What if he breaks his neck in that giant pile of leaves?! In my quest to write for children, I ask a lot of whimsical what-ifs.
What if your dog changed his name?
What if good manners could drive a teacher crazy?
What if a leprechaun didn’t care for gold?
What if shoes could talk?
These whimsical what-ifs are a nice break from my usual parenthood what-ifs, which are often riddled with ridiculousness and are not nearly as much fun. Ask my husband, an extremely rational being who often hears me ponder them out loud and rarely offers a response. He has a face reserved just for these questions. I’m sure you can picture it.
What if the one of the kids gets hurt playing X or doing Y or sitting next to Z?
What if we don’t choose the right kindergarten?
What if we allow too much screen time?
What if the oldest never eats anything other than Nutella sandwiches and Goldfish crackers?
What if the youngest NEVER gets potty trained?
What if I forgot to brush their teeth?
I’m a planner and a worrier. I like to know.
When you write for a living, you don’t often get to know. You just have to make a decision, do something, and see what happens next. The same is true of parenthood (with, of course, appropriate caution and safety. I’m not that crazy, you know). It took me awhile to figure this out. I’m still figuring it out.
And so, my parenthood what-ifs clash with my whimsical what-ifs until it looks something like this:
What if an elephant wore red suspenders? Hmmm… I like that. He’s a firefighter fully equipped with a built-in fire hose. He’d need the suspenders to hold up his fire pants because his big elephant belly keeps pushing them down… Wait. Did I wash the oldest’s only pair of pants that doesn’t fit like capris and has hole-free knees? Is tomorrow show-and-tell day? What if he doesn’t have pants for show-and-tell day? What if it’s cold? What if he doesn’t have pants and we forget show-and-tell?
That poor firefighter elephant is toast.
I’m slowly (and I mean slooooooooowly) realizing that if I don’t let go of the litany of little parenthood what-ifs, the imaginative what-ifs will forever be sidelined.
Here’s what I’ve figured out:
What if the one of the kids gets hurt playing X or doing Y or sitting next to Z?
They will get hurt. Probably on a daily basis. And they will be fine.
What if your dog changed his name?
What if good manners could drive a teacher crazy?
What if a leprechaun didn’t care for gold?
What if shoes could talk?
These whimsical what-ifs are a nice break from my usual parenthood what-ifs, which are often riddled with ridiculousness and are not nearly as much fun. Ask my husband, an extremely rational being who often hears me ponder them out loud and rarely offers a response. He has a face reserved just for these questions. I’m sure you can picture it.
What if the one of the kids gets hurt playing X or doing Y or sitting next to Z?
What if we don’t choose the right kindergarten?
What if we allow too much screen time?
What if the oldest never eats anything other than Nutella sandwiches and Goldfish crackers?
What if the youngest NEVER gets potty trained?
What if I forgot to brush their teeth?
I’m a planner and a worrier. I like to know.
When you write for a living, you don’t often get to know. You just have to make a decision, do something, and see what happens next. The same is true of parenthood (with, of course, appropriate caution and safety. I’m not that crazy, you know). It took me awhile to figure this out. I’m still figuring it out.
And so, my parenthood what-ifs clash with my whimsical what-ifs until it looks something like this:
What if an elephant wore red suspenders? Hmmm… I like that. He’s a firefighter fully equipped with a built-in fire hose. He’d need the suspenders to hold up his fire pants because his big elephant belly keeps pushing them down… Wait. Did I wash the oldest’s only pair of pants that doesn’t fit like capris and has hole-free knees? Is tomorrow show-and-tell day? What if he doesn’t have pants for show-and-tell day? What if it’s cold? What if he doesn’t have pants and we forget show-and-tell?
That poor firefighter elephant is toast.
I’m slowly (and I mean slooooooooowly) realizing that if I don’t let go of the litany of little parenthood what-ifs, the imaginative what-ifs will forever be sidelined.
Here’s what I’ve figured out:
What if the one of the kids gets hurt playing X or doing Y or sitting next to Z?
They will get hurt. Probably on a daily basis. And they will be fine.
He totally hits her. In the face. She is fine.
What if we don’t choose the right kindergarten?
We will figure it out. And it will be fine.
What if we allow too much screen time?
We likely do (according to what I read these days, anyway). But we also read a lot of books and do a lot of playing and talking and imagining. And they will be fine.
What if the oldest never eats anything other than Nutella sandwiches and Goldfish crackers?
He will (even if it’s only fruit and Ritz crackers). And he will be fine.
What if the youngest NEVER gets potty trained?
She will (even if she takes us and the washing machine down in the process). And she will be fine.
What if I forgot to brush their teeth?
I did. Just once (okay, maybe twice). And they will be fine.
If I remind myself that they will be fine – the thing my reasonable, rational spouse tells me with his designated what-if face day in and day out – then I can take a deep breath and let the fantasy fly.
Because one way or another, it will all be fine. The dinner will get eaten or it won’t. The pants will be washed or they won’t. The story will get written today or it won’t.
I need to practice it will be fine so I can teach my kids to practice it will be fine. As a mother and a writer, I need the whimsical what-ifs to win out. As a mother I want to enjoy the little moments rather than waste them worrying. As a writer I want to enjoy the process and not worry so much about what’s down the road.
What if nobody likes this story?
What if I can’t figure out the ending?
What if my manuscript never gets published?
They might, they might not.
I might, I might not.
It might, it might not.
But I’ll keep trying. It will all be fine.
Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and focusing on the right what-ifs.
We will figure it out. And it will be fine.
What if we allow too much screen time?
We likely do (according to what I read these days, anyway). But we also read a lot of books and do a lot of playing and talking and imagining. And they will be fine.
What if the oldest never eats anything other than Nutella sandwiches and Goldfish crackers?
He will (even if it’s only fruit and Ritz crackers). And he will be fine.
What if the youngest NEVER gets potty trained?
She will (even if she takes us and the washing machine down in the process). And she will be fine.
What if I forgot to brush their teeth?
I did. Just once (okay, maybe twice). And they will be fine.
If I remind myself that they will be fine – the thing my reasonable, rational spouse tells me with his designated what-if face day in and day out – then I can take a deep breath and let the fantasy fly.
Because one way or another, it will all be fine. The dinner will get eaten or it won’t. The pants will be washed or they won’t. The story will get written today or it won’t.
I need to practice it will be fine so I can teach my kids to practice it will be fine. As a mother and a writer, I need the whimsical what-ifs to win out. As a mother I want to enjoy the little moments rather than waste them worrying. As a writer I want to enjoy the process and not worry so much about what’s down the road.
What if nobody likes this story?
What if I can’t figure out the ending?
What if my manuscript never gets published?
They might, they might not.
I might, I might not.
It might, it might not.
But I’ll keep trying. It will all be fine.
Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and focusing on the right what-ifs.
They can't possibly get lost in this corn maze. Right?
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