What makes me powerful?
Have you ever asked yourself this question? If so, you may have focused on external things, such as economic status, physical strength, or social connections. These are the power sources that are most outwardly valued in our society, and they tend to be the ones most often abused in unhealthy relationships. But these superficial power sources can be easily shaken -- through job loss, accidents, health issues, relocation. For some it is very hard to recover from the resulting powerless feeling.
So it becomes important to identify our internal sources of power, which are actually more stable and long-term. We can ask ourselves, “Who am I?”, “What keeps me moving forward?”, and “What power will I draw on if my external power sources disappear?”
Recently, I was struggling with these questions myself, as frankly, my external power sources are virtually null. I could identify my internal power as sourced from education, not just book learning, but, more importantly, experiences that have informed me about other cultures, taught me about the consequences of my actions, and provided me with some level of “street smarts”. I know I have the power to make my own choices, not always about what happens to me, but about how I react to these things. And I have personal power through privileges I have worked to obtain and to keep, like my driver’s license, passport, jobs, and even this column.
But what makes me powerful in my family? That was more difficult to answer. Yes, I am the “female head of household” and the mother, which should inherently make me feel powerful but doesn’t. I am not the strongest, I am not the breadwinner, I don’t have the type of dynamic personality or decisiveness that compels people to follow my lead, and to date, “Because I’m your mother, that’s why!” has not gotten a lot of results.
But I do set the tone in my house, like it or not, and I realized that when my children go out in the world, they are reflections of my power. As a parent, my greatest power comes from my influence, arguably one of the strongest potential sources of power around.
In an adult relationship, it takes time to understand that we cannot change our partners, but can only influence them with our own actions and reactions. We may expect to be able to force changes more easily in our children because they are younger, smaller, and “ours”, but at a certain point it becomes clear that these too are separate people that cannot be made to behave a certain way or to believe a certain thing. Even with children, our primary source of power is our influence. And our primary source of influence is our own actions.
We may believe that punishments and rewards exert a whole lot of influence, but unless our behavior reflects the same values we are trying to teach, the message will ultimately be lost. Remember the saying, “Do what I say, not what I do”? Well, good luck with that. As parents, our actions are infinitely more powerful than our words.
Our children will not learn respect if we are disrespecttful to others. They will not stop hitting if they see us hit. They will use mean words if they hear our gossip. They will continue to connect drinking with social acceptance if they see us over-indulging at social functions. They learn from watching us.
We may not even be aware of those times when we are having the greatest influence on our family. Who doesn’t remember a time when their loved ones picked up on a negative attitude even when we thought we were hiding behind a grin of deceit? My son can tell when I am not tuned in to his latest video game antics, even when I am physically watching. The kids hear me give an involuntary sigh in the car, even when it is inaudible to me. My husband picks up on the sarcasm in my voice when I say I’m “just kidding”. Just this morning my daughter asked, “Why are you mad, mommy?” when we were playing together. I wasn’t mad, but I was annoyed by the tedium of play-acting yet another fairytale story when we should have been getting ready for school, and apparently this unintended message was written on my face. Her reaction shook me up.
I realize now that my influence gives me a lot of power in my household, and it is stronger than any physical, economic, or social dominance could ever be. But with such power comes responsibility. It can be as protective as an umbrella or as harmful as a loaded gun, and I need to use it carefully.
Monday, November 5, 2012
What Day Is It?
I consider myself pretty technologically savvy. I’m the one who sets the DVR, makes wireless connections, fixes frozen computers, prints and edits digital photos, and downloads apps. But I have been struggling to convert from my old -school datebook to an electronic calendar for about two years now, and it just won’t stick.
When it comes to schedules, I am a visual person. I like to see what’s coming, not just the day or even a full week. I need my monthly grid. I have an emotional response to its combination of cluttered and empty boxes, the anticipation of approaching events, and the planning possibilities for the days ahead. I want to be able to assess what mood I will be in before scheduling something, like a new client (need a clear head), doctor appointment (need extra time for waiting), or sleepover (nothing else on the calendar for two days).
So I have always used monthly datebooks to track my life. But as my life has expanded to include a husband and two kids, I have found it harder to keep our schedules together. Plans are made while on the computer in our home office, or on the kitchen phone, or out at school meetings, so I ended up having calendars hanging at home in the kitchen and office and another carried along in my purse. Each one held a portion of our plans but none had them all. And any attempt at color-coding by person was quickly dropped. So I figured an electronic calendar would solve this problem. After all, I almost always had my phone on me.
But it’s not the same to see a month on a screen with a dot on every day that has an entry, each dot requiring a followup click on the day to see exactly what is there. I know I can print out a paper copy of my electronic month, but that’s yet another step, and one that must be repeated after every change (and you all know how often things change). Besides, a typed chronological list centered in each day’s box does not satisfy my need for the visual cues of listing morning appointments up high and night events down low.
Then, there is the time required to keep my electronic calendar updated. Some may think a typed entry is much sleeker than the tiny scrawls crowding my daily squares, but there is no doubt it is faster to scribble in an appointment than to open an app, choose the affected calendar(s), type in a subject and location, choose a date, choose a start time, choose an end time, note if it a repeating event, and set up alerts. Plus, I usually have to go back to complete whichever of these aforementioned steps I forgot about the first time through, and then again to make a change. In my paper system, a change involves just the swish of an eraser (or scratch of a pen) and another scribble-- done.
Some may think the electronic alert system is a benefit paper calendars cannot provide, but the alert system on my smartphone is truly flawed. It may remind me that it’s your birthday, but if I’m not shopping at that moment, there’s a good chance the alert will be glanced at, deleted, and forgotten within minutes, along with your birthday card. My calendar only allows two alerts leading up to an event, but sometimes I need a steady nag – like an electronic mom. Seeing an important date circled with loopy red pen marks for weeks ahead does that for me.
I have found my electronic calendar also opens me up to some privacy issues. When playing games on my devices, my son has access to the calendar app, so sometimes I find entries like “Go poopy” or “Take me to Friendly’s” on various days. I don’t believe he has erased anything yet (though I’m sorry if I stood you up), but it is just a matter of time before he will figure out how to eliminate a parent-teacher meeting or cancel an unwanted activity.
