I started working out again last week. Who knows how long this will last, as I'm pretty bad about sticking to things like this, but I'm doing what I can. I determined that I prefer walking (even occasionally running--gasp!) on the indoor track, rather than being stationary on an elliptical machine or bike.
The indoor track at my preferred Y location is 18 laps to a mile. As I started my walk today, I tried to think of a way to both focus my thoughts as I walked and keep track of what lap I'm on. What came to mind was a wonderful exercise in reflection and gratitude. I let the number of the lap be a prompt for things in my life to be thankful or prayerful for as I walked.
ONE holy God, Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer of the world.
TWO darling daughters, and all the Mommy-Daughter fun we have. I wanted girls so badly, and though I now have a beautiful son to love as well, I marvel at the two awesome girls I get to mother.
THREE precious children: fireball Kate, cheerful Claire, and sweet baby Jonah. I love them so!
FOUR years in Brentwood, living in our lovely home, close to things we enjoy, and just three miles from Matt's parents.
FIVE members of our family. What fun we have and how I love our little family!
SIX seats at the table. Both our kitchen table and dining room table each have six chairs around them. With four of us currently using chairs, and Jonah who will eventually sit in one, that means we always have room for at least one more: a guest, a foster child, another child, etc.
SEVEN days in a week, time to be productive and time to rest. (Just picturing a page in my planner makes me smile!)
EIGHT weeks of Jonah! The joyful rest of my days getting to know my sweet boy, and thankfulness for his health and mine, especially in light of so many I know who've had traumatic births and postpartum experiences.
NINE years of marriage. Matt is such a loving husband and great father. It's not always easy, but as Andrew Peterson says, "that's what the promise is for."
TEN years in publishing. I love my work and have a great career going!
ELEVEN . . . praying for some eleven year old out there going through a tough time. I couldn't think of anything personal for this number, but middle school is rough . . .
TWELVE years in Nashville (well, the Nashville area). I came for Vanderbilt Divinity School and stayed because of Matt. Four years in Midtown, four in Clarksville, and now four in Brentwood. I love my hometown of Louisville, but being a Tennessean isn't so bad either!
THIRTEEN years old when I switched to private school. Seventh grade was wretched for me, and for eighth through twelfth grade, I thrived in a much smaller educational environment where I could participate in a lot of activities and hold several leadership roles.
FOURTEEN years of studying religion. Choosing the religion major at Furman University enhanced my faith and changed my thinking, my politics, my personal and professional life, and maybe in some small way, the world, as it's given me a more global and missional perspective.
FIFTEEN minutes of walking (by the second mile, that is, as I counted back down from 18. I couldn't think of anything for fifteen the first time!) Thankful for my body, my health, the ability to walk, and a nice facility with childcare in which to work out!
SIXTEEN years since high school. Adulthood has been pretty good so far.
SEVENTEEN days left in the year. Seventeen days to relax, spend time with family, and celebrate the birth of Christ. And 21 days left in my maternity leave--eek!
EIGHTEEN years at home. Thankful for my happy childhood and wonderful parents. Day trips and vacations, history lessons, traditions, and family dinners.
18 laps--well, 36, actually. Two miles thinking on such things made me feel grateful, proud, and happy with my life. Sure beats a half hour pondering my jiggly thighs or envying the fit aerobics instructor leading a class in the gym below. And it made my cardio time fly by! I moved on to the weight room with a peace I carried on to pick up my sleeping son from the nursery and out into the surprising warmth of a December day.
Showing posts with label mommyhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mommyhood. Show all posts
Monday, December 14, 2015
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
The Perfectionist Child
I was busy doing laundry, cleaning up the latest mess (or a much older one), and trying to tune out the screams of a deaf baby who, incidentally, wins the prize for the world's most offensive-to-the-ears cry. Kate wanted a snack. A rice cake with peanut butter. With my free hand, I got the peanut butter jar and bag of rice cakes out of the pantry and set them on the counter in front of her. I handed her a table knife and said, with as much confidence-boosting cheerfulness as I could muster, "Here you go! You can make it yourself!"
"I can't!" she wailed!
"Sure you can," I encouraged, as I went on into the laundry room to start another load.
I reemerged to see her smearing the peanut butter quite satisfactorily on the rice cake, all the while crying over and over, "I can't!"
"Sweetie, you're doing it. Look, you're doing it."
"No, I can't!" she cried, throwing the snack and knife down on the counter and running to bury herself in the couch cushions.
I let her be for a minute, while I fixed myself a rice cake and sat down at the kitchen table, just over a short wall from where Kate sat, barely visible behind the pile of cushions.
"It doesn't have to be perfect, Sweetie."
"Yes it does!"
"My peanut butter isn't perfectly smooth either, but it still tastes good."
"No! Everything you do is perfect, and everything I do is dumb!"
Whoa. How did this happen? I'd seen her get frustrated before, when struggling to hit a badminton birdie or having trouble writing a certain letter or number she has trouble with. I sensed that this was a byproduct of being a very smart, capable child, so easily taking to some things that she doesn't even want to try something she's not immediately good at. She's an emotional kid, struck with melancholy over things we don't even notice, and often can't explain. We've always tried to praise effort, not ability (though, as many proud parents know, that is a tough thing to do sometimes) and let her know we love her unconditionally, but this incident was like a lightning bolt to me as a mom.
A few months later, as I read a book I'd been wanting to check out for a while, it all started to make more sense. The book was The Birth Order Book, by psychologist Kevin Leman. I enjoyed seeing how I was a classic only child (with firstborn characteristics to the extreme), and it was fun seeing how various family members fit their birth order categories (fluid as they are, affected by things like spacing of kids, parenting style, gender of siblings, etc.) but the big payoff was the light this book shed on my family's maternal chain of functional firstborns—my mom (younger than her brother by ten years), me (only child), and Kate (actual firstborn).
Leman's big emphasis for firstborns and onlies is their perfectionism. Apparently, this is because, while younger siblings have the example of older siblings to follow, firstborns have only their parents and other adults to look up to. So, rather than comparing their three-year-old abilities to six-year-old abilities, for example, they are comparing three-year-old or five-year-old or seven-year-old abilities to those of a twenty- or thirty-something. By comparison, they feel uncoordinated, less intelligent, less capable, and altogether imperfect. The rice cake incident was textbook.
"But my firstborn is so messy! You should see her room!" My mom would say this about me, and I could certainly say it about Kate. Leman makes clear that a child's (or adult's) perfectionism does not always manifest itself in neatness or cleanliness. The "discouraged perfectionist," I think he called it, is what results when the perfection we seek is not attainable (and for whom is it really attainable?).
I've put my priorities in order enough to say that family fun, a career, and time for scrapbooking and party-planning are much more important than housekeeping, but if I feel stressed out in the slightest, the first thing to set me off is the sea of stuff all over the floor! I can't find my keys and suddenly the dishtowel on the floor is symbolic of everything I can't control! I remember having terrible anxiety as a young teenager over not knowing how to pay taxes, buy a car, take out a mortgage, things that my parents obviously knew how to do with no trouble. I can identify with this "discouraged perfectionism," and I can see it in my own mom (who Dad and I used to say was "practically perfect in every way!") and I can see it in Kate. Difficulty with a task makes Kate feel like a total failure, and the slightest correction is a grievous offense.
So what's a parent to do? The key, it seems, is to let things go. For parents with their own perfectionist tendencies to deal with, this can be difficult. When a child dresses himself in red plaid with purple polka dots, the instinct (perhaps even for non-perfectionist parents) is to tell the child how mismatched he is and go redress him. Or maybe to even say "Awesome!" and then switch the little girl's hairbow to one that matches when she's not paying attention (not that I've ever done that). But affirming what the child can do without pointing out what he can't do will give him the confidence to try things he may not be perfect at right away.
And, as Leman instructs, "flaunt your imperfections." Show the child that, even as an adult, you don't do everything perfectly, and that that's okay. Who doesn't occasionally use a tablespoon of something when the recipe calls for just a teaspoon? Who doesn't accidentally stumble over the words in her kids' bedtime story (especially when she's exhausted and just wants to go to bed herself!)? Rather than just moving on, call attention to what you've done. Show them mistakes are just part of life, and nothing to be ashamed of.
So, as Kate prepares to head off to kindergarten next week, with a whole new set of expectations and assignments, here's what I'm doing to help empower my perfectionist child:
1. Not doing (or re-doing) everything myself. When she does her own hair in a ponytail, with visible tangles and bumps, I will not insist on pulling it out and doing it myself. This is hard for me, because I suffer from the constant assumption that people are judging me. (I kid you not.) So, if my child goes off to school looking messy, I fear that her teacher will think I'm a terrible mother. I have to get over that. Kate knows I will do her hair if she asks, but if she doesn't, I will let it be.
2. Setting her up for success. She'll be wearing uniform clothes to school, so I've put all the school-approved clothes in one drawer. She can dress herself in the morning without any input from me. I got her an alarm clock and showed her how to turn the alarm on and off. I wrote (and illustrated, for easy understanding) a list of the things she needs to do to get ready in the morning and for bed. She's already started following it, and feels proud to take care of herself without prodding from Mommy to do each little thing.
3. Affirming questions and "not knowing." As we prepare for kindergarten, Kate is concerned about not doing her schoolwork perfectly. Among the typical "what-ifs" about finding her classroom and getting lost in the school building, I'm seeing an emphasis on academic concerns already. "What if I don't understand the worksheet and everybody else does?" (Nevermind that in pre-K, she's been the worksheet queen. Nevermind, or because of?) Seeing her fear of embarrassment over asking questions, I vow to affirm her in asking questions and admitting what she doesn't know. I read that Elie Wiesel's mother always asked him after school, "What questions did you ask today?" I'll have to try that. And let her know about my own questions and things I don't understand or need help with.
4. Letting her struggle. Kate was early in learning her letters, loves to write down words she knows (and words she doesn't know, transcribing pages of a book just for fun), and loves to identify words that she knows if she spots them on a sign. But as she gets closer to actual reading, I notice her anxiety about trying to read things she doesn't already know pretty well. She'll decline to read at bedtime, or to attempt the little poems and things in her Highlights "High Five" magazine. When she's reading, I need to wait as long as she needs, wait until she asks me, before jumping in with the correct word. When she's doing her homework, I need to offer only the help she asks for, refusing to do it for her or handhold her on every task.
In all these things, I will affirm her efforts and her enthusiasm. And I will affirm her kindness and compassion even more than I affirm her homework and hairdressing efforts. It's tough to parent a driven, strong-willed, perfectionist firstborn, but by being aware of my own perfectionism, I can empower her to do (and be happy with) her best.
"I can't!" she wailed!
"Sure you can," I encouraged, as I went on into the laundry room to start another load.
I reemerged to see her smearing the peanut butter quite satisfactorily on the rice cake, all the while crying over and over, "I can't!"
"Sweetie, you're doing it. Look, you're doing it."
"No, I can't!" she cried, throwing the snack and knife down on the counter and running to bury herself in the couch cushions.
I let her be for a minute, while I fixed myself a rice cake and sat down at the kitchen table, just over a short wall from where Kate sat, barely visible behind the pile of cushions.
"It doesn't have to be perfect, Sweetie."
"Yes it does!"
"My peanut butter isn't perfectly smooth either, but it still tastes good."
"No! Everything you do is perfect, and everything I do is dumb!"
Whoa. How did this happen? I'd seen her get frustrated before, when struggling to hit a badminton birdie or having trouble writing a certain letter or number she has trouble with. I sensed that this was a byproduct of being a very smart, capable child, so easily taking to some things that she doesn't even want to try something she's not immediately good at. She's an emotional kid, struck with melancholy over things we don't even notice, and often can't explain. We've always tried to praise effort, not ability (though, as many proud parents know, that is a tough thing to do sometimes) and let her know we love her unconditionally, but this incident was like a lightning bolt to me as a mom.
A few months later, as I read a book I'd been wanting to check out for a while, it all started to make more sense. The book was The Birth Order Book, by psychologist Kevin Leman. I enjoyed seeing how I was a classic only child (with firstborn characteristics to the extreme), and it was fun seeing how various family members fit their birth order categories (fluid as they are, affected by things like spacing of kids, parenting style, gender of siblings, etc.) but the big payoff was the light this book shed on my family's maternal chain of functional firstborns—my mom (younger than her brother by ten years), me (only child), and Kate (actual firstborn).
Leman's big emphasis for firstborns and onlies is their perfectionism. Apparently, this is because, while younger siblings have the example of older siblings to follow, firstborns have only their parents and other adults to look up to. So, rather than comparing their three-year-old abilities to six-year-old abilities, for example, they are comparing three-year-old or five-year-old or seven-year-old abilities to those of a twenty- or thirty-something. By comparison, they feel uncoordinated, less intelligent, less capable, and altogether imperfect. The rice cake incident was textbook.
"But my firstborn is so messy! You should see her room!" My mom would say this about me, and I could certainly say it about Kate. Leman makes clear that a child's (or adult's) perfectionism does not always manifest itself in neatness or cleanliness. The "discouraged perfectionist," I think he called it, is what results when the perfection we seek is not attainable (and for whom is it really attainable?).
I've put my priorities in order enough to say that family fun, a career, and time for scrapbooking and party-planning are much more important than housekeeping, but if I feel stressed out in the slightest, the first thing to set me off is the sea of stuff all over the floor! I can't find my keys and suddenly the dishtowel on the floor is symbolic of everything I can't control! I remember having terrible anxiety as a young teenager over not knowing how to pay taxes, buy a car, take out a mortgage, things that my parents obviously knew how to do with no trouble. I can identify with this "discouraged perfectionism," and I can see it in my own mom (who Dad and I used to say was "practically perfect in every way!") and I can see it in Kate. Difficulty with a task makes Kate feel like a total failure, and the slightest correction is a grievous offense.
And, as Leman instructs, "flaunt your imperfections." Show the child that, even as an adult, you don't do everything perfectly, and that that's okay. Who doesn't occasionally use a tablespoon of something when the recipe calls for just a teaspoon? Who doesn't accidentally stumble over the words in her kids' bedtime story (especially when she's exhausted and just wants to go to bed herself!)? Rather than just moving on, call attention to what you've done. Show them mistakes are just part of life, and nothing to be ashamed of.
So, as Kate prepares to head off to kindergarten next week, with a whole new set of expectations and assignments, here's what I'm doing to help empower my perfectionist child:
1. Not doing (or re-doing) everything myself. When she does her own hair in a ponytail, with visible tangles and bumps, I will not insist on pulling it out and doing it myself. This is hard for me, because I suffer from the constant assumption that people are judging me. (I kid you not.) So, if my child goes off to school looking messy, I fear that her teacher will think I'm a terrible mother. I have to get over that. Kate knows I will do her hair if she asks, but if she doesn't, I will let it be.
2. Setting her up for success. She'll be wearing uniform clothes to school, so I've put all the school-approved clothes in one drawer. She can dress herself in the morning without any input from me. I got her an alarm clock and showed her how to turn the alarm on and off. I wrote (and illustrated, for easy understanding) a list of the things she needs to do to get ready in the morning and for bed. She's already started following it, and feels proud to take care of herself without prodding from Mommy to do each little thing.
3. Affirming questions and "not knowing." As we prepare for kindergarten, Kate is concerned about not doing her schoolwork perfectly. Among the typical "what-ifs" about finding her classroom and getting lost in the school building, I'm seeing an emphasis on academic concerns already. "What if I don't understand the worksheet and everybody else does?" (Nevermind that in pre-K, she's been the worksheet queen. Nevermind, or because of?) Seeing her fear of embarrassment over asking questions, I vow to affirm her in asking questions and admitting what she doesn't know. I read that Elie Wiesel's mother always asked him after school, "What questions did you ask today?" I'll have to try that. And let her know about my own questions and things I don't understand or need help with.
4. Letting her struggle. Kate was early in learning her letters, loves to write down words she knows (and words she doesn't know, transcribing pages of a book just for fun), and loves to identify words that she knows if she spots them on a sign. But as she gets closer to actual reading, I notice her anxiety about trying to read things she doesn't already know pretty well. She'll decline to read at bedtime, or to attempt the little poems and things in her Highlights "High Five" magazine. When she's reading, I need to wait as long as she needs, wait until she asks me, before jumping in with the correct word. When she's doing her homework, I need to offer only the help she asks for, refusing to do it for her or handhold her on every task.
In all these things, I will affirm her efforts and her enthusiasm. And I will affirm her kindness and compassion even more than I affirm her homework and hairdressing efforts. It's tough to parent a driven, strong-willed, perfectionist firstborn, but by being aware of my own perfectionism, I can empower her to do (and be happy with) her best.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Full House
A week ago, I shared how our house was soon to be overrun with little girls :0) We'd accepted a placement for a ten month old baby girl (blog code name: Baby Girl Chandler) and two nights later had a short-term guest baby for respite care while her foster mom was on vacation (for the sake of this one post, we'll blog-name her Allison). So, for four days and four nights, we had four little girls under our roof.
During that time, we juggled car seats and swapped cars, Matt and I sharing duties to get the kids to day care and to be tended at home. Ari the Entourage (my minivan) lived up to his name and his purpose, hauling around an entourage of little girls on a big circle around southeast Nashville, taking Kate and Claire to school, then dropping Allison off at her daycare, which was mercifully not too out of the way from our usual route, and taking Chandler to a drop-in child care place for a couple hours so I could get work done. (We're close to getting her in day care, but shot records and other logistical bits are hard to come by in these sorts of situations!)
Aside from the day care rounds, we enjoyed family dinners utilizing all the high chairs, eat seats, and boosters in our attic arsenal, brought out the baby toys and gear, learned to mix formula for the first time, and even took our entourage to a birthday party and to church (twice!) Matt and I feel awkward when people applaud us for fostering—it's our thing and no one should feel pressured to live their faith in this particular way—but I admit I do feel proud, not of the willingness to house and love random children, but of managing life with four kiddos at all! It's nothing compared to the Duggars or whatnot, but I get a crazy thrill from the physical and logistical challenge of simply getting four kids into and out of their car seats, getting them fed, getting them bathed and dressed and off to bed. As my dad commented on a Facebook photo I shared of all four kids in the back of the van, "I never realized until this moment how much you hated being an only child."
I didn't hate it, but I did always dream of having a dozen kids (then eight, then six, then four, as I understood more how babies got here and the means that big a brood would require). Matt and I love caring for kids, but don't want to put more than three through college! So yes, I love having a full house, though a cacophony of toddler tears can certainly drive a person crazy, and the stress of dressing and loading up four kids can make a chronically late person so anxious as to actually allow extra time to get somewhere!
We survived and enjoyed those four days, and now are settling into normal life with three, as Chandler could be with us a while. Kate and Claire have been amazing, welcoming and doting on our guest babies with such enthusiasm. Claire seems to have matured a good bit overnight, relishing her new role as a big sister. Since I was in the attic getting out the infant stuff anyway, I brought down the booster seat, and Claire was so proud to sit right up to the table instead of in her high chair. Rather than jealously fighting to keep Mommy to herself, she screams first thing in the morning to get "Baby!!" up and I have to physically prevent her from banging in the door to our guest room. (Our guests are always such better sleepers than our own, who fight bedtime, refuse naps, and get up well before 7 am each day.) My girls actually fought and cried this morning over who got to give Chandler her bottle. They are such good helpers, and I am so touched to see how naturally they internalize the values of compassion and hospitality we teach in our house.
As for pictures, I'm growing my skill in "Wilson"-style photography, referencing the neighbor on "Home Improvement" whose face was always concealed, as foster kids' must be. So here are a few carefully-shot images of our time as a family of six.
During that time, we juggled car seats and swapped cars, Matt and I sharing duties to get the kids to day care and to be tended at home. Ari the Entourage (my minivan) lived up to his name and his purpose, hauling around an entourage of little girls on a big circle around southeast Nashville, taking Kate and Claire to school, then dropping Allison off at her daycare, which was mercifully not too out of the way from our usual route, and taking Chandler to a drop-in child care place for a couple hours so I could get work done. (We're close to getting her in day care, but shot records and other logistical bits are hard to come by in these sorts of situations!)
Aside from the day care rounds, we enjoyed family dinners utilizing all the high chairs, eat seats, and boosters in our attic arsenal, brought out the baby toys and gear, learned to mix formula for the first time, and even took our entourage to a birthday party and to church (twice!) Matt and I feel awkward when people applaud us for fostering—it's our thing and no one should feel pressured to live their faith in this particular way—but I admit I do feel proud, not of the willingness to house and love random children, but of managing life with four kiddos at all! It's nothing compared to the Duggars or whatnot, but I get a crazy thrill from the physical and logistical challenge of simply getting four kids into and out of their car seats, getting them fed, getting them bathed and dressed and off to bed. As my dad commented on a Facebook photo I shared of all four kids in the back of the van, "I never realized until this moment how much you hated being an only child."
I didn't hate it, but I did always dream of having a dozen kids (then eight, then six, then four, as I understood more how babies got here and the means that big a brood would require). Matt and I love caring for kids, but don't want to put more than three through college! So yes, I love having a full house, though a cacophony of toddler tears can certainly drive a person crazy, and the stress of dressing and loading up four kids can make a chronically late person so anxious as to actually allow extra time to get somewhere!
We survived and enjoyed those four days, and now are settling into normal life with three, as Chandler could be with us a while. Kate and Claire have been amazing, welcoming and doting on our guest babies with such enthusiasm. Claire seems to have matured a good bit overnight, relishing her new role as a big sister. Since I was in the attic getting out the infant stuff anyway, I brought down the booster seat, and Claire was so proud to sit right up to the table instead of in her high chair. Rather than jealously fighting to keep Mommy to herself, she screams first thing in the morning to get "Baby!!" up and I have to physically prevent her from banging in the door to our guest room. (Our guests are always such better sleepers than our own, who fight bedtime, refuse naps, and get up well before 7 am each day.) My girls actually fought and cried this morning over who got to give Chandler her bottle. They are such good helpers, and I am so touched to see how naturally they internalize the values of compassion and hospitality we teach in our house.
As for pictures, I'm growing my skill in "Wilson"-style photography, referencing the neighbor on "Home Improvement" whose face was always concealed, as foster kids' must be. So here are a few carefully-shot images of our time as a family of six.
 |
| Pizza dinner the first night (love Kate's sassy face) |
 |
| Playtime with three girls under age two |
 |
| The aforementioned minivan pic |
 |
| Chandler is a very small ten months, and enjoys the play mat |
 |
| Big girl Claire trying out the big girl swing while Allison uses the baby swing |
 |
| Claire wants to feed the baby herself--what a sweet big girl! |
Tuesday, August 06, 2013
Ten Things I Want to Teach My Daughters
The other day, Kate and I were updating her magnetic
calendar for August, when she picked up one of the holiday squares and said, “Look,
compassion!”
It was actually the square for the start of Passover, but
with its picture of a chalice and matzo bread, I easily saw that the word she
was looking for was “communion.”
Good words either way. Better than when I mixed up “Protestant”
and “prostitute” after seeing Pretty Woman at age ten.
As preacher’s kids (rather, the kids of two religion dorks),
Kate and Claire will learn lots of churchy words over the years. But learning
compassion and the other values we emphasize is much more important than
knowing that a “Sing Bible,” as Kate called it, is actually called a hymnal.
Even at their young age, kids pick up a lot, especially when
it comes to the guiding principles of our lives. Here are ten that I try to
emphasize. Some are things I say regularly, mantras I repeat that become part
of my own girls’ vocabulary. Some are things that will be more important as
they grow older that only come up occasionally or in basic, childlike ways now. Some are things (most of them) that I still struggle to teach myself, but that
I hope by instilling in them young, my girls will not struggle with when they
are my age.
1. God loves everyone and we should too. Jesus said everyone is our neighbor, and we should be kind to everyone, helping people when they need it. We don’t return evil for evil, even on the level of “he hit me first” in a preschool squabble.
2. We have more than we need, so we should be thankful for what we have and share with those who don’t have enough. I try to point out basic things that we are fortunate to have: a house, food in the pantry, a nearby grocery store—to help them realize not everyone has those things.
3. You can do anything you put your mind to. This was probably the biggest lesson my dad taught me, and I already talk to Kate about setting goals and working toward them. As child development experts suggest, we try to praise kids more for the effort they put into something, the way they tried hard or thought about something intently, rather than saying “you’re so smart,” (though I confess we say that too, sometimes!)
4. You are beautiful. Enjoy looking nice, in whatever style suits who you are, but never let someone else define what is beautiful or make you feel that you are not. Likewise, every person is beautiful, and you should never make someone else feel that they are not. We certainly try to praise inner beauty and strengths more (“You’re such a loving big sister,” “You have great balance,” “I love how you love to practice writing your letters,”) but with so many girls struggling with body image, I’m starting to think it’s not such a bad thing to help a girl feel good about her outward appearance too.
5. We don’t need most of what people are selling. We live in a media-saturated world, where even preschool-focused videos online are preceded by ads for grown-up products (often deodorant, interestingly, and Matt and I decided they should at least target the ad to parents, saying “Kids can smell fear—get Secret Ultra-Dry.”) To control the urge toward consumption, I try to make Kate aware of advertising and articulate my thought process aloud. For example, “They are trying to sell me a new couch, but we already have a good couch. We don’t need a new couch.”
6. Strict gender roles are silly. Boys can cook, change diapers, nurture kids, and wear pink if they want to! Girls can be firefighters, fix toilets, build things, and be pastors. We try to model this equality in our marriage, pointing out what a great cook Daddy is, and how Mommy assembled the new piece of furniture all by herself. We never, EVER make fun of boys for doing something “feminine,” or say something is “just for boys.” Gestation and lactation are just about the only trump cards we play on this issue in our house!
7. Real princesses don’t wear crowns and pink sparkles, and there are only like five of them in the world. Ok, this one is more a personal pet peeve, but as authors like Peggy Orenstein and Gigi Durham have argued, this girly obsession with commercialized princesses and pink everything really can have negative consequences, limiting what girls feel they can be or do.
8. It’s okay not to know. I heard Claire utter her first “why?” this morning. Kids have a lot of questions, and it’s easy as parents to try to answer them all. But there are some unanswerable questions out there, and I want my kids to be okay with not knowing. Like the other day when we were talking about whether someone could see us from heaven, Matt and I told Kate that no one knows for sure what heaven is like, so maybe people can watch their loved ones or maybe they’re too busy doing other stuff—who knows?
9. Don’t be in a hurry to get married. Your life does not begin when you get married, nor does a bare ring finger indicate you are less loveable or beautiful than someone who is married. I’m ashamed to say I really felt that way. Matt took his time proposing (not in a bad way—we only dated two years) because he wanted to be ready. I got ready after we got married, and it’s a lot harder that way.
10. Know thyself, as Socrates (or one of his peers) said. Knowing who you are and what you like is central to confidence and contentment, and while I learned this lesson years ago, I still struggle with comparing myself to others or feeling I “should” be a certain way. Focus on the things you enjoy and the things you are good at, and be content. Comparison is the enemy of joy.
2. We have more than we need, so we should be thankful for what we have and share with those who don’t have enough. I try to point out basic things that we are fortunate to have: a house, food in the pantry, a nearby grocery store—to help them realize not everyone has those things.
3. You can do anything you put your mind to. This was probably the biggest lesson my dad taught me, and I already talk to Kate about setting goals and working toward them. As child development experts suggest, we try to praise kids more for the effort they put into something, the way they tried hard or thought about something intently, rather than saying “you’re so smart,” (though I confess we say that too, sometimes!)
4. You are beautiful. Enjoy looking nice, in whatever style suits who you are, but never let someone else define what is beautiful or make you feel that you are not. Likewise, every person is beautiful, and you should never make someone else feel that they are not. We certainly try to praise inner beauty and strengths more (“You’re such a loving big sister,” “You have great balance,” “I love how you love to practice writing your letters,”) but with so many girls struggling with body image, I’m starting to think it’s not such a bad thing to help a girl feel good about her outward appearance too.
5. We don’t need most of what people are selling. We live in a media-saturated world, where even preschool-focused videos online are preceded by ads for grown-up products (often deodorant, interestingly, and Matt and I decided they should at least target the ad to parents, saying “Kids can smell fear—get Secret Ultra-Dry.”) To control the urge toward consumption, I try to make Kate aware of advertising and articulate my thought process aloud. For example, “They are trying to sell me a new couch, but we already have a good couch. We don’t need a new couch.”
6. Strict gender roles are silly. Boys can cook, change diapers, nurture kids, and wear pink if they want to! Girls can be firefighters, fix toilets, build things, and be pastors. We try to model this equality in our marriage, pointing out what a great cook Daddy is, and how Mommy assembled the new piece of furniture all by herself. We never, EVER make fun of boys for doing something “feminine,” or say something is “just for boys.” Gestation and lactation are just about the only trump cards we play on this issue in our house!
7. Real princesses don’t wear crowns and pink sparkles, and there are only like five of them in the world. Ok, this one is more a personal pet peeve, but as authors like Peggy Orenstein and Gigi Durham have argued, this girly obsession with commercialized princesses and pink everything really can have negative consequences, limiting what girls feel they can be or do.
8. It’s okay not to know. I heard Claire utter her first “why?” this morning. Kids have a lot of questions, and it’s easy as parents to try to answer them all. But there are some unanswerable questions out there, and I want my kids to be okay with not knowing. Like the other day when we were talking about whether someone could see us from heaven, Matt and I told Kate that no one knows for sure what heaven is like, so maybe people can watch their loved ones or maybe they’re too busy doing other stuff—who knows?
9. Don’t be in a hurry to get married. Your life does not begin when you get married, nor does a bare ring finger indicate you are less loveable or beautiful than someone who is married. I’m ashamed to say I really felt that way. Matt took his time proposing (not in a bad way—we only dated two years) because he wanted to be ready. I got ready after we got married, and it’s a lot harder that way.
10. Know thyself, as Socrates (or one of his peers) said. Knowing who you are and what you like is central to confidence and contentment, and while I learned this lesson years ago, I still struggle with comparing myself to others or feeling I “should” be a certain way. Focus on the things you enjoy and the things you are good at, and be content. Comparison is the enemy of joy.
Thursday, August 01, 2013
3 Creative Clothing Savers
I'm guest posting today over on fellow Nashvillian, girl mom, and media professional Jamie Reeves' BlondeMomBlog as part of her "15 Minutes to Fabulous" series. I love her tagline, "Pontificating about poop and pinot noir since 2005."
In true Parsonage Family fashion, I talk about three easy, crafty ways to make up for poor housekeeping. (That's me in a nutshell, really: "Saying yes to paper and glue and no to bleach and mops since 2006.")
Check it out, and pin it, if you like!
In true Parsonage Family fashion, I talk about three easy, crafty ways to make up for poor housekeeping. (That's me in a nutshell, really: "Saying yes to paper and glue and no to bleach and mops since 2006.")
Check it out, and pin it, if you like!
Thursday, April 04, 2013
Mommy Mysteries
One of my shoes is sitting on the kitchen counter right now. I don't really know how it got there, or where the mate to it is. We have a big problem in our house keeping pairs of shoes together, mainly (I think) because Claire loves "yoos" and has to take off her own shoes the moment she sees someone else's shoes, so she can put theirs on and walk around in them. Somehow in that process, shoes often end up separated from their mates by a matter of rooms or even floors.
It's one of those many mysteries that strike homes with small children. How do things wind up in such strange places? On the ledge by the stairs, I found a paper plate lion mask, one of my shoes (not the mate to the one on the kitchen counter), and a single baby sock.
The single baby sock shouldn't be such a surprise, since socks (like shoes) often seem to flee from their mates. My advice for new moms out there: choose one style of baby sock, and buy ONLY that one. Save yourself the task of matching them all up, because it is an exercise in frustration. Here are five mateless socks out of one basket of Claire's clean laundry.
I saw a friend's Facebook status the other day listing the items found when cleaning out her minivan: three pairs of underwear, seven (non-matching) gloves and mittens, and two dreidls (though they are not Jewish). Makes me feel a little less strange for having a baby doll belted into our backseat next to a giant snowman (in April). I did not photograph the collection of hair things, jackets, and plastic Easter eggs on the floor. I heard Honda is coming out with a van that has a central vacuum—yes, please!!
I guess it's a misnomer to call all these things "mysteries" when the answer is typically a simple four-letter word: KIDS. They do weird things. And we have to do weird things because of them. Are you ready for this one?
We now keep our band-aids in a locked, fireproof box along with our passports and social security cards.
Why? Because Kate is obsessed with band-aids and will do anything to get them. She'll whine about a teeny bump on her leg in hopes that it will merit a band-aid. If we remind her that band-aids are for things that bleed, she might even go so far as to pick a scab to make it bleed! And if we leave them anywhere she can reach it, she'll raid the box after bedtime and cover her legs in a dozen bandages.
So naturally, I put them out of reach. Or what I thought was out of reach.
One night I came upstairs when she was supposed to be in bed and found this:
And that's how our band-aids came to be stored in a top-secret bunker.
