Tag: parenting

To Be Fair

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“Comparison is the thief of joy” – Theodore Roosevelt

I grew up in a household that was very fair. My mom kept track of each birthday present down to the penny so that she could spend exactly the same amount on each child. The issue of fairness shaped so much of my upbringing that I was surprised when I had a second child how hard it is to be fair.

First there’s the problem that it isn’t possible for the second child to have the same experience as the first because the first child is there influencing the process. Second there’s the reality that every child is different. And then there’s the matter of perspective so that even if I believe something is fair, it doesn’t necessarily seem so to others. Finally, there is the problem that life isn’t fair!

But I still struggle with measuring myself against the belief of fairness. Like with preschool. My daughter went to a co-op preschool where I worked in the room with the teacher and other parents one day a week. I loved that experience, getting to see her play with other kids and being able to get to know the families of the other children. But because of the complicated logistics that come with two children, COVID and my work schedule, I have my son in daycare instead of co-op preschool. That doesn’t feel fair to me although who it is unfair to is unclear – me or him?

Then yesterday I realized that some of this effort to balance things is just a way to be defensive about parenting. To preload the excuse that I did my best because everything was fair. And to bypass having to be mindful about how to participate in each child’s life in the way that is best for them.

Again and again I keep finding vulnerability and showing up as the guideposts as my parenting. That there is no way to portion a parent’s love so that it can be measured equally. Maya Angelou said, “Your eyes should light up when your child enters the room.” And that is the parenting maxim that I want to live by. Fairly, for each child of course.

Sibling Supportiveness

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“There’s a sun in every person – the you we call companion.” – Rumi

My kids and I were sitting on my bed reading books before bed and my 6-year-old daughter leaned over and kissed my toddler on the head and said, “Love you, Baby.” He said, “No kiss, La-la.” And so I kissed him on the head and he said, “No kiss, Mama.” But he was smiling so we kept kissing him and he kept saying “no kiss” and laughing.

My kids have such a sweet relationship. When they are in the car and my toddler hears a siren or other noise that scares him, he’ll say, “cared”, my daughter will say, “Want to hold my hand?” and he does.

I work hard to make this happen. I sit with them as they work things out and act as interpreter. I also narrate why he mimics her so much because he thinks she’s the coolest thing ever. I do this because I grew up as the younger sibling of someone who hated me. She was four years older than me which is the same age difference as my two kids. When we’ve talked about it as adults she said, “I don’t know why I was so mean to you.”

My opinion is that my sister has always struggled with feeling like she didn’t belong in our family because she was the one “realist” amongst a pack of optimists. I came along and the easy, happy disposition I was born with challenged her fighter, questioning nature and it is her makeup to push back.

Whatever my sister’s reason was, I find it fascinating to think about the dynamic now. Having kids that are the same age difference has been fear-inducing and healing for me. I was terrified that the same pattern would repeat itself. And now I’m starting to trust that there isn’t any scary truth that four years difference makes siblings not like each other.

There isn’t a more influential factor on my parenting style than the wounds of my childhood. I was scared to live with my sister – scared that anything I professed to love she would destroy. If I had long hair, I was scared she’d cut it off at night, if I liked a particular stuffed animal, I was scared she’d take it or destroy it. To be fair, I don’t think she ever did – but she threatened a lot. And I think I’m still scared of admitting I love something in case that means it’s taken away.

My mom was tired of kid squabbles by the time I came along as the third child. She was ready to move on with her own professional and personal development and given how talented and smart she is, that was only natural. But it meant that telling her my fears or about the conflict was not a fruitful path. She’d call it tattling or say we both caused it, no matter what happened. There was no path to resolution for me as a child – no understanding, no naming it and no way out of fear.

So every day I work at building trust between my kids and making sure they are source of comfort, not anxiety for each other. It heals me alongside helping them. It’s another reminder to me that nothing is wasted in this life – every wound can become a source of knowledge and inspiration. I hope that long after I’m gone, when they are scared, they will still talk to each other about it and hold hands.

Rock On

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“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust

As my six-year-old daughter and I walked in the rock climbing gym yesterday she pointed to a corner of the bouldering room and asked, “What are they doing there?” I responded that they were redoing all the routes in that section of the gym and she exclaimed, “But I was working on that one! I really liked it!” And then we went upstairs and commiserated with the camp coaches who were feeling the same thing.

