Plank Pullin': I'm a Giant Hypocrite

So my friend Jessica of Bohemian Bowmans does a Plank Pullin' post (try saying that 5 times fast) every Thursday. You know, from the verse "How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?" I think she's pretty darn cool, and brave, for posting these every week. However, despite her valiant effort to get people to join her, I have resisted - mightily - until now. It's not that I didn't have planks to pull. Oh, no. The problem was that I had so many planks to pull. Where to even start?

So many planks, so little time.

But something's been bothering me lately, so in the interest of "confession's good for the soul" I hereby give you my very first Plank Pull:

I'm a hypocrite.

There, I've done it. Phew! I feel so much better now. Thanks for reading.

Oh, did you want to know how I'm a hypocrite? Well if I must....

I write a lot about staying calm in the moment, about not sweating the small stuff, and about treating kids kindly and respectfully. I write a lot about patience. And while every word I write is authentic (I don't know how to write any other way) I've become increasingly aware of - and uncomfortable with - a dichotomy when I write about patience specifically. Because the fact is,

I am one of the most impatient people I know.

Yes, I'm generally able to maintain patience with my children. But with other adult family members? With myself? With LIFE? Not so much with the patience.

I think it's funny when people say things to me like, "How can you stay home with four kids all day? Don't they drive you crazy?" The truth is, as far as I'm concerned, staying home and dealing with the four people I love more than anyone is exponentially easier than it was to deal with co-workers. Or customers. Or most of the general population. I used to work in retail, and I would inevitably come home mentally and emotionally exhausted every. single. night. People sort of... well, they drive me crazy. "What is wrong with everybody??" is a common lament around here.

I am such an advocate for treating children like people (because they ARE people) but somewhere along the way I think I forgot that adults are people too. I am so impatient and easily frustrated by other people's more... human qualities. Particularly when I'm dealing with friends and family members, I have a tendency to expect them to be perfect. Then when they're not, I internalize it: How could they say that to ME, how could they do that to ME, why are they always so self-absorbed? Ironic, no? The truth is, no matter what color I paint it, it still boils down to one thing: my impatience. My impatience with people who, just like me, are flawed. People who, just like me, are on their own paths to self discovery. People who, just like me, have good days and bad, and who might not always think before they speak. People who, just like me, deserve to be treated gently and kindly and with PATIENCE.

I am too hard on people, and I hate that about myself. I want to be more patient and loving towards everyone, not just my kids. I want to be better about it, and I'm trying to be better about it, but because I'm so impatient with myself, I want to be better about it RIGHT NOW.

Just Breathe

Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button, girl.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe... just breathe ~Anna Nalick

Yesterday, the kids and I were at a homeschool group play day at a local church (and by "group", I mean us and one other family) We were sitting in a huge kids' classroom, very well-stocked with blocks, lots of dress-up clothes, kitchen, play food, et al. The big kids were lounging on little futons playing with their DSes, and the little kids were, well, being little kids.... running around, playing, laughing, and making a general rumpus.

How can you not love this kid? :)

It was all happy, noisy, babble... and then for one brief second there was a moment of silence. Without intending to, I sighed. It wasn't a dainty little sigh, but a big, heaving, whoosh of air sigh like you'd do after you've been holding your breath for a long time.

I'd forgotten to breathe again.

It sounds ridiculous to say it, but it's true. And I do it all. the. time. Sometimes I get so caught up in the noise and the hustle and the bustle and the business of life that I almost quite literally hold my breath. I'm just kind of hanging on, waiting for that next quiet moment when I can let out that whoosh of air. When I can relax, when I can settle my mind, when I can BREATHE.

The ironic part about it is that I know the importance of breathing. I do yoga, I had natural births, I study natural health. I know about breathing. Even my kids will tell you the importance of breathing because it's something I talk to them about often. I remind them to take deep breaths when they're angry, when they're injured, when they're feeling sick, when they're anxious. It oxygenates the body, it calms us down, and it centers us. There's virtually no ailment that it doesn't help in some way.

Dr Andrew Weil, one of my favorite natural health gurus, has this to say about breathing properly:

Breath is the master key to health and wellness, a function we can learn to regulate and develop in order to improve our physical, mental, and spiritual well-being... In many languages, the words for spirit and breath are one and the same (from Natural Health, Natural Medicine)

Proper breathing seems like such a simple thing, but for some reason it's one I have to be continually reminded to work on. And I am always glad when I do. It makes me feel better, makes me a much more effective parent, and makes the day a whole lot more enjoyable (or tolerable, depending)

If you're reading this right now: take a nice, deep cleansing breath (in through your nose, out through your mouth) because you probably need it. Take another. Take seven.

Feel better? You. are. welcome.

My Sheltered Children

Shelter - (v) To place under cover. To protect.

Several weeks ago, I posted a call for people to share the most common myths and misconceptions they hear about homeschooling. That pesky lack of socialization was of course the first thing mentioned, but the list eventually grew. One thing that was offered was the objection that home schooled kids are "too sheltered" and it's one I forgot about until I saw it in my drafts folder this morning.

Too sheltered.

First, I'd like to point out that strictly per the definition up above, we should want to shelter our children. As parents, it's our job to shelter our children. There are a myriad of circumstances in which we need to protect them, keep them safe, and place them under cover.

But I'm aware that that's not what people mean when they raise this objection... they mean overly protected, and overly sheltered. They mean kids who are raised in one tiny little sealed bubble, kids who are not able to venture out of said bubble, and kids who are missing out on the big wide world.

Now, I can't pretend to know why everyone chooses to homeschool. But I do know, with absolute certainly, that my decision to keep them out of school was based on the exact opposite premise of wanting to make their world smaller.

I keep my kids out of school in part because I want to make their lives bigger, not smaller. I keep them out of school because I want to give them more freedom, not less. Freedom to explore, and learn from, the whole world. Freedom to choose who they do - and do not - spend their days with. Freedom to discover where, when, and how they learn best. Freedom to talk with us about what they do and do not want to be exposed to. I try to never make knee-jerk, unilateral decisions (ie: no, you can't watch that movie because it's rated R) but rather let each individual child be my guide. It hasn't failed me yet. When my children are interested in specific ideas, plans, and experiences, we try to find a way to make it happen.

But surely, they're sheltered from something by not being in school? Well, yes. They're sheltered from the painful dread that comes with having to go to school every day when you're being bullied, or teased by your "friends", or unfairly singled out by a teacher. They're sheltered from being required to sit through a class, or a semester, or an entire year of teachings that are not applicable to them, or are not in line with their own personal value system. They're sheltered from spending all day, every day, in an environment that might not be best for them, in a multitude of ways. They're sheltered from not being able to have any say in the people, places, and things from which they learn.

I surely make no apologies for sheltering them from any of the above.

Interestingly, when I went to dictionary.com for the above definition, I saw this sentence as an example of its usage:

Parents should not try to shelter their children from normal childhood disappointments.

This is something I see a lot. Similarly, I hear a lot of people say that kids need to go to school because they need to learn to deal with things like bullies.

Am I the only one who finds this an odd - and sad - justification against home schooling? First, I'm not really sure what "normal" childhood disappointments are, but life provides plenty of those on its own. Life's sometimes bumpy. While I would love to be able to protect my children from all of life's disappointments, I can not. Home schooled or not, sheltered or not, they know disappointment. It seems completely illogical (not to mention cruel) to actually make a point of ensuring that they experience their fair share, and ensuring that they experience more than what life will naturally give them.

As to bullies... Bullying is no joke, especially in this day and age of the internet, cell phones, and Facebook. I remember the pain of being bullied well, and I can't even imagine what it's like today. My being humiliated in front of a group of five girls, or even the whole lunchroom, is surely nothing compared to being humiliated in front of the whole school. Or a group of schools. Or an entire internet community. All it takes these days is one click of a "send" button. Bullying is a real and serious problem, one that's contributing to the loss of self-esteem, loss of confidence, and loss of LIFE. Bullying is breaking children, all over the country, and in no way could I ever be convinced that that could be a good thing, or a necessary thing, or a rite of passage.

My kids have been disappointed, and my kids have encountered bullies: On the playground, at homeschool groups, in baseball, at Cub Scouts, on field trips. And they've handled themselves just fine, without ever having been subjected to the day in/day out torture that some children have to endure.

They are confident, and they are self-assured... despite their lifetime of being sheltered.

To Everett, who's still brave and strong

Everett turns seven today. In honor of his birthday, I decided to write him a letter, just as I did for Tegan when she turned three, and will hopefully continue to do for all four going forward. 

To my sweet Everett,

Today's your birthday, which means I'm thinking of your birth story again.  It's always hard for me to re-visit that day, because it was one of the most truly frightening things I've ever experienced as a mother.  No mother ever dreams about her baby being born blue, not breathing, and not making any sounds.  No mother wants to watch, desperately praying, while doctors work to resuscitate her newest son.  It's still hard for me to look at those early early pictures, even after you were breathing well...  you looked so pale, so fragile.  I like the pictures that were taken a little later, after you'd finally been placed in my arms.  So alert, and so, so beautiful. 

I do think about that day though, and I do talk about it.  Mainly because you like to hear it so much. You love to hear, over and over, about your entry into the world.  You love to tell me how brave you were, and how strong, and how you started breathing because you couldn't wait to meet me. 

