Good Vibrations: Finding my Tribe

This past weekend we joined over one hundred unschooling families for the Good Vibrations Unschooling Conference. I don't want to get too mushy and sentimental about it, but here's the thing:

I don't really fit in with most moms. Not moms from homeschool groups, not moms from little league, not moms from scouts, not moms from church. Sure, I've become reasonably adept at smiling and small talk and chit chat, but when the subject shifts (as it always inevitably does) to things like curriculums, limits, punishments, and coercive parenting in general, I'm met with a stark reminder. "Oh yeah, we're different."

Make no mistake... I like being different. I love the lifestyle we've chosen to live with our family, and I truly couldn't imagine living any other way. I am so happy, and so filled with peace with the decisions we've made - and continue to make - when it comes to education, parenting, and just LIVING. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that at times it can be.... isolating... having an all but completely nonexistent local support team of people who "get it."

Enter the unschooling conference.

And of course, the conference was lighthearted and fun. I mean, where else can you:

Go swimming
Make fairy wands and upcycled tutus
Carve sponges
Break boards
Play dress-up
Learn about nature drawing
Hula hoop
Have Nerf gun wars
Watch movies and listen to concerts by the pool, and
Take surfing lessons,

All in the same weekend?

There's no denying that it was a great time. But it was more than that. It was like a breath of fresh air to be around so many unschoolers, to - even if just for a few days - not be the odd one out. To know that my three year old is welcomed anywhere that I am, to know that my seven year old will be taken seriously, and that my 11 and 14 year old won't be asked what grade they're in, or what their favorite subject is or whether or not they're allowed to watch television or play video games. To see adults, teens, and kids of all ages playing and chatting and just enjoying each other's company, as if it were the most natural and normal thing in the world (which, of course, it is)

Being an introvert who's married to, well, an even bigger introvert, we're not always so good at the mixing and mingling. We tended to do more hanging back and observing, while our unsocialized kids happily and easily made friends with everyone they came in contact with. But even from our "quietly taking everything in" stance (although, I feel compelled to make it known that I DID both break a board and hula hoop in front of a bunch of people, thankyouverymuch); even from that perspective, the amount of support and validation I received from everyone there was immense. I gained and learned so much just from seeing the examples of kindness and respect with which other parents treated their children, and with which they treated my children. And the parents I did get a chance to talk with? It was privilege, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

Shortly before we left for home, I witnessed someone yelling at a child, and demanding that he get out of the pool. It thoroughly jarred me out of my conference bubble, and I suddenly realized that I'd just gone four whole days without hearing a parent yell (which is really pretty amazing when you consider that I was there with over 100 sets of parents, and I can barely make it through the grocery store without hearing at least one parent yell, or punish, or humiliate their child.) Disclaimer: This is not to say that unschoolers are perfect parents or that they don't make mistakes or sometimes have bad days. It's also not to say that there aren't wonderful parents who don't unschool. Of course there are. It's just that being surrounded by so many many parents who are consciously choosing a path towards a more peaceful and harmonious relationship with their kids is a pretty powerful and invaluable thing. And, well, it DOES make me want to get mushy and sentimental.

Because those are my people. That is my tribe. And even though we're back home now, scattered amongst the country once again... I'm going to hold on tight, and thank my lucky stars that thanks to the wonder of the internet, my tribe is still with me.



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I peed on the potty, YAY!

(source)

Do you use a toilet?

I'm going to take a stab and say that if you're reading this that 1) you do in fact use a toilet and that 2) you generally make it to the toilet in time, without anyone's reminder or assistance (barring any illness or special circumstance).

Do you know when it was that you started using it? Do you know when your friends or coworkers or classmates started using it? Again, I'm going to take a stab and guess that you do not. Even if we *did* know, it's not something we really talk about. (Well, wait. I do know a few adults who talk about bodily functions more than is normally considered socially acceptable... but that's neither here nor there) It's just a normal, biological, every-day sort of thing that every man, woman and child takes time out of his or her day to attend to. It's of absolutely zero importance when you started doing it.

