In early October, I received a care package from three amazing Midwestern aunts. They were in the process of selling my grandmother’s house but were determined to keep the amazing peony garden the family had lovingly created and painstakingly tended for at least 45 years at one home and possibly another 60 years before that. (Family legend has it that the original peony bulbs came to America with my great-grandparents when they immigrated from Russia in 1907.)
So my aunts and their families dug up all the peony bulbs and distributed them to me, my siblings, and our cousins across the States and Canada (26 of us in all).
If you are a gardener, this might sound like a piece of cake, an easy and sentimental opportunity to add some color to your yard. But, unfortunately, I’m no gardener. I love flowers, but dirt, weeds, and worms are not for me. So you can imagine the pressure that came in that little brown box filled with bulbs to be lovingly planted and painstakingly tended, and of course photographed and shared family-wide.
To add to the pressure, my aunts also sent me my brother’s bulbs. He lives in San Diego, which is apparently the perfect climate for humans but not for peonies. So, I was to plant and nurture his flowers along with mine and then give the bulbs to him if he ever moves somewhere that suits them.
Along with the bulbs, which were each wrapped in tissue paper the color of their flower, there was a page of typewritten instructions that would intimidate Martha Stewart.
First we had to find a place to plant – per the instructions, “a sunny, well-drained location that can have some shade but at least a half-day of sunshine, that is not near large trees or shrubs where they would be robbed of light, moisture, and plant food.”
I found a place that met at least some of the criteria, and began to clear away the scrub that had overgrown the area, feeling a sense of accomplishment with each tug.
I noticed a vine had begun to grow upwards and tangle itself into a pine tree and gave a pull. It didn’t come down. I stepped away from the tree and looked up. Guess I misjudged a bit. Turns out the vine had grown a lot higher than I thought, and was actually peeking out of the top of the 100-foot pine tree. What’s more, it was holding several dead branches in place (probably since March’s big storm), making any further tugging potentially fatal. So, I declared my garden cleared.
Then my husband joined me for what I thought would be twenty minutes of bulb-planting, until we read the first direction: “For each plant dig a hole a minimum 18 inches deep and at least the same diameter. Depth of planting is very important,” the paper screamed at me. When he took the spade to our hard dusty rocky soil, I instantly knew that 18 inches was going to take a very long time.
We knew we needed a better tool, but we couldn’t find our pick axe. Which got me thinking, “How does one lose a pick axe, and should I be concerned?” He got down a few inches before declaring defeat. Unable to deal with an unfinished project, I stayed out for a short while longer but only managed to unearth a few more rocks. I convinced myself I made it six inches, but it was probably three. I figured at least I could use the rocks to make quite a nice border if the garden ever got planted.
So I went inside, and the bulbs sat on my porch for another six weeks. Each day I stepped past them, a reminder of my family duty unmet. I asked for help, but got only sympathy, no tools. Making it worse was the stream of emails from cousins and siblings with stories of their successful plantings. Soon I was having nightmares about giant peonies across America laughing at me.
Finally it dawned on me to call a friend who has everything, and yes, he had a pick axe, and a post-hole digger by the way. That night, my husband chopped up the soil (luckily not attracting too much attention wielding a pick axe in the dark – which again, creates a bit of uneasiness as to where ours might be), and the next day I had that twenty-minute bulb-planting experience. Well, actually thirty minutes if you include the time I spent replanting previously-planted bulbs that had been unearthed by a man wielding a pick axe in the dark.
Will they grow? It’s anyone’s guess. There are still a lot of care instructions to follow (or forget)before they reach their full potential. But for Thanksgiving this year I was just grateful I got those things in the ground before I had to face my family at the table!
Friday, December 3, 2010
So Soon Forgotten
When I saw that the band They Might Be Giants was performing nearby this fall, I couldn’t have been more excited. A few years ago, while his four-year-old peers were listening to Laurie Berkner and watching Bob the Builder, my son was listening to and watching TMBG and their quirky kids CD/DVD “Here Come the ABC’s.” His love of letters and numbers was further reinforced via their follow-up album “Here Come the 123s” which played on our media players for months.
So, you can imagine my surprise when my now eight-year old son shrugged with indifference after I told him about the concert. “OK,” he said, always game for a show, but clearly not recalling the music at all. So maybe he forgot the tunes, but I thought the television theme songs would surely jolt his memories. “They sang the Higglytown Heroes theme,” I said, referring to a Disney show we watched daily for probably two years. “What are the Higglytown Heroes?” he asked. After I managed to pick my jaw up off the floor, I stammered, “You don’t remember Higglytown Heroes???”, then started listing the other shows that we watched and visited online regularly. “Jojo’s Circus?” “Bear in the Big Blue House?” “Stanley?” He looked at me blankly, and I think I felt my heart break, just a little bit.
Later, as I listened to him complain about having to watch a Barney video with his baby sister yet again, I had to chime in. “Do you know how many times I watched the same video with you again and again?” I asked. “Do you know you would make me read all the ABC books in the library when we went? Every one. Every time we went! We would be there for hours!” He thought this was hilarious (both the story and my hysteria in telling it), but he didn’t remember.
How can it be that he doesn’t remember these central moments that dominated his short life? Sure, I don’t remember much of anything from my early childhood either, but he is still in his early childhood. We spent hours, weeks, months, years watching these shows, playing the related online games, reading the books, listening to the CDs, watching the DVDs! All that time and energy spent in what I thought were bonding exercises with my son. Was it all for nothing? Do these moments get tossed in the giveaway pile along with all the other toys he loved for a few months then completely forgot about?
Well, probably not. Or not quite. Somehow, I have to believe that when we do engage in sufficient quality time with our children, they grow up feeling nurtured, secure, encouraged, and loved, even if they don’t remember all the details. (Perhaps that explains why a certain tune or scent or image can make us smile even when we can’t identify it.)
Still, I’ve been a little melancholy since this recent exchange with my son. You see, my daughter is six years younger than her brother, and I now realize that her infatuation with Elmo, Mickey Mouse, and the rest will soon be forgotten, and all we will have to show for it is some photos from Sesame Place and a Minnie Mouse Halloween costume. I wish I didn’t know this so that I could remain blissfully focused on indulging her excitement, just as I did for my son. But instead I have found myself tearing up a bit when I watch her sing and dance along to her favorites with that innocent surprise and excitement that toddlers express even on their one-hundredth viewing (“There’s Barney!” she cries, each time the DVD starts) . I know it doesn’t last long.
As for my son, TMBG won him over again. He thought the concert was great, even though he had his mom shouting “Do you remember this one?!” in his face every time an old favorite was featured. No, he didn’t remember the songs, but they shot confetti into the audience more than once and he thought that was just awesome. In fact, he filled my purse with handfuls of the shredded paper to bring home so he won’t forget.
So, you can imagine my surprise when my now eight-year old son shrugged with indifference after I told him about the concert. “OK,” he said, always game for a show, but clearly not recalling the music at all. So maybe he forgot the tunes, but I thought the television theme songs would surely jolt his memories. “They sang the Higglytown Heroes theme,” I said, referring to a Disney show we watched daily for probably two years. “What are the Higglytown Heroes?” he asked. After I managed to pick my jaw up off the floor, I stammered, “You don’t remember Higglytown Heroes???”, then started listing the other shows that we watched and visited online regularly. “Jojo’s Circus?” “Bear in the Big Blue House?” “Stanley?” He looked at me blankly, and I think I felt my heart break, just a little bit.
Later, as I listened to him complain about having to watch a Barney video with his baby sister yet again, I had to chime in. “Do you know how many times I watched the same video with you again and again?” I asked. “Do you know you would make me read all the ABC books in the library when we went? Every one. Every time we went! We would be there for hours!” He thought this was hilarious (both the story and my hysteria in telling it), but he didn’t remember.
How can it be that he doesn’t remember these central moments that dominated his short life? Sure, I don’t remember much of anything from my early childhood either, but he is still in his early childhood. We spent hours, weeks, months, years watching these shows, playing the related online games, reading the books, listening to the CDs, watching the DVDs! All that time and energy spent in what I thought were bonding exercises with my son. Was it all for nothing? Do these moments get tossed in the giveaway pile along with all the other toys he loved for a few months then completely forgot about?
Well, probably not. Or not quite. Somehow, I have to believe that when we do engage in sufficient quality time with our children, they grow up feeling nurtured, secure, encouraged, and loved, even if they don’t remember all the details. (Perhaps that explains why a certain tune or scent or image can make us smile even when we can’t identify it.)
Still, I’ve been a little melancholy since this recent exchange with my son. You see, my daughter is six years younger than her brother, and I now realize that her infatuation with Elmo, Mickey Mouse, and the rest will soon be forgotten, and all we will have to show for it is some photos from Sesame Place and a Minnie Mouse Halloween costume. I wish I didn’t know this so that I could remain blissfully focused on indulging her excitement, just as I did for my son. But instead I have found myself tearing up a bit when I watch her sing and dance along to her favorites with that innocent surprise and excitement that toddlers express even on their one-hundredth viewing (“There’s Barney!” she cries, each time the DVD starts) . I know it doesn’t last long.
As for my son, TMBG won him over again. He thought the concert was great, even though he had his mom shouting “Do you remember this one?!” in his face every time an old favorite was featured. No, he didn’t remember the songs, but they shot confetti into the audience more than once and he thought that was just awesome. In fact, he filled my purse with handfuls of the shredded paper to bring home so he won’t forget.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Mad World
I cannot process the unending stream of stories about violent reactions in our everyday lives that seems to be hitting the airwaves.
Not too long ago, we were complaining about too much violence in the movies or on video games, worrying about its effects on our children and citing rash extreme situations like Columbine. But now it seems every day there is a new story about regular violence between ordinary people who seem simply to have not learned how to handle anger and frustration, and resort to aggressive words and actions as a result.
We have seen fights among rowdy sports fans before, but this year we saw a fight in the stands at the US Open, usually a model of calm decorum (at least off the courts!). Then a girl fight on YouTube which was not only witnessed and cheered by schoolmates, but by one of the girl’s mothers as well (she was later arrested for child abuse). Not to mention the New Jersey “Housewives” and other television personalities who demonstrate their frustration by toppling tables at dinner parties, screaming through country clubs, and pulling out hair extensions.
Of course, when it is on “reality television” we say it is staged - they are doing it for the show, but what about when it is in reality?
I would argue that the omnipresence of camera phones and the immediacy of the internet have exacerbated the problem, not to mention the need for programming on the multitude of 24-hour news channels. With society’s emphasis on fame regardless of its source, it seems that everyone is performing in a way. The participants in these explosions become “celebrities” in their own right. And every time we see these events, despite the discussion around them, it reinforces these actions as a reasonable choice.
And what about the voyeurs? What does it say about human nature that gangs of kids gather round and not only witness or cheer on, as in schoolyard fights in past generations, but actually film and upload the event for others to view repeatedly. Who will take the responsibility to stop these incidents when there is so much to be made from their occurrence?
In spite of all our technological development and the racks of self-help books, it seems that our society is getting angrier and angrier. Yes, it may be partly due to the increased stress of the economic times we live in, as well as our busy overstretched lifestyles and separation from extended family support systems. But I think much of it has to do with the ever-increasing focus our society places on the individual. Our appearance, our success, our achievements, our possessions help create an environment of self-centeredness where each person feels entitled to self-defense at any cost. Every action, behavior, or statement is taken personally and deserves a response, and if it is unflattering, there must be a defensive reply.
But that self-centeredness is based on an illusion. Guess what. Not everything that happens to us is about us. And though we may sometimes believe “she made me” or “I had to”, violence is not a necessity, it is a choice.
We do not have to respond to every insult or hit back against every strike, physically or verbally. Most of human behavior is about the one behaving, not the one receiving. So, when somebody insults us, it is not their words but rather our response that reflects on us. Those who can extricate themselves from conflict in a calm, controlled manner ultimately appear a lot stronger than those who fly towards it with swinging fists.
It is imperative that we teach our children that they do not have to respond to aggression with aggression. That it is stronger and “cooler” to walk away than to end up glorified on YouTube. We must teach them conflict-resolution, problem-solving, and relaxation skills. And most of all, we must teach them to reconsider how they think about another’s actions. Changing negative self-talk, like “I must win,” “I can’t let her disrespect me,” or “I will look bad if I don’t defend myself” to more positive thoughts such as “He can say what he wants, I know I’m cool,” “It is not worth fighting over this,” or “This is her problem not mine” is a critical step to changing our reactions from base instinct to thoughtful response.
Of course, before we can teach our kids, we have to learn this ourselves. Give it a try. I think you’ll feel a lot better.
Not too long ago, we were complaining about too much violence in the movies or on video games, worrying about its effects on our children and citing rash extreme situations like Columbine. But now it seems every day there is a new story about regular violence between ordinary people who seem simply to have not learned how to handle anger and frustration, and resort to aggressive words and actions as a result.
We have seen fights among rowdy sports fans before, but this year we saw a fight in the stands at the US Open, usually a model of calm decorum (at least off the courts!). Then a girl fight on YouTube which was not only witnessed and cheered by schoolmates, but by one of the girl’s mothers as well (she was later arrested for child abuse). Not to mention the New Jersey “Housewives” and other television personalities who demonstrate their frustration by toppling tables at dinner parties, screaming through country clubs, and pulling out hair extensions.
Of course, when it is on “reality television” we say it is staged - they are doing it for the show, but what about when it is in reality?
I would argue that the omnipresence of camera phones and the immediacy of the internet have exacerbated the problem, not to mention the need for programming on the multitude of 24-hour news channels. With society’s emphasis on fame regardless of its source, it seems that everyone is performing in a way. The participants in these explosions become “celebrities” in their own right. And every time we see these events, despite the discussion around them, it reinforces these actions as a reasonable choice.
And what about the voyeurs? What does it say about human nature that gangs of kids gather round and not only witness or cheer on, as in schoolyard fights in past generations, but actually film and upload the event for others to view repeatedly. Who will take the responsibility to stop these incidents when there is so much to be made from their occurrence?