And I couldn't wait to meet you either.   How did I get so lucky to be blessed with a third son?

Everett, you inspire me.  In so many ways.  I love how excited you get to try something - anything - new.  I love how quick you are with a smile, and how you're even quicker with a hug.  I love how affectionate you are.  I love your sense of humor, and I love hearing you laugh.  I love your enthusiasm, how much you just love life.  I love that no matter what you're feeling... whether it's happiness, sadness, fear, or elation... that you let yourself feel it, and express it, fully.  I love how authentic you are.  I love how you're flat-out wrestling with your best friend one moment, and painting your fingernails the next.  I love your gap-toothed grin, and I love the way you lisp when you talk.

But mostly, I just love YOU.   I am forever grateful, and proud, to be able to call you my son.

New Cars and Bumper Stickers

We took a family drive down to Tucson today. I have to admit, I don't enjoy that particular drive. I love driving north, where I can sigh and breath and enjoy all the mountainous scenery, but driving south towards Tucson (which itself is a lovely city) is 2 hours of flat and brown.

But today we were on a mission.

Several weeks ago, Mike - who is very enamored with his Land Cruiser (the one that's in my banner picture) - announced that he wanted to get me one, too. That way we'd have two vehicles with four wheel drive. And plus, he assured me, I'd like it way better than my Sequoia. I hemmed and hawed, because that's what I do. He kept casually bringing up again, because that's what he does. There wasn't anything wrong with my Sequoia, but the thought of something new was tempting. In the end, I told him that as long as it didn't increase our debt load, we should do it (and decreasing it would be even better!)

This week, he found and sent me the link to this listing:

... and I said, "yes, please."  It met all our criteria, was exactly the right price, and was only two hours away.

So off to Tucson we went.  We ended up making almost a whole day of it, getting donuts on the way and lunch when we were done.  And wouldn't you know... he was right. I fell in love. It was as if fate had brought us there. After three hours (and one of the hands-down most pleasant and easy car-buying and trading experiences ever) I had myself a spiffy new - to me - Land Cruiser.

The only thing that made me sad about leaving the Sequoia behind was the fact that it meant that I had to part with my Autodidactic sticker, the only sticker I've ever put on my car. That sticker has sparked more home/unschooling related conversations with strangers than I can even count. And I loved it.

So I was thrilled when I got to have one last conversation when the salesman spotted it and asked what the word meant.

(Autodidactic = self taught.  It's one of my favorite words, and my boys are fond of proudly declaring themselves autodidacts)

The salesman loved it so much that I later caught him just staring at the sticker with a big grin on his face.  Seeing me notice him, he said, "I'm just enjoying my new word."  Hee.

I got a new truck, and I imparted wisdom.  That's just a good day all the way around.

Gentle Discipline: So what DO you do?

I have been thinking about discipline a lot the past several days (as have, apparently, many of you) I realized that what was bothering me the most about the negative comments I was receiving about the spilled milk post - aside from the people who felt led to name call - was the pervasive assumption that not punishing equaled not disciplining. That because I do not take a punitive approach, that I do not PARENT.

The opposite is true.

I got comment after comment after comment that said, "If you just let your kids do whatever they want..." which usually led into a diatribe about them never learning right from wrong, never having any respect for themselves or others, and ultimately turning into loud, dirty, trouble-making teenagers.

Parents who ignore their children's behavior, parents who are not involved, parents who really do let their kids "run wild" (for lack of a better phrase) are being neglectful. Those who parent mindfully and who discipline gently are consciously present with their children. They are VERY much involved in showing, leading, modeling, and guiding their children.

It's easy and immediate to offer up a "Go to your room!" or a "Look what you did!" It's dis serving and neglectful to turn your back.  It's deliberate and thoughtful to respond in a calm, and caring way. 

If you get nothing else from this post, please hear this:  Ignoring what your children are doing, and interacting with them respectfully are two completely and diametrically opposed things. 

One common thread I saw emerging in my comments, even when it was not expressly said, was "Well if you don't punish, what DO you do?  How do you teach them right from wrong?  How will they learn?"  I'm going to take that for the honest question that it is.  Some people, for any number of reasons, do not know about alternatives.  They don't know that there's another way.  Some people want to do things differently, and want to break their cycle, but they honestly do not know where to start.  It's for those people that I started to think about the following... a (partial) list of what I do do with my children in terms of discipline.

1. Listen

My friend Vickie, of Demand Euphoria (which is a blog you should immediately head on over to check out when you're finished here) recently said it best when she said, "If you have a question about parenting your child, try asking your child first!"  We all act the way we act for a reason.   When I'm unclear about what's going on with one of my children, I first try to stop and just listen.   I let them tell me why they're thinking/acting/feeling a certain way.  Even young, non-verbal children can communicate what the problem is as long as we're paying attention.  Are they tired?  Hungry?  Frustrated?  Sad?  Angry? Regardless of the situation, we can't even begin to effectively deal with it unless we understand why it's happening.  And we can only do that if we're really in tune with our children.  We can only do that if we're really listening.

2. Talk

  

While I think the listening has to come before the talking, we of course have to have an ongoing, respectful communication as we help our kids navigate the world.  I think that sometimes as parents we have a tendency to talk way too much (which is why I place listening first)  When Tegan threw the shoes in the water, a very brief and simple, "We don't want those to get ruined," was much more appropriate for the situation  - and her age - than a long-winded narrative about responsibility, respect, and ownership.  With the boys, who are older, I might use more words... but my experience tells me that less is still more, and that the listening has to come first.

3. Empathize

This to me is at times one of the hardest - but most necessary - facets of peaceful parenting.  Sometimes it's hard to remember what it's like to be three (or 7 or 10 or 14)  Sometimes it's hard to see past the frustration of a moment and truly put ourselves in someone else's shoes.   But I can think of few other acts that diffuse a situation as quickly as when I really take a deep breath and let myself feel what my child feels.   I can listen more effectively, talk more authentically, and respond more compassionately when I've let go of me, and allow it to be about them.  This isn't just about kids either, but is an important aspect of dealing with anyone, in any situation. 

4. Model

One thing that I think a lot of people are confused about is how children can learn things like manners, respect, and the like without it being somehow drilled into them.  My answer is this:  I model the behavior that's important to me.   I say please and thank you.  I say excuse me.  I'm polite to waiters and bank tellers and cashiers.  I'm true to myself.  I respect other people's things.  I respect other people's feelings.  I don't lash out at strangers on the internet because they do things differently than me.  I say I'm sorry when I make a mistake.  I treat my kids - and other people - the way I'd like to be treated.  My children have learned it because they have lived it.

5. Provide alternatives 

This point is much more applicable to small children than older children.  One thing I hear a LOT is moms of toddlers who say things like, "But how do I stop the hitting?  The pinching?  The biting?  The throwing?"  If it helps for commiseration sake, Paxton (10) was a huge thrower as a toddler, and these days the only thing he throws is a baseball.... without ever having been punished for it. :)  All those things I mentioned are normal for growing, learning toddlers.  At three, Tegan is on her way out of most such behaviors, but when something arises, I 1) Protect the person who's taking the brunt of it, in whatever way I need to do it... whether that means moving to another room, going outside (or in), or gently holding her hands in mine.  2) Move on to step one - listening.  Is she tired?  Needing attention?  Just trying something fun?  3) Talking: I'm sorry, I can't let you throw that remote at his head because he might get hurt, and 4) Provide alternatives.  Does she want to throw?  There are lots of safe, fun things she can throw.  Does she want to hit something?  How about high-fives, or punching an exercise ball, or boxing on the Wii?  Does she want to experiment with water?  Lots of safe, fun ways to experiment with water.   Does she just need more personal attention from me?   I'll suggest a game, or a puzzle, or a coloring book, and sit down and do it with her.   Sometimes it takes a healthy dose of creativity, but there's always an alternative. 

 

6. Take a time out

No, not in the more well-known, punishment kind of way, but a time out together.  A time away from the situation.  A chance to re-connect and re-group.  A chance to calm down.  Sometimes listening, talking, empathizing, and providing alternatives just doesn't do it.  Sometimes you need to call a time out... whether it means a change in scenery, a good book, time alone, a bowl of ice cream, or a good old fashioned round of "what kind of shapes and animals can we find in the clouds."

7.  Be gentle.  Be forgiving.

Just I was finishing up this post, I received another comment.  It said in part that I came across as if I think I'm perfect.  It makes me sad because that is just about the complete opposite of my intent, and it is just about the complete opposite of the truth.  I will take it to heart, and measure the tone of future posts, but can I just hereby officially state for the record that

I am 100% categorically IMPERFECT in oh so many ways!!  

SO many ways.  If you're not convinced, I have friends and family members who would gladly give you a list of my flaws if you would like it.


I'm not perfect.  My kids aren't perfect.  They screw up.  I screw up.  We're human.  The best we can do is try to do better, be gentle with ourselves and others, and apologize honestly and forgive freely. 


I'm not a perfect parent, and I don't have all the answers.  I do know though that my kids are HAPPY.  My kids are confident.  My kids are thriving.   And I can't ask for much more than that.

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!

Alanis Morissette = Best Therapy Ever

I've never really been to therapy, at least not on my own. When I was a teenager, I went to family therapy (it was required when my parents took in a foster child), and to say that I wasn't a fan would be an understatement. I still don't know why I had such a strong reaction (Maybe it's because I was there against my will? Maybe it was just that particular therapist?) Maybe therapy just isn't my thing. In any case, there have definitely been times I've wondered about it, especially when I encounter people who speak so highly of it. But I've never been back.

I do think, regardless of your stance on therapy, that everyone should have tools at their disposal to pull themselves back up when they've gotten off-track... whether it's time alone, talking things out with a friend, meditating, praying, connecting with nature. Something to re-center, re-focus, and re-group. I have several, each for a different set of circumstances. One for when I'm feeling lost, one for when I'm sad, one for when I'm having an internal struggle of some sort...

Today I brought out the big guns. Alanis Morissette. Alanis Morissette is for the days when I'm feeling an overwhelming sense of

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarggggh"

And she's not just for listening. No, no. She's for singing along - loudly - preferably with grand hand gestures (the more dramatic and angst-filled, the better) And it needs to be in the car... it just doesn't have the same effect otherwise.

Today, I needed it, and the kids happily indulged me on our short drive to our friends' house. And it worked.

I like lots of other music for lots of other moods, but when I have that feeling, that just..... What was it I said up above?  Oh yes,  "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarggggh".  When I have that feeling, it has to be Alanis. Blasting Jagged Little Pill brings me out of the doldrums like no other. A couple of hits of Ironic, One Hand in My Pocket, and of course my unschooling anthem, You Learn, and I'm back and ready to take on the world again.

What's your go-to album?

I'm Officially Old

Spencer is fourteen as of two months ago. Last night, I was sitting at my computer, minding my own business, when he came in and asked me a question. This is not unusual for him - or for any of my children - especially in the evening. They're often wandering in and out, asking questions, chatting for a little while, then going back to their own projects.

What was unusual was the question. It was a big question. It was the question.

"Hey Mommy, how old were you when you started dating?"

Now I, of course, answered with immediate and unflinching honesty.

"Twenty seven. And I was 30 before I had sex."

No, what I really told him was the truth: that I'd officially started dating when I was around his age.

He was pleased with this information, and didn't miss a beat before asking, "Well when can I start dating?"

"When you're twenty seven."

But the fact was, I didn't have any magic age for him. Like anything else, I told him, it would happen when it happened. We'd deal with it together when the time came. That answer seemed to satisfy him, and he wandered out again... only to return about 18 seconds later.

"Mommy. How do you do that thing on Facebook? Where it says so-and-so is in a relationship with so-and-so?"

I laughed a little bit. I couldn't help it. He wanted to know how people made their relationship "Facebook official."

"It's just an option in your profile. You can go in and edit it, and then it just shows up."

He thought about that for a second. "Does the other person have to be on Facebook too?"

"No," I told him, "You can say you're in a relationship with anyone."

He left again. I chuckled. It's funny, this new age of dating. It's when he came back for a third time to ask, "So if I meet a girl, is it better if I get her email, or should I just get her number so I can text her?" that it hit me:

I'm old.

Not only am I old, but I'm also profoundly and hopelessly out of touch with the times. I have no idea how people date in 2011.   Now if he'd asked me how to fold up a note into a neat little triangle, I'd have been able to help him.  If he'd wanted to know about slipping said note into the slats of his beloved's locker, I'd have been all over it.  I could have even helped him make a mixed (cassette) tape of songs I'd recorded from the radio, and shown him how to wrap yarn around his class ring so it'd fit on his girl's finger.

But Facebook?  Texting?  Emails?  None of that existed when I was his age.   My gosh, was it THAT long ago?  I'm 37, not 87!    But alas, it's true.  It's a whole new world out there.   I was 14 over 20 years ago.  And because I met and married my now-husband when I was still in my late teens, I never knew the joys of waiting for a returned email (only the joys of waiting for a returned note to be passed in between gym and science class)  Never knew what it was like to have a picture instantly text to me (only what it was like to bring my film to the one hour photo developing place a week after I took them)  I never knew the sadness of having 200 friends watch at once as my relationship status changed in a blink from taken to single (only the humiliation of having to tell everyone, one at a time, until the word had passed... that yes, I'd been officially dumped again) 

Is one way better than the other?  Was I missing out on the wonders of communication that were yet to come?  Or is the other way around? 

I don't know the answer, but I do know that the realization of this gulf between my teenage son and my teenage self made me... tired.  The whole thing was making my head spin, and it was making me tired.

I'm old.

