Yearly Archives: 2012

December 20, 2012 · 12:45 PM

I Quit

“I’ve had it. I quit. I would rather leave my secure, $70,000 job, with benefits, and tutor in Connecticut for free, than be part of a system that is diametrically opposed to everything education should be.”

This is what’s become of our education system… from the mouth of a teacher. And people still wonder why I homeschool. I have a lot of compassion for all the great teachers who are doing the best they can in such a broken, broken system; and especially for teachers like this man… teachers who are forced to make the decision to say “No. No more.”

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Filed under homeschooling, school, unschooling

December 18, 2012 · 6:00 AM

2012 Top Ten

What a year for parenting. Between Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest, there was no shortage of avenues for crazy ideas. Laptop-shooting dads, public shamings on Facebook, and negative and anti-kid “pins” were all the rage this year.

As I went through my stats for the year to get this post together, I realized that once again my most read pieces were those that responded to these popular trends. I’m not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, it makes sense…. these are things that people are thinking about, and talking about, and are just generally in the public’s consciousness. On the other, it bothers me. Bothers me because they’re also the posts that garner me the most negative attention, the most “Why don’t you stop judging everyone else and worry about your own family” kind of comments. It was not too long ago that I was told I should stop picking on everyone.

That’s not who I am, and it’s not what this blog is.

Still, there were things that I think needed to be said, and with few exceptions I don’t regret saying them. I do imagine the blog going in a bit of a different direction in 2013, both as a conscious decision and just because I’ve gone in a different direction. As an authentic extension of myself, this space is a growing, changing, fluid organism. And thank God for that.

Here are my most read posts for the year, in order of most to least views:

Not My Idea of a Hero: My response to Tommy Jordan, the man who gained his 15 minutes of fame when the video of him shooting bullets through his daughter’s laptop went viral on YouTube. I took a lot of flack on this one… for “judging” him, and for not respecting him and his decisions as a parent. But the man took a gun, shot it through his daughter’s property, and used fear, intimidation, and public ridicule as a way to discipline. I stand by this one.

I stole your stuff. Now I’m holding it for ransom: My take on the popular Pinterest idea of collecting your kids’ things that were left lying around, putting them in a big bin, and then having them do chores to earn them back. A lot of negative responses to this too (people hold very tightly to their treasured pins :)), especially to my use of the word, “steal.” But in my house, my childrens’ things are their own, and taking something that doesn’t belong to you is stealing. I stand by this one too.

Dear Chick Fil A, I Love You But: Dan Cathy, the CEO of Chick Fil A, made a public statement about gay marriage and what he called traditional family values. People boycotted, people supported him, and everyone went crazy. The brouhaha on both sides of this issue was just too much to ignore, so I had to say my piece. My only regret on this one? That I wasn’t brave enough to say how I really felt about homosexuality. That I hid behind hypotheticals and political correctness and the same “traditional family values” that had started the whole thing. What I didn’t do was come right out and say that yes, I’m a Christian who absolutely loves God and loves Jesus…. and doesn’t happen to think that homosexuality is a sin. I didn’t say that I think that the way homosexuals have been treated in the name of Christianity is absolutely abhorrent, and I didn’t say that I think something needs to change in a HUGE way in this country (and that that change should not involve denying gay individuals the same rights as their heterosexual counterparts.) I didn’t share that I too was once an adamant “It’s a sin, but…” Christian, or the journey that it took for me to feel otherwise, or the years of researching on my own, trying to find out what the Bible actually did and did not say, or my gratitude for people like John Shore, and other Christians who were brave enough to question the status quo – and write about it – long before me. So there it is. And in 2013, I won’t shy away from talking about it anymore.

Mom’s Rules and Is it Okay to Let Your Child Cry? and The Problem with Facebook Parenting: I don’t want to keep repeating myself, so I’ll comment on these all together. Some things are worth taking a stand about. The way children are treated is one of them.

Unschooling, Christianity & Other Misconceptions and The Five Rs for New Homeschoolers and Unschooling: Don’t You Worry That They’ll Miss Something? I’m glad these made the list. I’m in a season right now of not wanting to really talk about unschooling so much as just LIVE it. I know that people are still out there looking for information and reassurance though, and I’d love to think that they’re able to find some of that in some of my past posts…. if nothing else, as a jumping off point for further research.

