I have a clear memory of being in elementary school and daydreaming about creating a robot that could do my homework for me. I distinctly remember being overcome with joy; a solution to all that time spent doing homework. Though I should say complaining about homework, because I probably spent more time vocalizing my distain for it than I actually did doing it (sorry, Mom). Almost just as fast as the idea came to me, so did the realization that the robot could only be as smart as me; that if I were the one building it and programing it, it could not perform beyond my own abilities. So I let the idea go and sharpened my pencil and got to work.
Kids & Body Image
If you’ve followed my blog for sometime you may recount me telling the tale of Hooper slipping in a puddle of water by the pool on one of our trips out to the desert and suffering a concussion that resulted in a trip to the ER where, like most, we waited.
The hospital is not a new environment to me but actually sitting and taking in the slowness that only a wait in the ER can afford me is a new experience. I people watched, mostly; the older man with a laceration above his eye resulting from a fall, a young woman hoping to get a prescription for pain medication, and about 20 others who – like Hooper and myself – didn’t have an obvious reason for being there, waiting. And when I was over that, I glanced up at the TV. On it were informative snippets, all health related, that the average google-searcher is probably already keen to. But one, in particular, caught my eye and has stayed with since. So much so that it’s months later and this particular post has been marinating, writing itself really, in the back of my head ever since.
The snippet was on body image and how to talk to children about their bodies in such a way that fosters confidence and self-respect. The one that stuck with me most was something along the lines of “point out all that their bodies do for them”. It got me thinking. I tell my boys numerous times a day how ‘cute’ they are. And ever since letting the infomercial sink in, I start to choke on those words as they come out of my mouth. Because they’re more than cute. They’re CAPABLE.
I would rather build them up and make them feel special based on what they can do rather than on how they look. And what they can do need not be anything more than breathing because the gift of breathing, we all would agree, is pretty special in it’s own right.
I’ve had a harder time trying to transition this kind of vocabulary into words that would actually come out of my mouth because I’m certainly not willing to ditch ‘stop being so dang cute’ with ‘how amazing is the fact you breath’. But I’m on my way, because dammit, it’s important.
I grew up with the ‘skinny girl’ complex that in today’s bizarre weight obsessed society feels like an inappropriate thing to complain about. But it made me incredibly self conscious. So-much-so that I wore sweat pants to gymnastics. Mind you I trained 5 days a week for 4 hours a day, in the afternoon, in southern California. Point being, it was hot and it didn’t make sense.
The other day my mom told me Hooper’s golf coach gave him a ride in the golf cart while all the other kids walked and justified it, in front of Hooper and the other kids in the class, because Hooper was ‘too skinny’ and couldn’t afford to lose calories walking. When I heard that, I was reminded of my junior high days when all my friends and a few curious classmates pitched in on my birthday to buy me an absurd amount of balloons to see if I could actually be whisked away. I was a pretty resilient kid in the respect that it didn’t bother me much, but my sister and my mom – who were equally thin but arguably more sensitive – recall similar memories being more detrimental to their psyche.
Hooper overheard me the other day describing him as a baby being ‘skinny’ and immediately upon hearing the word ‘skinny’ turned to me and said, ‘I’m not skinny’ in-such-a-way that proved he’s only beginning to become aware of this new label and making sense of it. I can see the wheels spinning, ‘is this a good thing’, ‘is this a mean thing’, ‘do I want to be skinny’, ‘do others want to be skinny’…
I recall reading a post by my dear friend Marge Jacobsen, who herself was a victim of abuse. Her post highlighted the fact that she does not make her children hug her. Sounds fair enough but I know I for one am always trying to manipulate a hug or kiss out of my boys because, dammit, I love them. But she makes a ridiculously important point in that we ought to respect when others don’t want to touch us or show affection and not make it about hurt feelings.
Sometimes I think we’ve all gotten too damn sensitive in this age of parenting. We’re all so hyper-aware and there’s so many avenues that allow for so much judgement of one another. I mean describing Hooper as skinny is synonymous with describing his hair as blond; it’s nothing more than a characteristic trait. By the same token, one would never describe a kid as fat to his / her face because it carries a certain amount of hurt when being described in such a way.
I suppose the take home, for me, is that it is more beneficial for me to compliment my boys on things they have control over; things like chores or the way their body enables them to do things they enjoy. I won’t deny their obvious traits, I just won’t let them define who they are and I won’t file them under reasons why I love them. Because fat or thin, short or tall, black or white, hugs or no hugs, I love them all the same. Always will.