I totally understand that sense of loss. In order to make room for new things, old ones have got to go. But sometimes I’m not ready to move on and the Universe does it for me. I’m talking about rock climbing routes — and also relationships, phases of life and things I find comfort in. Like my pajama pants that are exactly perfect so I’ve worn them forever and I loved them until they are almost in tatters and will likely disintegrate if I wash again. I’ll probably put them in the wash only to find they have “been disappeared” by some Divine force.

When I was little I had this blanket that I carried with me everywhere, my binky. We lived in the Philippines but came to the United States on extended vacation every two years. It was on this trip when I was five years-old that my mom decided that I shouldn’t need the blanket anymore, hid it from me and told me it was lost. I have a vague memory of looking for it everywhere – even in my parent’s luggage. Sooner or later I moved on but not without a lot of grief for Binky.

I think about this as a parent because I try to have infinite patience for my kids to grow out of things instead of creating timelines and thresholds. I seem to be doing a lot of work so that they won’t experience grief and I wonder if I’m doing them any favors. After all loss and renewal is one of the most elemental cycles of life.

When I went to pick my daughter up from rock climbing camp yesterday, I brought my climbing shoes with me so we could work on finding a new bouldering route together. We grieved for the great routes we’d lost like that purple one where she was just one hold from the top practicing her lean back technique. Then we climbed, fell and laughed together trying out new ones. It was a great way to experience resilience in the aftermath of loss. I left feeling so strong and inspired, I may actually get rid of those pajama pants myself. But don’t hold me to it…

Collective Confusion

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“Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase. Just take the first step.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

I had a birthday party for my daughter and for the first time in ages was together with parents of kids my age. The kids ran around the park and enjoyed the fun of playing together outside, some kids not having seen each other since her pre-K program was abruptly shut in March of 2020. Talking to the other parents, all masked and vaccinated, I heard over and over again the worry that there are no good choices for our kids as they go into 1st grade this fall.

I think this is the first time I’ve experienced this kind of confusion affecting a group collectively but I certainly have faced it individually. So I sat this morning on the meditation cushion to try to muddle through it. When there are no good choices, where do I turn?

I come back again and again to the awareness that something has held me up and nourished me even as confusion swirls around me. When I think I’m an individual making choices, I feel alone but when I feel I am a part of a Universe that flows like a river, I start to relax and float.

Listening for the quiet in any given circumstance helps me to settle. Imagining a pond, I can only see to the bottom when the water is still. When a rock is thrown or the wind whips the surface, I can no longer see the depths. So I still myself as much as possible to find the transparency again.

When I settled myself and relaxed this morning, I felt the weariness and worry that I attribute to this pandemic although as I write this I realize it may have also just have come with parenting. There is a little bit of self-pity in that worry as if am begging for someone to give me a break. But none of this is personal. When I laugh it away, I feel lighter as if I’ve gotten of one thing that is no use to me.

As I come back to my center, I find that I just need to find the right next step and that the Divine is present to guide me to it. When I see it this way, I stop worrying about how all this will work out and just return to now. I can accept that the water will get muddy again and first grade for my daughter might not go how I think or want but try to settle out of my confusion. There is some comfort knowing that other parents are struggling with the same but at the very least I can return and again to stillness so as not add to the collective momentum of disquiet.

Parenting Review

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“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” – Mark Twain

As my daughter celebrates turning 6 this week, I thought some introspection of what six years as a parent has done to me would be fitting. This very demanding job has filled my heart with wonder at the design and spirit of children who are learning machines that laugh so much while they tackle some impressive skills. Here are some of the marks parenting has left on me:

Being a mother has made me a better daughter because I see more clearly how we ride on the shoulders of the people we come from and we write our stories based on the characters they were.

Helping little people manage their emotions has made me better at emotional Aikido because I’ve learned not to block feelings but instead move their energy past me.

Seeing the unmarred canvass of babies has made me want to be a better human because I want to heal all my wounds and oddities so I don’t pass them along.

Witnessing the miracle of birth and children has strengthened my faith because I’ve seen that so much is outside of my control and I don’t have the time or energy to worry about it.

Creating a home with children has helped me understand what the comfort of a home is beyond cozy blankets and soft pillows. It’s the place where we unpack all our junk and sort it out with those that love us so that we don’t have to carry it with us anymore.

Raising children has made me a better citizen because I can see who is inheriting this country and earth.

Finally, becoming a parent has made me a way worse friend (because I can only listen to half of sentence without being interrupted), a terrible house cleaner and poor editor (because I only have time to write) but I’m hoping those are correctable over time.

