Coloring outside the lines

Prior to having children, I thought I possessed patience. I sat in meetings listening to people's problems, no matter how mundane and figured a way to solve them. At one point, I was a therapist to women who suffered from drug, alcohol, and mental health issues which meant you had to be bordering on sainthood to get through the sessions.

Therefore, I thought having patience with my children would be a breeze.

Once again, I had given myself a little more credit than I deserved.

In the above mentioned scenarios, there was a respite between the tests of my patience. Now, some little person who inhabits our house finds a way to test me several times per day.

I try to keep my foot tapping under control as Nala insists on zipping her coat and everyone else's coat in the house even though the clock reads 7:21 and we should be in the car on the way to school. I find myself hurrying Max up the stairs when he breaks free and begs me to follow him with his little silly grin and infectious laugh.

This brings me to my latest test in patience and my growing list of lessons learned.

One of the activities that tests my ability to be quiet and patient is the occasional homework assignment given to Nala.

From time to time Mrs. Carrubba, Nala's teacher, sends a homework assignment for them to complete to be discussed at circle time during the week. The assignment usually consists of my pre-schooler telling a story through a picture they draw and then color.

Tonight was our homework night, and Nala had to draw a picture of her Teddy Bear and what she liked to do with him. Nala decided her favorite thing was to play with Max and the bear.

Nala picked up her blue crayon and went about the business of drawing herself, Max and the bear. I looked at her paper and realized Nala's "people" didn't look like people at all. There are random ears floating about the sides of what looks to be a face that is encased in a semi-circle shaped head, while long lines float from the square body without feet.

She picks up the green crayon then blue crayon. Colors run together, and the lines are not boundaries just another spot on which to color. Nala colors the insides of their eyes then their faces until the eyes are blurred beneath a yellow streaked with green and blue.

My patience is wearing thin for some reason, and I am tempted to stop her and steer her back inside the lines. I want her to start over again on a fresh piece of paper to make it a little neater, to keep the colors inside the lines she has drawn, to make everything on the page more recognizable.

Before I begin my descent into pre- school homework madness, something tells me to just stay quiet. I am able to stop myself from saying "no" and handing her the colors I want her to use.

Why was I bothered by this picture? She is almost four years old, certainly I was not expecting her to be Titian in her color choices and attention to detail. Was I bothered because I thought her teacher would think I didn't take enough time with her to make the picture resemble something like a teddy bear? Could I really be that shallow to think that her lack of advanced art skills would reflect poorly on my parenting?

What made me think my way of seeing this picture was the right way? Or worse yet, what made me believe that how Nala saw herself, her brother, and her teddy bear was wrong?

The exchange at our kitchen table helped me realize something I have always known; being a parent is an awesome responsibility. There is no guide to parenthood, no index to lead you in the "if this happens then go to page 20" in the back.

If I was ever asked to contribute to the official handbook on parenting I would include two chapters:

Chapter One :
The All Too Forgotten Joy of Parenthood:
The ability to look at the world with a new perspective from a fresh pair of eyes.

Not only do our children learn from us, we grow from knowing them. In our rush to get to the next task, mop the next floor, or worse yet taking the time to examine what others may think of us we sometimes throw away a much needed different perspective on our world.

Children are not tainted by what others may think or feel. They possess a view that, for better or worse, is pure, unfiltered and honest. It is strictly their own. Maybe we should take a hint.

Chapter Two:
The Subtle Art of Saying No
How it effects decision making skills

As adults, we understand why we say "no" so much. It is usually in the interest of keeping them safe, on the right track and sometimes keeping our sanity, as in "No, you can not have Cheetos and Pepsi for dinner."

However, I believe that hearing "no" all the time could possibly , unfairly, alter a little person's view of his or her world .

I want more than just "no"s for Nala. I want her to be confident in her choices and decisions, whether she is choosing the green crayon instead of the blue one, or deciding on which college she wishes to attend. Children are not born with the ability to make sound, confident decisions. We, as parents, are responsible to introduce the concept of sound decision making skills and to our children it is more important to understand that we cultivate and validate their decision making skills by our reactions.

If my daughter can choose her crayons and color her own creations both inside and outside the lines with confidence in her abilities and perspectives at three, imagine how awesome she will be at thirty.