Therapy for the win
Before Sonny was conceived, Willy and I had a lot of discussions surrounding adding another member to our family. I always knew I had wanted more than two; it’s just what has always felt right, instinctively, on a level that cannot be backed up by any sort of logic but instead is felt solely on an emotional level only the one feeling it can comprehend. I knew that should we not go on to have another baby that I would feel a void, a longing, and I feared the resentment that likely would fill in the holes.
Many of our discussions ended in frustration; Willy protesting that life with the current two is crazy enough, all he can handle, and me, saddened by the fact his reality did not match mine.
Our parenting structure kind of broke down. We didn’t support each other in the same way we had in the past. It was only in hindsight that we can attest to much of the acting out during this time, on the kids part, was in direct connection to the fact we were no longer standing strong together.
I always saw the argument for a third as a matter of perspective. That life as it is today and the hardships that come along with the caregiver stage of parenting are temporary, Willy always saw it as starting over again; hitting reset, and adding to what is / was already a chaotic struggle. Albeit the chaotic struggle we all endure and on some insane level seem to miss just as soon as the dust starts to settle.
It was a battle no one was going to win. He’d tease me on the ‘good days’, when the boys were our ideal versions of themselves, by holding up three fingers and locking eyes with me as if to say ‘in this moment, and only in this moment, I do want a third’. I’d question the seriousness behind such a statement and we’d launch back into the same discussion we’d beaten into the ground so many times before.
It takes two to tango and tango we obviously did and when I found out I was pregnant right around my birthday, I, of course, was ecstatic. Willy shared in the excitement from time to time but I also sensed a twinge of an ‘you won, I lost’ attitude and sometime around the start of the second trimester, I was feeling alone. I was beginning to wonder if adding a third to the mix meant anything to me if it also meant losing a part of my husband. I felt like I was carrying the weight of ‘I asked for this so I have to deal with the repercussions, whatever the repercussions may be, on my own’ on my shoulders.
We bickered more than usual. We fought a lot over the birth plan, his anxieties over the first two births flooding back in. I remember we went down to San Diego to tour a hospital that offered both a birthing unit as well as a labor and delivery unit. We went out to dinner afterward and fought the whole time. Me, thinking I had found the perfect middle ground, him, still not satisfied with involving a midwife in our care on any level. I agreed that night to go the OB route, threw it in his face that I wasn’t comfortable with any of it and blamed him for making decisions out of fear that involved my body and the baby I fought so hard for.
Perhaps I’m painting a picture of an unhappy couple. We weren’t. Not at all. Life continued on in between all these events and though our everyday was impacted on some level, the extent to such wasn’t apparent at all at the time. If anyone would have asked us, we both would have said we were happy. And we were. But we were also on edge.
I can’t remember how it came about… if there was a final straw or if it was that I just knew instinctively we needed to regroup and prepare in a more serious way to welcome our third baby, but whatever it was landed us in therapy with a therapist a dear friend had seen for years and highly recommended.
And. It. Was. The. Best. Thing. We. Could. Have. Done. For. Our. Relationship. As in, we still talk about how great it was for us and we still feel the freedom that came from unearthing all the resentment and anger and bitterness that, at-the-time, we thought we were so neatly sweeping under the rug when in actuality we were more like a tractors at a construction site building piles of dirt that eventually ended up crumbling and suffocating us.
I talked about the regret I felt in putting the both of us in a position where our own relationship was negatively affected. How I didn’t realize that ‘winning’ in one battle would mean ‘losing’ in another. Willy talked about how much of his reluctance to bring another child into the world was associated with the birth process and his anxieties related to our past experiences with birth. Any and all issues brought up were discussed and through none other than the vulnerability associated with sharing with a professional, laid to rest.
All this to say, therapy is where it’s at.
For most of us, when we hear that an individual, or better yet a couple, is in therapy, we think the worst. We think that life must be caving in on them. We think they’re weak, unable to handle whatever they are dealing with on their own. We think therapy is the last stop, the last chance to pick up whatever morsels of the broken pieces that are left.
I think it’s stigmas like these that prevent many from seeking outside help. It’s my hope that in sharing our experience that you too may come to see therapy as an outlet to helping yourself the same way you may help a friend. That consulting a therapist is a way of practicing and nurturing love for yourself and for your relationship. That it’s okay to admit to not being whole. And to see therapy not as a weakness but instead as an attempt to help build a stronger understanding. Because all we’re ever really striving for is to be the best versions of ourselves, right? And don’t we owe it to ourselves and our partners, too? I think so.
In any event, Sonny was welcomed into this world by two eagerly waiting parents. And he’s brought so much joy. These days Willy jokingly pokes, “You couldn’t have possibility known”. He’s referring to how special Sonny is (to us, anyway). And all I can say is, “I knew. I just felt it”. And we laugh, knowing that we not only got through it but that we also buried any lingering resentments.
