Mapping and breathing

Dietrich came up with a solution to his troubles at getting dressed for the day and putting on his pajamas at night. "I am going to make a map of my clothes and show which body pieces go in which hole! I will use arrows." He has not yet made his map, but he does seem to be getting into his clothes with a little less encouragement.

Last Tuesday, after a red-faced fit stopped only by the potential of toys being returned to Target, we talked to his swim instructor about not holding his breath while he swims. Minutes into his lesson, he learned how to exhale when swimming and came up beaming (not beet red and exhausted). And he asked on Saturday, "Is Tuesday tomorrow yet?"

How right he is: sometimes you just need to make a map and always remember to exhale, even under water. And how hard it is, at least for me, to do those things. Granted, map making for adults usually involves facing possibilities and making choices about which possibilities will remain, and which ones will be shed. It means letting go in order to go forward, and rerouting if those choices do not work out.

Breathing is even harder when I am so busy being captivated by my thought to thought when I could be listening to a tale of Elliott's imaginary friends or playing in the cupboard-turned-ambulance with Dietrich. Sometimes my deepest exhale happens when the whining or fighting or incessant dawdling (how many interesting bits can there be en route to the door?) tips me over the threshold. And the result is usually a fine exhale -- but a loud one.

Part of writing this blog is to exhale in a way that I cannot do during the day when putting on boots, chasing down a must-have-right-now something or other, or searching the fridge for the next meal. I'm looking for pieces of the day that stand out to me and letting them settle on (or shake up!) the page. Kathleen Norris calls them "Quotidian Mysteries" as they are the things we do every day, just to keep alive and well. Her book Laundry, Liturgy, and Women's Work helped me see into the proverbial sink full of dishes (and right now, ours is teeming with dishes) a task nothing short of holy. Another inspiration is the blog, One Moms' Year of Gratitude by a friend who found something each day for which she was thankful. Every visit helped me look in a new direction, namely, away from my tired thoughts and towards God.

Mapping, breathing, and writing each day. I'm off for the year ahead. I still wish the dish fairy would stop by once in a while.