spark

a little while does fortune smile

Following stress reactions (early stress fractures) in both shins, I'm on the long road toward building back up to my previous strength and endurance. This morning I took a 2-mile half-jog-half-walk (run 1/8 mile, walk 1/8 mile) in my neighborhood and the local elementary school's track and vita course, and toward the end I stopped to do some back extensions on the parallel bars. Face-down to the mulch, I spotted a little shred of paper that turned out to be a fragment from a fortune cookie. 

At first, I was bummed that it was incomplete, but then I realized that I knew what the fortune was. I had received it in a cookie years ago, and saved it, and later created a notecard with it, and I still haven't found the right occasion to use the card. 

Thinking about this phrase eventually led me to the middle stanza of John Byrne Leicester Warren, Lord de Tabley's poem Fortune's Wheel:

A little while did Fortune smile

On him and her and me:

We sang along the road of life

Like birds upon a tree.

(The first and third stanzas are about lost love, but those are unimportant to these musings.)

Motherhood - and life in general - have been frustrating lately. There are so many things that must be done or that I want to do, and so many distractions, and also so much about the developmental stages my kids are in that bogs us down and prevents me from doing all the other things I must do or want to do. The youngest is very clingy and whiny right now. The middle son is absentminded and needs to have somebody make direct eye contact and keep him on task. The oldest is preteen and moody and both pushing away from his parents and desperately in need of them. 

But this, too, shall pass. The frustrating stuff, and also the good stuff that hides under it. I might not have time for everything, but there are things more precious than my time, and first among those is the truth of who we all are right in this moment.  The wants and needs are never going to go away, so I need to set aside time every day in which I tell all the wants and needs to bite me, and just focus on the truth of the hour and the people in front of me. 

What are the precious truths confronting you right now?  How do you interpret "truth is more precious than time"? 

screen time, data, and problem solving - a learnable moment

Screen time is kindof a big deal in our house. There is whining. There is fighting. There is begging. There is complaining. 

Can I have screen time?
When will it be screen time?
I didn't get screen time!
He's hogging the computer!
I want the TV first!
I never get a turn on the iPod! 

I tried setting a specific time for video media. I tried allowing free access to video media. I tried giving each person a time limit. I tried deciding for them whose turn it is. I tried letting them decide. No luck.

Then, when all three of them preferred sitting in front of a screen to going outside or playing with one of their many toys, I was at my limit. Hearing "I'm booooored" whenever they weren't playing a video game was irritating. It was taking over our lives. It was preventing them from being the masters of their own fun and from being active and imaginative. 

Enough, already!

So, I decided - unilaterally, which is rare around here - that there would be ZERO screen time Monday through Thursday. None. It's too hard to have playdates and spontaneous outings and after-school activities and homework time and dinner without also worrying about fitting in video media and making sure it's all perfectly fair or hearing whining when there wasn't time for it that day. So we're just not doing it, and on weekends, there will only be screen time when it works with everything else. If you didn't get any that day, then you must have had an awesome, active day. This met some resistance among the troops, but they immediately rediscovered the yard and their toys. They got along better. They found their sense of creativity. They stopped talking about nothing but video games. I was encouraged by the quick success of this plan (although we're back to detoxing again after too much screen time during three weeks of winter break - but it will be better soon).  

The one continuing issue is this: how do we manage screen time itself, when we have it? The whining and fighting continued over what's fair and who had more time. I would ask them to work it out themselves, but they didn't. Or couldn't. I would ask for a plan ahead of time, but again, this was beyond their capacities. 

Then I had an epiphany: I told them that screen time would be available at 3pm and last until 5pm that afternoon, but only if they first presented me with a written plan delineating who would be doing what and when. I anticipated some pushback and procrastination and was pleasantly surprised that instead, they started working on a schedule immediately. 

Griffin took the lead, gathering his brothers together and collecting information. I heard him in the studio, asking each brother whether or not he was interested in each available media form, and I knew just what he was doing. I peeked in and it was confirmed: my logic-loving kid was making tables and laying out the data in front of himself. The child was born to work with arranging facts and numbers. (One of his brothers added smiley faces.)

 

 

When each kid had answered his survey questions, Griff read off the results: "So, I'm interested in using the computer to play Pirate 101 and Wizard 101 and Minecraft, Reese wants to play Danball and Minecraft on the computer and Minecraft on the iPod, and Xander wants to play Minecraft on the computer and Lego Star Wars on the TV." The younger kids confirmed that this was, in fact, the case. 

A few minutes later he came to me with this chart, representing their plan:

 

On the previous page, he had started working out how many minutes each could have on the computer - it looks like he estimated 50 minutes, worked it out and realized that it was too much, stepped down to 45, same thing, then arrived at the conclusion that 40 minutes each would add up to 120 minutes, or two hours. He assigned 40 minutes to each brother for the computer, then was a little stuck on how to divide up the other time and media opportunities. I pointed out that this chart accurately assigned 40 minutes of computer time to each brother, but did not tell me who would have the first turn, the second turn, and the third turn, or what times they would be using other devices. I suggested that perhaps a schedule chart showing what each child would start playing at 3pm, 3:30, etc (or other times, as he could determine) would solve our dilemma. He went back to work. I left him working with Reese and Xander on forming consensus on the order of turns for the computer.

