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Many of my friends who don’t have kids ask me if staying at home with my daughter ever bores me. One even asked me to do a few things for her because, as she said, “You’re a stay at home mom, so could you …” But I’ve never been so busy in my life. Between caring for and playing with Layla, cleaning, cooking, finishing my Masters, doing yoga, and writing, there is rarely a moment when I wonder, “well, what should I do with myself now?”

There are some days when the only time I sit is to eat or to write, otherwise I’m chasing my giggling toddler down the hallways, creating funny dances with her, making lunch or dinner, scrubbing the tub, running errands … I barely feel my feet touch the ground.

Just the other day, Layla was playing with her tea set in the living room while I washed dirty dishes. As soon as I dried my hands, I started to pick up some of the stray odds and ends that had wandered from their drawers and shelves. As I walked past Layla, I kneeled to give her a kiss and ruffle her hair, but she stopped me. “Sit,” she commanded, pointing her little finger at the floor. I don’t dare disobey an almost-two year old. I planted my fanny and sipped a tiny porcelain cup of “tea” because I knew she just needed a little company.

The next day, Layla repeated her monosyllabic request. I had just set a plate of lentils and rice in front of her and moved back to the kitchen to put away a few things while I waited for my food to heat up on the stove. Layla started to cry, twisting in her high chair, to look at me, and said “sit” through her tears, pointing at my chair next to her at the table. In that moment, I realized my constant motion keeps me from just sitting and being. When I finish one chore, I feel like I must move on to the next. When lunch or dinner is finished, I move to the dishes, often as I’m chewing the last bite of sandwich or carrot. I need to do as Layla says: I need to sit before the day ends, before she grows up, before I rise to clean the plates after a meal with my family.

For the past few days, I’ve been trying to find a little contentment and stillness. I’ve been meaning to add meditation to my yoga practice, but I always find an excuse. I’ve run out. I sit and listen to my breathing for fifteen minutes before Layla wakes up. When she has her interludes when she’s happy playing alone, I resist trying to squeeze in a little housework and quietly watch her … and I’m amazed by what the sound of a scouring pad or closing drawers has masked: yesterday Layla sat next to her bear on the sofa and read, pointing to the pictures, mimicking all the phrases I say when we read together. I’m sending the days off flying, and I don’t want to. The buzzing busyness I’ve created for myself can wait. I’m going to sit.

The past few days have been a bit rocky. As an almost two-year old, Layla has been really into autonomy, which is excellent for her development, but which also means I have to chase her down to put on her diaper and her clothes; she climbs on anything in an attempt to reach everything above her head; and when she wants something, she wants it “now”. Add in a bit of teething, and we’ve got quite a little cocktail.

Yesterday, my frustrations with the “terrible twos” (which I think is a terrible name, by the way. I don’t dare call my daughter terrible because she’s trying to figure out the way she should relate to her environment) came to a big fat head. We had met a friend and her son at Whole Foods for tea and snacks. As soon as Layla saw the bakery sections, she immediately wanted “Bread! Cookies! Treats!” and cried until I found something on the healthier side for us to share. When I was waiting in line to order my tea at the café counter, Layla discovered the plastic tubs of raspberries and wanted to take them off the display. She then climbed onto a shopping cart, threw the paper cup of water I had filled to pacify her onto the ground, and nearly toppled a neat stack of apples when she decided she wanted to take one fruit from the bottom. The entire day was filled with disciplining and repeating no, no, no.

I felt like a mean, ugly, horrible, terrible monster of a mommy.

The mom I was yesterday is not the mom I want to be. I want to teach Layla right from wrong but do so from a place of patience and understanding, so I’ve decided to take action.

In my yoga classes and when I practice at home, I set an intention before I move through the asanas. I dedicate my physical and spiritual effort to somebody who I think needs a little healing energy: Benazir Bhutto’s memory and the people of Pakistan, the children in an orphanage I saw on the Today Show, the health of my family. As I sweat and focus, I concentrate on sending positive thoughts and prayers through the window I face in the living room and into the world.

When I woke up this morning, I decided to set an intention for myself. I opened my eyes but didn’t rush to the bathroom to wash my face or to the kitchen the start the coffee: I took five minutes to lay in bed in the dark, breathe deeply, and to ask for patience. I said, “thank you for this life and this day, please give me patience, let me be kind, let me laugh.” Then I slid into my slippers and made oatmeal and coffee.

The intention I set this morning didn’t fast forward me and Layla through this sometimes trying developmental stage, but my sense of humor and my patience rose out of dormancy, out of the cave of hibernation in which they’ve hid for the past few days. When my little munchkin ran away half dressed, I sat on the floor, watched her scurry down the hallway, then (magically) back into my lap, where I could quickly slip on her shirt. When she spilled down her shirt the milk she insisted on drinking out of an open cup by herself, I laughed at her milk mustache and wiped her off.

Our day together was much more calm and fun when I took the time to shift my attitude this morning. I have discovered I am a better parent when I center myself with an intention … because I refuse to believe that children are bad. Children need guidance, and good guidance can only come from a patient caretaker.