In spite of all our technological development and the racks of self-help books, it seems that our society is getting angrier and angrier. Yes, it may be partly due to the increased stress of the economic times we live in, as well as our busy overstretched lifestyles and separation from extended family support systems. But I think much of it has to do with the ever-increasing focus our society places on the individual. Our appearance, our success, our achievements, our possessions help create an environment of self-centeredness where each person feels entitled to self-defense at any cost. Every action, behavior, or statement is taken personally and deserves a response, and if it is unflattering, there must be a defensive reply.
But that self-centeredness is based on an illusion. Guess what. Not everything that happens to us is about us. And though we may sometimes believe “she made me” or “I had to”, violence is not a necessity, it is a choice.
We do not have to respond to every insult or hit back against every strike, physically or verbally. Most of human behavior is about the one behaving, not the one receiving. So, when somebody insults us, it is not their words but rather our response that reflects on us. Those who can extricate themselves from conflict in a calm, controlled manner ultimately appear a lot stronger than those who fly towards it with swinging fists.
It is imperative that we teach our children that they do not have to respond to aggression with aggression. That it is stronger and “cooler” to walk away than to end up glorified on YouTube. We must teach them conflict-resolution, problem-solving, and relaxation skills. And most of all, we must teach them to reconsider how they think about another’s actions. Changing negative self-talk, like “I must win,” “I can’t let her disrespect me,” or “I will look bad if I don’t defend myself” to more positive thoughts such as “He can say what he wants, I know I’m cool,” “It is not worth fighting over this,” or “This is her problem not mine” is a critical step to changing our reactions from base instinct to thoughtful response.
Of course, before we can teach our kids, we have to learn this ourselves. Give it a try. I think you’ll feel a lot better.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Hallow-Whine
Three days until Halloween and the truth is, I can’t wait until it’s over. I may be egged for saying this but I hate Halloween. To me the holiday is more stressful than Christmas. It’s not the fear of evil spirits, or the arachnophobic reactions I have to the giant spiders hanging over neighborhood windows, or even the ushering in of candy season (to be followed by birthdays, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Easter). It is the pressure of costuming.
By the time you read this, I will probably be on the brink of an all-nighter to create a Halloween costume for my child so that he will not have to attend his school Halloween parade dressed as, well, a second-grader. It’s not that I create elaborate, imaginative, amazing costumes with hard to find accessories or intricate detailing. It’s just that we can’t seem to agree on an idea until time is running out.
I’ve already asked him to go as a Cub Scout, kung fu fighter, or something else he already has a “costume” for, but he’s on to me, and wasn’t going to be conned into wearing a uniform, even if he could be a black belt for the night.
We went through all the catalogs and walked countless store aisles, but nothing excited him. You see, my child is a little unconventional, so the mainstream characters don’t interest him. For the record, once he was a “Dead End” sign.
Even when his interests coincide directly with popular culture, his approach is from the side. For example, he loves Mario Brothers, but he has no interest in dressing as Mario, a costume both easy to create and easy to purchase. Instead, he wants to dress up as an obscure bad guy from those video games, which are odd-shaped creatures that don’t conform to conventional costuming materials. Believe me, I know. [Note that he actually did dress as Mario when he was three, when Mario himself was obscure - known only to other parents before the Wii introduced the character to his generation.] I suppose I should admire his unique style, but this time of year, I wish he had a thing for Buzz Lightyear, Luke Skywalker, or even Scooby Doo.
And frankly, I am terrible at coming up with costume ideas for my children or myself. While I’m always up for a night out, invitations to Halloween parties fill me with dread as I can never quite get a costume right. Store-bought ideas usually involve fishnet stockings and skimpy clothes, which is not my style. And couple ideas usually involve my reluctant husband who is even more resistant to dressing up than I am. My default costume used to be a hippie or clown – both of which involve nothing more than finding the right combination of family clothing and a little makeup. But now, my husband and I fight over our one official NFL jersey or the scrubs he got at the hospital when our youngest was born.
I am also a little scared of people in costume, which I guess is a little similar to people who have an aversion to clowns. Sure, I smile watching adorable parades of princesses and super heroes at school and seeing the shy toddlers taking their first costumed steps for candy outside my door. But I flinch when I see gangs of kids running up the walk, or open the door to face Scream masks, especially when I notice that my supply of candy is running dangerously low.
Perhaps it stems back to my own Halloween nightmares, the most memorable of which occurred in sixth grade. A friend and I were ending our trick or treating, heading home with bags full of candy and giggling together as girls will do, when three older boys dressed in black jumped out from the trees and grabbed us. I got away, but my friend’s sandwich board costume was torn apart and her candy stolen, and both of us were shaken up after an unexpected attack in what had previously been the unconditional comfort of our childhood neighborhood.
Later in high school, the memory of an unidentified masked man weaving through a party still haunts me, not to mention similar experiences at large metropolitan parades during my college and adult years.
This year, I tried to get ahead of the holiday, inspired by my daughter’s Elmo obsession to buy us all Sesame Street themed shirts. But I wasn’t able to find one for my husband, and besides, t-shirts don’t really make a costume. However, my family has decided that mine is just perfect , so for Halloween this year I’ll be…….Oscar the Grouch.
By the time you read this, I will probably be on the brink of an all-nighter to create a Halloween costume for my child so that he will not have to attend his school Halloween parade dressed as, well, a second-grader. It’s not that I create elaborate, imaginative, amazing costumes with hard to find accessories or intricate detailing. It’s just that we can’t seem to agree on an idea until time is running out.
I’ve already asked him to go as a Cub Scout, kung fu fighter, or something else he already has a “costume” for, but he’s on to me, and wasn’t going to be conned into wearing a uniform, even if he could be a black belt for the night.
We went through all the catalogs and walked countless store aisles, but nothing excited him. You see, my child is a little unconventional, so the mainstream characters don’t interest him. For the record, once he was a “Dead End” sign.
Even when his interests coincide directly with popular culture, his approach is from the side. For example, he loves Mario Brothers, but he has no interest in dressing as Mario, a costume both easy to create and easy to purchase. Instead, he wants to dress up as an obscure bad guy from those video games, which are odd-shaped creatures that don’t conform to conventional costuming materials. Believe me, I know. [Note that he actually did dress as Mario when he was three, when Mario himself was obscure - known only to other parents before the Wii introduced the character to his generation.] I suppose I should admire his unique style, but this time of year, I wish he had a thing for Buzz Lightyear, Luke Skywalker, or even Scooby Doo.
And frankly, I am terrible at coming up with costume ideas for my children or myself. While I’m always up for a night out, invitations to Halloween parties fill me with dread as I can never quite get a costume right. Store-bought ideas usually involve fishnet stockings and skimpy clothes, which is not my style. And couple ideas usually involve my reluctant husband who is even more resistant to dressing up than I am. My default costume used to be a hippie or clown – both of which involve nothing more than finding the right combination of family clothing and a little makeup. But now, my husband and I fight over our one official NFL jersey or the scrubs he got at the hospital when our youngest was born.
I am also a little scared of people in costume, which I guess is a little similar to people who have an aversion to clowns. Sure, I smile watching adorable parades of princesses and super heroes at school and seeing the shy toddlers taking their first costumed steps for candy outside my door. But I flinch when I see gangs of kids running up the walk, or open the door to face Scream masks, especially when I notice that my supply of candy is running dangerously low.
Perhaps it stems back to my own Halloween nightmares, the most memorable of which occurred in sixth grade. A friend and I were ending our trick or treating, heading home with bags full of candy and giggling together as girls will do, when three older boys dressed in black jumped out from the trees and grabbed us. I got away, but my friend’s sandwich board costume was torn apart and her candy stolen, and both of us were shaken up after an unexpected attack in what had previously been the unconditional comfort of our childhood neighborhood.
Later in high school, the memory of an unidentified masked man weaving through a party still haunts me, not to mention similar experiences at large metropolitan parades during my college and adult years.
This year, I tried to get ahead of the holiday, inspired by my daughter’s Elmo obsession to buy us all Sesame Street themed shirts. But I wasn’t able to find one for my husband, and besides, t-shirts don’t really make a costume. However, my family has decided that mine is just perfect , so for Halloween this year I’ll be…….Oscar the Grouch.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Ahhhh, Summer
Ah, summer. School’s out, the weather is warm, the days are long. If only the realities of summer as a parent lived up to the memories of summer as a carefree kid.
My childhood summers consisted of days playing outdoors in a bathing suit that never had time to dry with a backyard and neighborhood full of friends until it got really, really dark. Lying on a lounge chair intentionally browning, coated in suntan oil, fueled by pizza and ice cream, living in the moment, and feeling invincible. Those were the days.
But as a parent – well, let’s just say it’s not my favorite time of year.
Summer is no “vacation” for parents -- instead it is the time when we work the hardest. Before having children, summer’s “longer days” meant time for an evening walk or a glass of wine on the porch after work. Now, they just feel a lot longer than their 24 hours because we have to fill every minute. Also, bedtimes get later, but I am finding that wake up times do not necessarily change (unless you have teenagers, when the best thing about summer vacation is sleeping in).
Juggling multiple children becomes even harder in the summer as younger children must be dragged along with older siblings to and from camps and activities all day long. If a drop-off requires the whole family to actually exit the car, then the challenge becomes to get the stubborn toddler back in the carseat before it is time to return for pickup.
And what happens when one child’s pickup is during another’s naptime? I know I don’t want to have to manage both a tired camper and a cranky baby in my house.
It is hard enough to entertain a seven-year-old and an eighteen-month-old in good moods. It’s not quite fair to say they don’t do the same things, because my daughter would eagerly attempt everything her brother does and then some. Unfortunately, she can’t do everything he does, and often he doesn’t want her to. So then the question becomes how to watch them both while keeping them apart.
Playdates help, but they are also harder to coordinate during the summer months. Back in my day, when school was out you could find everyone in their backyards, but now kids’ varying camp, activity, and vacation schedules make it hard to locate friends.
The summer can be especially difficult for working parents, as their working hours remain the same while their children’s schedules disappear. It can mean months of planning to arrange short-term childcare, and possibly weeks of adjustment for the children. [It is unfortunate that our school schedule has not been adjusted from its agrarian origins to meet the needs of our more industrial society. Just think what it would mean to our family lives if working hours and school hours were more compatible.]
As for taking an actual vacation, well many moms describe this as just “taking the show on the road.” For families with young children, travel means doing the same chores just with fewer resources. I’ve never gone through clothing faster than when on vacation at the beach with no washing machine and humid air that makes a mockery of the term “air dry”. Renting a house for the week? Bring your own towels and sheets, cook and clean up after your meals, vacuum before you leave – when exactly is the relaxing part? And as for entertaining the kids? Well, I used to marvel at how many toys parents would pack just for a weekend visit. Now I find myself in the same boat (or should I say, very crowded car).
Don’t get me wrong, I like summer fun in the sun as much as the next guy….ok, no, I really don’t. My hair is frizzy, my nail polish is forever chipped, and my skin is sweaty. I don’t like to wear a swimsuit in public, to obsessively stalk my children with sunblock, or to feel the sand between my toes (or on my kids, or in my car). I find myself tracking the 69 days until the first day of school just as eagerly as my son counted down the 180 days of the school year. I guess I’m just a summer Scrooge.
But then, as my children and I chase fireflies in our flip-flops one balmy evening, I hear the sound of the ice cream truck and run to track down my wallet before it passes. Ahhhhh, summer!
My childhood summers consisted of days playing outdoors in a bathing suit that never had time to dry with a backyard and neighborhood full of friends until it got really, really dark. Lying on a lounge chair intentionally browning, coated in suntan oil, fueled by pizza and ice cream, living in the moment, and feeling invincible. Those were the days.
But as a parent – well, let’s just say it’s not my favorite time of year.
Summer is no “vacation” for parents -- instead it is the time when we work the hardest. Before having children, summer’s “longer days” meant time for an evening walk or a glass of wine on the porch after work. Now, they just feel a lot longer than their 24 hours because we have to fill every minute. Also, bedtimes get later, but I am finding that wake up times do not necessarily change (unless you have teenagers, when the best thing about summer vacation is sleeping in).
Juggling multiple children becomes even harder in the summer as younger children must be dragged along with older siblings to and from camps and activities all day long. If a drop-off requires the whole family to actually exit the car, then the challenge becomes to get the stubborn toddler back in the carseat before it is time to return for pickup.
And what happens when one child’s pickup is during another’s naptime? I know I don’t want to have to manage both a tired camper and a cranky baby in my house.
It is hard enough to entertain a seven-year-old and an eighteen-month-old in good moods. It’s not quite fair to say they don’t do the same things, because my daughter would eagerly attempt everything her brother does and then some. Unfortunately, she can’t do everything he does, and often he doesn’t want her to. So then the question becomes how to watch them both while keeping them apart.
Playdates help, but they are also harder to coordinate during the summer months. Back in my day, when school was out you could find everyone in their backyards, but now kids’ varying camp, activity, and vacation schedules make it hard to locate friends.
The summer can be especially difficult for working parents, as their working hours remain the same while their children’s schedules disappear. It can mean months of planning to arrange short-term childcare, and possibly weeks of adjustment for the children. [It is unfortunate that our school schedule has not been adjusted from its agrarian origins to meet the needs of our more industrial society. Just think what it would mean to our family lives if working hours and school hours were more compatible.]
As for taking an actual vacation, well many moms describe this as just “taking the show on the road.” For families with young children, travel means doing the same chores just with fewer resources. I’ve never gone through clothing faster than when on vacation at the beach with no washing machine and humid air that makes a mockery of the term “air dry”. Renting a house for the week? Bring your own towels and sheets, cook and clean up after your meals, vacuum before you leave – when exactly is the relaxing part? And as for entertaining the kids? Well, I used to marvel at how many toys parents would pack just for a weekend visit. Now I find myself in the same boat (or should I say, very crowded car).
