My Finest Foot-in-Mouth Moment

I was right.

But better than that: he was wrong.

And I was there to witness it!

The weekly visit to the OB/Gyn had started out normally enough. Daniel parked the car and helped me out. I started waddling to the front entry doors of the hospital but soon realized that I was on my own. When I turned around, I discovered Daniel marching of in a completely different direction.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Follow me!" was his only reply.

Now I'm a Choleric temperament. I don't like being told what to do. And I really hate being told what to do without a reasonable explanation.

I paused momentarily and chose to follow out of vanity; being so very pregnant, I preferred to be seen walking with my husband rather than wandering around alone.

As Daniel led me up unfamiliar stairs, my annoyance threatened to grow into anger. Who does he think he is, leading an 8-months-pregnant woman on some wild goose chase! This is ridiculous!

But my anger was interrupted by a most delectable thought: What if he's wrong? What if he has no clue where he's going and is just bluffing?

A delicious glee welled up inside. Obviously, he was lost. This meant that my "I married Mr. Right but didn't realize his first name was Always" husband was about to be Mr. W-r-o-n-g.

Finally!

I was right.

He was wrong.

And I was there to witness it!

Smugly, I followed with feigned compliance. With each corner we turned, my anticipation grew. He's wrong. He's wrong. He's wrong. NAH-na-NAH-na-NAH-NA!

I could tell from his face that he was about to give up. As he grasped the doornob of what I knew would be the last door before he turned to me and said those magical, never-before-heard-from-a-Melancholy words, "I'm wrong," I set off inner fireworks, launching my victory party.

Startled, I saw my doctor's office window; behind the receptionist, the clock pointed to our exactly on time arrival.

How was this possible? As my inner expectations clashed with outer reality, I looked at Daniel in wide-eyed amazement. My Sanguine mouth went into motion without any filtering from my brain, and I blurted out,

"You DO know something I don't know!"

And it wasn't until I saw the wide-eyed amazement on Daniel's face that I rewound, heard what I'd said, and then realized what I'd said.

He was right.

I was wrong.

And a waiting room full of people were there to witness it.

The fact that Daniel never brings this story up tells you what kind of man he is. Oh, the mileage he could get! But I remember it daily, a rueful reminder of how petty, stubborn, and even contemptuous I can be.

The Masks or The Mirror

This morning, I need help.

In a couple of weeks, I'm giving the Consecration message to the senior class. When I accepted the invitation several months ago, the image of "masks" vs. "mirror" came to mind. I thought it would be simple enough to develop a short message about hiding (masks) vs. being seen (The Mirror.)

But as I've worked on this talk, it's grown quickly into a retreat and then a 12-part series. Every time I re-read Ken Davis's manta: "You can't possibly be TOO SIMPLE!" ten new ideas spring to life. I don't need new ideas; I need laser-sharp focus on ONE point and stories to go with it!

The bottom line of the juxtaposition is this:

The message of the masks: "You must change to be loved."
The message of The Mirror: "You must be Loved to change.

I was thinking of ending the talk with a couplet (a la Shakespeare):

Take off the masks, stop the show;
Look in The Mirror and, in Love, grow!

I've also pulled some lyrics from Phantom of the Opera:

(Need ideas on how I might use these lyrics!)

Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade.
Masquerade!
Hide your face, so the world will never find you!
...
Masquerade!
Every face a different shade.
Masquerade!
Look around -
there's another
mask behind you!
...
Take your turn.
Take a ride.
On a merry - go - round
In an inhuman race.
...
Eye of gold.
Thigh of blue.
True is false.
Who is who?
...
Masquerade!
Seething shadows
breathing lies.
Masquerade!
You can fool
any friend who
ever knew you!

I've got an opening story about my daughter (who's one of the graduates, so the students will love it) when she was just a toddler:

Annemarie was busily coloring with crayons all over the white entryway walls as I was silently coming down the stairs, fully aware of what she was doing. She didn't hear me until I got quite close to her; at that point, she moved -- without looking at me -- to her paper on the floor and began to color with ardent determination. When I said, "Annemarie!" and pointed to the walls, she said, "No, Mama! Look HERE! Look HERE!" and physically pulled me to the papers.

This little anecdote isn't about masks, but I'll use it to transition into the masks vs mirror concept; it is about my human instinct to pull people away from the truth about me (especially the unpleasant truth) and point them toward what I want them to see about me.

Now, I need help!

