Category: APtly Said

Creating space to “hold” your child’s emotion

As any parent knows, the size of a person’s emotions has nothing to do with the size of his body.

Babies and toddlers stretch us emotionally by confronting us with feelings that we’ve been taught to dismiss, ignore, or stuff down to get by in Western societies. After all, it wouldn’t be cool for an adult to throw a temper tantrum in a mall or at the supermarket.

To avoid the squashing of emotion, we parents are taught to validate their children’s emotions – giving the feelings names, and letting the kid know it’s okay to feel the way he feels. This is a powerful tool for helping a child navigate the world, and knowing he’s got someone in his corner.

The tool we’ll explore today takes that validation a step further, and it doesn’t necessarily involve words. It’s also incredibly healing to the adult who can pull it off. And I speak from experience, though I’ve only pulled it off once.

By way of introduction, we’ll start with a metaphor. A great Kabbalistic teacher once illustrated the principle of receptivity (which is what Kabbalah means, by the way) by handing an apple to his disciple. The disciple reached out to take the apple. Again and again the teacher reached out with the apple, and pulled it away when the disciple went to take it. Frustrated, the disciple looked to his peers. “Don’t take it,” they advised. “Accept it.” The disciple breathed out his confusion and curved his palm up into a bowl, and his teacher dropped the apple into his outstretched hand.

When babies have big emotions, it can be trying for their parents, who are often emotionally invested in their child’s happiness. We come at them with anxiety, frustration, the agenda of solving their problem, and sometimes even anger at the disruption.

To become receptive, we must hollow our feelings out like the outstretched hand of a student. That doesn’t mean ignoring or banning our feelings and perspectives, but accepting them, then letting them be. We approach our child with the intention to accept his feelings – to make a sacred space for our child and all the feelings inside him, and to hold them lovingly inside ourselves.

We create that internal space, a space of non-judgement, non-striving – a vacuum really. Not only are we accepting everything that our child has to give us, we are embracing it. Through that act of unconditional love and support, we are able to connect on a profound level – not only to our child, but to ourselves and to that something greater.

There are few paths that offer the depth of testing, learning and personal growth than parenting. It can either be a struggle, or it can be a joy (and for most of us, it’s both). By reaching in deeply and letting our child know he’s okay – not only okay, but that every part of him is completely, deeply lovable – we channel more love into the world, and into ourselves. Parenting can heal our wounds, and it can help us to heal this deeply troubled world, one moment at a time.

When ‘No’ Doesn’t Mean ‘No’

The word “No” can make a terrible first impression. Sometimes it just doesn’t convey everything it intends. Especially if it comes from a young child: it’s not quite as literal as it seems. Upon first impression, “No!” sounds like:

  • I refuse.
  • I won’t listen.
  • I’m defying you.
  • I don’t respect you.

Those are usually our first thoughts upon being told No by our children. It’s a feeling, an impression that rubs us the wrong way. We bristle at the blatant defiance.

Except you know how a child’s laughter doesn’t mean a child is laughing at you (unless you’re my goofy and highly entertaining husband), but is more of an expression of immense enjoyment and agreeability? How it is a manifestation of all the happiness they’re feeling in that moment?

A shouted No is like the opposite of that. It’s the unpleasant feelings and unmet needs surfacing verbally in the easiest language available to a young child. No.

If we can take a minute to translate the No into what’s behind it, where it’s coming from, what it really means…

  • I don’t like this.
  • I’m angry.
  • I disagree.
  • I’m sad.
  • I don’t want to.
  • I’m frustrated.
  • I don’t need help.
  • I’m disappointed.
  • I would really rather be doing something else.
  • I’m autonomous and need to make my own choices.

…we get an expression of a valid feeling or a valid need. Yet we often find a reaction of our child’s No unacceptable. Children are quite capable of feeling strong feelings and quite incapable of articulating them. “Using their words” is hard…except for the one that suffices when they don’t know what else to say. No. It’s a simple and powerful way to express complicated feelings.