“Syncing” devices means that some things are shared that I don’t want to be shared. Like when a popup reminder on the iPad interrupts my daughter’s Dora game just when her tantrum has been soothed, or I have to explain to my son what an “OBGYN appt” is, or confirmation of my lunchdate with the girls pops up on my husband’s phone just when I have convinced him that I have no free time.
I’m sure there are high-tech ways to battle these concerns, but I can’t seem to find a block of time to figure it all out. I guess I will just have to write, type, and pencil that in.
When it comes to schedules, I am a visual person. I like to see what’s coming, not just the day or even a full week. I need my monthly grid. I have an emotional response to its combination of cluttered and empty boxes, the anticipation of approaching events, and the planning possibilities for the days ahead. I want to be able to assess what mood I will be in before scheduling something, like a new client (need a clear head), doctor appointment (need extra time for waiting), or sleepover (nothing else on the calendar for two days).
So I have always used monthly datebooks to track my life. But as my life has expanded to include a husband and two kids, I have found it harder to keep our schedules together. Plans are made while on the computer in our home office, or on the kitchen phone, or out at school meetings, so I ended up having calendars hanging at home in the kitchen and office and another carried along in my purse. Each one held a portion of our plans but none had them all. And any attempt at color-coding by person was quickly dropped. So I figured an electronic calendar would solve this problem. After all, I almost always had my phone on me.
But it’s not the same to see a month on a screen with a dot on every day that has an entry, each dot requiring a followup click on the day to see exactly what is there. I know I can print out a paper copy of my electronic month, but that’s yet another step, and one that must be repeated after every change (and you all know how often things change). Besides, a typed chronological list centered in each day’s box does not satisfy my need for the visual cues of listing morning appointments up high and night events down low.
Then, there is the time required to keep my electronic calendar updated. Some may think a typed entry is much sleeker than the tiny scrawls crowding my daily squares, but there is no doubt it is faster to scribble in an appointment than to open an app, choose the affected calendar(s), type in a subject and location, choose a date, choose a start time, choose an end time, note if it a repeating event, and set up alerts. Plus, I usually have to go back to complete whichever of these aforementioned steps I forgot about the first time through, and then again to make a change. In my paper system, a change involves just the swish of an eraser (or scratch of a pen) and another scribble-- done.
Some may think the electronic alert system is a benefit paper calendars cannot provide, but the alert system on my smartphone is truly flawed. It may remind me that it’s your birthday, but if I’m not shopping at that moment, there’s a good chance the alert will be glanced at, deleted, and forgotten within minutes, along with your birthday card. My calendar only allows two alerts leading up to an event, but sometimes I need a steady nag – like an electronic mom. Seeing an important date circled with loopy red pen marks for weeks ahead does that for me.
I have found my electronic calendar also opens me up to some privacy issues. When playing games on my devices, my son has access to the calendar app, so sometimes I find entries like “Go poopy” or “Take me to Friendly’s” on various days. I don’t believe he has erased anything yet (though I’m sorry if I stood you up), but it is just a matter of time before he will figure out how to eliminate a parent-teacher meeting or cancel an unwanted activity.
“Syncing” devices means that some things are shared that I don’t want to be shared. Like when a popup reminder on the iPad interrupts my daughter’s Dora game just when her tantrum has been soothed, or I have to explain to my son what an “OBGYN appt” is, or confirmation of my lunchdate with the girls pops up on my husband’s phone just when I have convinced him that I have no free time.
I’m sure there are high-tech ways to battle these concerns, but I can’t seem to find a block of time to figure it all out. I guess I will just have to write, type, and pencil that in.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Take Care
My son came home upset one day because some of the students in his class had been acting up and the whole class had to put their heads down on their desks for five minutes. I tried to empathize with his frustration at being disciplined for something he didn’t do, but all I could think was, “Man, I wish someone would tell me to put my head down on my desk for five minutes.”
Well, I should have been careful what I wished for because soon after, I got that wish, but not quite as I had hoped. During a poorly-coordinated moment of multitasking, I reached for one child while facing the other and felt a pain unlike any other shoot down my left leg. Even worse, it was on the first day of a family vacation (actually almost the first minute as we were getting into our rental car at the airport) and it didn’t go away on the ride to Grandma’s, or the rest of that day, or the next, or the next. So I spent most of the week doing nothing, but not in a good way. The initial pain eventually subsided, but when it reoccurred months later I sought the help of a physical therapist.
Twice a week, I finally got the chance to put my head down, for more than five minutes.
The problem was this was the only time I would rest. As soon as I got back from the bubble that was my appointment, I would resume life at full-tilt again.
The first directive the therapist gave me was, “Don’t bend forward.” I ask you to try this for one day. You won’t believe how often you bend forward, especially if you are the parent of young children. I concluded that I spend about 60% of my day bending forward…to pick up things, wipe up spills, change diapers, dress myself or my kids, and so on. And it seemed I needed to bend even more once I was told not to, like when the therapist said I should not bend over the crib to kiss my toddler goodnight. I immediately shrugged this concern off as it was something I never really did – until that very evening when I achingly returned to an upright position after bending over the crib rail to kiss my toddler goodnight. Why is it that when someone tells you not to do something, you automatically do it? I guess I understand my kids better now.
Though I went to physical therapy for a few months, I continued to undermine it with my daily life. The physical therapist advised me to rest “…but you don’t have to lie down like a princess or anything,” she clarified. “Please,” I said, “Can you please write me a prescription that says I have to lie down like a princess?” It was the only way it was going to happen.
I was given stretching exercises to do, but they also involved lying down, and as soon as I hit the carpet, my husband would walk in the room and give me a look like, “What are you doing lying down?” or my children would just pile on. In particular, my toddler liked to climb on my legs and slide down them shouting “Wheeeeeee!” That was not on the advised activity list. The therapist said I should try to train my toddler to sit on my legs and massage my back. Yeah, right. I can’t even get my husband to do that.
Eventually, I gave up the physical therapy because I “didn’t have time.” I chose short-term living (“doing”) over long-term life and the pain remained. Clearly my body was trying to tell me something.
