You Make Me Nuts!

This morning my almost 3 year old said no less than three times that he was a psychopath. I kid you not - he said "I psychopath" as he headed down the stairs to the garage. Again as he headed to the basement to watch his daily dose of Dora the Explorer; and yet again as I strapped him into his car seat to run errands. Maybe I need my hearing checked - but it is moments like these where you flash forward 15 years and hope that this is the kid you are going to be proud to unleash upon society as he hits adulthood, or fear will be the one atop a bell tower with a high powered rifle screaming "Why didn' t you let me watch Spongebob mom??!!". Parenting is such a leap of faith. I can't help but wish for that crystal ball that would let me gaze into the future and see the end results of my efforts - whether those efforts be brilliant or completely inept - giving me a chance to continue or change. Because once you get to the end, there is no rewind. I can't take back those words spoken in frustration or impatience. I can't give more attention to make up for a past lack. Too much or not enough? For all my grand intentions, if I miss something, even just one thing, one seemingly small innocuous thing through ignorance or choice, will it be the one defining thing that makes all the difference?

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Flik: Here, pretend - pretend that that's a seed.
Dot: It's a rock.
Flik: Oh, I know it's a rock, I know. But let's just pretend for a minute that it's a seed, alright? We'll just use our imaginations. Now, now do you see our tree? Everything that made that giant tree is already contained inside this tiny little seed. All it needs is some time, a little bit of sunshine and rain, and voilá!
Dot: This rock will be a tree?
Flik: Seed to tree. You've gotta work with me, here. Alright? Okay. Now, y-you might not feel like you can do much now, but that's just because, well, you're not a tree yet. You just have to give yourself some time. You're still a seed.
Dot: But it's a rock.
Flik: [shouting] I know it's a rock! Don't you think I know a rock when I see a rock? I've spent a lot of time around rocks!
Dot: You're weird, but I like you.
(From "Bug's Life", Disney/Pixar)

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When I feel like I am beating my head against a rock, I just want to be assured that I am growing trees. For all the weirdness, the stinky-ness, the mess and uncertainty - I like them, I really do. Time, a little bit of sunshine and rain . . . and hope.

Dear Driver waiting for my parking space at Walmart,

While I understand that parking and hoofing it in from the back 40 is a pain and time consuming (I have soooooooooooooo been there - dragging/carrying my juvenile posse along, with a 40 lb diaper bag, in the pouring rain), please note the capaciousness of my vehicle and shopping cart and observe that I have maxed out both in personnel and supplies. Based on that, I would think a less patient person would move along, taking his chances with another parking space; but since you are determined to park in the specific spot that I currently occupy, a little suggestion if I might? Unless you are prepared to either a) get out and help me load groceries or b) wrestle my toddler into his car seat as he seemingly sprouts 11 additional sets of arms/legs and commences screaming and kicking; accept that this is going to take some time.

And no, YOU DO NOT get to honk at me.

Sincerely,
crazy lady with the plethora of kids and enough groceries for a platoon who is beginning to develop performance anxiety as the cars line up behind you