The Boy Named Johnny: About an awesome, energetic, different kid in Everett’s cub scout troop. I’m glad this made the list too, especially in light of the Connecticut school shootings, and the attention being paid to the fact that the shooter had Asperger’s. I think it’s an important conversation to be had.

And a bonus number 11:

When is it Okay to Judge?: When I saw this was in the number 11 spot, I knew I had to include it. Please read it, especially if any of the above posts make you want to call me judgmental. 🙂

Love you all, and I can’t wait to see what 2013 brings.

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Filed under blogging, christian unschooling, discipline, gentle discipline, gentle parenting, judgement, kindness, learning, life, mindful parenting, parenting, unschooling

December 15, 2012 · 8:38 AM

Tragedy

And again.

This time, 26 people were killed, the majority of them children. Like most of the country, I’m horrified and saddened, heartbroken for the families of all involved. And like a fresh assault, here comes the political commentary, even as it’s all still unfolding:

Gun control!

The left!

The right!

God!

The lack of God!

Mental illness!

Psychotropic drugs!

Are any of the above useful conversations to have? Maybe. Probably. But not today. Not now. Not like this. Not when people are mourning. I’m going to be the first to say I don’t know the best thing to do right now, beyond sending love and prayers and light, and focusing on our own families.

As the day went on yesterday, as more details emerged, I talked to my kids on their own levels: The oldest, who at fifteen wanted the information, read the updates and watched the videos as they came in, and continued to talk about it throughout the day. The twelve year old, who wanted just the very basic facts, and the space to deal with it quietly… his preferred method of dealing with most everything. The eight year old, so sensitive and filled with very real fears right now… to him, I reassured, and comforted… and also shielded. The TV never went on, he never heard details, and we didn’t talk about it in his presence. And the four year old: oblivious, happy, playing, dancing. Innocent for one more day. (I really loved this article with tips for talking about it with your kids)

I don’t know why this has happened, or why it continues to happen. I don’t. And I think it’d be pretty arrogant to pretend otherwise. I don’t understand; I can’t begin to understand. All I know is that a horrible thing has happened, that there a lot of people grieving, and that my heart fully goes out to them.

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December 12, 2012 · 9:46 AM

Learning to Relax (Or, Why I Love My Husband)

“Do you think we’ll get everything done in time?”

I was supposed to be relaxing, leaning back on the recliner, wrapped up in my favorite afghan lovingly knit by my late grandma, ice on my shoulder.

“Get what done in time?” He barely looked up as he answered me… partly because he was engrossed in what he was doing, and partly because he knows me…. knows that I was stressing out, and knows that there’s a specific way to handle to it.

“All of it. The rest of the shopping, all of the advent stuff with the kids, getting the house in shape…” Our house, which on the best of days is half a notch above “lived-in”, has been relegated to new levels of disorder over the past month while I’ve been incapacitated. There’s stuff all over all the flat surfaces – including the floor – dishes are piling, laundry is piling, and I can barely get to the 8 year old’s bed to kiss him goodnight. Last week, a friend stopped by and I was actually embarrassed.

I knew this season would be different than last, and I thought I’d made peace with it. We got our tree, we did most of our shopping, we stamped and mailed 50 Christmas cards, and I finally got the advent calendar up for the kids. We made it to a Christmas light parade; they’ve been playing with friends. We’ve been baking, and making paper snowflakes, and watching Christmas movies, and going to the library, and having carpet picnics… and it’s been nice and it’s been busy and it’s been oh.so.tiring. I’ve been caught between that place of relaxing and going with the tide, and getting stuck in those moments of panic: “Christmas is in a matter of weeks! We have company coming! I’m still in pain! I haven’t slept in a month! We have so much to do! Aaaaaaaaaa!!!”

“So do you think we’ll get it all done in time?”

Calmly, matter-of-factly, and so patiently it would have irritated the %&$# out of me had it come from anyone but him: “Yes. Of course we will.”

“And it’ll all work out?”

“It’ll all work out.”

And it will. Of course it will. I know that. Intellectually, I know that. But the moments of freak-outs seem to be every bit as hard wired as my blue eyes and not-quite-blonde hair. I’d like to think that if I were single, that I’d still be able to live in the moment, that I’d still be able to talk myself through the stressful moments, that I’d still be able to keep it together. But what can I say? While I could survive without a husband who’s the calm to my storm and the order to my chaos…..

I thank God I don’t have to.

An Experiment: Day One of Couch 2 5K

Yesterday marked one month since my shoulder surgery. I decided to celebrate by going running. That’s right, I ran. And no one was chasing me.

I’m not 100% sure if I’m technically supposed to be running right now, as it’s pretty jarring on the shoulders (and on just about everything else in the body), but I decided that it was something I needed to do, and there was precious little that was going to stop me. Plus, I knew that I could always stop if it was painful. I was told that more than anything I was to listen to my pain, and I’ve been very diligent about doing so.

I’m not a runner. And when I say, “I’m not a runner,” I really mean, “I’m not a runner.” I pretty much actively hate running. My body’s not built for it, it’s rough on the joints, it makes me nauseous, and I have chronic shin splints. I can think of about 6,371 things I’d rather do than voluntarily run. And don’t get me wrong: I love exercising in general. I love the burning feeling in the pit of my stomach after I’ve worked my abs. I love the way my legs tremble on the top of a mountain after a long, long, hike. I love the all-over deliciousness of a good hot yoga class. I love shooting baskets with my boys, and dancing with my daughter, and laughing my way through Zumba. I love working out with weights, and with good old fashioned squats and pushups and crunches. I love getting my heart pumping, and I love feeling strong.

But even when I’m in the best shape of my life, my workout regime does not include running, ever.

So why then would I suddenly (and willingly) choose to do something ~~akin to torture~~ I don’t like? Because as much as I don’t like running, I like a challenge more. I like a good experiment more.

Could I ever like running? For reasons that are still fairly unclear, it suddenly became really important that I find out. If nothing else, I decided I needed to do what I’d never really done before, and give it a fair shot. I knew that I couldn’t – and shouldn’t – just start out by opening up my front door and taking off in a run (the last time I tried that, when my sister-in-law who is a runner was visiting, I all but collapsed in a humiliated heap in the street), so I sucked it up and finally checked out Couch 2 5K. I’d of course seen people raving about it, but the more I see something the more it makes me want to roll my eyes, and the less it makes me want to do it. But I had to start somewhere, and I was sold on their claim of getting “just about anyone from the couch to running 5 kilometers or 30 minutes in just 9 weeks.” Now, I have zero desire to ever run a 5K, but, well…. like I said, the idea of challenging myself to get to a point where I could if I so chose was a strong one.

And you know what’s an even better experiment than one non-runner embarking on a 9 week running plan? TWO non-runners embarking on a 9-week running plan. So I ~~coerced~~ invited Mike to commit to do it with me. We like to do that sort of stuff together, and he’s the only one I know who hates running more than I do.

Yesterday was day one.

We took Tegan and Everett – who, being normal active healthy kids, had no trouble keeping up – and went to the desert park down the street. The five minute walk there served as the warm-up, and as soon as we hit the dirt trails, our 20 minutes of cycling through jogging and walking promptly began.

My first concern as we officially started our first circuit of running (have I mentioned how much I hate running?) was keeping my shoulder safe. As it turns out though, it was barely an issue… in part because I was super conscious of keeping my elbow tucked to keep it stable; in part because a little shoulder discomfort didn’t register over the roar of my burning shins and my sure-to-explode-at-a-moments-notice-lungs; but mostly because any thoughts of my shoulder were drowned out by the tiny but rather insistent voice of my rebelling body screaming,

“Good God woman! What are you doing?? You don’t run! Danger! Danger! Abort!!!”

But before I could turn to my husband and no doubt relieve the both of us by saying, “Ha, ha. Just kidding. Let’s go home and have a rum and Coke,” our first 60 seconds were up, and it was time to walk again. In the next 90 seconds, we proved ourselves to be old people, rather than the (relatively) healthy 30-somethings that we are, by complaining about our many and varied ailments incurred in our minute of running.

“My shins hurt already.”

“My knee hurts too.”

“The one you hurt doing P90X?”

“No, the other one.”

“My lungs are burning.”

“My back is – ” And the app on my phone buzzed again, and once again we were plod, plod, plodding along, while the kids laughed and sprinted and enjoyed the dessert. And then we walked. I was mad at myself and my brilliant ideas. My shins hurt, I was sweating, and I was out of breath. After TWO MINUTES of running. And then it was time to run again.

And again.

And by the 5 or 6th time, 60 seconds didn’t seem quite so long. My legs moved a little more easily, and the number of protesting body parts diminished. Before we knew it, we were done, the lady on my phone was congratulating us on being such unbelievable athletes and otherwise awesome human beings, and it was time to head home. So we did.

I can’t say it was entirely the best experience of my whole life, but it certainly wasn’t the worst one either. In any case, we – the two non-runners that we are – completed it: Day one at three workouts a week for nine weeks = 3.7% there already.

And only 96.3% to go.

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Filed under about me, life, projects, random

November 29, 2012 · 1:39 PM

Expectations

For the past three years, the end of November has meant two things: I’d 1) be furiously and joyously and manically finishing up my 50,000 word novel for NaNoWriMo, and 2) be going all gangbusters on the house, setting up the tree, getting out the decorations, hanging the stockings, and stringing up the advent calendar, painstakingly filled with 25 carefully planned out activities to do with the kids.

This year, I decided against Nano about 5 days in, just a couple of days before my surgery. In hindsight, I’m very glad I made the decision when I did, because I would have been forced to make it anyway. Even now, three weeks later, typing for any great length of time is still painful and exhausting.

And as for Christmas preparations? We have no tree. Our decorations are still safely abiding in their boxes in the garage. We haven’t bought one present for the kids. I haven’t planned a single advent activity. And if I can be totally honest, just the thought of doing any of the above is, well…. painful and exhausting.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I signed on the dotted line for this surgery, I really don’t. I just so very badly wanted to be better, wanted this 7 month ordeal to be over. But it’s so much easier to tell you what I did NOT expect:

I didn’t expect the pain to be this bad, and this persistent. As it turns out, knowing intellectually that I was facing a 3+ month total recovery time is a very, very different thing than to feel the stark reality of the pain and frustration of week three, knowing that I still have several more weeks (and possibly months) to go.

I didn’t expect to need powerful narcotics, beyond a day or two. Again, I’m at three weeks. The one night I tried to sleep without Percoset, I woke up in tears.

I didn’t expect to be so incapacitated. I don’t know why I didn’t, because the past several months have shown me very clearly how instrumental our shoulders are in our day-to-day tasks. But I didn’t. I can dress myself (with some pain), shower (with some pain), brush my teeth (with some pain), and as of a few days ago, drive (with some pain). But five minutes ago I had to call in the 12 year old to open a can for me, because the can opener was just too much. There are multiple can opener-esque scenarios throughout the day, and it frustrates me. Which brings me to:

I didn’t expect to be so frustrated. With the pain, with the situation, with myself, with the need to just HURRY UP AND BE PATIENT ALREADY.

I didn’t expect the big black dog of depression, who’s once again been flirting with me for months now, to not just embrace me but engulf me… to suffocate me… to consume me… like an unwelcome old friend who won’t take “no” for answer. A friend whose presence is so familiar and so easy that I’ve let myself fall deep, deep into its depths before I even realized it’s happened. Because there’s a sick kind of safety in the darkness, and because it’s just too damn much work to take that first step to start climbing my way out.

But. (And may I just say, thank God for buts?)

I expect that the pain will lessen, and God-willing, eventually go away completely. I’ve learned that healing is very much a one step forward, two steps back process. I can’t compare to yesterday, but I can compare to two and a half weeks ago. Just because today is a bad day, doesn’t mean tomorrow will be a bad day too.

I expect that I’ll eventually be able to rest without the aid of any prescriptions.

I expect that with time I’ll be able to open cans again. And do a downward dog. And pick up my daughter. And be even stronger than before.

I expect that my current frustration will teach me great lessons, and that if I allow myself to feel it, that it too will go away.

I expect that I will take that step, and the one after that, and the one after that, until there’s not so much darkness. And I expect that if I rest in the presence of where I am – fully rest, and lean, and breathe – instead of fighting, that it won’t seem so hard. I expect that if I allow myself to feel how I feel – without letting it define me – that the promise of something better will find me, and meet me halfway.

Finally, I expect that this coming month, and the Christmas holiday in general, will be different than years past…. but that different is okay, even good. This is a season of great growth and learning to be sure. If the past three weeks are any indication, the lesson is HUGE. And that’s better than a perfectly executed advent calendar any day.

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Filed under about me, being happy with what is, Christmas, learning, life, update

October 29, 2012 · 8:02 AM

Insomnia

It’s 2:30 in the morning.

I’m watching my third episode of Dawson’s Creek. Not because I particularly want to be watching Dawson’s Creek, but because watching the tortured exploits of pretty fictional people is preferable to wrestling with the real-life mental gymnastics going on in my own head.

