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We’ve been enjoying a little vacation in Arizona and New Mexico this week. Who wouldn’t want to head straight to the hottest part of the country in the middle of the summer? There’s been something fun for everyone — things we wouldn’t normally do at home. Here’s one, courtesy of a new Flip video camera provided by Uncle Kent: Stay tuned for more to come. If you want to push my buttons, you can sass me, ignore me, or turn your back on me while I’m talking. My kids have learned this well and respond accordingly (depending on whether they feel like pushing my buttons or not). Lately, one of my loving offspring has invoked a new move that completely unnerves me – The Silent Staredown. It’s sort of a cross between this:
I wish I could eloquently describe this to you. It’s not a deer-in-the-headlights look, and it’s not an “I hate you right now” look, it’s more like, “I know you’ll get mad if I don’t pay attention, so I’m going to pay attention in the most unnerving way possible by looking at you with zero expression and refusing to blink, speak or react in any way for what will feel like hours.” It’s used quite masterfully when I’m trying to impart very important information and hoping for a two-way conversation. When deployed skillfully, my brain turns to mush, I completely forget the very important information that I’m trying to communicate, and any hope for a two-way conversation is out the window. The trouble is that I think I’ve actually created this monster move. How many times have I said, “Please look at me when I’m talking to you?” or “Wait until I’m finished before you interrupt?” It probably frustrates me because I absolutely cannot return the favor. I’m so transparent that you’d have to inject me with gallons of Botox to keep my face neutral throughout the staredown. And yes, it would probably be somewhat immature to engage in a staredown with my son. Oh, how children (especially adolescents) bring out the best in us! So what’s a mother to do? Ask him to avert his eyes? That’s not my style. I want to disengage this power play dynamic within my family. So far, my best response has been to stop talking, try to stare back and then crack up laughing. It breaks the tension and we can start over again. Do your kids use the staredown tactic? What do you do?
Quick detour: No, we don’t keep every paper my kids bring home! I ask my kids to make three piles: 1) really important stuff that must be kept 2) nice stuff to examine but pitch afterwards 3) junk that can be recycled right away. They practice good judgment skills through this process and become surprisingly skilled at sorting. We work through the piles, ask a few questions and recycle without guilt. If the ‘really important’ pile is too big, that’s fine, but I might check again in a week or so. Anyway, I came across a spiral writing notebook in which my daughter had exchanged letters with her teacher. They had developed a lovely correspondence and learned a lot about one another. I was almost jealous of the mature give-and-take relationship they had, more like a friendship. What a concept! It occurred to me that much of our daily dialogue revolves around giving orders direction, tons of negotiating (which exhausts me), the daily snuggle and much-too-rare intimate conversation. There isn’t as much “what do you think of this?” dialogue as I would like to admit. So I decided to write my daughter a letter. I proposed that we extend the journal through the summer. She loves it. In the journal she has my full attention and gets to talk about issues important to her (such as whether eels are slimy or not — who knew?). We get to ask each other questions and take time to respond thoughtfully. There’s no putting off incessant banter until later. It’s an equal give and take, in our own quiet time. And the added bonus: writing (or drawing) practice — in the summer! It works for me. Doing this, I remembered my own mother going on a teacher exchange to England for three whole weeks when I was in junior high. I’d never been away from her that long, and decided to journal all of the important things I didn’t want to forget to discuss with her. Writing to a real person helped me keep it going, and I still treasure how it built the friendship between us. Maybe this little exercise will help maintain the mother/daughter bonds for those fragile adolescent times to come. Check out We are THAT family for more great ideas.
