Yearly Archives: 2012

Is it Okay to Let Your Child Cry?

 

 

It was the first day of a new session of swimming lessons, and the girl next to my smiling daughter was screaming.  Not just crying, but screaming.  She was petrified, literally shaking from head to toe, calling out for her mother in between gasps.  When her mother approached her, I at first thought she was there to do what I would have done:  scoop her daughter up, hold her close, and tell her that she didn’t have to get in the water.  But what she did instead was clamp her hand over the girl’s mouth to muffle her cries.  She said something to her that I couldn’t make out, then went back to her chair on the deck.  The girl finished the class, screaming with the same intensity the entire time.

This happened two weeks ago, and I’ve thought of it frequently since.    And while it would be easy and convenient for me to blame the mother, the fact is it’s only partly her fault.  Her child’s whole life she’s likely been told – by everyone from pediatricians to the media to well-meaning friends and relatives – that it’s important for her baby to separate, that she shouldn’t be so dependent, that she needs to be strong, that letting her cry would ultimately be good for her.

That mom has been lied to.

We’ve all been lied to.

Have you ever heard someone say (or perhaps you’ve said it yourself) “Oh, it broke my heart to hear her cry, but…” or “I hated listening to his screams, but…” and then go on to tell you why it was so important that the swim class be completed, or that day camp be attended, or that dental cleaning be performed?  We have those gut feelings for a reason.  They’re there to tell us to listen.    As parents, we are biologically designed to respond to our children’s cries, not ignore them.  It doesn’t feel right to hear our children cry and not attend to them, because it’s not.   Yet somewhere along the way, someone decided that we should ignore our intuition, and ignore their cries.  And society bought it.  It’s the only way I can explain the fact that when I shared the story of the little girl in swim class, that while everyone agreed that the hand clamped over the mouth was not a nice thing to do, many didn’t seem to have an issue with a child screaming her way through the duration of the class.

“She’ll get used to it.”

“It’s a safety issue.  Learning to swim is important”

“Lots of kids cry in the beginning.”

That’s society talking.  And society lies.  ‘

Will she get used to it?  Maybe, maybe not.  But is taking that chance really worth the damage it’s doing to your relationship with your child, who now knows you won’t always be there when she cries?

Is it a safety issue;  must she really learn to swim?  If she’s going to be around pools, of course.  But there are other classes.  Other teachers.  Other methods.  There is the simple option of waiting a couple of months to try again (a couple of months can make a huge difference in the readiness level of a toddler!)  There is the option of helping her learn yourself, in her own time, in her own way.

Do lots of kids cry in the beginning?  Sadly, yes… something I can surely attest to after watching 4+ weeks of classes now.  But it doesn’t have to be that way.  It happens because too many people have been conditioned to listen to a falsehood, to ignore their intuition, and to ignore their child’s cries.

What children need – what all of us need – is connection.  Compassion.  To feel like we are heard.  We do not need to be separated from our parents, the people who love us most, from the moment we are born.  We do not need to be banished to another room, forced to cry-it-out, “trained” to sleep through the night, ignored when we call for help.  To do so is to go against our very nature as caring, nurturing adults.  We are meant to respond to our children’s cries, not ignore them… whether they’re crying because they’re lonely, sad, hungry, or scared.  Whether they’re crying because they’re not ready for swim lessons, unsure about the dentist chair, not wanting to get their hair brushed, or suddenly fearful of their car seat.

But wait, wait, you’re thinking, isn’t it inconvenient to find a different swim class?  To brainstorm with the dentist, or to go to another one?  To get creative, or adjust your standards, when it comes to tangles?  To take the time to let your child regain his comfort in the car seat, even if it means staying at home for awhile?  Is it really that big a deal?  Yes, it really is that big a deal.  Your child is that big a deal.  Your relationship with your child is that big a deal.  And you know what?  Sometimes taking the time to listen to your child’s cries and coming up with a respectful solution is inconvenient.  But no one ever said parenting was supposed to be convenient.   And to be really blunt about it, what’s more important: your relationship with your child, or convenience?  It’s not a matter of “picking your battles” either.  You and your child are partners.  You’re on the same team.  Parenting should not be a battle.

Lastly, to get back to that title:  Is is ever okay to let your child cry?  Of course.  Just like their adult counterparts, sometimes children need to cry.   They’ll cry out of anger,  sadness, frustration, and disappointment.    Fear, exhaustion, pain, and overwhelm.  Sometimes our job as parents is to just be there, to listen, to hold them if they want to be held, and to let them cry if they need to cry.