Keep in mind that No is less about defiance and more of an expression of dislike (especially for the under-7 crowd). And since we want to teach our kids that all of their feelings and needs are always OK, we can start by finding their Nos acceptable. This means searching for that translation behind it; articulating and validating it for them.

  • I know you don’t like this, and it needs to get done anyway.
  • You’d rather not; you’d rather keep playing. I understand.
  • It’s a hard job, and I’m here to help you.
  • You’re angry. It’s OK to be mad.
  • You have your own ideas. What would help you get this done?

When it comes to a child’s No, take a step back to consider what’s behind it. Distance yourself from the defiance. Listen for the translation and give No a second chance.

Weaning Early

I didn’t think much about parenting before I became a mom, but when it came to breastfeeding, there was never a question in my mind that we would nurse.

From the moment she latched on, I knew we would be doing this for a long, long time.

And so, on the week of her first birthday, when I found out I needed to have a biopsy for a polyp in my sinuses, I was horrified because the anesthesia would mean we would need to pump and dump my milk for a few hours. Even more alarming was my doctor’s insistence that the medication I would need to help whatever was going on would require me to wean.

On my drive home from that doctor’s visit, all I could think about in the car was having to wean Kaylee. And how that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

When I walked in the door and screamed for my mom, I expected the words out of my mouth to be about weaning Kaylee.

“I may have cancer.” Came crying out as I held my mother tighter than I had before. And I realized that there was much more at stake than nursing.

Two days later, I awoke from surgery and heard the news, suddenly weaning was not in my mind as much as living. And as I watched my daughter open her birthday presents that weekend, I could only hope to see her do the same at Christmas. Just a few short months away.

The next week, I had my first appointment at Sloan Kettering. It was on the 9th floor with the other pediatric patients.

I had Kaylee with me. I had been nursing her frantically. The only time I could maintain any sense of calm was during that beautiful time we shared.

One that I knew was going to end soon.

During the appointment, I was given my options for treatment.

I faced the most difficult decision of my life.

And I chose to give up a year of my life, to save the rest.

But it wasn’t just my life, it was the life of my little girl.

She who would need to go from sleeping by her mothers side and nursing on demand to having a mother who was rarely around.

We had a week to wean before treatment began.

My first thought was to let her nurse as much as possible, even encourage it. Let her enjoy it while it lasted.

But, it just didn’t sit well in my heart. She was only 1. I couldn’t tell her what was happening. It seemed more cruel to go from more than enough to nothing.

I changed tactics. When she came over to nurse, I would offer a hug and a smile. Tell her I love her and act as if that was all I needed as well.

And she was okay with the hugs. She stopped asking to nurse after a day.

Nighttime was a different story.

I didn’t have it in me to try to stop. She was still up every 2 hours and I was not in a place to try to get that to stop with so little time. Sleep was hard enough as it was!

And so, the night weaning was like ripping off a bandaid. Where I was the bandaid, and just like that, I was taken away and it was up to my daughter and her father to get through those first milkless nights.

I was weaning on my own.

Pumped milk is like gold. A precious commodity, you don’t want to lose a drop.

But my pumped milk was poison. With toxicity so great, I felt guilt every time I poured it down the drain.

Unable to fight any infection in my body, I had to be sure to pump milk regularly, because any plugged duct had the capability of endangering my life. At the same time, I had to get my breasts to stop making milk.

And so, it was a delicate balance. A tedious process that was draining physically and mentally.

In time, the milk was gone.

I think back to those first few weeks.

The diagnosis. Leaving home. Being sick.

And out of all the traumas of that year, its this experience.

Of pumping and dumping.

Of being scared to sleep with my child for fear she would start nursing.

Of weaning. Too early and too abruptly. Of having the experience last for weeks with every drop of milk that went down the drain.

And perhaps that is because its just not something anyone spoke about. Everything else seemed so big, weaning was just an aside.

And yet, the pain and heartbreak were tremendous.

