I was standing in line to return some purchases. I had little Ladybug wrapped up in a sling on my chest, Tudders in the cart, and Little Mister walking next to me because he promised  that he’d keep a hold of the side of the cart.

You know the line to return items? The one that is 10 people, plus their carts, long? The one that is roped off by the retractable ribbons, and squeezed next to the Western Union self-service desk? The one that moves so incredibly slow that even I, as an adult, am tempted – and have been known – to play with the aforementioned ribbons? You know, that line? I found myself in it, for much too long this morning.

My sweet children were really just being children. Little Mister spotted an m&m on the floor, in the corner surrounded by friendly dust bunnies and tried several times to stretch himself to reach it while still holding the cart. When that didn’t work he would show me how fast he could run “and be right back!” He was being encouraged and cheered on by a brother who was hoping the m&m was for him. When Tudders became bored of the efforts to secure the lone m&m he amused himself with the retractable ribbon. Did you know that you can pull that ribbon into a cart without the stanchion tipping over? Did you also know when you let go and they snap back into place that stanchion is much less sturdy?

Tudders repeatedly stood up in the cart, leaned over the side of the cart, took forms off the Western Union desk, and pulled on the ribbons. Mister was all on all sides of the cart and on the bottom rack too. He roamed (close to “home”) and peppered me with questions about why he couldn’t have the m&m, what were those things that were so colorful (lighters in an aisle across the way), when were we going to get a dog? a cat? a turtle? really any pet? I became a broken record of “sit down”, “come back”, “stay here”, “hold on”, “I don’t know”, “not today”, and “maybe never”.

I could hear myself, over and over, repeating the same request, answering the same questions, giving the same direction. I could hear my patience wane. I heard the weariness from the moment and from the day. I was seeing my children getting antsy, feeling the frustration rise, and then hearing myself again, in the forced I’m-barely-keeping-it-together-but-I’m-not-going-to-yell tone, respond to whatever the question or behavior was at the moment.

But that wasn’t all I could hear.

I heard the judgement of my mothering. I heard the criticism of not following through with my warnings and discipline. I heard the impatience with my sweet curious children who were trying their best to occupy their free minds and hands. I heard the irritation of being stuck behind “that customer”. I heard the frustration of all the customers around me.

But I didn’t hear it from them.

I heard it from me.

I was making the judgements. I was critical of my parenting approach. I was mocking my own responses to my children. I was inventing the impatience of others, their irritation with my family, their frustration with our presence.

Looking back on the several minutes in line I don’t remember one look, one smirk, one comment (directly or muttered under a breath). We were all stuck in a line. We were all experiencing some level of irritation with the situation, not with each other. In fact I may remember a few smiles of reassurance and enjoyment at the innocent curiosity of my children.

I realized I needed to have a little heart to heart with myself. I needed to sit myself down and carve out what kinds of responses I was going to allow in my presence. I would not allow someone to continually talk to me the way I talk to myself. I would not allow someone to stay in my life who continually criticised, belittled, second-guessed, and expressed their irritation with me or my family. I would limit or end my interaction completely. But for some reason I give myself permission to continue.

It is not ok. It has to stop.

As I look back on those 20 (maybe 30, felt like 60 or 90!) minutes in line I can see where there could be improvement in my behavior. But I want to work on my perception of the experience. I want to work on loving the moment. Embracing the curiousity. Enjoying the little voices, the little hands, the smiles and giggles.

Looking at the time in line again, luckily I can recall a few things I want to burn into my memory. Firstly, Little Mister and Tudders were the best of buddies, discussing and planning the future of the m&m. They were excited to share the single piece of candy, they wanted to be sure they each got a bite. Mister was really good about staying close to the cart. Just like he said he would. And he was friendly to anyone who would make eye contact. He’d introduce himself, ask the other person’s name and then call their attention to the elusive m&m. Tudders was so pleased to learn about automatic retraction. His eyes lit up every time he let the ribbon go and the smile that broke out was hard to ignore. He was excited to reach and wanted to help fill out the papers for a money transfer we weren’t making. He encouraged Mister in his endeavors and so wanted to join him. Ladybug was quiet and content, as long as I was bouncing, and I was happy to have her near me, quietly observing all that was happening. Really the whole experience could have been much, much worse, and I know, because it has been. But today it wasn’t.

I’m learning about the freedom that comes with embracing your child’s curiosity. It gives your little one such joy and excitement, but it also give you an opportunity to direct, guide and influence their exploration. When I smother the wonder I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle – because I probably am. When I embrace it I get to hear, see, experience, and enjoy the discovery of something for the first time through the eyes of a child. I’m also there to answer questions, guide conversations, and direct the next step – which can really be a benefit when there may be a natural step that you don’t want your child to take just yet. Children will be curious, in all different levels and intensities. The more you can allow it, embrace it, direct it and influence it, the better the experience for all!

Being a mother of young, curious, social, busy children can bring a lot of insecurities, doubt, and criticism. I’m trying to curb what I contribute to these debilitating feelings so I can enjoy the smiles, giggles, and snuggles. I want to be a part of the new experiences, new understanding, and new ideas. I don’t want to worry about the real or imagined criticism. I want to be able to join forces with the masterminds eyeing the m&m.

Image: When the Sun Went Down, Gideon Wright at flickr.com; Some rights reserved, see license for more information; Any text or size editing has been done by averagejosie.com. Use of this image does not indicate the artist has any affiliation with or participates in the promotion of this site or its contents.