Don’t get me wrong, I like summer fun in the sun as much as the next guy….ok, no, I really don’t. My hair is frizzy, my nail polish is forever chipped, and my skin is sweaty. I don’t like to wear a swimsuit in public, to obsessively stalk my children with sunblock, or to feel the sand between my toes (or on my kids, or in my car). I find myself tracking the 69 days until the first day of school just as eagerly as my son counted down the 180 days of the school year. I guess I’m just a summer Scrooge.
But then, as my children and I chase fireflies in our flip-flops one balmy evening, I hear the sound of the ice cream truck and run to track down my wallet before it passes. Ahhhhh, summer!
Graduation Inspiration
It’s the time of year for graduations, and as a recent college graduation attendee (but distant college grad), I listened with envy at commencement speeches filled with optimistic advice to “dream big” and “reach high” delivered to an audience of blank slates (and I mean that in the best way) who saw only possibilities ahead.
Even in this recession, the newly-minted graduates were encouraged to pursue their passions regardless of practicality (as in “Do what you love and the money will follow.”). All the hopes and challenges of the future were placed squarely on their shoulders, and they seemed eager and willing to take it all on.
Even I, a forty-something mother of two, began to feel like a fresh-faced graduate with dozens of doors open in front of me. I came home recharged, ready to finally conquer my “to do if only…” list and pave my own road to glory. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I sunk back into my daily routine, unable to find the time to take even one proactive step towards dream fulfillment.
My memories of the commencement speeches returned and with them the envy of the new beginning that comes with school’s end. As adults, it becomes so easy to lose the energy of possibility. We are rarely the audience for inspiring lectures that recognize our hidden potential. We are rarely encouraged to take chances, to venture into unchartered waters, to risk failure.
Instead so many of us who were fearless as young adults become resistant to change. We may believe our paths are etched in stone leaving us no choice but to continue moving (or standing still) on the same track.
True, there are responsibilities and a need for stability that decrease our perceived options, especially once we become parents. But how many of us limit ourselves with our own fears? How many of us have built a wall of insecurities, unrealistic expectations, and perfectionism that prevents us from forging ahead?
I know I have. And I want to break free. So I went online and sought renewed inspiration from commencement speeches of years gone by.
I nodded my head at the insights actor Bradley Whitford shared with University of Wisconsin graduates in 2004: “We all go through life bristling at our external limitations, but the most difficult chains to break are inside us…. You have a choice. You can either be a passive victim of circumstance or you can be the active hero of your own life….”
I considered the suggestion that movie producer Jerry Zucker made at that same school the year prior: “Ask yourself one question: If I didn't have to do it perfectly, what would I try? For many of you, the biggest obstacle to getting there will be a fear that you have carried with you since childhood — the fear of humiliation, of embarrassment, of ridicule….” I contemplated the words he passed on from John Travolta who told him, “…nobody else is paying as much attention to your failures as you are. You're the only ones who are obsessed with the importance of your own life. To everyone else, it's just a blip on the radar screen, so just move on.”
Knowing that I am just as troubled by the fear of success as I am the fear of failure (“If it works, what will I do? How will I balance it all? What will have to be sacrificed?”), I let myself be shaken up by the words of Steven Jobs from his 2005 speech at Stanford University: “Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose…. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life….Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”
And as for the eternal quest for happiness, I smiled when I read what psychology professor Marc S. Lewis said to the graduates of the University of Texas Austin in 2000: “The way to be happy is to like yourself and the way to like yourself is to do only things that make you proud.”
So congratulations to all the graduates out there, be it from high school, college, middle school, elementary school, or even pre-school. Your energy, optimism, risk-taking, and good deeds can be inspiring to us all.
Even in this recession, the newly-minted graduates were encouraged to pursue their passions regardless of practicality (as in “Do what you love and the money will follow.”). All the hopes and challenges of the future were placed squarely on their shoulders, and they seemed eager and willing to take it all on.
Even I, a forty-something mother of two, began to feel like a fresh-faced graduate with dozens of doors open in front of me. I came home recharged, ready to finally conquer my “to do if only…” list and pave my own road to glory. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I sunk back into my daily routine, unable to find the time to take even one proactive step towards dream fulfillment.
My memories of the commencement speeches returned and with them the envy of the new beginning that comes with school’s end. As adults, it becomes so easy to lose the energy of possibility. We are rarely the audience for inspiring lectures that recognize our hidden potential. We are rarely encouraged to take chances, to venture into unchartered waters, to risk failure.
Instead so many of us who were fearless as young adults become resistant to change. We may believe our paths are etched in stone leaving us no choice but to continue moving (or standing still) on the same track.
True, there are responsibilities and a need for stability that decrease our perceived options, especially once we become parents. But how many of us limit ourselves with our own fears? How many of us have built a wall of insecurities, unrealistic expectations, and perfectionism that prevents us from forging ahead?
I know I have. And I want to break free. So I went online and sought renewed inspiration from commencement speeches of years gone by.
I nodded my head at the insights actor Bradley Whitford shared with University of Wisconsin graduates in 2004: “We all go through life bristling at our external limitations, but the most difficult chains to break are inside us…. You have a choice. You can either be a passive victim of circumstance or you can be the active hero of your own life….”
I considered the suggestion that movie producer Jerry Zucker made at that same school the year prior: “Ask yourself one question: If I didn't have to do it perfectly, what would I try? For many of you, the biggest obstacle to getting there will be a fear that you have carried with you since childhood — the fear of humiliation, of embarrassment, of ridicule….” I contemplated the words he passed on from John Travolta who told him, “…nobody else is paying as much attention to your failures as you are. You're the only ones who are obsessed with the importance of your own life. To everyone else, it's just a blip on the radar screen, so just move on.”
Knowing that I am just as troubled by the fear of success as I am the fear of failure (“If it works, what will I do? How will I balance it all? What will have to be sacrificed?”), I let myself be shaken up by the words of Steven Jobs from his 2005 speech at Stanford University: “Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose…. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life….Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”
And as for the eternal quest for happiness, I smiled when I read what psychology professor Marc S. Lewis said to the graduates of the University of Texas Austin in 2000: “The way to be happy is to like yourself and the way to like yourself is to do only things that make you proud.”
So congratulations to all the graduates out there, be it from high school, college, middle school, elementary school, or even pre-school. Your energy, optimism, risk-taking, and good deeds can be inspiring to us all.
Mother's Day Off
Every year, when my husband asks, “What do you want for Mother’s Day?” I say, “Take the kids to your mother’s,” but I don’t think he believes me, and so I get the usual flowers and a dinner, which sometimes I get to host (yippee!).
But this year, he listened! He took the kids to his mother’s and I had one glorious day all alone. Best Mother’s Day Ever.
When I first learned my dream was going to become a reality, I cheered! And then I felt guilty (ah, that ever-present mom guilt). I should be with my family on Mother’s Day right? They were getting together with aunts, uncles, and cousins – wouldn’t it be awful for me to miss that? Then I came to my senses. Better to be at home enjoying some time to myself than sitting at a barbeque complaining about how I never get any time to myself.
I also planned the rest of the weekend so that I could get the benefits of being treated well by my family while they were around to treat me. I even wrote down my expectations and shared them with my husband and children ahead of time to avoid the disappointment of past years when I have left it up to them to read my mind. So I got time off and dinner out on Saturday, and breakfast out on Sunday morning before they left me for the whole day! (Did I mention that already?)
“No breakfast in bed?” you may ask. Well, we tried that last year. I got a wonderful breakfast– a tower of pancakes and bacon and coffee. But it was delivered at 6 am by the husband and son who I had heard fighting in the kitchen since about 5:15. If I’m not sleeping in, I’d rather go out.
The Mother’s Day breakfast also served to relieve my lingering guilt. I got to celebrate Mother’s Day with my family, but there is nothing like a restaurant meal with young children to get you ready for some alone time.
After breakfast, the family departed and I was happily home alone. I didn’t want a spa day or a vacation or a day at the movies. I wanted a day alone at home so I could actually finish at least one of my endless unfinished projects.
Although I’ll admit it was tempting to spend the day vegging out in the family room. When else would I have complete control over the computer, television, DVD player, DVR, and Wii? I was probably the only person hoping for bad weather so that I didn’t have to fit “basking in the sun with a book” into my schedule too.
But I had promised myself to be productive, so I cranked up the stereo and got to work as my iPod shuffled through my entire iTunes library. I was motivated by the surprising mix of music, from classic rock to energizing dance tunes, and even children’s music. I may have skipped past Elmo, but I’ll admit to grooving to Laurie Berkner and They Might Be Giants like a preschooler.
And so I actually spent my Mother’s Day doing a lot of work, but I didn’t mind it one bit. Yes, I vacuumed, but then the floor stayed clean! I cooked, but just what I wanted, no chicken fingers or fish sticks! Nothing got burned as I ran out to pull back a wandering toddler or change a diaper! And I got to eat too! The whole meal, while it was still hot, with nobody picking at my plate! I did dishes, but just once. Just once, I said, all day! I did laundry, but I got the clothes out of the dryer on the same day unwrinkled! And I put them away without my daughter simultaneously taking them back out! And for the first time in years, I completed a major project in one day, transforming my living room with new drapes. Ah, life uninterrupted.
I did have a few passing worries during the day, like “Did they get to grandma’s safely?”; “Did she get her nap?”; “Is he behaving well?” ; “Should I really be on top of a ladder with power tools when there is nobody home?” ; “Can the neighbors see me dancing?”; “Am I a little too happy about this day?” But everything worked out just fine.
When the day ended, I wasn’t relaxed or coiffed or pedicured, I was exhausted from all the tasks I had finally completed. Or maybe it was the dancing.
But this year, he listened! He took the kids to his mother’s and I had one glorious day all alone. Best Mother’s Day Ever.
When I first learned my dream was going to become a reality, I cheered! And then I felt guilty (ah, that ever-present mom guilt). I should be with my family on Mother’s Day right? They were getting together with aunts, uncles, and cousins – wouldn’t it be awful for me to miss that? Then I came to my senses. Better to be at home enjoying some time to myself than sitting at a barbeque complaining about how I never get any time to myself.
I also planned the rest of the weekend so that I could get the benefits of being treated well by my family while they were around to treat me. I even wrote down my expectations and shared them with my husband and children ahead of time to avoid the disappointment of past years when I have left it up to them to read my mind. So I got time off and dinner out on Saturday, and breakfast out on Sunday morning before they left me for the whole day! (Did I mention that already?)
“No breakfast in bed?” you may ask. Well, we tried that last year. I got a wonderful breakfast– a tower of pancakes and bacon and coffee. But it was delivered at 6 am by the husband and son who I had heard fighting in the kitchen since about 5:15. If I’m not sleeping in, I’d rather go out.
The Mother’s Day breakfast also served to relieve my lingering guilt. I got to celebrate Mother’s Day with my family, but there is nothing like a restaurant meal with young children to get you ready for some alone time.
After breakfast, the family departed and I was happily home alone. I didn’t want a spa day or a vacation or a day at the movies. I wanted a day alone at home so I could actually finish at least one of my endless unfinished projects.
Although I’ll admit it was tempting to spend the day vegging out in the family room. When else would I have complete control over the computer, television, DVD player, DVR, and Wii? I was probably the only person hoping for bad weather so that I didn’t have to fit “basking in the sun with a book” into my schedule too.
But I had promised myself to be productive, so I cranked up the stereo and got to work as my iPod shuffled through my entire iTunes library. I was motivated by the surprising mix of music, from classic rock to energizing dance tunes, and even children’s music. I may have skipped past Elmo, but I’ll admit to grooving to Laurie Berkner and They Might Be Giants like a preschooler.
And so I actually spent my Mother’s Day doing a lot of work, but I didn’t mind it one bit. Yes, I vacuumed, but then the floor stayed clean! I cooked, but just what I wanted, no chicken fingers or fish sticks! Nothing got burned as I ran out to pull back a wandering toddler or change a diaper! And I got to eat too! The whole meal, while it was still hot, with nobody picking at my plate! I did dishes, but just once. Just once, I said, all day! I did laundry, but I got the clothes out of the dryer on the same day unwrinkled! And I put them away without my daughter simultaneously taking them back out! And for the first time in years, I completed a major project in one day, transforming my living room with new drapes. Ah, life uninterrupted.
I did have a few passing worries during the day, like “Did they get to grandma’s safely?”; “Did she get her nap?”; “Is he behaving well?” ; “Should I really be on top of a ladder with power tools when there is nobody home?” ; “Can the neighbors see me dancing?”; “Am I a little too happy about this day?” But everything worked out just fine.
When the day ended, I wasn’t relaxed or coiffed or pedicured, I was exhausted from all the tasks I had finally completed. Or maybe it was the dancing.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Who Are You?
Lately I’ve been finding out interesting facts about the people in my life. Some are people I have just recently met, some are neighbors I have lived near for a decade, some are family members I have known my whole life. All have surprised me with new information about their relationships, hobbies, careers, and experiences. A scuba diver, a talent scout, a collector, an art lover, a dancer, a singer, a survivor. Who would have guessed?
It seems strange that you can know someone without really knowing anything about them, but I guess it’s really not that surprising.
When we are kids in school, we can’t hide much of anything. We spend the majority of our time in close quarters with other kids where our strengths are obvious (math whiz, fast runner, funniest, best singer), and our weaknesses are too (slow reader, badly behaved, last one picked for the team). We tell stories of our families and experiences in writing assignments like “All About Me” pages and weekly journals. We share our favorite items in show and tell. Our interests are broadcast through our participation in various activities in and after school. And any embarrassing facts eventually get revealed by older siblings or bullies or our best friends when they are mad at us.
But once we have grown up and away from the school system, our interests and abilities become less obvious. We focus our energies on building careers and families, and these paths limit the self we show to the world. There isn’t the same array of activities in which we can participate on a casual level. Some athletes may find an occasional pickup basketball game or play softball on their company team, and a few musicians may be able to perform in a local group if they look hard enough. But the primary limitation is time.
Looking back, even those of us with the busiest childhoods can probably now recognize the unappreciated luxury inherent in those days filled with just school and activities all for ourselves. Now with jobs and families to balance, our own interests often have to wait. We befriend those who work in our field or whose children are in class with ours. We keep conversations superficial, censoring ourselves in order not to offend, and spend our time on the sidelines discussing local issues and school schedules, not our dreams and long-hidden talents.
