Category Archives: parenting

June 14, 2013 · 6:23 AM

Love, in any language

If you’ve been looking for me the past couple of weeks, you can find me at the local public pool. Every weekday morning, I’m there… reading a book, catching up on email, or just generally trying to sweat the least amount possible as I watch Tegan and Everett in their swim classes in the 110 degree heat .

Participating in any sort of public kids’ activity is like plunking yourself in the center of a boiled down, concentrated, melting pot soup of parents. All kinds of parenting (including my own) on close display, whether we like it or not. It’s hard not to notice the mom who’s having a bad day and yelling at her kids. It’s hard not to see the impatient dad yanking his child’s hand a little harder than is necessary. It’s hard to ignore the scared, screaming toddler, whose parent just ordered him to buck up, stop crying, and listen to his teacher.

I’ve gotten a lot (a lot a lot) of negative feedback in the past any time I posted about any harsh parenting that I may have witnessed. What gives me the right to judge…. why don’t I try having some compassion… what makes me think I’m such a perfect parent…. And I’d be lying if I said those comments didn’t hurt. Because the thing is, it’s not that I don’t have empathy for the other parents (I do!), and it’s not that I think I’m without fault as a parent myself (obviously, I am not). It’s just that I care so deeply about kids and how they’re treated that that awareness tends to sometimes exist to the exclusion of all other senses. Any time there’s an injustice, I’m acutely and painfully aware of it. When I’m the one who’s dealt out said injustice, I’m able to apologize. I’m able to try to do better the next time. I’m able to know that the good moments outweigh the bad, that the sweet moments outweigh the prickly ones. And while I’d like to believe that the same is true for the parents that I see in public, I can never know for sure. So those are parents that I tend to remember. Those are the moments that gnaw.

Until recently.

Recently I renewed my realization that while yes, yes there are negative parental behaviors out there, there are positive ones out there too. Oh so much positive! Where the bad examples tend to be louder, both figuratively and literally, the others are still there, in the stillness. I just need to look around to see them. They’re there in the middle of the field, and they’re there on the sidelines.

The mom, quietly celebrating with her son who was nervous to go off the diving board but was so proud of himself for conquering his fear.

The dad, playfully scooping his wet little girl up into the air while she happily squealed.

The mom, squatting down to get to her daughter’s level while she listened with genuine interest to her story.

And my favorite of the day by far: the dad who was having a beautiful discussion with his young son, entirely in sign language. Now I don’t know a lick of sign language (I might be able to spell out my name if my life really depended on it), but I know body language. I know smiles. I know love. I know when I see an interaction that is sweet, and gentle, and kind.

That’s what I’m going to be looking for the next time I leave the house.

I’ll still notice the other side. I don’t know that I can help it, as it just seems to be a part of me. To stop noticing would be to stop caring, and that’s not something that I’m willing or able to do.

But I’ll notice the kindness too. I’ll notice the kindness first. I’ll embrace it, and I’ll celebrate it. In whatever language it comes.

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Filed under parenting, Uncategorized

June 3, 2013 · 6:00 AM

Keep Your Cool (and read this book)

I was excited when I heard that Flo Gascon had written a parenting book. I know Flo, and her parenting style based on kindness and connection was one I’d long admired. I knew even before I started reading that it would be filled with valuable information for both new and seasoned moms alike.

I was not disappointed.

Keep Your Cool: How to Stop Yelling, Spanking & Punishing is a workbook-style book that delivers on its promises and then some. It is not a book that simply tells you what not to do as a parent, but a book that gives you all the tools you need to learn what to do instead. It breaks it all down into small, manageable pieces, and gives you specific strategies that you can implement right away… strategies that can both transform your relationship with your children, and give you a lifeline during those moments of stress, conflict, and frustration.

What makes this book truly great is that Flo recognizes that parenting is not a one-size-fits-all proposition. It is a unique journey for each and every parent, with each and every child. The common thread between any successful parent/child relationship is connection and compassion, and this book understands that so very well. The steps, suggestions, and questions it offers will guide you through tapping into that connection and compassion with your children, even (or especially!) on those tough days.

Simultaneously challenging and reassuring, the in-depth questions contained in each chapter help you do the self-reflective work that’s necessary to improve your relationship and interactions with your children. They illuminate areas that need improving, and help identify issues that may be holding you back. Also worth noting: Not once as I was reading this book did I feel bad about past mistakes as a parent. In fact, I felt lifted up and encouraged, excited about new tools I could implement to make my relationships with my kids all the sweeter.

