Questions

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"The unanswered questions aren't nearly as dangerous as the unquestioned answers."

I am a questioner.  I always have been.  I was the student that drove the teacher crazy, asking question after question (sometimes pertaining to the subject at hand, sometimes not)  Pre-kids, I worked in retail.  I worked my way up from part-time cashier to full-time manager in about 18 months, thanks in large part to my questioning nature.  I'm never satisfied with anything at face value ... I always need to know more.  I want to know what, I want to know when, I want to know WHY.   And when I do I get an answer?  I question that too.

Questions are how we make sense of the world around us.  Questions are how we learn... not just about our external lives, but about ourselves.  How do we really know how we feel about something unless we question it?

It should come as little surprise then that my children love to question as well.  I welcome and encourage any and all questions, including - or especially - those that people consider to be of a sensitive nature.  It makes no practical difference to me.  "Mommy, why is the sky blue?" and "Mommy, what does 'gay' mean?" will both receive the same amount of respect and attention.  An honest question deserves an honest answer, regardless of where it came from.

I'm thinking of questions today because of this.  Chaz Bono is going to be a contestant on Dancing with the Stars this season, and it has apparently caused a whole bunch of ruffled feathers.  Parents are publicly complaining, lambasting ABC, and boycotting the show.  People are worried that their children are going to ask questions, and this makes them uncomfortable.  I have a question for those parents, but first an observation or two:  1.  The great thing about television is that you always have the right to choose.  If you don't like the fact that's he on the show, you can simply not watch. And 2. The show is called Dancing with the Stars, not The Intimate Details of Chaz Bono's Private Life.  It's a dancing competition, not a documentary.  I'm not really sure why his gender is even at issue.

My question though is this.... If you watch, and if the issue of transgenderism is raised, and if your child asks questions (an awful lot of "ifs"), why are those questions a bad thing?  What exactly is the fear there?  It seems to me that we should be glad as parents that our children feel close enough and comfortable enough to come to us with their questions, of all sort.  They are going to ask someone their questions, and I would far rather it be me than Google,or a random child on the playground.  Even if you don't agree with Chaz Bono's lifestyle choices, your distaste doesn't make him cease to exist.  Your discomfort doesn't negate your child's prerogative to ask questions about something that he/she doesn't understand.   They have a right to be curious, and they have a right to an answer.  There is always something you can say, even if it's "You know what, that question really caught me off guard.  Let me think about how to explain it for a minute."  So often though, the answer they're looking for is really much more simple than we make it.  And if they need more information, they will ask!

Kids will ask questions.

Kids will sometimes ask hard questions (and honestly, explaining what "transgendered" means is far from the hardest question I've ever had to answer).  I think it's our job as parents to answer them openly, honestly, and simply... whether the questions are about blue skies and rainbows or gender and sexuality.



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I peed on the potty, YAY!

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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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Children Are Not Baked Goods

So you want to make a cake.

You consult your recipe, you lay out all your ingredients, and you preheat your oven. You meticulously follow each and every step... carefully measuring, pouring, and mixing. You dot your i's and cross your t's and lovingly place it in the oven.

With a little bit of luck, your cake will rise. It will be moist and springy, flavorful but not too sweet. You'll look at its beautiful exterior and lightly golden hue and you'll pronounce yourself a fabulous baker. So fabulous, in fact, that when you want to make the exact same cake again and don't have the same ingredients, you'll try to wing it. You'll leave out the eggs. You'll substitute oil for butter. You'll use flour made from almonds instead of wheat. You'll sweeten it with honey instead of sugar.

It won't work.

But I'm such a great baker! I had such a terrific recipe! I had such high hopes!

The fact is, you can't bend the will of a set of ingredients to make them into the cake that you envisioned. It doesn't work that way.

And parenting doesn't work that way either. Children are not baked goods. They don't come to us as a set of raw ingredients that we then fashion into something of our own choosing.

Children are fruit.