My little toe hurts, blistered from the long walk I’d taken with a friend earlier in the evening. I take my foot out of the covers. I put it back under. I take it out again. This goes on for a very long time.

My shoulder hurts too. I carefully re-stack my pillows, and position myself more comfortably.

I listen to the fan, wishing that the rythmic tick tick tick of its blades would lull me to sleep.

I sneeze two times, then three. When I cough five minutes later, I’m convinced I’m getting a cold, and almost get up to get myself a cup of Vitamin C drink. I decide I’m too tired to move at the moment.

I have a headache. I could get ibuprofen when I get up to get the Vitamin C.

I replay the conversation I had with my friend, every word – both hers and mine – on a long continuous loop in my head.

I replay other conversations, other days, other experiences…. some of them a decade old.

I think of the upcoming week, my mind’s eye visualizing each day on the calendar and mentally counting down the days until my next yoga class, the doctor’s appointment, the concert, the weekend.

I think of each of my kids for a painstakingly long time, believing the twisted nighttime fallacy that if I just think long enough and hard enough and deep enough that I can not only solve all their problems, but also solve all the problems in the world.

I realize at some point that my cheek is wet, and I wonder if I’d started crying without my realizing it, or if my fatigued eyes have simply started leaking.

I briefly doze just as Michelle Williams is about to kiss Chad Michael Murray, and I sleep long enough to be jolted away by a nightmare, this time taking place in a hospital. My heart is racing, my head is pounding, and my blister is rubbing against the sheets. I repeat the in-and-out of the covers process a half dozen more times.

I wait for the sweet release of sleep.

I turn on a fourth Dawson’s Creek, and focus once again on the pretty fictional people.

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Filed under about me, life, random

October 19, 2012 · 2:48 PM

Gratitude in the Chaos

I had a friend in highschool who was constantly chiding me for being a pessimist. “You’re so negative,” he’d tell me. “Why are you such a pessimist?”

“I am not a pessimist,” I’d answer. “I’m a realist. There’s a difference.”

He eventually became my boyfriend for one tragic, drama-filled month of teenaged angst, before he dumped me on Valentine’s Day. Because I’m a saver, I’m pretty sure I still have a lunch bag full of notes he wrote me (folded in that super-awesome neat little triangle style that was so popular in the 80’s and early 90’s) in a box in a closet, alongside yearbooks, pictures, certificates, notes from friends, and other useless memorabilia.

I’ve also stored away that “pessimist” label, never to be thought of again. I’ve learned to think positively, I’ve learned to find beauty in all things, I’ve learned to have faith, and I’ve learned to trust. I actually have a hard time dealing with constant negativity in other people now. I’ve hidden more than one friend on Facebook when I’ve discovered that their statuses were an inveritable stream of “My life is so terrible. Why me? What else can go wrong??” Focusing on the negative certainly never helped anyone, and allowing that kind of thing into your life only serves to bring both parties further down that ladder.

Still, I’m a little freaked out by people who are too positive… the ones who are all hyper spiritual, woo woo, life is all rainbows and sunshine and unicorns. No matter how positive you claim to be, life is messy sometimes. Life is hard sometimes. Life is tiring sometimes. Life is a run-you-over, punch-you-in-the-stomach while kicking-you-in-the-teeth assault sometimes.

All of that to say that the past couple of weeks have been a little…

They’ve kind of been….

They haven’t really…

Well, they blew. And because I’m neither the 16 year old pessimist nor the woo woo rose-colored-glasses-wearer, I’m both acknowledging the fact of their suckiness, and acknowledging the good that has (or will eventually) come from them. There are reasons to be thankful, even on the bad days:

1. My shoulder issues reached a head, I finally admitted to my physical therapist that the therapy just wasn’t working, and a whole new ball started rolling. In the span of just over a week, I had an MRI – along with a painful arthrography – another visit to the sports doctor, and finally a consultation with a surgeon. Surgery is planned and scheduled for three weeks from yesterday. It’ll mean an obvious break from yoga, rehabilitation, and a full recovery that is going to take anywhere from two to three months.

But I’m thankful that the problem is “fixable”; that there’s every reason to believe I’ll eventually be pain-free; and that the technology exists to do so in an outpatient, 40 minute arthroscopic surgery, rather than something more invasive.