If you, or a friend, needs help I hope this post encourages you to seek the help you need. And if you’re in the Orange County area and are in need of a great recommendation for a therapist, email me. Look. No. Further.
Penis
I was at a dinner with friends recently and was shocked to hear another mom confess to being uncomfortable using the terms penis and vagina with their children. Now granted, I know I’m a little more liberal in my ways than some but it got me thinking about what I am comfortable with and what I’m not in speaking with my children about anything in life. In this case, body parts. And, more than that, sex.
I speak openly about having a vagina with my boys. I never speak of my period as an inconvenience but rather as something beautiful a woman experiences; when asked, I simply tell them that it means ‘mama doesn’t have a baby in her belly’. Because those are terms they understand.
Hooper asked me once if penis is a bad word. It’s amazing how young they are, but how much they pick up on. Referring to genitals by other names insinuates that they are dirty words. I heard that Scotland has a new movement that is teaching parents to refer to body parts by their actual names, to normalize penis and vagina. I mean it is only the genitals that are referred to by alternative names. It would be rather silly to refer to our mouths as slobber holes or our noses as snifferdoodles. No wonder why we are ashamed or embarrassed about it when we’re in our teens.
The other day I was watching one of their stupid shows. In it, the two characters were discussing where babies came from. The one character was leading the other through a factory, explaining that babies came from factories. When the other character appeared perplexed, the leader prompted him to share what his parents told him previously and, to do so, he whispered into the leaders ear a theory we, as the audience, could not hear. To-which-the-leader replied, “That’s disgusting”. So to sum it up, two characters are going through a factory. One is telling the other that babies come from factories. The other is confused because his parents have seemingly told him the truth. When he shares this theory with the other character, this truth is referred to as ‘disgusting’.
And it made me sad. Sad to think that a show would not only condone such a falsity — because I get it, we lie about Santa and the tooth fairy and loads of other things… but to call it disgusting? That part pissed me off.
I remember watching the Surfwise documentary and, if you’ve seen it too you might recall the mom talking about having sex right on the floor of their RV with children coming in and out. By no means am I there – though to each their own – but I do think that we ought to talk about our bodies and it’s parts by their proper names and not attach shame to either the act of sex or the body parts involved.
The other day I used the carseat buckles to explain male and female parts. So easy for them to understand the male fitting in the female. I also think it opens the door for them to be open and honest down the line when sex becomes a real thing.
Doing my part, one day at a time, to unwind societies impositions on them. The best way that I see fit, anyway (I know not everyone will agree with me and that’s okay).
Do you talk to your young children about their body, your body, and sex? Curious to hear what others are saying and your perspectives behind it.
Mother’s Day
My beautiful mama, both before she was a mother and present day, as a grandma. Making it look easy and beautiful, always.
Thank you for loving me.
Breastfeeding Anxieties
There isn’t a lot many can say when it comes to having three children and drawing any sort of similarities out amongst them. I mean, leave it to being the mother of three to prove to you that each one, cut from the same cloth or not, is bound and determined to be their own being. And yet, there are just a few similarities I can say about all three of my boys: each of them came in the 41st week of gestation. In fact, I think damn near 41 weeks and 4 days if we’re being precise. All three waited until their 9th or 10th month to cut any teeth. All three were early walkers, Hooper and Van both in their 10th month, Sonny in his 9th. And breastfeeding; all three have followed the same path.
You would think that by the third time, I’d have it down. In actuality, it’s quite the opposite. For starters, time has passed. Older people joke that they can’t remember their grown children as infants. I joke back that I can’t remember my 4 and 6 year olds as infants. And it’s only a partial joke because there is truth embedded in that statement as well. I’ve forgotten.
My experience with Sonny up until a month ago was seamless. Not without effort, but certainly without bumps in the road. He’d eat when I offered and I’d offer often. If it was before a nap or before putting him down for the night, it would put him to sleep.
I’m seeing things more clearly now from hindsight and I can pin our latest struggles down to the following: he’s far more aware of his surroundings than he once was. He’s easily distracted and half of the time I feel like I’m forcing him to eat which seems silly having always prided myself on ‘on demand’ feeding. Some days I feel like I need a basket filled to the brim with various toys and knick knacks that I can dangle in front of him to keep his attention. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I fed him without holding something on my chest. I suppose I wouldn’t care so much about him refusing feedings if I weren’t so worried about maintaining my supply.
You see what’s happening here? It’s a cocktail I’m mixing.