But the conversation wasn't over yet.  I'd already gone to bed to watch TV by the time he came to find me again.   "Mommy.  How do I set my phone to have a different ringtone for different people?  So like when I have a girlfriend, I can have a special song just for her?"  And finally I had a good answer, the answer that would give my poor old tired brain a rest from trying to wrap itself around the fact that the last time I was dating there was no such thing as Facebook, George Sr was president, and gas cost $1.50.

The phone that Spencer and Paxton share used to belong to Mike, and I have enough trouble with the intricacies of my own phone, let alone someone else's.  So it was with honesty - and relief - that I tenderly looked him in the eyes and said,

"You'll have to ask your father."  And so he did.

And I went off to sleep, dreaming of a simpler time.

Spilled Milk: A couple of thoughts a week later

The shoes that started it all

Dan, of Single Dad Laughing and Will Work 4 Followers posts a weekly "Lessons Learned"... sort of a rundown of the good and bad of that week's posts, how they were received, and what he's learned from it.  I've been thinking about that all day today, because I've learned a lot of lessons in the past week, both large and small.

First and foremost, I'm an even bigger introvert than I thought.  One week ago, on a really really good day, my blog would get maybe 200 views.  Maybe.  Today it got 4,700.  My Spilled Milk post has been shared and re-shared and passed along almost 2,000 times.  I say that not to toot my own horn, but to give a frame of reference for what I'm about to say, which is:

I'm little bit overwhelmed.

I have gotten a lot of comments, emails, and Facebook messages (most of which have been extremely positive, for which I am very thankful!!) and  I'm grateful and humbled by all of you who've passed my words along.  It's been very, very cool to connect with so many new people.  It's also been a little.... strange.  Scary.  I don't always know what to say to everyone, so bear with me.

Second, I've learned that I should have been a little more specific about my daughter's age.  I took it for granted that people knew she was only three, and I had many new readers who did not.  I got a lot of comments from people thinking she was much older, and wondering why I'd be okay with a 7 year old (or whatever) throwing shoes into a lake.  It didn't occur to me until today to go back and edit the post to reflect her age.  Sometimes it doesn't really make a difference, but I think in this case it made a big difference.  She's three.  And it might have spared me some grief if I'd been clear about that from the beginning.

I've also learned that there are some major limitations to blogging as a means of communication.  A blog post like that one is just one little snapshot... a small example to illustrate a larger point.  It wasn't meant to be a blow-by-blow account of how I handled the situation, more of a discourse on how I did NOT handle the situation.  But I left details out.  I didn't mention what I said to her (and honestly, I don't remember the specifics of what I said to her) just because I didn't think it would add to the message of my blog.   It wasn't really my point.  That does not mean though that I had the words, or the attitude, of "What a great idea, you cute little thing you.  Let's throw everyone's personal property into the water.  Here's my purse, and don't forget my phone and car keys!"  A lot of people commented (most nicely, some not as nicely) that while maybe the "things" don't matter, that the discipline matters.  That the teaching right from wrong matters.  That the consequences matter.  That if I let my kids do whatever they want - which again, was not the point - that they'll grow up into miscreants.  Or something. 

I've blogged about gentle discipline many times, and I will blog about it again.  In fact, I'm working on another post inspired by the many comments on this one... a post about learning right from wrong, about learning respect for ourselves and others, and about what we really mean when we say "natural consequences."    I hope to post it soon.

I believe in guiding my kids through loving words and actions, and I believe in discovering and circumventing and figuring out the world WITH them and beside them.  I believe in treating them with kindness and with respect.  And yes, I do screw up constantly sometimes and I'm always striving to do better.

I think all of the above are great and worthwhile things to talk - and write - about as fellow parents, and are a big part of why I keep this blog.  But if you're looking for someone who takes a positive stance on things like time-outs, taking away of privileges, and creating lots of rules - and you don't want to hear about alternatives - then this might not be the right place for you.   If you disagree, but are willing to discuss and behave like a grownup, awesome.  If you want to learn about another way of doing things, great. I'm happy to have you.

And finally, a quick word about comments.  I love comments.  I think most bloggers love comments.  I try to respond to them all (I actually have a few from today that I still want to get to) and I don't moderate them so far.  In other words, if you write it, it shows up.  And just like I believe in treating kids with respect, I believe in treating adults with respect as well.  I'm glad to have a respectful discussion with someone who disagrees with me, but if you're going to lead by telling me that I don't care about my kids, and that they must be home schooled since they're so selfish... you're not too likely to get much of a response.

To those of you who are still with me, thank you!  It's been a wild, and fun, past couple of days. :)

Good Enough

A confession, if I may:

I have a sort of ongoing, internal struggle when it comes to perfectionism. In the moment, I'm okay with unpredictability. I'm cool with things not going according to plan. I've built an entire lifestyle (and an entire blog) around appreciating life's detours... which aren't always pretty, and aren't always perfect. There is still beauty to be found, even in the imperfections. I know this. I know this.