2. Several weeks ago, I applied to a brand-new bible-based natural health school. I’m always excited to add on to my education in that area, and I thought, “Cool! A school that combines both my faith and my belief in natural health.” I was really looking forward to it, and to getting an official answer at the beginning of October. It never even occurred to me that I wouldn’t be accepted. But instead of an acceptance letter, what I got was a stark reminder that I’m no longer really part of that world. (A much longer blog post on the subject is forth-coming) They had issues with my yoga, and my essay on the subject had not convinced them that I was not in fact a part of “the occult.” I could either further try to justify my position and my choices with an additional 1000 word essay, answering a host of questions that were quite honestly a little insulting – both as a yoga teacher AND as a Christian – or I could withdraw my application. I chose the latter. So, no new school for me right now.

But I’m thankful that when given an opportunity to bend to fit and conform to someone else’s ideas of what I should and should not be, I stayed true to myself. I know that I’m following the path that God has for me, and I don’t feel any compulsion to justify that position to someone else just because they have the power to keep me out of their school. There are other schools. And a chance to take another giant step into authenticity is always a good thing, even if it comes in the form of a rejection letter.

3. And finally, Everett (8 years old at the time of this writing) is going through a personal struggle unlike any I’ve experienced with any of the other three kids. And while it is his struggle, like any mother would tell you… seeing your children hurting is in many ways worse than feeling that hurt yourself. I’m walking some new territory as a mom here, and “new” sometimes means terrifying.

But I’m thankful that resources exist to help, and for the knowledge that we’ll both grow stronger through the struggle. Just like a caterpillar, sometimes growth necessitates struggle. And though we’ll have moments of fear and discomfort and even pain, we’ll eventually make our way out of the cocoon into freedom… beautiful, and able to fly.

(Photo by frontendeveloper)

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Filed under life, perspective, update

October 10, 2012 · 9:00 AM

Fleeting.

“Hold me!”

I could tell by the grin on her face that she wasn’t sick or sad, just needing to be held by mom.

We were in the kitchen, and I was loading the dishwasher, up to my elbows in last night’s dinner.

“Hold me!”

There were a million reasons why I couldn’t pick her up just then. My hands were all wet, and I was just trying to get through the job that one of the boys was going to do – but had forgotten about – the night before. There were other chores to do too, and limited time to do them, before we had to leave for gymnastics later in the day. I was tired, having been up most of the night, and more than a little grumpy. Finally, my shoulder was screaming at me just from moving the heavy ceramic dishes, and I knew I shouldn’t really be lifting anything at the moment, let alone a solid 45-pound little girl.

“Hold me!”

I thought of the conversation we’d had earlier that morning. We’d been laying and laughing in bed, enjoying those few minutes of Mommy/Tegan time before we get up and the day gets away from us. She made a comment about always having to go to the bathroom when she first woke up, which segued into a discussion about babies and diapers and potty training. She’s been asking lots of questions lately about the babyhood she’s shedding behind her.

And I realized as we chatted that it’s been over a year since she’s worn a diaper, even at night.

I can’t remember the last time she nursed.

She hasn’t picked up a binky, which was a favorite companion, in years.

She suddenly chooses to sleep in her own bed just as often as ours.

In short, our baby is growing up. She’s a busy, active, beautiful, spunky four year old. And while I enjoy our relationship now more than ever, I mourn for the fact that an entire season in my life as a mom is over. For the past fifteen years I’ve been pregnant and/or nursing. For fifteen years, I was holding, and wearing, and rocking, and feeding one of my babies. And now I’m not.

It’s one of the biggest cliches of parenting, except…. it’s not a cliche. It’s truth. That time goes so fast. So fast! One minute you’re a 23 year old meeting the tiny 5 pound little person who would first make you a mom, and the next, you’re standing in the kitchen with your four-year old daughter. Your FOURTH child. Who’s asking to be held. And both the gratefulness of having been blessed with all those years and the sadness that they’re over engulf you all at once. They threaten to take your breath away.

“Hold me!”

I dry my hands on a kitchen towel. The girl squeals happily as I scoop her up, hurt shoulder be damned.

I held her for as long as she wanted, until she asked to be put back down to go off on her next adventure. Was it 5 minutes? 20? I lost all track of time, swept up in the fleeting moment of having my baby in my arms once again.

And just like that, it’s over. She’s run to the other room, her moment of needing mom already a thing of the past. I turn back to the dishes, and those big ceramic plates suddenly aren’t so heavy anymore.