I wouldn’t even know about my supply if it weren’t for working so much lately. I worked three days in a row in the hospital (which is the only time I pump) and became growingly concerned seeing just how little I would get from the pump. Sure, it’s argued (and presumably true) that baby’s are more efficient than a pump but instinctively I cannot help but be concerned when I used to pump a combined 4 ounces and now, only 1, maybe 2. It’s also stressful to take time out of my day when I’m working as a nurse to only bag a mere ounce (leaving my patients, walking to another unit, pumping, cleaning, storing, walking back… Point being, it’s a process that takes time and takes me away from my patients).
And now, from the position of hindsight, it’s beginning to dawn on me that the same thing happened with both Hooper and Van, around the same age. While I’m blessed with good sleepers, the 9 or 10 hours of consecutive sleep at night causes my supply to plunge.
It’s also right around this time, with all three, that my body begins regulating itself once again and my period returns. I mean all three, at or damn near the 10 month mark. And I know menstruation has ill effects on milk supply. Or can, anyways.
Combine all this – working more and therefore pumping more, the return of my period, and a baby who is distracted by everything and loves solids (and is eating those like a champ) and who is sleeping through the night and then some – and it’s clear to see why my supply is suffering.
I was beginning to talk myself into the idea that maybe he’s just weaning and while, sure, he probably is to a certain extent (definitely transitioning into the world of solid foods) he’s not done with breastfeeding. And nor am I. It’s my goal to make it to a year and now that I’ve gotten over this hump, I know we will.
So how did I get over the hump, you ask?
Well, I reached out and heard back from so many of you via instagram. Sometimes you just have to talk yourself through something to be able to understand the issues.
The consensus was this: the distraction at the breast is normal for this age. Several suggested feeding in a low lit room. While I find this to be helpful during feedings he needs/wants, the reality is that we’ve simply had to cut out some of the feedings we once had… which is fine. I try to cram in as many daytime feedings as I can because I know not feeding at all throughout the night has had an effect on my supply. I’ve also given up on multitasking, gone are the days I could send a quick email or scroll through instagram while breastfeeding. And I’m fine with that, it’s nice to give him my full attention.
My next realization is that we all have limits. At least one person that responded mentioned getting up in the middle of the night to pump which, I agree, would be helpful in breaking the 10 hour hiatus I take from feedings while he sleeps. But, with working two (sometimes three) jobs and wrangling three kids, I need a full nights rest. And I feel very fortunate that I get it. I do, however, wake Sonny a couple hours after I put him down for the night, before I go bed myself (around 10pm or 11pm) and feed him one last time. And I will continue to do so to alleviate the long lapse in not feeding him. That particular session is my favorite; it’s the only one that doesn’t require the extra effort. Very rarely does he even open his eyes. It’s sweet, the kind of feed breastfeeding cliches are made of.
I’ve also increased my water intake. Or at least most days I try to. The amount of water we should all be getting each day is kind of baffling and I firmly believe so many of us – breastfeeding or not – are walking around partially dehydrated. On the days I work in the hospital, I make it a point to down two glasses of water every time I walk into the patient nourishment room. At home, it’s a little harder to come up with something similar because I’m distracted and multitasking with no organization about 90% of my day when I’m at home. I could probably stand to eat more greens too, but hey, we all have limits. I’m trying.
I’ve also started taking calcium + magnesium as well as fenugreek. I tried putting it off for as long as I could because I don’t necessarily care for walking around and smelling like a pancake house. Please tell me there are others who agree that fenugreek makes you smell like maple syrup? I was sitting in a class and thinking that someone near by smelled weird only to get home and have Willy point out that that somebody was, indeed, me.
I’m back to my regular work schedule for the most part and in the past few days I’ve had ‘off’, I’ve found comfort in the fact that he is still taking a significant number of feedings. And while it’s hard to ignore the pump, he does seem to be more efficient and able to draw out more than the pump.
And at the end of the day, he’s healthy. And there’s loads of comfort in that. I worried so much when Hooper was little and his weight percentile dropped all the way down to the 10th percentile. But not the case with Sonny. He’s chunky enough, with thighs that demand to be pinched. All in all, if it weren’t for pumping and attaching a number to the issue at hand, I wouldn’t even second guess anything. And the realization that I’m not alone, not in my worries or in my hatred of pumping, is something too (I’ve enjoyed reading some other breastfeeding stories, here, which have made for a nice late-at-night-oh-hey-look-at-that-I’m-not-alone time suck).
The breastfeeding relationship changes so much in the course of a year and it’s as if you’re constantly having to adjust and re-assess. From the early days where it felt like I was a slave to feeding him to the current days where the anguish derives from just how little time he’s willing to sacrifice to eat. It’s enough to make my head spin. In any event, wish me luck this week as I’m scheduled for a couple 12 hour shifts and will be returning to the dreaded pump to learn my fate as if the pump is some magic 8 ball determined to tear my confidence down. Trying not to let it.
