Perspective

I woke up this morning feeling blessed and grateful for the brilliant blue sky and peaceful surroundings. Both of my boys were still in bed I was glad for them to be catching up on some much needed sleep. Today would be a fabulous day! Holidays, sunshine, laughter, joy.
 

If you’re a Mum, you know how quickly that worm can turn. The ‘issues’ started shortly after breakfast. I told the boys I needed 15 minutes alone in my office to check some work emails and make a couple of calls. Having devoted the previous two weeks of my time to them unconditionally, it didn’t seem an unreasonable request. I was alone for approximately one minute before the first interruption came while I was mid-way through responding to a very important email. My blood started to simmer as soon as I heard the frenzied noise and footsteps approaching the office. I thrust my hand out into a STOP position and vigorously re-stated my position:

“I said I needed 15 minutes to myself - is there a part of that you don’t understand?!”

“But MUM! It’s SERIOUS!” For his sake, I really hoped it was.

Louise Hay whispered in my head: My intention is for peace, I am calm and relaxed. Yes, that’s right. I decide to consider the remote possibility that the pressing issue might actually be serious. After all, how would I live with myself if it really was and I’d turned my back?

“What is it?”

“Daniel said Katy Perry is ugly and can’t sing!!”

Some choice words erupted in my head and I prayed to any God who could hear me for strength. Louise’s ethereal whisperings went deathly quiet. Meanwhile, Daniel had chased Elliot down the hallway in a vain attempt to stop him coming into my office to express his grievance. Daniel has three more years experience when it comes to predicting my potentially explosive reaction to incidents of this nature and to his credit, he was probably trying to warn Elliot of the imminent danger. Suddenly they were both in my office simultaneously establishing and disputing facts surrounding the slanderous Katy Perry allegation.

My blood stopped simmering and started full-on boiling. It was my turn to share some vital information with them: "If you don’t leave my office as fast as is humanely possible then something serious will happen."

When they left, echoes of bickering and twittering trailing them down the hallway, I took a moment to let my heartbeat resume its normal pace and allow my headspace to recapture its previous thought. Calmer, I pressed on with my very important email. Then it happened again approximately 2 minutes later.

“MUM!” This had better be good; like one of them has broken a leg. 

 “GRRR. WHAT NOW?!”

“ I really need an envelope. Oh, and how do you spell TRAITOR?”

I pinch myself to make sure I’m actually awake and this isn’t a nightmare. I won’t tell you what I did next because I have a reputation to protect. I can tell you that in the surreal silence that followed (boys suitably subdued and absent) some tears were shed and I had a stern word with myself. Something along the lines of: Why do you persist in doing this? This is no time to be working. Now everyone is crying and unhappy. I’m a terrible Mum. All he wanted was an envelope. You know how it goes. 

I’m a slow learner. This experience demonstrates that. I should have learned by now that holidays are holidays and work is work: oil and water when children are in the mix. There’s no issue at all if I’m just doing frivolous stuff in my office like surfing Facebook or paying bills. It’s only a problem when I try to tune out ‘home’ and tune in ‘work.’ For me, it just doesn’t work with children in the house; it messes with my head and never ends well. On reflection, the whole saga is completely unnecessary because I don’t need to work - my ‘work’ has no expectation I’ll be working. As far as they’re concerned, I’m on holiday! Was the email I was engaged in so critically important? Let’s just say the world wouldn’t have self combusted had I not replied. Another equally competent professional (no doubt in a much sharper state of mind) could easily have taken ownership of the issue in my absence. I am dispensable; the world will continue to turn without me. So admittedly I am the master of my own stress creation. Consequently I’m the master of my children’s stress too.

A change in perspective works wonders. When the storm passed, I suggested to the boys we go for a bike ride to get an ice cream and feed the ducks. The remainder of our day turned out to be just as fabulous as I had originally predicted: holidays, sunshine, laughter, joy. The worm had turned again. All was forgotten.

We were on a road trip last week and I was struck with an analogy relating to perspective. One moment we were driving on a straight road and I saw a large mountain in front of us. Then just as I was talking about it, we turned a corner and I couldn’t see it anymore. The landscape hadn’t changed; the mountain was still there. All that had changed was my perspective. I got to thinking it’s like that with our children. Our love for them is undoubtedly monumental and part of the landscape. It won’t ever change. But sometimes our perspective does - we lose sight of what’s really important. What I admire about our children is that they always seem to have a view of the mountain because it's all around them – our unconditional love. Their journey is a lot more straightforward than ours. They have unquestionable faith that we will navigate the twists and turns on their behalf. So they really only have a single perspective. They unashamedly live their lives driven by their own desires and pure self-fulfillment. They act on instinct. They do whatever makes them happy. They act obliviously and unequivocally like children. Not a bad way to live life when you think about it. In fact I’ve decided to follow their lead for the rest of our holidays.

Mum’s the Word:

Live in the moment. Enjoy the view.