An apple growing on a tree knows what to do. It grows, all on its own. It does not exist to serve as a potential pie or cider or muffin, but rather as a perfect piece of growing fruit right. now. From the moment that it came into being, it already knew what it was going to be... how big or how small, how red or how green, how tangy or how sweet. It's not ever going to be exactly like the one next to it, and we wouldn't expect it to be. It is unique and beautiful and whole just as it is.

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Our job then isn't to try to mix it and change it and create something with it... our job is to simply nurture it, and let it do its thing.

Our job is to give it warmth, shelter, and nourishment. Our job is to lovingly tend to its needs, protect it from harm, and ultimately give it space to grow. Sometimes.... well, sometimes we get to sit back and just... watch. Watch and enjoy how big and how strong and how amazing our little apple has become.

And an apple (or a child or a street sweeper or a brain surgeon) that's appreciated and valued and accepted for what it is - and not what we try to make it - will always be infinitely better, and happier, than anything we could have possibly created from the sum of its parts.



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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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I Choose "Yes"

When I was in high school, my favorite pair of jeans (ever) were stolen from the locker room during a soccer game.  And once, I lost an earring - one with great sentimental value - never to be found again.   Both were very upsetting to me.  I want my kids to be prepared for upsetting things to happen to them too, so sometimes I take their favorite things and throw them away... because they have to learn about disappointment.

Another time, I ran out of gas.  It was long before cell phones, and I was in a rural area, so I had to walk for help.  I want my kids to be prepared for that too.  So we periodically drive into the middle of nowhere, park the car, and have everyone walk back to civilization.  We don't pack water either, because they might get caught without it one day, and they need to learn what it's like.

The past few years I've had some health issues that have resulted in three different surgeries.  I feel my kids need to learn what that's like too (it could happen to them someday!) so I periodically arrange to get them beds in the local ER, so they can hang out and get the experience first hand.

I once had a verbally abusive boyfriend.  He liked to tell me how ugly I was, how much he hated my hair, and why I needed to lose weight.  I had a mean and angry boss once, too.  She was the kind of person who wasn't content to just be miserable by herself, so she shared her misery with everyone around her.  Both made me feel terrible about myself.  I know my kids could encounter people like this one day too, so I make sure to insult them from time to time so they'll learn how to deal with it. 

Does any of this sound.... illogical... to you?

That is exactly how I feel every time I hear the familiar adage that states that, "kids need to hear the word 'no'."  Experts and parents alike worry that they'll become spoiled and entitled if they're not told no often enough. We shouldn't "give in" to too many of their wishes because life is going to be full of rejection, and they need to get used to it now.

The logic is lost on me.  Purposely doing something unpleasant because they may experience the same unpleasant thing in the future makes no kind of logical sense to me.

I choose to focus on joy.  I choose to say, "YES."  Yes to what, you ask?  Yes to anything and everything I possibly can!

Yes to cupcakes for breakfast.
Yes to jumping in mud puddles.
Yes to wearing pajamas to the store.

I just say yes.  I want their lives to be as rich and as full and as interesting as I can possibly make them.  They didn't ask to be here... I CHOSE to have them.  And now I choose to share with them as abundantly as I possibly can.   I want them to enjoy life, to embrace life, and to know that it is full of possibilities.  I want them to know that they are heard and respected and a valued member of the family.  I want them to know that they can do anything and be anything that they desire.

But come on, you argue, sometimes you have to say no.  Of course: sometimes safety, logistics, or respect for others precludes a "yes."   But all too often a parent's default response is" no" for no good reason.  We're too tired.  It's too messy.  It's inconvenient.  We don't feel like it.  And besides, we reason, it's good for them.  Kids need to hear the word no!   How else will they learn to handle it when they hear it later?  Won't they have a hard time accepting it?

Actually, kids who aren't given arbitrary "nos" tend to be very accepting of the necessary ones.   When I tell my children "no", they know that there's a reason for it, and they respect it.   But my life, and theirs, became infinitely better the day I decided to start saying "yes" more often.   And the more yeses that they hear, the better equipped they are to deal with the occasional nos.

Because I'm not arguing that there won't be some inevitable 'nos' in life:  Of course there are nos, from small to large:  "No, you can't come in the store barefoot."   "No, you didn't get the job as there was someone more qualified."