It is all too common that we parents care for our children, spouses, households, and careers, but forget to stop and take care of ourselves. Like sharks, we may feel like we’ll die if we stop swimming or maybe drown in a sea of “shoulds”, as in “I should be doing something more.” Sadly, it’s often not until we break down in some way that we recognize the importance of a regular tune-up, something we’d never question for our cars, our homes, or probably even another human being.
Recently. I started practicing yoga to help with my physical issues and my mental health too. I still struggle to make the time for classes, but I am trying harder. Sometimes when I make it to class, I am so happy to be there, I almost start to cry. Finally, for all good reasons, someone is telling me to just lie down.
Well, I should have been careful what I wished for because soon after, I got that wish, but not quite as I had hoped. During a poorly-coordinated moment of multitasking, I reached for one child while facing the other and felt a pain unlike any other shoot down my left leg. Even worse, it was on the first day of a family vacation (actually almost the first minute as we were getting into our rental car at the airport) and it didn’t go away on the ride to Grandma’s, or the rest of that day, or the next, or the next. So I spent most of the week doing nothing, but not in a good way. The initial pain eventually subsided, but when it reoccurred months later I sought the help of a physical therapist.
Twice a week, I finally got the chance to put my head down, for more than five minutes.
The problem was this was the only time I would rest. As soon as I got back from the bubble that was my appointment, I would resume life at full-tilt again.
The first directive the therapist gave me was, “Don’t bend forward.” I ask you to try this for one day. You won’t believe how often you bend forward, especially if you are the parent of young children. I concluded that I spend about 60% of my day bending forward…to pick up things, wipe up spills, change diapers, dress myself or my kids, and so on. And it seemed I needed to bend even more once I was told not to, like when the therapist said I should not bend over the crib to kiss my toddler goodnight. I immediately shrugged this concern off as it was something I never really did – until that very evening when I achingly returned to an upright position after bending over the crib rail to kiss my toddler goodnight. Why is it that when someone tells you not to do something, you automatically do it? I guess I understand my kids better now.
Though I went to physical therapy for a few months, I continued to undermine it with my daily life. The physical therapist advised me to rest “…but you don’t have to lie down like a princess or anything,” she clarified. “Please,” I said, “Can you please write me a prescription that says I have to lie down like a princess?” It was the only way it was going to happen.
I was given stretching exercises to do, but they also involved lying down, and as soon as I hit the carpet, my husband would walk in the room and give me a look like, “What are you doing lying down?” or my children would just pile on. In particular, my toddler liked to climb on my legs and slide down them shouting “Wheeeeeee!” That was not on the advised activity list. The therapist said I should try to train my toddler to sit on my legs and massage my back. Yeah, right. I can’t even get my husband to do that.
Eventually, I gave up the physical therapy because I “didn’t have time.” I chose short-term living (“doing”) over long-term life and the pain remained. Clearly my body was trying to tell me something.
It is all too common that we parents care for our children, spouses, households, and careers, but forget to stop and take care of ourselves. Like sharks, we may feel like we’ll die if we stop swimming or maybe drown in a sea of “shoulds”, as in “I should be doing something more.” Sadly, it’s often not until we break down in some way that we recognize the importance of a regular tune-up, something we’d never question for our cars, our homes, or probably even another human being.
Recently. I started practicing yoga to help with my physical issues and my mental health too. I still struggle to make the time for classes, but I am trying harder. Sometimes when I make it to class, I am so happy to be there, I almost start to cry. Finally, for all good reasons, someone is telling me to just lie down.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Facebook Funk
Several years ago in this paper, I wrote a column entitled “Friends” detailing my then recent introduction to Facebook, and my ambivalent response to it. While I liked connecting to old friends, I found I didn’t need to hear much about these old acquaintances’ daily lives after the initial catchup, and I realized many of my facebook friends were not actual “friends”. Additionally, privacy concerns made me hesitant to share much information of my own or to use apps or join groups. In all, I found myself checking in unenthusiastically about once a month.
So when I read that a recent university study found students who were heavier Facebook users were more likely to think other people’s lives were happier and better than theirs, I laughed it off as the technological equivalent of “keeping up with the Joneses”. Apparently, people who are constantly viewing others’ fabulous photos and hearing about others’ amazing children, adventurous travels, and social experiences were getting more depressed about their own lives in comparison. But as a therapist, I know that nobody really knows what’s going on behind closed doors (or in this case, beyond the computer screen). ”Don’t they understand?” I said to anyone who would listen, “People only post the good things. They aren’t posting their real life, just the highlights. You can’t compare your real life to others’ highlights!” And with that, I shrugged the whole thing off.
But over the past few months, a funny thing happened. As my children were getting older and a bit more independent, I found myself spending more time waiting in pickup lines or at home quietly supervising activities rather than participating. My iPhone and iPad (acquired well after my first Facebook column) helped alleviate the boredom, and with them Facebook was just a touch away. I checked in several times a day instead of a few times a month, and sent out friend requests to everyone I knew, hoping that maybe I could build my real network of local friends. I even posted a few times – everything from humorous anecdotes to fun facts, sarcastic complaints to requests for help. I was probably still only on Facebook for 5-10 minutes a day, but I was definitely much more aware of what everyone else was doing. And then I started comparing.
One acquaintance posted an adorable photo of her new baby EVERY DAY and I became a little overfocused on the child’s wardrobe which also seemed to be different every day (EVERY DAY!). I began thinking about how my babies only wore onesie pajamas for the first year of life, most of them stained with spitup. I wondered when I’d ever get my second child’s baby book up-to-date and if I would forget the cute things she said before I wrote them down. I worried about the relatively low mass of videos of child number two, and whether I should be uploading more...and so on.
I noticed that the other local parents sure did have a lot more social outings than we did, and what gorgeous vacations they all took, while it seemed we would NEVER travel anywhere but Florida for the rest of our lives. I wondered how one family got in to that exclusive show and mourned my own fabulous-long-ago-past as an advertising executive who had access to all of the latest events (note my mind’s exaggeration) but was now just experiencing the daily cycle of wake-breakfast-kids-housework-dinner-bath-bed- repeat.