Unfortunately, the scheduling task quickly became frustrating, and his worksheet ended up balled up and thrown across the room. I retrieved the paper and we looked at it together. He had worked out that 40-minute intervals resulted in start/end times of 3:00pm, 3:40, 4:20, and 5:00. But how to work out what to put in each time slot? 

 

 

He declared that he needed to use a computer to lay out the data for himself, and I advised that Google Docs, which he wanted to use, was probably not as easy to use with tables as drawing the tables. I suggested that he approach the problem like sudoku (which he has loved and excelled at since age 5), filling in the easier spaces first and working up to the harder ones, which would become easier as the table was filled in. He didn't want to keep balling up paper, and I asked if using another writing implement, such as pencil, might feel easier. The idea of working in pencil felt satisfactory to him, and I could see him relax a bit.

Since he felt stuck on the table, I re-drew the same schedule that he had drawn, but bigger. We agreed that nothing needed to go into the 5pm space because that was when they should stop, so I drew a stop sign in each block. That left 9 blocks to fill. I mentioned that we didn't have to go straight across a row or down a column. Why not start with the computer, since that was the easiest to divide three ways?

Suddenly it seemed as if he could see a path, and he was able to fill in who was first, second, and third for the computer by finding the intersection of their name with the first, second, or third time slot. The schedule and the concept of scheduling was starting to make more sense to him. Which was the next-easiest thing to divide up and assign? He determined that it was the iPod, after which filling in TV slots was simple. We decided that if somebody didn't want to use their assigned item, they could trade with another person, which would be uncomplicated now because it was clear who had priority on which electronic device. 

And voila! A schedule was made! Peace rested over us (at least as far as talking about screen time went) because everybody could see that they would get a turn and when, and they felt reassured that turns were divided fairly. I accepted their plan and posted it on the refrigerator. I let Griff know how impressed I was by his leadership and his ability to think through the problem on paper. 

Come screen time, everybody knew what to expect. No fights. No "it's not fair!" or "he always gets to go first!" The magic of laying out our data clearly. 

Griff and I agreed that I should blog this, because it seems like a breakthrough idea for us and maybe another family might be interested in solving a similar situation this way. I imagine it could be applied to a variety of sibling dilemmas. It's also interesting to think about the steps that Griffin took to solving the problem.

At first, I was thinking about this as a "teachable moment," but then realized that it wasn't about teaching, it was about learning - a learnable moment. Griff arrived at new ways of thinking about time, and he learned some scheduling skills - no easy feat, considering how much trouble his dad sometimes has creating on-call schedules for his practice. He had the opportunity to exercise consensus-building strategies among his siblings, and to look at new ways of solving frustrating problems. He had the gratification of knowing that all of the answers came from him; I had provided nothing but support and had not dictated any of the scheduling. I had the opportunity to see his mind at work and to appreciate his methods, which were different from what mine might have been, and ultimately very effective. I also got to stay out of the decision-making, which is important to me because I want the kids to handle as many of their issues among themselves as possible, for the sake of their growing minds and my mental health. The younger boys were able to witness this process and learn by example how to handle a sticky turn-taking situation. We all got to enjoy a nice, drama-free afternoon. 

I'll be on the lookout for other family issues that might be solved in a similar way. We are all happiest here when we grasp the learnable moment and enjoy the results. 

"i would hate christmas without christ" - an atheist's take on holiday sanity and welcoming in the light

I felt sad when I saw this yesterday. As a previously-Catholic/Christian person, I can relate to feeling this way. But as a person who now celebrates Christmas in a purely secular way, I see another side. So this statement didn't contain truth, to me:

"Without Christ, Christmas would be a massive list of obligations and to-dos. It would be a little goodwill and a whole lot of greed. It would be transitory peace found in a sugar coma or a pretty light display or a brief moment of entertainment."

Can we discuss this? It's true that consumerism and to-do lists can take over at this time of year (and any time of year), if we let them. But it's also true that this holiday is a cobbling-together of a lot of traditions from many different cultures and beliefs, all of which ultimately reflect the human need for a light in the cold darkness of wintertime. While Christ is that light for some, is it too much to ask that we consider that Christmas and the other winter holidays can also be a time of centeredness for those who don't believe in a deity, or who believe in another deity or deities?

The winter holidays are not only about religion. Their roots tap into something universal, a need to bring warmth to cold days, sparkle into long nights, and hope for the spring ahead. From this need come decorated evergreen trees, yule logs set ablaze, songs filling the night, cups of cheer, gatherings of friends and family, exchanges of gifts to express love. I would posit that you don't need to believe in one particular deity, or any deity at all, to tap into this. After all, those needs stretch into human history, long before our mythologies were born. All we really need is to keep our focus, which requires reflection and mindfulness. 

