Its funny how the universe works. On Wednesday night, during a particularly challenging hot yoga class, our teacher guided us into the humble warrior pose. Something about this pose struck me; I walked home later thinking about humility, and made a conscious note to explore it later on, in a blog post, or otherwise.
And then Thursday arrived. Or, shall I say, Humility arrived at my doorstep. It was a rainy, yucky day. I had good intentions for us, but Amelia wouldn't have any of it. In fact, she wouldn't have much of anything, except for my complete and undivided attention.
As the afternoon progressed, it became clear to me that I am entering new territory with Amelia. What worked before no longer fits. She has her own opinions now, and she is determined to share them. Joe and I have been exchanging lots of "when do you think...??", "what about changing...??", "does she need...anymore??" And we both respond similarly. Good question. I don't know. I need the crash course on raising a toddler. My toddler, specifically.
There would be time this weekend to talk through the challenges with Joe. For now, I was simply exhausted, and holding all of my questions. And so I was both relieved and excited when 5 pm rolled around, and we were heading out to the annual holiday extravaganza at a local square. Santa would be there, gingerbread cookies would be made, my little family would be together. I bundled Amelia up in her A Christmas Story snow suit, and we headed out into the rain to search for the car; The car that was no longer there. I searched and searched. Towed. My car had been towed.
This is where humility truly entered the picture for me. Inside, I wanted to stomp my feet and let out a glorious scream. But Amelia was in my arms. She was hot and bothered in her snowsuit. She was hungry. I thought about Amelia, and how she has been lately. In one word: Frustrated. The world frustrates her as she wants to do things that are beyond her coordination, as she wants to tell me something that I can not decifer. I watch the frustration overcome her, and I feel helpless. Until I remember my role, as her mama. To help her learn that she can handle it. To reassure her that all is well, that she is capable, that she has choices. Which is exactly what she needs to see from me.
So, there I stood. A pink bundle of fuss on my achy left hip, car keys in my right hand, and the realization that there will be no Santa, no gingerbread cookies, no evening together beneath the rainy sky. Instead, I take her back inside the house, undress her, and begin to make her a grilled cheese sandwich. I burn the grilled cheese to charcoal black as I search for the tow company number. So, I eat it instead. Humility. And I make her another.
We did retrieve my car. I was able to dress and head out to a holiday gathering. Except that I misunderstood the address that Joe passed along, and arrived at the wrong house. No worries, I eventually made it there. I even enjoyed myself. (And it didn't even bother me when a woman pointed out that we were wearing the same sweater).
Then I woke up with my left eye swollen shut, red, and gooey. And came up with my own definition of humble warrior: She who is reminded of her humanity so as not to take life, or herself, too seriously.
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