BASEBALL, HOT-CHOCOLATE, AND PERSONAL TRANSFORMATION
The thing I love best about life is that if I'm open and I pay attention, I can gain so much insight and clarity around deep stuff. I see this especially when I witness myself as a mother. Character defects I possess suddenly seem so clear when I'm dealing with an issue with one of my children. Ways of being, or ways of thinking, stop me in my tracks when I see them in my five-year-old.
Like many families, we spend a lot of our weekends with baseball—driving to games, watching games, talking games. I believe so strongly in simplifying, and sometimes this schedule is the opposite of that. However, if I let go of my judgement and choose, instead, to be in the moment, I receive big gifts. I received a big one this past Saturday.
My husband and I had to divide and conquer. One of our boys had a baseball game at one location, and the other son had a game somewhere else. I drove my eldest boy and my daughter to his game. She is five, and the long drive became stressful for her. When we arrived at the park, she was restless and totally out of sorts. I felt myself tighten and grow frustrated.
As we walked by the hot chocolate stand, my daughter asked for one. The voice in my head said no way. Besides the high-fructose, low quality of it all, her behavior that day had challenged me so much. In the spin of just a few whirling seconds, my mind created a long story about how I shouldn't give hot chocolate to her and how, if I did, I would be setting us up for a lifetime of misery. Yep, my mind made that all up in a flash.
Thank god I know what I know and I get support from a stellar husband, friends, and my parenting coach Natalie.
I stopped the chatter and began to connect with her. I let go of my fear about the unhealthy hot chocolate & what this yes could have in store for us, and instead of one, I bought two.
One for her, one for me.
The look on her little face when she realized I would be having one as well was beyond precious. As we sat in the grass, with the sun setting behind us and the sounds of baseball all around us, I could feel our hearts connecting over this simple act of being together.
We didn't drink it all. We both agreed it wasn't as yummy as we hoped for.
May I remember that holding tightly never serves.
May I always choose connection over coercion—and in the moments when I forget, may I pick back up and remind myself again and again.
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