To make sure they know – beyond any shadow of a doubt – that their needs are real and that we, as their parents, will respect them.

This post was written as part of a joint project called Listen To Our Babies, Heal Our Nation.   Be sure to visit our website to read more contributions from dozens of bloggers, parents, professionals, and concerned citizens.

 

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Filed under attachment parenting, gentle parenting, mindful parenting, parenting

Early in the Morning

 

One of my very favorite times of day is early in the morning, sometime between 4:00 and 5:00 AM.  That’s around the time that Tegan usually wakes up and makes her way into our bed, to sleep for a few more hours snuggled between us.  Like her three brothers before her, she slept exclusively in our bed as a baby and toddler, and it’s only been recently that she’s started choosing to start the night in her own bed.  As I think most any cosleeping parent would tell you, it’s a bittersweet milestone to be sure.

But we still have our mornings.

I always wake up as soon as she’s out of her bed… partly because of mother’s intuition, but mostly because she’s so dang loud.  How a tiny 40 pound girl can make herself sound like a herd of elephants just coming down a hallway is beyond me, but she does.  Every time.  Once into our room, she almost flies onto our bed as if possessing super powers, and nestles herself in between her father and I.  If we’re sleeping too close together, she simply burrows her way in.  Not an eighth of a second after she lands, she’s asleep once again.

As our fourth and final child (our “caboose” as one of my friends likes to say), her fading babyhood is all the more poignant.  At four, she is so busy, so active, so big… but in those early morning hours, she’s still my baby.  And as I lay there in the dark, waiting for sleep to come again and loving her so fiercely it almost hurts, I drink it all in:  the soft, rhythmic sound of her breathing;  the faint scent of coconut in her tousled curls; the warmth of the little hand she’s wrapped around my back.

In those moments, nothing else matters but me and my baby.

I am home.

 

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Filed under attachment parenting, parenting, Tegan

Words that won’t come

 

The homeschooling community is so small and intimate, when compared to the population of the world.  And of that homeschooling community, the people that identify themselves as unschoolers?   A mere fraction.  Unless you quite deliberately keep your family isolated, you’ll at least know of other unschoolers, all around the world.  You’ll recognize their names, and you’ll learn their stories.  You’ll make connections that are in many cases lifelong.

Perhaps the smallest group of all is the Christian unschoolers.   Most Christians who choose to homeschool take a decidedly opposite approach, and most unschoolers… well, suffice it to say that we’re a small lot indeed.  To break it down even further, there’s an even tinier fraction of that group….  the Christian unschoolers who embrace the lifestyle of a “radical” unschooler.  These women, the ones that share my belief in both following Christ and living and learning in freedom:  They’re not my friends.  They’re my sisters.

One such sister, Lauren of Sparkling Adventures, is in pain after the sudden loss of her beautiful 7 month old son, Elijah.  I have tried for days to write a post about it, but the words just wouldn’t come.   Are there even any words to say?  What kind of words could capture such a devastating tragedy without sounding like hollow platitudes?  What kinds of words could even begin to do justice and pay respect to what this family is now going through, and will continue to go through?

What I finally decided is that there are no words…  only Love.  Prayers.  Compassion.  Shared grief.  My heart is broken for my dear sister, and for her four little girls who are suddenly without their baby brother.

Lauren was, and continues to be, an inspiration.  In her own words, from just a couple of days ago:

“Now I will learn how to comfort those who have lost a child, I will learn how to love those who have family in jail, I will learn how to be a single parent and I will learn how to love the people around me who are well-meaning but not comfortable with our lifestyle.

These are huge areas in which I will be stretched and growing in grace and love, and I embrace the opportunity to grow in Christlikeness, however painful it may seem at this time.

Know this: God is good. All the time. Of this, I am convinced.”

If you’d like to help this family in a financial way (their needs right now are great) please click on the image to find out how you can contribute.

 

To Lauren, you are so loved.  You have many thinking of you, praying for you,  and lifting you up… from all around the world.