The author of the original "I Believe" piece, "I Would Hate Christmas Without Christ," finds that centeredness in Bible study. I don't. And chances are that some of you don't, either. 

Some of the ways that I fight stress and keep my mind on what Christmas means to me include:

Intentionality. Why do I do what I do? Do I follow a certain tradition out of a sense of obligation (to family, to friends, to myself, to my kids)? Do I truly want to perpetuate this particular tradition? When I find myself feeling stressed, I find that the stress is a clue to something that needs to change. Which leads to the next point...

Abstention. Stress often means it's time to say no to something; just don't do it. Give fewer gifts. Dicuss *not* exchanging gifts with some people. Bail out of a tradition you have never enjoyed. Skip a certain activity this year. That activity might even be one you love, but skipping it this year may enable you to enjoy everything else just a little bit more, and will make it even more special when you decide to revive it in some future year.

Conscious gift-giving. A bunch of years back, somebody introduced me to this little rhyme as a mantra of sorts for gift-giving: "Something you want, something you need, something to wear, and something to read." It's simple, easy to remember, and helps to put some boundaries on your gift-giving that prevent going overboard or finding "just one more thing". It's easy to know when to stop shopping/making when you have a clear goal in mind. I have always felt strongly about choosing gifts that truly fit the recipient, because that act of thoughtful giving says "you are seen and known and loved," and I like how that approach to gifting fits with the rhyme. I find that it's easier to get ideas through the year when I'm thinking, "oh, that would be a perfect 'something to wear' for Griffin."  It's also easier to plan gift-giving with this framework - Dan and I can sit down to brainstorm and know what kind of ideas we want, and we can clearly see when we're finished. Some side benefits: it's helpful to parents who want to make sure that siblings feel like they're treated fairly/equally, and it's also helpful to grandparents who might need encouragement to lavish a slightly smaller pile of gifts on their loved ones. 

Your conscious gift-giving scheme might take a different form, but I highly recommend having one.  

Perspective. It's easy to get wrapped up in the "everything must be perfect!!!"  mindset. But think for a moment. When a friend gives a gift to you, do you critique the wrapping? Sure, if it's extra-pretty you admire it, but ultimately, you don't think less of them if it's not clever and intricate. And it gets ripped up, anyway, right? When you visit people, I'm sure you enjoy their decor, but if their home is less-decorated, does that really impact your happiness, or is it their company that you enjoy?  When you're stressing out about creating a fantastic holiday for somebody, talk to yourself for a moment - what would really happen if you didn't do all of it? Which parts are most likely to be truly enjoyed? And would you really think less of a loved one who didn't do all of that stuff? It's awesome to exercise your creativity and create elaborate traditions and decor and food and plans...but if it's weighing you down, ask yourself, does it really matter in the long run? Is it worth trading your peace of mind and subjecting those around you to your stress?

Focus. Ultimately, why do you do what you do? I'm willing to bet that it comes down to loving somebody, wanting to make the world a better place, enjoying some aspect of winter. Hold those things in the front of your mind. Let unnecessary things fall away. The best holidays in my life have been the most simple or the most fly-by-the-seat of your pants. There was the year when my family couldn't afford a purchased tree and simply cut a scraggly white pine from our back yard. We had just a few gifts, mostly homemade, under the tree. The sense of appreciation of what we have and of connectedness to each other was strong. And there was also the year when my eldest son was born, when our family gathering was thrown into disarray by his birth. Everybody slowed things down, went with the flow, and we celebrated together a day later. It was not what we had planned, and it was perfect.  

"We're so busy watching out for what’s just ahead of us that we don’t take time to enjoy where we are..."   -Calvin and Hobbes

For many people, thinking about the birth of a savior and holy scriptures helps them to find their center. But to say that without Christ, they would hate Christmas and be lost in consumerism and stress strikes me as a tad histrionic and lacking in perspective. The truth is, if they didn't believe in Christ, they would find ways to slow down, to appreciate what they have, to simplify their plans and make them more enjoyable. Without Christ, there are still loving families and friends who want to show how thankful they are for each other. There are still people working toward caring for the sick and the poor and thinking about good will for all humankind. There can still be a focus on values and tradition rather than on dollars spent and hours in the kitchen. 

None of us need be condemned to suffering through the holidays, with or without Christ.  Nor does a lack of belief in a deity mean that your holiday will be "a little goodwill and a whole lot of greed... transitory peace found in a sugar coma or a pretty light display or a brief moment of entertainment." If you don't believe me, take a moment this month to come share a cup of tea with this atheist on her back porch, and slow down for a while. One of my favorite quotes is this one, from John Greenleaf Whittier: "somehow, not only for Christmas but all the long year through, the joy that you give to others Is the joy that comes back to you." We all feel the need for connection and light, and we can all be that light for each other. As we pass by the 21st, we all start turning our faces toward the sun, and celebrating the hope for spring, whatever name we give that hope. 

