Before I had three kids, I had two kids. And when the youngest, now my middle, was barely old enough to count, we visited a friend who did have three kids. While the children played in the back, she and I visited in the kitchen. And at one point, the kids started fighting (as they tend to do). Instead of going to check, she started humming. And I admit it: I judged. “If that was me,” I thought, “I would never ignore such fighting. I would immediately go help negotiate a peaceful resolution. I would teach the kids problem solving skills.” I had all sorts of thoughts while my friend hummed and continued cooking lunch.
Flash-forward to today. I’m doing dishes for the umpteenth time (it’s only noon). The boys start fighting. Again. Over who is Superman and who is Spider-man. Again.
And I started humming.