So I must be a slow learner. Because I still get hung up on details. I still worry about things turning out the way they're "supposed to." (And really, who can decide how things are supposed to turn out?) I still lay awake at night double-checking everything in mind, especially when it comes to things like holidays. And birthdays. And Tuesdays. Did I do everything I should've done? Should I have done something differently? Would the kids be happy?

It's exhausting and unnecessary.

Yesterday was Easter.
It was not perfect.
But it was wonderful.
And wonderful was good enough.

It all started with the eggs. I really wanted to dye eggs naturally this year. I even found links for dying naturally, and shared them on Facebook (you're welcome). But I didn't use them. I used the very UNnatural kit that's been in the cupboard - from months ago, when our neighbors brought it over when they were moving and cleaning out their kitchen. That's what the kids wanted to use, and we already had it, and we didn't have any extra money to buy the ingredients for natural dying anyway.

So egg dying looked like this this year:

It wasn't what I'd wanted, but it was good enough. The kids were happy, and that makes me happy.

But then there were the baskets! Talk about an internal struggle... over something so completely silly. Spencer and Paxton are old enough that they're not interested in the standard fare of things like bubbles and stickers, but I wanted to think of something that'd be fun for them. I didn't want to spend a bunch of money on cheap little toys that'd end up buried in a toy bin in a couple of days, but I wanted them all to have some cool surprises. I definitely didn't want to fill a basket with hydrogenated oils, high fructose corn syrup, and other artificial junk, but I didn't want them to miss out on some of their favorites (which they have so infrequently anyway). And I didn't have the budget for the healthier alternatives.

But, but, but. I have friends that manage to do it... manage to make holidays natural and healthy and perfect and wonderful. Manage to have lovely days with pressed kids in their Easter finest heading happily off to church. Why can't I do it? And there's that perfectionism. There's that taking myself too seriously, and stressing myself out with trying to do everything *right.* Wasn't I just berating my sixteen year old self for doing that very thing??

So I took a big, huge breath.

The baskets (which were filled with totally unhealthy chocolate, and a couple small and carefully chosen gifts) were not perfect, but they were good enough. And they made all four kids very happy.

Everyone was bathed and clean, but Tegan didn't want me to even touch her hair. So it wasn't as nice and cascading as I would have liked. She also had a rip in the back of her pretty dress - the only one she wanted to wear - that resisted all our best efforts to repair/hide/cover it.

Her and Everett were both over-tired from getting up too early, and had a hard time sitting through church. That was my daughter you heard saying, "I'm done with this. The singing's too loud," before her dad whisked her away to play outside.

But it was okay. It was all okay. It was in fact more than okay, because after the baskets, after the egg hunts, after church, we all went to my sister's and spent the day hanging out with family... playing, eating, laughing, and remembering - once again - what's important (and what's not)

And when we finally went home, tired, stuffed, and spent, all four kids declared it the "best Easter they've ever had."  And it was.  It wasn't perfect, but it was better than I could have planned, even without vegetable dyed eggs and all-natural chocolate.  Even without rip-free dresses (which she of course ditched once she got to my sister's house anyway)  Even without tangle-free hair.  And I certainly couldn't have planned the excitement that this would bring:

I don't know why I ever worry beforehand. I really don't. Yesterday, like every day, was not perfect. But it was perfectly imperfect. And it was lovely, and it was joy-filled. And that is - and forever will be - good enough for me.

Freedom

I just stumbled across this quote, and it really resounded with me, especially in light of my thinking about my 16 year old former self yesterday. I refuse to be a flea.

If you put fleas in a shallow container, they jump out.

But if you put a lid on the container for just a short time, they hit the lid trying to escape and learn quickly not to jump so high.

They give up their quest for freedom.

After the lid is removed, the fleas remain imprisoned by their own self-policing.

So it is with life.
Most of us let our own fears or the impositions of others imprison us in a world of low expectations.

~Andrew Hsu

To My 16 Year Old Self...

So my friend Jessica, of Bohemian Bowmans, asked:

What would you say to your 16 year old self?

And I gotta admit, my first knee-jerk reaction was,  do I really want to pull on that thread?  The question would better read, "What WOULDN'T I say to my 16 year old self?"  I mean, there's a reason for the expression,  "Hindsight is 20/20."  And really, what 30-something wouldn't have a mouthful of wisdom for her wide-eyed, wet behind the ears, barely out of a training bra younger self? 

But then I thought, You know what?  It's been awhile since I thought about her.  And I probably remember that age with more clarity than any of the rest of my high school years. 

The driver's license.  The first car.

The part-time job.

The drama.

The boys.  Oh, the boys...

