I guess there was a certain inevitability. Mindfulness as a parent is hard work, it’s discipline, it’s continual practice.
It all started with the trees. I tend to drive in some kind of reverie – caught up in lists, planning, evaluating, daydreaming. In the spirit of everyday mindfulness I kept trying to bring myself back to the present, to notice the different shapes and shades of the trees along the journey. Trying, trying, trying. It wasn’t gentle and it certainly wasn’t very peaceful. I found myself increasingly frustrated with my flighty mind and its insistence on fleeing back to the future or the past.
As best you can. It’s a mantra often repeated during mindfulness-based therapy and I see it written down a lot in Jon Kabat-Zinn’s books. Cultivating a compassionate mind towards myself, can I accept that in each passing moment I will bring my attention to the present as best I can?
Moment by moment parenting. Now there’s a challenge. In the ‘spaces’ before and after school there is time pressure, competing demands, a structure and a schedule needed. Little One has a completely different schedule to mine. It consists of “play babies until it’s time to leave for school”. Breakfast, getting dressed, phonics – mere distractions, taking mummy away from the important business of pretend play. In contrast my mind is ticking over – lists, lists, what next, what time is it, has Eldest done her homework, how can I give her some time and attention before she skips out of the door to meet her friends?
I held it together before and after school yesterday. I made a conscious decision to set aside time to be absorbed alongside Little One in ‘baby world’. It wasn’t very long, perhaps ten minutes in the morning and half an hour after school, but still trying, trying, trying to be present and not planning the dinner or the work e-mail or the blog post.
I’m going to be honest, I felt proud of myself but also depleted. It takes energy and commitment to shut out the world and play. I think it takes practice too, and wisdom. For me, the sensory world of playdough is better at the end of the day than the demands of the imaginary ‘baby world’. Little One has learning difficulties, and so she likes quite routinized scenarios for playing babies yet often flits from one topic to another. One minute we’ll be feeding baby in the high chair and I’m taking on the role of granny, the next minute Little One is ‘Jan Vann’ the paramedic rushing the baby to hospital. It can be at the same moment boring, repetitive and difficult to keep up.
Things reached boiling point after dinner. You know those moments where it all feels perfect and delicious and then you’re suddenly plunged into a power struggle? Eldest and Little One were sharing a bath, which doesn’t happen very often nowadays. I was just looking at their beautiful bodies, enjoying their sisterly love and simply feeling grateful for them. Time for a hair wash. Trying to imagine my best mindful parent I gave Little One the choice, “shall we wet your hair with the pot or the shower?” She chose the pot. Wriggled away, climbed over her sister, resisted the water at all costs. Patience, patience. “This isn’t working love, I’m going to use the shower OK? Put a cloth over your eyes and tip your head up”.
More wriggling, arching her back, standing up, turning around. Absolutely no looking up or sitting still. Lather up, with help from Eldest. “It’s time to sit really still now OK? We need to wash the bubbles out of your hair”. Climb over sister, arch back, wriggle away, stand up, repeat. After imploring her three times to sit down with a cloth on her eyes I just lost it, spraying water directly above her head and down her face. Shampoo in her eyes, stinging, shock and crying. I felt so guilty and drained. Too late after the event I tried to ask her why she didn’t sit still for the shower.
Children need to experience this, too, namely that their parents are human, that at times we can be insensitive, misattuned, even unempathic – that we can get upset and angry. Much can be learned from such moments of stress and disconnection, and from the important process of repair and recovery… the strength of the parent-child relationship… is based as much on this tumultuous process of rupture followed by repair as it is in feelings of closeness and safety
Everyday Blessings, p.73
Little One dried her own hair with the hairdryer. I gently toweled her body and told her I was sorry. She said she didn’t like the shower, so I asked her if she would like to play with it a bit while brushing her teeth, to get the feel of the water. We shared a story, a song, a goodnight kiss, an “I love you”.
As best you can. It’s all we can ask of ourselves.