Namaste, and may you have a wonderful Chanukah, Yule, Christmas, Kwanzaa, Solstice, Festivus, or whatever holiday is close to your heart. What do you do to keep your focus and protect yourself from being overtaken by stress?

midsummer mothering makeover

As we approach the half-way point of summer vacation, we're all burned out. Too much parent-child and sibling-sibling together time, too little creative flow, and it's not helped along by 106 degree days and an air conditioning system that can't support the size of our home (thanks, previous owners!). Mama is cranky, the kids are bickering and whining, and everybody is just DONE.

Today while my husband takes the kids to the blessedly-indoor, totally-kid-friendly rec center pool, I'm restoring my mojo so that I can go into the next week with a renewed sense of energy and patience. A little laundry and housecleaning (organized home = clutter-free mind, ahhh), a little back-to-basics for my parenting ideals, and a little time without kids clinging to me and begging for treats. 

I almost hate to admit it, but I have still never managed to read Alfie Kohn's Unconditional Parenting cover-to-cover. It seems like the best books are the ones that I can never find time to read when I really need them. While searching for something else, I stumbled upon the image on the left, which led me to a 2009 New York Times article, "When a Parent’s ‘I Love You’ Means ‘Do as I Say'" (a sentiment with which I am altogether too familiar). Tha author? None other than Mr. Kohn. Good reminder of my core values. I would recommend it both to parents who already believe that "unconditional parenting" is something to strive for, as well as those who currently favor time-outs and other mainstream parenting methods based in punishments and rewards. Once again, UP is at the top of my neverending to-read list. 

One thing I'm hoping to glean from reading the book is an idea of what the hell to do when I really, really want or need obedience. I tend to stress family collaboration and gentle guidance over a "do what I say, when I say it" approach, and I'm completely on board with the long-term benefits of this, both in terms of raising indepedent, moral, responsible adults and also ixn terms of establishing and preserving a health relationship between parents and children. The thing is, sometimes I need (want?) people to just DO WHAT I SAY. Sometimes my patience runs out for explaining something for the millionth time, or waiting forever for a seat belt to be buckled. Sometimes I need a kid to just plain STOP PESTERING HIS BROTHERS. NOW. Setting limits is important, yes. Setting realistic limits - those that are age-appropriate and not excessively controlling - is key. And we have those limits. But how do you enforce those limits without shaming, blaming, nagging, yelling, punishing, or rewarding? How do you avoid getting angry and mean with a kid who is pushing your buttons in hundred-plus-degree heat for the eight thousandth time this week? Can you have your disciplinary cake and eat it, too? 

A new resource to me (new, as in, just found it today) is Aha! Parenting, created by Dr. Laura Markham (no, not that other awful Dr. Laura). I'm hoping it can be a practical, dip-into-as-needed companion to an underlying foundation of compassionate parenting. Her two-point philosophy meshes well with mine:

1. Children who feel connected WANT to cooperate. They need guidance -- limits with empathy when necessary -- but never punishment.  When they can't connect and cooperate, it's because they need our help with their emotions.

2. Job One for parents is managing our own emotions,  so we can help our children manage theirs.

YES YES YES, although I might put #2 first, it's that important. Handling your own emotional shit - both the in-the-moment stuff and the old-baggage stuff - is quite possibly the most important part of being a parent. Or of just being an adult. THE MOST IMPORTANT. Everything else - literally, everything - flows from that. 

Ok, so back to my current too-hot, too-bored, too-grumpy family: I was surprised to see that Dr. Laura, in an article about the importance of boredom for children, suggests that when a kid whines about being bored, you give them your undivided attention and some connection for five minutes. What? I'm fully on board with not overscheduling kids, as suggested previously in the article. We keep extracurriculars to a minimum and typicaly don't do "summer camp" types of programs. But I was under the impression that telling a kid to go make their own fun, and not giving them a ton of attention, was constructive when a kid is bored. What Markham is suggesting is not that we solve their boredom issue, but just that we check in with them, refill their emotional tank. And that is exactly what I have not been doing enough lately. It's hard to connect with kids when you are also too-hot, too-bored, and too-grumpy, but that's exactly when it's time to go back to Job #1, get over your hot/bored/grumpy shit, and tune in. If they want more, it's probably because they need more. If they're filled up, they'll be able to entertain themselves. 

Except for boredom issue #2: screen time. Yeah, in theory, we limit it. And in practice, it's hard to stick with that during a hot hot HOT summer. It's easy to say yes to one more video or computer game. And that's when Markham blew my mind for a second time. I know about neurotransmitters. I know that we can get addicted to things like carbohydrates, which give our brains these little boosts of dopamine that makes us feel oh so good and make us crave more. I didn't know that "electronics (Ipads, phones, computers, video games) are designed to produce little “dopamine” rewards in our brains as we interact with them. This “screen time” can be so enjoyable that other experiences pale in comparison." There's my Aha! moment. You really can be addicted to video games, even when they're played in moderation. And kids who regularly use electronics are more likely to feel bored than children who don't. Wowza. We need to do something to break that addiction.  