I would argue that the ones who are best able to deal with it are those that are happy, confident, and fully engaged in life.  Those who realize that life is living, and that it is full of choices.  People who are secure and well-adjusted don't have a problem with a "no shirts, no shoes, no service" rule (or any kind of logical rule for that matter). People who are confident and self-assured don't let one potential employer's rejection stop them from pursuing their dreams. 

I don't give my children arbitrary nos just because I can.  (I also don't steal their things, drop them in the wilderness, take them to the hospital, or treat them unkindly.)  What I do do, is treat them the way that I'd like to be treated.  I treat them in such a way that they are growing up happy, and confident, and self-assured... so that when those inevitable bumps in life do come, they can say, "You know what?  I can handle this."

And it starts with saying yes.

Life is short.  Life is so short!  We're not guaranteed another day with our children.  We're not guaranteed another hour with our children.   I don't know about you, but I don't want to have the regret of not giving enough to my children when I had the chance.... not enough of my time, not enough of my attention, not enough of ME.  This is it.  This is the time we've been given. 

If you're reading this, I want you to do something.  If your child asks you to do something today that you'd normally say no to, if there's no real reason to say no (and there probably isn't), just this once,

JUST SAY YES.



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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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I'd Rather Be With My Kids

Top ten reasons why I'd rather spend time with my kids than with most of the adults I know:

1. They're cute

I mean, come on. Do any of your adult friends look like this?

2. They appreciate the little things in life

I know very few adults who derive as much - or any - joy from rainbows, mud puddles, or caterpillars.

3. They still know how to play

Not everyone loses this ability as they get older, but so many do! I want to be around people who still see the value in an impromptu game of hide and go seek, or blowing bubbles with a straw, or putting on a Spiderman costume at 2:00 in the afternoon, just because.

4. They're REAL.

My kids are authentic, always. They don't play mind games, they don't act a certain way around certain people, they don't just tell me what I want to hear. Happy, sad, silly, frustrated.... they are wonderfully unmistakably themselves, and they express it. And as a bonus, I'm more real when I'm around them, too.
 
5. They always give me something new, 

When it comes to a life with kids, it's nothing if not full of surprises.  I never know what each day is going to hold, and I love that!

but at the same time,

6. They're always comfortable and familiar

I know my kids better than I know anyone on the planet.  I've been there since their very first breath.  I know every story, I remember ever wound.  They truly are my heart and my soul walking around outside my body.

7. They're great conversationalists and even better thinkers 

You know how 2 year olds constantly ask "why?"  They're not doing it to annoy you;  they're doing it because they're learning how the world works, and they're looking to you - their most trusted and loved ally - to help them figure out.  Kids are naturally open and curious and questioning, and they are not held back by the preconceived notions of so many adults.  Some of my very favorite times with my kids are in the car, discussing anything from armpits to snakes to heavy artillery.    Their perspective is always fresh, honest, and enlightening.

8. I enjoy their company

Whether I'm catching an episode of Dr G with the 14 year old, discussing music with the 10 year old, making simulated blood with the 7 year old, or playing dolls with the 3 year old... or doing something more out of the ordinary...  I'm having a good time.  I love my kids - of course - but I like them too.

9. They're funny

No one makes me laugh harder than my kids.  Period.

10. They teach me more than anyone or anything else combined 

No, not about isosceles triangles, or finding the value of 'x', but about LIFE.   They teach me the things that matter.  They teach me about love.  They teach me about living in the moment. About being honest with myself and others.  About not sweating the small stuff.  About being REAL.  My kids teach me everything I need to know about what kind of parent I want to be, and what kind of person I want to be.  

They teach me about smiling...

Even when I'm faced with the metaphorical business end of life:

And you just can't put a price tag on that.




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Cleaning Fail? Parenting Fail? You're both right.

Not even two weeks ago, I blogged about how much I needed a break. I was exhausted, I was stressed out, and I was panicking about getting read for our upcoming trip. I took exactly two days off from blogging, missed it terribly, and jumped right back in.

