My toddler and I recently started a meditation class. I know what you're thinking. What kind of idiot parent would attempt silent mind control in the presence of someone whose idea of quiet time involves sticking pencils up their nostrils and shouting 'Hickory Dickory Dock'?
But now I am that idiot parent. And –
despite a cringeworthy moment when my two-year-old pointed to a Buddhist
monk and asked, "Why is that man wearing a dress like a lady?" – the
meditation is going well. Really well. It's provided me with practical
tools for day-to-day life with a toddler. For, let's face it, as
adorable as their company can be, relaxing it is not.
Most of the
time my daughter, Phoebe, is utterly beguiling – full of songs, giggles
and spontaneous dances. But, occasionally, she experiences outbreaks of
unmitigated rage. They involve floor-writhing, head-butting and a
howling that would make any self-respecting banshee glow with pride. I
find them hard to cope with, especially in public. There was an incident
over a tuna sandwich in a cafe that I still can't think of without a
It was my husband who first came up with the idea of
meditation. He started a course in it to help him deal with work stress.
It all seemed a bit new agey to me: the sort of thing beloved by people
who read auras and stick crystals on their kids' heads when they're
sick. But then I witnessed the difference in him. He could shrug off
incidences of workplace ineptitude that would previously have had him
grinding his teeth in fury-induced insomnia at 4am.
Source - Guardian