We’ve all had our moments where we feel like we’ve lost our cool with our kids (the author of the book included, some of which she graciously shares), but by doing the necessary work and employing the strategies outlined in this book, we can tip the odds in the other direction.

Keep Your Cool is simply a must-read for anyone who wants to be empowered to make better decisions, less knee-jerk reactions, and enjoy a happier and healthier relationship with her kids.

2 Comments

Filed under book reviews, gentle parenting, mindful parenting, parenting

May 9, 2013 · 8:01 AM

A Moment

Day 9, Thursday: A moment in your day (this can be just a photo or both a photo and words)

Today we took the kids to the local aquarium. It was a good time (it always is), as was the nice Mexican dinner we went to afterward at a little delicious hole-in-the-wall place that we hadn’t been to for years. Neither of those were the best part of the day though.

After our early dinner, we had to wait around for a call from the shop that was working on Mike’s Land Cruiser, to let him know it was ready. We’d gone down in two cars in the morning, and dropped it off before we headed to the aquarium. I guess the kids and I could have gone home without him, and let him wait on his own, but that’s not the way we roll. Plus, we were way down in Mesa – a good 45 minute drive – and it seemed a shame to waste so much of his day off by driving apart when we didn’t have to.

So we found a nearby park with a playground, and settled in to wait. Now, I take the two little ones to the playground all the time, but I can’t remember the last time we were at a playground with all four kids… at least not when the boys weren’t off on their own with friends. Hanging out at a playground as a family was a treat that didn’t go unappreciated. Tegan played on the slides and jungle gym till she tired of it, Everett pretended he was doing a “Survivor” style obstacle course on some of the equipment, we all took turns on the swings, and we eventually retired to a shady spot in the sand where we buried the kids and chatted about everything from haircuts to summer vacations to starting your own business. The shop finally called to tell him the truck was done (and, bonus: at $100 less than estimated! When does that ever happen??), and we slowly made our way out. On the way, the kids decided to stop at those bouncy animals, the ones on giant springs, designed for very little kids. Paxton, who’s nearly 13 and already six feet tall, started riding on one and laughed so hard he almost couldn’t breathe. Everett joined in on another one, and not being able to resist, I hopped on the last one – a squirrel – to see what the fuss was about. Instant laughter as I flopped back and forth. Paxton nearly fell off his dinosaur.

And we headed to get the truck and start for home… tired; happy; with dirty, sandy feet; full bellies; and full hearts. Now that’s a moment.

How Would Jesus Parent?

Before I had kids, I never thought about what kind of parent I would be. It seems almost inconceivable to me now, given what a defining role that motherhood would come to play in my life, but it’s true. It simply never entered my mind. Until the very moment my first son was born, I remained embarrassingly, and happily, ignorant.

As it turns out, my lack of preparedness didn’t hurt me. When it came to parenting, I quickly realized that it wasn’t something I could really plan out anyway.

…..

Jump on over to the Faithful Parenting series to read the rest.

Just a Minute

I’m very tired.

I don’t mean that I’m tired right now as I write this (even though I am), but more that I’m sort of perpetually tired. I’m not complaining either. Just stating facts. I think that between being a full-time mom for 16 years, and having 4 busy kids, and a Mike and a business and a life, and being in physical pain for the past 11 months … plus the fact that I’ve been a chronic insomniac since I was 19, which basically means that I’ve been sleep-deprived for two decades…

Put them all together, add ice and stir: A person’s going to be a little bit tired.

I blame fatigue for the latest “mom phrase” I’m trying to strike from my vocabulary. But it’s no excuse.

The girl will ask me to play a game or do a puzzle or help her find something in her room, and before I’ve thought about it I’ve answered,

“Sure! In just a minute.” And then I take that minute to finish my email, read another paragraph of my article, wipe the crumbs from the counter, or just rest for a few. more. seconds. because the thought of getting up just feels like too much. And nine times out of ten we then do whatever it was she was requesting, and all is well. But that 10% of the time? She’s gotten tired of waiting for me, and moved on to doing something on her own. 🙁 And that’s not acceptable to me. It means I missed a moment. I missed another chance to connect.

And while, yes, there are certain circumstances where a “just a minute” is warranted (being behind a closed bathroom door comes to mind) most of the time, it’s just not. It’s not her fault that I’m tired, and it’s not her fault that I’ve once again spread myself too thin.

She’s more important than answering that email right this second.

She’s more important than having a clean counter.

She’s more important than finishing the article.

She’s more important than that 60 extra seconds of rest… rest that I wouldn’t need if I’d been taking better care of myself in the first place.