Dear Daddy, thank you for teaching me:
Just a few lessons from my wise and wonderful Dad. With much, much love, your (not so) little girl As he jumped in, I flashed back to five or six years ago. I had almost forgotten the drama over this. He’s my water boy. He takes marathon shower/bath extravaganzas every evening, and as a preschooler he loved to play in the pool. Suddenly though, he balked at swimming lessons: too cold, too tired, or just too scary. I tried all sorts of convincing and conniving, but to no avail. He refused to participate, and I must admit, I was frustrated by the change of face. Probably a lot more than he was. My friends with older kids assured me he would come around. “It all comes out in the wash,” one mused. “It’s the fearful fours/fives, when they realize there are real risks out there,” another encouraged. But I selfishly worried about the long summer ahead and wondered if he would ever become a swimmer. Finally, I listened to the voices of experience and stopped pressuring him. He gradually got wet, in his own time, on his own terms. Then at last, we vacationed with friends and he started jumping into the pool with abandon. Someone snapped a picture — much like this:
That photo was a perfect record of all that he, on his own, had accomplished in just a few weeks. It also taught me that I don’t have to control every step along the way. I enlarged the picture, bought a cool frame, presented it to him and asked, “Can you believe this is the same boy who wouldn’t even get into the pool at the beginning of the summer?” He beamed at how brave he had become and displayed it proudly on his dresser. Several years later, he’s much too big to worry about such little boy things, but that photo still sits on his shelf. When he faces greater challenges, the photo reminds us how things can turn around with a little faith and patience. It helps me remember that time and encouragement builds confidence far greater than pressure and punishment. And I will always smile when I watch him plunge into the pool.
It gets especially onerous in the summer, when there are so many more interesting things to do outside, and there are many more bodies around my house making messes every five minutes. Enter the 27 thing fling. I learned it from Flylady, a get-your-house-in-order website with whom I have a fond but fickle relationship. Here’s how we do it (slightly different from Flylady’s 27-fling boogie): At some point each day, everyone in the house must drop what he/she is doing and put away, give away, or throw away 27 things. They can be big or small, and no one judges what the other chooses to fling. We might run around the house, picking up those random things that get dropped here and there, or we might tackle just one pile. It could take three or thirty minutes. Why 27 things? No reason, except that it’s a memorable number and enough to get rolling, but not burdensome enough to generate great resistance. We all have other chores as well, but this one helps get to those little extras that sneak up on us. It’s a quick pickup that nobody minds too much, and it’s enough to make a dent in the clutter. Want to know the best part? Sometimes we fling 28, or even 31 things to complete a project. Even I do, once in awhile. What tricks do you use to get chores done at your place? Check out We Are THAT Family for more creative ideas.
I think we might have been the last school district in the union to finish school on June 12th. Do you know anyone who finished later? We’ve gone a bit underground, adjusting to a new rhythm after coming off a flurry of events:
This was complicated by:
So now, I’m looking forward to:
It’s a new season, and with it, we’re working out new routines and a new family rhythm to make sure the important things come first. No answers today, just experimentation to see what works best. My goal is to hang on to good, relaxed family time. And get some stuff done. Wish me luck. How’s your summer going so far? It stuck with me all week — the complexity, the nuances, and the strange ways I could relate to the story. We finally watched Rachel Getting Married on DVD. It’s a strange, edgy, wobbly-camera style movie about a girl coming home from rehab for her sister’s wedding. I found it painfully realistic and fantastically unrealistic at the same time. This film has something for every family: sibling competition, racial and cultural diversity, divorce, blended families, the tangled web of addiction and enabling, loss of a child, prodigal (and “good”) daughter, and communication gone amok. The end is better than the middle, but it’s not a Hollywood happy ending. Sounds fun, huh? It’s not for everyone. But it somehow struck a nerve with me, mostly because a few issues hit close to home. While this story is a little extreme, I do think just about every family I know could relate to some element. If we’re honest, I think every family has a little dysfunction, because we’re human. And humans are flawed. Big time. What struck me about this film was the compassion they brought out for every character. I could understand Rachel’s desire to have her wedding unblemished, but I also felt Kym’s need to confront and be recognized. I felt for the father who just wanted to fix everyone with a sandwich, and I even understood why the distant mom just wanted to run away. The brilliant directors of this tale brought out the vulnerability of each character, which brought me discomfort . . . but also compassion and understanding. This week, I’ve been wondering how I might find more of that compassion and understanding for the people around me. Especially in extended families, it’s hard to put yourself in the other person’s shoes. With so much history, it’s really challenging to shift away from self and understand the other person’s perspective. Younger siblings may not consider the pressures on an older one. Adult children keep acting like children of their parents. And some of us need to work on understanding the other’s world — which begins with compassion. It seems like compassion for children, or even strangers (or characters on a movie screen), comes more naturally. Somehow it’s harder with the ones we love the most. I want to work on that. Do you need to be more compassionate to someone? What helps you get there?  As summer kicks in and routines change, I thought it might be helpful to re-post of one of my favorite parenting tips: Check Yourself!