All right, but what about the things that drive us to say OK to screen time, to begin with? Long days spent inside due to heat advisories, kids who are inactive, bored, and bickering, touched-out parents. How do you keep everybody's tank full and your own needs covered when you have SO MUCH time together, without resorting to the screen? Those screens are a tempting solution when everybody needs some down time and won't stop picking at each other, or when a tired parent wants to be left alone for a while. 

I think perhaps I'm focusing too much on the what-do-we-do-once-we're-stuck and not enough on preventing getting stuck to begin with, maybe?  From an Aha! article: "if he seems hellbent on trouble, he's asking for your help."  Yeah. I know this. It should probably be my mantra for a while. It's not about obedience. It's about feeling connected enough to each other, whole enough, so that we feel good cooperating with each other and finding interesting things to do. 

What are your summertime mantras? What keeps everybody's tank full so that you don't run into the touched-out, worn-out, too-bored crankies?  What helps everybody to co-exist peacefully? 

good advice?

My friend Susan shares her struggles with parent-child boundaries today in "Grown up children and their parents" on her blog, Exploring Women's Bodies.  She includes a quote sent to her by a friend and attributed to Katherine Briggs, co-creator of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. The reported recipient of her words was her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers, who was about 20 years old at the time. 

It is the PRIVILEGE of parents of grown up children to make suggestions; and it is the DUTY of the children to give serious consideration to those suggestions.

It is the PRIVILEGE of grown up children to make their own decisions; and it is the DUTY of the parents to respect and acquiesce in these decisions.

After writing a response, including applause for Susan's thoughtful decision not to burden her son with worries which were likely to impact him more negatively than positively, I felt the need to copy and share the rest of my comment as a separate post. Those thoughts follow:

Briggs' comment to her daughter is, in my opinion, vastly oversimplified. One cannot necessarily say what privileges all parents and children can or should have. There are few, if any, one-size-fits-all platitudes that can be applied to that relationship.

I might argue that having a relationship with one's adult child is a privilege in and of itself. A parent can earn this privilege, in part, by showing themselves to be a respectful person worthy of trust and capable of nonviolent emotional closeness. Much depends on the personalities of parent and child, too. Giving advice might or might not fit well into a particular parent-child dynamic. 

An adult child does not, in my opinion, have a duty to listen to or accept advice from his or her parent. All adults in all relationships have the right to say "I don't want to discuss this." While doing so might have negative effects on the relationship, it is the right of any person on the receiving end of advice to set their own boundaries. It is the duty of all people to respect the boundaries of others.

Making decisions about one's own adult life is not a privilege. It is a right. The only times I can think of when that right is removed is when the person has committed a crime punishable by the justice system, or when the adult is mentally incapacitated. 

I do agree that parents have a duty to respect and accept their adult child's decisions. However, the word "acquiesce" implies permission or allowing the child to make their own decisions. Permission doesn't play into it. The adult child has a right to make decisions, full stop. No permission needed. In fact, it would be terribly condescending and disrespectful for a parent to either grant or deny permission to their adult child for anything that does not directly affect the parent. 

Many times, I've pondered over what I will do when my children are grown. Under what circumstances should I give them advice? So far here's what I've arrived at:

1) I will give them advice when they ask for it, if I think I am qualified to give advice.

2) If I feel the need to offer advice, I will ask if I may advise them, and abide by their reply.

3) The only time I will give "pushy" advice that oversteps those boundaries is when I see clear, present, extreme, certain danger. Not something that I think *might* be dangerous, not a situation that *could* turn out poorly, not something that simply offends my own moral code, but REAL, BIG DANGER. I hope I never have a need to give that kind of advice.

Mostly, I hope to make the kind of decision that Susan has made - to recognize that my worries may do more harm than good to my child, and to find ways of handling my feelings other than to dump them onto my child. 

What do you think about duties, rights, and privileges, as they pertain to parent/child advice-giving? I invite you to continue the discussion on Susan's post.

coming out of the fog

I am the adult daughter of an abusive mother and an enabling father. 

It is difficult to speak these thoughts out loud, and doing so is a recent development for me, a personal resurrection.  Emotional abuse thrives on secrecy, as it keeps the subjects of the abuse compliant and easy to reach.  Those who try to cast it off are scorned, shunned, derided by the very people who should, in a better world, be their champions.  Children who grow up in an atmosphere of control and invalidation learn to be fearful of voicing their experiences.