Would love to hear from others in regards to the changes in the breastfeeding relationship and how feeding your 9, 10, or 11 month old and so on is different than when they were younger.
Woman’s March
Hot damn the topic of politics can bring out some rippin’ and roarin’. While the majority of what people posted on social media (and by ‘social media’ I mean instagram because I’ll be damned if I have time for anything else these days) seemed to be with good flavor, I have a twinge of a bad taste left from a few of the comments on one image I posted on our shop feed as well as some of the other less-than-supportive sentiments I came across on the feeds of others. And it’s just like those bad tastes to ruin your palate all together, isn’t it? In any event, we marched the good march; not so much in protest because what’s done is done. But we marched for solidarity.
I had intentions of attending one of the larger marches but having just come back from Arizona the night before after lying Willy’s beautiful grandma to rest, the local march here – in San Clemente – was about all we could muster the energy for. And in hindsight standing amongst our local neighbors and fellow sisters was meaningful in a way that I needed.
It was fast and rather uneventful; the boys chasing their sweet friend Hazel, Sonny drifting off to sleep, and the rest of us walking amongst the honking horns in a sea of homemade signs reminiscent of so many that came before them; we shall overcome, a women’s place is in the revolution, and so on and so forth.
Prior to the march, I spent time talking to the boys about what it means to be a woman, a human, and how we can better support women and each other. For me, it’s not about bashing our new President as much as it is about talking about what’s right, what’s fair, and what equality means. We talked about respect and compassion and what those seemingly cliche words mean. We talked about embracing differences and practicing tolerance. All concepts worth introducing, regardless of the weight they carry.
And so, they carried their signs, they gave some hugs, they marched. But mostly they ran and laughed and played. Because while we’re busy working on their future, they’re busy staying in the moment.
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An addendum: I think so many of us harbor good intentions but meet road blocks when trying to transition said intentions into any sort of meaningful action. The sheer volume that turned out to the marches is great, but for many, it ended when the march ended. And not so much out of apathy but out of paralysis; paralysis stemming from just how big the issues we’re facing are. So big that it’s hard for any one individual to conceptualize what needs to be done and so, many of us end up doing nothing. I’ve been mulling over a few ideas in my head in ways I can help and contribute on an individual level. Aside from the teaching I’m doing at home, because that goes without saying.
How about you? Any ideas of how to take action?
All images shot with my iPhone after taking my camera out only to realize I had no battery life. Ho hum. Long live the iPhone.
On having kids…
The other night our neighbor, who is an older man with no children of his own (by choice), gave the boys ice cream. As we sat together on our shared front yard he mentioned having not heard the boys all day, alluding to the fact that most days the chaos and ruckus that is our everyday filters it’s way over like the smoke from a BBQ.
The ice cream dripped down their cones and in true childhood fashion made for sticky hands and a rim of chocolate around their mouths. Our neighbor glanced over at his long-time girlfriend and said something along the lines of, “Now see, no need to remind me why I opted not to have children”. We made a few jokes about releasing the boys in his newly carpeted house and eventually we parted ways; they, presumably, to enjoy a quiet and peaceful evening and, us, to clean the chocolate off our kids’ faces, fight them on brushing their teeth, and remind them for the umpteenth time that it’s not nice to say that they “hate” us or that we’re “not their friends”.
I know life as a parent only from the mother’s perspective. And having children, for me, was a very innate desire. I spent my childhood training for motherhood; taking my cabbage patches to pretend school, filling out forms I’d take from the drawers of my dad’s office, and loving and cuddling any baby that came within a ten foot radius of me.
That night, I glanced over at Willy – who was struggling to get pajamas on one of the boys – and asked him if he’d rather have had it another way. His answer was true and sincere, he said, “I think I would have been perfectly okay if you didn’t want to have kids. But at the same time, I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world”.
It would be hard to argue that parenthood is where it’s at to a neighbor who realistically sees (and, errr, hears) you struggle nearly every day. I suppose it’s hard, in general, to make the argument for having kids to someone who clearly never wanted kids. And while the days are generally a struggle, all I can say is that the hard days, filled with relentless whining and tantrums, are all but forgotten in the second it takes for them to tell me that they love me.
I think any mother would agree; sticky hands, chocolate crusted mouths, booger filled noses n’ all.
Rainy day lessons
I’m coming to terms with the fact I’m not the craftiest of moms, nor am I anywhere near efficient in working with them at home on school-type stuff. Just today I felt like it’d be easier to french braid my own hair with one hand and my eyes closed than it would be to get Hooper to learn the numbers I was trying to teach him. My own mother would equate helping me during my school years to dragging a horse through mud. And, as the saying goes, payback is a bitch.