What strange things have you discovered in your house lately?
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
WMW: Parenting is a Marathon
They also mention the leader of their working mothers' support group, "Erasmus B. Dragon."
Some days, my ass is draggin', so I can definitely identify.
Today's post is relevant to all parents, really, but given the pressure working moms often put on themselves to "do it all," I thought I'd share this gem of wisdom, which I can't even take credit for, as it is something my husband is reminding me all the time:
Parenting is a marathon, not a sprint.
Matt reminds me this whenever I feel guilty for taking time for myself, or when I hesitate to ask for help, or when I get really anxious over some issue that doesn't have to be solved in a day. Going "all out" at every single moment will only wear us out—and the "finish line" is 18, 21, 35, 50 years away!
We have to pace ourselves. Take the long view. And that means if you need to let hubby take the kids to gymnastics so you can have some solo scrapbooking time (as I did last night), or let the playroom stay messy for a few days, so be it. If your "ass is draggin'," you're not going to be the best mom, wife, or employee you can be.
There's no prize for doing it all. The real reward is enjoying the journey, and the best news is that we get to run the race together.
Saturday, February 09, 2013
Salon Sistahs
Both my girls paid a visit to the salon this evening. Claire, as I mentioned in her 15 month milestones, was much in need of her first haircut, and since tonight was the Valentine's daddy-daughter dance at the Williamson County Rec Center, I thought Kate would enjoy a fancy hairdo as well.
We go to a fun kids' salon called Divas and Dudes, where even ordinary haircuts are accompanied by a special braid, glittery hairspray, and a lollipop, so of course they make a big deal of first haircuts. As we crossed the parking lot and I pointed out the sign, Kate and I had the following conversation:
Kate: "Am I a diva or a dude?"
Me: "You're a dude."
Kate: "What's a dude?"
Me: "A really cool person."
Kate: "Oh!"
I'm glad she didn't ask me what a diva was, since I'm not sure what I would say. I have a complicated relationship with the sparkly pinkification of girlhood these days. (The aforementioned dance was actually called the "Daddy's Lil' Princess Ball," I believe, a fact we made little of.) It's complicated because I enjoy the hairbows and tea parties and other girly stuff (I desperately wanted daughters, after all!) but I don't like this commercialized obsession with princesses and miniature pop stars and pink everything.
Back to the point, though... Kate had a lovely time at our family salon appointment.
Claire. Did. Not.
She's been even more attached than usual lately, and seemed to be having some teething discomfort today. I rarely use the term "hot mess," but that was kind of Claire today. She wanted to comfort-nurse practically every half hour, and had a screaming, snotty fit if I did not oblige immediately.
So as soon as she realized this haircutting procedure could not be done while attached to Mommy, she wanted no part of it. (In retrospect, I should have suggested holding her on my lap while getting the cut, but I didn't think of that. Kate had zero trouble at her own first haircut, so I was really not expecting this. Though I should have, knowing them both.) Matt likes to tell the story of how he wailed so uncontrollably during his first haircut, his mom went into labor, and that's how his brother got here.
Claire was fine once back in my arms, of course, and she got her little tiara and special "first haircut" certificate with lock of hair. Her lock of hair looks as dark as mine, though I generally think of her hair as a bit more like golden-straw. Our family of brunettes gets progressively lighter, the younger we go.
And then there's Kate, who through all the trauma her sister was experiencing in the chair opposite her was quiet and compliant as the hairdresser gave her french braids on the sides, joining in a bun in the back.
With her cute little hairdo, I thought she looked a little like Marta or Gretl from The Sound of Music.
So as to avoid Kate falling asleep in the car during an afternoon car ride (and thus, messing up the hair) we decided to make our salon trip right before the dance. So Daddy in his lavender shirt and purple tie, and Kate in her raspberry dress and raspberry tights, headed off to the dance and Claire and I headed home for... more compulsive nursing.
Matt is such a great dad, and I love how he loves his girls and cherishes time with them. I remember sitting in the pediatrician's office with him when Kate was just a teeny infant, and I saw an ad for a daddy-daughter tea party or some such thing in a local magazine in the waiting room. I pointed it out to him, not sure if he would be into something like that or not. "Oh, hell yeah," he said. He couldn't wait to do stuff like that with his sweet daughter, and that baby—now such a big girl, it seems—absolutely has him wrapped around her little finger. Both these girls are so lucky to have such a devoted daddy.
Oh, and by the way, all the girls at the dance got a little tiara, so this post might also be called, "How an Anti-Princess Mom Allowed Both Daughters to Get Tiaras in One Evening."
We go to a fun kids' salon called Divas and Dudes, where even ordinary haircuts are accompanied by a special braid, glittery hairspray, and a lollipop, so of course they make a big deal of first haircuts. As we crossed the parking lot and I pointed out the sign, Kate and I had the following conversation:
Kate: "Am I a diva or a dude?"
Me: "You're a dude."
Kate: "What's a dude?"
Me: "A really cool person."
Kate: "Oh!"
I'm glad she didn't ask me what a diva was, since I'm not sure what I would say. I have a complicated relationship with the sparkly pinkification of girlhood these days. (The aforementioned dance was actually called the "Daddy's Lil' Princess Ball," I believe, a fact we made little of.) It's complicated because I enjoy the hairbows and tea parties and other girly stuff (I desperately wanted daughters, after all!) but I don't like this commercialized obsession with princesses and miniature pop stars and pink everything.
Back to the point, though... Kate had a lovely time at our family salon appointment.
Claire. Did. Not.
So as soon as she realized this haircutting procedure could not be done while attached to Mommy, she wanted no part of it. (In retrospect, I should have suggested holding her on my lap while getting the cut, but I didn't think of that. Kate had zero trouble at her own first haircut, so I was really not expecting this. Though I should have, knowing them both.) Matt likes to tell the story of how he wailed so uncontrollably during his first haircut, his mom went into labor, and that's how his brother got here.
Claire was fine once back in my arms, of course, and she got her little tiara and special "first haircut" certificate with lock of hair. Her lock of hair looks as dark as mine, though I generally think of her hair as a bit more like golden-straw. Our family of brunettes gets progressively lighter, the younger we go.
With her cute little hairdo, I thought she looked a little like Marta or Gretl from The Sound of Music.
So as to avoid Kate falling asleep in the car during an afternoon car ride (and thus, messing up the hair) we decided to make our salon trip right before the dance. So Daddy in his lavender shirt and purple tie, and Kate in her raspberry dress and raspberry tights, headed off to the dance and Claire and I headed home for... more compulsive nursing.
Matt is such a great dad, and I love how he loves his girls and cherishes time with them. I remember sitting in the pediatrician's office with him when Kate was just a teeny infant, and I saw an ad for a daddy-daughter tea party or some such thing in a local magazine in the waiting room. I pointed it out to him, not sure if he would be into something like that or not. "Oh, hell yeah," he said. He couldn't wait to do stuff like that with his sweet daughter, and that baby—now such a big girl, it seems—absolutely has him wrapped around her little finger. Both these girls are so lucky to have such a devoted daddy.
Oh, and by the way, all the girls at the dance got a little tiara, so this post might also be called, "How an Anti-Princess Mom Allowed Both Daughters to Get Tiaras in One Evening."
 |
| via Matt's Facebook, at the dance |
Saturday, September 08, 2012
I'm a Minivan Mama
Well, the transformation into suburban mom is complete: I now drive a minivan.
Meet Ari. He is a Hyundai Entourage. (I'm not actually a fan of the show, "Entourage," but I do love Jeremy Piven, and it just seemed to fit.) Ari is big. And our garage is small. I just barely got him in there this evening after a family post-dinner ice cream run (so everybody else could enjoy a test drive as well) but I'll get the knack for it.
It's a 2008, from Carmax, and I really like it. It's very spacious, and such a smooth drive. Creamy, like butter. Odd adjectives for a car, I guess, but that's literally what comes to mind when I press either the gas or the brake. Very nice.
Looking at this picture, I am saying to myself, "what have I done?" But as Matt pointed out, the time was right to trade in my Elantra (second Hyundai in a row—I've been happy) and we'd have to take the plunge sometime. Sometime soon, in fact. Things were pretty tight with two car seats in a four-door, mid-size sedan, and the time will come when we need room for more than just two car seats.
No, I'm not pregnant. A third biological child will come at some point, we hope.
