To Tell the Truth

The only way to pass the "parenting test" is with heaps of humility, honesty,and humor.  

That's what I said when I first started this blog. This past month though, I haven't followed that rule very well. In all kinds of big and small ways, good news and sad, I've screened my true thoughts. For example, I had some really great news this month but felt a little weird every time I would share it, especially if I was talking to another parent.. The news was that my son made it to the next round of an intense scholarship interviewing process - yay! He went through a  gamut of interactive games, leadership tests, improv exercises and impromptu essay writing with about 100 other high school seniors. After the group interview was all done, they cut half of the applicants. Instead of being cut, my son got the email that told him he was invited for a one-on-one interview. The hoped for prize when all is said and done, is a four year scholarship for college. It's nerve wracking and exciting and I'm so incredibly proud and shocked at the ways he's putting himself out there in the world and it's all just swirling in my own little head. How do we celebrate and brag without making someone else feel like crap?

And there's plenty enough of those feeling like crap moments.  Worrying about why our kids are anxious, prone to wild temper tantrums, chronically constipated, or emotionally distant, fills the secret places of our thoughts. One layer below our concerns for our kids is the darker place where we assume that we've messed them up somehow. We look at the latest Facebook updates, where only good news seems to be shared, and wonder if we would have any friends at all if they knew our true thoughts and colossal mistakes. There are layers of parenting silence. We start by talking about our perfect, precious babies instead of the crazy anatomical reorienting that our body is going through after childbirth. The silence continues and hovers over the changes in our relationships.  We stay silent when things are bad, keeping the self-doubt, shame, and feelings of failure under wraps. Telling the hard truth though, is the key to releasing all that crap. If you want to test this and have a real catharsis or just a good-pee-in-your-pants laugh, you can unload your truth at Scary Mommy, a blog that also serves as a confessional for the real deal stuff of our lives.

Bragging is just fine. So is crying and screaming and fretting and laughing. Humility, humor, honesty. We can't possibly know it all. We can't take ourselves too seriously. We only get support for the things that people know about. Go to the "scary mommy confessional" and let it out.

Love Bomb! - Part 2

On my oldest son's 16th birthday we presented him with a bundle of letters from friends and family. The letters had been written in the weeks after he was born and expressed the hopes and dreams and pure joy that his life set into motion.  Reading the Love Bombs! encouraged my son to present me with a similar gift on my birthday. My birthday present was a green sparkly box filled with little slips of paper. On each slip he had written some of the things that he thought were proof of my awesomeness.  He told me that it was a box of reminders for those days when I was doubting myself.  I'm not writing this to brag, in fact the opposite is true.  My birthday was in May and it took me three months later to open the box.  Trust me, it wasn't a lack of self doubt or negative self talk, that kept me from seeking out the affirmations.

As I read his notes I was struck by the disconnect. The thoughts I have about myself and the ones that he felt compelled to celebrate were at odds. This I think is a universal truth. Whether it's good or bad, our perception of ourselves is almost always different, in part at least, than what our friends, family, coworkers, and neighbors think of us.  Take some of the reactions I had to my love bomb slips:

You inspired both of your sons to start committed gym schedules. Why did I sleep in today and miss the gym?

You have the talent of being able to interact peacefully and productively with difficult people. Why can't I have better relationships with_____?

You is kind, you is smart, and you is important.  This makes me smile because I love the reference and then a little twinge because I know that I need this reminder every day.

People have religious experiences when eating your Christmas cookies. Ok, some perceptions are just basic facts that can't be debated.

You make a commitment to stay in close contact with your friends, whether it be a breakfast date or on the phone. When was the last time that I called...?

You started a blog which is cool. I can't believe how long it's been since I wrote anything.

You've got some mad ping pong skills. True, so true.

Yellow Sticky Love Note #4 (Photo credit: madlyinlovewithlife)

So why did I wait three months to open this amazing box of affirmations? Why did I actively avoid positive words of encouragement when I was feeling down? Once I opened the box, why couldn't I just read the notes and absorb the sentiments without any counter commentary? Why do we cling to the things that are still in progress, the flaws, the small imperfections? The fact that we are imperfect is not the big news. Imperfect people creating beauty, acting with kindness, supporting others, teaching, and working in spite of their deficits, that's what's amazing. Drop a couple of love bombs today.  Drop one on yourself too and then be quiet.