I’m learning as I go, as we all are. Some of the days that I sit down with Hoop are effortless and dare-I-say enjoyable. Other days, not so much. I feel like I’m at constant odds with myself: do you force a 5 year old to sit down and pay attention to a lesson or do you leave that for their teacher at school and encourage them to play instead? I can argue both sides. Like I said, I’m learning as I go.
Regardless of what the answer is, the other day I had one of those proud moments of motherhood. It was raining out and we were all cooped up in the house when Willy came in from the patio proclaiming that he had caught a lizard (catching lizards is a sport in this family, I swear). Hooper held it, examined it, and said, “hey, it’s a brown skink just like the one in my book”. And so, we got out his reptile book, found the skinks and talked some about what makes a skink a skink and, well, I felt like a winner.
It’s not like that everyday, but when all falls into place – especially on the cabin fever filled rainy days – it feels like you’ve hit the jackpot.
We released the lizard back to it’s home on the patio and watched it wiggle it’s way into it’s succulent oblivion.
Do you take the time to teach your kids at home or do you leave the learning for the school environment? And if you do sit down with them, do you ever want to punch yourself in the face too?
School Days
I dreaded having both boys in school this year. Last year, because we newly moved to the area, Hooper attended a preschool that was 12 miles, albeit 30 minutes, commute. He went two days a week and waking him up and getting him fed and dressed in a timely manner on those days was torturous. And by the time I picked him up a mere 3 hours later, I’d had spent nearly two hours in the car.
Because of his birthday, this year we had the option of signing him up for preschool three days a week or enrolling him in the transitional kindergarten program. When I heard the TK program was 5 days a week, I almost immediately discounted it. And then I heard that it was state funded and, well, because money doesn’t grow on trees and because the local school offered the program, it started to look better and better.
The transition from preschool to TK has been a rough one for Hooper. The amount of things that confront you as a parent that you didn’t anticipate are vast. And I know I’m still speaking from ignorance because all I can do is laugh about how much more is in store for me. The truth is, and I think all of us parents feel this, is that none of us know what we are doing and yet we’re in these roles as mothers and fathers that give us the authority and responsibility over the lives of others. Somehow we’re supposed to raise these beings of ours to be good, decent people and it’s all based, more or less, on instinct; or, at times, on necessity — using the tools we have and picking up others along the way.
Willy and I dread picking up Hooper from school.
Each day, the teacher walks the kids out to the flagpole where all the children wait for their parents to retrieve them. And each day we get there just a bit early to sit and watch from the car as Hooper invades someone’s personal space. I spend a few minutes watching, wondering when this behavior will end and when I can quietly crawl out of my hiding place to claim this reckless child as my own. It reminds me of the infant stage when you’re in a restaurant and your child is screaming and everyone is looking at you and all you want to do is desperately pretend that the baby is not your own because you’ve tried every trick in the book and they’re still crying and you’ve reached the level of defeat where you’ve totally surrendered to their screams and almost don’t even hear them anymore but all these people are looking at you to do something to make it stop. Yeah, it’s like that.
The other day I picked Van up from preschool (he’s going two days a week) and his teacher told me how polite he is and how he’s such a delight to have in her class. What I wanted to say to Van’s teacher was, “well it ain’t nothin’ I’m doing at home because my other kid is supposedly a dick”. And please know I’m obviously being facetious when I refer to my sweet, first-born, number one cuddler (who nailed me in the ear with a shoe the other day) a dick. I understand that he needs time to transition and that behavior doesn’t change overnight (side note: it’s gotten a lot better over the last two weeks, yay). I also know better than anyone the inner workings at play… the fact he only very recently dropped his nap, yet will fall asleep on any afternoon car ride even if it’s only 10 miles away. The fact is, we can all make excuses until we’re blue in the face for our children. The reality is that they are human and just like us, they are figuring out the ropes. I’m trying my best to be consistent, though admittingly at times I feel like a fumbling idiot.
We’ve all shed tears. We’re all learning, we’re all growing.
But I’ll tell ya what… Tuesday morning, when both boys are in school at the same time? Yeah, it’s my new favorite day of the week.
And as a side note, so much love to all the teachers out there that find it somewhere deep within them to have patience and even love for a wild little boy like my own. So much appreciation, my heart swells.
And as a side, side, note, there are just too many kids and not enough teachers in public schools. How’s that for ending a post with a loaded statement?
