My Precious (Screaming) Toddler

I have corralled my screaming child in the church bathroom. We are finishing up a weekend of family camp. Not only is camp done, but so am I. And then some.

Littlest One and I are at the sink—she is screaming and I am cleansing. A purification ritual of sorts. The immediate purpose of our visit to the restroom is to clean sticky little hands and feet. The greater purpose is for me to stall for time, cleaning feet here rather than trying to round up the whole clan and head for home, where the mood will be even more dismal.

I ask my child where her shoes are. Of course, she does not know. She screams another ear-piercing trill that echoes thunder through my head.

I try to figure out what could possibly be so wrong that she needs to lose her right lung and both of my ears for it. She spits out her answer, the rage evident in every word. She is upset because…wait for it…she wants a “balloon tree.”

A “balloon tree”?  Like, a bunch of balloons on a stick?  I think an extra-strength Tylenol is in my not-so-distant future.

I scrub the brown bottoms of her little feet while I try to talk some reason into her. To no avail. Thankfully, my friend comes to the rescue with the diversion of a funny story, which is rewarded with one small smile and, in due time, the missing shoes. The lost are found, thankfully. But there is still the minor issue of the “balloon tree”.

I leave the bathroom, with screaming child still in tow, and I meet up with a second friend. She is talking to another, but as soon as I approach, she stops chatting and turns to me. And this is what she says:

“These times are precious. Someday you will look back on this, and you will remember that this was a precious moment.”

I am still inwardly fuming from the exchange in the bathroom, the struggle and the meltdown. I am in no mood or state of mind to concur that yes, indeed, this is pretty precious. Exasperating? Yes. Infuriating? Sure. Precious? I think not.

But I cannot help but consider that these sentiments are given to me in a gesture of goodwill. It was meant for good, and that is how I will take it. But I will agree to disagree.

As the afternoon rolls on, and the predicted unraveling of emotions occurs, I am reminded again of her warning to me. To consider even this to be precious.

Even this? This undoing of my mind as I listen to four tired kids in the backseat of our van arguing with one another?

Even this? The teasing of one at the expense of another? That too? The whining? The crying? The boredom? The general malaise?

But yes, even this. For there must be some good found in even the worst of moments. After all, it can be the best of times while also being the worst of times. And I am determined not to let it unravel me any further.

What is precious? That which is rare and lovely and sought after. I do not see these frequent blow-ups as anything close to rare. Nor is a meltdown even half-ways lovely. And I am certainly not seeking ardently for an afternoon spent in misery. But precious can also mean fleeting. And this is true. These moments of childhood, these rites of passage, are momentary. They are fleeting, and in and of themselves, they are strangely precious in their own little ways.

I hold Littlest One close tonight, drawing her into a mother’s breast, snuggled under arms of love. Arms that cradle and hold, soothe and protect. She leans into me as I read a bedtime story. And I know the wild preciousness of it all.

QUESTION: What are the moments of motherhood that unravel you? Can you see them through the lens of “precious”?

CHALLENGE: Look for what is precious in that which is hard or frustrating this week.

About Lori Gard

Lori Gard is a teacher, mother to four children, wife to her husband Brian, community volunteer and expert in multi-tasking--all of which can be combined simultaneously in any random order in her current passion, blogging. She has found each facet of her life to provide endless writing material for her personal blog, Pursuit of A Joyful Life Lori was born and raised in the Maritimes, and has lived “up West” in P.E.I., Canada since graduating with a degree in Education from the Island’s only university in 1999. Although she will never be a born and bred Islander, she still tries to embrace life the Island way which really means loving all things Anne of Green Gables.