Dollar Store Wealth

christmas 2007 (Photo credit: paparutzi)

As I watched the Black Friday mall reports roll in, my mind briefly obsessed about the stupidity and commercialism of the Christmas season (that now apparently starts before Halloween).  I couldn't stay upset for too long though because I love the month of December.  I love cold weather more than hot.  I love baking more than cooking. I love making cards and snail mail.  All of these things make for a month of fun preparation.  One of my favorite traditions is that my family always designs a Christmas card.  My husband and I did this when we first lived together and we have struggled to come to creative consensus each season, for 22 years since.  We also make a lot of our gifts - first as a necessity and now I think, just because we enjoy it.

On our way back from my sister's home for Thanksgiving (over the river and through the woods) we started brainstorming about our card design this year and potential gift ideas.  The whole conversation transported me in time to my teenagers as toddlers. I flashed on the homemade Christmas gifts that they made for aunts and uncles, grandparents and friends - magnets, ornaments, framed art work, and a really fabulous one-of-a-kind handpainted sweatshirt.  Even better were my memories of them taking their allowances and shopping at the Dollar Store.  It was the perfect place for a kindergartner whose life savings came in under $20. $9 = 9 people to find a gift.  I would always foot the taxes, it was too hard to explain to 4 and 6 year olds.

There was inevitably a time in the shopping trip when they would ask me to stay in one specific corner of the store while they shopped for me.  I never second guessed their choices and frequently wished that I was as talented at understanding the interests and quirks of my loved ones when it came to my gifts.  Here is what I noticed early on and what continues to be true today.  No one expected to get a gift from their 4 year old relative but the real gift, pardon the obvious truism, was in the giving.  Taking it one step further, giving meant that they had extra -  bounty - surplus.  That is a powerful feeling for a child.  In the simple act of picking out the perfect coffee mug they were self-directed and in control, not needy or begging from a endless pool of want. Now as teenagers, they have their Christmas wishlist and it includes their own wants and the ways that they want to surprise and splurge on their loved ones. No matter our age, giving always makes us feel good about ourselves.  Let kids feel that wealthy.

Mid-Life Crisis Handles

"I can't seem to get a handle on my mid-life crisis."

These were the words of my longest and dearest friend, trying to sum up a string of difficult days and challenges.  In truth, the two of us have been sharing our various travails for a year or more.  Work struggles, relationships, body changes, health issues, parenting teenagers, and aging family members are the frequent topics of our conversations.  At some point my friend wisely reminded me that we were women of a certain age. She intimated that our malaise had a little bit to do with our denial that we were in our mid forties. We needed to talk with some older women and be reminded how very normal we were. Our struggles stemmed from working so hard to keep our feelings, bodies, and activity resembling our 30 year old selves.

Just Between Friends (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Our brilliant, nursery rhyme singing toddlers are now know-it-all, social media dependent teens. Hugs and snuggles are traded out for new clothes and rides to other people's homes. Enduring the advice and judgement of older family members, we now assist with retirement home decisions and funeral arrangements. Birth control choices and pap smears are old hat. The new ailments du jour seem to never have definitive prognosis but rather involve changing our normal routines and diet to accommodate our aging bodies and then getting used to the new set of limitations.  Every order of fries, drunken party, and dropped yoga class seems to all have converged on us over night.  There is the quiet lingering questions, for me at least, "Will I have enough money when I retire? for the kid's college? What should I be doing with my life? Am I in the midst of doing it already?  Will I ever have a grown up bed with headboard?"

"I can't seem to get a handle on my mid-life crisis."

It sounds depressing when I read it on the screen but in the moment I burst out laughing. I don't have a handle on all of "it".  But my friend has a handle on me and hopefully I have a bit of a handle on her. There are so many things out of my control and so many places in my life where I lose perspective. Be real with enough people and if you're lucky they can keep hold of you. 

Let Them Carry the Milk

English: Royal Mail rubber band, discarded in Alnmouth, Northumberland. (c) Tagishsimon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When our kids were two or three the temper tantrums came because they wanted to do things for themselves.  As parents, we wanted to do it for them because it was quicker, neater, better. How long should we be expected to wait for one little person to put on a pair of socks?!  Of course we needed to help.  There are more things to do in a day than dress one toddler, for Pete's sake!