So here's what I'm wondering:

Why, when we know that it's something that everyone's going to eventually do anyway, do parents make themselves, their child, and oftentimes everyone around them crazy over the process of potty training? Why act as though it's some sort of contest? Why the pressure, the sticker charts, the rewards, the punishments, the rush? What on earth is the BIG RUSH?

I have four children. As of just a few days ago, all four of them use the toilet all day, every day. Like with anything else, it was an individual journey for each of them.

With #1, I think I got lucky... I didn't really do anything that I'd now consider "right", but I didn't really do anything I'd consider wrong either. He easily made the transition when he was around 2.5

With #2, I bungled it six ways to Sunday. He simply wasn't ready at the same age as my first. He passed three. He passed three and half. He adamantly refused to even try it. It stressed me out. I stressed HIM out. I tried many of the things I mentioned above (things I cringe to think about now): I cajoled, I bribed, I made sticker charts, I pressured. The more I pushed, the more he resisted. It wasn't until he turned four that I finally asked myself, "What am I doing?" Was his being potty trained by a certain age (which wasn't happening anyway) more important than our relationship, or more important than treating him with respect, or more important than allowing him his right to autonomy over something as personal as using the bathroom? I let go of the stress, released him of my pressure, and said what I should have said all along: He'll do it when he's ready. And very shortly after that, he did. I promised myself that if I was ever blessed with more kids, I wouldn't make the same mistakes again. And true to my word, when #3 and #4 became toddlers, I remembered what I'd learned.

Everett's been using the toilet for a good 4 or 5 years now, but since the girl is still new to whole pottying scene, I thought I'd share the intricate method that got her there while it was still fresh in my mind.

Ready?

1. I waited until she was ready.

2. .... that's it. I waited until she was ready.

A few weeks ago, we forgot to buy diapers and we ran out (and when I say forgot, I mean we literally forgot, not a calculated, purposeful "forgot") I don't remember the exact circumstances, but they were such that we couldn't run out and get her more diapers at the moment, so we told her she'd need to use the toilet. And she did, all day, without a problem. After that, she still wanted her diapers, but she started to use the toilet more and more. She was proud of herself; she told me how easy it was. She started wearing underwear just as often as diapers. This past Tuesday, we all went out to an amusement park. She was all dressed, wearing underwear, and I asked her if she wanted to change before we left (she'd never left the house without a diaper before) She told me no, and I told her to let us know if she had to use the bathroom when we were there. She used their bathroom like she'd been doing it all her life, and that was that.

She's been in underwear ever since.

We bought her a new doll she's been wanting in celebration... not in a "if you keep your underwear dry, we'll buy you a baby" kind of way, but in the same way I'd bake cupcakes for my husband to celebrate a promotion, or any other life event that he's proud of. She is proud, as it's still a big deal to her. I'm celebrating that, and enjoying that, because I know it won't last long. I know that it'll just be a matter of time before she's as blasé as the rest of us. (When was the last time you heard an adult proclaim, "I peed on the potty! Yay!"?)

As much as parents can stress about it when it comes to their toddlers, and conversely take it for granted when it comes to adults, it's a milestone. One that she met easily and naturally in her own way in her own time, because she was given the space to do so.



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Why I Don't Pick My Battles

I recently received an email from someone looking for some gentle suggestions for her two year old, who'd been continually testing limits and responding to requests to do just about anything with a resounding, "no."   It is a question I get a lot, and believe me when I say:

I understand.

I do.  It's hard to be 2, 3, 4.  Hard on the child, and by extension, hard on the parents as well.  I don't think any age has taught me more, inspired me more, and challenged me more than the toddler and preschool years.  Those are the years that I most have to practice patience.  Those are the years that I most need to count to ten (or 392) before responding to certain behavior.  Those are the years that make me a better mother.

That's nice, you're thinking, but what do I do about it?

A big problem for the littlest kids is a sense of frustration at not having control over a world where so many decisions are made for them.  A lot of people will advise that you "pick your battles"..... decide what areas in which you can give your child some freedom, and what areas in which you need to stand your ground.  And for a long time, I would have told you the same thing.   Seems like sensible advice, right?

