The past six weeks I have been consciously trying to give myself permission....permission to use paper plates so I don't have as many dishes to clean up despite living in the land of "trash-free-Tuesday," permission to not feel guilty when a few days go by without a workout, permission to cuddle my baby instead of fold laundry, permission to be tired, permission to...
One of the many tools to help us cope with the things this life brings our way is to tell ourselves the truth so we can then face whatever that truth is and deal with it head on. It's funny that at least some of us have to first give ourselves permission to tell ourselves these truths. I know you probably aren't checking out this post for input from a wannabe psychologist, so I'll leave you with a few quotes and a poem (pertinent if you have little kiddos). Today take the time to give yourself permission...to feel something you are scared of or don't have time for, to do something you've been keeping on the back burner, to be the person you want to be but haven't yet become!
"Give yourself permission to enjoy life: it's unlikely anyone else will do so." Colin Wright
"Give yourself permission to dream." Randy Pausch
"Give yourself full permission to be beautifully imperfect." Michelle May, M.D.
My mom frequently reminds me of the final verse of the poem below. These past six weeks have flown by overwhelmingly quickly as I know the next 18 years will, so without my house becoming a complete disaster, I try to take these words to heart.
"Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.
The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
- Ruth Hulbert Hamilton
The last stanza adapted for today (ironic because as I was looking for the above poem, I found this version on Pinterest):
"Oh Pinterest & Facebook will wait till tomorrow,
but children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cell phone, laptop go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."