* After reading my "bits and pieces," what comes to your mind? Thoughts? Ideas? Cautions? Concerns?

* What scriptures come to mind?

* What Christian songs come to mind?

* I'd like to interview some of the seniors and use video clips to add their stories to my talk. What kinds of questions might I ask? (They're an honest and open group of kids.) Perhaps pull from the "Masquerade" lyrics to create questions?

* I'd love to weave in short references to Hamlet, Frankenstein, Pygmalion, and/or The Screwtape Letters (they did ask their English teacher to speak!) Any ideas?

I'm at the stage where I know I can "pull it together" if needed. But after spending time in silence and solitude this weekend, praying over this message, I feel impressed that it will be so much better with collaboration. I just have the sense that there are things I'm not seeing, things I'm missing because I've been floundering in pages (20+!) of notes and ideas.

I look forward to your input!

Book Review: Skinny

Melissa has a lot on her plate: dance team (will she make captain?), schoolwork (how'd she get a C in Chemistry?), and a cute new guy (will he ask her to the Sugar Plum Stomp?)

She decides that putting less on her plate -- literally -- will help her achieve her goals. After all, losing a few pounds will help her compete against the other girls on the dance team and help her fit into that perfect new prom dress.

Through Melissa's story, author Laura Smith gives readers a glimpse at the thoughts and habits of a teenage girl developing an eating disorder. Girls who struggle with obsessive-compulsive ideologies will find Melissa's struggles authentic; those who have not will gain understanding and empathy for their friends who do.

As one who spent six weeks in an inpatient Eating Disorder Unit as a teenager, I found myself thinking, "Really?" a couple times while reading Skinny. Melissa's parents seem too good to be true: understanding, supportive, and flexible. This doesn't mesh with my experience; at group counseling sessions in the EDU, parents often demanded, "Why are you doing this to us?" Also, the ease – even relish – with which Melissa gains the doctor-ordered three pounds in one week do not ring true for me. The early stages of re-gaining weight were excruciatingly hard, at least for me and and my fellow EDU inmates. Of course, these are highly subjective reactions; each girl's struggle and story is unique.

Skinny is a great book for pre-teen and teen girls, especially for a "book club" type discussion. I also recommend that mothers of pre-teens and teen girls read Skinny, both to become familiar with the tell-tale signs of an eating disorder and to spend some time in the complex and emotion-ridden world in which our girls live.

What, the Devil?

My AP Literature & Composition class is wrapping up the year with C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters.

Like most of my decisions this year, I second and third guessed this one and almost concluded it was too late in the year to tackle something so heavy. So serious. So scholarly. But many of the students had already paid $10+ for the book; not the best criterion for a choice, I realize, but hey! It was defensible.

Turns out, it's been an excellent one, too.

Not only am I loving reading the AP kids' dialectical journal responses to The Screwtape Letters, but now I'm hearing through the grapevine that (a) they like it, (b) they're talking about it outside of class, and c) the English IV class is upset that they're only going to read excerpts rather than the entire book. I couldn't feel more smug if I'd actually planned it to happen this way!

If you've never read The Screwtape Letters, let me tempt you with some great leading quotes, here. (And if you have read it, perhaps you'll be reminded that it's time to read it again!)

The entire book is written as a series of letters from the senior devil, Screwtape, to a junior tempter, Wormwood. So "the Enemy" refers to God/Christ.

"The Enemy allows disappointment to occur on the threshold of every human endeavour....It occurs when lovers have got married and begin the real task of learning to live together. In every department of life it marks the transition from dreaming aspiration to laborious doing....If once [humans] get through this initial dryness successfully, they become much less dependent on emotion and therefore much harder to tempt."

* If I was less dependent on emotion, especially in times of disappointment, what temptations would lose their power in my life?


"When two humans have lived together for many years it usually happens that each has tones of voice and expressions of face which are almost unendurably irritating to the other...that particular lift of his mother's eyebrows....Let him assume that she knows how annoying it is and does it to annoy...And, of course, never let him suspect that he has tones and looks which similarly annoy her."

* Dare I ask Jones' question from The Noticer: "What is it about me that other people would change if they could?" (pg. 15)

"Teach them to estimate the value of each prayer by their success in producing the desired feeling; and never let them suspect how much success or failure of that kind depends on whether they are well or ill, fresh or tired, at the moment."

* Does my prayer life reflect my feelings, or do my actions reflect my prayer life, regardless of my feelings?