An abuser etches harmful words on the souls of her children and convinces them that they are the truth. If the children are fortunate, somebody will be present who can smooth these words out and provide a healthy view of reality. If they are unfortunate, they will be alone, isolated, and confused regarding what is reality and what is a lie.  If they stand up for themselves, they will be punished, not only by their abuser, but also by others influenced by the abuser. They will be told not to air dirty laundry, even though talking about abuse is the only way to heal.  They will be told to forgive and to forget, even though forgetting means submitting oneself to abuse over and over and over again. They will be told to bury the hatchet, even though they are not the ones holding it. They will be threatened and shamed in the abuser's efforts to regain control and bully the abused person back into submission.

I am speaking these things in public because without openness, there is no healing, there is only the secrecy in which abuse thrives. That secrecy protects the abuser(s) and assures that their targets cannot escape. I know that a dysfunctional family, when exposed, experiences pain, feels raw.  That rawness is not my responsibility. It is the responsibility of the generations of dysfunctional parents before me, who each passed their burdens down to their children, intentionally or not. 

Once there was a girl who called me a whore, for a joke, repeatedly. When I stood up to her, she complained that I hurt her feelings. I understand that her feelings were hurt, but I do not regret standing up for myself, nor do I think she had much of a right to complain about her feelings being hurt by her friend asking her not to call her a whore any more.  Just so with parents who harm their children. I acknowledge that estrangement is difficult for those parents, but a person who does harm to another does not have the right to cry foul when the hurt person declares "no more." 

I have heard accusations. I have heard insults. I have heard litanies of my faults. I have heard demands. I have heard threats. I have heard some pretty words but not heard words surrounding them that make them seem meaningful, nor seen any actions that lead me to believe those pretty words are true. I have been subjected to fear, obligation, and guilt (FOG), the triple-threat of the dysfunctional family.  I have not heard introspection, self-reflection, thoughtful consideration, sharing of responsibility. I have not seen change.

Nobody wants an estrangement. Nobody picks it as their first line of emotional defense or starts it on a whim. Estrangement is not about one particular event or a grudge; it is about a pervasive pattern of behavior from which a person has decided to disentangle themselves in order to be happy and healthy. There is always, always a long, exhausting back story. Decades spent wishing for and trying to achieve change. A lifetime of hurt that runs through the past and continues into the present.

Nor does hurt negate positive memories. I have oodles of them. I also know that many of the parts of myself that I like a lot were influenced by my parents, and that they have many good traits. Happy memories and good characteristics still exist, even in abusive families, but they are not enough to excuse the abuse or to remove its effects. Moments of happiness do not obligate a person to dedicate herself to a lifetime of a broken relationship. 

I have four siblings.  I will not speak for them, because in families such as mine, each sibling has their own story and suffers their own effects. Individual impact is affected by birth order, gender, personality, favoritism, scapegoating, and so much more. I've seen how that plays out in the generation older than me. I know it will play out in its own way in my generation.  I love my siblings, enjoy my relationships with them, and appreciate the moments of compassionate witness and shared experience that we have. I know that not all of them will like my speaking in public. I have been informed - perhaps erroneously, perhaps accurately - that one or more of them think I'm delusional. I hope that this is nothing but the gaslighting of a woman struggling to get her narcissistic supply, but if it's true, I understand how a person could have that perspective.

I'm not delusional, though. I am me. I own my truth, the good parts and the bad.  

I was instructed recently to "end this," and so I am ending it. I'm done. 

I am coming out of the fog.

I will be myself. I will work to overcome the anxiety, fear, and shame that shackle me. I acknowledge the heredity and upbringing that contributed to these issues in the past, and take responsibility for handling them in the present time. 

I will not fraternize with people who do me harm, physically or emotionally.  I will not subject my children to such people. I will continue to build a community of reciprocal relationships with friends and family members who play actively positive roles in our lives and who show a willingness to work constructively together in times of interpersonal struggle. 

I will not allow any person to bully and intimidate my family via threats of legal action. 

I will be a compassionate witness for others who need to share their stories and come out of secrecy, whether it is about abuse or any other personal trial. I will express my gratitude to the friends who share their struggles with me in order to let me know that I am not alone.

I will work hard to be a truly loving parent who understands who her children are as people, who will respect their rights, who rejects control-based parenting advice with its negative views of the nature of children.  I will listen to my children's concerns. I will acknowledge my mistakes and apologize genuinely to them. I will not shame them or withdraw love from them when who they are is at odds with who I am. I will not use my size, experience, or age to oppress them. I will exercise patience, self-restraint, compassion.

I will expect my husband to confront me and support my children when I harm them. I will support them when they believe that he has done something unfair, or when I witness him doing something hurtful. We will work as a family to encourage an atmosphere of respect for all members, regardless of age. 

I understand that my children may choose their own paths.  I will work to be open to their criticism and understanding if, despite my intents in this time, I fail to play a sufficiently positive role in their lives. I will accept whatever relationship they wish to have with me in the future. I do not own their bodies or their minds, now or ever. 

