Apparently, my kids decided to try this today. The problem is that it looked more like this . . .

Now, change the pink to white, and switch out the play truck for a full sized light pickup truck. The picture goes from cute to scary, right?

The honest husband of mine filled me in on the details of their joyride, and I am a bit surprised I didn't fly off the handle.

There is a tiny part of me that is relieved this all happened on the husband's watch. I know, that sounds terrible, but don't worry, I'm not gloating. I am, quite frankly, fighting the urge to fall into an incontrollable fit of laughter. It's one of my body's responses to severely stressful scenarios out of my control (like earthquakes and such).

I am also resisting the urge to torture myself with every possible scenario that could have resulted from the shortlived adventure. Admittedly, I am also forcing myself to resist my tendency to self-blame. "If I had been here, that never would have happened. If I didn't encourage them to be so free spirited and curious all the time, they'd be more careful and cautious." I can punish myself for days on end if I allow myself to slip into old habits.

Instead, I'm taking this as an opportunity to show the husband some gentle compassion for the things that are out of our control. Accidents happen. Yes, there are measures and precautions that could have prevented this, and yes, I understand we were lucky this time. The outcome could have been catastrophic . . . but it wasn't.

Aside from some minor damage to the truck, the girls came away unscathed. No doubt they had quite a scare, and I'm sure my soon-to-be 8 year old will be less thrilled by the idea of taking her sisters for a joyride in daddy's truck (or any "real" car for that matter).

Tonight, instead of channeling my residual fear into anger, I'll choose love --even if it sounds cornier than corn. Instead of projecting that fear into aggression, I will redirect and reside in that place of appreciation, honoring all three of my girls as the miracles they are. Instead of torturing myself with a reel of crazy outcomes that could have been and imagining the intense panic and fear they must have felt, I'll stare at them in their sleep (like a weirdo) in awe of who they are in this moment. I'll breathe and let it go, granting myself the freedom to chuckle at the story this will evolve into, and I'll imagine us years from now, being those embarassing parents teasing her about her first "fender bender." 

The universe has a way of using our most ordinary and mundane routines to send us messages. Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we catch, absorb, and manage to use those messages to help get ourselves through the insurmountable.

For me, those messages often come by way of books (proud nerd mama moment), television (no shame in that!), or social media (yes, of course I have an entire pinboard of inspirational quotes! I really do.). Sometimes those messages speak to me instantly, other times they take a while to sink in, and still there are those moments of extreme depth when those messages stay with us and resurface from time to time.

Tatiana is almost five now, and I have to admit that there is a part of me that is still holding my breath, waiting, watching, maybe even withholding, and yes, afraid. I don’t think I’m alone. Having met other VATER/EATEF moms, I can tell they’re waiting to exhale in their own way too.

Maybe it’s the visual reminder every time we dress our children or help them bathe – those battle scars that you can’t help but fixate on every once in awhile, wondering how you will respond when and if your child ever asks you about them. Those scars that seem so minimal when we force ourselves to look back at the pictures of our babies in the thick of their journeys.

But then, they redirect our thoughts with the sparkle in their eyes, because these babies hold a special magic that is inexplicable yet easily felt. With that twinkle in her eyes as she dances in her skivvies, I hearken back to a quote that grabbed me and pulled me through some of the most difficult moments earlier on:

"These are the tiny humans. These are children. They believe in magic. They play pretend. There is fairy dust in their IV bags. They hope, and they cross their fingers, and they make wishes, and that makes them more resilient than adults. They recover faster, survive worse. They believe." Arizona Robins, Grey's Anatomy: Invest In Love, Season 6, Episode 8

For those mommas who are in the thick of their own journeys, the quote goes on to say “In Peds, we have miracles and magic. In Peds, anything is possible." And indeed it is. Nearly five years later, I’ve witnessed so many triumphs accomplished by this little person and even though I fear the silly things on a heightened scale –like her first day of kinder, for instance– her magic and sparkle is enough to carry me through.

We registered our EA/TEF baby for kindergarten yesterday! I am both excited and nervous about this milestone. I'm sure that I'm feeling a swirl of emotions most moms can relate too, but for my middle child, this represents a huge shift. A little more jarring than my first borns' first day of kinder. Just a tad.

I've joked about going to school with her the entire first week. Truth be told, I'm more serious about that than I thought! I caught myself putting childcare plans in place for my "baby" (who is two by the way, but will forever be referred to as "the baby").

Sure, Tatiana has been in childcare and has been in a half-day preschool program leading up to this. Then again, those were super small environments where I was able to "fully brief" the staff on her history, needs, and quirks, being careful not to freak them out too much, while giving them enough to keep myself from freaking out a whole lot!

In case you're wondering, I printed a ten page attachment for her kinder registration. Then, I came to my senses, and I remembered a link I had come across with a handy dandy caregiver's guide (two pages and here is the link: http://www.eatef.org/node/4).

I have a few months left before the big day to freak myself out some more and maybe make some peace with my tendency to worry til the cows come home. It's only March, after all, and her first day of kinder won't be til the end of August. I still have an entire summer of fun-filled mommy adventures to distract me! For now, I'll keep reminding myself to live in the moment, cherishing the laughter, the shenanigans, and the tantrums - oh the tantrums!