When she is finished, Nala holds up her masterpiece, smiling broadly.
"Look, mommy. Do you like my picture?"

I readjust my vision. The paper before me no longer has oblong circles with random ears floating somewhere on the sides of their heads. The eyes of the teddy bear are no longer located somewhere by the outside of his head. I worry not about what anyone might say of her art work.

Before me I see Nala, Max and the Teddy Bear that roars, playing at her picnic table.

"Oh, Noodle, it is beautiful! I love it. "

"I love it, too. It's pretty. Can I go play now?"

With that, she hops off the chair and runs along to play with Max.

I am grateful the homework ordeal is over, my patience and sanity in tact.I am grateful I did not press the issue of reality with Nala and not at all surprised that she did not seek an explanation from me.


Reality isn't going anywhere, we have plenty of time for explanations later.

Welcome to Onederland

Hello everyone.

I know I have not been around for a while. There is something about kids and a house and cats and a husband that make it impossible at times for a second to write out ones thoughts.

I have had many thoughts lately, ranging from being accosted by some eight year old girl at the Evil Empire (Wal*Mart), Obama's speech on race and perception, going to work versus staying at home with my babies, closing schools and cell phones not keeping a charge.

I will tackle the above at some later date, but today I want to talk about the scale. And my clothes. And my face. And my fears, triumphs, and the realization there really is a difference between the journey and the destination.

As of today, I weigh 198.6 pounds. For the first time in at least eight years, I no longer weigh as much as the average football player. "1" might be the loneliest number but it's one I will take any time.

The feeling when the "1" was revealed was not as much of excitement as it was disbelief. Oddly enough, I did the usual scooting the scale around the bathroom floor to make sure it was not broken. It is sad and funny how when it read 201 the day or two before I didn't do the two step with the scale.

I am not sure why I am surprised.

I wore a sized 16 pair of jeans to the Jay Z/MJB concert. The shirts at Lane Bryant and The Avenue were too big even in the smallest size. I have had to put my wedding rings away as they are too loose to keep them safely on my finger anymore so I have had to replace them for the time being. I actually purchased a Joe Boxer shirt from KMart (for $2.00) in an XL and it fit.

Now what?

I know I should go through my closet and give away some clothes. For example, my two favorite, most comfortable pairs of pants that are NOT elastic have literally fallen off of me while walking through the house. So why do I insist on wearing them and not giving them away via the clothes drop box?

I am afraid to throw them away. I want to believe that I will never have the need for these clothes again. I honestly believe I will not allow that to happen. And then, here comes the doubt. What if I am being too sure of myself? What if I am being cocky and the Pucca Pele Fat gods punish me by breaking my band and having me gain the weight back again?

Once again, I find myself surprised at how daunting a task letting go is for me. I understand I need not only to shed the clothes that no longer fit, but the fear and doubt that go along with the change. It is time to clean out the closets.

So, today, before I lay my head on the pillow, I have vowed to go to my closet and pack up the clothes I can no longer wear. The ones that have the tag 18/20 or 2x or XXL. I am not going to keep them "just in case".

I am a firm believer in a back up plan, however, going back to being fat is a plan I can surely do without.

Since it is not only the physical but the mental closet that needs a good spring cleaning, I am doing something for me today. I am going to make the honest effort to publish my writings. There is a local newspaper in town that I feel strongly could use my services *smile*. The worse thing that could happen is that they say "no thank you". The best thing they could say is "well alright, come on in."

If the latter does not happen I do have a back up plan. It does not involve drowning my sorrows in cookies or ice cream, nor will I be stashing an old pair of clothes in the back of the closet for just in case.

Maybe having a back up is a cop out. Well, lets not be hasty. How about Il make plans that have low failure rates , therefore, making a back up virtually obsolete?

Right now, I plan to take Max to the Wildlife Preserve where he can chase birds and frogs that we encounter on the trail. I plan to finish Nala's wake up chart that will incorporate any grumpiness she needs to get out of her system and maybe even a good morning dance.

I will ask Tim to set the alarm for five minutes earlier so we can have time to talk and tell each other our dreams before we forget them and the kids wake up. And I plan to enjoy my gradual dissent into "Onederland".

Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki