A Mile in My Shoes

A few years ago, when I was less-than-thrilled with my job, I decided I would create a reality TV show that would be my ticket out of here. I researched the right way to create and package a pilot, registered my idea with the Writer's Guild and sent out my concept paper to several different markets.

Guess what? It wasn't picked up. Shocking, right?

But I still contend the concept was good. The show would be titled, "A Mile In My Shoes" and would allow people who admit to having formed candid, perhaps even controversial, opinions of complete strangers an opportunity to experience that strangers life. They'd live in their house, interact with their friends, family and co-workers and perhaps even get a glimpse of what it feels like to be judged as that person. It's a social experiment on perception versus reality. Are they the same or are they vastly different?

Though it didn't make me millions, the concept of walking in another person's shoes is one I struggle with often - even in my role as mom.

Our morning started off wonderfully. Both kids woke up in good, silly moods. Lindsey decided today was the day she would pee in the potty for the first time ever (she was completely unphased by our excitement), the kids got dressed without incident, asked to dance to music and ate their breakfasts nicely.

As I puttered around getting ready to leave, I saw Lindsey take off her shoes and socks (it drives me B A N A N A S when she does that in the morning - and she thinks it's hilarious). But instead of taking them off for pure amusement, homegirl decided she was going to slip into my heels.

They suit her well - and she totally shuffled through the house without so much as a stumble.

Yep. This morning was wonderful.

Until Ryan wanted in on the action and fighting ensued, which lead to a fall, which lead to a bump on the head, more crying and screaming and more fighting over ice packs, which lead to clingy babies and "mommy" being stuck on repeat. All while I still had to make breakfast, pack a lunch, tidy up the kitchen, pour my coffee and get out the door. Oh - and part of the earlier, blissful morning included Nate and I sleeping in a little later than usual, which meant I was already vastly behind schedule.

So I lost it. I yelled - loudly - and almost started crying in shear frustration. The kids were stunned into silence. We eventually made it to daycare in one piece. I dropped them off, kissed their foreheads and waved goodbye before having a breakdown in the car.

They're kids. Kids cry and fight and whine and get clingy sometimes. They beg for attention, even when you're staring straight at them.

And maybe, just maybe, they have intuition. Maybe that whole act of putting on my shoes this morning, strutting through the house, was Lindsey's way of foreshadowing the chaos that was about to unfold. Maybe she was telling me, "Get ready, mom. Things are going to get ugly. But we're kids. We do silly, unexplainable things and have irrational reactions. Walk a mile in my shoes. Remember what it was like to be young, silly and irrational. And don't stress - this too shall pass."

My concept didn't make millions and I still forget, on occassion, to see things from another's perspective. But luckily I have two kids who will spend the next several decades reminding me to walk a mile in their shoes, to judge less, think more, react slower.