But I don't pick my battles anymore.

I don't want to view any interaction with my children as a battle.  A battle implies that it is me versus them, and that there will ultimately be a winner and a loser...  I get my way this time, and they get their way next time.  What I want instead is to find our way.  I want my children to know that I am their partner, and that I am on their side.  Is it just a matter of semantics? Maybe. But if my goal is to have a closer, more harmonious and connected relationship with my children, I can't imagine that thinking of a word as acrimonious as "battle" will help me get there.

When I find that I'm going through a more difficult patch with any of my kids (and it happens sometimes, especially when they're little) the first thing I try to do is to take a giant step backwards to look at the situation with a fair perspective.  I focus on the child - and our relationship - rather than whatever the behavior is that I'm finding frustrating/annoying/hurtful.  I know that when I'm uncharacteristically snapping at my kids, picking fights with my husband, or generally pissed off at the world, there's a reason for it. Address the reason, and the issue will go away... address my behavior, and it's only going to tick me off more. Why would we think kids would be any different?  If it was in fact me with the "bad behavior" I would want someone to listen to me, and empathize with me.  I would want someone to sincerely ask, "What can I do to help?"

I want to be that person for my kids.

So often with my three year old the problem is one of two things:  either she's not feeling connected to me, or she's feeling frustrated from a lack of autonomy.  Maybe I've been too wrapped up in other things.  Maybe I've gotten complacent and have been giving her too many knee-jerk responses.  Maybe I just haven't been there the way that I should.  So rather than "pick my battles" I do very nearly the opposite:

I get re-connected.  I renew my commitment to being as present as I possibly can.  I make our relationship (not my desire to have things done a certain way) the top priority.  I say yes.  When I remain open, flexible, and creative, I can meet her needs and mine, without ever resorting to a battle.

She doesn't want me to comb her hair?  No problem.  We'll do it another time, with lots of conditioner and lots of laughs while she plays in the tub.

She doesn't want to put on her shoes?  She doesn't have to.   I'll bring them along, and put them in the car so she has them when she needs them.

She doesn't want to sit at the table at dinner time?    That's very normal for a three year old.  We can make her a monkey platter, and she can eat from it when she's hungry.

She wants to wear rain boots, tights, a tutu, and her brother's t-shirt... all on top of a Spiderman costume?  Her choice to make.

And when those times come when I truly do have to say 'no'?  She accepts it, because she knows that what matters to me most is not blind compliance, but her.  She knows that I will always strive to meet her needs, to listen to her wants, and to HEAR what she has to say.  Which, after all, is all she really wanted in the first place.

Isn't that what all of us want?




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Your kids are communicating with you, not manipulating you

"Kids always know how to manipulate their parents."

I heard someone say that just a couple of days ago.  The topic of conversation was tantrums, and it was one that was going on right beside me, but one that I wasn't a part of.  The general gist was this:  Kids have tantrums to play their parents.

I disagree. 

I see a tantrum and I see a child trying to communicate.  (By the way, I really don't like the word "tantrum" but I use it for the sake of this post because it's a common and fairly universal term.  We can all hear the word tantrum and envision essentially the same thing.) 

We just spent three weeks driving across the country and spending time around a lot of different people.  I witnessed many tantrums, by children and adults alike.  The difference is, the adults weren't put into timeout, or held against their will, or punished, or ignored. With other adults, we generally take it for what it is: an expressed moment of frustration. One would hope that adults could always communicate their feelings kindly and patiently, without resorting to what we'd classify as a tantrum. But the fact is, we're human. We get stressed, frustrated, angry, and disappointed. Sometimes the heat of the moment gets the better of us. Sometimes we whine. Sometimes we yell. Sometimes we stomp and we huff and we skulk about. Yes, sometimes we're the adult counterpart of the disappointed and crying toddler who was just told that she couldn't get the doll she wanted in the toy store. Do we know that there are probably more effective ways of dealing with our emotions? Of course! But we're human.