Those of us who gave up careers to stay home with our children can attest to how this choice also serves to narrow our identity. We may have been well-known in our industry, featured as key note speakers, and a favorite to work with, but at the park, we’re just another parent, nothing serving to distinguish us from the others except our physical features.
I remember after leaving the corporate world to stay home with my son, whenever I was asked, “what do you do?” I always started with, “Well, I worked for twelve years as an advertising executive in New York.…” Even though I had become a mom and was also a graduate student, I reverted back to my old title rather than mention my new role. My career had defined me for so long and it brought with it greater stature and more exciting conversation starters than motherhood, and for a long time, it was an identity I couldn’t bear to lose.
Of course, sometimes we want to leave our childhood behind and forge a new identity without being encumbered by the reputations and cliques of our past. Having returned to my hometown, I sometimes cringe when I run into past classmates, finding it difficult to completely erase any bad high school memories while also hoping they don’t have similar memories about me. On the plus side, I am fortunate to have some dear old friends nearby who know me better than anyone, but there is no guarantee that they will keep my secrets!
It was during a gathering with friends old and new that I first began to consider how much of our true selves disappears in our adulthood. When I realized the newer acquaintances had no knowledge of what I would consider the defining talent of my childhood friend, I wondered what we didn’t know about them. But I didn’t ask.
Imagine what I may have learned if I had.
It seems strange that you can know someone without really knowing anything about them, but I guess it’s really not that surprising.
When we are kids in school, we can’t hide much of anything. We spend the majority of our time in close quarters with other kids where our strengths are obvious (math whiz, fast runner, funniest, best singer), and our weaknesses are too (slow reader, badly behaved, last one picked for the team). We tell stories of our families and experiences in writing assignments like “All About Me” pages and weekly journals. We share our favorite items in show and tell. Our interests are broadcast through our participation in various activities in and after school. And any embarrassing facts eventually get revealed by older siblings or bullies or our best friends when they are mad at us.
But once we have grown up and away from the school system, our interests and abilities become less obvious. We focus our energies on building careers and families, and these paths limit the self we show to the world. There isn’t the same array of activities in which we can participate on a casual level. Some athletes may find an occasional pickup basketball game or play softball on their company team, and a few musicians may be able to perform in a local group if they look hard enough. But the primary limitation is time.
Looking back, even those of us with the busiest childhoods can probably now recognize the unappreciated luxury inherent in those days filled with just school and activities all for ourselves. Now with jobs and families to balance, our own interests often have to wait. We befriend those who work in our field or whose children are in class with ours. We keep conversations superficial, censoring ourselves in order not to offend, and spend our time on the sidelines discussing local issues and school schedules, not our dreams and long-hidden talents.
Those of us who gave up careers to stay home with our children can attest to how this choice also serves to narrow our identity. We may have been well-known in our industry, featured as key note speakers, and a favorite to work with, but at the park, we’re just another parent, nothing serving to distinguish us from the others except our physical features.
I remember after leaving the corporate world to stay home with my son, whenever I was asked, “what do you do?” I always started with, “Well, I worked for twelve years as an advertising executive in New York.…” Even though I had become a mom and was also a graduate student, I reverted back to my old title rather than mention my new role. My career had defined me for so long and it brought with it greater stature and more exciting conversation starters than motherhood, and for a long time, it was an identity I couldn’t bear to lose.
Of course, sometimes we want to leave our childhood behind and forge a new identity without being encumbered by the reputations and cliques of our past. Having returned to my hometown, I sometimes cringe when I run into past classmates, finding it difficult to completely erase any bad high school memories while also hoping they don’t have similar memories about me. On the plus side, I am fortunate to have some dear old friends nearby who know me better than anyone, but there is no guarantee that they will keep my secrets!
It was during a gathering with friends old and new that I first began to consider how much of our true selves disappears in our adulthood. When I realized the newer acquaintances had no knowledge of what I would consider the defining talent of my childhood friend, I wondered what we didn’t know about them. But I didn’t ask.
Imagine what I may have learned if I had.
Spring Fever
I love this time of year. After the snow of January and February, and the freaky storms in March, isn’t everyone ready to ditch the heavy coats, revel in the sunshine, and inhale the perfume of the blooming daffodils and hyacinths?
It starts with the crocuses. We have a fun time seeking them out in our yard after a landscaping job a few years ago redistributed all the bulbs to new locations, so it is a surprise when they pop up. It doesn’t necessarily make sense to see these spring harbingers in the middle of the lawn, but it still makes me smile.
Such disorganization in my yard I can handle, but inside my house it’s another story. I am desperately seeking order, even though it is impossible to maintain for more than a day with the crazy family that lives in there. The constant accumulation of stuff makes cleaning countertops, desktops, closets, bookshelves, and drawers an unending job. But spring brings a chance for renewal extending far beyond nature. Spring cleaning begins in earnest, and with it comes renewed hope for a clutter-free life.
I, for one, have been in a cleaning and organizing mode for weeks now, but unfortunately, with a toddler around, there isn’t much time for actual cleaning or organizing. So instead, I often feel dirty and unorganized as I try to work, play, dress, or eat amongst the many half-started projects scattered around the house. Bags of clothing are everywhere and I pray my toddler doesn’t decide to play her favorite game of “empty the bag” with them, because despite the appearance, they are actually sorted to some extent. Photos and empty frames pile up on tables in various combinations, and I make mental notes of those I need to have enlarged, but nothing is even close to being ready for hanging.
Though my efforts are sporadic, I am spurred on by two local annual traditions: the town cleanup and the Boy Scout tag sale (warning, unsolicited promotion coming). Every year I look forward to these events, which provide us the opportunity to clean house of both worthless and useful items. When something breaks, I enjoy the knowledge that though I will shove it in the basement for a while, there is actually a time when it will be removed from my home. When an item outlives its usefulness for us, I am glad that we can pass it on to another owner while also helping to fund a great organization.
Of course, these events also provide me with deadlines, which can be as stressful as they are helpful. No matter how much notice we have about the cleanup, it seems we always wait until the last minute to get our things out to the curb. Some of that is to avoid the inevitable rebounding of items back into the garage when our son sees them heading for the dump, but the rest is just procrastination. Even though we vow to prepare early, it’s always late on the night before pickup, after the kids are finally asleep, that my husband and I run down to the basement and frantically try to identify all those things we tossed down there over the prior year, including the three or four items we invariably forgot to put out last year. We lug and lift and drag and roll out whatever we can under cover of darkness, probably causing the neighbors to wonder what kind of animals have taken refuge in their yards. And never fail, after the truck passes, we find another three or four items that should have gone.
Getting my goods to the Scout cabin on the right day at the right time has been a challenge in the past too, but this year I’ve decided I will try to live by the Scout motto and “be prepared”. I’m putting things into the car as I find them, so that I can deliver them whenever I am in the neighborhood. This is turning out to be a good strategy for me in general. It seems I am much more likely to happen by somewhere than to actually plan to go there. So now when I have donations to make, borrowed items to return, checks to deposit, or coupons to redeem, I put them right in my car so they are ready when I am.
Besides, moving the mess to the car gives me the illusion of organization at home. At least for a moment.
It starts with the crocuses. We have a fun time seeking them out in our yard after a landscaping job a few years ago redistributed all the bulbs to new locations, so it is a surprise when they pop up. It doesn’t necessarily make sense to see these spring harbingers in the middle of the lawn, but it still makes me smile.
Such disorganization in my yard I can handle, but inside my house it’s another story. I am desperately seeking order, even though it is impossible to maintain for more than a day with the crazy family that lives in there. The constant accumulation of stuff makes cleaning countertops, desktops, closets, bookshelves, and drawers an unending job. But spring brings a chance for renewal extending far beyond nature. Spring cleaning begins in earnest, and with it comes renewed hope for a clutter-free life.
I, for one, have been in a cleaning and organizing mode for weeks now, but unfortunately, with a toddler around, there isn’t much time for actual cleaning or organizing. So instead, I often feel dirty and unorganized as I try to work, play, dress, or eat amongst the many half-started projects scattered around the house. Bags of clothing are everywhere and I pray my toddler doesn’t decide to play her favorite game of “empty the bag” with them, because despite the appearance, they are actually sorted to some extent. Photos and empty frames pile up on tables in various combinations, and I make mental notes of those I need to have enlarged, but nothing is even close to being ready for hanging.
Though my efforts are sporadic, I am spurred on by two local annual traditions: the town cleanup and the Boy Scout tag sale (warning, unsolicited promotion coming). Every year I look forward to these events, which provide us the opportunity to clean house of both worthless and useful items. When something breaks, I enjoy the knowledge that though I will shove it in the basement for a while, there is actually a time when it will be removed from my home. When an item outlives its usefulness for us, I am glad that we can pass it on to another owner while also helping to fund a great organization.
Of course, these events also provide me with deadlines, which can be as stressful as they are helpful. No matter how much notice we have about the cleanup, it seems we always wait until the last minute to get our things out to the curb. Some of that is to avoid the inevitable rebounding of items back into the garage when our son sees them heading for the dump, but the rest is just procrastination. Even though we vow to prepare early, it’s always late on the night before pickup, after the kids are finally asleep, that my husband and I run down to the basement and frantically try to identify all those things we tossed down there over the prior year, including the three or four items we invariably forgot to put out last year. We lug and lift and drag and roll out whatever we can under cover of darkness, probably causing the neighbors to wonder what kind of animals have taken refuge in their yards. And never fail, after the truck passes, we find another three or four items that should have gone.
Getting my goods to the Scout cabin on the right day at the right time has been a challenge in the past too, but this year I’ve decided I will try to live by the Scout motto and “be prepared”. I’m putting things into the car as I find them, so that I can deliver them whenever I am in the neighborhood. This is turning out to be a good strategy for me in general. It seems I am much more likely to happen by somewhere than to actually plan to go there. So now when I have donations to make, borrowed items to return, checks to deposit, or coupons to redeem, I put them right in my car so they are ready when I am.
Besides, moving the mess to the car gives me the illusion of organization at home. At least for a moment.
Girl Power
For most of my life, I’ve gotten along better with men than women. Even though I have four sisters, I always felt more comfortable hanging out with the boys than giggling with the girls. During my elementary school years when the rest of the kids feared they would catch cooties if they intermingled with the opposite gender, I was spending weekends and summers playing kickball and Marco Polo with the neighborhood boys.
While I’ve always had female friends as well, the year we changed from co-ed birthday parties to single-sex sleepovers was a tough transition for me. I quit cheerleading in high school to join the band with my guy friends, and never belonged to a sorority in college. After graduation, I twice opted to rent apartments with male friends (and loved it) before finally living on my own.
So, years later, when I learned I was going to have a baby boy, I was ready, excited even. “I can do this,” I thought. “I love boys!”
And so far, it’s been great. I love that my son will play with anybody, isn’t picky about his clothing (well, once we established no buttons, zippers, or snaps), doesn’t get tangles in his hair, and only needs 2 pairs of shoes in any given season. I love that he’ll put on a temporary tattoo and never scrub it off even when just specks of ink remain.
Last year I had a baby girl, and I was a little worried at first. “I’m not a girly-girl,” I’d tell friends. “I don’t know how to raise a girl. I can’t cook or decorate. I’m not into fashion, or makeup, or hair. I don’t want to go to the American Girl café!” (I know, I’m stereotyping to the extreme, but my tendency towards self-doubt combined with pregnancy hormones led me down that path.)
My sister used to tell me that my tendency towards male friendships was going to need to change when I became an adult. I didn’t really understand. During my single years, I was part of a broad group of male and female colleagues who worked and partied together. Why couldn’t that just continue on?
But now I do understand. As a suburban mother, I’ve found it much harder to pal with the guys. It’s not just the obvious concerns of jealousy or inappropriate attention that separate us, but our disparate lifestyles. While I am lucky enough to have maintained some of my friendships with the former boys, now men, of my past, my position as mom brings me much more in contact with their wives, and new acquaintances are almost exclusively female – other moms, nannies, teachers and many of my fellow therapists. There is an occasional man in the mix, but not many.
Note, this is just an observation, not a complaint. I wish I was better at connecting with other women, because they are my compatriots. Women support each other with a sympathetic shoulder and an empathetic ear. They create opportunities for escape with babysitting coops, girls’ nights, book groups, and bunco. They bring you chicken soup when you’re sick, or better yet, offer carpools and sleepovers because they know when mom is sick, nothing can get done (and moms won’t stop unless they are forced to).
And I’ve learned something else recently. Namely, boys are gross. My son is now in first grade, which seems to be a high point for toilet humor. Words like “fart” and “poop” and even “toilet” send him into hysterics, and he will chant made-up verses with these words over and over.
He is messy and dirty, and does not understand the need for baths, toothbrushes, or combs, which apparently goes with the territory. One day he decided to cut (i.e. butcher) his own hair. I was mortified and called the teacher to explain why he looked so disheveled, but she hadn’t even noticed. His hair, with tufts sticking out here there and everywhere, matched the rest of the boys.
And his energy could fuel a small country. He has two speeds, fast and faster, and speaks at two levels, loud and louder. There is no longer any silence in my home until after bedtime.
I adore my son, but he doesn’t seem like the boys of my past, and I have changed too. Now I can’t wait for bright pink manicures and tea parties, ballet recitals, and yes, even trips to the American Girl café. I guess I’m growing up.
While I’ve always had female friends as well, the year we changed from co-ed birthday parties to single-sex sleepovers was a tough transition for me. I quit cheerleading in high school to join the band with my guy friends, and never belonged to a sorority in college. After graduation, I twice opted to rent apartments with male friends (and loved it) before finally living on my own.
So, years later, when I learned I was going to have a baby boy, I was ready, excited even. “I can do this,” I thought. “I love boys!”
And so far, it’s been great. I love that my son will play with anybody, isn’t picky about his clothing (well, once we established no buttons, zippers, or snaps), doesn’t get tangles in his hair, and only needs 2 pairs of shoes in any given season. I love that he’ll put on a temporary tattoo and never scrub it off even when just specks of ink remain.
