Breathe In. Breathe Out. Repeat.

When my Kids were little, I heard my brilliant sister say these words to a starting-to-melt-down toddler (hers, not mine) : “You don’t have to worry about that. Just worry about breathing in and out. That’s your job right now.”

And I went, “Huh? You can say that to a kid?” And then I hugged my brilliant sister, decided to be exactly like her (this lasted about seven seconds until I lost my cool, imagine that), and tattooed these words in my soul (my soul is full of tattoos — my skin? not at all)

“Just breathe. That’s all you need to do right now.”

And I used those borrowed (stolen) words for years. I used them a whole lot on Kid 4, who had this tendency to hold his breath after hitting his (admittedly way too big) head, which would cause him to pass out for minutes at a time. “Breathe, Kid.” I would say. “Just breathe in and out.” And I’d hold his little self while he went limp and bluish around the mouth. 

I admit that occasionally I’ve used them on other people’s children. Nicely, of course, and simply to remind those kids that they didn’t need to get completely worked up about whatever was The Big Trouble of the moment — keep on breathing and I’ll handle the issue.

Then we moved out of the toddler years, and I said those words very seldom. Hmm. Interesting to me that they needed to hear them less and less as they grew into people who could manage things. (Strangely, I told myself those words ALL THE TIME. Still do.)

But do you know what happens these days? I find myself saying variations of those same words, out loud, on an almost daily basis. My Kids are Big Kids now — only one is in single digits, and not for long. But my Big Kids tend to hyperventilate with the looming list of Must Dos. Especially Kid 1, as she has some Real Life Decisions to make coming right up here.

“Which universities should I apply to? Look at all these mailers. Sacks full of mailers. I want to apply everywhere. NYU, mainly. Also I want to attend everywhere. NYU, mainly. Also, school is expensive. NYU, mainly.” And then the inhaling increases, but maybe she forgets to exhale. You know this? And so I say, “I will happily pay your application fees to 5 schools. All you have to do right now is choose those 5,” and then pet her shoulder until she breathes out.

Then this. Her: “I’m accepted to them all.” Me: “Yay! Enjoy that for a minute.” Her: “But I need to choose. But I need to apply for more scholarships. But I need to decide where to live if I go here or there or over there. But it’s all awesome. How do I choose one? But, but, but, but…” Me: “Breathe for a while.” Her, possibly scowling: *breathing in, breathing out*

And I kind of think that this reversion, this going back to my brilliant sister’s brilliant advice, is going to help me do my momming business for all the years to come. Yes, Kids, your schedules are full. Yes, you can handle the things (all the things) on your lists. And yes, you’ll be able to juggle the ones that overlap. But only if you keep breathing. In and out.

The breathing? It matters. Keep doing it. All day long.