So sometimes, despite our best intentions, we have tantrums. Sometimes it's just plain hard not to. How much harder it must be then for a 3 or a 5 or a 7 year old?  For a child who doesn't have our life experience, or maturity, or language skills? For a child who for some reason is not only expected to behave as well as a grownup, but somehow behave BETTER than a grownup?

Conventional parenting advice would have us believe that children should essentially be seen but not heard.  They should be quiet and docile, obedient and submissive at all times.  If they happen to have a strong emotion, they should suppress it, or at the very least express it only in a way that is convenient and comfortable and pleasing to us as their parents.  They should be less than human.

We hear things like how we need to stop it immediately, to "nip it in the bud" so it doesn't become a bigger problem later on.  To ignore it, and to ignore the child.  We're told we must never give in.  They're trying to manipulate us!   They're playing us!  We must stop it!

I'd like to suggest something else entirely.

A tantrum is a way of communicating.  It's an expression of an emotion, a feeling, or a need.  Your in-the-throes-of-a-tantrum child is not trying to manipulate you.  He is trying to tell you something.  And based on the deliverance, it's most likely something pretty darn important!  When an infant is crying because he has a soiled diaper, we recognize that it is legitimate need, and we attend to it.  When an adult friend is crying because she's had a bitter argument with a family member, we understand that she's having a hard time, and we listen.  Why then, should it be any different for all the ages in between?  Discomfort, sadness, frustration, disappointment, anger.... these are normal, universal, human emotions.   A child having a tantrum may be communicating any or all of the above, and she deserves to be heard.  Many tantrums' root cause is something even more basic:  for example hunger, fatigue, or over-stimulation.  Not only does hushing or punishing or ignoring do nothing to address the problem, but it also takes you further from a mutually respectful, and highly connected relationship... one in which no one feels they need to have a tantrum to get their needs met.

Kids will have tantrums.  Sometimes kids will have lots of tantrums.   And it's not because they're "bad", or "naughty", or "fresh", or “playing” us.... but because they're trying to tell us something.

It's our job as parents to listen.



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My Promise to My Children

I ignore a lot of traditional parenting adages that come through my Facebook news feed. But every so often, one pops up that I have a hard time ignoring. A few days ago, several friends had posted this as their status:

My promise to my children. I am not your friend. I am your mom. I will stalk you, flip out on you, lecture you, drive you insane, be your worst nightmare & hunt you down like a bloodhound when needed because I LOVE YOU! When you understand that, I will know you are a responsible adult. You will NEVER find someone who loves, prays, cares and worries about you more than I do! Re-post if you are a parent and agree.♥

Really?

I've blogged in the past on my thoughts about being both parents and friends with your children, so I obviously wasn't a fan right from the start of the quote. But it just got better as I read. Stalk? Flip out? Drive insane? Hunt you down like a bloodhound?

Am I a mom or a troubled suitor from a Lifetime TV Movie? And since when does making someone's life a living nightmare equate to love?

Here's my version, and my promise.

My promise to my children. I am your friend. I am your mom. I will protect you, listen to you, respect you, support you, be your strongest advocate & give you wings to fly when you are ready because I LOVE YOU. You will NEVER find someone who loves, prays, and cares about you more than I do.

I'm not here to be the warden. I'm here to be the mom.



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Entitlement

In 1982, the hottest, most-wanted toy for Christmas was the Cabbage Patch Doll. I was 8 years old, and I wanted a Cabbage Patch Kid more than I'd ever wanted anything. It was the only thing I asked for for Christmas, and I couldn't wait to find it under the tree. To stare at the shiny cellophane window on the box before I tore it open, to admire the pretty (yarn) hair, the dimpled elbows and knees, and the little outie belly button. To rip off all the clothes to check for the mark of a true, original Cabbage Patch Kid... the Xavier Roberts signature on its little cloth derriere. Oh, how I wanted that doll.

At eight, I was old enough to be relatively aware of what was going on around me, and I heard the dire proclamations on the evening news. They were sold out everywhere. Fights had broken out in all the department stores. People were literally getting trampled to get the last one on the shelf. Oh NO.