Of course I wanted to scoop my son up and carry him like a baby when he was collecting ALL of the discarded rubber bands from the mailman's deliveries.  It was his latest collection but I just wanted to get some milk at the store.  Thirty minutes later we arrived at the store, one block away.  On the way home I wised up.  I gave him the gallon of milk to carry home (one block).  His hands were full, his muscles straining, he was too busy to collect rubber bands, or talk to neighborhood dogs.  He was too focused on his heavy load to walk the balance beams/sidewalk ledges along our neighbor's homes.  He didn't complain or feel punished.  He felt big.  Important.  Needed.

The danger with doing things for our wee ones when we want to go faster or be neater, is that we get stuck in that pattern of interaction, way past the time that it makes any sense.  I have seen 13 year olds have their food cut for them, their juice poured in the glass for them, their hair brushed, and clothes picked out.  This was not because of some household butler service.  It was because of a deep fear of spills and mishaps.  It was because of the involved adults' need for control or perhaps their own discomfort of seeing their "baby" growing up and not needing them anymore.

English: Gallon milk jugs – This photo is dedicated to a great wikipedian and an innovator in milk juggery. You know who you are. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have heard of college students who have no idea how to live within a budget because every bill is paid for by mom and/or dad.  A credit card for one set of expenses (bill going to the parents), a mortgage or rent check sent every month on their behalf, family cell phone plan with unlimited use, and of course a vehicle that comes mysteriously without any car or insurance payments. If you are doing these types of things, STOP.   Treating our young adults like children will leave them feeling hollow and unproductive.  If our high school or college or even adult children are gaming into the wee hours of the morning but unable to focus their abilities on keeping a paying job, it's time we hand them the metaphorical gallon of milk. 

Big changes can't happen overnight.  Some sort of change can happen immediately though. Find some thing to hand back over, to let go of, to make the "child" figure out.  Stop giving spending money.  Announce that the car will need to be retired and replaced by a fleet of public transit buses and trains. Give a time frame when bills and responsibilities are going to be handed back over for them to control.  Help develop a budget. There will be frustration and confusion at first.  It may be hard to watch the choices that get made initially.  Messing up or failing is not a crime. Let them try so that they can test their own abilities.  Let them fail so that they can learn how strong they truly are.

"Children Learn What They Live"

When I was a kid my parents had this wood plaque with a poem on parenting that was a fixture in our home.  At the time, I knew that it held a lot of wisdom and was grateful that my parents, for all of their faults, found it important to hang such a poem in their home.  There are many versions, but this is the one that I saw growing up:

Children Learn What They Live (1969)
BY DOROTHY LAW NOLTE

Image via Wikipedia

If a child lives with criticism,
He learns to condemn.
If a child lives with hostility,
He learns to fight.
If a child lives with ridicule,
He learns to be shy.
If a child lives with shame,
He learns to feel guilty.
If a child lives with tolerance,
He learns to be patient.
If a child lives with encouragement,
He learns confidence.
If a child lives with praise,
He learns to appreciate.
If a child lives with fairness,
He learns justice.
If a child lives with security,
He learns to have faith.
If a child lives with approval,
He learns to like himself.
If a child lives with acceptance and friendship,
He learns to find love in the world.

I thought about this poem a lot this past weekend.  I traveled to be with family and honor and remember my husband's uncle who died.  It was a great time of stories and reunion, mixed in with profound sadness.  Lots of people were talking about their childhood memories and the ways that their experiences shaped and scarred them.  It was a time to reconnect and to be reminded of the ties that bind. I'm back home now, in my own routine, and am ruminating on a series of interactions with one specific relative. 

No matter what topic was raised, no matter the time of day, no matter the age of the person that they spoke to, negative, critical, and disagreeable commentary spewed from their tongue.  My reaction was typical annoyance and frustration, replaced soon by anger and now as some distance is provided, pity.  All I can think of now, is the level of criticism that someone must have endured to turn them so negative.  This morning I rise and send up a prayer of thanksgiving for my flawed and loving parents.  I dig deep and send up a prayer for the broken and wounded bullies too.