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Filed under friends, passings, prayer request, unschooling

Listen to Our Babies; Heal Our Nation

Listen to Our Babies, Heal Our Nation: Bloggers Unite to Humanize Babies

July 1-8, 2012

The US has some of the highest rates of depression, anxiety, cancer, and other diseases in the world. Every year our government puts billions of dollars into funding programs that attempt to address these issues. The efforts are consistently ineffective. We are the leaders of the free world and we must remain healthy to stay that way.

There is a cost-free, efficient, and fulfilling way to heal our nation. This simple change requires no permission, program, or rhetoric, and it can start with you, today. By listening to our babies and accepting that their needs must be met, we can reduce disease and promote healthy members of society.

If you are skeptical, we understand. So for one week in July, a group of knowledgeable and respected bloggers are coming together to share how listening to our babies can heal our nation.

We invite you to join us in learning how to raise healthier children. We do not promise it will be easy- at times it will be difficult to hear what is being said. The United States of America has never shied away from the difficult, though. Instead, we choose to do the right things “not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” (John F. Kennedy)

“Listen To Our Babies, Heal Our Nation” agrees that meeting the needs of our babies is the most patriotic thing we can do for our country.

Will you join us?

How you can participate: We are looking for submissions of all sorts; blog posts, artwork, vlogs, videos, original movie clips- anything that shares why or how you came to believe that we must listen to our babies.

Everyone: Have you always wanted to share your thoughts, but never had a venue to do it? E-mail submissions to: healournation@ourmuddyboots.com

Sponsors: Opportunities available. Please e-mail healournation@ourmuddyboots.com for more information.

Experts:  Have something interesting to chat about pertaining to understanding and listening to our babies?  Host a live chat on a Facebook page.  E- mail: healournation@ourmuddyboots.com

Bloggers: Publicize this event; share it on your Facebook page and Twitter;

Post this Press Release as an entry on your own blog.

Submit something previously written or create something fresh.

Listen to Our Babies, Heal Our Nation: Bloggers Unite to Humanize Babies

Organized by:   The Badass BreastfeederOur Muddy Boots,   The Path Less TakenLittle Hearts Books,   The Single Crunch, and  Zen Parenting

 

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Filed under attachment parenting, mindful parenting, parenting

To The Fathers

I have a great dad.  My dad played with me.  He helped me make sense of my math homework.  He patiently sat on the floor to assemble new bikes and toys and puzzles.  He taught me not to take life too seriously.  He taught to me to hang spoons from my nose.  He taught me to play softball, and he cheered me on at horse shows.  He taught me to have a sense of adventure.  He passed down his artistic ability, his love of television and his borderline unhealthy sense of stubbornness.   Oh the stubbornness.  He also taught me to be impeccable with my words, to live with integrity, and to dance like nobody’s watching.

I love my dad.

It wasn’t until I became a parent myself though (because really, I didn’t have most of my life-altering realizations until I became a parent myself) that I truly got it. That I truly understood what it meant to be a father.  How much he loved us.  How much he sacrificed for us.  How hard he worked for us.  How proud we made him, and at times how much we hurt him 🙁  It’s a realization that now, watching my own husband be a wonderful father to our own kids, almost takes my breath away.

Being a good father is no joke.

So I salute you today…. my dad, and my kids’ dad… for a job well done.  And to the rest of the dads that I have the pleasure of knowing and watching:

The brand new dads, who are still figuring this whole thing out, and loving more fiercely than they ever knew possible

The veteran dads, who are daily learning from their triumphs and their mistakes

The single dads, who have to work twice as hard to do what so many of us take for granted

The gay dads, who have the added obstacle of prejudice and intolerance

The dads who are struggling, and making a decision to do better

The dads who are working hard to take care of their families…. outside the house, inside the house, or as the stay-at-home parent

The dads who are tirelessly advocating for children…  for their children, and for all children.

The dads who work with their kids, play with their kids, read to their kids, listen to their kids, cry with their kids.  The dads who comb peanut butter out of their daughter’s hair, step on legos in the middle of the night, and show their kids how to safely play with matches.  The dads who play catch in the backyard, Marco Polo in the pool, and never complain when the oil change takes 3 times as long because their kids are helping beside them. The dads who aren’t afraid to make a fool of themselves if it makes their children laugh.  The dads who play princess and tea party and Storm Trooper.  The dads who sing loudly, quote old movies, and never, ever pass up an opportunity to make an ordinary moment extraordinary.

The dads who say “I love you,”  “I’m sorry”, and “You can say anything to me.”

The dads who really KNOW their kids.