Sometimes it’s good to talk to strangers
We were all raised with the ‘do not talk to strangers’ rule, but do you think it was actually useful? Sometimes I think it would have been more helpful to hear ‘listen to your instinct’.
Sometimes, when Willy wants to do something I think is crazy, I say ‘if you think that’s the best idea for our family, go for it’. Like when he wanted to get another dog and accused me of being a dog hater and fun killer because I made it known that I didn’t think it was a good idea. Rather than fight him on it, I threw the control back on him- if you think that’s a good idea, go for it. I trusted him to trust his own instinct and in the end we both agreed that another dog in a townhouse probably wouldn’t be a good idea.
The thing with rules is that they’re very black and white; they don’t allow for a lot of self introspection. And the beautiful thing about introspection is that, when used, it helps one build their trust in their instinct. And when you trust your instinct, you develop this beautiful sense of confidence.
I truly believe that the majority of people of good. Sure, there are a few bad seeds, no doubt. But it feels instinctively wrong to make rules based on the few bad seeds when the the majority are good.
I encourage my boys to talk to strangers. It feels like I should censor that statement or that it should be included in some post of horrible mom confessions or that I should find a more subtle, careful way to announce it… but it’s simply that; I encourage my boys to talk to strangers. And minus the one homeless lady with a questionable mental illness that combs the San Clemente streets, we’ve never had a bad experience.
When we attended the Music Under The Stars events at the Mission over the summer, Willy and I would take the boys around and offered free hugs to all. The joy it brought people was incredible. I feel we lack so much human connection; we’re all so distant from the people right around us. And the self-confidence I saw on my boys’ faces as they hugged hundreds of strangers on those nights brought the biggest smiles to our faces.
Meeting new people and bringing joy is important.
So rather than teach my boys not to talk to strangers, I encourage the exact opposite. Instead, I emphasize the importance of trusting their instinct… Because I want them to be good decision makers more than I want them to be good rule followers.
How ’bout you? How do you navigate the realm of stranger danger?
An Interview
In June, you may remember that we stayed with Willy’s Aunt Kathie in Montana. We spent a lot of time in the car and a lot of time cooking and drinking and watching the changes of weather and I knew in that time that I’d want to interview her here on my blog because much of what we discussed, I wanted to remember. And to share. Kathie has lived an interesting life, some may even say a life against the grain. Much of it has been in Montana, hundreds of miles from where she was raised. She’s worked on Indian reservations and has a story to match any crazy story I could manifest off the top of my head. She wears one earring because she believes in the beauty of asymmetry and she grows garlic partly for a living and partly because she enjoys it. She raised her son Joseph for much of his life as a single mom, but all of this is really just the bullet points. Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy her point of view and learning a little about her as much as I did.
You raised your son in a very small town. Can you discuss your decision to do so and the factors that contributed to your decision?
I moved to Montana in 1983 and after moving around a bit, settled in to teaching social studies at Sweet Grass County High School in Big Timber after getting married in August of 1991. We moved to our home on the Yellowstone the fall of 1992 and I discarded the worn boxes I had been packing and unpacking since about 1980. When I found out I was pregnant in 1994, it seemed like a good idea to continue setting down roots and having grown up mostly in Phoenix, I was thrilled to think of raising my child in a rural place!
Some say small town, small mind. What are your feelings on more progressive topics like the legalization of marijuana and gay marriages? Would your son agree? Do you opinions isolate you at all from the community you are a part of?
Ahhhhh, we do reflect our locale and the geography of place is real. I support the legalization of marijuana and jumped for joy this summer when the US Supreme Court decided in favor of protecting the right to marry regardless of sexual orientation! (Aside: Jeannette Rankin was elected to US Congress in Montana in 1916, before women had the right to vote in US.) Montana is an interesting mix of “small” and “wide open” – haha!
I believe Joseph supports both, although he is personally opposed to indulging in alcohol and drugs.
Sweet Grass County is one of the most conservative in the State… Yes, my opinions could isolate me from the community. I taught US Government, History, and Geography. All seniors are required to take a year of US Government and I did compromise my politics in an effort to teach students to think, analyze, and learn about democracy. Most everyone knew at some level that I am liberal but I kept my politics to myself…mostly. Education is really a liberal idea.
Speaking from hindsight, are you glad you raised your son in a small town? What do you think were the pros and cons?
Without a doubt, I am happy and grateful to have raised my son in rural Sweet Grass County.