We are each the captains of our own souls. I greet those who sail with me in this time, even as I bid farewell and smooth sailing to those with whom I can no longer travel.

stand up

One day during my junior year of high school, a friend made a joke about my being a prostitute.  That doesn't sound like much of a joke, but it seemed funny at the time, laughing about how I worked the corner at one of our town's ritzier shopping districts.  Ha, ha.  The irony of teenagers, the humor of virgins.  She liked the laugh she got, and it became a staple in her lunchtime comedy routine.  Yada yada, Jess the hooker, nyuk nyuk.  Pretty quickly, it became tiresome and nobody was laughing but her.  Mostly the joke was ignored, but it rankled with one particular person: me.  

You see, I didn't exactly relish being called a whore.  I knew she was joking, but, well, it just wasn't funny.  I asked her to stop.  She didn't.  So one day, I let her know that I didn't like the joke and that I didn't want her to tell it ever again. 

She cried.

Later that day, I received a note (folded in true LYLAS style) accusing me of using a hurtful tone.  

Just to review...she called me a whore.  I asked her to stop.  She didn't.  I firmly told her to stop.  She complained about my tone.   Did I take a harsh tone with her? I'm sure I did.  Did I call her names or insult her lineage or harm her physically? No. I spoke angrily after being abused and after the abuser refused to stop the abuse. The nerve of me! 

What was going on there was bullying.  No, she wasn't a bully in the general sense - she didn't push people around on a regular basis.  But trampling on somebody and then getting defensive and whiny when they stand up to you is a classic bully move.  Bullies love to complain about how their rights are being violated, how people aren't respecting them, while completely ignoring the fact that they provoked somebody into using their outside voice to defend themselves to start with.  

Standing up to a bully is awful.  They will tell you that you are making things up.  They will tell you all kinds of horrible things about yourself.  They will tell you that you are being nasty, even if you have been careful to use your most mindful, empathetic, Marshal Rosenbergian approach.  They will deny, they will attack, they will probably not take ownership of their actions, or apologize, or change.

It's still important for you to stand up to them.  If nothing else, you will know that you did it.  You will know that you have thought deeply about the situation, approached it with as much tact as you know how, that you have defended yourself and asked for the respect every human deserves.  You will know from how they respond what the future of your relationship with them might be.  

It will suck.  It will hurt.  You may cry, obsess, lose sleep.  And then the healing will come - either healing of the rift between you, or healing of the rift within you that put you in this kind of relationship to begin with. It is worth it.  It is hard, and you can do it.

advent-itious

I promised Angela that I'd show my advent calendar, and it's halfway through the month (I'm backdating, natch), but perhaps this will be on time for her 2011 calendar.  Ahem.

A year and a few weeks ago, my friend Lynn mentioned the envelope-style advent calendar that she was planning to make for her daughter, and it sounded like an excellent way to celebrate the month of December as well as get a little more organized.  I'm always planning to attend things like the Christmas parade or do things like jingle my neighbors and take a tacky lights drive, but December comes and goes and I miss dates or forget that I had intended to do things.  I also like the idea of an advent calendar with nifty things inside, but didn't want to do away with the nifty '70s felt tree from Dan's childhood, nor do I feel like we need any extra trinkets or candies.  So an activity a day? Perfect.  Then I managed not to do it.

But THIS year, ladies and gents, I was organized.  Super-organized.  5pm December 1st saw me frantically making a couple of last recycled-paper envelopes, stuffing them with ideas, and hanging them up for the kids to find. 

First, make 24 envelopes.  I used an envelope template, Elmer's glue, and pages torn from the many holiday catalogs that have been showing up at our door.  You might also use small envelopes from a craft store, decorated with the art supplies of your choice, or if you're really ambitious, try sewing a set. Number the envelopes before the next step.

(This also served as a good reminder to hit Catalog Choice again in the new year and stop those puppies from arriving in the first place. Reduce what you can, reuse what you can't reduce, and recycle the rest.)

Next you'll need a list of ideas and some way to put them in the envelopes.  You might write them on slips of paper.  I had created my list using Google docs, so I put my ideas in a table, printed the table, then cut out each block.  Remember to stuff date-sensitive items like parades or special visits in the envelope with the correct # for the date.  

Find a length of ribbon, twine, yarn, etc. and hang it wherever you want the envelopes to be and tie, glue, or clip the envelopes to it (I used miniature clothespins, found at a craft store).  I hung mine in numerical order.  It suddenly occurs to me that it might be fun to mix them up.  

I've seen many of them beautifully arranged along mantelpieces.  That wouldn't last five minutes in my house, so I strung my ribbon out of reach, in the entryway to our living room.

It's a hit with the 8-year-old; the younger kids aren't particularly interested this year.  Don't beat yourself up if you don't end up doing every activity, or don't do them on the days you planned.  We've had changes of course due to rain, cranky people, or lack of interest, among other reasons.  The idea is for this to be FUN.  If nobody thinks it's fun to go for a walk to see neighborhood lights tonight, that's ok.  If cookie baking needs to wait until tomorrow, wait!  We've set aside our "extra" activities for inspiration during winter break.