I zoomed in on the family photos of that middle school acquaintance with the “C” average who is now running her own company, raising four kids AND looking that great? And I marveled at how that quiet girl from high school got so many comments on her post, while I didn’t even have any “likes”.
As my mind continued to ruminate through negative self-talk about my boring, unsocial, stay-at-home, average life, my mood started dropping and I began to fall into my very own “Facebook funk”.
It took me a while to realize what was happening, but when I did, I knew I had to log off. I check Facebook less often now, and never when I’m feeling down. I post a bit, but try to avoid counting responses. I admit that sometimes I scroll quickly past updates from those I envy, and I have eliminated some updates from view. But most of all I remember that everyone’s life has challenges and they probably won’t be posted.
It is easier now for me to support others in their good times, sending congratulations and being generous with my “Likes”. Of course, when someone drops their Facebook Front with an unpopular post like “I am NOT ready for pickup time.” I LIKE it – twice.
So when I read that a recent university study found students who were heavier Facebook users were more likely to think other people’s lives were happier and better than theirs, I laughed it off as the technological equivalent of “keeping up with the Joneses”. Apparently, people who are constantly viewing others’ fabulous photos and hearing about others’ amazing children, adventurous travels, and social experiences were getting more depressed about their own lives in comparison. But as a therapist, I know that nobody really knows what’s going on behind closed doors (or in this case, beyond the computer screen). ”Don’t they understand?” I said to anyone who would listen, “People only post the good things. They aren’t posting their real life, just the highlights. You can’t compare your real life to others’ highlights!” And with that, I shrugged the whole thing off.
But over the past few months, a funny thing happened. As my children were getting older and a bit more independent, I found myself spending more time waiting in pickup lines or at home quietly supervising activities rather than participating. My iPhone and iPad (acquired well after my first Facebook column) helped alleviate the boredom, and with them Facebook was just a touch away. I checked in several times a day instead of a few times a month, and sent out friend requests to everyone I knew, hoping that maybe I could build my real network of local friends. I even posted a few times – everything from humorous anecdotes to fun facts, sarcastic complaints to requests for help. I was probably still only on Facebook for 5-10 minutes a day, but I was definitely much more aware of what everyone else was doing. And then I started comparing.
One acquaintance posted an adorable photo of her new baby EVERY DAY and I became a little overfocused on the child’s wardrobe which also seemed to be different every day (EVERY DAY!). I began thinking about how my babies only wore onesie pajamas for the first year of life, most of them stained with spitup. I wondered when I’d ever get my second child’s baby book up-to-date and if I would forget the cute things she said before I wrote them down. I worried about the relatively low mass of videos of child number two, and whether I should be uploading more...and so on.
I noticed that the other local parents sure did have a lot more social outings than we did, and what gorgeous vacations they all took, while it seemed we would NEVER travel anywhere but Florida for the rest of our lives. I wondered how one family got in to that exclusive show and mourned my own fabulous-long-ago-past as an advertising executive who had access to all of the latest events (note my mind’s exaggeration) but was now just experiencing the daily cycle of wake-breakfast-kids-housework-dinner-bath-bed- repeat.
I zoomed in on the family photos of that middle school acquaintance with the “C” average who is now running her own company, raising four kids AND looking that great? And I marveled at how that quiet girl from high school got so many comments on her post, while I didn’t even have any “likes”.
As my mind continued to ruminate through negative self-talk about my boring, unsocial, stay-at-home, average life, my mood started dropping and I began to fall into my very own “Facebook funk”.
It took me a while to realize what was happening, but when I did, I knew I had to log off. I check Facebook less often now, and never when I’m feeling down. I post a bit, but try to avoid counting responses. I admit that sometimes I scroll quickly past updates from those I envy, and I have eliminated some updates from view. But most of all I remember that everyone’s life has challenges and they probably won’t be posted.
It is easier now for me to support others in their good times, sending congratulations and being generous with my “Likes”. Of course, when someone drops their Facebook Front with an unpopular post like “I am NOT ready for pickup time.” I LIKE it – twice.
Follow The Rules
I have always been a rule follower. Not only do I obey all laws, but I also follow societal rules that hold no threat of jail time. I stand in a long line when I have just one item, I wait at red lights even if they are interminable and there is no other car around for miles, I don’t park in the school drop off lane, I toss coupons after the expiration date, I return items within 90 days. I wear a cocktail dress to a cocktail party and a gown when “black tie is required”. I don’t stand up in airplanes when the seat belt light is illuminated. And so on.
This is why I am a good baker, but a terrible cook. I can follow a recipe to a tee, but don’t ask me to improvise with random ingredients and no measuring spoons. I can’t.
It just never dawned on me to question most rules. If there is a way something should be done, that’s how I’ll do it. If there is a law, regulation, or restriction, I abide by it. And if the rule changes, I’ll change. I meet expectations.
Yes, I get frustrated when the rules are irrational, but I usually let others iron out the reasoning, and assume all the obvious questions have already been answered. But now that I have children, I find myself spending half my day trying to answer those “obvious” questions and often falling short.
For a while I thought my kids questioned everything just to distract or delay, or maybe just to drive me crazy. Some questions, like “Why do I have to go to school?” or “Why do I have to wear a seatbelt?” are easy to answer authoritatively even if education, future opportunities, and hypothetical safety may be vague concepts to understand (and often refuted with more questions such as “But why would we get in an accident?”) Of course, since my answer is unwavering on these topics, they also tend to be the things least questioned. I need to remember that.
More often the questions hover around the hazier areas of cultural norms and expectations that may have developed over time. And frequently, that history may be the only reason these “unwritten rules” endure: “Why does the fork have to go on the left side of the plate?”; “Why do I have to wear THIS?” (uniform/suit/dress shoes…); “Why can’t I sleep in the guest room?” I am learning that my parents’ ole standby, “Because I said so!”, just doesn’t fly with my brood.
So I try to come up with a more rational answer, and I am finding that for many things I just can’t. Why can’t we sit down in the elevator? I can tell that my husband enjoys when our children question the norms even when he is the one being questioned, because he appreciates their creative minds that won’t take things at face value, that won’t back down, that dream of new solutions. And isn’t that how you want your child to be?
