Guest blogger Kim Schewitz is a marketing consultant, writer and mother of two.

A radiant summer’s day finds the sandbox wriggling and writhing with clammy contenders for the lone dump truck. Two pairs of chubby, dimpled paws simultaneously lay claim and an animated tug of war ensues. Evenly matched the slightly more coordinated of the two lands what in 18 years’ time would be described as a punch and all hell breaks loose. Two fretful mothers descend amongst a gaggle of whispering onlookers; accusations are hurled and the mother of the aggressor rescinds in shame, apparitions of a lawsuit trailing not only behind her, but now too in the forefront of her anxiety – her newly-acquired poltergeist will only be subdued with a strict new discipline regime.

Meanwhile in the very same park, a 7-year-old game of tag has Caitlyn standing longing and forlorn on the sidelines, her precluding crime: her feminine garb. “You’re too prissy to play tag. Look at you in your silly, girly dress with checks and ribbons. Who do you think you are, Princess Jasmine?” The maternal response to these taunts and jeers is markedly more dismissive: “Oh honey, you know how girls can be sometimes. Take no notice of them, I’m sure they didn’t mean it; they were probably just jealous of your beautiful clothes.” (more…)

Guest blogger Kim Schewitz is a marketing consultant, writer and mother of two.

8:15am. I do not care that I am galloping down two stairs at a time with my children watching, despite the fact that I have warned them against this gravity-taunting act several hundred times. Beads of sweat are replacing the recent soapy shower suds, instantaneously erasing their value. We should have been out the door five minutes ago. A rudimentary shuffle of the front door cabinet contents does not reveal the car keys. Neither does the kitchen counter, the kitchen drawer, or the other usual suspects such as coat pockets, the front door lock or the car ignition.

The children are beginning to stifle in their winter layers. One of them dares to make a previously declined request.
“Don’t even think about it,” (the ask or the negotiation) I caution.
“But mo-ah-m, come on…”
The anger surges through me like an inferno. Not now. NOT NOW, I’m thinking. I command you, through pure force of will not to throw a fit right now, because I and only I have reserved the right to erupt indiscriminately and inappropriately. It is a right of passage. You too one day shall be able to unanimously revoke the family rules as they pertain to yourself.
“Please, do not start this now,” is all I manage to shriek, sputter and beg all at once.

8:23am. I scramble through every remaining drawer in the house knowing even as I go through the frenzied motions, that I do not possess a set of spare keys.

8:33am. Defeat. My husband, who was kind enough to move my car for me last night so that I wouldn’t have to do it at the crack of dawn this morning has now left for New York for 2 days with my keys securely locked in his car at the airport parking lot. I slump to the ground, a single tear of frustration leaking down my cheek, the weight of failure heavy on my back.

As the resignation seeps into every vein I finally concede that the situation is indeed beyond my control and “sheer force of will” and decide to embrace it.
Throwing caution to the wind I yell out: “Kids, get yourself some popcorn and turn on the TV, there’s no school today.” The release is like a geyser bursting, and I find myself an active accomplice in their squeals of delight.

The kids gleefully occupied and my violent flapping suspended, I remember that breathing is another useful tool – not the shallow chesty kind; the deep-to-the-core-of-your-heaving-belly kind and miraculously, I am able to tap into my resourcefulness and come up with a solution. My uncle also happens to be away and I am able to borrow his car. The kids pack up their impromptu picnic and we pile excitedly into our “new spaceship” and rocket towards school. We giggle conspiratorially in the office and they exhibit their late notes like a badge of honour, evidence of their morning adventure. I’m not sure how long the memory of this day will stick with them but it certainly will stay with me for a while.

The experience gave me such cause for gratitude. I was fully present to the yumminess of my children and the joy of being in their magical world. I realized that the greatest gift I can give them (and myself) is presence of mind. I’m not saying it is always easy. There are things that need to get accomplished in a day and there are very real expectations on our children and us as parents, but the emphasis we put on the outcome can be a little off-kilter.

It can be especially hard to connect with our children and mirror their point of view when we can’t suspend our own agenda (in some ways we’re not that much more emotionally evolved than them after all). So I made myself some “cheat notes” for when I forget the secret sequence of how to get through the maze of “this-is-the-way-it-has-to-be-land” and back to my happy place:
1. Stop. Completely. Physically stop moving and pause the thoughts.
2. Breathe. Deeply. More deeply.
3. Think on a scale of 1 – 10: how important is this really? And in 20 years time will it matter?
4. Shift perspective. Look for a positive spin. (Note: sometimes you have to look really hard).
5. Try again tomorrow.

Guest blogger Kim Schewitz writes about the importance of making mistakes:

We worry ourselves sick trying to be perfect parents. We think if we get it right we have the power to save our children from heartache. We long for the perfect career that is fulfilling, supports the family and allows us a balanced lifestyle. We struggle to keep up with the latest diets, health and fitness information, ever striving towards our perfect goal-weight. We process volumes of information via the newspaper, TV, the internet, e-mail, voicemail, twits and tweets trying to stay informed. The pressure to be perfect and do it all is mounting, and our children are watching and taking note.

As if we don’t feel inadequate enough we now find ourselves at Yom Kippur literally pounding our chests for all the “sins” we have committed. Is this really what is expected of us? The answer thankfully is NO.

The Hebrew word “chet” which is interpreted as “sin” more accurately means to miss the mark or target. The Hebrew word “t’shuva”, usually translated as “repentance”, is a misnomer. The word actually means, “return”. The objective of Yom Kippur is to take stock of where we missed the target or went off course, and return to our path. The underlying assumption is that we are all good and pure souls, who go off course from time to time, but we get a chance every year to reflect and return to our innate goodness.

We are the species riddled with confusion and doubt, perpetually trying to separate the good from the bad in a world where the two are inextricably intertwined. It’s not an easy job, and nor is it meant to be. We are meant to make mistakes. Without mistakes there is no insight, no learning and no growth. If we look at our mistakes like a flashlight, highlighting where we’ve gone off track, thereby helping us return to the right path, we can be grateful for them as opposed to beating ourselves up over them. We can throw off the shackles of guilt and experience the freedom and expansiveness of forgiveness.

If we can forgive ourselves, it gives us the space to forgive others. Forgiveness is not something we like to give up easily. We hold our grudges and injustices close to our heart, clutching them like a precious pearl for fear that if we give it up we may lose part of ourselves and become less valuable in the process. If we can give ourselves permission to mess up, perhaps we can extend the same generosity to others and especially our children.

In providing this model for our children, we give them permission to be who they are and free them from the anxiety of making their own mistakes. This empowers them with the confidence and resilience to weather the ups and downs of life.