Tag: parenting

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.

A Safe Place

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“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. ‘Pooh!’ he whispered. ‘Yes, Piglet?’ ‘Nothing’ said Piglet taking Pooh’s paw, ‘I just wanted to be sure of you.’ “ – A. A. Milne from The House at Pooh Corner

The other day I picked my son up from preschool and my daughter from spending an afternoon with my mom and from the instant we were in the car together, the fussing started. My daughter was covering my son’s eyes and he didn’t like that, she didn’t like her attempts at play not being well received and the crabbiness mushroomed from there.

As a mom with two young kids, I’ve thought a lot about being someone’s safe place. My kids fuss, fret and freely object with me in a way that they don’t with anyone else. Often it’s after they have been somewhere else and behaved marvelously according the reports I get, that they fuss the most. It’s as if holding themselves together comes with this letting down of the hair with me. I’m pretty patient but whining gets my goat. I don’t whine (not out loud at least) and I hate (thinking about whether there is a less potent word to be used here but nope, hate is accurate) when my kids whine. Crying, having a fit, objecting strongly – all of that I can handle but whining, especially symphonic whining that moves from one kid to the next and ARGH!!

It’s the idea of being someone’s safe place that both fascinates and saves me. In a world where it’s not possible to be happy all the time but not acceptable to express anything but happiness, safe places are where we get to act out that shadow side. Our safe people are the ones who can help us process the grime that collects during the day and practice shaking it off, sometimes by creating friction and rubbing up against others who help us shine again.

When my daughter was about 3-years-old she became very interested in the Narrator in the Winnie-the-Pooh chronicles. She wanted to know who the voice was that was providing context and integrating the story. She’d want me to pretend I had a microphone and narrate her activities. I’ve come to think of being my kid’s safe place like being that personal narrator – someone who helps them understand the bigger story around the things they are seeing and learning when out and about in the world. Someone who helps them figure out how they are feeling and reacting to it all.

Once I learned from Mark Nepo that the German root of the word friendship means place of high safety it changed how I think of that hallowed ground between friends. Because I believe we do the same thing for our friends that I do for my kids – we help each other work out our stories. We listen to the bumps, bruises, moments of awe and renewal again and again if necessary until we work out our narratives.

When I see it that way, I feel less abused by the acting out. While I’d prefer that I bring out the best in my kids, I can handle when it seems I bring out their worst. I can find grace for the fact that I’m allowing the authenticity of my kids to show and opening the opportunity to talk about our values, respect for others and ways of handling things when we are overloaded with information and activity. And when I sometimes growl, “Stop whining” which isn’t my best either I’m glad I get to work that out in my safe space too.

Living Life

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“Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans.” – John Lennon

This morning as I was enjoying my treasured quiet moments to do yoga, meditate and write, I saw that we still had the croquet wickets set up in the back yard. Before I sat down to write, I thought I’d better go pick them up. I went out the back yard, triggered the house security alarm, woke the kids up and caused the complete opposite of quiet.

So as I was cursing my stupidity and ruing that I had cut my own quiet time short, I picked up my toddler and we went into my daughter’s room and spent a delightful half hour, snuggling, calming down, telling stories, playing peek-a-boo, thumb wrestling. And once I forgave myself enough to accept the change of plans delivered directly from the Universe, I experienced a moment of pure truth that no experience is wasted.

It reminded me never to get too busy writing about life so that I miss living life.

Difficult Compassion

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“It’s not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.” – Mother Teresa

Recently my kids and I have had a couple of encounters with apparently homeless people that along with the proliferation of tents in the parks that came with COVID have my almost 6-year-old daughter asking a lot of questions. In one encounter, a man with a belt still tying off his arm for shooting up was hollering and trying to take off his pants and another man was threatening him with a baseball bat to emphasize that he should keep his pants on. In another, a man was crawling down the busy street near where we live with a look of sheer agony on his face and one arm outstretched.

I often am confused about how to talk with my daughter about these matters. She may only be going in to first grade but she talks like she is a 9-year-old, is very observant and asks a lot of good questions. To top it off, the homeless problem is so apparent and pervasive that I certainly don’t have any great ideas about how we are going to fix it. But we came up with an idea that she could draw something and we could make some care packages for people that we see.

Yesterday she wrote this note without any help from me:

We nowe you are homeless but we care. Sorry you are homles.

