Smelling the roses...

Most people that really know me, know that I'm not the most patient person and have a tendency to like things to be done a certain way...MY way. I've been this way as long as I can remember, that's not an excuse for my bad behavior, just an aside so that you might have a point of reference. Even as a small child, when I'd play with my friends, I had a hard time going outside of myself and letting my imagination run away with me. We'd play restaurant and someone would order a dirt sandwich and I would simply refuse to play. If you weren't going to play right, I wouldn't play. Now I'm not exactly sure what, in my young mind, constituted "playing right", but a dirt sandwich certainly wasn't it.

As I've grown, my tolerance for nonsense has not increased. I play with my children, but if I'm being totally honest it is not all that enjoyable for me. I love seeing them happy and I encourage them to use their imaginations since I had such a hard time with that growing up, but on a scale of 1-10, nonsensical play ranks about a two for me. This has spilled over into a lot of places in my life, but probably nowhere more than my kitchen. I love to cook and be creative in the kitchen, I take great satisfaction in it in fact. My current kitchen is functional to be sure, but far from my dream kitchen. It's small, with limited counter and storage space. Everything has a certain place because there just isn't room for it to be any other way. When one thing is out of place it throws everything else off...in my mind. So for that reason, I rationalize that I am the ONLY person who has business being in there. It's not fun anyway, it's just work that needs to be done so we can eat and the house can stay relatively tidy. Occasionally one of the kids will ask to help me with something and I usually thank them for the offer but let them know that I have things under control. Today was no different until something hit me. Since we began homeschooling, we've been eating our largest meal of the day at lunchtime. We're so busy in the evenings with dance, soccer and whatnot that it's just easier this way. So I was busy this noon making the meatloaf, mashed potatoes and broccoli when Sophie came in and asked if she could help. I gave her a couple of small table setting things to do and when I was just about done she asked me the dreaded question..."Mommy, can I help you mash the potatoes?" I quickly said "oh that's ok baby, I'll just do it real quick so we can eat". She said ok and then went into the other room, but there was something in her voice that told me it wasn't really ok. I called her back and APOLOGIZED and asked her please to help me with the potatoes. The look on her face was priceless, she grabbed a chair to stand on and mashed away with as much gusto as I've ever seen, and you know what, they were the best mashed potatoes I've ever had. And you know what else, the world did not stop spinning and I did NOT burst into flames. She was happy, I was happy and Nicholas was happy (because smashed potatoes are one of his favorites).

I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to realize that giving up a little control will not kill me. I'm not sure I'll always remember that it won't kill me either, but all I can do is try. I love those munchkins so very much and if mashing potatoes makes them happy then I say mash away my loves, and for what it's worth smell the roses along the way.