I'm going to attempt to add another day of blogging into my week: Mindful Mondays. Sometimes I'll talk about when I got it right, and sometimes when I totally blew it. I want it to be a weekly feature, but if most of my Mondays are anything like today, it'll be a challenge. I'm also not sure how much of the inner workings of my mind I want to throw out there for the world to see. I used to be a lot more open, but somewhere along the way I decided to pull back. Oh well, I'm rambling. On with the post.
It just so happens that my mindfulness moment actually happened today. Let me show you something.
This is the inside of the spare room closet. It's not much of a spare room right now; more like a Wii room. My cousin gave us his old t.v. and we moved the game system in there to minimize the begging (out of sight, out of mind), and the noise when they are playing. It's worked out well, except that apparently it's a little too easy for the girls to occupy themselves with activities unrelated to the Wii. While B and I watched the Superbowl commercials last night, the girls were drawing murals on the walls. It might have taken me weeks to even notice this except that Funny Girl's guilty conscious kicked in and she told me about it this morning.
I was mad. Mad might be an understatement, but I hesitate to use a stronger word because in hindsight it seems so disproportionate to the event. However, at the time I was M.A.D. This is not the first time the kids have written on the walls. In fact, it seems to be hardwired into their DNA, because they've all done it several times. I've done all the stuff parents do to stop it. I've taken the markers, threatened, punished, and yelled. I've also gotten down to their level, calmly explained why we don't do this, and admired their work while enforcing the "we write only on paper" rule, etc. etc. Nothing but age seems to really stop this, at least not in my house. I thought Funny Girl had outgrown it, and it was her involvement that really made it such a big deal for me.
So I didn't handle it well. First I get on to Robotson because I had specifically asked him to clean up the markers in that room. When he didn't clean them up, I did, but apparently one of them pulled them back out. Even as I was talking to him about the "this is why I wanted them cleaned up" stuff - I knew I wasn't being reasonable. He had nothing to do with it since I'd put them away myself. My brain finally kicked in to tell me to let him be. Talking about it really did not help; I was feeling worse. It seemed like the only option was to take all the markers away! Except I locked the closet that they go in, no one knew where the keys were, and I had no where else to put them. I'm really worked up now, but at least I'm in my room where I should have gone in the first place. I finally remember that breathing deeply might be a good idea. I need about ten minutes, but the kids are knocking on the door in two. Not yet calm, I go out into the living room and sit in front of my computer. Here's where my mind splits in two.
Robotson sees a train and asks me to take some pictures, so I do. On the way home, I make an impromptu turn and we go down a street none of us has ever been on. When it dead ends, we take another new turn. Eventually, it seems like we really should head back; we have to pick up dog food on the way. At Petsmart the kids wish they had a cat, Robotson lifts Dimples to look at all the fish, and Funny Girl ooohs over the guinea pigs. We stop to look at the betta fish and a woman asks us if we need any help. Robotson explains that we had a fish, but it died and wants to know what we could have done differently. We leave with two betta fish, another tank, and the dog food.