Now, don’t you think, after hearing this tape several hundred days a year, our children (or spouses?) would know what to do in the morning without our constant reminders? Maybe not. If we constantly remind them, there’s no need to remember on their own. And whose fault is it when they get to school without lunch? Ours, of course. We didn’t remind them. There’s a simple solution: Check Yourself It works like this:
This works wonders for kids of all ages. When my kids were 4, 6, and 9, we created a simple checklist for morning, after school, and bedtime routines. We talked about how this would make those parts of the day easier for me and for them. I posted it on the door, and when morning came, I would just say, “check yourself” or “check the list.” It took a bit of time to adjust, but soon they learned to take on responsibility for the routine. The critical piece is this: If they forget something on the list, we have to let the consequence happen. So if he forgets his homework, the response is, “Bummer. What are you going to do about that?” Definitely empathize, but without “shoulds” and “I told you sos”. We need to let the child be frustrated with his forgetfulness, not our blaming. If we decide to rescue him (which I’ll admit I typically do once), be fully aware that it delays the lesson. Chick Moorman puts it like this:
I hope to teach my children to self-monitor and take on little responsibilities, so they become responsible adult citizens of the world. Also, I’m lazy and don’t want to do all the work around here. Do we still have chaotic, crazy mornings? Of course we do. I mess this up a lot. But when I’m using this strategy, it works for me. I hope it works for you too. 
Today we celebrate the 100th post on BeyondJustMom. Thank you for coming to the party! I wish I could offer you refreshments, but I’m not quite sure how that’s done. I’ll have to figure that out for the next celebration — there are always new techy tricks to learn, aren’t there? This journey has been amazing for me, with many beautiful rewards I never anticipated. You’ve been so supportive and encouraging. You’ve inspired me, riled me up and make me laugh and cry. You’ve taught me to tweet, carnival and spread comment luv (words I never knew had so many new meanings!). To celebrate my short blogging life, I’d like to do a couple of things: First, I’m sharing some of my favorite BeyondJustMom posts. These aren’t the posts that received the most comments, but the ones that helped me think, stretch and grow the most. If you’re intrigued, please read what looks interesting to you, and let me know your thoughts. I really value your opinions. Second, I’d like to hear what blogs you think readers of BeyondJust Mom would like to follow. Just leave the link in the comments below and our readers can go from there. One of these days I’ll figure out Mr. Linky and then we can really party. Or carnival, I mean. I’m learning! Thanks so much for coming to the party and helping to me keep going. I look forward to celebrating with you for many more posts to come. And now, these are a few of my favorite things posts: Fall 2008 on flux: flowing through life’s stages A hope we can believe in: politics close to home when winter comes: life’s cold winds Winter 2008/9: splat: when life shifts our priorities have you been moved?: reflecting on the year channeling hope: where do we put our energy? half empty, or half full?: perspective on the little things He walked right in: entering the uncomfortable places Spring 2009: place of refuge: ancient grace seeking serendipity: paying attention will the real me please stand up?: wrestling with identity enriched beyond measure: benefits of motherhood don’t want to miss it: being present, again swan song: distracting decoys balance is overrated: teeter totter wisdom Which ones are your favorites? And which sites do you think our readers would enjoy? |
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