The dads who go without.

The dads with sick children, who have more strength than most of may ever know.

The dads whose children are no longer with them, and the dads who are dads in their hearts but don’t yet have a child in their arms.

To all those dads, I thank you.  Your kids thank you.  The world needs more people like you.

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Filed under holidays, parenting

Musings from the sleep-deprived

I’ve been an insomniac on and off for my entire adult life, so not sleeping is a not a new thing for me, but not sleeping because of pain is an entirely different proposition.  Before, I’d get up if it was really bad, but I’d otherwise snuggle up in my half-conscious stupor, and get lost in the world of infomercials.  (Proactiv or Meaningful Beauty, anyone?)

Right now though, once I’m awake I can’t lay down because the pain makes it impossible.  So I sit, upright, at 2 or 4 or whenever it is, get one of the ice packs from its rotation in the freezer, and just… wait.  The past week has not been a fun one in many ways, but I think that what’s getting to me the most is the lack of sleep.  Lack of sleep  – and lack of sleep from pain, no less – makes you feel a little…. crazy.

I had grand plans to get caught up on blogging:  I can’t do much else.  Oh how much extra time I’ll have on my hands!

Yeah.  As it turns out, having a brain that’s in good working order is sort of a prerequisite for any effective blogging.  Or writing.  Or thinking.  I’ve noticed that even my tweets and Facebook statuses have gotten progressively more riddled with errors over the course of the past week.  From half-thoughts to misspelled words to leaving words out altogether.  At least I haven’t misused an apostrophe.  I don’t think.  If I do, call my doctor.  Surely that can’t be a good sign.

Some thoughts though, that have been rustling around enough to annoy me, but never formed into a complete enough thought for an actual post:

1.  I’ve learned who my friends are this past week.  Kind of a strange thing really, to realize that it’s taken most of my adult life to totally grasp this, but there’s a reason we get to choose our friends.  I have good friends.   And – in another lesson that I’m for some reason destined to truly learn only as an adult – I will learn to focus on thankfulness for them, rather than on the people who ..well .. when push comes to shove tend to disappoint me every time.

2.  Patience.  A virtue I don’t have.  Yet.  A couple of weeks ago, I chose a name for my future yoga studio.  (It will be unveiled with my website, which I’ll work on soon since I have all this new-found time.  Ha.)  I was inspired by a Hebrew word meaning “wait.”  And if that is not the most perfectly appropriate word right now, I don’t know what is.  I’m learning a big lesson right now, and the fact that I’m not entirely sure what it is yet is of little importance.  Because right now, I wait… which may just be the lesson all by itself.

3.  I’m still meant to blog.  I was just talking to a fellow blogger a couple of days ago about the love-hate relationship we have with blogging, and whether or not we’re too sensitive to deal with the negative backlash that inevitably always comes with our more widely shared posts.  I very often think I’m not cut out for it, and decide that once I’m busy teaching yoga, my blog can just sort of quietly fade away, a digital memento of another time.  But then I get a really sweet and encouraging message from a new reader, someone who for some reason liked my words, was touched in some way from my words… and I’m reminded, again, that for better or worse I’m meant to be here.  Haters be damned.

4.  I am so crazy in love with my kids.  No, that’s not a new realization.  It’s just that this past week I’ve been forced to slow down and take a step back and watch them in a different way.  My interactions with them have had to change a bit, and while that’s had its downfalls (I hate, hate, HATE not being able to pick my daughter up when she wakes up in the morning and wants to be carried out into the other room) it’s had its positives too.   New perspectives are always a good thing, and so is watching.  And waiting.

Lots of waiting.

 

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Filed under about me, life, random

Jesus Was an Unschooler

Sometimes the objections are loud and brazen: “Unschooling as a Christian is a SIN!” Sometimes they are cautious and confused, a quietly whispered, “Isn’t that… you know… unbiblical?”

Either way, they both stem from the same place: Fear. Fear and a basic misunderstanding of what the Bible does and does not have to say about education. The fact is, the Bible has lots to say about how we should conduct ourselves our Christians, lots to say about how we treat others….. and not so much to say about how we learn the three R’s.

