Aj Schwanz

During these past 27 trips around the sun Iíve gotten to partake of a number of roles on the spinning ball of earth. Iíve been a daughter, a wife, a student, a coffee maker, a librarian (almost), an assistant, a ropes course instructor, an elevator-operator girl. But the most recent role Iíve engaged in, the role that has perhaps stretched me the most and continues to day-by-day, moment-by-moment . . . is that of a mother.

For ten months Iíve had the pleasure (and sometimes pain) of entangling my life with that of a rapidly changing, oftentimes illogical, completely self-centered, full of wonders and feelings and poop and delights Little Person. Lifeís a precarious balance of meeting his needs while not neglecting mine: respecting him as a person but giving him limits and freedoms; recognizing that while he came from me, he is not me - he is his own person, and my privilege is to walk alongside him and equip him to encounter this great wide world.

With the arrival of the Little Man pictured above, I joined the ranks of countless others who have engaged in the art and skill of parenting, which is just a tricky way of saying that I learned that the world no longer revolves around me ñ it revolves around him. Iíve heard it said that Christ talks about dying to self (I donít think He come right out and says it - thatíd be a way to kill a movement in five seconds flat. When talking about things that make us squirm, he seemed to think it best to paint a picture, tell a story, so that people could sit and reflect. And then when Heí was safely up in heaven, it hit them: ìWait a minute . . . he didnít *really* mean . . . ?). Ií thought I understood that concept; but, nothing hammers it home like attempting to parent.

In the picture Judahís being assaulted by my favorite coffee mug. Actually, he tore the empty mug from my hands and started rolling around with it - quite a feat since itís about the size of his noggin. If you know me well, you know that this mug is sacred: itís a gift from my beloved brother, and it is to be used only by me. While I can convey the importance of not touching the mug to logical creatures, the Little Man could care less: if Ma has it, I must have it, for we are the same being.

For a while it turned into a grand game: Judah sneaking up on the mug while my back was turned, throwing it on the floor with a grand ìthunkî, and rubbing his drool-dripping mouth all over it. Then came his favorite part: my reaction. Weíd wrestle, heíd grab, Iíd grab and tell him to knock it off. Iíd place it back on the table, and the game would begin again. Somehow he didnít grasp that it was mine: hands off!

No matter how desperately I want him to realize the sanctity of leaving another personís stuff alone if they politely ask and itís not an emergency (for instance, if there was a small fire, Iíd be perfectly fine with the borrowing of the mug: virtuous uses of the mug are acceptable), itís not going to happen. He is all about him self - his world - his experience - him. Not to mention, he doesnít even recognize that Iím a separate person: to him, I could be just another play thing. And how silly is it for one play thing to not want you to use another play thing? Toys, the world is full of his toys.

So I had to have a talk with my self. ìTalullah,î I said (I think my self should be called Talullah - itís easier to talk to your self when a name is involved. Otherwise, you just sound crazy). ìIt ainít gonna happen. You gotta just let it go.îî I realized that I couldnít argue with Judah, I couldnít use logic. Either my son could take the mug and I could get pissy, or my son could take the mug and I could let it go - the only factor I had the power to change (besides always drinking upstairs where Judah canít get me, although he does enjoy picketing at the bottom of the blocked-off stairs) was myself. I had to let some things go, to die . . . you might say.

Itís a baby step: just as Judah learns to take baby steps walking around the apartment, Iím learning to take baby steps in releasing my self-centered world, in learning what parenting entails, in living as a child of God. Each day is, in the famous words of Bob Wiley, ìbaby steps to four oíclock. Baby steps to four oíclock.î And so I post a picture in a reminder of the little steps Iím taking in becoming less self-centered and more Christ-centered.

Now when Judah attempts to bond with my laptop . . . well, boundaries have to be drawn *somewhere*, yes?