Sticky Stuff

Tonight my two year old doused my entire bedroom in pancake syrup. How she got it out of the pantry, into my bedroom, and all over the floor, and the chest at the foot of my bed without me knowing is beyond me. So I found my Covid diseased self mopping the floor three times and finally scrubbing it on my hands and knees but that was after the meltdown.

Merah walked into the living room with what I did not yet know was syrup all over her, which then lead to her taking us in the bedroom to show us. She knew it was wrong. She knew she messed up. Her daddy walked into the bedroom and as she hid behind my legs. I said, “Merah Kathryn”. Very calmly.

And she sobbed.

I mean big crocodile hiccoughing tears.

I sat down right there in the middle of the sticky stuff with her and just held her. Although I was relieved it seemed she was punishing herself and I didn’t need to take it any further, I saw myself in her. And most of the time I’m tickled that she gets her quirky personality from me. But tonight it made me sad.

See, I tend to beat myself up before anyone gets the chance. When I mess up I know it and I know it first and I can assure you I have already punished myself better than anyone can. I’ve always been that way. Afraid to disappoint. Afraid to fail and let down. I would literally rather be beat than hurt someone’s feelings or have them think I’m upset with them. Is that anxiety? I think it’s just my personality and I pray that she can get passed that. Because people like us, we are fiercely loyal. I mean to our core and when that isn’t reciprocated, it drives us crazy wondering why.

I don’t want her to feel that way. I want her to be brave enough to make mistakes and learn from them and move on.

So that’s what I said. While I held her sticky-little-almost-two-year-old-self in my often-feeling-inadequate-arms.

Let’s get up. You’ve cried enough. Let’s move on from this and learn. And though I pray she’s loyal. And a wonderful friend. I know that the way she wants to make everyone laugh and wants to be liked will bring her hard times too. I know because that’s me. I just want everyone to be happy. I try to be the least judge mental person in a room. I want to be the warm hearth people come to sit by to dump their bucket in a safe place. I’m an open book (I so fervently exclaim so often). But sometimes. People would rather just turn the page. And that’s fine, right? We don’t have time to read everyone’s book or else we miss out on the books meant for us.

It’s all growing. There’s not a whole lot of difference in my two year old and my late twenty-something (I’m not telling) self. I know that through my own growth, I can help her along. And I know without a doubt she’ll be even better, and tougher than me. I pray that she be like Daniel. Confident in her beliefs. I pray that she’s kind to others but also herself. This world we’re living in, it’s full of evil and comparison. It’s robbing our young people of who they were truly meant to be.

So maybe I’ve rambled this time (like all the others). But, I guess, in the end I’m just asking for prayer around our kids. To cover them as they grow and protect them so they can become who The Lord has made them to be. I believe we are raising a generation that will change the course of history and as parents it’s our responsibility that they know to change it for good. To be brave through all the sticky trials they are bound to face.