Teachable Moments

Lately, when I've been ready to lose my mind because someone is not listening, or talking back, or throwing things yet again, I try to remind myself that these are all potentially teachable moments. I have a choice. I can lose it. Or I can stay calm, and seize the opportunity to teach.

Most of the time, I still lose it.

Sometimes, though, I'm able to work thought it and do things the "right" way--whatever the heck that means. I used to think I knew what the right thing to do--or at least one of the right things to do -would be in most parenting situations. But then I had a second child, and realized that what worked for the first did not work for the second. Shortly after having a third child, I stopped caring about what worked or what didn't, as my focus shifted to just trying to hold onto the few brain cells I have had left.

So, yeah, sometimes I make the most of these moments, sometimes I wish I knew what to do to make the most of these moments, and sometimes I just lock myself in the bathroom and ignore it all. I was doing that recently when it dawned on me that I was missing a teachable moment. Someone had just thrown something, and someone else had thrown something back, and someone was yelling, and someone was screaming, and I was locked in the bathroom, missing my teachable moment.

But it also dawned on me that maybe the moment wasn't mine to teach.

Maybe some of these moments are not so much about what I'm teaching, as what I'm learning.

To be more patient.

To just let it go.

To know when to just.shut.up.

To know when to step in.

And when to step away.

To know when to ignore.

And when not to.

To know when to keep bugging them.

And when to just hug them.

And sometimes, to know when to just breathe.

I'm pretty sure these particular children were sent to us because we're a pretty good fit. But I'm also guessing that we're supposed to teach each other a thing or two. I have a pretty good idea of what I'm supposed to be teaching them. But I only recently started thinking about what they're supposed to be teaching me.

They each taught me something incredible just by being born, but I would be naive to think that's the end of what they are supposed to teach me. And I have no doubt that, just as they will all learn their own lessons in this life, they will each help me learn mine, in their own way.

I can't help but think that it's not a coincidence that N is a mostly mellow, forgiving child who just shrugs when I can't find her favorite shirt or didn't get her the right color folder for school--the types of things I tend to beat myself up over--but who can also show no mercy when she feels strongly about something.

It's also no coincidence that B is the exact opposite of mellow, and that he manages to push every single button I have while driving me to the brink of insanity, and simultaneously wrapping me around his adorable, defiant little finger.

And, of course, it was no coincidence that O is a quieter, gentler version of his brother, who will wreak havoc like there's no tomorrow as soon as I turn my back. It's at those moments when I think I hear God himself whisper, "What? You said you wanted one more".

So when I'm confronted with a mouthy seven-year-old, or a defiant four-year-old, or a tantruming two-year-old, I'm trying hard to grab hold of the teachable moments. To help them listen and not talk back, to help them express themselves appropriately, and to help them work though their own frustration.

At the same time, I'm trying to remember that, in addition to everything I have to teach, I still have a lot to learn.

Fortunately, I have three pretty incredible teachers.