But I am struggling with this dilemma. How do I encourage my children to follow the rules (for the benefit of myself and society as a whole) while also encouraging them to “think outside the box” (for the benefit of themselves, and maybe society as a whole)? How can I tell them that it is okay to act against the rules in some situations but not in others, to question some authority but not all, to consider doing things differently than everyone else but still fit in? And how do I encourage them to lead rather than to follow, while still maintaining family leadership myself?
History has shown that we need people out there questioning the rules and breaking them in order for changes and improvements to be made. Women’s rights, civil rights, children’s rights, domestic violence laws, and so many other important societal changes all came about thanks to people who refused to maintain the status quo. And I’ll bet they gave their parents a tough time too.
My father used to say, “I don’t answer ‘why’ questions.” I thought it was just his clever trick to make us think more creatively about how to get our answers, like starting a sentence with “How come…” or “What would happen if…,” but now I think it was simply a way for him to avoid admitting to the confusion, hypocrisy, and uncertainty that parents (like most humans) often experience. I don’t really know for sure, because I never thought to ask why.
This is why I am a good baker, but a terrible cook. I can follow a recipe to a tee, but don’t ask me to improvise with random ingredients and no measuring spoons. I can’t.
It just never dawned on me to question most rules. If there is a way something should be done, that’s how I’ll do it. If there is a law, regulation, or restriction, I abide by it. And if the rule changes, I’ll change. I meet expectations.
Yes, I get frustrated when the rules are irrational, but I usually let others iron out the reasoning, and assume all the obvious questions have already been answered. But now that I have children, I find myself spending half my day trying to answer those “obvious” questions and often falling short.
For a while I thought my kids questioned everything just to distract or delay, or maybe just to drive me crazy. Some questions, like “Why do I have to go to school?” or “Why do I have to wear a seatbelt?” are easy to answer authoritatively even if education, future opportunities, and hypothetical safety may be vague concepts to understand (and often refuted with more questions such as “But why would we get in an accident?”) Of course, since my answer is unwavering on these topics, they also tend to be the things least questioned. I need to remember that.
More often the questions hover around the hazier areas of cultural norms and expectations that may have developed over time. And frequently, that history may be the only reason these “unwritten rules” endure: “Why does the fork have to go on the left side of the plate?”; “Why do I have to wear THIS?” (uniform/suit/dress shoes…); “Why can’t I sleep in the guest room?” I am learning that my parents’ ole standby, “Because I said so!”, just doesn’t fly with my brood.
So I try to come up with a more rational answer, and I am finding that for many things I just can’t. Why can’t we sit down in the elevator? I can tell that my husband enjoys when our children question the norms even when he is the one being questioned, because he appreciates their creative minds that won’t take things at face value, that won’t back down, that dream of new solutions. And isn’t that how you want your child to be?
But I am struggling with this dilemma. How do I encourage my children to follow the rules (for the benefit of myself and society as a whole) while also encouraging them to “think outside the box” (for the benefit of themselves, and maybe society as a whole)? How can I tell them that it is okay to act against the rules in some situations but not in others, to question some authority but not all, to consider doing things differently than everyone else but still fit in? And how do I encourage them to lead rather than to follow, while still maintaining family leadership myself?
History has shown that we need people out there questioning the rules and breaking them in order for changes and improvements to be made. Women’s rights, civil rights, children’s rights, domestic violence laws, and so many other important societal changes all came about thanks to people who refused to maintain the status quo. And I’ll bet they gave their parents a tough time too.
My father used to say, “I don’t answer ‘why’ questions.” I thought it was just his clever trick to make us think more creatively about how to get our answers, like starting a sentence with “How come…” or “What would happen if…,” but now I think it was simply a way for him to avoid admitting to the confusion, hypocrisy, and uncertainty that parents (like most humans) often experience. I don’t really know for sure, because I never thought to ask why.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Screen Time
My son started playing computer games as soon as he could move his fingers and sit up by himself. He was Mario for Halloween in 2007 at age four, just before the Wii reintroduced Super Mario Brothers to the masses, and well before anyone his age had heard of them. A month later he had a Pac-Man-themed birthday party with handmade décor that nobody recognized but the parents.
But now, Mario is mainstream, and instead of being a kid with a quirky hobby that his peers don’t understand, my son’s interests are finally conventional. I have seen how videogames and computer skills have augmented his creativity, self-confidence, and social development, but I still have a hard time getting past their bad reputation. Why is it that intense focus on computers is considered problematic while intense focus on sports (or most anything else) is good?
So it was with significant personal interest that I attended the Darien Library’s recent talk on kids and videogames, “Everything You Want To Know About Gaming But Were Afraid To Ask”.
Note, I didn’t go to cover this as a story, I have no connection with the speakers, and I am not putting forth anyone’s point of view here but my own. I was there purely as a parent in the technology age, wondering whether I have to continue to feel guilty about hosting playdates in front of the Wii.
The library panel addressed many of the usual concerns about game players, including perceived risks of increased aggression, medical problems (vision issues, seizures, obesity), and social isolation. But I came away with the same lessons we hear again and again in life: "Okay in moderation." and as parents: "Supervise, set limits, and enforce consequences."
It seems the general belief that violent games make violent boys isn’t so clear-cut. Much research focuses on children who play inappropriate games for excessive amounts of time and doesn’t consider environmental factors such as lack of parental supervision in general, which may in turn involve other factors like economics, education, or even parental addictions. Another forgotten element is the temperament of the child. Maybe aggressive kids choose aggressive games, not the other way around. These factors may combine to play a much larger role in leading to a child’s antisocial behavior than the actual video games.
So the panelists encouraged the audience to use ratings to help eliminate inappropriate games (e.g. Call of Duty is rated M for age 17 and up), and set time limits, especially if game-playing is eating up hours usually reserved for homework, extra-curricular activities, socializing, eating, or sleeping. I learned that we can set gaming systems to shut off after a certain amount of playtime or program computers to shut down at a certain time. And we can always unplug our router to eliminate internet access after bedtime. (Although according to 2010 data, the average gamer is a 34-year-old male who has been playing for 12 years – so it may be the husbands who object most to that last step!).
