No exceptions.

One of my favourite blogs lately is Humans of New York. A guy and his camera, walking around New York City, taking pictures of strangers and asking them questions. It's magic. There was one recent post of a philosophy professor, who said "Never make an exception of yourself." When asked what he meant by that, he said, "People like to make exceptions of themselves. They hold other people to moral codes that they aren't willing to follow themselves. For example, people tend to think that if they tell a lie, it's because it was absolutely necessary. But if someone else tells a lie, it means they're dishonest. So never make an exception of yourself. If you're a thief, don't complain about being robbed." 

A few little words that stopped me in my tracks. Full stop. 

I have a potty mouth. Honestly, I love to swear; I'm not going to lie. And generally speaking (aside from hateful language designed to hurt, demean and worse), I'm not of the mind that there are "bad" words; language is language and it's all about how you use it. I don't swear with everyone because there's a time and a place, I suppose. But I'll always have a potty mouth, that will never change.

Because they are so young and don't understand the subtleties of when and where to use certain types of language, I've had to tell Sonja and Haven they aren't allowed to use the same language I do and of course I had to admit that I shouldn't be using it either. I had to make a deal with them; "You can't say it and neither can I." They agreed.

Haven's always the first one to rat me out, usually while we're driving somewhere.

"Mama, don't say 'fucking.'" 

"Oops. Sorry, Haven."

"It's okay, Mama."

"Well, thank you for reminding me."

"You're welcome."

I love it so much that she remembers our deal. It doesn't bother me that I forget about it everyday, but it does bring up the whole old-dog-new-tricks thing. Small reminders to not make an exception of myself; I love to swear but not enough to tell my kids to do what I say and not what I do.

 

We went to the library this afternoon. I don't know what it is about the library, especially in the afternoon, but we can't seem to get out of there without some kind of meltdown. Today was Sonja's day to get upset, complete with a tantrum. She had been aggressive with Haven and I'd taken away her privilege of helping me check out the books at the self-checkout. I was at the end of my rope with Sonja and I got both the girls out of there as quickly as I could. When we left the library I got really upset about her behaviour and then walked to the car. After getting Sonja into her car seat, I had a split-second realization that what happened next was completely up to me. I could say what I really felt like saying and listen to her scream and tantrum all the way home, or I could go against my initial desire - to get angry - and treat her the way I would want to be treated - with compassion and understanding.

I took her hand. I looked into her eyes. I could tell she was ready for a fight. I took a breath. I told her I loved her. I told her her behaviour was unacceptable, mostly because it goes against her sensitive nature. I appealed to her love for her sister. And then I listened to her. And I kissed her. And she hugged me soooooo tightly. 

"Never make an exception of yourself."

Why, in the moment, does it feel so difficult to do the more thoughtful and empathetic thing? Why does it feel so much easier to get angry? And do I really want to teach my kids that Mommy is allowed to get angry, but they are not? Oh my goodness, no.

Another case in point:

I've lately been telling my girls that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being upset. In fact, I want them to express all their emotions, whatever they are. But I make it clear that they should talk about their feelings instead of screaming and yelling, and doing and saying hurtful things. It's totally okay to be upset, but what you do and say when you're upset matters.

Ugh, even typing that out I feel like I fail at this everyday. ...and I can't help but be reminded how valuable writing this blog is; I've always felt that writing things down makes them real. 

What you do and say when you're upset matters. For all of us.

On the flip side, the love we give should be given regardless of the reception it receives. No exceptions. Sounds simple, but it's not. 

I find myself feeling resentful sometimes when my kids - to my mind - take me for granted. The reality is they absolutely don't; they love me unconditionally. But when I spend almost every waking moment caring for them, playing with them, taking them places so they can have fun, feeding them... I take it so personally when they talk back, freak out, hit me ...you name it. It's so upsetting.

But it's totally okay to be upset, right? Talk about my feelings. What I say and do matters. No exceptions.

Breathe. My life is so full of love.

The keyword to life is love. Always love.