One Cup of Rice

If I have learned anything, it is that there is always something more to learn.  Nothing has given me so many opportunities for learning as motherhood.  Never before has something had such a power to make me feel so weak and unprepared, and then strong and downright ninja.  It never ceases to amaze me.  On this path, one is required to call upon every tool they have, and sometimes ones they don't know they have yet.  And it is nothing anyone can fully prepare you for. 

A parent is frequently called upon to act in a way that may be different from their initial reaction.  I'm learning the value of cultivating patience, and re-tuning my own imagination.  I'm learning to pick my battles, and to find new ways of doing things.  Even so, I sometimes find myself banging my head against a wall (figuratively speaking, anyhow). 

One example while is cooking dinner.  My son loves to be a part of things, loves to help mommy do EVERYTHING.  This is adorable, true...for the first five minutes around a flaming, spitting stove and five simultaneous tasks and one frazzled mommy.  Sometimes I can indulge his curiosity, showing him each step of the meal prep.  Sometimes, it's just too dangerous and/or I just don't feel like it (there, I said it!).  There was a point when I would just get frustrated, and banish my son from the kitchen. Tonight, I learned that sometimes, all I need is one cup of rice to keep him happy.

I poured him one cup of rice into a loaf pan.  I gave him a couple of measuring cups, and a spoon.  He loved feeling the texture of the rice, pushing it into piles on the floor (it didn't stay in the pan for long, of course), and even drawing "pictures" in it.  Rice was everywhere, and I really didn't mind.  it was among the most enjoyable times we'd had making dinner together.  I felt proud of myself for continuing to try to look at things differently, for being resourceful, and for finding a solution we both could live with.  Yay for progress!