To address concerns of internet predators and cyberbullying, we can put parental controls and screening software on our computers, discuss risks with our children as appropriate, and review their usage to ensure they are not a victim or a bully.
I know it isn’t easy, but the goal is to help them navigate this world until they can make good choices on their own. Because at some point they will be on their own.
On the positive side, if responsibilities are complete and there is proper parental supervision, is it still so bad to spend one’s free time online? Maybe not, according to findings presented by the panelists and in educator James Gee’s recent book, What Video Games Have to Teach Us About Learning and Literacy. Game play has been shown to be a powerful way of learning that helps increase problem-solving abilities, creativity, adaptability, and resiliency. Additionally, like playground play, gaming is child-led, not adult-guided, which builds internal motivation and regulation skills.
In my son, I have seen an interesting shift from playing games to creating them – or at least thinking about creating them. He spends less of his time with controllers in hand and more on websites where he can build his own characters and watch and learn from others’ creations. Offline, he has become more comfortable drawing, writing, and role-playing since he has begun using the game characters as subjects, much like our generation may have done with Barbies or Superman.
Much of the time he spends staring at the screen is reading lengthy stories others have written about the game characters. When he asks me if this counts as his reading homework, I say no, but really, given the proliferation of electronic reading devices like the Kindle, shouldn’t it?
In my last column I wondered when my son would be motivated internally, what spark would drive him to put forth his best effort. But maybe I have been refusing to see that the spark is already there, because it is a fire I don’t understand. As one panelist said, this is our kids’ world. And it is going to get more technological, not less.
And so I ask myself, “What would Bill Gates’ mom do?”
But now, Mario is mainstream, and instead of being a kid with a quirky hobby that his peers don’t understand, my son’s interests are finally conventional. I have seen how videogames and computer skills have augmented his creativity, self-confidence, and social development, but I still have a hard time getting past their bad reputation. Why is it that intense focus on computers is considered problematic while intense focus on sports (or most anything else) is good?
So it was with significant personal interest that I attended the Darien Library’s recent talk on kids and videogames, “Everything You Want To Know About Gaming But Were Afraid To Ask”.
Note, I didn’t go to cover this as a story, I have no connection with the speakers, and I am not putting forth anyone’s point of view here but my own. I was there purely as a parent in the technology age, wondering whether I have to continue to feel guilty about hosting playdates in front of the Wii.
The library panel addressed many of the usual concerns about game players, including perceived risks of increased aggression, medical problems (vision issues, seizures, obesity), and social isolation. But I came away with the same lessons we hear again and again in life: "Okay in moderation." and as parents: "Supervise, set limits, and enforce consequences."
It seems the general belief that violent games make violent boys isn’t so clear-cut. Much research focuses on children who play inappropriate games for excessive amounts of time and doesn’t consider environmental factors such as lack of parental supervision in general, which may in turn involve other factors like economics, education, or even parental addictions. Another forgotten element is the temperament of the child. Maybe aggressive kids choose aggressive games, not the other way around. These factors may combine to play a much larger role in leading to a child’s antisocial behavior than the actual video games.
So the panelists encouraged the audience to use ratings to help eliminate inappropriate games (e.g. Call of Duty is rated M for age 17 and up), and set time limits, especially if game-playing is eating up hours usually reserved for homework, extra-curricular activities, socializing, eating, or sleeping. I learned that we can set gaming systems to shut off after a certain amount of playtime or program computers to shut down at a certain time. And we can always unplug our router to eliminate internet access after bedtime. (Although according to 2010 data, the average gamer is a 34-year-old male who has been playing for 12 years – so it may be the husbands who object most to that last step!).
To address concerns of internet predators and cyberbullying, we can put parental controls and screening software on our computers, discuss risks with our children as appropriate, and review their usage to ensure they are not a victim or a bully.
I know it isn’t easy, but the goal is to help them navigate this world until they can make good choices on their own. Because at some point they will be on their own.
On the positive side, if responsibilities are complete and there is proper parental supervision, is it still so bad to spend one’s free time online? Maybe not, according to findings presented by the panelists and in educator James Gee’s recent book, What Video Games Have to Teach Us About Learning and Literacy. Game play has been shown to be a powerful way of learning that helps increase problem-solving abilities, creativity, adaptability, and resiliency. Additionally, like playground play, gaming is child-led, not adult-guided, which builds internal motivation and regulation skills.
In my son, I have seen an interesting shift from playing games to creating them – or at least thinking about creating them. He spends less of his time with controllers in hand and more on websites where he can build his own characters and watch and learn from others’ creations. Offline, he has become more comfortable drawing, writing, and role-playing since he has begun using the game characters as subjects, much like our generation may have done with Barbies or Superman.
Much of the time he spends staring at the screen is reading lengthy stories others have written about the game characters. When he asks me if this counts as his reading homework, I say no, but really, given the proliferation of electronic reading devices like the Kindle, shouldn’t it?
In my last column I wondered when my son would be motivated internally, what spark would drive him to put forth his best effort. But maybe I have been refusing to see that the spark is already there, because it is a fire I don’t understand. As one panelist said, this is our kids’ world. And it is going to get more technological, not less.
And so I ask myself, “What would Bill Gates’ mom do?”
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tiger Parents?
Lately there has been a lot of talk about the parenting style of now infamous mother Amy Chua, Yale law professor and author of the new book, “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.” In her book, Ms. Chua describes raising her daughters using the “Chinese” style of parenting (her word, not mine) which is defined by a stern focus on achievement and success, especially in academic and musical endeavors, and the exclusion of social and non-academic activities such as playdates, sports, and video games.
The Wall Street Journal article that first brought widespread attention to Ms. Chua’s book was entitled “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior”, though Ms. Chua insists she did not choose the title, nor does she believe that her way is superior. In fact, she states her book is about the transformation in her parenting from the strict Chinese style to a more flexible blend of Eastern and Western approaches following the protests of her youngest daughter.
Regardless, the harsh treatment of Ms. Chua’s daughters described in the book elicited strong reactions from parents, academics, and the media alike.