But for now, we have a different announcement. One I'd been drafting in another, more spiritual and dramatic blog post, but better I just say it here. Matt and I are in the process of being approved as foster parents! We look forward to hosting children who need a temporary home, probably before the end of the calendar year. More on how we came to this decision and other thoughts about it will come in the other post, whenever I finish it.
Besides new cars and new kids, another new addition is being added to our happy home: a new swingset! Matt and his dad (and my dad, when he was here last weekend) have been constructing this delightful piece of equipment in our backyard. It's quite a project. I can't count the hours they've put into this already. It will be fabulous, though, and the kids will really enjoy it.
Plus, it was only in the mid-70s in Nashville today. A regular cold snap after the hellish heat we'd been having. Hope it's nice where you live. Fall will be here soon!
It's a 2008, from Carmax, and I really like it. It's very spacious, and such a smooth drive. Creamy, like butter. Odd adjectives for a car, I guess, but that's literally what comes to mind when I press either the gas or the brake. Very nice.
Looking at this picture, I am saying to myself, "what have I done?" But as Matt pointed out, the time was right to trade in my Elantra (second Hyundai in a row—I've been happy) and we'd have to take the plunge sometime. Sometime soon, in fact. Things were pretty tight with two car seats in a four-door, mid-size sedan, and the time will come when we need room for more than just two car seats.
No, I'm not pregnant. A third biological child will come at some point, we hope.
But for now, we have a different announcement. One I'd been drafting in another, more spiritual and dramatic blog post, but better I just say it here. Matt and I are in the process of being approved as foster parents! We look forward to hosting children who need a temporary home, probably before the end of the calendar year. More on how we came to this decision and other thoughts about it will come in the other post, whenever I finish it.
Besides new cars and new kids, another new addition is being added to our happy home: a new swingset! Matt and his dad (and my dad, when he was here last weekend) have been constructing this delightful piece of equipment in our backyard. It's quite a project. I can't count the hours they've put into this already. It will be fabulous, though, and the kids will really enjoy it.
And while the men were working on the Great Swingset Project of 2012 (and before and after getting my car) I crafted this little number to celebrate the coming of fall! Yippee!! I'm kind of a stickler for observing seasons and won't pull out the rest of my fall decorations until the autumnal equinox, but since my front door and kitchen table decorations were still my Eastery things I'd had up all spring and summer, it was time.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Motherhood and Mortality
Most any parent will tell you, "I would gladly die for my child." It's true. I remember in my earliest months of motherhood, not wanting to leave Kate with anyone but grandparents. My criteria was that no one who would not jump in front of a bus for my baby would be entrusted with her care.
I had to get over that, for the sake of a date night now and again (we lived in Clarksville at the time, so grandparents weren't quite so close at hand) if not going back to work, which of course I did. But the anxiety and fear of something happening to your child never goes away. I remember describing it as "almost debilitating" during Kate's first few months, and it was renewed with Claire's infancy.
That fear of losing a child is perfectly natural and to be expected, even if I certainly didn't understand the magnitude of this new definition of "worst thing that could ever happen to me" before having kids. Who does?
What I didn't expect, though, was to view my own mortality differently. I've never been more willing to lay down my life for someone—and yet, at the same time, I've never wanted to live more.
I do not fear my own death. I would wish for preparation time to write letters and buy gifts and those sorts of things, rather than an unexpected death, but I don't fear "what comes next." Before parenthood, if I had been diagnosed with a terrible disease, I think I would have chosen quality over quantity, forgoing any treatment that would have been too risky or drastically reduced my quality of life. Not that I wouldn't fight at all, but when things were looking truly bleak, I think I would have peacefully accepted it.
A couple years ago, a guy I knew in college was diagnosed with cancer. It was bad, and round after round of chemo did not help. "Why does he keep fighting it?" I wondered. "Wouldn't he rather enjoy what time he has at home with his wife and son, rather than enduring debilitating treatments and traveling for clinical trials?"
Similarly, I used to take an "I'd rather just die" approach to debilitating injuries like paralysis, amputations, etc., they now would certainly not stand in the way of my being there for my kids, seeing them grow up, knowing my grandchildren, and so on. And if it were my child enduring such a trial, by God I'd just be thankful they were alive, whatever physical ailment they may face.
I think parenthood makes the difference.
If there was any chance of beating the cancer, to live to see your child grow up, you would strive for that. Reason might say that there is no chance, but the desire to live would make you keep trying. My friend from college died almost a year ago, and he fought right up to the end. He died mere days after the doctors told him there was absolutely nothing more they could do. That girl in Atlanta right now losing limbs and organs to a raging infection—she might say "just let me go" if she were conscious, but her parents are fighting for her, wanting to know her and be with her as long as they can.
I want to be there for my girls. They'd be fine without me (I tell Matt he'd have no trouble attracting a new wife, with daughters as adorable as ours :0) but I want to be there to experience all the conversations and consolations of growing up. I want to hug them through childhood's boo-boos and talk them through the trials of adolescence, to take them to college, be there for their weddings and know my grandchildren.
It's such a scary world. Stories of freak infections, children and young adults with cancer, massive accidents, kidnappings, and so on hit me harder than ever these days. It's hard to watch the news. I can only assuage the fear of losing a child with the resurrection promise that Life has the last word, and I can trust in the one iota of selflessness I have in that I would do anything in my power, even give up my own life, to save my child if ever in such a situation. But even with those comforts, I just want to live, to live life together and love my children for as long as I can.
I had to get over that, for the sake of a date night now and again (we lived in Clarksville at the time, so grandparents weren't quite so close at hand) if not going back to work, which of course I did. But the anxiety and fear of something happening to your child never goes away. I remember describing it as "almost debilitating" during Kate's first few months, and it was renewed with Claire's infancy.
That fear of losing a child is perfectly natural and to be expected, even if I certainly didn't understand the magnitude of this new definition of "worst thing that could ever happen to me" before having kids. Who does?
What I didn't expect, though, was to view my own mortality differently. I've never been more willing to lay down my life for someone—and yet, at the same time, I've never wanted to live more.
I do not fear my own death. I would wish for preparation time to write letters and buy gifts and those sorts of things, rather than an unexpected death, but I don't fear "what comes next." Before parenthood, if I had been diagnosed with a terrible disease, I think I would have chosen quality over quantity, forgoing any treatment that would have been too risky or drastically reduced my quality of life. Not that I wouldn't fight at all, but when things were looking truly bleak, I think I would have peacefully accepted it.
A couple years ago, a guy I knew in college was diagnosed with cancer. It was bad, and round after round of chemo did not help. "Why does he keep fighting it?" I wondered. "Wouldn't he rather enjoy what time he has at home with his wife and son, rather than enduring debilitating treatments and traveling for clinical trials?"
Similarly, I used to take an "I'd rather just die" approach to debilitating injuries like paralysis, amputations, etc., they now would certainly not stand in the way of my being there for my kids, seeing them grow up, knowing my grandchildren, and so on. And if it were my child enduring such a trial, by God I'd just be thankful they were alive, whatever physical ailment they may face.
I think parenthood makes the difference.
If there was any chance of beating the cancer, to live to see your child grow up, you would strive for that. Reason might say that there is no chance, but the desire to live would make you keep trying. My friend from college died almost a year ago, and he fought right up to the end. He died mere days after the doctors told him there was absolutely nothing more they could do. That girl in Atlanta right now losing limbs and organs to a raging infection—she might say "just let me go" if she were conscious, but her parents are fighting for her, wanting to know her and be with her as long as they can.
I want to be there for my girls. They'd be fine without me (I tell Matt he'd have no trouble attracting a new wife, with daughters as adorable as ours :0) but I want to be there to experience all the conversations and consolations of growing up. I want to hug them through childhood's boo-boos and talk them through the trials of adolescence, to take them to college, be there for their weddings and know my grandchildren.
It's such a scary world. Stories of freak infections, children and young adults with cancer, massive accidents, kidnappings, and so on hit me harder than ever these days. It's hard to watch the news. I can only assuage the fear of losing a child with the resurrection promise that Life has the last word, and I can trust in the one iota of selflessness I have in that I would do anything in my power, even give up my own life, to save my child if ever in such a situation. But even with those comforts, I just want to live, to live life together and love my children for as long as I can.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Sick Baby (make that Babies)
Last Wednesday, Claire got sent home from day care because she had a cough so bad that she was blowing bloody snot out of her nose. Other kids in her room had had croup and RSV recently, so they wanted us to get Claire checked out. So, I left work early and took her to the doctor. The pediatrician said her RSV test was negative, but it was "viral bronchiolitis" and we should keep her home for a few days.
