Maybe Bobby McFerrin was right

In my parenting circles I hear (and say) a lot of things about the energy it takes to raise a child. Phrases like "I wish I could bottle that energy" and "Life is so hectic with kids". Now, let there be no doubt that both of these statements are true. Monday mornings I would certainly like to take a swig from a bottle labeled "Zoe's energy". And there is no doubt that weekday mornings no longer involve languishing in front of the Today Show with my coffee while I ponder what outfit I might like to wear that day and still getting to work on time. Truth be told, I am a tired maniac most mornings, happy to make it to work before noon, and have little time to turn on the shower much less the TV. But slowly I am learning a very important lesson from Zoe which is simply this: Don't rush to catch up with her, slow down to see her. Yeah, I hear ya. Anyone with a kid, and it probably does not matter what age that child is, is thinking that slow down is certainly not part of their lexicon unless it is in the sentence "I can't wait until little Johnny is off to college so I can slow down." But I really think the slow down method can work so I've slowly been trying to implement it.

An example: We take Sadie (the dog who comes with her own set of issues) on walks often. If it is just me and Sadie we can take care of business pretty quickly. We walk, she sniffs, and if she starts falling behind she has a choke collar (and no, I'm not suggesting choke collars for children). Now let's do the same walk and add Zoe. Every stick becomes a source of fascination, every leaf needs to be collected, and often the direction we are going in, even if it's in the direction of back home, gets called into question. Before the slow down plan this would be annoying. Every walk I average about 3,345 times saying "Zoe, let's go!" or "Stay with mommy" (talking about myself in the third person since I've had Zoe will be another post). So lately I have been wondering why I do this. Maybe that stick is interesting. Maybe it's from a rare tree. It doesn't matter, the point is, as a harried adult with too much Internet, meetings, bills, cell phone calls, and obligations, I've lost the ability to stop for a second and enjoy the simple joy of a stick. I complain about the rain while Zoe asks me to put her car window down in a monsoon so she can get "soaking wet". I clean while she wants to play. I rush while she savors.

Where is this all coming from you might ask. Well today, while I was griping about the sixth day of rain that doesn't come until just as I'm leaving work to get Zoe thereby leaving us trapped indoors at night, Zoe says to me, "Mommy, just be happy". Yeah, you'd get a plan pretty quick too.

So, if you are at my office and see me in my pj's (as Zoe went to school today; it was pj day) surrounded by a collection of really cool sticks, you'll know why. But don't get there too early, I am slowing down my mornings.

And so it goes. . .

This post has been a long time coming so admittedly I am a little overwhelmed with where to begin. I guess I should begin be thanking my friend and fellow blogger, Tiffany for so creatively reminding me (guilting me) about just how long it has been since the last post. So I'm writing now to avoid the next post being about taking Zoe to college. I could once again make an empty promise about posting more often, but I will refrain. Instead I will say that although they are not captured as often as they once were, the glorious, frustrating, funny, and maddening moments still occur. And, since Tiffany was the catalyst, I am stealing your idea.

Dear Zoe:
If you are an adult who is now reading this blog, you are surely thinking that most of your third year of live was pretty uneventful considering how infrequently I have blogged about it. Nothing could be further from the truth. Let me begin by mentioning that Michael Jackson has died since I last posted. Yeah, I know you have no idea who I am talking about and the word Moonwalk will never enter your lexicon; but it was a big deal to your old, uncool parent's generation so I thought I should mention it.

Ok, about you. After two very scary misplacements of the blankie at school, you have quit bringing it. That's right, your school gave it to the wrong kid twice, both on Friday afternoons. You were probably not worried, you knew I would get it back. I, on the other hand panicked as if my car just got stolen and was one step away from calling 911 and attaching a GPS system to the damn thing when we finally got it returned. Big news and I'm proud of you for not needing it anymore (at school anyway).

Potty training, well that is hit or miss, at home anyway. At school, you could win medals for you potty proficiency. Your teachers must have a special drug that I am not aware of. At home when I ask if you need to pee pee on the potty your response is, "no thank you". While I appreciate the use of good manners, it's not really the answer I am looking for. Stickers seem to help, and of course when we are at a restaurant, store, or you just don't feel like going to bed, you are really good at pee peeing on the potty, or at least taking a visit to the bathroom .

You do a lot of unexplainable, hysterically strange things that could only come from the mind of a two and a half year old. You call your fruit snacks, snack food. You tell me you want to eat my face. You crack up when you fart (your bum is talking) and you walk around with a pretend dog on Sadie's leash. Since my last post, you swim by yourself in the pool thanks to your life jacket (who goes by fishy) and you have back to nana and poppa's for vacation.

Whew, there. Except for the major change that will be discussed in a later post, I think I've got everything. I'll start posting more, promise!