My mom sat me down shortly before Christmas and said, "I know you've heard that they're sold out everywhere. I hope you're not too disappointed if you don't get one for Christmas."

I then proceeded to lie to my own mother. "Oh I won't be disappointed, Mom."

And to make a long story short, I wasn't disappointed. Because come Christmas morning, against all odds, she was there. And she was perfect. To this day, that Cabbage Patch Kid remains my hands-down, no contest, favorite Christmas present ever.

I still have that doll. She's usually naked now, she's lost a few strands of hair, and her face is permanently dirty. But she's still loved. I last saw her yesterday afternoon in my bedroom, where the girl left her after pretending to nurse her to sleep.

I so love and appreciate that my parents got me that doll. And it wasn't just the doll. They also got the purple Nikes that I so desperately wanted. And the Guess jeans. And the Swatch watches. I appreciate it even more now that I'm a parent myself... knowing that things weren't always easy financially. Knowing that they sometimes made sacrifices themselves to make my sister and I happy.

But I never felt entitled.

Yes, I grew up with a sense of personal responsibility. I worked hard, I paid my bills, I was respectful and polite to those around me. I was none of those things that people continually - and mistakenly - chide today's youth for being. Why? Because as much as I remember the dolls and the fancy sneakers and the fun "stuff", I remember something else more.

I remember that my parents gave me their attention, and that they gave me their time. I remember that they gave me love. I remember that they gave me their support, their friendship, and their acceptance. I remember hanging around after dinner hanging spoons from our noses. I remember playing dice games and card games and laughing until our sides hurt. I remember a lifetime worth of quiet moments, inside jokes, and family adventures.

I see parent after parent complaining about today's youth feeling too "entitled."

Kids today think their parents owe them everything!
They think life should be handed to them on a silver platter!
They're overindulged!

I see articles like this one, instructing parents with a set of rules to follow to stop this "entitlement epidemic." Stop pampering them. Make them buy their own things. Don't give in to their pleas. Require them to do a certain amount of chores (and then punish them when they don't.) Give them an allowance (and then dictate how they can and cannot spend it.)

I think we're missing the boat here. Strategies like the above only widen the gulf between parents and kids, and further the "us vs them" mentality.

Why not give freely and abundantly to your children just as you would to any person that you love? I want to give all that I can to my kids, just as my parents gave all that they could to me. Not because they've "badgered" me into it, not because I want them to like me, and not because it keeps them quiet (all reasons I see touted over and over again in these negative articles) but because it feels good and right to give to those we love. To give our time, our attention, our love, our companionship. To give our acceptance and our unconditional support. And yes, to give when we can those toys, games, and "things" that make their lives a little more fun or interesting or exciting. We give freely to our kids, and they in turn give freely to others.

I think that the kids that people refer to as being "overindulged" and "entitled" are not kids who were given too much. I think they were simply kids who weren't given enough. No, I don't mean not enough stuff; I mean not enough of their parents. We are all looking for that love and attention. We're all looking for a connection... with somebody, with something, with anything. When we don't get it, there's a void. Kids who are not getting what they need from their parents learn to fill the void with "things." And it's not because their parents were too lenient or too permissive or too indulging. It's because their parents neglected to give them more time, more attention, more unconditional love.

As a society, we're told parents need to be more strict. Need to lay down the law and show our kids who's boss.

I think that's going in the wrong direction.

I think we need to give our kids more. They didn't ask to be here. We chose to bring them into the world, and into our lives. We should give to them freely and joyfully and completely, just as we would give to anyone else. (In fact, even more so, because they are OUR CHILDREN) We should give of our time, our attention, and ourselves.

And Cabbage Patch Kids are okay, too.



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You're a Terrible Mother

Yes, you. You are a very bad mother. You're still figuring things out. You've made mistakes. You've lost your patience. You've yelled. You've spanked.

Therefore, you are a terrible mother.