And when we do look to the Bible for those answers? Like most answers, we need not look further than Jesus himself. And while he of course never had children of his own …

Jesus was an unschooler…

[Hop over to Christian Unschooling to read the rest]

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Filed under christian unschooling, faith, misconceptions, unschooling

Blessings and Pain

This is me about a month ago, feeling pretty badass for keeping up with all the men-folk on the camping trip.   I’d just thrown that little hatchet into the tree – with amazing accuracy I might add – after only my second or third attempt.  This was after we chopped wood (or rather, attempted to chop wood in my case) with an 8 pound maul.  8 pounds is not a lot, of course, until it’s lifted overhead and forcefully struck downward again and again and again with, uh, less than proper form.  Truthfully, I was happy I escaped with all my limbs and digits.  People who tend to trip over flat surfaces probably shouldn’t be wielding heavy, sharp instruments.  But I digress.  I can’t remember if the wood-chopping and ax-throwing was before or after the mile+ hike down to the lake, from which I carried my tired 45 pound daughter all the way back to the camp, but I do remember my husband saying with a laugh, “Oh you’re going to be sore tomorrow!”

He said a mouthful.

 

As it turned out, I wasn’t sore the next day.  It took a few days.  And even then, it was barely more than an annoyance at first …. a “huh, I think I tweaked my shoulder” kind of pain.   I kept up my heavy yoga schedule (modifying here and there to work around the discomfort), kept lifting the girl, kept driving all over creation, kept doing all the things moms do.  It slowly got worse, and I did my best to ignore it.   Until I couldn’t.  And then the exchanges began:

“It hurts.”

“Then go to a doctor.”

“I don’t have a doctor.”  Because I don’t.  (Or, “I don’t like doctors”, or, “I don’t have time for a doctor”, or my favorite:  “What’s a doctor going to do??”)

“Then take a pain killer and put some ice on it.”

And then I’d be near tears, and we’d both go off in a huff because we’re stubborn like that.

Last weekend, the whole “to doctor or not to doctor” decision was taken out of my hands when a flip was suddenly switched, and the pain went from bad to blinding.  No longer confined to my shoulder, it shot down my back, into my neck, and down the entire length of my arm.  A pain so bad I couldn’t sit, couldn’t stand, couldn’t lay down, couldn’t sleep… couldn’t do anything but, well, basically rock pathetically back and forth and cry.   Off to my friendly neighborhood ER… the same familiar place that lovingly matter-of-factly saw me through my emergency endoscopy and subsequent cholecystectomy when my gall bladder had called, “when.”  The same place that had placed a kidney stent when I had hydronephrosis a year after that.  The same place that diagnosed a ruptured ovarian cyst, and the same place that had seen me through my very first, very scary, allergic reaction.

(I’m a healthy person normally, honest!)

Now, a word about emergency rooms, if I may.  They have their shortcomings when it comes to specific medical care to be sure.  And it turned out that I got some incorrect, and even dangerous, advice for this particular condition.  But.  One thing that they’re really really good at is making pain go away.  They didn’t do a single x-ray that morning.  Not an ultrasound, not an MRI, no imaging whatsoever.  But they did give me some pretty fine drugs.  Pumped full of morphine (among other things) I went home and actually SLEPT all afternoon, something I hadn’t done for days.  The next morning I went to a doctor’s office that specializes in sports medicine and physiatry, and returned the next day for an ultrasound, a diagnosis (a significantly torn rotator cuff AND bursitis, because I don’t do these things half-way) and a shot of cortisone.

So now I heal.

The blessing?  I’m sure there are many, but at the moment I see two really big ones.

#1.  It’ll make me a better yoga teacher.   When I heard the ultrasound tech say, in that too-cheery, matter-of-fact manner that ultrasound techs are required to use, “Oh look at that tear!”, what I really heard her say was, “You’re done with yoga training.”   I was devastated.   Thankfully, my devastation lasted less than 24 hours.  The next day I got a return phone call from my instructor – and one of my newest favorite people on the planet – who assured me that it’d be fine.  That I’d take these next weeks to rest and heal and work on my book-work and do what I needed to do, and that when I came to the studio for my contact hours in five weeks that they would absolutely work around the injury… whether it means simply taking it super easy, modifying the asanas, or sitting some out altogether.  I can still continue on with the rest of the class, and I can still earn my RYT by the end of July.  AND, now I’ll have a whole first-hand frame of reference and extra education about helping my students safely work around pain and/or injuries (something by the way, that is a huge factor for sending many people to yoga in the first place.  And one of the most common complaints?  Rotator cuff issues!)  My education will suddenly be deeper, richer, and a heck of a lot more personal.  That’s a blessing.