Some of Ms. Chua’s most controversial mothering moments include when she returned her four-year-old’s handmade birthday card because it was not good enough, or made her seven-year-old practice a piano piece repeatedly, with no rest, food, water, or bathroom breaks, until she played it perfectly, or called her daughter “garbage” for speaking disrespectfully to her.
Judging from these extreme situations, it is easy to dismiss her parenting as flawed and mean-spirited, but underneath her methods is a philosophy that might be worth considering.
Central to her approach is the idea that children need to be pushed to achieve because otherwise they will resist the hard work necessary to master something, and it is only after such mastery that they can develop a love for what they are doing. In other words, a child cannot love doing something until they are good at it, but they won’t work hard enough to get good at it on their own. Practice-practice-practice leads to excellence, which leads to praise and admiration, which builds confidence and spurs an eagerness to continue working. I can see the logic in that.
Another core premise of Ms. Chua’s methods is the belief that her children are inherently strong enough to handle her demands, and that ultimately the resulting accomplishment will build their self-esteem more than any negative words along the way will hurt it.
I know that is how my (non-Chinese) parents were raised as well, though it is in stark contrast to the prevailing “Western” belief that a child’s fragile psyche can be easily harmed through criticism. (Though it’s worth noting that our generation’s overinvolved, coddling parenting style has been found by more than one researcher to be doing more damage to self-esteem than good.)
I have recently began to wonder when my son’s motivation to succeed will shift from external (rewards, punishment) to internal (own sense of accomplishment, pride). At age eight, he is entering the period that psychologist Erik Erikson defined as a struggle between industry and inferiority, between being hard-working and industrious and feeling worthless and destructive. In this phase, self-esteem is built through doing, achieving, and figuring things out, not by talking about it. In many ways, Ms. Chua’s philosophy recognizes this. She forced her daughters to do until they succeed; she didn’t spend hours discussing how they are still special even if they cannot complete the task.
In a recent discussion with Ms. Chua, former Harvard president Larry Summers repeated a question he posed often to his faculty when encouraging them to push their students harder. Does self-esteem lead to accomplishment or does accomplishment lead to self-esteem? While the Western parenting style seems to favor the former, Mr. Summers echoed Ms. Chua when he argued for the latter, though he did not agree with her methods for getting there.
He also questioned what “accomplishment” really is, noting that some of Harvard’s most successful graduates are the ones who dropped out (e.g., Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg). Based on his experience, Mr. Summers stated that it is the C students, not the A students, that build wings onto campus buildings with their vast earnings. Other critics of Ms. Chua noted that pushing for excellence in traditional areas such as high grades may be a perfect way to raise a great follower, but a leader must be able to think outside the box, question boundaries, and break some rules.
When it comes to parenting, there will always be judgments, disagreements, and critiques. I don’t necessarily agree with Ms. Chua’s methods, but I can’t argue with her when she says parenting is “about helping your children be the best they can be – which is usually better than they think!”
The Wall Street Journal article that first brought widespread attention to Ms. Chua’s book was entitled “Why Chinese Mothers are Superior”, though Ms. Chua insists she did not choose the title, nor does she believe that her way is superior. In fact, she states her book is about the transformation in her parenting from the strict Chinese style to a more flexible blend of Eastern and Western approaches following the protests of her youngest daughter.
Regardless, the harsh treatment of Ms. Chua’s daughters described in the book elicited strong reactions from parents, academics, and the media alike.
Some of Ms. Chua’s most controversial mothering moments include when she returned her four-year-old’s handmade birthday card because it was not good enough, or made her seven-year-old practice a piano piece repeatedly, with no rest, food, water, or bathroom breaks, until she played it perfectly, or called her daughter “garbage” for speaking disrespectfully to her.
Judging from these extreme situations, it is easy to dismiss her parenting as flawed and mean-spirited, but underneath her methods is a philosophy that might be worth considering.
Central to her approach is the idea that children need to be pushed to achieve because otherwise they will resist the hard work necessary to master something, and it is only after such mastery that they can develop a love for what they are doing. In other words, a child cannot love doing something until they are good at it, but they won’t work hard enough to get good at it on their own. Practice-practice-practice leads to excellence, which leads to praise and admiration, which builds confidence and spurs an eagerness to continue working. I can see the logic in that.
Another core premise of Ms. Chua’s methods is the belief that her children are inherently strong enough to handle her demands, and that ultimately the resulting accomplishment will build their self-esteem more than any negative words along the way will hurt it.
I know that is how my (non-Chinese) parents were raised as well, though it is in stark contrast to the prevailing “Western” belief that a child’s fragile psyche can be easily harmed through criticism. (Though it’s worth noting that our generation’s overinvolved, coddling parenting style has been found by more than one researcher to be doing more damage to self-esteem than good.)
I have recently began to wonder when my son’s motivation to succeed will shift from external (rewards, punishment) to internal (own sense of accomplishment, pride). At age eight, he is entering the period that psychologist Erik Erikson defined as a struggle between industry and inferiority, between being hard-working and industrious and feeling worthless and destructive. In this phase, self-esteem is built through doing, achieving, and figuring things out, not by talking about it. In many ways, Ms. Chua’s philosophy recognizes this. She forced her daughters to do until they succeed; she didn’t spend hours discussing how they are still special even if they cannot complete the task.
In a recent discussion with Ms. Chua, former Harvard president Larry Summers repeated a question he posed often to his faculty when encouraging them to push their students harder. Does self-esteem lead to accomplishment or does accomplishment lead to self-esteem? While the Western parenting style seems to favor the former, Mr. Summers echoed Ms. Chua when he argued for the latter, though he did not agree with her methods for getting there.
He also questioned what “accomplishment” really is, noting that some of Harvard’s most successful graduates are the ones who dropped out (e.g., Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg). Based on his experience, Mr. Summers stated that it is the C students, not the A students, that build wings onto campus buildings with their vast earnings. Other critics of Ms. Chua noted that pushing for excellence in traditional areas such as high grades may be a perfect way to raise a great follower, but a leader must be able to think outside the box, question boundaries, and break some rules.
When it comes to parenting, there will always be judgments, disagreements, and critiques. I don’t necessarily agree with Ms. Chua’s methods, but I can’t argue with her when she says parenting is “about helping your children be the best they can be – which is usually better than they think!”
