I let my 4-year-old call the shots for a day. It turned out to be our best day ever.
Courtesy of Sarah DiMuro
- Frustrated with me always deciding what to do, my toddler asked to make decisions for a day.
- He chose to make his grandmother's favorite recipe for breakfast and chose blue nail polish for me.
- It was the best day ever, for both of us.
"Just five more minutes," my 4-year-old son pleaded as I closed the "Paw Patrol" anthology I'd been reading to him. Three times through "Ready, Race, Rescue!" I was done. It was almost an hour past bedtime, and while I was excited he loved storytime, this was definitely pushing my limits. "Nope, that's it." He rolled his eyes and growled, "You always get to decide everything."
"Yup, I make the decisions. It's one of the many perks of being a mom."
"Well, I want to make the dee-shi-shons," he said. I was eager to end this debate and get to the unfolded laundry and aimless social-media scrolling.
"OK, I tell you what, if you go to bed right now, I will let you choose our meals and activities for tomorrow, deal?"
"Oh yeah! Deal!" he said with a wide toothy grin, grabbing his blanket and preparing to commence sleep. I was confident there was no way he would remember our conversation. Ten minutes later, he was snoring like a little old man and I was excited to enjoy my cup of green tea and check the latest on TMZ.
I let him make all the decisions for our day
The next morning, I heard the patter of little feet on the wooden floors running toward our bedroom.
"Mama, Mama, Mama! I get to make the dee-shi-shons! Best day ever! Best day ever!" I was too tired to resist, replying, "OK, but some rules. No chocolate or ice cream for breakfast or any other meal," pulling the covers over my head to get a few more minutes of pseudo-peace before the chaos.
"I want to make crêpes like the ones Baba used to make," he announced.
His grandma had passed away a little over a year prior and had brought that sweet treat into our lives on a regular basis. The last thing I wanted to do was to get up and attempt a recipe, especially before coffee. But I had made a promise to my towheaded toddler, so off to the kitchen we went. We enlisted my husband's help because he was more familiar with his mother's delicious dessert.
My son stood on his little step stool, carefully adding all the ingredients to the bowl, both of his hands clutching the blender as flour escaped in puffs. The crêpes tasted a bit like thick clay pancakes, but we had fun remembering Baba and how she would dance around the kitchen as she retrieved each ingredient.
He came with me to my nail appointment
"Alright, I need to get to my nail appointment." This was my monthly ritual that I had established so I would stop picking at my hands.
My son joined me. Just as I was about to select a hue from my staple pink palette, he asked, "Mama, can I pick?"
"Um…" I always chose a pinkish color, but it was his day. "Sure."
He reviewed the nail-color wheel and stopped on a glittery electric blue. "This one, Mama."
I walked out of the nail salon happier with my manicure than I had been in months.
Courtesy of Sarah DiMuro
On our way home, my son yelled out, "Mama, stop. I want to go to that playground. Stop! Stop!" There's a playground there? How had I never noticed it before?
I rolled up my pants as we cooled off by walking through the park's concrete wading pool. A few minutes later, a familiar face joined us: one of my son's pre-K classmates and her family. I spent the next hour talking to one of the coolest moms I have ever met as our kids ran around the park.
By the time we arrived back home, my son was passed out in his car seat. I looked down and admired my sparkly fingernails as they rested on the steering wheel. He was right, this was best day ever.