Balance

Its hard to find sometimes. Last night among the cookie crumbs and watching my kid pick up my jug of ice tea to help himself to a swig, I shook my head at Shaun and laughed and muttered the words, "I'm just going to let it go."

I'm just going to let it go.

And as I watched him eat the cookie I tried to push out of my head the fries and pickles and popcorn and icee and mini cookies he had eaten already during the course of the day. And I let myself be okay with it anyways. I granted myself permission to ease up a little.

Because sometimes there are bigger battles than my child eating a cookie for dinner. Sometimes, there are more important things to tackle than the heaps of unfolded laundry that sat on my couch for almost 6 days. Sometimes, skipping over bath time is required because extra quality playtime is a necessity. Sometimes, quiet time takes a back seat to a game of chase and hide-n-seek, minutes before bed.

Because sugary snacks, let alone sugary meals are a rarity for him.
Because late nights don't happen all that often.
Because being a little wild and crazy is required to keep us all, even the littlest, sane sometimes.

Its hard finding balance sometimes - and I won't lie, I struggle daily with it. There are times I feel like I'm a short shuffle away from tipping over either side of that thin rope we all walk.

I've been working really hard lately to understand what makes Sully tick. We've been seeing signs that the terrible twos are shortly upon us, if not already here. Ignoring him doesn't work. "Timeouts" aren't really effective for his age or temperament. Popping him through his diaper in desperation only garnishes laughter and leaves us even more frustrated than when we started.

I've always believed in practicing natural consequences with Sully. Like the time when he decided to throw a tantrum in the kitchen and throw his head onto the concrete kitchen floor. I saw it coming. I let him know he was about to hurt himself. But I didn't stop him either.

He hit his head, hard.

There were tears. There were screams. And him being asked something to the effect of "How did that work out for you?" It was followed by hugs and kisses and wiping of tears and explaining that hard floors do in fact hurt even the most stubborn of heads. But I can tell you, it hasn't happened again.

Yesterday, he asked for a cup with no lid. I filled it about a quarter full. He came back with and empty glass and asked for more. Despite my suspicions, I gave him more, only to follow him and watch him dump the whole cup onto the floor. Instead of scolding him or sitting him on the couch or taking the glass from him I walked him over with me to the towel cabinet and handed him a hand towel. I walked him back over to the patch of water on our carpet, put his hand on it and said "wet" while I explained why we don't dump drinks on the floor. I then made him clean it up.

Yup, I did.

He screamed. He kicked. He yelled. He threw the towel. He even tried exchanging kisses for his release. "Dude, I have all day to sit here until you do it." We had a stare down. I didn't budge. He gave in. He grabbed the towel. He wiped. He scrubbed. He flung the towel left to right, left to right in a flurry of motions, just like I had shown him. He then felt the spot and signed "All done?".

All done. And instead of being reprimanded for what he had spilled on the floor, he was instead praised for the job he did cleaning it up.

Natural and logical consequences, baby. I could get use to this.

And somewhere yesterday between being okay with cookies for dinner, and standing a firm 15 minute ground on what could have been an easy 2 minute cleanup, we're finding balance. We're finding empowerment. We're finding what makes us tick. What works, what we need to let go and what we need to pursue a little harder.

And like any good parent, I decided to takes pictures of his fit over cleaning up the spot, because a good laugh is always helpful to fend off hair-pulling moments of protest. He was fake-crying anyways. Nice try kid.

Balance.