Perhaps I will be graced with another child someday. A child that will wean gracefully. A child that will have their mother during their second year of life. A child who has happily married, healthy parents.

And that is a lovely, heartwarming thought. One that brings tears to my eyes.

But thats not what I need. And that life is not any better than Kaylee’s life.

Children don’t need to be protected from experiencing life. They need to be given the tools to help them get through it.

Kaylee is okay.

She is more than okay, she is incredible.

Well spoken, creative and compassionate. She is the walking example that all you need is love.

I wouldn’t take away any of her experiences regardless of how awful they may have been. They are hers to have had.

We spend a lot of time worry about messing up our kids.

Those traumatic experiences they encounter that we could have prevented.

The times we lose our cool and let our anger get the best of us.

We neglect ourselves trying to get it right.

Obsessing about the day to day encounters and experiences.

But its not our job to be perfect. Its not our job to make our children’s lives easy. Nor is it our job to push ourselves beyond healthy limits and boundaries because we are scared.

Its our job to Love. To give compassion. To teach and guide.

To forgive ourselves and others so that our children can too.

Whatever worry you have on your mind. Whatever struggle at the moment. Its going to be okay. Your child is going to be okay. The experiences and traumas we encounter cultivate who we become.

And when we are given love we become love and thats all any of us need.

Eating the Rainbow

I have not had an easy relationship with food. My childhood food experience could be summed up by the phrase, “nothing in moderation.” No that is not a typo, I lived in a home of extremes, NO sugar!  NO salt! Handfuls of vitamins! to name a few of my most vivid memories. I know that my parents really were trying to be their version of healthy, but it wasn’t very healthy for me. And it was not just the food itself, but the attitude around it. We had no set meal times or rituals and food was talked about mostly in the negative.

And so like we all do, I was set on doing things differently when it was my turn to create the food culture of my own family. And for the most part I am happy with our rituals, our group cooking projects, our meals shared with conversation and love. BUT. . . I also noticed that my children were becoming “Carbovours” more or less. I have always been very encouraging of their making their own food choices and have offered lots of healthy variety. BUT, the crackers were winning! What about fruits and vegetables? How could I even begin to think about “controlling” or limiting what they eat after having had such a negative experience myself?

My husband was raised with the complete opposite food experience from me. He is Italian, like grew up there Italian.  His family grows food, loves food, spends lots and lots of time preparing and eating and talking about food. And they are fit, healthy and have low cholesterol! Ah, how much I have learned from him. In the beginning things like, “wouldn’t you like to come over here and sit next to me while we eat dinner?” gently mentioned as I wandered around the house with a plate of food. What, sit and have a meal? together? Hmm, might be nice.

Then I began watching him cook. He starts by thinking about what is in season. How many times have I heard him suggest we get a big bunch of something and cook it up in some wonderful way.  He takes his time, sometimes a long time, and eventually there is a dish on the table for us all full of flavor, love and health. And he has such a good attitude about it all: food is supposed to be delicious and make you feel good. Food is supposed to be enjoyed and prepared with care.

It was from his example of being thoughtful and positive about good food that I came up with a plan. Instead of focusing on what I didn’t want them to eat so much of, I would use a little imagination to get  them excited about enjoying fruits and vegetables. I remembered reading  about “eating the rainbow” in a Dr. Sears nutrition book for kids.

And so we created our own Eating the Rainbow chart. I know, a chart, ugh, but this is a rainbow! More of an eating related art project. I sat down with my six year old and reminded her how important it is to eat a variety of fruits and vegetables.  We talked about what she likes to do when she feels strong and healthy. I then asked her if she thought that she could eat the rainbow. She looked at me with big eyes and I clarified, “Could you eat a fruit or vegetable from every color in the rainbow?” And so we decided to try. We have a chart to keep track of the colors we are eating and as the week progresses our rainbow grows.

Here is how it works, she tells me the fruits and vegetables that she likes or is willing to try. We come up with a color code for each food. Our goal is at least six servings a day (ideally two fruit and four vegetable). But the quantity is not the focus, the variety and the colors are the focus.