"I know we have won many a soul through pleasure. All the same, it is His invention, not ours. He made the pleasures: all our research so far has not enabled us to produce on. All we can do is encourage the humans to take the pleasures which our Enemy has produced at times, or in ways, or in degrees, which he has forbidden."

* Am I enjoying the true pleasures provided so abundantly for me?

What I Wish I'd Known

It's "Wifey Wednesday" over at To Love, Honor, and Vacuum!

Sheila Gregoire asks the questions, "What one piece of advice do you wish women had given you before you were married? What's one thing that really surprised you?"

When Daniel and I started dating, I joyously referred to him as "the male version of me!" (Only in hindsight does this sound audaciously narcissistic!)

We had so much in common: We both liked ice cubes in our milk. We both preferred unsalted popcorn. We both loved the color blue. Total compatibility was ours!

So what surprised me the most, once we were married, was how different Daniel is from me. He is not the "male version of me." It isn't just his Personality; this isn't simiply a Melancholy vs. Sanguine issue. Daniel isn't even the "male version" of my best girlfriend. This is a Melancholy MAN vs. Sanguine WOMAN issue.

A short list of things I wish I'd known:

1) I wish I'd known how few words a man can truly hear before he overloads.

2) I wish I'd known about the Mr. Incredible "I Work Alone!" ethic and understood that it's never personal.

3) I wish I'd known that watching the exit go by is actually far, far, far better than "helpfully" asking, "Shouldn't you be moving into the right lane?"

4) I wish I'd know that "hanging out together" (his phrase) isn't just "doing nothing" (my translation).

5) I wish I'd known how vital it is to his core identity to see me happy and to hear me express my happiness.

How about you? What surprised you? What do you wish you'd known?

The Victory of the Purple Tree

When I was 14, I volunteered at the pediatric playroom of the local hospital. Many of the children were there for extended cancer treatments, so our "big buddy/little buddy" relationship was a joyful highlight in their otherwise serious little lives.

Several times a week, I'd go hang out with the kids after school, reading, talking, playing games, and doing art projects with them.

One day, I was sitting with Suzie -- a five year old who kept her sunny disposition in spite of having lost all her hair -- when she declared, "I'm going to draw a tree!" She reached into her brand new box of crayons and pulled out the purple crayon.

Purple?

Now I have no artistic talent whatsoever. But I know that drawing a tree requires two colors, and neither one is purple!

Purple. Who ever heard of a purple tree?

True to my Choleric personality, I reached over, yanked the purple crayon out of her hand, found the brown crayon, and thrust it at her.

Victory! Thank goodness I'd been there to save the day! A purple tree...!?!

Suddenly, I noticed my supervisor beckoning to me. She invited me to join her on the far side of the room, where she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

"What if we . . ." she began.

Immediately alert, my Sanguine side could sense that she was about to propose something fun, maybe even risky.

"What if we . . . let her draw a purple tree?" she continued.

I stared back at her in amazement. My mind did cartwheels,
flipping, stretching, and contorting.

Let her draw a purple tree? Of all the audacious, impudent, bold ideas! We could actually let her draw a purple tree. Yes! Yes, as a matter of fact, we could!

I marched back across the room, snatched the purple crayon out of Suzie's hand, and quickly replaced it with the original purple crayon.

"You can draw a purple tree!" I announced victoriously.

Suzie drew her purple tree, and I doubt she -- or my wise supervisor -- knew the profound impact this little episode had (and continues to have) on me.

You see, this was the first time I consciously realized that I have "tunnel vision" -- that I live with a preconceived vision of how things should be. And that perhaps my vision isn't the only valid vision around. It was a mind-blowing, paradigm-altering day: to realize that my way wasn't the only way.

And, many years later, I recognized the wisdom and graciousness of my supervisor. She could have come down hard on me, "What are you doing, Cheri? Squashing her creativity? Here, Suzie, you can use whatever color crayon you want. Cheri, go mop floors and quit ruining these kids' psyches."

Instead, she wooed me:

"What if we . . . "

Oh, she had me at "we"! How I wanted to be part of "we"!

She recognized my good intentions, in spite of my immaturity and lack of skill. And with one short sentence, "What if we let her draw a purple tree?" she mentored me not only to do what Suzie needed at that moment, but to "think different," to seek the other's victory when encountering someone wanting to draw a purple tree.

The Perfect Mother (After All!)