And, #2.  It’s a lesson that for some reason I seem destined to learn over and over (and over and over and over) until I really get it, but this is forcing me to rest, and to learn to be okay with it!  I don’t like being told not to do yoga.  Not to do housework.  Not to pick up my daughter.  Not to do anything really physical for the next two weeks.  I don’t like it at all.  But. I. Need. It.  My doctor tells me I need it.  My body tells me I need it.   So I rest.  I learn to let others do for me.  I learn to stop running around.  I learn to honor my body and my injury.  I learn to brush my teeth with my left hand instead of my right.  In two weeks I get to start physical therapy (progress!), but for now, I just… heal.  I rest.  And rest is a blessing, too.

I’m still in a lot of pain.  As it turns out, ice and anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxants only do so much when you let an injury get as bad as mine did.  I’m fairly grumpy and frustrated about it all, I’m only sleeping a few hours a night, and Netflix instant streaming is my new best friend.  But right now, today, I’ll focus on the blessings.

And then I’ll take another Valium.

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Filed under about me, life, perspective

The Problem with Facebook Parenting

I’m disheartened.

I’ve been getting two diametrically opposed types of comments and messages lately.  The first is people pointing my attention to various articles, stories and posts about things that they know I’ll disagree with parenting-wise, and that they hope I’ll write about.  I appreciate that because 1) it’s humbling to think anyone would want my opinion about anything at all, and 2) if I’m going to write about parenting, I need to constantly keep up with what’s going on.  The other, people telling me that I’m focusing too much on negatives, and should just worry about my own family, is appreciated as well (if it’s done somewhat kindly)  because it keeps me balanced and in check.  No one wants to read a constant barrage of bitter diatribes, and I get that.

But I can’t keep quiet about this trend of parenting by humiliating your child on Facebook.  I can’t.  And what’s bothering me just as much as these stories themselves, is the number of people who don’t seem to see anything wrong with it.

Because there is something wrong with it.

You all saw the video of the dad shooting his daughter’s laptop.  Since then, it’s seemed to have spawned a dozen copycats.  There was the mom who edited her daughter’s profile picture with a big, red X over her mouth when she didn’t like the girl’s language, accompanied with the text, “I do not know how to keep my [mouth shut]. I am no longer allowed on Facebook or my phone. Please ask why.”   There was the dad who posted a picture of his son, crying, with a board around his neck that read, “I lied to my family.”  More recently, there was a mom who punished her (underage) daughter for posting a picture with alcohol in it by photographing her – again, crying- while holding a sign reading, “Since I want to post photos of me holding liquor I am obviously not ready for social media and will be taking a hiatus until I learn what I should + should not post. BYE-BYE.”  And many more in between.

(*I purposely did not provide the links, but they are unfortunately easily found through Google.*)

So what’s the problem?  Well, setting aside the obvious issue of hypocrisy… Since you can’t use the internet appropriately, I’ll model appropriate use for you by using it to shame and humiliate my offspring (??)… there is the both deeper and more basic matter of how we treat each other:

Purposely and publicly humiliating someone you love is not a nice thing to do.

Have you ever been really humiliated?  It’s not just embarrassment.  Humiliation hurts.  I remember once in high school, someone took a… compromising, I guess you’d say… photo of a classmate at a party, taped it to piece of paper with some biting commentary, and somehow got it behind the glass in the trophy display case.   By the time an administrator could come with a key, it had been seen and laughed at by half the school.  Another time, there was a school play, and there was one scene where the stage was occupied by a lone girl giving a monologue.  She was not a member of any of the “popular” cliques, and she was overweight… both of which made her an easy target for bullies.   The auditorium was silent as she paused between lines, and in the silence came a loud and projecting voice in the audience that shouted, “How Now, Brown Cow?”   Some people laughed, some were stunned with sympathy, and the girl ran off the stage in tears.

That’s humiliation.

In both of those cases, the one doing the humiliating was not a trusted friend but just another person in a sea of classmates.  The humiliation took place in front of 50, maybe 100, people.   How much worse would it feel to be humiliated by a parent who loves you, someone you’re supposed to be able to go to with your problems, someone you’re supposed to be able to trust?  How much worse would it feel to not only have it shared with your friends and family, but to have it broadcast to thousands, to tens of thousands, to tens of millions all across the internet?  To have it splashed about as though it were entertainment?  Do you think that this child is going to turn to their parent the next time they’re struggling with something?