You didn't breastfeed. You did breastfeed. You breastfed too long. You home school. You public school. You vaccinate. You opt out. You use cloth diapers. You use disposable diapers. You use no diapers. You do things differently than me.

Clearly, you are a terrible mother.

I recently watched yet another online forum implode, in part because someone asked for advice and subsequently got her feelings hurt when she didn't like the advice given to her. She cried that everyone was making her out to be a bad mother, sides were taken, and BOOM. Another perfectly lovely community unraveled like the waistband on an old pair of underwear.

This is not unique of course. Everyone who's ever been part of a moms group in any fashion (but particularly on the internet) has seen it happen and again and again and again. People feel challenged. They feel judged. They get defensive. They want to blame the people around them.

"How dare she think I'm a bad mother!!"

But the fact of the matter is, she probably doesn't. And if you didn't already think it about yourself, chances are you wouldn't be projecting it onto her either. If you feel confident and peaceful about your own decisions, why would what anyone else says bother you anyway?

When I read something that challenges me as a parent, something that makes me react strongly in some way... whether in anger, hurt feelings, or defensiveness... I know that it's something I need to examine and respond to in myself, not to the messenger. Maybe it's something I know deep down that I need to work on. Maybe it's made me think about something in an entirely new light. Maybe it's struck a nerve on one of my own deep-seated regrets or insecurities. Maybe it's simply reminded me of my own mistakes.

None of the above makes me a bad mother.

And it doesn't make you one either. Self deprecation helps no one... not you, and certainly not your children. If something you read (here, or anywhere) strikes a nerve, ask yourself why. Made a mistake? Move past it. Need to make changes? Make them. Don't use your own guilt or frustration or insecurities as an excuse not to ask yourself the hard questions, or as an excuse not to do better.

Make choices intelligently, and make choices consciously... both of which are something a terrible mother - if such a thing existed - would never do.



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Reconnecting

I haven't been here lately. I've been here physically, but mentally I've been somewhere else. I haven't been as present as I need to be... for myself, for my spouse, and especially for my kids. So wrapped up in my own stress and fatigue, I realized that I've been guilty of "going through the motions." Doing all the things I'm supposed to be doing, but not feeling them.

And I don't want to be that mom.

I want to be connected... not just THERE, taking up space.

Yesterday, the girl asked me if I could make some biscuits. So I got everything out, and started measuring and dumping, not even thinking about what I was doing. Just a few seconds later, I heard the little voice:

"Can I help?" followed by the unmistakable scraping sound of a kitchen chair being eagerly pushed over to the counter.

The fact that she even had to ask (ordinarily I would have offered) struck me out of my selfish monotony.

She wanted to bake with her mom, and I was going to be there.

And when we were done with the biscuits and the last crumb had been eaten, we didn't seal our reconnection with a hug or a snuggle on the couch.

Instead she wanted to check on the chickens.

Three year olds don't over-think things the way we do. They already know how to live in the moment. As far as Tegan was concerned, she had my full attention, and that was exactly as it should be. It was just her and mom, doing what we do.

We checked on the chickens, gathered the eggs, and rinsed out their water container. I was just about to turn off the hose when she stopped me. "Wait! Don't turn that off!"

So I didn't.

For the next hour and a half, I forgot the rest of the world, and focused on reconnecting with my daughter. We hosed the chicken poop off the patio (which, as strange as it sounds, is oddly cathartic), made it "rain", and talked and talked. It took at least three times as long as normal to get the patio clean, because for every spray the patio got, the girl got two. And with every squeal, every smile, and every burst of laughter, my world got just a little more right again.

Life shouldn't be about treading water, spinning your wheels, and going through the motions. It should be about the moments. The people. The connections.

It should be about bonding over biscuits and chicken poop.



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So I Hit Him

The other day, my husband came home tired after a long day at work. He wasn't feeling well, he'd had a fight with a co-worker, and he'd encountered snag after snag in a report that had to be done by the end of the day. He had yet to tell me, but he was also very concerned about upcoming budget cuts. He came inside, changed out of his work clothes, and sighed as he sank wearily into a living room chair.

