Screw You, Coyote...

So, some of you remember my Facebook post earlier this week when I had a coyote cross my path. In Native American lore, that means that I am about to learn an important life lesson but in a "trickster" way. There is no English word that translates this correctly, but essentially think of sarcastic, ironic jerk who teaches you something useful. I've only gotten coyote in readings or in dreams, never as a live animal crossing my path, so I wasn't looking forward to this lesson.

The beautiful jerk totem

Shortly after, I found out that a friend of mine had been in an accident and was in critical condition (not the lesson). But it got me thinking about mortality and how I could leave my kids any day and no longer be here for them. What do I want to leave them with? Then I had the most busy, stressful week at work, with Wilson also being sick and cranky, getting up frequently at night. Yesterday, even though he is better now, I had to leave him at preschool freaking out, screaming, grabbing for me and sobbing. The last two days he has gotten up twice each night and has been equally irritable and cranky. This morning at 5 a.m., we had to literally take him out in the car (so he wouldn't wake up his brother) because he wouldn't stop screaming and losing his mind for no reason (that we could see or he could say). Needless to say, I was not looking forward to taking him to school this morning, since he already told me in the whiniest voice possible "I don't wanna go to school".

Wilson yesterday at Preschool

As I was driving him to school this morning, I saw that I had a long silent call from my friend who was in the accident (who is in a coma so he couldn't have called me). It was just completely silent for 2 minutes, so I assume it was an accidental call from his roommate who has his phone. But it got me thinking again - and I realized I don't want to leave Wilson with the frustration and sadness that we both feel in many situations where he is struggling to transition. I hate it, he hates it, but I got so busy with needing to get to work, that I didn't see any other possibility. And all of a sudden it hit me...We can't control that we have to go to work and he has to go to school. I could teach him my existential way of thinking - you can't control what you need to do/ what happens to you, but you can control how you react, how you respond.

 

An important point...

So after we parked, I opened Wilson's door and lowered my face to his. "Are you listening to me?" "Yes," he said, looking at me seriously. "You have to go to school and I have to go to work. There's nothing we can do about that. But, we can either have fun while we do it OR we can be miserable and angry. What do you want to do?" He said, "I like to be angry." I sighed; oh yes, I know. "Well, we could do fun things, like skip to the door or pretend to be trucks. Or we could be mad. Which one sounds better?" He eagerly said, "I want to have fun." I smiled and said, "Let's say this together: I choose fun!" He smiled and said with me, "I choose fun!" 

My new mantra

So we skipped to the door; To be frank it was kind of a hop for me, I'm a little out of practice. We made loud beeping noises as I tapped the numbers on the keypad. I held him upside down in the lobby and we laughed as his hat fell off. He pressed the keys on the computer and after each correct number, I kissed his finger. Then we gave each other high fives. Then we pretended to be trucks on the way to the classroom; I was the tow truck and he was the broken car. Then we sat down at the table for his breakfast and made a new high-five handshake, which Wilson named the "truckie truck"; it was essentially a fist bump that we "vroomed" and then crashed. Astonishingly, this was the quickest and easiest transition he had made in weeks. He was giggling and gave me a kiss and said incredibly casually, "Bye, mommy," as I stood up.

 

The teachers told Wilson how proud they were of him and looked at me astonished. 'Had I drugged him?', said the look on their face. I laughed; I said, "We had a conversation this morning about how we had to go to school and work, but we could either have fun while we do it or be miserable. We choose fun." The teacher smiled, looked at me intently and said, "What an important life lesson!"

Screw You, Coyote! And Thank you.