Do not smoc. Do not take drugs becus they make you feel bedder for a few minets but wen it goes a way it makes you feel wurs.

My daughter – age 5.9 years

She then started taping on extra pieces of paper so that she could continue. In addition to being fascinated about what content she’s taken in from our many discussions, I noticed how hard it is to stay in empathy before moving to advice or judgment.

The other day my friend, Doug, asked if I could remember the name of a guy we used to work with. He said something like, “You know, the guy who’s wife left him, house burned down and his dog died?” “Oh my goodness,” that’s terrible I thought and still had no idea who he was talking about. But it wasn’t long before the thought crossed my mind that this poor man really must have pissed off God.

So I know first-hand how hard it is to stay in empathy. I start moving to judgment or advice because it feels like having an explanation of why bad things happen makes me feel safer that they won’t happen to me. Understanding that tendency has helped me practice a better kind of compassion, one that tries not to presume to know the journey another person has walked but is willing to help. It haven’t gotten any less confused about how to talk about these huge problems with my kids but I think it has helped me to have more open-ended conversations with them where we can recognize the humanity of others and be curious about how we can help.

In that spirit, my daughter and I settled on just drawing hearts that say “we care” on the back. I don’t think they will solve homelessness but I do hope that they bring a moment of being seen.

Good Grief

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“I am becoming water; I let everything rinse its grief in me and reflect as much light as I can.” – Mark Nepo

We had to say good-bye to our beloved nanny yesterday. She is moving on to the next phase of her education and experience as it should be for 21 year-olds. But we shed a lot of tears and by we, I mean primarily me and the nanny. My toddler wasn’t dialed in to the import of the moment and my 5 year-old seemed to be distracted by the cards and posters we’d made for the nanny until the very last minute when the dam burst and all the tears came spilling out and she clung to us.

As I held my daughter in our tears, I had an instant of insight about grief that this pure grief that wasn’t tainted with any anger or regret allowed me to see. In that instant I saw how beautiful grief can be as a recognition that we all move on every day and there is something freeing about allowing that growth. It felt as if it was an act of letting go of who we all were yesterday so that we can be wholly we are today.

For me it held another aspect of grief. For almost 5 ½ years I’ve had people coming in to my house to help take care of my kids and now that they are returning to in-person school and full-time preschool, I don’t need that. But this beautiful collection of wonderful people that have cared for my kids have been my partners in parenting in so many ways – in observing my kids’ growth, in laughing about their antics, in ooh-ing and aah-ing about what they learn. I feel as if I’m grieving that community that has helped me grow as a parent. But that insight about grief holds for this too – I’m simply letting go of that so that I can lean in to the new communities we are entering.

My nanny is the daughter of my best friend from growing up. One of the bonuses of having kids when you are 50 years-old is that you have a built-in babysitting pool of college-aged kids from your beloved friends. While she isn’t going to nanny for me any longer, she isn’t going far. And that was the other thing about this grief from yesterday that I noticed. It included a recognition that this beautiful relationship that my kids have with this amazing young woman will outlast me. In the way that grieving my father has allowed me to grow into a person that inhabits him more on the inside, this relationship my kids have with my friends’ kids will carry forward without us but will always hold us near.

Let the Magic Begin

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“She quietly expected great things to happen to her, and no doubt that’s one of the reasons why they did.” – Zelda Fitzgerald

My 5-year-old lost her second tooth last night. I had no idea of the celebrity of the tooth fairy until this one came out. Because of course the first one is going to be a big deal but the second one? Every bit as big of a deal.

She sat down right away to write the tooth fairy a note, front pictured above. Here’s the translation:

To the Tooth Fairy: How do you make sure that kids brush their teeth? How many dollars are you going to give me? You are the best!  Can you give me 2 toys and money too? 20 dollars please. One toy is for my brother.

I found myself trying to talk her down from the expectations of the note. Our neighbor got $20 for a tooth, I assume because she didn’t lose her first one until she was 7 ½ years-old or at least that’s the explanation I give to that extraordinary sum. The Delta Dental website says the average for our area is $5.46 which I still think is high. And the toys – my daughter heard a rumor from another kid that some kid somewhere asked for toys from the tooth fairy…and got them!