My mother always wanted a girl. But growing up, I knew I wasn't the perfect little girl she'd always wanted.

My mother was (and still is!) quiet, clean, and orderly. I was (and still am!) loud, messy, and disorganized. She dolled me up in dresses and curled my hair; I changed into jeans and brushed my hair straight. She wanted me to take piano lessons and win Bach competitions; I wanted to take riding lessons and compete in horse shows. We were such opposites, I felt like a complete disappointment.

And I had the nagging sense that if only I'd had the mother I always wanted -- one who would enjoy me rather than criticize me -- my life would be so much better.

*****

2006. A major holiday. Daniel and I are staying with his family, and I'm supposed to cook several dishes for our huge feast. Thinking my recipe cards (typed on 4 x 6 cards and laminated -- wedding gifts from my Perfect Melancholy mother!) are in my purse, I drive 45 minutes to the nearest grocery store.

At Safeway, I reach for my recipe cards...only to find them missing. I call the house, but nobody answers. Going back for them will take me 1.5 frustrating hours. Call Mother pops to mind.

No way! I think. She'll criticize me for forgetting the recipe cards and for failing to make a grocery shopping list. And I hate it when she criticizes me!

But criticism wins over wasted time. I flip open my cell phone. "Mother, you won't believe where I am or what I need..."

Sure enough, she chides me, "Didn't I teach you to make a grocery list?" Then she reads ingredients and quantities as I scribble frantically on a crumpled envelope dug from the depths of my purse.

I'm about to end the call when I realize I need clarification. "What kind of bread crumbs should I get?" I ask, scanning the shelves. "Plain? Garlic? Italian?"

Immediately, my mother launches into a spontaneous commercial for the exact flavor and brand that she knows is best (describing the box front with amazing accuracy!)

Her voice has taken on a new quality. It sounds like...eagerness? I test my theory by asking about the canned milk. Same response: perfectly detailed instructions that help me find the precise product I need.
I try again. And again.

Forty-five minutes, my mother has guided me through the entire store, helping me select every single ingredient on my list. There's no mistaking the tone in her voice, now: pure enjoyment.

Suddenly it hits me: my mother misses me. The one thing we did share while I was growing up was the kitchen. Every Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas dinner, I was her assistant. Nobody else was even allowed in the kitchen; it was just Mother and me.

And I realize something else, something I never "heard" as a child, so hyper-sensitive to the slightest criticism. I realize that my mother's habit of telling me what to do and how to do it isn't evidence of disappointment. On the contrary, her zeal for perfection is a reflection of how desperately she wants everything to be "just right" for me. It is evidence of how much she loves me.

*****

My mother is not the mother I always wanted. But one thing I've learned is that she is the mother I always needed. She is the perfect mother for me, after all.

Top 10 Tips for a Melancholy Making Change

(DISCLAIMER: All blame for any pun I share on this blog goes to my brother and father who brainwash...er...taught me puns from birth!)

A man was buying a Mother's Day gift for his wife. Including tax, his total was $19.00, so he handed the cashier a $20 bill.

"I'm out of ones," she said, holding out two quarters, three dimes, and four nickels, "do you mind coins?"

With a terrified scream, the man bolted from the store.

Why?

He was afraid of change.

Okay, okay, in all seriousness now, a dear Melancholy friend told me this week, "You need to write a blog about Melancholies and change!" She narrowed her eyes, "Especially change they didn't want."

This is a bit of a challenge for me, as I am not a Melancholy Personality myself. I'm a Sanguine; I bore easily, so I thrive on change! But I've learned from the wonderful Melancholy people in my life -- notably my mother, my husband, and my son -- that change can be not just upsetting but downright debilitating for them.

So for all you Perfect Melancholy Personalities out there -- and those of us who love you -- here are my Top Ten Tips for a Melancholy Making Change:

1. Take Time to Adjust to the Idea of Change. You already have a plan. Because, by definition, it's a perfect plan, the very idea of change is (to quote The Princess Bride) inconceivable!

2. Accept That Change is Inevitable. Typically, you will work hard to avoid change or deny that change is happening. You will go through a period of thinking, "This can not be happening! This can not be happening!"

3. Take Time to Grieve the Loss of Plan A. Change is loss, which requires processing and closure. Avoid people who urge you to "get over it!" or "hurry up and move on!" They don't get you. Find people who do.

4. Focus on Self-Care. While other factors in life may be "falling apart," you can maintain some balance by continuing and (if needed!) improving your exercise, diet, and sleep routines.