Our chart gets reviewed each week and foods can enter and exit. We added olives and removed squash this week. There are lots of green items so we got creative with the color key: dark green= spinach, light green=green beans, aquamarine= peas. Looks beautiful. At the end of the week we look at our rainbow and talk about what we notice. “I ate ALL the colors!” my daughter said at the end of the first week. Beautiful, I thought as I contemplated more ways to eat purple.

Download Leyani’s Eating the Rainbow chart here!

 

Conscious parenting resolutions for the New Year

Like most parents, I have resolved to be the best parent I can be. And for me, that means integrating proven best practices as I come across them, incorporating them into my parenting toolbelt.

The end of the year is a time when many of us start looking to the future, reflecting on the positive changes we’d like to make in our lives. In the spirit of New Year’s, I’ve consolidated my top parenting resolutions here.

1. To love unconditionally.

Most western parents today were raised using a model where we were given or withheld love based on our behavior. Our desired behavior was rewarded and undesirable behavior, punished. While this type of reinforcement is effective with animals, with whom these techniques originated, they also send our children strong messages that shape their self image and self esteem. Love is contingent upon children satisfying our expectations, we communicate.

On the contrary, when children are given unconditional approval, which can be expressed through the absence of praise and punishment, they learn that – at their core – they are loved. Conversations about acceptable behavior can take place without communicating to a child that they are “good” or bad”.

2. To validate emotions and experience.

Little children experience big feelings. If adults can be overwhelmed by strong emotion, imagine the experience of a child who has no coping tools and very little power.

We can help children move through the turbulence of emotion by naming and validating their emotions. By making their emotions both relatable and acceptable, we give our children a safe space within which to grow. “You’re feeling angry because Johnny took the ball away from you,” we might say after witnessing our toddler’s rage. Offering to hold your child or speaking together to Johnny about the incident may help the child work through their feelings.

3. To instruct using positive language.

As newbies to our world, children have tons to learn about appropriate social behavior. The word “no” in isolation is minimally instructive, as it provides no actionable information about what is desirable. Spoken over and over to a baby or toddler – or teenager for that matter – it can evoke strong frustration.

Practical information about what is acceptable maximizes support while minimizing frustration. “Food is for eating, balls are for throwing,” can be a helpful response to a child who throws his food. While challenging at first, aspiring to reduce or eliminate the use of the word “no” can be a powerful tool for parents. A child’s boundaries can be set even more powerfully when the realm of acceptable behavior is clearly defined.

4. To model what I wish to elicit.

Children learn by watching what we do, not by listening to what we say. While it’s tempting to demand respect from our children, one of the most productive – and fulfilling – ways to elicit respect is by extending it to them. Using polite language like please and thank you, responding to their requests with love and understanding – especially when they can’t be granted – and providing a safe space for them to create and make mistakes all send powerful messages about love. When we honor our children as separate beings with equally valid preferences – keeping in mind that it’s our responsibility in advance to limit their options to those that are supportive of their healthful development – we create a mutually respectful relationship.

5. To assume the best of intentions.

Have you ever noticed how the world rises to our expectations? Expect to have a bad day, and you’ll notice the frustration of hitting an empty tank of gas. Expect to have a good day, and you’ll pay special attention when that lady lets you go ahead at the supermarket.

Children are extremely responsive to our moods and expectations. We can avoid some huge potholes by refraining from labeling our children, i.e. “she’s the smart one” or “he’s the aggressive one”. We can also do our children a huge service by assuming that they have the best of intentions. Your child wants a strong relationship with you, filled with love, affection and mutual respect. And as long as you assume the best, even when he’s pulling the cat by her tail and throwing rice across the room, you can educate and nurture in a way that preserves a loving relationship. Remember, we’re all students here. And perhaps never more so than as parents.

6. To learn from my child.

Children come into the world with a lack of inhibition that is tremendously instructive. They show no shame in asking for what they desire, and they act instantly upon their most primal instincts to meet their needs. Ever notice how young children will suddenly start running around, or singing at the top of their lungs?

