Motivation

Hannah likes to burrow when she is sad.  When my kids and I were at the park with friends the other day, one of the moms let me know that she and Isaac had been fighting.  I could see Isaac sullenly stomping up and down the wooden railings his hair all soaking wet at the edges from all the chasing and warring he'd been doing with other little boys, but I couldn't see Hannah.  Then I took a step to my left and saw through a wooden archway my little girl huddled into herself with her cheeks sucked in, her chin down, and her eyebrows scrunched hard.
When I asked her what was wrong, she cried to me with red-faced passion, "No one will play with me!  All the boys want to do is run around.  And I can't run!"

Proper Mom Response:  "Oh, I'm so sorry," and then a good, long hug.

My Response:  I continued holding the baby.  I told Hannah something like, "You were playing just fine over on those climbing ropes.  You can go play with Gracie."  Or in other words, 'Buck up kid with a congenital deformity who must watch other kids run every day while you struggle to walk.  Go find the borning toys and the two-year-old kid.'  And then I stubbornly tried to continue my conversation with the other moms.

Part of being me is thinking that virtue is eating your pain for breakfast and turning down the cup of orange juice someone might offer you to help it go down easier.  Not that I'm great at measuring up to my ideal or anything, but I have found that I am great at trying to push it on my kids.

The merciful mom who noticed the sibling fracas in the first place tried to comfort Hannah as I resolutely attempted to 'not give attention' to her 'sulking.'  Hannah responded by bursting out, "I want my Dad!  I want my Dad!"

And, by the very tippity-tip of its point, the slung arrow nubbed through my get-tough armor.  I knew what Dan would do.  With an eye-roll and a sigh, I put down the baby and grumpily grabbed up Hannah to 'indulge' her.

She wrapped her arms and legs tight around me and snuggled in at my neck.  She didn't cry or say anything more, she just hugged real hard in the most mind-bogglingly trusting and evidently needful way so that she squeezed out of me an, "I'm sorry baby girl," as I stroked her hair.

And this is what makes me sometimes want to kick things and to yell, "AAARRRRGGGHHH!"  Why do I have to be such a dork sometimes?  Why can't I do things right all the time for my kids?  Why do all of my idiosyncrasies have to punch them in the face?  I tell you, it pains my mind and my soul on a regular basis. 

It's the best motivation I ever met.