5. Set a Time Limit for Researching New Options. Otherwise, you may pour too much time and energy into gathering information. (One woman I know was so afraid of making an imperfect decision, she spent ten years researching and "trying out" paint colors for her house.)

6. Limit Negative Self-Talk. You can tend toward "ain't it awful!" internal dialogue. You don't have to buy into the whole "power of positive thinking" deal (most Melancholies think that's too Polyanna.) But it's also important to realize that negativity can spiral out of control.

7. Create Time and Space to Process the Options. Actual quiet alone time is vital. Get away for a one day mini-retreat during which you turn off your cell phone, get out your journal and pad of paper, and process your research via writing. Make lists of pros and cons. Imagine the best case and worst case scenarios. Write a persuasive letter to yourself.

8. Ask for help. Go ahead -- pull out the dictionary: h-e-l-p. aide. assistance. succor. Succor's a great word! It means "timely help and relief in difficulty or distress." Change is difficult and distressing for you. Yes, we know you could do it all alone. But don't. You deserve to have friends help you; they deserve the opportunity to support you. (And yes, you do need to ask; they won't automatically know what you need, nor will they want to intrude. So ask!)

9. It's Time to Make a Decision. You've done your research, not as much as you'd like, but it's enough. Not because you feel like it is, but because it has to be. The time has come to make a choice. Bathe your process in prayer. And then "bless and release" the discarded options.

10. Move Forward. Don't throw your neck out of whack by looking back, wondering, "What if . . . ?" or wishing, "If only . . . !" By all means, continue to learn from the past. But second-guessing yourself consumes enormous amounts of time and energy that is better spent adjusting to your new situation.


Have you noticed a common thread, here? It's not by accident that half of these tips involve the word t-i-m-e! The Melancholy needs lots of time to go through the change process. That's why she hates, and even fears, change so much!


Soooo, what did I miss, leave out, or forget? (As a Sanguine, I know this list is far from complete!)

The Bridge That Miss Black Built

I suddenly realize that the older gentleman hanging around the front of the room is actually waiting to talk to me. ('til now, I've assumed he's part of the clean-up-the-room 'n' turn-out-the-lights crew -- my bad!)

My "Raising a Reader" presentation to this evening parent group has generated a lively question-and-answer session. But now, as we're all picking up our umbrellas to head to our cars, Richard steps forward and politely introduces himself.

"I have to tell you a story," he says. (Of course, he has me at "story"!)

"When I was in sixth grade, my teacher -- Miss Black -- read aloud to the whole class every day."

I nod and smile. "I miss those days; I loved reading to my seventh and eighth graders after recess when I had a self-contained classroom!"

Undeterred, Richard continues. "She read us Anne of Green Gables. Here I was, a poor kid in the middle of Idaho. I'd never gone anywhere. But I knew I had to visit Prince Edward Island some day!"

"When I met my wife, she'd never even heard of Anne! So I bought her all the books," he spreads his hands apart, "the entire set!"

His voice deepens and colors with emotion.

"Forty-five years, as we crossed the bridge to Prince Edward Island, I said, 'This is because of you, Miss Black!' Forty-five years later, I was there!"

His eyes twinkle. "I was eleven years old when I fell in love with Anne," he confesses with sheepish pride. He ducks his head to one side, "I think I'm still in love with Anne."

And with a shy wink, he walks away.

Climate Changes in Marriage

With all due respect to Gary Chapman, my husband and I had a great laugh at his description of summer: "with its openness, hope, and anticipation."

Clearly, Gary has never lived in Southern California during the months of June, July, and August. Or March, April, or May. Or September, October, or November.

I grew up in Southern California; "season" metaphors don't work for me. As a child, I experienced two seasons: unbearable heat and slightly less unbearable heat. I never actually witnessed "fall". I suspect it's nothing more than a rumor. And winter? Clearly a myth.

Daniel and I spent seventeen years slow cooking in the Crock Pot of Southern California. Then, three years ago, we were transplanted to the Monterey Bay.

The climate change has been miraculous. Instead of sweating all day and all night, the thermostat at 72 degrees (to keep the electricity bill at or below $400) we now enjoy 60-70 degree weather with occasional forays into the 50s. You should see our ecstasy as we frequently put on -- ahhhhh -- coats!