Last year I had a baby girl, and I was a little worried at first. “I’m not a girly-girl,” I’d tell friends. “I don’t know how to raise a girl. I can’t cook or decorate. I’m not into fashion, or makeup, or hair. I don’t want to go to the American Girl café!” (I know, I’m stereotyping to the extreme, but my tendency towards self-doubt combined with pregnancy hormones led me down that path.)
My sister used to tell me that my tendency towards male friendships was going to need to change when I became an adult. I didn’t really understand. During my single years, I was part of a broad group of male and female colleagues who worked and partied together. Why couldn’t that just continue on?
But now I do understand. As a suburban mother, I’ve found it much harder to pal with the guys. It’s not just the obvious concerns of jealousy or inappropriate attention that separate us, but our disparate lifestyles. While I am lucky enough to have maintained some of my friendships with the former boys, now men, of my past, my position as mom brings me much more in contact with their wives, and new acquaintances are almost exclusively female – other moms, nannies, teachers and many of my fellow therapists. There is an occasional man in the mix, but not many.
Note, this is just an observation, not a complaint. I wish I was better at connecting with other women, because they are my compatriots. Women support each other with a sympathetic shoulder and an empathetic ear. They create opportunities for escape with babysitting coops, girls’ nights, book groups, and bunco. They bring you chicken soup when you’re sick, or better yet, offer carpools and sleepovers because they know when mom is sick, nothing can get done (and moms won’t stop unless they are forced to).
And I’ve learned something else recently. Namely, boys are gross. My son is now in first grade, which seems to be a high point for toilet humor. Words like “fart” and “poop” and even “toilet” send him into hysterics, and he will chant made-up verses with these words over and over.
He is messy and dirty, and does not understand the need for baths, toothbrushes, or combs, which apparently goes with the territory. One day he decided to cut (i.e. butcher) his own hair. I was mortified and called the teacher to explain why he looked so disheveled, but she hadn’t even noticed. His hair, with tufts sticking out here there and everywhere, matched the rest of the boys.
And his energy could fuel a small country. He has two speeds, fast and faster, and speaks at two levels, loud and louder. There is no longer any silence in my home until after bedtime.
I adore my son, but he doesn’t seem like the boys of my past, and I have changed too. Now I can’t wait for bright pink manicures and tea parties, ballet recitals, and yes, even trips to the American Girl café. I guess I’m growing up.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Take My Identity, Please
My computer, a PC, crashed yet again last week, and as usual I called a computer-savvy friend for help. His first response was, as usual, “Get a Mac.”, but he came over anyway, as usual, to take a look. While he was entering yet another one of my passwords into some program or another, I remarked that he had so much knowledge of our passwords and such that if he were ever down and out, he could always steal my identity and empty my bank account. His reply, “I’d rather steal your identity and buy you a Mac. Then I would give your identity back.”
That got me thinking – not about PC’s versus Macs (I won’t fight that battle here) – but about the concept of altruistic identity theft. Nowadays we hear so much about how to protect ourselves from real identity theft with secure websites, clever passwords, document shredders, etc. But what if you could obtain control of someone’s accounts and get them in order, pay their bills on time, consolidate their debts?
How many times have you wished you could take over someone’s life just for a short time to make that hard but right decision for them (“Break up with him!”; “Quit that job!”; “Stand up for yourself!”) or get them through that tough battle (“I wish I could take the suffering away….”)? Come to think of it, I can think of a few times I wish someone could have taken over for me.
Maybe that’s why I loved that 90’s television show Quantum Leap in which Scott Bakula’s character would “leap” across time into somebody’s life just when they were about to experience a crisis or reach a life-changing turning point. He would have to figure out what step to take so that their life would proceed in a positive way, rather than the negative result history had already recorded. In the show, the featured characters got a second chance, but with altruistic identity theft, you wouldn’t need one.
Imagine if you were struggling with a parenting dilemma. Rather than having to be patient and persistent, react consistently, and enforce consequences, you could call Supernanny Jo Frost in, not to teach you, but to actually become you and suffer through the enforcing of that timeout. In another example, your identity could be stolen by that other mom, mother-in-law, sibling, friend, or acquaintance that always claims to know how to do it better, and they could see what would really happen. Maybe they would get more of an education than you would, for the benefit of your future relationship.
Many of us have had those moments watching a boss or colleague tiptoeing around an issue with a client or supervisor. With altruistic identity theft, you could provide the assertiveness your colleague lacks to point out an unrealistic budget or deadline, or get them that well-deserved raise.
You could call in a handyman to finish all those half-started projects by your spouse (male or female) who’s dedicated to the do-it-yourself concept but doesn’t have the do-it-yourself skills. Or tell off the partner of the friend (male or female) with the soft heart that keeps forgiving at their own expense.
Unfortunately, altruistic identity theft would only last during the timespan of the takeover. It could not lead to permanent habit or personality change. So even if you became your child for a day and cleaned his room, you couldn’t implant organizational skills or even the desire to be clean. Bummer.
With such a temporary result, it is likely that most of the problems would resurface. We would probably have to learn to be patient, consistent, and consequence-enforcing parents if we wanted to see a change in our kids. The do-it-yourselfer would find new projects to leave half-finished, the soft-hearted friend would find another ne’er-do-well to support, the passive colleague would stress out about another tight deadline. But maybe some one-time crises could be solved.
At least my friend can rest easy. His job is done. We got a Mac.
That got me thinking – not about PC’s versus Macs (I won’t fight that battle here) – but about the concept of altruistic identity theft. Nowadays we hear so much about how to protect ourselves from real identity theft with secure websites, clever passwords, document shredders, etc. But what if you could obtain control of someone’s accounts and get them in order, pay their bills on time, consolidate their debts?
How many times have you wished you could take over someone’s life just for a short time to make that hard but right decision for them (“Break up with him!”; “Quit that job!”; “Stand up for yourself!”) or get them through that tough battle (“I wish I could take the suffering away….”)? Come to think of it, I can think of a few times I wish someone could have taken over for me.
Maybe that’s why I loved that 90’s television show Quantum Leap in which Scott Bakula’s character would “leap” across time into somebody’s life just when they were about to experience a crisis or reach a life-changing turning point. He would have to figure out what step to take so that their life would proceed in a positive way, rather than the negative result history had already recorded. In the show, the featured characters got a second chance, but with altruistic identity theft, you wouldn’t need one.
Imagine if you were struggling with a parenting dilemma. Rather than having to be patient and persistent, react consistently, and enforce consequences, you could call Supernanny Jo Frost in, not to teach you, but to actually become you and suffer through the enforcing of that timeout. In another example, your identity could be stolen by that other mom, mother-in-law, sibling, friend, or acquaintance that always claims to know how to do it better, and they could see what would really happen. Maybe they would get more of an education than you would, for the benefit of your future relationship.
Many of us have had those moments watching a boss or colleague tiptoeing around an issue with a client or supervisor. With altruistic identity theft, you could provide the assertiveness your colleague lacks to point out an unrealistic budget or deadline, or get them that well-deserved raise.
You could call in a handyman to finish all those half-started projects by your spouse (male or female) who’s dedicated to the do-it-yourself concept but doesn’t have the do-it-yourself skills. Or tell off the partner of the friend (male or female) with the soft heart that keeps forgiving at their own expense.
Unfortunately, altruistic identity theft would only last during the timespan of the takeover. It could not lead to permanent habit or personality change. So even if you became your child for a day and cleaned his room, you couldn’t implant organizational skills or even the desire to be clean. Bummer.
With such a temporary result, it is likely that most of the problems would resurface. We would probably have to learn to be patient, consistent, and consequence-enforcing parents if we wanted to see a change in our kids. The do-it-yourselfer would find new projects to leave half-finished, the soft-hearted friend would find another ne’er-do-well to support, the passive colleague would stress out about another tight deadline. But maybe some one-time crises could be solved.
At least my friend can rest easy. His job is done. We got a Mac.
No Contact
Last week, I unintentionally eavesdropped on a conversation between two 40-something women and a teenage girl. The girl was discussing plans for an upcoming trip to a less-developed country, concerned about how she would contact her parents throughout the adventure. My ears perked up when I heard one of the older women say something like, “You may not believe this but there was a time when we didn’t have cell phones and weren’t able to make contact all the time. We would have to track down a pay phone, and until then our parents just had to hope we made it to wherever we were supposed to be.”
That’s how I grew up. No cell phones, no email, no text messages. When we walked out the door, we were gone until we came back. Our parents may have jumped when the phone rang, but they didn’t spend the evening constantly checking their smartphones for messages. After-school arrangements had to be made in advance, and if things changed, our parents had to call the school to leave us a message. We carried dimes (and then quarters) in case we needed to make an emergency phone call. Now I can’t remember when I last saw a pay phone.
These days many kids have cell phones, often provided by parents who feel they can allow their children more independence if they can be reached in an emergency. But as I listened to this conversation, I got to thinking: Do cell phones actually discourage independence? Are they really serving as a kind of tether to keep us more connected? And is there an unhealthy temptation to use them as a sort of “Big Brother” device?
When my siblings and I went out, our parents had to trust we were going where we said we were. They could call ahead to friends’ houses to make sure parents were there, or drive us to the movies, but they couldn’t call our pocket an hour later and listen for the sounds of the popcorn machine in the background.
As for us kids, we had to be more self-reliant. Without mom a simple phone call away, we had to solve our own problems, find alternate resources, maybe sometimes do without. We couldn’t get advice on mixing whites and colors from our dorm laundry room or put our teacher on the line if we had a conflict. We couldn’t call mom while she was driving home from work to ask her to bring snacks over to rehearsal. If we were stranded after a game we had to find our own way home. Sure maybe it wasn’t safer, but it required some independent thought.
And what about trust? Do cell phones have a negative impact on that too?
In my work as a therapist, I can’t tell you how often cell phones get mentioned as a cause or accelerator of relationship problems. Countless clients have told stories of trust breeched by spouses looking through their call records or reading their text conversations. Would we read another person’s diary or listen in on their home phone calls as casually as we may scroll through their cell phone?
How about personal boundaries? Does the fact that we can access people all the time mean that we should have access them at any time?
Again, clients complain of partners who constantly “check up” on them by repeatedly calling their cell phones. When we call our partner’s cell phone and they don’t answer, how many of us start suspiciously questioning “Where is he?”, “Who is she with?”, or “What are they doing?”, rather than calmly thinking, “She must be busy”, “I’m glad she’s not rudely interrupting a conversation to answer the phone,” or “Oh yeah, he’s driving.” We seem to have a lot more tolerance for home answering machines than unanswered cell phones.
Maybe some of this mistrust is well-placed. Clearly cell phones can help people deceive. Instead of being chained to the kitchen by a curly cord, we can now have private unwatched conversations. Some of us may engage in more deceptive behavior like deleting call records and text messages, quieting down partying friends, or sending calls to voicemail to be dealt with later (“Sorry I missed your call, I had to turn the ringer off in the library.”) I hope that is the exception, not the norm.
My children aren’t old enough to have cell phones yet, so maybe I’m naïve, but right now I’m thinking I may just send my kids out with a quarter in their shoes.
That’s how I grew up. No cell phones, no email, no text messages. When we walked out the door, we were gone until we came back. Our parents may have jumped when the phone rang, but they didn’t spend the evening constantly checking their smartphones for messages. After-school arrangements had to be made in advance, and if things changed, our parents had to call the school to leave us a message. We carried dimes (and then quarters) in case we needed to make an emergency phone call. Now I can’t remember when I last saw a pay phone.
These days many kids have cell phones, often provided by parents who feel they can allow their children more independence if they can be reached in an emergency. But as I listened to this conversation, I got to thinking: Do cell phones actually discourage independence? Are they really serving as a kind of tether to keep us more connected? And is there an unhealthy temptation to use them as a sort of “Big Brother” device?
When my siblings and I went out, our parents had to trust we were going where we said we were. They could call ahead to friends’ houses to make sure parents were there, or drive us to the movies, but they couldn’t call our pocket an hour later and listen for the sounds of the popcorn machine in the background.
As for us kids, we had to be more self-reliant. Without mom a simple phone call away, we had to solve our own problems, find alternate resources, maybe sometimes do without. We couldn’t get advice on mixing whites and colors from our dorm laundry room or put our teacher on the line if we had a conflict. We couldn’t call mom while she was driving home from work to ask her to bring snacks over to rehearsal. If we were stranded after a game we had to find our own way home. Sure maybe it wasn’t safer, but it required some independent thought.
And what about trust? Do cell phones have a negative impact on that too?
In my work as a therapist, I can’t tell you how often cell phones get mentioned as a cause or accelerator of relationship problems. Countless clients have told stories of trust breeched by spouses looking through their call records or reading their text conversations. Would we read another person’s diary or listen in on their home phone calls as casually as we may scroll through their cell phone?
How about personal boundaries? Does the fact that we can access people all the time mean that we should have access them at any time?
Again, clients complain of partners who constantly “check up” on them by repeatedly calling their cell phones. When we call our partner’s cell phone and they don’t answer, how many of us start suspiciously questioning “Where is he?”, “Who is she with?”, or “What are they doing?”, rather than calmly thinking, “She must be busy”, “I’m glad she’s not rudely interrupting a conversation to answer the phone,” or “Oh yeah, he’s driving.” We seem to have a lot more tolerance for home answering machines than unanswered cell phones.
Maybe some of this mistrust is well-placed. Clearly cell phones can help people deceive. Instead of being chained to the kitchen by a curly cord, we can now have private unwatched conversations. Some of us may engage in more deceptive behavior like deleting call records and text messages, quieting down partying friends, or sending calls to voicemail to be dealt with later (“Sorry I missed your call, I had to turn the ringer off in the library.”) I hope that is the exception, not the norm.
My children aren’t old enough to have cell phones yet, so maybe I’m naïve, but right now I’m thinking I may just send my kids out with a quarter in their shoes.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Groundhog Day
So Groundhog Day has come and gone again.