I told him that he hadn't yet fixed the drain in the kids' bathroom sink, and that I expected him to do it as soon as possible.

"Are you serious?" he asked me. "I just got home, and - "

"I asked you to do something," I told him firmly, "and I expect you to do it with a good attitude."

He wordlessly shook his head. He rolled his eyes.

So I hit him.

I did it for his own good, though. He had to learn that he couldn't be so openly disrespectful and defiant. He had to learn that he couldn't treat me that way, and that it was unacceptable for him to talk back. I didn't hit him in anger, and I didn't hit him hard enough to leave a mark. I just hit him hard enough and long enough for him to open his eyes to his own sinfulness. I hit him until he apologized, got up from that chair, and headed off to complete the task that I'd given him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No, the above never happened. But minus the hitting, it certainly could have. We all have bad days. We all have moments when we're less than cheery with those we love, especially when we feel like we're not being heard. We all have moments when we want, with every fiber of our being, to tell the person who's ordering us around - and not considering our feelings - to BACK OFF. We're human.

Most of us wouldn't consider striking a spouse, or a friend, or a coworker for a moment of humanness (and even if we did, we recognize that it's not exactly LEGAL) Yet the above scenario is something that's played out with parents and children over and over again. The above justifications for spankings are ones that I hear verbatim every time the subject comes up.

They need to learn to obey the first time!
They need to learn to be respectful!
They need to learn who's in charge!

You may argue that it's not fair for me to compare a grown man to a child. He should already KNOW how to treat people. A child is still learning, still immature, still figuring out the way the world works. It's our job as parents to make. them. understand.

Wouldn't it follow then that they should receive more compassion, and not less? That they should be treated more gently, not less? Children are people... people with big feelings and strong emotions. They are looking to their parents for reassurance, for love, and for a positive example of how to treat themselves and how to treat others.

Will spanking meet that need? Or will it do the complete opposite? At its very very best, the most it can do is send a confusing message about blind compliance with people bigger than them... and that their own thoughts, opinions, and feelings do not matter.

I want my kids to feel safe in their own house, and in their relationship with their father and I. I want them to know that they can say anything to me without fear of punishment, and that they can trust that I will give them an honest and thoughtful response. I want them to know that I will apologize freely when I've hurt them, and I want them to know that I will forgive freely when they've done the same.

As for learning to be respectful: In the above example, I could've started by not treating my husband like he existed to meet my every whim and demand. He doesn't, and neither do my kids. If I'd taken a step back and really listened and watched and empathized, I would have seen that nothing more was needed than a kind "Rough day?" or "Want to talk about it?" Either response would have garnered a far more positive outcome (for both of us) than any blaming or punishing ever could. Either response would have spoken volumes to how a person should be treated, and to how a person should be respected.

I think it's interesting that companies hold all these meetings and conferences and seminars about effective communication and positive conflict resolution. I can't help but wonder if it would even be needed if more people practiced the concept on their own children.

Welcome to the 2nd Annual Carnival of Gentle Discipline!

This post was selected as one of the Crème de la Crème of gentle discipline blogging! Click on the image to view more Crème de la Crème posts!





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Trust

"You just have to let go and trust it."

I read that on Facebook yesterday. It was simply a comment about - of all things - a keyboard application for an Android phone. One person was endorsing a particular type of keyboard, a friend said he'd tried it but couldn't get used to it, and the first responded with those words:

You just have to let go and trust it.

I realize this was just about a keyboard. It wasn't about life, but it might as well have been. Pure trust may well be the answer to a more peaceful life with our kids, with our spouses, and with ourselves.

I think of the issue of trust often when I'm answering common questions and fears about unschooling and mindful parenting especially.

What if they just want to play video games all day?
How will I know they're learning?
Won't they be lazy?
How will they get into college?
How will they learn right from wrong if I don't punish them?
How will they learn responsibility if I don't require them to do chores?