Yesterday, I was back in panic mode. We leave for our trip in 12 days, and it still feels like there are mountains to climb before we do. Making matters worse is the fact that I'm the only one who feels that way. Mike simply doesn't stress out about much of anything, and the kids are just looking forward to a fun vacation (as they should be)

Sunday night was a rough night. I wasn't feeling well; Everett had a nightmare very early on, and was in our bed the rest of the night; Tegan was tossing and turning and kicking even more than usual; I ended up sleeping in a ball on the end of our bed. The big boys were up past 2:00 (which is not unusual for them) but were woken by Tegan far too early in the morning. Everyone was tired and grumpy, and what I should have done was given us all a free day... a no obligation, lounge around, rest and recoup kind of Monday.

But, oh no. We had 13 days left. We had to CLEAN!

I started with my own desk, and instead of leaving well enough alone, I then decided it was imperative that I tackle the computer room.

This is the 'after' picture, but the girl had already dumped something out again.

This room has been a thorn in my side since we moved in to this house nearly 5 years ago. It looked like it was originally a formal dining room (judging partly from the big chandalier that once hung in the middle of the ceiling), but the previous owners didn't seem to know what to do with it either. When we first toured the house, it was mostly empty, save for a little couch in the corner. For us, it has always served as a computer room slash project room slash collector of random, miscellaneous stuff. It's always a mess, and yesterday I was going to clean it.

I asked the kids to help me, but they were too tired. (Of course they were too tired; No one got any sleep). I asked them again. Spencer was half asleep on the couch, Paxton was engrossed in a computer game, and Tegan and Everett were chasing each other around the house. No one really answered me.

And again, I should have taken the hint, followed their lead - and my own level of exhaustion - and rested. Instead, as if possessed by some mop-wielding inner demon, I became that mom. The stomping, huffing, sighing, "fine, I'll do it myself", martyr of a mom. For the next hour, I was noisily moving chairs and bookshelves, digging stuff out from beneath the desks, flinging sweeping wayward toys and papers and books and tools to the center of the room to sort through. Spencer had fallen asleep by then, Paxton was calmly moving out of my way as I cleaned around him, and the little ones had wisely moved their play to another room, lest they accidentally witness the embarrassment of their mom in the throes of her tantrum.

It really wasn't my finest moment.

I was tired, I was irritated, and I couldn't even enjoy the fruits of my labor once I'd finished.  Who can enjoy something they'd done with the wrong attitude in the first place?

I do still want to get the house clean before we go.  But not like that.  Today, I will get a grip and remember what's important.  I'll listen to my kids, listen to my own body, and save the cleaning for another dang day if need be.

And if all else fails, I'll stick to the kitchen side of the house, and avoid the computer room completely. 




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To The Dads

Happy Father's Day to all of the Fathers out there. To the new fathers, who are getting to experience the sweet, heartbreaking feeling of a sleeping newborn for the first time.

To the experienced fathers, who have been changing diapers, braiding hair and throwing footballs for many years.

To the great fathers.

To the fathers who are doing the best they can.

To the fathers who are vowing every day to do better.

To the fathers who are not fathers through birth or adoption but who have taken on the role for a friend or a relative or simply a child who was in need.

To the single mothers, who through choice or circumstance have acted as mother and father both.

To the fathers whose babies are no longer with them.

And finally, to the fathers at heart, who don't yet have a child in their arms.

Today, I honor and appreciate all of you.



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Haircuts and Hyprocrisy

I cut the boys' hair yesterday. They'd been asking for awhile, and for various reasons it kept getting pushed further and further back. Since our vacation is fast approaching, we knew we had to commit to doing it and stick to it. Because I'm a dork - and simple things amuse me - I made this:

and Everett taped it to the wall. He and Paxton both called (from the next room) for their appointments, and Spencer looked at me and said, "Mommy. Can't you just cut my hair?"

Party pooper :)

When I got out the clippers for Everett's mohawk, Tegan begged me to cut hers too. "Okay, sure," I told her. "I'll give you a trim," even though I knew that a trim wasn't what she really wanted.