So, Matt and I traded off Thursday and Friday, one of us working from home for the morning and then switching midday. Claire actually seemed in pretty good spirits, and it didn't "get worse before it got better," as the doctor said might happen. She seemed fine by Friday afternoon.
Sweet Clairy-Bear sat pleasantly in her bouncer while I worked at my desk in the kitchen. I always wonder if I would enjoy working from home if I had the chance, so it's nice to have a reminder now and again how there are drawbacks to the flexibility and comfort of working at home—namely, the lack of distinction between work and home, so you feel torn and divided no matter what you're doing.
Apparently, I needed yet another reminder, because yesterday (yes, just one week later, almost to the minute) I got a call from the day care director once again, this time saying that Claire was throwing up, as were several other kids in other classrooms.
So, this morning, it was back to the old home office (a kitchen desk like this was one of my big "wish list" items when looking for a house) and I got a lot done here before Matt came home and we did the old trade-off again. Claire has still been such a sweetheart today, not crying and being so content, though she seemed much sicker than last week, since she was throwing up every hour or two. The washing machine has gotten a workout today!
And just when we thought things would be back to normal tomorrow—I talked to Matt while I was with Kate at gymnastics, and he said Claire hadn't thrown up in five or six hours—then he calls back to say Claire threw up again. And then as we were leaving gymnastics, Kate started throwing up.
So, I change the name of this blog post in-progress to "Sick Babies," and make plans for more home officing tomorrow... unless I'm down for the count myself. I wouldn't rule it out.
Update: Kate was up sick every hour last night, but sweet darling Matt actually slept in her room with her so he could be right there for her each time. I'm a lighter sleeper than he is (or more attune to cries in the night, at least) so I am very grateful that he did that. At 5 am, I woke up and got sick, as I have several more times since then. The plague has gotten me as well. Kate was pretty much back to normal by 9 am and wanting attention from her sick mama. Claire is all better as well! As of 1:48 in the afternoon, Matt is still healthy! Do you think it will stay that way?
So, Matt and I traded off Thursday and Friday, one of us working from home for the morning and then switching midday. Claire actually seemed in pretty good spirits, and it didn't "get worse before it got better," as the doctor said might happen. She seemed fine by Friday afternoon.
Sweet Clairy-Bear sat pleasantly in her bouncer while I worked at my desk in the kitchen. I always wonder if I would enjoy working from home if I had the chance, so it's nice to have a reminder now and again how there are drawbacks to the flexibility and comfort of working at home—namely, the lack of distinction between work and home, so you feel torn and divided no matter what you're doing.
So, this morning, it was back to the old home office (a kitchen desk like this was one of my big "wish list" items when looking for a house) and I got a lot done here before Matt came home and we did the old trade-off again. Claire has still been such a sweetheart today, not crying and being so content, though she seemed much sicker than last week, since she was throwing up every hour or two. The washing machine has gotten a workout today!
So, I change the name of this blog post in-progress to "Sick Babies," and make plans for more home officing tomorrow... unless I'm down for the count myself. I wouldn't rule it out.
Update: Kate was up sick every hour last night, but sweet darling Matt actually slept in her room with her so he could be right there for her each time. I'm a lighter sleeper than he is (or more attune to cries in the night, at least) so I am very grateful that he did that. At 5 am, I woke up and got sick, as I have several more times since then. The plague has gotten me as well. Kate was pretty much back to normal by 9 am and wanting attention from her sick mama. Claire is all better as well! As of 1:48 in the afternoon, Matt is still healthy! Do you think it will stay that way?
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Family Values
I recently read this great article online about teaching your children the faith. It was in US Catholic magazine, so "the faith" in that case was specifically Roman Catholic Christianity, but I thought it was great advice for parents of all traditions. The biggest takeaway for me was this quote:
“I always ask [parents], ‘Articulate the three most important values in your life that guide you individually or as a family.’ . . . If you can’t articulate your values, how do you communicate them to your kids?"
I started thinking, and pretty quickly had three values that I feel guide me and that I hope we can instill in our children: Compassion, Gratitude, Faith.
Compassion
Caring for others, especially those less fortunate, is a central value of our family. When we pray at dinnertime, we try to always remember people outside of our immediate family, and I hope that Matt and my conversations that our kids overhear instill a concern for the poor and marginalized of society.
As Kate (and later, Claire) gets older, we increasingly try to involve her in activities focused on helping others. On maternity leave, I signed up several weeks to make the sack lunches we send with the homeless men who stay the night at our church on Wednesday nights. (Nashville has a program called Room in the Inn; folks can gather at a certain place downtown to meet vans that will take them to various churches in the area for dinner, sleep, and breakfast, October through March.) I figured I wouldn't sign up for any more weeks once I was back to work, but the very week I went back, they announced Sunday morning that no one had signed up to make the lunches that week, so I thought, "okay, Kate and I can do it together this week!" rather than me doing it on my own during the day. So I made a little shopping list with marker drawings of the foods we needed to buy, and we went to the grocery after work/school, came home and made the sandwiches together and Kate went down the assembly line putting a sandwich, chips, water, fruit, and cookies in each bag.
We talked about how we were making these for "the men who sleep at church." (She's familiar with them because they eat with us at the Wednesday night dinner.) "Why do they sleep at church?" she asked. "Because they don't have houses and refrigerators with food and all that like we have," I told her. "We're so lucky to have a house and food and everything we have, so we need to help them." It was amazing how in my mind the example was "therefore we make lunch for them," but Kate's response was, "We need to help them find houses?" Even though I'd consider myself more holistic in social justice than just isolated acts of charity, I was still struck to the core by the obvious way Kate assumed that we shouldn't just give them food, we should help remedy the problem.
I'm not great with this value. I struggle to be loving toward people who are different from me. I'm ashamed of how judgmental and prejudiced I can be. But it is definitely something I am always striving toward and that I want to instill in my children.
Gratitude
Gratitude, I'm a little better at. I am very fortunate and certainly take a lot for granted. But I do find myself standing in awe, many times, at all we have and the fact that we have it. I open our pantry and think how fortunate we were to have that food. I get in the shower and think how amazing it is that we have a room dedicated to bathing and have hot water whenever we want it. It's mind-blowing, if you think about it. I am so thankful to have our house and to have it be ours. I think of my grandparents whenever I give thanks for our home because it was the savings they left behind that enabled me and my cousin to purchase our homes. We are so, so fortunate.
Like any parent, I try to get Kate to say "please" and "thank you," and she does especially well with the thank you, even from the time she was just doing baby sign language for it. Lately, she has developed a habit that I just love. She often asks me, when playing with a toy or looking at clothes in her closet, "Who gave me this?" I love it because it shows an awareness that all she has didn't just appear out of nowhere. Her grandparents, our friends, and people in our church are extremely generous with her, and I love that she seems not to take it for granted. She asks who gave her something, I tell her, and she responds, "oh. That's very nice of them."
My mom drilled it into me to always write thank you notes, and while I realized the double standard somewhere during my teen years that kids were expected to write thank yous but adults rarely did, I've kept up that practice as an adult. I'm trying to get Kate involved in the practice as well now, and while of course she can't write, I mix in one or two of the following as a way to make her aware of the importance of expressing gratitude when one receives a gift:
Faith
“I always ask [parents], ‘Articulate the three most important values in your life that guide you individually or as a family.’ . . . If you can’t articulate your values, how do you communicate them to your kids?"
I started thinking, and pretty quickly had three values that I feel guide me and that I hope we can instill in our children: Compassion, Gratitude, Faith.
Compassion
Caring for others, especially those less fortunate, is a central value of our family. When we pray at dinnertime, we try to always remember people outside of our immediate family, and I hope that Matt and my conversations that our kids overhear instill a concern for the poor and marginalized of society.
As Kate (and later, Claire) gets older, we increasingly try to involve her in activities focused on helping others. On maternity leave, I signed up several weeks to make the sack lunches we send with the homeless men who stay the night at our church on Wednesday nights. (Nashville has a program called Room in the Inn; folks can gather at a certain place downtown to meet vans that will take them to various churches in the area for dinner, sleep, and breakfast, October through March.) I figured I wouldn't sign up for any more weeks once I was back to work, but the very week I went back, they announced Sunday morning that no one had signed up to make the lunches that week, so I thought, "okay, Kate and I can do it together this week!" rather than me doing it on my own during the day. So I made a little shopping list with marker drawings of the foods we needed to buy, and we went to the grocery after work/school, came home and made the sandwiches together and Kate went down the assembly line putting a sandwich, chips, water, fruit, and cookies in each bag.
