Guest Post: The Pusher

I have a very special treat for you today, my friends! Today my friend, Kelly, is taking over my blog. She is amazing person and you can read more from her at her blog, The Miller Mix. She is a great mom to two kids and has a husband from Tennessee that she calls "Mountain Man". She has been such an inspiration to me and even though we've never met in person, I consider her a very good friend. Her children certainly keep her on her toes and you'll meet one of them today. The other is an incredible young man named Javi. So, without further ado...

The Pusher

Three. My favorite number. A fun playful number without any corners or straight lines to hold you back. A spiritual number that represents the Holy Trinity and the phases of the moon. Three. Bad karma comes back triple fold. Bad things come in threes. Fate is a three-person unit.

The number three holds tremendous power. And on April 3, that's the age my daughter turned. My daughter -- who goes by the nickname Meanie Weenie when she's being her normal self and by Evirella when she's having a particularly spirited day -- is Three in every sense of the number. Good and bad. Spiritual and creepy. Three years old and ate up with it.

Therefore, I should not be surprised that she has begun to push -- no, strain -- against the boundaries we've set for her. I tell her she cannot go outside and she marches over and slaps her hand down on the door knob. I tell her she must finish her meal and she uses one chubby toddler finger to push her plate inches away. I tell her she must stay with us in public and she sidesteps just out of reach. I ask her to stop touching the public library computer's mouse and she clicks like mad until I am inches away from her hand.

Pushing. Straining. Testing. Waiting for something to break.

I suppose this is a battle of wills. If I allow her the tiny increments she's taking, look away for even a second from her big daring eyes, or slouch even slightly under the weight of so many small tests, I know without a doubt that her slow, deliberate movements will unfurl into the white-hot defiance that will leave me out of breath and struggling for control.

And so I remain aware that this is Three talking and pushing and daring. This is Three with her hand on the rope I've told her she can't climb over and her foot inching slowly toward the rocks I've told her she cannot walk on. This is Three with eyes that dart and sparkle and wonder, How far could I go before she caught me?

She's a pusher. As her mother, my job is to absorb that pressure without breaking. Here's hoping I have half the determination and perseverance she does.