So a few days ago, I decided I would try to mindfully stop saying, “just a minute” unless I had a really good reason (and it’s amazing how very few good reasons there really are when you stop and think about it). When I hear that, “Mommy, can you…” I say “sure” without exception, and I mean it. I get up, and I follow through. No missed moments.

And perhaps not surprisingly, it’s making me happy, it’s making her happy…. and I’m not any more tired than I was before.

10 Comments

Filed under gentle parenting, mindful parenting, parenting, Tegan

January 23, 2013 · 9:05 AM

My Response to “Please Don’t Help My Kids”

park

About a week ago, somebody sent me a link to this article, titled Please Don’t Help My Kids. As is typically the case, over the next several days I saw it everywhere… it ran across my newsfeed and my inbox dozens of times.

Let me end any suspense and just say: I didn’t like it.

Especially on the first reading (yes, I read it several times), it came across as harsh and sort of unnecessarily sanctimonious. But because I know what it feels like to have my entire point missed because people have read my words and wrote them off as being…. well, harsh and sanctimonious…. I read it again. And then I read all the comments, where the author did further explain where she was coming from and helped me see her position with a little more clarity.

What I finally realized was that there was no way I could fairly assess it, simply because we are wholly different people, and more importantly: very different parents.

At one point in the article, she says, “I didn’t bring them to the park so they could learn how to manipulate others into doing the hard work for them. I brought them here so they could learn to do it themselves.” I bring my kids to the park to play. Learning how to climb ladders and pump themselves on the swings (which, by the way, you can’t stop them from learning) is simply a side-effect. Sort of like I don’t make cookies to teach them about fractions and the chemical reactions involved in baking. We make cookies because a little voice says, “Mommy, let’s make cookies!” The learning happens anyway.

She also talks about being deliberately 15 feet away so they can learn to do it themselves. When my kids are little, I’m rarely 15 feet away… not because I’m hovering, but because when that same little voice says, “Play with me, Mommy!” I try to say yes. We climb, we explore, and we play together.

Finally, if one of my kids needs my help, I give it…. just as I help my husband, my sister, my parents, or my friends. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been asked to help and have deliberately held back in order to “teach them a lesson.” Admitting and asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength.

My kids don’t need help on the playground any more, but I was always there as they learned. Not in an in-your-face kind of way, but in a, “Keep being awesome. I’m here if you need me” kind of way. They climbed, they pushed, they tested, they explored their boundaries. And if they needed my hand, I gave it to them.

Does that mean then that I’m always in their space, “helping” even if they don’t want it, and preventing them from learning things on their own? Of course not! There are certainly times – lots of times – when kids need nothing more than their parents to get the heck out of their way and let them do things on their own. Absolutely. And your kids will let you know. I remember when Everett was still a toddler, his daily mantra for a year was, “Ebbet do it!” And we’d stand back, and he’d do it.

Though our approaches might be different, I don’t doubt that the writer of this article and myself want the same things for our children:

I want my girls to know the exhilaration of overcoming fear and doubt and achieving a hard-won success.

I want them to believe in their own abilities and be confident and determined in their actions.

I want them to feel capable of making their own decisions, developing their own skills, taking their own risks, and coping with their own feelings.

Those are some of the reasons I unschool, right there. And no question, there is power in discovering you can do something yourself. But there’s also power – at any age – in having somebody by your side, holding your hand, and telling you, “Don’t worry, you’ve got this. And I’ve got your back.”

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Filed under parenting

January 18, 2013 · 9:54 AM

Barbies, and the Girls Who Love Them

I grew up playing with Barbies. In fact, some of my favorite childhood memories involve being out in the yard with my sister, with nothing but a big bin of Barbies and our imaginations. These were not dainty, sedentary Barbies either. These were badass Barbies. We’d create these elaborate and far-flung adventures for all of them, complete with homemade planes, boats, and parachutes. Sigh. Oh the parachutes. We’d get them all suited up, climb to the roof of the barn, and with a count of three and a squeal of anticipation, we’d launch them as hard as we could. Then we watched as they ideally floated – but sometimes plummeted – to the ground below. We’d then scramble down, assess any damage, and do it all over again. If anyone was injured (and it was known to happen.. apparently Barbies aren’t designed to withstand being thrown off of roofs), we’d duck tape em back together. My favorite Barbie had a makeshift neck brace, which is a polite way of saying I’d taped her head back together, for her final jump. After that, she retired.

Yes, happy memories of playing with Barbies indeed. And not once, in all the years and all the afternoons and all the hours of playing with Barbies, did I ever think,

“Man, do I wish I had her rockin’ body.”

When I asked recently on my Facebook page if there were any toys you didn’t allow in your home, Barbie’s name came up again and again.