It was a crazy time.  A tumultuous time.  But a good time all the same.  Still, I wouldn't go back in time to that age for all the money in the world.  I'll take 37 over 16 any day of the week, and twice on Sunday.

...but I've digressed...

So without further preambling, I give you my letter to my former self:

Dear person who kind of looks like me but otherwise bears little resemblance to the person I will become,

First, for the love of all that is good and holy, LIGHTEN UP.  Stop taking yourself  so seriously.   Laugh more.  Play more.  Take more risks.  Quit being so afraid of what people will think  what people will say   making a fool of yourself   making mistakes  LIVING.   Life is funny.   It's messy.  It's unpredictable.  It's bumpy.  And it's wonderful!!!  

Don't sweat the small stuff.

Please don't waste perfectly good energy trying to live your life to please other people, because 1.  You never will, and 2.  You'll make yourself miserable in the process.  Believe it or not, in 20 years you will have created an entire lifestyle around NOT following the crowd, and it will make you insanely and blissfully happy.

Expand your taste in music.  There are other bands besides Chicago, Journey, and REO Speedwagon.  You will eventually realize this, but you will save your future husband hours of torture if you realize it sooner.

Keep writing!

The only few times you will break out of your "good girl, must-please-everyone" mold and try to do something even remotely sneaky and rebellious.... you will get caught and get in trouble.  Don't bother.  Except.... yeah, it'll be worth it.  Do it anyway.  You'll look back and laugh.

And speaking of laughing, you know how people say, "When you look back on this, you'll laugh?"  In most cases, you really will.  So don't wait.  Laugh about it now.

Stop putting your books and your wallet and your bags on top of your car.  You'll waste a lot of time chasing them down in parking lots, main streets, and fire ponds.  And while we're on the subject of cars:  get a hide-a-key.  Or stop leaving the dang keys in the ignition when you lock it.  Either one.  Get gas when the gauge says E.  Don't speed around corners in front of cops.  Don't talk back to them either.  Don't drive so close to the mailbox (or the rock wall, or the garage door, or the car in front of you)

Don't take advanced math.   It will cause you huge amounts of grief, and you will not need it, no matter how many people tell you otherwise.

Your parents love you.  And they're human, and they make mistakes.  

I'm sorry to tell you that you're soon going to have your heart broken one more time by another loser person of questionable moral character. He will be charming and lovely and conniving and abusive. He will cheat on you. It will be a good lesson in irony though, because he will be the "good, Christian boy" that you meet at a church function. Everyone will approve of him, and no one will believe you when you try to show them his true colors. But take heart, because you will meet your future husband in one year, when you least expect it. You will know immediately that he is "the one."

Don't do track just because your friends are doing it.  You're not a runner, you're too clumsy for field events, and you will give yourself life-long shin splints from the triple jump.

You know nothing.  You'll still know nothing when you're 37, but you'll KNOW you know nothing.  You'll love learning, you'll crave knowledge, and you'll passionately dive into a million and one  pursuits.  Not because you have to, not because it's the right thing to do, but because you WANT TO.

Wear your retainer.  

You were given a working, thinking brain for a reason.  You can spare yourself a long, painful, and frustrating process of "finding yourself" if you let yourself be you NOW.  If you let yourself have opinions NOW.  Find out who you are, and try not to be afraid of it.

Don't be afraid to ask the hard questions.

Do be afraid of falling off the ski lift.

Remember what it feels like to be a kid. 

Research circumcision before you have your first son.

Don't let all the naysayers get you down when you get married at 19.  You'll still be happily married 18 years later.  

You're questioning your faith, but God will never leave your side.   Not once.  You'll take a long, strange path to discover it.... but you'll take a long, strange path to discover most things.  The life you live as an adult will be so far removed from what you can imagine now that you wouldn't even understand it.  There will be naysayers then too, but don't worry.  You will be stronger then.  You will be confident.  You will be happy.  You will finally be YOU. 

In about seven years, your life will start to make sense. 

 And finally:   please, please save yourself some future self-flagellation and stop being so narrow minded and judgmental about things like... oh I don't know... homeschooling, extended breastfeeding, and attachment parenting.  Seriously. Just.... stop. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Your pushing 40 but younger-than-ever future self.

Handmade by Tara Giveaway WINNER

I love doing giveaways so much that I actually get butterflies in my stomach when I draw the winner (even though it can't be me. :)) So believe me when I say that I'm always very excited to announce who has won!

And the winner of Tara's beautiful birthstone necklace is:

Edna · I'm in ...beautiful!

Congratulations Edna!! Send me a message with your mailing address, as well as what month stone/s you would like.  I can't wait for you to see it in person!


Thanks so much to everyone who entered, and of course a huge thank you to Tara.