She sat in the chair and I gave the very tips of some of her hair a tiny snip with scissors, and she cried. "No, with the clippers! I want it all cut off!! I want it like Spencer's!" And it wasn't the first time she'd asked.

Spencer's hair post-clipping is even shorter than this:

Then (this is the part where I'm a hypocrite), as much as I believe in giving children choices and autonomy, as much as I respect her right to take ownership of her own hairstyle, as much as I know that in the bigger picture, shaving her head wouldn't have mattered...

I talked her out of it.

Can you blame me?

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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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Little Girls in Pretty Dresses

A couple of weeks ago, during the Spilled Milk debacle, I got a curious comment that said something to the effect of, “I'm just wondering why you have such an aversion to anger, which is a normal human emotion?” The comment quite honestly left me a little confused, because I didn't understand how my desire to stay calm during what was a typical 3 year old exploration equated to having an aversion to the emotion in general. As I said at the time, I do get mad occasionally (because I'm human), but I just feel that it has to be something really worthy of an emotion as strong as anger.

Well let me be perfectly and painstakingly clear when I say: Today, I am angry.

Interestingly, the internet – which is also filled with light and inspiration to be sure – supplied me with more than a few nuggets of frustration today. This led me to do some serious head shaking. This got my feathers all kinds of ruffled. But this, this made me flat out mad.

In what kind of world is injecting your 8 year old child's face with a toxin, in a quest for perfection, okay? Or subjecting her to painful body waxes to ward off unwanted, and inevitable, hair growth in puberty? Or saying that you'd “rather she be perfect and have a little frozen face?” In what kind of reality should an 8 year old ever have to feel that she needs to check nightly for wrinkles, or that it takes these kinds of procedures for her to “look way better...beautiful...pretty....all those kinds of nice words?” In what kind of society should a child this age even be aware of the existence of a rhinoplasty or a breast augmentation, let alone desire to have either one?

My heart is broken for this girl. This beautiful little girl whose innocence is lost. This girl who will never measure up, who will spend her whole life lost in chasing the unattainable. This girl who is being taught by the person that she is supposed to trust the most that she is not good enough. This girl without a mother holding her sticky hand, playing with her tangled hair, telling her, “You are perfect, JUST THE WAY YOU ARE.”

I'm angry. I am. What in the world is this beauty pageant, Toddlers In Tiaras, bikini-waxing, hair bleaching culture doing to these little girls? Spray tans, eyebrow threading, false eyelashes, hair extensions, hair straighteners, hair curlers, face makeup, body makeup, push up bras! And now Botox? POISON, painfully injected into their faces? These are little girls. Girls who should be running through the playground, playing tag with their friends, and building forts in their backyard.... not worrying about being prettier, or sexier, or more of a superstar than their preschool counterpart standing next to them.

Please, please, can we let our children be children? But more than that, can we please let them know that they are unconditionally loved? That they are beautifully, and uniquely, and perfectly created exactly as they are? No matter what size they are, or how tall or short, or how straight or how curly. Whether they have freckles, or birthmarks, or thick eyebrows, or no eyebrows. Whether they walk differently, or talk differently, or think differently. Is it too much to ask that we recognize and appreciate the inherent beauty in all children when they are allowed to be children ... not when they're falsely plucked, polished, and pressured into being somebody else's distorted version of perfect?

I want to know when someone's going to stand up and say, “Enough.” I want to know when someone is going to be the voice of reason, and compassion, and what's right. These girls are being damaged and abused. Not just in ways we can see right now, but in ways we can only imagine for the rest of their lives.

They are beautiful the way they are.

And Moms? You're beautiful the way you are too. But you're adults. If you want bigger breasts, or a smaller nose, or a smoother face, it's your body. Have at it.

But I beg you, please, leave your little girls alone.

Be the mom.
Be the one who protects her.
Be the one person in her life she can count on for unconditional love, acceptance, and devotion.

Be the person you want her to see reflected in your eyes every time she looks at you.... someone who is beautiful not because of what she does or does not look like, but because of who she is.



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