One of the things I think I've mastered as a parent is the art of changing the subject.  Which is one trait that's quasi detrimental to surviving parenthood.  You know how it goes, "Mom how does the baby come out of your belly?"  In which you (might) reply, "It comes out at the hospital.  Oh, look.... your My Little Pony fell.  Go and check to see if it's ok."  So far it has worked for me and I have no problem avoiding the truth.

Especially with an uber sensitive child.  After seven-and-a-half years of spotting potential tears that were created for me after announcing the words that I read in some parenting book years ago, which have become my sensitive child mantra to date, "Use your words.  They speak louder than tears.  Words help me understand how you feel."  It has worked for me for some time but isn't working for me now.

My first born has caught on that I devout more one-on-one time with him when the tears flow.  I'm not stupid.  However, it's hardly the outcome I desire in the long run for a growing child.  Cry and I will drop everything for you, teaches nothing for the future.  I've tried.  "Tell me what you are feeling.  Why are you crying?  Words speak louder than tears."  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  I swear I'm not an insensitive mother but one that wonders how many buckets full of tears can you weigh before exclaiming "Gah!  I've had enough!  Losing mittens in school isn't worth your tears, handsome."  I've tried to instill as much as I could, guiding him through words.  Spending serious alone time, seperating my son from the chaos of his sisters.  But, in the end, we are exhausted.

I'm not the brightest parent, not even sure that what I'm doing now will prevent my children from seeking physiological help in the near future.  But tonight, when my sensitive first-born came to me at bedtime in tears that his frog wasn't fed crickets in days, I did what I could.  I successfully changed the subject.

"Whoa.  Geesh.  Look at you, in your pajamas."  Startled at my response, he looked down at what he was wearing.  "Your pj pants fall just under your knees!  When's the last time you got new pajamas?"  I swung him on his bed and measured just how much he had grown in the last year, using one finger at a time to count from his knee down to his ankle.

"I didn't notice!"  He giggled, wiping away the last tear.  "No wonder I am so cold at night!"  He laughed.

He went to bed happy.  The frog did not die (much to my dismay).  And I survived another ordinary day without pulling out my hair.  My new mantra?  Surviving motherthood one day at a time.  I went to bed happy too.