The one last thing is something that encapsulates all the ups and downs and particulars. On one level, I wanted to have a family and because I was single and old (for motherhood), went to a fertility clinic, underwent IVF treatment and had a baby. But bigger than that, I had a dream and I began it. Now I see the power of taking a leap – the Universe does in fact make it happen.

Listening, the Next Generation

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“The art of conversation lies in listening.” – Malcom Forbes

I’ve been discovering the joys of carpooling 6-year-olds this week. As we’ve driven the 25 minutes to camp, my daughter and her friend have been sitting in the back telling jokes and commentating on the things we see.

Her friend, a boy she went to both co-op preschool and now elementary school with, isn’t as quick with words as she is. So early in the week, we were playing a game where we were naming things in a category (like name how many places you’ve been to on vacation) and I found myself continually jumping into the conversation to remind him of words and answers he might have been searching for. I was afraid he wouldn’t ever get a fair chance given my daughter’s ability to rapidly pounce into any silence.

This phase of parenthood where I don’t always have to be the entertainer is both restful and fascinating to me. It seems so sudden that it’s upon us even though that’s probably just because we missed a good part of a year and a half being with other kids. As I pondered this, I realized I was struggling to just listen to my daughter figuring out how to listen.

It’s taken me a good part of 50 years to learn how to listen and I’m still working on it. To delay that part of myself that wants to jump in, ask questions, prove I’m listening, prove I’m worthy, or tell my story long enough to let my heart soak in what the other person is saying before responding. And also to find the quiet in myself so that I can hear the small insistent voice of the Divine when it speaks. Now, in the insidious nature of life taking lessons to the next level, I have to learn to just sit back and listen as my kids figure out the same knowing it could take them equally as long.

Yesterday as we drove, my daughter came up with this game where she put a ring in each of her hands and her friend had to guess which one was in which. After she’d done a couple of rounds, I so badly wanted to jump in and tell her to give her friend a turn but I stayed quiet. And a little while later her friend spoke up that he wanted to a chance to do the hiding. I’ve found a new delight in the art of listening: creating space for others to find their voice.

The What If Game

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“The real happiness of life is…to enjoy the present, without any anxious dependence on the future.” – Seneca

I was dropping my daughter off for an outdoor class the other day and she was already a little nervous because her friend that is also signed up for the class wasn’t coming. Then we arrived and she saw that there was a substitute coach that she didn’t know as well and he had an Eastern European accent that made him a little difficult to understand. The perfect storm. Her anxiety was real and she started with the what if questions: What if he asks me to do something and I don’t understand? What if I say something and he can’t hear me because of my mask? For each question I answered, there were at least two more.

When I awoke this morning, my mind was filled with it’s own what if’s. Questions because it’s August and as I mentioned in this post listing the lessons I learned over 20 years of owning my own business, my work is always slower in August. Questions because the school year is about to start for my daughter. Questions because the Delta variant is surging.

All valid questions and the anxiety is real. But as my mind raced through all the troublesome scenarios that could happen, each of them scarier than the previous because they were building, my foot started to itch. As I reached down to scratch it, I realized that it was the only thing that was happening at that moment that I needed to attend to. From there, I just needed to find the next thing to do which was to make a cup of tea and meditate. As I write this, I still have all the questions about what the future will bring but the awareness that in this moment right now, life is actually just fine. In a few minutes I will wake up the kids and keep finding my way through the day by identifying the next thing to do.

When I was dropping my daughter off and the questions kept coming, I said to her, “I’m not going to play the what if game. You are resourceful and capable of handling this class and no matter what, it only lasts one hour.” It worked and she had a great time. I’m finding it works when I give myself that speech too.

Freedom to Climb

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“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.” – Ghandi

Last night we were hanging out in front of our neighbor’s house. My toddler had laid down his strider bike in order to play with their toys and my daughter was climbing trees wearing the tennis shoes I’d just washed for her that day. I was intently talking with my neighbors about how much neighborhood freedom we should afford our older kids when my daughter slipped and fell from the tree she was climbing. She didn’t fall far but her foot got stuck in the fork of the tree so she was hanging upside with her hands on the ground, scared and crying. I picked her up and her foot came loose, then I turned her over so she was cradled in my arms.

Through her tears she breathlessly choked out, “I think we need to…” and the neighbors and I hung on the next words (go to the hospital? get a band-aid?) “…wash my shoes again.”

It was hard not to let out a big snort of laughter and relief. She’s fine.

