A Sole-Wrenching Power Struggle

I lost ten minutes today in a power struggle over shoes.   It was not about the shoes Dani would wear, but about which shoe goes on what foot.  Seriously.  I used to negotiate how unfunded pension liabilities would impact the purchase price in cross-border acquisitions, and now I'm fighting about footwear with a two year old?  

That thing they say about motherhood "grounding" you?  It's true.  There are no gravity-defying egos left in this house, no sirree.  Both my feet are smack dab on the floor, though I might add that at least my shoes are properly assigned to the correct feet.

But here's the worst part about this morning's shoe skirmish.  I didn't win.

I transported her to the car seat shoeless, kicking and screaming, holding her outstretched like she was a live lobster and my nose was in dire danger of her snappity claws.  (To be clear, she was the shoeless, kicking and screaming one.  I at least had my shoes on.  And I'm pretty sure the well-being of my nose was truly at risk.)  

When I say I didn't win, I don't just mean I failed to get her shoes on straight.  I managed to get out the door, but I missed the opportunity to teach, by example, not just the correct sole alignment, but the correct heart alignment.  How can I encourage her to have a "happy heart" about what she's been asked to do when I'm clearly modeling the opposite attitude? 

Sigh, life was certainly easier when I was in charge of closing meaningless deals, not shaping precious lives.  I am so completely out of my element in this parenting gig, I might as well be wearing my shoes on the wrong feet.  

So there they are.  Both feet.  See 'em?  Glued to the floor, in another humbling moment courtesy of my toddler.  But I've resolved to handle it better next time, to take it one moment and one step at a time,  one foot in front of the other.