We talked about how we were making these for "the men who sleep at church." (She's familiar with them because they eat with us at the Wednesday night dinner.) "Why do they sleep at church?" she asked. "Because they don't have houses and refrigerators with food and all that like we have," I told her. "We're so lucky to have a house and food and everything we have, so we need to help them." It was amazing how in my mind the example was "therefore we make lunch for them," but Kate's response was, "We need to help them find houses?" Even though I'd consider myself more holistic in social justice than just isolated acts of charity, I was still struck to the core by the obvious way Kate assumed that we shouldn't just give them food, we should help remedy the problem.
I'm not great with this value. I struggle to be loving toward people who are different from me. I'm ashamed of how judgmental and prejudiced I can be. But it is definitely something I am always striving toward and that I want to instill in my children.
Gratitude
Gratitude, I'm a little better at. I am very fortunate and certainly take a lot for granted. But I do find myself standing in awe, many times, at all we have and the fact that we have it. I open our pantry and think how fortunate we were to have that food. I get in the shower and think how amazing it is that we have a room dedicated to bathing and have hot water whenever we want it. It's mind-blowing, if you think about it. I am so thankful to have our house and to have it be ours. I think of my grandparents whenever I give thanks for our home because it was the savings they left behind that enabled me and my cousin to purchase our homes. We are so, so fortunate.
Like any parent, I try to get Kate to say "please" and "thank you," and she does especially well with the thank you, even from the time she was just doing baby sign language for it. Lately, she has developed a habit that I just love. She often asks me, when playing with a toy or looking at clothes in her closet, "Who gave me this?" I love it because it shows an awareness that all she has didn't just appear out of nowhere. Her grandparents, our friends, and people in our church are extremely generous with her, and I love that she seems not to take it for granted. She asks who gave her something, I tell her, and she responds, "oh. That's very nice of them."
My mom drilled it into me to always write thank you notes, and while I realized the double standard somewhere during my teen years that kids were expected to write thank yous but adults rarely did, I've kept up that practice as an adult. I'm trying to get Kate involved in the practice as well now, and while of course she can't write, I mix in one or two of the following as a way to make her aware of the importance of expressing gratitude when one receives a gift:
- having her be present while I'm writing the notes, addressing the envelopes, etc.
- having her choose which stamp should go on each envelope
- having her color a picture to include in the note (or color on the card or envelope itself)
- having her choose which picture each person gets
- asking her what she thinks about the gift so we can say something personal from her. We tried this with her birthday thank yous and she often just said "thank you," or "I like it," but it's still a good practice, I think, and will grow gradually to the point she can write the whole note herself.
Compassion and gratitude are both related to our faith, certainly, but the faith itself is also a key value (as you can certainly practice compassion and gratitude even without being a person of faith). There will come a time, of course, when our children will have to claim the Christian faith for themselves, but we make it known to them that, as a family, we are Christians. We baptized our girls because they belong to God even before they can understand or choose it for themselves, and we are promising to raise them to know God and live like Jesus.
At this age (Kate's, that is) we try to help form her Christian identity by talking about why we go to church ("to praise God and learn about Jesus," I typically phrase it) and we pray together at dinnertime. Kate often wants to be the "prayer person" (which is apparently what they call it at school, because she told me today "I'll be the prayer person; you be the line leader") and she'll have us repeat after her,
God is great, God is good,
let us thank him for our food
by his hands, we are fed
thank you, Lord, for our daily bread
In Christ's name, Amen.
When I repeat after her, I'm sure to enunciate, so that if she's just going rote, she can understand better what we are saying, and I remind her that "Christ" is another name for "Jesus," since she knows who Jesus is but probably does not understand the messiah concept or the Greek word for it.
We believe questioning is a good thing, and doubt is not to be feared or squashed, so by instilling "faith" as a value, we certainly do not mean blind acceptance of a particular doctrine. Rather, it is an overall orientation toward God, a desire to seek and know him. There are plenty of theological things I don't understand (or maybe even believe) but I am committed to the journey of faith, and hope our children will be too.
I have a well-known prayer by Thomas Merton hanging by my desk, and there are two lines that I cling to, when I don't know much else:
"... the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you."
I hope to instill in my children that desire to follow, please, and know God, and pray that that desire in itself helps them along that journey of faith.
What would you say your top three life-orienting values are?
At this age (Kate's, that is) we try to help form her Christian identity by talking about why we go to church ("to praise God and learn about Jesus," I typically phrase it) and we pray together at dinnertime. Kate often wants to be the "prayer person" (which is apparently what they call it at school, because she told me today "I'll be the prayer person; you be the line leader") and she'll have us repeat after her,
God is great, God is good,
let us thank him for our food
by his hands, we are fed
thank you, Lord, for our daily bread
In Christ's name, Amen.
When I repeat after her, I'm sure to enunciate, so that if she's just going rote, she can understand better what we are saying, and I remind her that "Christ" is another name for "Jesus," since she knows who Jesus is but probably does not understand the messiah concept or the Greek word for it.
We believe questioning is a good thing, and doubt is not to be feared or squashed, so by instilling "faith" as a value, we certainly do not mean blind acceptance of a particular doctrine. Rather, it is an overall orientation toward God, a desire to seek and know him. There are plenty of theological things I don't understand (or maybe even believe) but I am committed to the journey of faith, and hope our children will be too.
I have a well-known prayer by Thomas Merton hanging by my desk, and there are two lines that I cling to, when I don't know much else:
"... the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you."
I hope to instill in my children that desire to follow, please, and know God, and pray that that desire in itself helps them along that journey of faith.
What would you say your top three life-orienting values are?
Saturday, December 10, 2011
We Are Those Parents
Last night was the Christmas program at Kate's school. We were definitely "those" parents, snapping photos, moving around to get the best angle, waving to our child when she looked for us in the crowd . . . then again, pretty much every parent there was acting the same way. It was so funny to see all the dads with their video cameras, standing off to the side. (What movie is it, where they show the kids' view from the stage and every parent has a video camera covering his or her face?)
It's crazy what pride and pleasure a parent gleans from these unpolished performances! I absolutely grinned from ear to ear like a loon throughout the whole thing.
Kate tried to come sit with us as she passed our row while processing in, but went on up front without too much trouble!
It was so sweet, seeing her up there with her little friends. The boy (barely visible between the girls) had several meltdowns, and the girls entertained themselves while the other classes sang. The girl in the pink turtleneck played nervously with her shirt, pulling it up Mardi-Gras style, and the girl on the other side of Kate was a ringleader in lifting her skirt up, Kate and the other brunette imitating her briefly!
It's crazy what pride and pleasure a parent gleans from these unpolished performances! I absolutely grinned from ear to ear like a loon throughout the whole thing.
Kate tried to come sit with us as she passed our row while processing in, but went on up front without too much trouble!
(The band-aid on her forehead, by the way, has become a permanent fixture lately. She had a strange bout of acne almost a month ago, and she kept picking at one spot on her forehead and one on her cheek such that they bleed again and thus will never heal if we don't keep them covered. I ran out of the small, flesh-colored band-aids.)
Another kid had a meltdown while processing in, and burst into tears another couple times during the program. Poor kid.
I have to say, Kate was very animated and did motions that went with the words even when no other child did. (I don't know if they cut the motions at the last minute, the other kids forgot, or maybe the teachers just did those to help the kids remember the words and Kate mimicked it, but it was cute!)
The most awww-inducing song was the pre-K kids' presentation of "The Friendly Beasts." The kids were dressed up as the animals from each verse of the song, and individual kids sang the verses corresponding to his or her animal. I had to lean over to Matt and whisper: "I'm a lobster." "In the nativity play?" "Yes. I'm First Lobster." "There was more than one lobster at the birth of Jesus?" (Who can name that movie? It's one of my holiday favorites!)
All the classes sang "Wasn't That a Mighty Day," "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," and "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus." Kate's class did "Three Wise Men" (to the tune of "Three Blind Mice"). There was no soundtrack for their song, so the teacher held up the mic to amplify each child in turn.
Kate seemed to be having so much fun, hopping up and down sometimes, and clapping excitedly at the end of every song.
She was almost as excited as me ;0)
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