Put Down the Controls

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“Grace isn’t a little prayer you chant before receiving a meal. It’s a way to live.” – Jacqueline Winspear

The other night I went in to check my toddler in his crib before I went to bed. I slipped in and the movement awakened him. I heard him sit up and roll over so I stood there motionless until I thought he’d settled back down. I knew it wasn’t long enough for him to really fall back asleep but I stepped out anyway, too exhausted after walking 17,849 steps while caring for two children all day to stand there any longer. And he started crying. He was upset because of something I did and I was too exhausted to do anything about it but to silently curse myself.

As I listened to him crying through the wall, I had this moment when I realized that I’ve created no space for the Divine in my parenting. That is to say, I think everything is my responsibility and my fault. When I delivered each of these two miracles, there was no denying that they were these perfect gifts from God but then I’ve taken the job and responsibility of a parent so seriously that I have forgotten I’m not in control.

I’ve come so far in the other areas of my life to have faith and to see how everything comes together for good. My dad dies and then in the same year my daughter is born. A project is delayed because of a reorganization at the client company and then I have time when the request comes in from my favorite non-profit to help with their technology. I’ve started see this beautiful symphony of how it all works out. I’ve relaxed into trusting the Divine hand in the flow of life and so even when I don’t understand, I’ve learned patience to find out the why that will reveal itself sooner or later. I’ve let go of a lot of control and in return seen the give and take of this beautiful mystery of life.

But parenting and the fun, funny and tough moments and the mistakes I make while being in charge, I take so personally. In my enthusiasm to do a great job, I have completely forgotten that enthusiasm means “with God”. I made the choice so intentionally to become a single parent, I forgot that is only in this dimension but if I look higher, I have a partner in this most important and meaningful job.

My dad had this phrase, “You have to care less without being careless.” He was talking about golf. But his years as a pastor infused a wisdom that overlaid most everything he said. In this game of life, I need to relax my grip and care a little less about parenting so that God can help me swing everything.

My son cried after I woke him up for only a minute or two. It was long enough to have this epiphany. Like magic that challenges our assumptions about what we know and see, the Universe used that moment of exhaustion and disappointment to startle me out of my insistence that I am in control.

Enjoying the Summer

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“We love because it’s the only true adventure.” – Nikki Giovanni

Summer is coming to an end. It’s the month of August, my nanny had to leave to continue with her work and education, school starts in three weeks and I’m feeling like I have to enjoy this last bit of summer, especially the long days I get to spend with my kids. But I have to work as well. So I feel this tear between should be enjoying and having to get it done. And if I really think about it, I realize that I feel that pull most of the time. I feel like I am supposed to be treasuring these days with my young kids. When I shared this feeling/fear with my friend, Emily, her reply was, “Having the pressure to enjoy everything in parenthood is not very helpful or realistic in my opinion.”

Right! Pressure to enjoy is definitely an oxymoron. Yet on the other side is the advice that I’ve been given so many times, “Enjoy this time, it goes so fast.” I’m old enough to be able to tick off entire decades of my life – my 20’s, 30’s and 40’s have all gone by and yet when I was a kid doesn’t seem all that long ago. Writing it down here I see that enjoying my kids while they are young can bleed into an effort to be the perfect mom. There is a fine line between mindfulness and perfectionism.

I think of every mountain I’ve climbed and what I remember of those trips. The first time I made it to the top of Mt. Rainier at 14,400 feet, I was so cold, I huddled in the lee of some snow and rocks with the other people that were on my rope who were also freezing. I managed to stand long enough to take a picture of a sea of clouds surrounding us and then we headed down. We’d spent 3 days getting to that one spot, spent 15 minutes on top and then carefully started back down. I remember some particulars about the route we took that day, especially the big scary parts but have forgotten most of my footsteps. But the feeling of trying, and of that step where I finally gained the summit, the comradery with teammates, the love of the outdoors, the presence of God in all of it travels with me wherever I go.

This gives me great comfort in my parenting because I think climbing and parenting share similar goals: to survive, to be present so as to take in as much of God’s creation as possible, and to participate in an adventure that changes you. It convinces me that I neither have to remember nor enjoy every moment, just the journey. I suspect that all my kids will remember from this young age is the feeling of it all. If I walk away from this stage of parenting remembering the feeling of trying, snapshots of the big milestones we reached, a deep relationship with my kids, a shared love of the outdoors, and the presence of God throughout it all, I’ll consider it a very successful adventure indeed.