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Get Some Sleep!
Scientists recently completed a study that proved that people look better when they have had a solid eight hours sleep versus when they are sleep-deprived. Really? They needed to spend money on a research study to prove that? They could just come to my house. Time lapse photography would show a steady increase in the pigment under my eyes, the frizz in my hair and the general frazzled nature of my appearance since I have become a parent of two.
Right now I am writing about sleep because it is all I can think about. I eat, drink and sleep, sleep. Because I can’t remember how long it has been since I have had a good night’s sleep. (Lack of sleep affects your memory, you know.)
I thought I was done with sleepless nights once my youngest stopped nursing every two hours and started sleeping through the night. But lately it seems one won’t go to sleep and the other won’t stay asleep or vice versa, so every night is disturbed.
After struggling with sleep issues with child number one (like many first-time parents), I was determined to be strong with my second child no matter how much crying out had to be done. I was, and she was great about going to sleep and staying asleep for much of her short life. But recently illness and vacation combined to shake the routine. My sick toddler reached out to be held and coddled as she snuffled her way to sleep before being placed in an unfamiliar crib, and we did it just so we could make it through our time away. We all know what happened next. She refuses to give up the pleasure of being rocked to sleep, and I don’t have the heart to let her cry it out as she continues to struggle with cold and cough.
To top it off, a few times a week she has been waking up during the night and staying up for hours. One day it was 11 pm until 3 am. Another it was 3 am until 11 am! Later in the morning of the 3 am wakeup call, we sat watching Sesame Street together. As some sort of cosmic joke, the subject for that morning’s Elmo’s World just happened to be “sleep”. As Elmo shouted, “Elmo’s thinking about sleep today!” I thought, “Me too, Elmo. Me too!”
Apparently others are thinking a lot about sleep as well. I recently opened a Sunday magazine to see “Go Back To Bed” listed as one of the top ten suggestions for a successful new year. The next day the AAA newsletter landed in my mailbox with the headline “Before driving, get your Z’s”. The article stated that 2 out of 5 drivers admit to having fallen asleep at the wheel at some point (with 1 in 10 experiencing this in the past year), which is pretty scary to think about. It reminded me of a moment I had in the car just a few days ago, when I found myself on a street with little memory of getting there. I remembered getting off the highway and waiting several cars back from a red light, but I couldn’t recall actually getting to the intersection and choosing a direction to turn, which explained why I found myself on the wrong street after having turned the wrong way. I’m just glad I was on the right side of the road.
Lack of sleep can be a danger to us on the road and off. It affects memory and concentration, slows reaction time, increases risk for heart disease and stroke, fosters a desire for higher-calorie foods, and negatively affects your mood and ability to handle stress and anxiety (just ask my family) among other things.
So, as the start of the year ushers in my usual list of resolutions – eat better, exercise more, get organized, get together with friends more often – I am first resolving to make rest a priority because otherwise none of those other things will get done. And as one doctor put it, “There is no substitute for sleep but sleep.”
Apparently, I should have kicked off my resolution on January 3rd, which is “Festival of Sleep Day”. But it was also the first weekday after Christmas vacation, so I don’t think many people were sleeping in that day. Sounds like poor planning – probably done by somebody who was sleep-deprived and forgot to look at the calendar.
Right now I am writing about sleep because it is all I can think about. I eat, drink and sleep, sleep. Because I can’t remember how long it has been since I have had a good night’s sleep. (Lack of sleep affects your memory, you know.)
I thought I was done with sleepless nights once my youngest stopped nursing every two hours and started sleeping through the night. But lately it seems one won’t go to sleep and the other won’t stay asleep or vice versa, so every night is disturbed.
After struggling with sleep issues with child number one (like many first-time parents), I was determined to be strong with my second child no matter how much crying out had to be done. I was, and she was great about going to sleep and staying asleep for much of her short life. But recently illness and vacation combined to shake the routine. My sick toddler reached out to be held and coddled as she snuffled her way to sleep before being placed in an unfamiliar crib, and we did it just so we could make it through our time away. We all know what happened next. She refuses to give up the pleasure of being rocked to sleep, and I don’t have the heart to let her cry it out as she continues to struggle with cold and cough.
To top it off, a few times a week she has been waking up during the night and staying up for hours. One day it was 11 pm until 3 am. Another it was 3 am until 11 am! Later in the morning of the 3 am wakeup call, we sat watching Sesame Street together. As some sort of cosmic joke, the subject for that morning’s Elmo’s World just happened to be “sleep”. As Elmo shouted, “Elmo’s thinking about sleep today!” I thought, “Me too, Elmo. Me too!”
Apparently others are thinking a lot about sleep as well. I recently opened a Sunday magazine to see “Go Back To Bed” listed as one of the top ten suggestions for a successful new year. The next day the AAA newsletter landed in my mailbox with the headline “Before driving, get your Z’s”. The article stated that 2 out of 5 drivers admit to having fallen asleep at the wheel at some point (with 1 in 10 experiencing this in the past year), which is pretty scary to think about. It reminded me of a moment I had in the car just a few days ago, when I found myself on a street with little memory of getting there. I remembered getting off the highway and waiting several cars back from a red light, but I couldn’t recall actually getting to the intersection and choosing a direction to turn, which explained why I found myself on the wrong street after having turned the wrong way. I’m just glad I was on the right side of the road.
Lack of sleep can be a danger to us on the road and off. It affects memory and concentration, slows reaction time, increases risk for heart disease and stroke, fosters a desire for higher-calorie foods, and negatively affects your mood and ability to handle stress and anxiety (just ask my family) among other things.
So, as the start of the year ushers in my usual list of resolutions – eat better, exercise more, get organized, get together with friends more often – I am first resolving to make rest a priority because otherwise none of those other things will get done. And as one doctor put it, “There is no substitute for sleep but sleep.”
Apparently, I should have kicked off my resolution on January 3rd, which is “Festival of Sleep Day”. But it was also the first weekday after Christmas vacation, so I don’t think many people were sleeping in that day. Sounds like poor planning – probably done by somebody who was sleep-deprived and forgot to look at the calendar.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Transplants
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!
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!
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.
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