Another "climate change" has come with the move: a complete shift in our work atmosphere. Prior to the move, Daniel and I taught for fifteen years at the same school. We knew we had been struggling with some challenges, especially in the last few years. But it wasn't until we immediately started to thrive at our new school that we realized how bad things had become at the old school.

During our fifteen years in Southern California, we proudly told ourselves, "We're being loyal!" when the truth was that we were stagnating. Rotting. We'd been like the proverbial frog in the pot of water, unaware of the increasing temperature. We'd spent years insisting, "No, we're fine!" while simmering slowly 'til we were about to croak.

Unaware of how profoundly our work atmosphere was impacting us, we blamed our marriage struggles -- and we had many, as we are totally opposite Personalities! -- on each other. It was all his fault. It was all my fault.

Now we realize that many of our issues were due to a completely unsuitable climate for our marriage. Other marriages may have survived or even thrived; for us, the climate was toxic. We got out just in time.

Daniel and I will celebrate twenty-one years of marriage on 9/11 this year. Through those years, I've purchased and read just about every Christian book written on marriage. They all taught me to take personal responsibility, to change nobody and nothing but myself.

But I as I frantically worked to improve myself -- see through blue glasses with boundaries, speak tough love languages, adjust her Personality needs to meet his crazy good needs, ignite the gift of waffles instead of spaghetti, perform red hot sheet music -- I did not recognize the devastating toll that the external climate surrounding us was taking on our marriage.

Instead, I thought that no matter how hard I tried, I was a failure.

After leaving behind The Endless Summer of Our Discontent (apologies to Steinbeck!) I discovered that I'm not a failure. In a better climate, I'm a better wife! In a better climate, Daniel is a better husband! We have a reviving marriage that is finally growing to its potential. The climate change has been miraculous.

How has the external atmosphere impacted your relationship? What is the optimal climate for your marriage? Are you living there, or does your marriage need to "move" (literally or figuratively!)

The "Joy" of Parenting in the Friendly Skies

Oh no, I groan inwardly as I slide into my seat on the crowded Southwest Airlines plane. The only remaining isle seat is not just at the very back of the plane. It's also next to a woman sitting next to her preschool son.

Her loud preschool son.

This is going to be the longest hour-and-twenty-minutes of my life, I gloomily predict.

I am wrong.

As time literally flies by, I am first amazed, then awed, and finally deeply moved by the vibrant relationship I witness beside me.

After we land, I wrack my brain for a way to tell this young mother what an amazing job she's doing. The best I can think of is, "You're a great mom!" which I keep to myself because it seems so cheesy. Not until I'm in the shuttle, heading to my car, does it hit me. I wish I'd said,

"Ma'am, I know you don't know me, but on behalf of your son's future teachers, I want to say, 'Thank You!' for what an amazing mother you are to him. He is so blessed to have you as his mom!"

Now I've spent plenty of time in airports and plans, but never before have I had such an urge to compliment a parent. Most of the time, in fact, it's just the opposite. I sympathize but am ultimately annoyed by all the whining, demanding, and yelling (...and their kids' behavior is even worse!)

What impresses me so much about Patrick's mom?

1. She listens to every word he says and reflects back his key concepts to demonstrate that she's truly heard him.

"The red crabs, they hated me. But the blue crabs, they loved me!"

"So red crabs don't like you but blue ones do."

"Yeah."


2. She doesn't answer his (hundreds of!) questions immediately; rather, she encourages him to spend time thinking for himself.

"Patrick, you have to keep the tray table up. They just told us, and we have to follow the rule."

"Why do we have to keep it up?"

"That's a great question. Why do you think we need to keep it up?"


3. She predicts a positive outcome.

"I'm going to tell Daddy how cooperative and helpful you were on this flight."

(As we land, to the woman in front of us:)

"My Mama is going to tell my Daddy how cooperative and helpful I was!"


I think what inspires me the most is how this mom demonstrates such respect for her little guy (who, I am informed – at full volume – is a "big boy" who will turn five in July!) And she so clearly enjoys him (evidenced by plenty of chuckles and outright laughter, in spite of her evident fatigue.)

One thing I've learned in more than eighteen years of parenting is that being able to enjoy my kids is one of the greatest, well, joys of parenting!

(And if you happen to know Patrick's mom – who was on the 5:50 PM Southwest flight from Las Vegas to San Jose on Wednesday, April 29 – please tell her that someone thinks she's a great mom! I think Patrick is an amazing kid. But he owes a lot of that to an awesome mom!)