Cons: lots of driving, limited exposure to diversity, not “street smart”
Pros: great network of people who care and taught him firsthand about “community” and the ups and downs of everyone knowing everyone… (ie lots of eyes and genuine interest and concern for each individual, also gossiping nature of a small town where everyone knows your business, sometimes before you do – haha); living in the country, he had lots of room to roam in the natural world; he spent most of his free time at home… he learned basic skills of rural life, like tasks involved in heating with wood, fencing, irrigating, winter survival
You mentioned that you’re glad your son has left Montana for California. You’ve always encouraged your son to travel and live and explore. In a way I feel like you raised him in a small town, but ingrained in him big world ideas, which is really noteworthy. Please elaborate.
The natural world is just that and we are a part of it– although our modern world tends to make us apart from it. (We are animals you know.) Seeing the Milky Way Galaxy spread across the sky most nights helps remind us where we may fit into the picture of the universe. We are a small part of a tiny light in this great universe and yet each of our lives is a miracle and we are present for a short time, graced with life and gifts to cultivate and share. I wish for my son a full and beautiful life where he may grow and blossom and become one with the earth, not fighting with it always. Knowledge is power and tends to bring light to the darkness. We need light and hope and love in our world, always, and my goal has been to raise Joseph with this in mind, well, in his heart, too.
We spoke about how technology allows us to be very individualistic; you no longer have to listen to music you don’t like or watch commercials you don’t want to because of things like playlists and DVRs. Can you discuss this further and the implications you feel it has had on society?
Yes, we have become most individualistic and yet tethered mightily to electronic devices that allow us to forget that we are all connected in a very basic, cellular way (no pun intended, really!) Even our language has duality… We must remember that we all are human beings who basically want to have enough food, shelter, and clothing to survive, we want to be loved and accepted, and we want our children to grow and thrive. Technology can be used to make our worlds more connected through communication and transportation; it can also separate us by spreading misinformation and fear. It is our choice and our responsibility to use it wisely.
You worked for years as an educator. I’d like to ask a few questions specific to this topic:
-What do you think the goals are of early education?
Education begins in the family unit – and “parents” and their immediate network start the process. Brain research suggests that years 1-5 are critical for developing healthy patterns, there are two more times when the brain establishes fairly critical patterns that tend to become lifetime habits! (I can look this up to confirm the two later age spans) Teaching values is a big part of this first period – like honesty, “good” and “bad” as defined by individuals and the culture in which one lives, most of this is taught simply by lifestyle habits of the family. Socialization occurs here, too, how to get along with others. Of course, reading, interacting, and playing are the ways that young children learn. Have fun with them and teach them along the way. Everything counts and from the beginning until our kids are grown, they are always watching us and learning from our examples! (great book – “Our Children Are Watching”)
-Can you discuss your observations and experiences of/with children that were homeschooled? What are your general feelings on a homeschooled education?
Ha, trick question for a public school teacher who enthusiastically supports free, quality, public education for everyone. Numerous homeschooled students I’ve met in high school are nowhere near their publicly educated peers, academically and/or socially. That said, I can name some individuals whose families actively and consistently educated their sons/ daughters at home AND with the “outside” world – not simply their like-minded, homeschooling group (remember the playlists and DVR’s that let us block out what we don’t want to hear and see???)-and these young people have been terrifically successful as they move into adulthood. Life is full of adversity and I believe that it is at home that our children are best-able to process their early experiences with adversity if we allow them to experience life and if we communicate openly, honestly, and age-appropriately with them.
–We talked briefly about ‘unschooling’, where children are kept out of school and are free to learn on their own at home, in the absence of any curriculum. What are your thoughts on this?
Well, if the individual is motivated to learn and the family has the means to support them if they choose to continue a life in this manner, I suppose it can work. I am skeptical of these individuals finding a satisfying life in society as we know it. Maybe this will change if there are more people who are “unschooled.” Remember, knowledge is power and if your kids don’t have knowledge, those that do will end up making the decisions for them. I do believe this and if you look at history, this has been the pattern…
-What do you think is the best way combine the freedom of homeschooling, the autonomy of unschooling, and the structure of standard schooling?
Can you have your cake and eat it, too?
Have your kids go to a neighborhood school. Actively support the school and/or work to make it better! If you take off for a long weekend or whatever, have the kids learn along the way. Teach your kids when they are home or let them learn on their own, the unschooling part. My son played a lot on his own. We had a list of “bored chores” just in case he wasn’t able to figure out something to do on his own. As he got older, he had chores that were important to the household. He learned along the way.
Parenting was the most important, challenging, and rewarding work I have ever done. It is a short and fleeting time-savor this time with your children. My Dad said that when there is a challenge or obstacle in my life to try to make a game out of it and figure out how to win the game… I think parenting may be a bit like this, if all else fails, make it a game and do your best to win! Of course, remember that you are the adult and it really isn’t you against the child, it is you and the child winning the “game” of life together☺
You can view more pictures of our time in Montana by clicking here.