Secure Your Air Mask First

MD-88 (Photo credit: grahamwetzler)

I'm about to travel on an airplane later this week and it couldn't come at a better time.  I don't need the trip to escape from anything or to have a break.  I need the flight attendant instructions, specifically, the clear expectation that "...in the event of a disruption in cabin pressure, secure your air mask first and then assist the children in your care."

I need that metaphorical image because I've had one of those weeks where my fully grown, adult person has internally morphed into myself at age 14.  We all have those terrible days where we become filled with doubt or flirt with an ugly self-hating loop.  The thing that I have going for me (and that I hope you have), that I didn't have as my younger self, is the faith that these feelings will pass.  In order for these type of days to pass I have to focus on the basics.  It's the time for me to get good sleep instead of doing another load of laundry.  It's the time for me to read a book instead of worrying about the list of errands.  It may be the time to go see a friend instead of planning something fun for the family.

The flight attendant instructions are key guidelines for every parent, every son or daughter, or every good friend - we have to take care of ourselves first, just a little, before we can tend to others.  Secure your air mask first. 

ISAT Testing

Standardized Test (Photo credit: biologycorner)

ISAT testing takes place this week for my 7th grader.  For the public school kids in Chicago, this is a test that can steer their future in scary ways.  The standardized scores will be one of the factors that are used to determine who can even apply to be in the "good" public high schools in 9th grade.  My son is smart and is lucky to already be in a junior high that feeds into a good high school.  The intense pressure on his ISAT isn't as big an issue.

When I was a kid, taking the Iowa Basics, I used to see the tests as an interesting  bit of information, the score that told me how I matched up to all the other kids in the country.  I was fortunate enough that my scores were always a bit higher than the averages.  What would I have learned from the tests if I had scored lower than average?  If I look back on those scores and my adult success, I think there are an awful lot of things that never showed up in my IOWA score.  That in fact, have never been quantified.

I wish we could score our children on how emotionally expressive they are or how they show concern for other people.  Maybe we could come up with some questions on how to use your body to accomplish specific tasks or how to create an object that evokes a specific feeling.  Do you think there will be day when these tests, that determine which doors will open and which will close, will measure perseverance, humor, common sense, or kindness?  My son will take some tests this week.  They won't evaluate ANY of the things that make him so amazing.  His success on these tests and in school in general is important, because of the power that the tests have been given.  They are important because they can limit his opportunities and his own idea of himself.

Future employers, partners, friends, and neighbors want people who are engaging, likable, "play nice in the sandbox", are dependable, and honest.  School can test all they want but will never be able to evaluate what makes a person someone that you actually want to be with. 

Asking the "village" - Saving for therapy or bail

Lucy and her "five-cents-please" psychiatric help booth as depicted at Universal Studios in Osaka, Japan. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There was a time when I only half jokingly looked at my two boys and then back at myself and determined that instead of saving for college, we should instead save for future therapy bills and bail money.  I can say that in this public forum, because now I look at my two sons and am truly amazed by both of them.  They know that I am in awe of their present day selves and that I must have been forced back then, at gunpoint, to say such things.  In fact, I was just an awfully sleep deprived, mildly depressed, mom of  a toddler and preschooler who couldn't seem to believe that the whole thing (meaning their very lives) was going to turn out all that well with me at the helm.

As suspected, when I raised the question about what other people felt was on their parenting test, the fear of "ruining" our kids and specifically, "parental screw-up induced therapy" (I'm coining that), came up.  After thinking about all the funny or self-deprecating things I could say on this topic, I changed my mind.  What I decided is this, if you are a person who is taking time to read blogs and then spend even 2 seconds reflecting on ideas from other parents, as they relate to your parenting, you should shake off your fears.  You are awesome!  We all survived our own childhoods.  I'm pretty sure my parents did a quick skim of Dr. Spock and left it at that for the entirety of all five of our childhoods.  Some of us were lucky and had parents who were super great and guess what?  Some of those lucky people still go to therapy (not that it's a bad thing, some of my favorite people go to therapy). 