She’s too gender-specific.

She promotes an unrealistic and unhealthy body image.

She wears too much makeup.

Her clothes are too “slutty.” This one bothers me the most of all, because 1) It assumes that how one dresses (a toy, at that) is an indicator of her sexual behavior, which is unfair at best, and 2) It’s projecting a negative, adult stereotype onto something that is meant for children.

In fact, all of the above statements are observations made through adult and prejudiced eyes. Kids don’t see it that way unless they learn it from us! When un-jaded children look at toys (and life) they see beauty. They see potential. They see adventure. They see fun.

They do not see a scantily clad, heavily made up, unnaturally thin Barbie who’s obviously spending way too much time counting her carbs and canoodling with GI Joe.

My daughter loves her Barbies. They’re often on the floor, resting after their latest adventure. Right now they’re in her room alongside her ponies, babies, books, rocks, sticks, pine cones, feathers, and other treasures. They’re not scary. They’re not harmful. They’re no more or less than another avenue to play and imagination and fantasy. She likes to change their clothes and pretend that they’re going out to a concert. Or to someone’s house for a party. Or to the beach. Or on a road trip.

Her play is innocent, and sweet, and yes, child-like. She plays like she doesn’t care about the things that us adults are all hung up on, because she doesn’t. She doesn’t question the fact that Barbie’s legs go up to her armpits. She doesn’t make snap negative judgments about things like makeup and short skirts and bra size. She doesn’t stress out about things like body image. Will that come later? I don’t know. I hope not. I pray not. My hope for my daughter, for all my children, is that they keep the same self-love they have right now. That they know that beauty and strength and intelligence come in a myriad of packages…. none more right nor admirable nor desirable than the other.

When I play Barbies with Tegan, the play is never unnaturally focused on their appearance. Yes, she likes to dress them up and do their hair the same way she enjoys doing those things herself. But once they’re ready for their day, it’s about the fun. Like her mom so many years before, she uses her Barbies as a gateway to adventure. The last time we played, Everett joined in too. She assigned us both a Barbie, and happily announced, “They’re going to go camping now!”

And my heart swelled. Surely sky-diving can’t be far behind.

6 Comments

Filed under parenting, self image, Tegan

January 5, 2013 · 11:09 AM

I’m a Better Mom When My Kids Are Sick

I had an uncomfortable realization yesterday.

Spencer spent most of the day in the ER with a dislocated shoulder. He is home now, put back together and sleeping comfortably, but yesterday was a long miserable day for him. Mike brought him to the ER while I stayed home with the others feeling anxious and useless, unsure of what to do with myself. As I’d imagine any parent would tell you, there are few things worse than knowing your children are in pain or sick or hurt in any way. It was with great relief that I finally met him at the front door, smiling, whole (if a bit drugged up), and home where I could dote on him.

So glad to have something to do after a day of waiting, I made sure he was comfortable on the couch and that he had the remotes controls he needed. I fixed him some toast and put water on for tea. I kept him company while he watched one of his favorite shows, I brought him ibuprofen when it was time, and I even helped him with his belt buckle when he admitted with a laugh that while he managed to get it UNdone with one hand to use the restroom, he couldn’t get it done again. I was attentive, and I was patient, and I did it all gladly. It made me happy to be able to do something, anything, to help him stay as comfortable as possible.

In short, I was the kind of mom I should be striving to be all the time.

It occurred to me on my third or fourth trip out of the living room to get him something that didn’t I have it backwards? Not that we shouldn’t be so vigilant when there is an extra need, but shouldn’t that same level of patience, of compassion, and willingness to give be present when the kids are well? Especially with kids like mine who are almost never sick? And it’s not that I don’t think I’m a good mom. It’s just that crises tend to make me a BETTER mom. A more aware mom. A more patient mom. And if I can choose to bring that “extra” to my parenting when someone is sick or hurt, can’t I choose to do it all the time? It’s not even a choice now that I think about it…. it’s just the default. Someone is hurt, and out comes that “other” mom. The one who isn’t irritable because she hasn’t been sleeping enough, the one who isn’t distracted with silly things like Facebook and housework and outstanding bills, the one who has all the love in the world and all the time in the world to give it.

Yes, I’ve had it backwards, and I can change that.

I don’t really do resolutions, but if I did, my new resolution would be this: For this year… this week… this day… to make more of an effort to treat my kids – all my kids – as well as I’d treat them if they’d just spent the day in the ER.

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Filed under about me, gentle parenting, health, kindness, mindful parenting, parenting, Spencer

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.

4 Comments

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

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.

9 Comments

Filed under life, parenting, Tegan

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