For centuries, people have waited for Punxsutawney Phil or the like to predict the joyous onset of an early spring or the gloomy extension of winter. The custom apparently goes back to pagan times, and though I don’t believe there has been any correlation between the rodents’ predictions and meteorological reality, we still observe this odd “holiday” every year.
But thanks to the 1993 Bill Murray movie of the same name, Groundhog Day has more recently become a catchphrase describing the experience of repeating the same event over and over again. In the movie, an obnoxious news anchor finds himself reliving the same day (which happens to be Groundhog Day) again and again. Each day he is awakened at the same time by Sonny and Cher singing "I Got You Babe" on the clock radio at the inn where he is staying while covering the Punxsutawney groundhog story for his television station. He encounters the same individuals and stumbles over the same hurdles throughout the day, which is particularly frustrating for him as he detests both his news assignment and the locals.
As the mother of two young children, I can relate to the Groundhog Day experience. Often, it seems like every day follows the same routine: Wake up to the sound of children eager to start the day if not exactly to go to school, eat/dress/pack/don shoes/zip coats and trudge out “en famille” to put the eldest on the bus. Feed/change/bathe/dress/play with the baby until naptime. Cram all household chores into limited naptime. Finally sit down just in time for the wake up cries. Feed/change/play with baby until school bus returns at 3:08 pm. Son, dropping backpack, coat, shoes and socks along the way has snack/does homework/plays then returns the way he came, redressing for afternoon activity. Coats/carseats/chauffering until dinnertime, infamously known as the witching “hour” (though it lasts longer) as I prepare dinner for tiring child and hungry adults while separately feeding tiring baby. Bickering ensues. Soon Dad returns, bedtime routines are followed, then it’s time to clean up and prepare to do it all again tomorrow.
The steps are the same, the arguments are the same. Sometimes it seems that the only difference is whether the load of laundry I toss in during naptime is whites or colors.
Weekends, sick days, and vacations are no different as there are still two children to be fed, dressed, entertained, and put to bed. Even if we do manage to go away, there is no real change. It’s just “taking the show on the road” as one mom I know puts it. The same job, even harder, with fewer resources and less familiar surroundings.
The sages of Wikipedia expand the definition of "Groundhog Day" to read “going through a phenomenon over and over until one spiritually transcends it.” This reflects the evolution of the main character in the movie Groundhog Day (named Phil, like the groundhog). At first, he uses his second chances at the day to take advantage of other people, having learned his behavior has no long-term consequences. But as his second chances become third, fourth, and fifth chances, he begins to realize how his different actions affect others and eventually find the merit in kinder, more empathetic behavior. I guess I’m working on that transcendence piece now, to find the bigger good in the daily mundane.
I have heard it said that for parents the days go by very slow (except, I might add, for naptime), but the years go by very fast. And I have noticed that as the kids get older and their days become more structured, it does seem that the weeks just fly by. (I mean, I’m still working on my to-do list for Christmas!)
Maybe it’s not so bad to get the chance to do the same thing over and over— to relive the good experiences like baby belly laughs and “I love yous”, and to get to correct our mistakes, or at least try alternate approaches to overcome parenting challenges or resolve conflicts. One mom I know recently said that her children are teaching her a lot more than she is teaching them. Maybe that’s the design.
It can still be kind of boring, but it’s never truly dull.
For centuries, people have waited for Punxsutawney Phil or the like to predict the joyous onset of an early spring or the gloomy extension of winter. The custom apparently goes back to pagan times, and though I don’t believe there has been any correlation between the rodents’ predictions and meteorological reality, we still observe this odd “holiday” every year.
But thanks to the 1993 Bill Murray movie of the same name, Groundhog Day has more recently become a catchphrase describing the experience of repeating the same event over and over again. In the movie, an obnoxious news anchor finds himself reliving the same day (which happens to be Groundhog Day) again and again. Each day he is awakened at the same time by Sonny and Cher singing "I Got You Babe" on the clock radio at the inn where he is staying while covering the Punxsutawney groundhog story for his television station. He encounters the same individuals and stumbles over the same hurdles throughout the day, which is particularly frustrating for him as he detests both his news assignment and the locals.
As the mother of two young children, I can relate to the Groundhog Day experience. Often, it seems like every day follows the same routine: Wake up to the sound of children eager to start the day if not exactly to go to school, eat/dress/pack/don shoes/zip coats and trudge out “en famille” to put the eldest on the bus. Feed/change/bathe/dress/play with the baby until naptime. Cram all household chores into limited naptime. Finally sit down just in time for the wake up cries. Feed/change/play with baby until school bus returns at 3:08 pm. Son, dropping backpack, coat, shoes and socks along the way has snack/does homework/plays then returns the way he came, redressing for afternoon activity. Coats/carseats/chauffering until dinnertime, infamously known as the witching “hour” (though it lasts longer) as I prepare dinner for tiring child and hungry adults while separately feeding tiring baby. Bickering ensues. Soon Dad returns, bedtime routines are followed, then it’s time to clean up and prepare to do it all again tomorrow.
The steps are the same, the arguments are the same. Sometimes it seems that the only difference is whether the load of laundry I toss in during naptime is whites or colors.
Weekends, sick days, and vacations are no different as there are still two children to be fed, dressed, entertained, and put to bed. Even if we do manage to go away, there is no real change. It’s just “taking the show on the road” as one mom I know puts it. The same job, even harder, with fewer resources and less familiar surroundings.
The sages of Wikipedia expand the definition of "Groundhog Day" to read “going through a phenomenon over and over until one spiritually transcends it.” This reflects the evolution of the main character in the movie Groundhog Day (named Phil, like the groundhog). At first, he uses his second chances at the day to take advantage of other people, having learned his behavior has no long-term consequences. But as his second chances become third, fourth, and fifth chances, he begins to realize how his different actions affect others and eventually find the merit in kinder, more empathetic behavior. I guess I’m working on that transcendence piece now, to find the bigger good in the daily mundane.
I have heard it said that for parents the days go by very slow (except, I might add, for naptime), but the years go by very fast. And I have noticed that as the kids get older and their days become more structured, it does seem that the weeks just fly by. (I mean, I’m still working on my to-do list for Christmas!)
Maybe it’s not so bad to get the chance to do the same thing over and over— to relive the good experiences like baby belly laughs and “I love yous”, and to get to correct our mistakes, or at least try alternate approaches to overcome parenting challenges or resolve conflicts. One mom I know recently said that her children are teaching her a lot more than she is teaching them. Maybe that’s the design.
It can still be kind of boring, but it’s never truly dull.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Resolutions
This year I resolved to start a regular exercise regime. I would be at the gym right now, but I had to write this column. And though I resolved to eat healthier, I’m subsisting on cookies and coffee to keep me awake into the wee hours so I can meet my deadline. I also resolved to submit my columns earlier, but I’ve managed to fill all my writing time creating to do lists and tidying up, even though I resolved to stop procrastinating, and to save cleanup for day’s end after the messers all go to bed. And you can see my resolution to stop making excuses isn’t going so well either.
So here we are, four days into the new year (at this writing) and the score is Old Habits-6, Resolutions-0.
Apparently, I’m not alone. Studies have shown that 40-45% of adults make New Year’s resolutions, but 25-30% are broken within the first week and half disappear within six months.
The most common resolutions center around improving health, finances, job situations, social connections, or organizational skills; learning something new; or helping others. All of these are admirable goals, and some are easier to accomplish than others. In addition, some people are actually wired for change more than others, so that may explain why some friends may make a major change effortlessly each year while others struggle for decades to change one thing.
Historically, I have not been very successful at keeping my resolutions, so this year I am going to try to apply some advice from experts and successful resolution-keepers as well my own past experiences, which I thought I would share with you:
First and foremost, the desire to change has to come from within. If you are trying to change to please somebody else, it probably won’t happen. So, “nag less” is not on my list.
Expect success. Many resolutions fail because people expect them to fail. Henry Ford once said, “Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you are right.” So like the little engine, “I think I can.”
Be your own cheerleader. Some self-doubt is natural, but you can propel yourself past it with positive self-talk. I like to create a short mantra to combat my negative thoughts. Repeat it, write it down, post it on your bathroom mirror. For example, if you want to ask for a promotion, thinking “I deserve this” can keep you focused and calm your nerves. I’m going to post “Cleaning before dinner is a waste of time.” on my refrigerator to remind me to make better use of my valuable time.
Taking small steps works better than aiming high. I think one reason my resolutions rarely last through January is that my goals are too broad. “Eat better”, “Exercise”, “Write more”, and “Stop procrastinating” are all good objectives, but there is little guidance in those phrases as to how to make them happen. This year I am going to reduce the number of resolutions, and increase the specifics for each action plan. How will I create healthier meals? When will I exercise? Where do I want to get published? As for procrastinating? Well, “just do it” is my mantra for that one (because, truth be told, in the time it takes to write my “to do” list, I could have completed half the things on it.)
Change your environment, if necessary. You won’t be able to quit smoking if your main social circle is the smoker huddle outside your office. And you can’t write your novel sitting between children doing homework at the kitchen table.
Implement rewards after each small victory. But be careful. A reward should be something that furthers your success rather than returns you to old habits (e.g. buying a new outfit after weight loss rather than “treating yourself” to an ice cream sundae).
Secure solid social support. Revealing your resolutions to others helps make you more accountable, but be sure to choose supporters who will applaud your successes and accept your occasional setbacks. And if you’re chosen to support, remember to be a fan, not a critic.
Because there will be setbacks. Adjust your expectations, forgive your mistakes, and be patient. A behavior that has been established over decades is not likely to be changed overnight.
So if you come by my house in the afternoon and it’s a mess, congratulate me on changing my ways.
So here we are, four days into the new year (at this writing) and the score is Old Habits-6, Resolutions-0.
Apparently, I’m not alone. Studies have shown that 40-45% of adults make New Year’s resolutions, but 25-30% are broken within the first week and half disappear within six months.
The most common resolutions center around improving health, finances, job situations, social connections, or organizational skills; learning something new; or helping others. All of these are admirable goals, and some are easier to accomplish than others. In addition, some people are actually wired for change more than others, so that may explain why some friends may make a major change effortlessly each year while others struggle for decades to change one thing.
Historically, I have not been very successful at keeping my resolutions, so this year I am going to try to apply some advice from experts and successful resolution-keepers as well my own past experiences, which I thought I would share with you:
First and foremost, the desire to change has to come from within. If you are trying to change to please somebody else, it probably won’t happen. So, “nag less” is not on my list.
Expect success. Many resolutions fail because people expect them to fail. Henry Ford once said, “Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you are right.” So like the little engine, “I think I can.”
Be your own cheerleader. Some self-doubt is natural, but you can propel yourself past it with positive self-talk. I like to create a short mantra to combat my negative thoughts. Repeat it, write it down, post it on your bathroom mirror. For example, if you want to ask for a promotion, thinking “I deserve this” can keep you focused and calm your nerves. I’m going to post “Cleaning before dinner is a waste of time.” on my refrigerator to remind me to make better use of my valuable time.
Taking small steps works better than aiming high. I think one reason my resolutions rarely last through January is that my goals are too broad. “Eat better”, “Exercise”, “Write more”, and “Stop procrastinating” are all good objectives, but there is little guidance in those phrases as to how to make them happen. This year I am going to reduce the number of resolutions, and increase the specifics for each action plan. How will I create healthier meals? When will I exercise? Where do I want to get published? As for procrastinating? Well, “just do it” is my mantra for that one (because, truth be told, in the time it takes to write my “to do” list, I could have completed half the things on it.)
Change your environment, if necessary. You won’t be able to quit smoking if your main social circle is the smoker huddle outside your office. And you can’t write your novel sitting between children doing homework at the kitchen table.
Implement rewards after each small victory. But be careful. A reward should be something that furthers your success rather than returns you to old habits (e.g. buying a new outfit after weight loss rather than “treating yourself” to an ice cream sundae).
Secure solid social support. Revealing your resolutions to others helps make you more accountable, but be sure to choose supporters who will applaud your successes and accept your occasional setbacks. And if you’re chosen to support, remember to be a fan, not a critic.
Because there will be setbacks. Adjust your expectations, forgive your mistakes, and be patient. A behavior that has been established over decades is not likely to be changed overnight.
So if you come by my house in the afternoon and it’s a mess, congratulate me on changing my ways.
Unhealthy Competition
We all know them. That friend, or colleague, or family member who can, and does, compete with everyone about everything. No matter how bad your day, their day was worse. No matter how busy your weekend, theirs was busier. No matter how big your injury, theirs is bigger. No matter how great (or difficult) your children are, theirs are better (or worse). For these people, everything is a competition, whether it makes them look good or bad.
Most of us probably can identify this type fairly quickly, and either learn to avoid them or at least alter our expectations about their responses so that they don’t bother us so much. In these cases, we can limit our exposure.
But what about when the competitor isn’t so easy to avoid? What happens when your main competition is with the one you are supposed to care for most, your spouse?
Sometimes the competition is an unambiguous quest for superiority that is clearly measurable. Who is the better tennis player? Who gets paid more? Who wins Scrabble more often?
But oftentimes, the competition is more vague. Who is a better parent? Who works harder? Who makes the better decisions? This often expands to include a competition over “Who is the least appreciated?” with the overarching question then becoming “Who has it worse?” Ironically, the “winning” partner then feels superior. How warped is that? “My life is worse than yours! I win!
Competition can be out in the open, as when one spouse challenges another to a game or contest. (“I’m superior.”) It can be subtle, as with the wife who always has an opposing argument to her husband’s perspective, but presents it with a smile. (“I’m smarter.”) Or it can be covert as with the father who buys his child a new toy couched with the promise, “But don’t tell your mom.” (“Our child likes me more.”) It can even be subconscious as with the wife that promises to plan the weekly schedule with her husband to ensure a balance of childcare, but then repeatedly has last minute obligations that leaves him alone with the children yet another night. (“I’m busier than you.” or “My schedule is more important than yours.”)
Such competition does not build strong bonds between spouses. Instead it chips away at the core attributes of a good relationship including trust, respect, and love. Spouses may intentionally or subconsciously set each other up for failure, in order to be able to say, “I’m better than you” at the end.