While most adults have learned to repress their desires, children are in touch with their basic needs – food, love, and exercise. When your child demands attention, take a cuddle break and relish the opportunity to love and be loved. When your child declares a dance party or initiates a wrestling match, join in! These feel-good games raise your heart rate and release your natural joy. What could be better?

7. To be present.

So often, we get caught up in our thoughts or to-do lists. While we can experience a sense of temporary relief or satisfaction by making progress on standing projects, the high only goes so far. Children live the grace-filled experience of being in the moment, each and every moment. By letting our agendas go and allowing a child to draw us into his world, we experience the aliveness of living in the present moment. While we’re giving the child a gift by attentively joining his game, that gift returns to us tenfold in each moment that we’re consciously present.

This year and every year, above all, I aspire to embrace the gifts that parenthood and life have to offer. I wish the same for you, in 2013 and beyond.

A Tribute to My Father

My father was a mystery to me.  He had issues of his own that I really never understood until after his death in 2003 when I had the wisdom to see him as a person separate from his role as father.  He grew up during the Great Depression — born October 5, 1929 —  his birthday month ringing in the Crash; his family lost everything. He had to sleep in the enclosed porch of his Southside of Chicago home, as his parents had to have boarders to makes ends meet.

 

My father stopping to smell the roses on my wedding day

 

My father’s father was an alcoholic –a singer and musician who played in Chicago nightclubs. Some nights he was funny and charming, other nights cruel and mean. I think of my father as a little boy and imagine what he may have gone through.

 

There is a story that breaks my heart and a story only told to me by my mother, with direct instructions to never let my father know I knew.  My father, 6’3, black curly hair, green hazel eyes, filled with pride of his first car, eager to share his pride with his own dad. My father must have been 16 or 17.

 

Instead of sharing in this proud moment, my father’s father berated him, cutting him down and assaulting him with insults about his crappy car.  All my father wanted was his father to be proud of him.

 

My mother told me this story once to help me understand my dad.  It made me sad to think my father went through that.

 

My mother also told me this is why he bought me a royal blue 1970 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia in mint condition when I was 16 years old.  Man, that car was cool! And I will never forget the pride in my father’s smile when he showed it to me, surprising me by ushering me outside to have a look.

 

Betty and John were special people. Anyone that ever met them knew this. They were storytellers and magicians. They made people feel good. Sure, like everyone, they had their problems, but deep at their core, they were the pot of gold. My magic - my love.

 

My mother didn’t tell me this story until I was in my late twenties. My dad was an alcoholic and quit drinking cold turkey when I was born. I imagine he drank to tame his demons from childhood and from the war.

 

He fought in the Korean War.  He was a member of the Frozen Chosen, the Battle of Inchon, where he saw thousands of men murdered. It was so cold during this time that men’s eyeballs froze — their own tears icicles upon their own eyes.

 

I never was able to look at this as a reason for his own depression and anger.  At times, he was down right frightening, flying off the handle in a rage I did not understand as a child nor a young adult. He did not physically abuse me, but there was mental abuse at times.

 

The thing is, now as a parent, I am able to forgive him and understand him.  I love him and honor all the good about him.  He went to work everyday to support his family and had a boss that berated him and put him down.  He brought me home paper to draw on as a child from the bank where he worked as one of the mobile patrol security guards in downtown Chicago.  He worked the second shift and never missed a day of work.

 

I think of him struggling to drown his depression and sorrow in a bottle, but he never did.  He soldiered on.  I imagine him discussing the horrors of war and his own childhood with his therapist, a very kind man he saw for many years.
My dad during the Korean War on a ship. He was a Marine.

 

I think of my father marching out of Inchon, knowing in his heart there was a family waiting for him on the other side of this awful war he witnessed.  Somehow, he knew in his heart that our family would make him whole even though he had not met us.