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Filed under life, parenting, Tegan

October 6, 2012 · 9:13 AM

Rules vs Principles: Sometimes We Jump on the Bed

A week or two ago, I got the following email:

I’ve been reading a lot of Sandra Dodd’s stuff on rules vs principles. I understand the concept that there’s a difference, but I just can’t imagine how it works. I came from a family where there was literally a new rule every week. My dad’s favorite saying was, “Okay, new rule!” Then he would commence to tell us what annoyed him that week and what we can’t do anymore. So understandably, I don’t know how to parent without lists and lists of rules. My LO is only 8 months old, but I’d like to get this whole principle thing down so she’ll have respectful boundaries and her world won’t be chaos. How did you go about setting principles and boundaries with toddlers?

A lot of times, when people ask me about transitioning to some of these unschooling and gentle parenting philosophies, I struggle in my answer. Not because I don’t know how I feel (I do), and not because I feel like I have it all figured out (I don’t)… but just because it was something we went through – rather smoothly, thankfully – when Spencer was still a baby 15 years ago; 15 years is a long time; I’m ~~old~~ 38; and sometimes I honestly don’t remember the specifics.

But this I remember.

I remember that moment, one of many such lightbulb-moments that would serve as the framework for my entire parenting journey, when I decided:

Rules are kind of stupid.

Before I get flogged for that, of course I don’t mean all rules. But some rules. A lot of rules. Arbitrary rules (and as it turns out, many many rules fall under the category of arbitrary) I was going to do away with arbitrary rules.

Some rules do serve a purpose though, and I got that. So my first new rule (ha) under my new no-rule policy was that I could only make a rule if it was a) a matter of safety, or b) had to do with respect… either towards self, towards others, or towards your surroundings. When it came down to it, I decided, those were the only rules that mattered. And for a short while it worked. It wasn’t long however before I realized that even those well-thought out rules, while maybe not classifying as “stupid” exactly, were unnecessary.

I wear my seat belt every single time I drive… not because I’ve made it a rule, but because it’s a simple thing I can do to increase my safety in the car.

I try to treat others with kindness and respect… not because I’ve made it a rule, but because it’s the right thing to do.

I want my kids to live with the same kind of principles. I want them to make decisions based on what’s important to them, based on what they’ve learned from our actions as their parents, based on what they’ve learned by living and playing and working together as a healthy family. Based on their own sense of right and wrong. Not based on an outwardly imposed list of “do”s and “do not”s.

We still talk about safety. We still talk about respect. We still talk about good choices.

But… sometimes we jump on the bed.

Sometimes we play with fire.

Sometimes we have ice cream before dinner.

Sometimes we have ice cream FOR dinner.

We don’t have to make family rules in order to live together safely, happily, and with mutual respect. We talk to our kids. We listen to our kids. We respect our kids. We respect each other. We show them what healthy relationships look like. We show them what healthy decisions look like. We let them explore and try and look and touch, all while we’re right there beside them… to guide them, to protect them, to act as their safety net when they need it, and as their biggest supporters when they don’t.

And since this is all likely begging the question: “How will they ever learn to follow the rules? Won’t they be disorderly, disruptive, and disrespectful? How will they learn to operate in polite society?” My answer to that is this:

My children have never had an issue following rules. They follow the rules at church, at Cub Scouts, at gymnastics class, and at karate. They follow the rules at zoos and museums and public stadiums. When we go new places, we educate ourselves about the rules. And because they have respect for themselves and respect for others; because they understand that their being able to enjoy or see or experience is sometimes contingent on following the rules, they have no difficulties doing so. Rules have never been set forth as something oppressive or scary or overwhelming. They are sometimes necessary in other places, and the kids all know that. They know that they are sometimes silly, and they know that they can question them and that we will always give them an honest answer. They also know that when they go anywhere with rules in place that they have a choice: to follow the rules or not. They know that the owners/persons in charge of said place have a choice too: to give second chances or to ask them to leave.

I don’t worry that my kids won’t learn to follow rules. They already do. Perhaps even more importantly, I also don’t worry that they’ll blindly follow unfair or immoral rules either. They’re learning to question. Just like I’d hoped all those years ago, they’re learning to use their own minds, and follow their own sense of what’s good and what’s right and what’s necessary and what’s fair….. all without ever having been given rules requiring them to do so.

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