In the midst of trying to talk her into realistic expectations, I decided to stop. Who says we are supposed to be realistic? And while her asking for gifts from the tooth fairy kinda put me off, I think it’s a little bit of a bias in me that girls aren’t supposed to ask for what they want.

For me this speaks to the heart of magic, praying and belief. Is it supposed to be limited by what we think is achievable? Or do we go all out and all in and ask away like Agnes Sanford said in the post I wrote about writing that has inspired me? Is there a heart of a 5-year-old in me that believes, really believes that magic can happen if I completely commit to setting my dreams BIG?

Yes, there is. So the Tooth Fairy is keeping that note. And decided to give $5 for the tooth and $5 so she can buy a toy for her brother. Let the magic begin….

Keeping it Light

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“The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter.” – Mark Twain

As I was walking through the kitchen during a break from work yesterday, I overheard this conversation between my nanny and my 5-year-old:

Nanny: “Would you like some carrots with your lunch?”

Kid: “Yuck”

Nanny: “I think you said that wrong. It’s pronounced ‘Yum’ as in short for scr-yum-deli-i-tious.”

All: <giggling>

She is a master of making my kids laugh – and getting them to do things. It’s such an effective tool but one I found hard to deploy at times. Like the other day when my 5-year-old daughter was screaming like crazy because she’d put popcorn up her nose. I managed to get her calm enough so that she could lie down on the floor, plug the other nostril and I blew into her mouth. It must have looked so fun because my toddler lay down next to her to wait his turn. I thought we were dealing with a kernel, turns out that it was a small popped piece of corn and whether it came out the nostril or worked its way into the throat, it’s still unclear but either way it was fine.

I was telling this story to my friend Katie later and we were crying we were laughing so hard. How long has it been since we were of the age that putting things up our nose seemed like a good idea? And how the scene must have looked – the kids lined up on the floor plugging their nostrils!

I think it takes practice to deploy humor in the moment. It’s one of the reason that I like the Parenting is Funny blog which is delightful – and inspirational! I also read a tip in a magazine the other day that suggested to smile when giving directions because it changes how you say things. Like you can’t say, “Oh good grief, I have asked you a 100 times to put your shoes away” with a smile on your face so it’s apt to come out more like “Oh, is the middle of the kitchen where we are keeping our shoes now? Let me add mine to the pile!”

I left the kitchen before I found out whether or not my daughter ate the carrots with her lunch. I wasn’t worried either way because I knew that the nanny was winning this war of sound bites!

Kiss the Pain Goodbye

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“Have a heart that never hardens, a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.” – Charles Dickens

We’ve had a seemingly unending string of clear, sunny days here in Seattle so I trundled my kids off to the park yesterday morning. My toddler was on his strider bike, my 1st grader on her bike and I was pushing the stroller in case of any breakdowns, mechanical or otherwise. Because my son is new at the strider bike it took us so long to make it to the park four blocks away that the first thing we did when we arrived is to have snacks. We found a perfectly shady bench on this perfectly sunny morning and I started to unzip the cooler bag. My daughter, wanting to be the first to crack open the bread sticks with cheese dip, pushed off to run around the bikes, slipped and fell, crying out as she hit the ground.

I wasn’t very sympathetic. The thoughts that crossed my mind were that she was being careless and greedy to have the first go at the snacks and this might have been the fourth fall already on a Monday morning, fortunately none of them serious enough to even warrant a mark. But I knew that adding hurt feelings to a hurt knee wasn’t going to help so I didn’t say anything and bundled her up and gave it a kiss.

That’s when the grace of the moment dropped in. I had a split second of understanding that the cry and the wanting to be first was not really from the fall but from holding it together as her brother celebrated his second birthday and got all the presents. And that my reaction was from being tired from hosting the second birthday party the night before so that my impatience and judgment were the side effects of pretending that I wasn’t.

I have no idea why humans are such complicated creatures so that what seems to be happening rarely is. But I suspect it is so that we are lured to look deeper. It brings to mind the Buddhist tonglen meditation where you breathe in the pain of those around you and breathe out relief. I find that even when I don’t yet know the true cry of the hurt, it still works. I’m starting to think that maybe that’s why mamas have kissed skinned knees for generations upon generations – so they have a moment to breathe out relief and keep their mouths shut. I found that it works because things are as rarely as perfectly sunny as they seem.