No good can come to a relationship from such an incredible breach of trust.  Would it work in terms of changing the child’s behavior?  Possibly… although I’d argue that it’d be just as likely to backfire and actually increase the behavior in an act of rebellion.  And I don’t know about you, but I never want my kids to behave in a certain way just for the sake of behaving, or out of fear of what my next public punishment might be.   Whenever I’m faced with a question of how to proceed with my kids, I ask myself if my chosen course of action will bring us closer together or pull us further apart.  What matters to me most is our relationship, and the knowledge that when they do encounter a hurdle or a problem or a stumbling block or a mistake (and they will, because they’re human) that they’ll feel they can come to me, and that I’ll listen.

Before I get the cries of, “Who the hell are you to judge these families??  You don’t know what kind of problems they have.  You don’t know what goes on inside their house…”  That’s correct.  I don’t know.  I don’t pretend to know.  In fact, I have a lot of compassion for these families, because they’re obviously a) at a very desperate place in their parenting journey, or b) don’t know that there are alternatives… both of which are sad situations to be sure.  I once received an email from someone who was certain I was going to judge her, because she’d called the cops on one of her teenaged children who was abusing drugs.  And another who’d actually had to kick a child out of her house in order to keep peace within the home.  And here’s the thing:  I’ve never dealt with either of those issues.  I don’t know what that’s like, and I could never say with certainty how I would or would not handle it.

I will say this though:  there is a big difference between privately being a catalyst for help, for doing what you need to do to keep your children and/or family members safe;  and very publicly and purposely humiliating your child in the name of “discipline.”

Despite what this barrage of current stories might tell you, “parenting” over Facebook is not cool, it’s not funny, and it’s not helpful.    But more than any of the above, it’s just not nice.

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Filed under Facebook, gentle discipline, gentle parenting, hypocrisy, mindful parenting, parenting

How cool (and hot) is the Mojave Desert

It never fails.  Every time we take a cool trip, or have a fun new experience, I swear I’m going to write a completely awesome blog post all about it.  I’ll post lots of pictures, I’ll regale you all with funny stories and anecdotes and pithy observations.  It will be epic.

And then, um, I return to the real world.  I remember, “Oh yeah, I barely have time to shower.”  There’s a house to tend to, and 4 days worth of smoky, dusty laundry.  And appointments.   And yoga training.  And the little matter of four kids who have been entrusted in my care.  And life.

It’s a shame too, because if I’d written it I could have waxed poetic about the beauty and majesty of the vast open desert, and how it’s become not only the most peaceful place in the world to me, but also a living metaphor for freedom and unschooling and life.

I could have told you about the crazy and deafening winds that first night, how hard we laughed about the frigid temperatures (It’s the Mojave Desert!), and how some of us came so very prepared for 120 degree heat… but with no sweatshirts.

I could have told you that the kids and I looked out the windows the entire time, hoping to catch a glimpse of a Mojave rattle snake, but that the only wildlife we ever saw was jackrabbits, birds, and lizards.

I could have told you how ridiculously sunburned my nose got, not when the heat finally hit mind you, but on the mild and cool second day.

I could have told you how wonderful and rejuvenating it was to spend that much uninterrupted time as a family, with no distractions, no ringing cell phones, no internet, and no TV.

I could have told you about the stars, and the moon, and the coyote.  I could have told you about Tegan and her sand, Everett and his holes, Paxton and his juggling, and Spencer and his mad tent-pupping skills.

I could have told you about the little moments, those tiny moments that make a trip great.  I could have told you about the ant we watched for a good half an hour, as it worked to saw off a little piece of the dropped peanut, to get a manageable size to bring back to its home…

But alas, a long fancy blog post is not to be.

I did however, make a little video diary (a viary?) that was lovingly put all together into a 20 minute movie by my better half.  It will be of absolutely zero interest to anyone else, unless you A) want to listen to me ramble for 20 minutes, or 2) have more than a passing interest in seeing what the Mojave Trail looks like.  But I’m glad I have it, because it really was an amazing trip.  And even though I won’t have that monumental blog post, I’ll still have the pictures, and I’ll still have the video.  I can look at them, and I’ll remember.

 

 

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Filed under camping, family, off-roading, vacation