 

It would be almost twenty years after Korea that he would meet my mom.  They would go through so much.  The first night my parents met, he told her everything about his past, including the sad story of his father assaulting him with insults the day he showed off his first car.

 

My dad in Korea. He was a member of the Frozen Chosen who fought in Inchon in the Korean War. He is buried at Arlington Cemetery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My dad and his friend from Korea. This man called me shortly after my father died. He told me a story of how my father saved his life and how my father's thick head of black curly hair stuck out of foxholes because he was so tall.

 

Now that I am a mother myself and understand how overwhelming it is to be a parent at times, I have so much respect for my father for not continuing the cycle he saw.  He did the best he could and he was torn up from war, childhood, and a hard life.

My father and I on my wedding day, November 23, 2003. My father has cancer and my husband and I got married in my parents' bedroom so he could give me away.
Photos from my wedding

 

So instead of remembering the bad things and his imperfections, I remember the kindness and courage I saw on a daily basis.  He taught me so much and I just wish I had the opportunity to tell him that I am proud of him.

 

My dad around Christmas time 2002 -- his last Christmas
He died 9 years ago in the middle of the night, technically December 11 at 4 am holding my mother’s hand. December 10, 2003 was the last time I saw him and had to say goodbye to the father I loved for 29 years.

 

Death sucks, but it is a part of life.  But you see I miss him. I miss him, and as grief has numbed the loss – a hole that death leaves, gaping in concave fragments of the heart, a sense of longing has replaced this. This sense of missing him, knowing he is gone.

 

I miss him.

 

I miss seeing the veins on his hands, crossed in a holding pattern on his lap, a cigarette always tucked puffing solo in his lips. I miss his morning silence and two cups of coffee minimum rule: “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee.”

 

I miss him.

I miss watching his gait, heavy to the left, limping, shifting the weight in stride to his other leg — the leg I now know had significant damage from frostbite from Korea. I miss his odd sense of humor and his incredible intelligence. I miss how he could talk to anyone. I miss his pride. I miss his pats on the back and how awkward he became when I insisted on hugging him.

My dad smoking his cigarettes thinking. I miss him.

I miss him.

I miss the way he could pack a car, no matter how large with flea market finds. I miss his Cuban wedding shirts. I miss his scarves which he always called mufflers and reminded me to bundle up on cold Wyoming winter nights before I left the house. I miss his anger, sometimes dark and black. I miss his garden and the flower pots he filled them with — stacked in neat rows around the brick wall around our house on Maxwell. I miss seeing him peaceful with dirt in his hands.

I miss him.

I miss the way he wrapped his shoelaces around his ankles, tying them pragmatically in double knots as an old man. I miss his grey hair comb over. I miss his kindness and Irish pride. I miss smelling Corn Beef and Cabbage every St. Patrick’s Day. I miss the strong scent of coffee in the kitchen of our home. I miss having a hell of a hard time trying to buy him the perfect Christmas gift.

I miss him.

I miss his voice and his ability to speak only when necessary in a conversation. I miss his knowledge and the statistics he could whip out on any baseball team in this century or the last. I miss that he could give the biggest compliment to me through a third person like when he told my best friend Heidi that she had to make sure I write because it is in my blood — “Make sure Megan writes; she is a writer — a journalist a poet. She is related to Percy Bysshe Shelley, you know? Make sure she writes — it is in her blood.” I miss his smile, sometimes rare and sometimes wild.

I miss him.

I miss watching him read thick books and biographies. I miss startling him if I walked up on him unexpectedly, giving me a sense he knew fear in the strongest sense of the word and I miss the sense of relief he had when he knew it was me. I miss his car — a long maroon Lincoln Continental plastered with proud Semper Fi bumper stickers.

I miss him: John Shelley Miller, my dad — the first man I ever loved.

Photo Title: "Fence" -- I send messages to my father through the birds. Cardinals deliver same day mail. My father loved cardinals and I can't help but think he sends me messages back when they whistle by me. My yard in North Carolina is filled with cardinals. I see one weekly -- at least.

