having eight kids?" I asked.  At this point, Pip finally piped up.  She had a look of concern on her face.  In a very timid voice she asked,

"He ate his kids?"  She was absolutely mortified.  Not quite the feeling that Dr. Dyer intended, but great entertainment value for us.

Sisterhood

"Unlike grown-ups, children have little need 

to deceive themselves."

J.W. Goethe

Pip is a little lovebug.  She tells us that she loves us all the time, and not just in response to my husband or me telling her that we love her.  Pip's, "I love yous," are often completely random and unsolicited.  She has also been known to say, "I'm falling in love with you, Mama," and, "Mama, I love you and all of your parts."  

Perhaps it was Pip's sweet nature that made it all the more disturbing when she looked at her sister one day and announced, "I don't love her."  

"Who is it that you don't love?" I asked, hoping that Pip was referring to Taylor Angelique, the doll that Crazybaby was currently eating.

"Crazybaby.  I don't love her."

Now, I realize that this is a perfectly normal sentiment for a three-year-old to have about her very assertive and newly-mobile one-year-old sister, but it's still just a wee bit heartbreaking.  I mean, what mother really wants to hear those words uttered?  Not this one.  

Nevertheless, I kept my cool.  I gave my husband a little, "this is interesting," wink across the table and took Pip onto my lap.  I told her that we could understand why she might feel the way she did.  I came up with a couple of, "It must be frustrating when..." scenarios, and I let her know that we thought she was doing a really good job of being a big sister.  Then I told her that I thought she would grow to love Crazybaby someday.  

"I won't Mama." Pip insisted.  So I left it alone.

I have such high hopes for my daughters' relationship, but I can't impose my expectations on them.  It is their relationship.  It will be what it will be.  My husband and I will guide them and love them and make them each feel special, but in the end it's up to them to create their sisterhood.

I'm glad that Pip was honest about her feelings.  I'm also glad that Crazybaby didn't understand a word she said!  (At least I don't think she understood.)

Feedback

"I observe myself and so i come to know others."

Lao Tse

I launched "The Grateful Mama" last Thursday and was terribly interested in hearing what people thought about it.  My family members told me it was good, but they love me so their feedback doesn't really count.  I was most interested in the opinions of readers who weren't related to me.  So I checked for comments on Friday: nothing.  Saturday: nada.  Sunday: not a word.  When I went to bed Sunday night I felt a bit discouraged.  I was still going to continue with the blog, but my enthusiasm for the project had definitely diminished.  

Then Monday morning arrived.  Beautiful Monday morning.  I received three glorious emails: one from a friend and two from women I have never met, but who heard about my blog through a friend.  Their comments were so encouraging and affirming that I actually giggled aloud as I read them.  Thank you, ladies.  You know who you are, but you have no idea how much those notes meant to me.  I apologize, by the way, for the difficulty you experienced in posting comments and subscribing to my blog.  The comments should be easy to post now, but I'm still baffled by the subscription problem.  I'll keep you posted.  (No pun intended.)

Feedback is important, yet it is often absent in our role as mothers.  We don't have a boss or supervisor to provide us with feedback.  There is no annual performance evaluation or sales report to review.  You might look to your children to see if you're doing a good job, but their behaviour can be misleading.  A happy, smiling child does not necessarily represent fabulous parenting.  Oftentimes a crying, angry toddler is indicative of a strong, thoughtful parent who has clear boundaries and follows through with consequences for bad behaviour.  So we can't really count on our kids to provide us with feedback.

Who can we turn to when we need a little encouragement from time to time?  Why not each other?  Why not compliment other mothers for a job well done?  Maybe a little, "Way to go Mama!" when your girlfriend  is sticking to her guns and carrying out a difficult consequence with her child.  Or, "Wow, what nice manners!" to a mom at your local play group when her child says "thank you."  Let's build each other up, because we're really all on the same team.  We're all trying to raise respectful, kind, responsible future members of this global community.  It's hard work, and sometimes we need a little pat on the back.

Parting

"Parting is such sweet sorrow,"

William Shakespeare

I've traveled to India by myself, backpacked through Europe on my own and enjoyed a solo vacation in Thailand, but today I found it challenging to be only 100 km.'s away from home.  Why?  My three-year-old daughter is sick.  She's not terribly sick.  Her fever broke a couple of days ago and she's sleeping and eating well, but she needs her nose wiped every three seconds, her throat feels "yucky," and her big, blue watery eyes are constantly saying, "make it better Mama." 

My fabulous cousin had invited me to spend the afternoon with her, and my mom offered to watch the girls.  I was only going to be away from about noon to 6pm, but I started to feel a bit uneasy as I got ready to go.  Was I worried that Pip's health would worsen? No.  Did I think the girls were in good hands?  The best.  Did I deserve to go off and have an afternoon to myself?  Of course I did.  Then why was I feeling so emotional about leaving?  I'm a mom; that's why.  And when you're a mom, parting is sometimes difficult.  

I teared up a bit when my mom arrived to babysit.  Pip was clinging to me saying, "Mama, mama."  She wasn't about to make my departure easy for me.  Both my mom and I knew that it would be healthy for me to go; that I would be fine and the girls would be fine and indeed that's what happened.  (In fact, I went on to have a wonderful visit with my cousin, and I got to meet her lovely new man as well!) 

Shakespeare got it right, though, when he called parting, "sweet sorrow."    I'm going to think about his words the next time I have trouble leaving my kids;  how sweet it is that I love these two little beings so much.

Happily-ever-after

"The illusions of childhood are necessary experiences: a child should not be denied a balloon because an adult knows that sooner or later it will burst."

Marcelene Cox

My mom gave me a box of our old Disney books a few months ago and Pip was instantly drawn to Cinderella.  I was reluctant to read it to her.  I mean, isn't there an official 'complex' named after Cinderella?   I wasn't about to plant the 'handsome prince equals happily-ever-after' seed in my daughter's head.  Pip was persistent though.  Despite my efforts to hide the book at the bottom of the box, Cinderella kept making her way back into Pip's little hands.  (And let's face it, Pip certainly wasn't ready to discover the fate of poor Bambi's mother!)  

I watched Pip carefully throughout the reading of the book.  Did she admire the prince?  Was she afraid of the stepsisters?  Did she notice the flawed logic in the post-midnight existence of the glass slippers???  Hard to tell.  It was snack time.

Pip, Crazybaby & I sat down at the girls' little wooden table to enjoy a feast of sliced apple with cheddar cheese.  After several delightful fruit and dairy combinations, Pip stopped chewing long enough to announce, "Mama, we're living happily-ever-after."  There was no gown, no prince, no fairy-godmother; just the three of us with our apple and cheese.  Hooray for Pip!!!

"Yes we are," said I, and suddenly the whole happily-ever-after concept seemed just fine.