The interesting thing for me about my therapy or bail quandary was that I was thinking of the choice because of how different my boys were at the time.  I knew I wasn't going to screw them up in the same way because they are not the same.  I had one son who couldn't get enough hugs, hand holds, kisses, and lap sits even though I was completely touched out from the demands of a little one and breastfeeding.  There were days when I felt like I was actually rejecting him.  The other boy didn't need the touch as much as he needed structure and physical activity.  Again, a problem for me on those days (too many it seemed), when I just wanted a very long nap or at least another viewing of Elmopalooza while I stretched out horizontal on the couch.

Cut to the present day and I'm proud to proclaim that I have beautiful, talented, caring, truly amazing, and still very different boys.  I honestly don't know how it worked out.  Kids are pretty resilient though and deep down they can tell if we love them or not.  It turns out that we can make a ton of mistakes and be normal, imperfect people.  What does seem to work really, really, really well is when we figure out how to love them more than we love being right, or more than we love approval from our family or neighbors, or more than our own self-image.  We probably should just save for our own therapy.  All of our anxiety about our choices and parenting style boil down to us trying to finish our own stuff.   Drop the anxiety.  Embrace your imperfection.  Love.  That's what your kids want from you, that and another hug, and a bike ride, and a new toy, and a.....

Giving Up Shame, Not Guilt

Today is Ash Wednesday and as a former Catholic, it holds a lot of memories for me.  Many of my ideas about the Lenten season that leads up to Easter are expressed pretty well in this article on what people give up for Lent.  What I'm really thinking about though, is the guilt that often comes with religious practice.  If you are Christian, you know the question, "What are you giving up for Lent?"  There's really no reason to ask the question unless you want to evaluate somebody else's spiritual life.  Sometimes the interactions in religious settings leave people saying that they feel guilt or shame.

Now, I'm speaking from my own little head and heart here.  I'm not checking the dictionary or theological texts.  To me, guilt is good.  Guilt is the real outcome that results when someone is in relationship with another or committed to a set of values and beliefs and falls short of their own intentions.  For example, if I say something carelessly, or don't take time to really listen, or eat a ton of Girl Scout cookies (just a random example), or don't stop for a pedestrian in the crosswalk, I feel some guilt.  My intentions for myself are that I care for the people that are in my life, I care for myself and my health, and I care about being a good citizen.  My guilt is the little twinge that helps me remember to do better next time.

The problem is that instead of allowing ourselves to have healthy guilt we way too often dip into shame.  Again, from my own little head and heart, shame serves no purpose except to put people down and limit them.  Guilt says, "Why did you do that?  That's not who you are.  Make it right."  Shame says, "It sucks to be you.  Too bad you have to be so unacceptable, unlovable, (fill in the ick here)."  Unfortunately, I think we've all experienced shame at some point and it really leaves a mark.  The trap is that we sometimes avoid making any critical comments to ourselves or our loved ones, including children, because we don't want to leave that scar.  Not holding ourselves accountable or our children accountable, to our values is no good.

The reality is that being honest about mistakes, falling short and then owning it is good.  Having expectations for ourselves and our kids means that we believe that there is inherent goodness in them/us. It means that we want healthy relationships and strong connections and we want to learn how to "make it right" when it gets broken.  If you want to have a spiritual practice this Lent, think about your core values (related to God, your family, the Earth, whatever) and the thing(s) you can do to bring yourself back to who you really are.  That's some good guilt.

Little Men

I thought of this picture soon after I decided to start the blog. It feels like a good way to begin.... Thirteen years ago, we had moved into an old house and had a massive list of projects, very little money, AND a two year old. Our answer to most of the flaws in our new, "home sweet home", was paint. The actual needs of our garage included an electronic opener, new door, replaced trim, service door, and roof. We managed to do most of those things over time (still waiting on the new roof) but slapped on a coat of whitewash immediately.

My memories of the garage painting are helpful lessons still:

1. Everybody in a family can help and pitch in.
2. Even the smallest kids like to feel big and important.
3. Patience and zen-like calm are transformational.
4. Things don't have to be perfect to be pretty great, and-
5. You can't build skills and self-esteem and confidence without a little mess.

Our son got to think of himself as a little man, taking on a big job for the family. The other side of the story of course is that it probably took longer to wash all the latex paint out of his hair than he actually spent painting. The garage painting project may have only taken off when naptime kicked in, but for our son, dad helped him paint the garage.