 

 
My thoughts and prayers go out to the families and community of Newtown. There are no words, only grief.

Are You Afraid to Admit the Challenges You Face As a Parent?

I often look into the eyes of my friends, or strangers in Target with toddlers and babies in their carts and ask, “How’s it going? Most of the time I get the big smile and the cheerful voice telling me, “Great!” I stare a little deeper and I ask again in case I might be the one person they want to tell the truth to. If I still don’t get the answer I’m looking for, I’ll ask again, “Do you ever find that it’s hard?” “Do you ever have really rough days?”

I have found that I desperately want to connect and relate with others in the reality of parenthood. I feel the magic, Love, gratitude and magnitude in each moment. This love overwhelms me in the most powerful ways. I am truly thankful for being given the greatest role of my lifetime. The gift of being the mother to my two sons. This said, I find that many people don’t want to admit how crazy hard it can be sometimes. Even when I am standing there giving them the space, or at least that’s what I’m attempting to do, to speak the truth. To let it out. To relate. To understand that you are not alone. I want you to help me realize I’m not alone just as badly.

I am a very positive person and I have so much love inside and so much love to give. I am an extremely patient person as well. Patience may be one of those things that comes easily for me or a choice I make in each moment, yet sometimes, even that doesn’t make certain situations any easier. Yesterday, I broke down a few times in tears and felt completely helpless. I knew why it was rough but that didn’t make the hours go by any quicker and it didn’t resolve the stress and sadness I felt.

I believe we all do our best to know ourselves. Know our limitations, our bodies when we are sick, and our instincts when something doesn’t feel right. I also believe we do our best to know and understand our children. For example, I have learned recently how important a solid twelve hour night sleep is for my boys. They wake up cheerful, enthusiastic and playful the following day. It’s so simple and yet, so true.

Well, my boys have had stuffy noses the past few days and this hasn’t allowed for much restful sleep. That is my excuse and justification for why the past 24 hours have been absolutely and beyond…challenging. I now understand the need to lock yourself in a closet for just a minute to cry and regroup. It is just necessary sometimes. The crankiness, the crying, the attitudes, the not listening to anything I say, the getting hit in the ear with a wooden plank (accidentally)…all of it. I am laughing now as I write this because the visual seems amusing in this moment, but trust me, there was nothing funny about my day yesterday.

At times like those, even with the excuse I tell myself about the lack of sleep, I look at myself and wonder what I am doing wrong. I wonder where I can improve. I wonder if anyone in the world experiences days like these. I just want to cry. I want to go to sleep and let a new day begin.

I got the boys to bed early last night and they slept a full and tranquil twelve hours. Like a scene out of the Sound of Music, a new day began this morning. Big smiles and hugs from everyone, birds chirping, a shower WITH my hair washed, a lovely and peaceful breakfast, boys playing together, a dentist appointment with no crying, and smiles, love, and fun this entire day. I am thankful, recharged and happy. We skipped and laughed and hugged and as I was walking through my day, I felt compelled to share my thoughts.

I believe we are all grateful for those enjoyable moments spent with our children. We are grateful when we get through a store or a day without any ‘episodes’. I just had to express to you how hard it can truly be sometimes. I am not afraid to tell you that. I would love to ask you to express the same when you need to. If it isn’t me you want to vent to, please tell someone. I see so many people in our society working so hard to pretend their lives are perfect. Facebook, a platform I adore for many reasons, is one of those places especially, where I witness the ‘My life is perfect’ syndrome. There is comfort in hiding behind the protection of a computer screen, and fabricating the life you want to present to the world. It is really comfortable though?

I also believe that many of you, including myself, truly are positive and happy and feel compelled to share wonderful moments or photos publicly. I get it. I also believe that when you are down, putting out positivity or even receiving positivity is helpful in beginning a day with a good attitude…even if you don’t have one in that moment.

I’m not telling you to spill all of your hardships onto the social media masses. All I am saying is, don’t be afraid to be who you are. Don’t be afraid of what people will think of you. Don’t be afraid when you divulge a certain truth, that people will discover you are not perfect. Guess what. None of us are. We are not. Our children are not. Our lives are not.