My answer to all of the above is this: Equip yourself with information, tools, and the support of people who have walked this walk ahead of you. And then let go and trust.... trust your children, trust yourself, and trust your instinct! When I first started this journey fourteen years ago, I read all the books... read all the Dr Sears and Alfie Kohn and John Holt and John Taylor Gatto. But I never would have accepted any of it, never would have taken any of it to heart if it didn't agree with my own instinct, my own inner voice, my own inner logic... that part of you that says, "Wow, this just makes sense to me!" I found that part of me, and I learned to trust it.

John Holt says,

Trust Children. Nothing could be more simple, or more difficult. Difficult because to trust children we must first learn to trust ourselves, and most of us were taught as children that we could not be trusted.

And it's true. It starts with letting go and learning to TRUST. Whether it's unschooling, parenting, or Android keyboards.



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It's Hard to be Three

Tegan had a rough day yesterday. Truth be told, we all had a rough day. It's been hot, and hot + Phoenix + no A/C does not a happy camper make. No one slept very well the night before, and there was no reprieve from the heat - or the fatigue - during the day.

At three, Tegan's right between that age of needing a daily nap and, well, not needing a daily nap. Most days lately, she neither wants nor needs one, and gets along just fine that way.

Yesterday was not one of those days.

It started, innocently enough, with a homemade smoothie. She didn't like the cup I chose for her. I got her the cup she wanted, but she still wasn't happy.

"Everett has more than me!"

Everett, selflessly wanting to help, poured some from his cup into hers.

She lost it. "Noooooo.... Mommy, he poured his smoothie into my cup!!"

Well, he was trying to share with you, honey.

"I don't WANT him to share with me!!!!!"

That was about that the time that I berated myself for not noticing the signs earlier. She was exhausted and in need of a nap. Not only was she exhausted and in need of a nap, but she'd passed that point... that point at which I could no longer simply offer to lay down with her and have her happily snuggle into me and drift off to sleep. She was overtired now, and mad, and I would have to slowly, slowly wait for her allow me back in. 

And I'll be honest... the next several minutes weren't pretty. She cried while she drank her smoothie, and she cried even harder when it was gone. She didn't want Everett to be in the same kitchen - or universe - and she was suddenly very offended by the placement of her chair, and the table, and her cup.

I asked if I could get her a snack.

"Yes, but I don't want Everett to look at me!"

What can I get you?

"I don't want a snack!"

Are you tired? Do you want to go snuggle up with me in bed?

"I'm. Not. Tired." At this point, she got distracted by something in the kitchen, and started crying again. "No, don't dump out the bubbles!!" Everett was washing out the blender and was just about to pour its soapy contents back into the sink.

Did you want to play with the suds?

A nod. A small one, but a nod nonetheless.

I set her up at the sink and got her a big bowl. For a few minutes she played happily and calmed herself down.

Sort of.

Not five minutes later, she was done playing in the sink, and I helped her dry off. She asked if she could watch one of her favorite TV shows, and I turned it on for her. She climbed onto the couch, and when I went to sit down in a chair across from her, she patted the seat next to her saying, "Why don't you sit here?" So I did. She smiled at me as she scootched closer and closer, finally coming to rest in my lap.

Ten minutes later she was asleep, and she slept for over two more hours after I carried her to bed.

Moments like those, I think more than any other, challenge me to be a better mother.  It's hard to maintain patience and composure when your child is overtired and emotional.  It's hard to speak calmly when you're met with nothing but loud dissent.  But you know what?  I think it's even harder to be three.  I really do.  You're a small person in a huge world.  There is so much to do and see and try and discover, and there are frustrations at every turn.  You're tired, but you don't want to miss anything.  You're then grumpy, and you don't know why.  You want to be the big kid, but you also still want to be the baby.   Your needs and your wants and your desires change at a moment's notice, and it's scary and it's confusing and it's exhausting. Your feelings are strong, and sometimes overwhelming.

It's hard to be three.  And I think it's my job as a parent to minimize that as much as possible.

When Tegan got up from her nap, she was rested, refreshed, and once again looked like this:

Ready to take on another day, and to continue navigating the ups and downs of the world.  Together.