Need some ideas to reach 24?  Here are some of ours:

:: bake cookies :: deliver packages to neighbors :: get together with friends to make gingerbread houses :: take a tacky lights drive :: family holiday music dance party :: make wintery crafts :: cut paper snowflakes :: check out some holiday books at the library :: go to a holiday show :: shop for presents :: make gifts :: shop for and deliver food for the food bank :: hang out with cousins :: watch the parade of lights :: wrap presents :: go pick a tree :: make s'mores :: decorate the tree :: sit by the fire with cocoa :: 

the stories we tell

Careful the tale you tell
That is the spell
Children will listen

- Steven Sondheim, Into the Woods

There is a dangerous tale being told in our home.  It has devastating power, an edge that cuts, a broad side that crushes.  It has no ending; in fact, thus far it only has an opening line, but that single sentence carries a sense of forboding, of angst, of tension.  

It sounds like truth, and therein lies part of its power.  Another part comes from who it is that tells the story - a person who has the ability to shape another's world.  

The story is told by Griffin, and it goes like this: "Reese doesn't like work." Reese shows no outward reaction to the story, but I see the words being etched onto him more deeply with each retelling. 

I said to Griffin: "Here is a story that is true: Yesterday, Reese entered the studio and found an enormous mess left by two little boys.  These little boys had dumped two puzzle boxes and all of the Bananagrams tiles and had mixed them up into a stew.  Reese saw the mess, and knew that the game pieces might get lost, and also knew that nobody could enjoy the studio while it was covered in the mess.  He picked up all of the pieces on his own.  This was hard work, and I felt grateful to him."

"And here is a story that my brothers like to tell: they have an older sister who is very bossy."

"When my brothers tell that story, I feel sad.  I think it is not true.  I wish that they would not tell that story.  I don't like them very much when they tell that story, and I feel frustrated that they don't really know who I am.  I feel like they don't like me. That story sometimes stops us from being friends."

"Your story about Reese is not true. It might feel true to you because you prefer different kinds of work to the kinds that Reese prefers. When you tell that story, you tell Reese what you believe about him. You are Reese's brother. You can choose what stories you tell about him. How he feels about you and how you feel about him will be shaped by the stories you tell."

What stories from our childhoods do we still tell ourselves?  I am haunted by the story of Aunt Aggie's nose, which might perch upon my face at any time.  I have been trying to get rid of the classification story that includes a dichotomous key, separating "artistic" or "creative" children from "academic" or "smart" ones.  There are stories about who I am and who other people are, and what I should not be, or what relatives I should not become like.  There are stories about "other people" and why they are better or worse than I am, and what aspects of them allow me to make these judgments.  There are parables about cows and free milk, back-dated performance reviews, allegories containing gluttonous witches and long-suffering martyrs and unlikely dragons.

There are also pretty anecdotes, adventure tales, nursery rhymes, wildflower guides, all added to my inner library of stories by people whose opinions mattered to me.  

What stories are told in our homes? Are they classics worth preserving, or is it time for them to be weeded out of our collections? Can we be careful co-curators with our children of their own personal libraries?

263/365: superfluous

I have this fantastic memory of bra shopping with my little sister in 2002.  I was 26, she would have been 15, she was staying with me for a week during the summer, and I'm sure there were a few things she would rather have been doing than accompanying her big sister to a Maidenform outlet to suit up her rather unmaidenly, pregnant DDs.    

I had previously been one of the five kajillion women about whom Oprah is deeply concerned because they're wearing the wrong bra size.  I was convinced, like so many other women, that I wore a bigger band and a smaller cup, and keeping me in my ignorance was the wide variety of cute, colorful underthings available to those who don't need (or don't think they need) a triple-hook in back.  This time, though, amplified by my delicate condition as I was, there was no denying that I was skipping the lavender and polka-dots and heading straight to the section that resembled body armor for Brunhilde more than anything else.  And apparently, Hildie is a practical gal with no interest in frilly eye candy.  

Finally, I found a couple of almost-attractive brassieres (you cannot call something that solidly functional a mere bra): one pinkish beige contraption with a not-too-frumpy lace overlay, and a darker pinkish beige rendition of the same.  I swallowed my pride, talked up the embellishments in my head, convinced myself they were cute, and headed to the register.

My sister intercepted me.

"Ew," quoth teenaged she with utmost eloquence and tact, continuing: "they look like something grandma would wear."

And so, dear readers, I spent the next several months of my first pregnancy wearing undergarments that resembled my grandmother's.  And lo, these many years since, not a brassiere-shopping excursion goes by during which I do not hearken back to those insightful words of my younger sister, and meditating upon them, pass up the body armor, in the hopes of finding something a little more colorful and a little less valkyrian.