Such competition can also be damaging to the family. When spouses compete for “favorite parent” status, they often undermine the other parent in the process. It may not be intentional, but I’d bet most of our children could tell you which parent lets them do/have/buy the most and where each parent’s insecurities lie, and trust me, they will use this against you.
So why do we compete with the one who is supposed to be our biggest ally? Aren’t we on the same team? A competition is a win-lose situation, so if you win, that means your partner must lose. Who’s going to want to stay around if they are always the loser?
If we view our relationships as a team, then we should be seeking ways to create win-win situations. We don’t have to agree on everything, but we can agree to disagree respectfully. Both partners can be acknowledged for their contributions. Nobody has to lose. Nobody has to give in. Nobody has to be humiliated.
Of course, this might mean we will have to acknowledge that we don’t know it all and sometimes we might have to ask for help. We might even have to admit that we aren’t always working harder, sleeping less, or feeling worse, and offer some comfort to our partner who is.
I read somewhere that marriage is not 50/50, it’s 100/100. We’re in it together, and if we feel unappreciated, it is likely that our partners do as well. What if we competed to see who showed the most appreciation for the other, who could make the other laugh most, or who could be the kindest? Now that’s a competition I could get into.
Most of us probably can identify this type fairly quickly, and either learn to avoid them or at least alter our expectations about their responses so that they don’t bother us so much. In these cases, we can limit our exposure.
But what about when the competitor isn’t so easy to avoid? What happens when your main competition is with the one you are supposed to care for most, your spouse?
Sometimes the competition is an unambiguous quest for superiority that is clearly measurable. Who is the better tennis player? Who gets paid more? Who wins Scrabble more often?
But oftentimes, the competition is more vague. Who is a better parent? Who works harder? Who makes the better decisions? This often expands to include a competition over “Who is the least appreciated?” with the overarching question then becoming “Who has it worse?” Ironically, the “winning” partner then feels superior. How warped is that? “My life is worse than yours! I win!
Competition can be out in the open, as when one spouse challenges another to a game or contest. (“I’m superior.”) It can be subtle, as with the wife who always has an opposing argument to her husband’s perspective, but presents it with a smile. (“I’m smarter.”) Or it can be covert as with the father who buys his child a new toy couched with the promise, “But don’t tell your mom.” (“Our child likes me more.”) It can even be subconscious as with the wife that promises to plan the weekly schedule with her husband to ensure a balance of childcare, but then repeatedly has last minute obligations that leaves him alone with the children yet another night. (“I’m busier than you.” or “My schedule is more important than yours.”)
Such competition does not build strong bonds between spouses. Instead it chips away at the core attributes of a good relationship including trust, respect, and love. Spouses may intentionally or subconsciously set each other up for failure, in order to be able to say, “I’m better than you” at the end.
Such competition can also be damaging to the family. When spouses compete for “favorite parent” status, they often undermine the other parent in the process. It may not be intentional, but I’d bet most of our children could tell you which parent lets them do/have/buy the most and where each parent’s insecurities lie, and trust me, they will use this against you.
So why do we compete with the one who is supposed to be our biggest ally? Aren’t we on the same team? A competition is a win-lose situation, so if you win, that means your partner must lose. Who’s going to want to stay around if they are always the loser?
If we view our relationships as a team, then we should be seeking ways to create win-win situations. We don’t have to agree on everything, but we can agree to disagree respectfully. Both partners can be acknowledged for their contributions. Nobody has to lose. Nobody has to give in. Nobody has to be humiliated.
Of course, this might mean we will have to acknowledge that we don’t know it all and sometimes we might have to ask for help. We might even have to admit that we aren’t always working harder, sleeping less, or feeling worse, and offer some comfort to our partner who is.
I read somewhere that marriage is not 50/50, it’s 100/100. We’re in it together, and if we feel unappreciated, it is likely that our partners do as well. What if we competed to see who showed the most appreciation for the other, who could make the other laugh most, or who could be the kindest? Now that’s a competition I could get into.
Focus On Happiness
One recent Sunday, I was flicking through the string of cable news networks when I heard a sound bite on CNN, “Studies find women are less happy than men.” I put down the remote.
According to the segment, several recent studies, including the General Social Survey which has tracked American’s mood since 1972, have found that women’s happiness is declining while men’s happiness is increasing.
As if to provide me with the perfect parenthetical comment, one of the male commentators said, “That’s because we get to live with them and they have to live with us.” I swear I did not write that myself.
But seriously, what is it that is bringing women down? On the surface, it appears that we have more opportunities available to us than ever before in history. Could it be that choices add stress rather than relieving it?
Marcus Buckingham, author of Find Your Strongest Life: What the Happiest and Most Successful Women Do Differently, thinks so. He says “Choice is inherently stressful, and women are being driven to distraction.”
In 1970, when women reported being happier than men, women had fewer expectations and more hope for the future. They compared themselves to other women, but focused on their home, their kids, their gardens. Now we compare ourselves not just to women but to men, and we assess our homes, our kids, our gardens, our careers, our activities, our ability to juggle multiple responsibilities, and so on.
Buckingham noted that women’s unhappiness grows over time. “Though women begin their lives more fulfilled than men, as they age, they gradually become less happy.” Perhaps this is because women tend to be “caretakers”, and as their families add members, the amount of caretaking grows exponentially. In addition, we now find ourselves taking care of our aging parents along with our toddlers.
In a recent article on this topic for The New York Times, Maureen Dowd argued that women take things more personally than men and are harder on themselves when they have to split their attention amongst all the important things that are crowded into their lives. They build stronger personal attachments with others and have greater regrets about losing these attachments. They also experience more pressure than men to maintain an attractive and specifically youthful appearance as they age, and have fewer options for finding companionship later in life.
Now, I am not using this space to send a message to our men about our tough lives, to reiterate that women do substantially more than men in the household (though this has been proven again and again in research studies, even when both spouses work outside the home) and to request greater appreciation for our efforts. Not this time.
This time I want to send a message to women about how we live our lives, to encourage us to do what feels good for our families instead of what we think we should do, to stop comparing ourselves to our neighbors (who more often than not are hiding their completely understandable flaws behind their perfectly painted white picket fences), to slow down.
For a start, let’s cut down on the multi-tasking.
We may impress ourselves with our ability to juggle multiple tasks and children, to cook dinner and clean up the kitchen at the same time, to email while helping our teen with her homework, or catch up on phone calls while swinging our son in the park. But how many of us collapse at the end of a day of non-stop activity, only to wonder why so many things that had been started remain incomplete. How many times do we struggle to remember exactly what our child told us about his school day, or to recall what we meant to write in the calendar after that phone call, or just where we put down that glass. If we really focused on it we might realize that each interaction got a little less of us than we thought.
In his recent book, The Guinea Pig Diaries, A.J. Jacobs spent a month avoiding multitasking altogether. When he visited Darien Library last week, he told his audience that during this month he felt more connected to each task as he did it and found “…life was slowing down – in a good way….” Furthermore, he cited studies that showed multitasking makes us less happy and less [not more] productive.
As women, we often joke that men aren’t capable of doing more than one thing at a time. But perhaps they are having the last laugh. I don’t know about you, but I could use a few more of those.
According to the segment, several recent studies, including the General Social Survey which has tracked American’s mood since 1972, have found that women’s happiness is declining while men’s happiness is increasing.
As if to provide me with the perfect parenthetical comment, one of the male commentators said, “That’s because we get to live with them and they have to live with us.” I swear I did not write that myself.
But seriously, what is it that is bringing women down? On the surface, it appears that we have more opportunities available to us than ever before in history. Could it be that choices add stress rather than relieving it?
Marcus Buckingham, author of Find Your Strongest Life: What the Happiest and Most Successful Women Do Differently, thinks so. He says “Choice is inherently stressful, and women are being driven to distraction.”
In 1970, when women reported being happier than men, women had fewer expectations and more hope for the future. They compared themselves to other women, but focused on their home, their kids, their gardens. Now we compare ourselves not just to women but to men, and we assess our homes, our kids, our gardens, our careers, our activities, our ability to juggle multiple responsibilities, and so on.
Buckingham noted that women’s unhappiness grows over time. “Though women begin their lives more fulfilled than men, as they age, they gradually become less happy.” Perhaps this is because women tend to be “caretakers”, and as their families add members, the amount of caretaking grows exponentially. In addition, we now find ourselves taking care of our aging parents along with our toddlers.
In a recent article on this topic for The New York Times, Maureen Dowd argued that women take things more personally than men and are harder on themselves when they have to split their attention amongst all the important things that are crowded into their lives. They build stronger personal attachments with others and have greater regrets about losing these attachments. They also experience more pressure than men to maintain an attractive and specifically youthful appearance as they age, and have fewer options for finding companionship later in life.
Now, I am not using this space to send a message to our men about our tough lives, to reiterate that women do substantially more than men in the household (though this has been proven again and again in research studies, even when both spouses work outside the home) and to request greater appreciation for our efforts. Not this time.
This time I want to send a message to women about how we live our lives, to encourage us to do what feels good for our families instead of what we think we should do, to stop comparing ourselves to our neighbors (who more often than not are hiding their completely understandable flaws behind their perfectly painted white picket fences), to slow down.
For a start, let’s cut down on the multi-tasking.
We may impress ourselves with our ability to juggle multiple tasks and children, to cook dinner and clean up the kitchen at the same time, to email while helping our teen with her homework, or catch up on phone calls while swinging our son in the park. But how many of us collapse at the end of a day of non-stop activity, only to wonder why so many things that had been started remain incomplete. How many times do we struggle to remember exactly what our child told us about his school day, or to recall what we meant to write in the calendar after that phone call, or just where we put down that glass. If we really focused on it we might realize that each interaction got a little less of us than we thought.
In his recent book, The Guinea Pig Diaries, A.J. Jacobs spent a month avoiding multitasking altogether. When he visited Darien Library last week, he told his audience that during this month he felt more connected to each task as he did it and found “…life was slowing down – in a good way….” Furthermore, he cited studies that showed multitasking makes us less happy and less [not more] productive.
As women, we often joke that men aren’t capable of doing more than one thing at a time. But perhaps they are having the last laugh. I don’t know about you, but I could use a few more of those.
Parenting for The Long Run
When I first learned that I was going to have a child, I knew that my life was going to change immensely. I knew it would be hard to adjust to the loss of freedom and lack of sleep, to sharing my every minute with another after more than a decade of self-indulgent adult living, to being responsible for keeping another person alive. I think I was prepared for the physical responsibility, but I don’t think I really understood the emotional responsibility that was in store.
Early on the focus was on the physical – feeding, diapering, sleeping schedules, vaccines. The need to discipline came next, but it began primarily around safety issues and clear cut do’s and don’t’s.
But as we entered the school years, it started to become clear that it is not enough for us as parents just to keep our children alive during their formative years. We are responsible for creating personalities that will be out there in the real world, existing and interacting with other people, crafting the future of the country and the planet, and likely continuing the cycle with families of their own.
Our actions and reactions will determine how our children handle rejection and frustration, respond to limitations, manage time, money and other resources, and interact with others. We teach the basics such as personal hygiene, healthy eating, and manners, but also shape character by demonstrating patience, integrity, responsibility, trustworthiness, gratitude, moderation, compassion, empathy. These are attributes that are not inherent. If we want our children to have them, they have to come from us.
And guess what? Our children aren’t always very receptive to learning them.
It seems like almost every situation that presents itself offers the opportunity for a lesson to be learned or a boundary to be established. I can give a treat or I can require it be earned to encourage acceptance of delayed gratification. I can feed the yet-again unfed goldfish, or I can let it die to show the consequences of lapsed responsibility. I can buy and wrap the birthday gift myself, or I can spend hours watching my child choose a gift and use an entire roll of tape to wrap it to teach him about budgeting, generosity, and presentation. I can pick up the messes or I can endure a whole lot of complaining while requiring all family members to clean up after themselves. I can dress the children myself in seconds, or I can watch as they put their pants on first backwards then forwards, and then their shirts on first backwards then forwards, then pull and twist on their socks and criss-cross their shoes until they have succeeded on their own.
My mantra for parenting is “Don’t let them do once what you don’t want them to do always” but I’m not always great at its implementation. Sometimes, I want to say, “yes, yes, yes” instead of “no, no, no.” Sometimes I want to do it myself instead of waiting for them to take initiative, be responsible, or master a new skill. Sometimes I want to drop the teacher role and just get on with the day.
Sometimes I take shortcuts, using tricks to get my children to do what I want while making it seem like they are getting what they want. I’ve replaced numerous torn books and broken toys with “repaired” duplicates. I’ve said, “I’ll be right back” as I tucked my son into bed, hoping he would fall asleep before I returned (hours later). I’ve “misread” directions to ensure a game is played with little conflict and a lot of speed.
I know I’m not alone with my tricks, as the many recent cookbooks featuring vegetables hidden in favorite foods fit in this category. On the surface, it seems like a happy compromise for all, but in the long-run the child does not learn to handle loss, go to sleep on their own, be a good sport, or make healthy food choices (remember, that restaurant mac ‘n cheese has no squash in it). And our job becomes harder, not easier.
Parenting for the long-term is much more difficult than I expected, but I hear the rewards are coming someday if I can just be patient. I wish I could just throw a tantrum instead, but that never got me anywhere.
Early on the focus was on the physical – feeding, diapering, sleeping schedules, vaccines. The need to discipline came next, but it began primarily around safety issues and clear cut do’s and don’t’s.
But as we entered the school years, it started to become clear that it is not enough for us as parents just to keep our children alive during their formative years. We are responsible for creating personalities that will be out there in the real world, existing and interacting with other people, crafting the future of the country and the planet, and likely continuing the cycle with families of their own.
Our actions and reactions will determine how our children handle rejection and frustration, respond to limitations, manage time, money and other resources, and interact with others. We teach the basics such as personal hygiene, healthy eating, and manners, but also shape character by demonstrating patience, integrity, responsibility, trustworthiness, gratitude, moderation, compassion, empathy. These are attributes that are not inherent. If we want our children to have them, they have to come from us.