Whether we have kids or we don’t, we go through ups and downs. I believe it is our attitude and the way we approach and respond to those downs that will get us through. Dig deep for patience in those moments. I know sometimes it may seem impossible. Go cry in the closet. The moment will pass. The day will pass. A new day will begin with another chance to experience the miracle of being alive.

I also want to acknowledge those with newborns. I always think of you. Hang in there. While you are enjoying first smiles and precious glances, you are also experiencing sleepless nights, fatigue and responsibility for another like you’ve never known. Hold on to each moment. Enjoy it. Find the beauty. Find the patience and the Love. Be present. I promise you this. You WILL sleep again. You will have moments to yourself again and most importantly, I promise you this. It all goes by faster than you know. This is it. This is your chance to be the mother or father you never had or like the mother or father you did have and respect so much. This is your chance to be YOU. This is your chance to be the best Parent you can be. There isn’t a greater role or responsibility on Earth…in my opinion.

Much Love and Support.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pinkie Promise for Peace

My mother was a yeller. Yep, I grew up knowing that if I messed up she would yell. Or if she was upset, she would yell. I learned to read her pretty well, but sometimes I couldn’t predict what would set her off. Not so much fun as a kid. So when I became a parent, I swore I would never yell, never ever repeat that pattern! Oh, no not me. Weren’t the memories clear enough? The hurt, the feeling of helplessness and disconnect from my mother. And then my child grew into a toddler and I got tired, very very tired.

Suddenly, I found myself yelling. Snap, out came the harsh tone, the raised volume and the frustration. My child shrank in front of me, physically bending as though the words were weighing on her. And she began to cry. I stopped, stunned. Who was this person? Where did the yelling mom come from? I scooped up my daughter and soothed her, apologizing again and again.

I took this as a big sign that I needed to really look at my stress level. I spent several days contemplating my yelling self and realized that I had internalized yelling as a response to stress, tiredness, and frustration. Even though, being yelled at was such a terrible experience for me, I still had the response in me.

Oh boy, talk about a painful growth experience. And I realized I needed to take better care of myself, yep, the old advice, love yourself. I realized I was so focused on nurturing everyone around me that I had forgotten that I needed some care. . . and sleep. And yes, some help with the dishes would be nice.

I talked with my daughter and told her I don’t like to yell and that I will do better next time. I told her sometimes I get tired and feel grouchy. We talked about what we can do when we are feeling grouchy. She suggested giving each other a hug. I agreed this was a great idea. I told her that I would tell her when I started to feel frustrated and that I hoped she would tell me too. This all felt great. Our home returned to the happy, positive place it had always been.

But you know, it’s not usually that easy to fix something this deep. And so my tone started to get an edge every once in awhile. I was quick to stop and change course. But it was still there. “It sounds like you are yelling,” said my daughter. Reminding me that I had told her I was not going to yell. “Yes, you are right,” I said and recommitted to doing better.

And then one day my daughter now six, got very upset with her little sister and . . . yes, started yelling at her with the same tone and much of the same language that I use. And that is when something in me snapped. I was successfully recreating the pattern. I was yelled at and I yelled, she was yelled at, and she was yelling. This was my moment of truth. I thought that other moment was it but unfortunately not.

So what did I do? I asked my older daughter why she was so upset and found out her sister had hit her. I reminded my little one that hitting hurts. In a loving calm voice talked to my six year old about yelling and how it feels. I reminded her that her sister is learning from us. I asked her how she wants to be spoken to. And then she said to her sister, “Let’s have a pinkie promise, no more hitting and no more yelling.” They linked pinkies and promised. I quietly fought back tears. Maybe the pattern wasn’t going to repeat after all.

Nowadays, I hold myself to the pinkie promise. When I start to feel tired and grouchy I announce in a fake serious voice, “I’m getting grumpy,” and my daughter smiles and usually gives me a hug.