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?”
Friday, April 1, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)