And guess what? Our children aren’t always very receptive to learning them.
It seems like almost every situation that presents itself offers the opportunity for a lesson to be learned or a boundary to be established. I can give a treat or I can require it be earned to encourage acceptance of delayed gratification. I can feed the yet-again unfed goldfish, or I can let it die to show the consequences of lapsed responsibility. I can buy and wrap the birthday gift myself, or I can spend hours watching my child choose a gift and use an entire roll of tape to wrap it to teach him about budgeting, generosity, and presentation. I can pick up the messes or I can endure a whole lot of complaining while requiring all family members to clean up after themselves. I can dress the children myself in seconds, or I can watch as they put their pants on first backwards then forwards, and then their shirts on first backwards then forwards, then pull and twist on their socks and criss-cross their shoes until they have succeeded on their own.
My mantra for parenting is “Don’t let them do once what you don’t want them to do always” but I’m not always great at its implementation. Sometimes, I want to say, “yes, yes, yes” instead of “no, no, no.” Sometimes I want to do it myself instead of waiting for them to take initiative, be responsible, or master a new skill. Sometimes I want to drop the teacher role and just get on with the day.
Sometimes I take shortcuts, using tricks to get my children to do what I want while making it seem like they are getting what they want. I’ve replaced numerous torn books and broken toys with “repaired” duplicates. I’ve said, “I’ll be right back” as I tucked my son into bed, hoping he would fall asleep before I returned (hours later). I’ve “misread” directions to ensure a game is played with little conflict and a lot of speed.
I know I’m not alone with my tricks, as the many recent cookbooks featuring vegetables hidden in favorite foods fit in this category. On the surface, it seems like a happy compromise for all, but in the long-run the child does not learn to handle loss, go to sleep on their own, be a good sport, or make healthy food choices (remember, that restaurant mac ‘n cheese has no squash in it). And our job becomes harder, not easier.
Parenting for the long-term is much more difficult than I expected, but I hear the rewards are coming someday if I can just be patient. I wish I could just throw a tantrum instead, but that never got me anywhere.
No Bull(y)
Going back to school means a lot of things to children – new clothes and school supplies, earlier bedtimes, reconnecting with friends, busy but more regular schedules. Unfortunately, for some kids, going back to school can also mean fear, frustration, and anxiety, especially for those who are bullied.
When you think of a “bully”, you may picture the traditional big kid demanding lunch money from the little guy, kicking sand in his face, or knocking his books on the ground. But bullies come in many more shapes and sizes than that.
Bullies exist at every age group, in every socioeconomic class, in every culture. Some may fit the bigger and stronger stereotype, but others may not, like pretty young girls who ridicule those who don’t fit into their clique. Some may attack with words rather than with fists. And some may even hide behind a computer screen.
For parents of a bullied child, it is not always easy to know when to fight for them and when to stand back. Our instinct may be to come to the rescue, call the bully’s parents, or complain to the school, but as a first step, it may be better to offer guidance as to how our children can confront the bully on their own. Remember our ultimate goal is to prepare them for the bullies they will meet down the road (at college, in the office, or in their future family lives) when we will not be there.
We can help by offering our children a safe, non-judgmental ear, helping our children to understand that they never “deserve” to be bullied and that anyone who is participating is not their friend, and teaching our children how to assert themselves so they will not appear to be the easy target that most bullies seek.
Saying “Stop that” or “Don’t touch me” in a strong, loud tone may be enough to send a bully looking for a quieter victim. Role-playing is a great way to help our children practice what they want to say. Have the children play the bully first so they can use dialogue that they have experienced first-hand (this may also be an easier way for them to share what is happening). Then, in the child’s role, we can provide detailed scripts and illustrate different outcomes, which may enhance their confidence when it comes time to face their bully alone.
In middle school and high school, our children are less likely to come to us, even when they should, fearing ridicule and even greater bullying if they are revealed as a tattletale. It is at these times that the open communication we encouraged earlier may be critical.
This is also the time that cyberbullying becomes dominant. This is the newest and possibly the scariest form of bullying because it is anonymous and can spread like wildfire. If you tease somebody on the bus, you might be heard by forty kids, but if you tease somebody online (via email, instant messaging, blogs, or social networking sites), it can be seen by hundreds, who then may forward it on to hundreds more. And it may be received in silence as only the bullied child sees the words. [You and your children can get more information on protecting yourself from cyberbullying and other cyber threats at www.cybertipline.com and www.netsmartz.org.]
It is also important to remember that it isn’t only the bullied child that needs help. While the bullies themselves may appear to be extremely confident from the outside (especially to the bullied child), they are often masking their own insecurities by focusing attention on the flaws of another.
So when we hear that our children are the bullies, it may be better to curb our instinct to defend them and instead use this news as an opportunity. We can talk to our children to uncover the reasons for bullying. What are they feeling anxious about? What type of “threat” may the bullied child pose to them (smarter, prettier, teachers’ favorite?) How else can they get respect?
Finally we may need to look at ourselves. What type of model are we providing to our kids? Do we bully others in our own lives? If so, then our children may just be repeating what they see.
No child should have to go to school in fear, be they the bullied or the bully. Hopefully in this school year, they won’t.
When you think of a “bully”, you may picture the traditional big kid demanding lunch money from the little guy, kicking sand in his face, or knocking his books on the ground. But bullies come in many more shapes and sizes than that.
Bullies exist at every age group, in every socioeconomic class, in every culture. Some may fit the bigger and stronger stereotype, but others may not, like pretty young girls who ridicule those who don’t fit into their clique. Some may attack with words rather than with fists. And some may even hide behind a computer screen.
For parents of a bullied child, it is not always easy to know when to fight for them and when to stand back. Our instinct may be to come to the rescue, call the bully’s parents, or complain to the school, but as a first step, it may be better to offer guidance as to how our children can confront the bully on their own. Remember our ultimate goal is to prepare them for the bullies they will meet down the road (at college, in the office, or in their future family lives) when we will not be there.
We can help by offering our children a safe, non-judgmental ear, helping our children to understand that they never “deserve” to be bullied and that anyone who is participating is not their friend, and teaching our children how to assert themselves so they will not appear to be the easy target that most bullies seek.
Saying “Stop that” or “Don’t touch me” in a strong, loud tone may be enough to send a bully looking for a quieter victim. Role-playing is a great way to help our children practice what they want to say. Have the children play the bully first so they can use dialogue that they have experienced first-hand (this may also be an easier way for them to share what is happening). Then, in the child’s role, we can provide detailed scripts and illustrate different outcomes, which may enhance their confidence when it comes time to face their bully alone.
In middle school and high school, our children are less likely to come to us, even when they should, fearing ridicule and even greater bullying if they are revealed as a tattletale. It is at these times that the open communication we encouraged earlier may be critical.
This is also the time that cyberbullying becomes dominant. This is the newest and possibly the scariest form of bullying because it is anonymous and can spread like wildfire. If you tease somebody on the bus, you might be heard by forty kids, but if you tease somebody online (via email, instant messaging, blogs, or social networking sites), it can be seen by hundreds, who then may forward it on to hundreds more. And it may be received in silence as only the bullied child sees the words. [You and your children can get more information on protecting yourself from cyberbullying and other cyber threats at www.cybertipline.com and www.netsmartz.org.]
It is also important to remember that it isn’t only the bullied child that needs help. While the bullies themselves may appear to be extremely confident from the outside (especially to the bullied child), they are often masking their own insecurities by focusing attention on the flaws of another.
So when we hear that our children are the bullies, it may be better to curb our instinct to defend them and instead use this news as an opportunity. We can talk to our children to uncover the reasons for bullying. What are they feeling anxious about? What type of “threat” may the bullied child pose to them (smarter, prettier, teachers’ favorite?) How else can they get respect?
Finally we may need to look at ourselves. What type of model are we providing to our kids? Do we bully others in our own lives? If so, then our children may just be repeating what they see.
No child should have to go to school in fear, be they the bullied or the bully. Hopefully in this school year, they won’t.
Parenthood - The Second Time Around
How many times have you heard someone say, “My children are so completely different, it’s hard to believe they come from the same parents!”?
As a family therapist, and the youngest of six siblings myself, I can tell you that while the parents may be the same, the family experience is definitely different for each child. Think about the start of life for the eldest, the new star of the family living as the only child among adults, versus the situation into which a third or fourth child enters – no longer a novelty, often left waiting while another child is tended to, seeking an identity of their own (perhaps the “rebel” or “clown”) to distinguish them from the others. There may also be other differences in the family structure that affect the family dynamics for each child, like death or divorce, relocation, or a change to the family’s economic situation.
In addition, the home environment is different. While the first often lives in a relatively quiet space disrupted only by baby gurgles and nursery rhymes, subsequent children hear a cacophony of older siblings playing, fighting, and crying while parents are calling, commanding, and shouting (and maybe occasionally laughing). Baby Einstein videos compete with Spongebob Squarepants, and once carefully child-proofed rooms are now strewn with assorted little pieces of everything.
Yes, I can thoroughly explain to clients and friends how the environment into which each child is born differs. I can spew findings on birth order and the influence of gender and age differences on such findings. But until I had my second child, I didn’t realize the extent of the difference in the parents themselves.
We are all familiar with (and perhaps have been) the clichéd first-time parents – overly cautious, following all the rules to a tee, terrified that one mistake will be fatal to their jewel of a child, whose every moment is documented through still photos, video, and a detailed baby book. These parents then go on to have a second child (or third, fourth, fifth, etc.) who is left to cry a little longer (“good for his lungs”), gets the pacifier that fell on the floor (citing the “five second rule”), and will someday find his early photos tossed in a shoebox with his birth certificate. We think these parents have gained confidence while losing their last speck of free time, but they are the same people right?
These days when I look in the mirror, I’m not so sure. Because even when I can see through the dark undereye circles and past the gray hair, I still don’t recognize the woman looking back.
I was never a wild party girl, but at one time, I was at least a little adventurous, spontaneous, sometimes even silly. I was social and up to date on the world around me. Now I am tired, really tired. I’m distracted by the list of to do’s constantly running in my head. I second-guess any actions that may be at all risky and cancel plans that are too complicated to fulfill with an infant in tow. Basically, I am just no fun.
And I’m cranky. My firstborn didn’t hear a harsh tone from me until he was probably two years old. My second child, unfortunately, has heard that tone since we got home from the hospital, directed at her older brother when I let him push my buttons. I wonder what she must think when she sees the look of frustration on the face she trusts the most. Do I scare her with my rapid transition from lullabies to reprimands? Because sometimes I scare myself. And I wonder, as I’m sure do my children, “Who is that crazy lady, and what happened to the nice woman who was singing, dancing, and laughing moments ago?”
So what will this mean to my daughter as she grows? Will she be more obedient early on to avoid my “wrath”? Or will she instead rebel earlier in an effort to take control from the get-go? And will I ever recognize myself in the mirror again?
Sometimes I think it may be my memory of the past that is distorted. Perhaps I haven’t changed that much. But then I’m not sure which is worse – that I’ve lost my old self or that this is who I always was.
As a family therapist, and the youngest of six siblings myself, I can tell you that while the parents may be the same, the family experience is definitely different for each child. Think about the start of life for the eldest, the new star of the family living as the only child among adults, versus the situation into which a third or fourth child enters – no longer a novelty, often left waiting while another child is tended to, seeking an identity of their own (perhaps the “rebel” or “clown”) to distinguish them from the others. There may also be other differences in the family structure that affect the family dynamics for each child, like death or divorce, relocation, or a change to the family’s economic situation.
In addition, the home environment is different. While the first often lives in a relatively quiet space disrupted only by baby gurgles and nursery rhymes, subsequent children hear a cacophony of older siblings playing, fighting, and crying while parents are calling, commanding, and shouting (and maybe occasionally laughing). Baby Einstein videos compete with Spongebob Squarepants, and once carefully child-proofed rooms are now strewn with assorted little pieces of everything.
Yes, I can thoroughly explain to clients and friends how the environment into which each child is born differs. I can spew findings on birth order and the influence of gender and age differences on such findings. But until I had my second child, I didn’t realize the extent of the difference in the parents themselves.
We are all familiar with (and perhaps have been) the clichéd first-time parents – overly cautious, following all the rules to a tee, terrified that one mistake will be fatal to their jewel of a child, whose every moment is documented through still photos, video, and a detailed baby book. These parents then go on to have a second child (or third, fourth, fifth, etc.) who is left to cry a little longer (“good for his lungs”), gets the pacifier that fell on the floor (citing the “five second rule”), and will someday find his early photos tossed in a shoebox with his birth certificate. We think these parents have gained confidence while losing their last speck of free time, but they are the same people right?
These days when I look in the mirror, I’m not so sure. Because even when I can see through the dark undereye circles and past the gray hair, I still don’t recognize the woman looking back.
I was never a wild party girl, but at one time, I was at least a little adventurous, spontaneous, sometimes even silly. I was social and up to date on the world around me. Now I am tired, really tired. I’m distracted by the list of to do’s constantly running in my head. I second-guess any actions that may be at all risky and cancel plans that are too complicated to fulfill with an infant in tow. Basically, I am just no fun.
And I’m cranky. My firstborn didn’t hear a harsh tone from me until he was probably two years old. My second child, unfortunately, has heard that tone since we got home from the hospital, directed at her older brother when I let him push my buttons. I wonder what she must think when she sees the look of frustration on the face she trusts the most. Do I scare her with my rapid transition from lullabies to reprimands? Because sometimes I scare myself. And I wonder, as I’m sure do my children, “Who is that crazy lady, and what happened to the nice woman who was singing, dancing, and laughing moments ago?”
So what will this mean to my daughter as she grows? Will she be more obedient early on to avoid my “wrath”? Or will she instead rebel earlier in an effort to take control from the get-go? And will I ever recognize myself in the mirror again?
Sometimes I think it may be my memory of the past that is distorted. Perhaps I haven’t changed that much. But then I’m not sure which is worse – that I’ve lost my old self or that this is who I always was.
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