The little wooden house sits on our kitchen table, typically unnoticed.  My son brought it home from Sunday’s Cool a few weeks ago (yes, that’s what we call it.  Totally different from that old stodgy Sunday school, you know).  It has little disks with velcro on the back, so the peacemaker of the moment can be honored in the central spot.  The kids created these for a lesson on Joseph, the favored son with eleven brothers:  a story of sibling rivalry gone very bad (and eventually good, but that’s much later in the story). 

For some reason I treasure this little house (and really, it’s not like me to treasure every craft project my kids bring home).  I have to admit, I haven’t swapped the disks yet.  I think the kids might compete about who goes into the peacemaker spot, which would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?  Or maybe that’s a good thing– to try to be the best peacemaker in the house.   That might be helpful.  I might try it.  But must everything be a competition?   

Perhaps, at this age, it does.  Did you notice the little devil horns on one of the disks?  It’s typical of the adolescent banter around here.  To be honest, it makes me giggle.  I’m not too worried, because I know he didn’t really mean it, and his brother does too.   

Yes, I grow weary of the incessant put-downs and bickering in my home.  I do what I can to quell it.  I try often to create a house of peace.  Sometimes, I’m the one who wrecks it. 

But we are imperfect, and I guess that’s why I love this symbolic little house.  We have our scribbles and blots and our moments of devilishness.  But I know down deep, there is love, and sometimes peace, in our humble house.

I’m so moved by all of you out there.  Many of you reponded privately to my last post with touching words of gratitude and relief.   I knew there was a need for recognition and validation of the hard work parents do.  I knew we needed to build up our community, not tear it down;  I just didn’t quite know what a nerve it would touch.  Thanks so much for sharing your stories with me. 

It’s clear we need to uplift one another, but somehow we rarely do so.  Perhaps we’ve just forgotten how or can’t find the words to say.  So in that spirit, I offer some tips on how to encourage a mom.   Share one with your friends, family, or an acquaintance; say them to someone who needs a lift; or simply say them to yourself.  Often. 

When it comes to effective praise and encouragement, a few simple elements make all the difference:

1)  Notice details.

2)  Appreciate the impact.

3)  Make it stick with evidence. 

Here are a few ideas.  They may be a little fantastical, but wouldn’t it be nice if someone said something like this to you today?

I noticed you delivered multiple children, lunches and backpacks to school, fully dressed and fed with only a few remnants of breakfast on their shirts.  Congratulations!

I noticed you held your composure while your child threw a fit.   I was really impressed that you didn’t give in.   You inspire me.

Wow, I really enjoy listening to a little one’s happy squeals and babbles.  It’s been so long since I’ve been around those baby sounds.  Music to my ears. 

I love that you let your children choose their own clothes.   They learn  how to dress for the weather that way.   That’s much more important than matching socks. 

Hey, I’m glad to see your children eat treats sometimes.  It makes the rest of us feel normal too. 

Oh, I remember those days of struggle.  I can see you’re doing all the right things.  Don’t worry, this season will pass. 

Oh, I’m sorry it’s been a difficult day.  It’s okay for your kids to hear your frustration.  It will help them learn to work through their own problems.   How can I help?

Oh, I’m sorry you feel like you messed up.   Kids are resilient.  Your authenticity and request for forgiveness will make a worthy impression.

Thank you for keeping the house from dissolving into chaos today.  I know you’ve probably picked things up seventeen times already.  It’s a nice to come home to a welcoming place. 

Thanks for loving our children instead of fussing with the house today.  I know you focused on what’s more important.  Would you like a break now?

Thanks for working all day, taking the children to and fro, and figuring out what to feed them.  How can I help tonight?

Find a mom who needs some encouragement today.  She might just be you.  What will you say to her?  Go ahead, do it now.  Just begin with, “I noticed. . . “

photo credit: nathalielaure

It happens every night.  Somehow, she shuffles around in her sleep, rolling into a little ball and piling the puffy down cloud on top of her into a mountain of coziness.  She’s deep underneath in her warm sweet slumber, and it’s my job to coax her out to greet the morning.

It’s my favorite part of the day.  After her brothers have caught the early bus and before the chaos of the day begins, just she and I steal a few precious moments of our own.  When I’ve planned it right, I slip in under the cloud and spoon around her, soaking in the radiant heat of her skin and the scent of her shampooed hair.  She mumbles a little and we snuggle as long as we can.

Has it really been almost nine years since I held this babe in my arms, nursing her to sleep, cherishing every moment with my last, littlest one? 

She’s not a babe anymore.  She’s lean and long.  I can’t reach the full length of her legs, and when she jumps into my arms, my back aches.  I catch my breath when she saunters up the stairs with a slight sway of her hips –not on purpose–  just naturally feminine. 

There’s trouble ahead; I’m sure of it.  The posturing and friendship dramas already flare upon occasion, and I have no doubt there will be more to come.   But there’s also great joy in the glimpses of profound thought and compassion that arise more often as she grows.  

I cannot stop the flow of time.  I don’t really want to. 

So today, I savor a snuggle with my baby girl.  I never know how many more mornings like this we’ll have.

This is part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.

Last year, people kept claiming their “theme words” to focus their energy and I felt a little left out. I couldn’t think of just one word that didn’t feel trite or forced. So I didn’t have one. And that’s okay.

Now, the same word keeps coming back to me, so I’m thinking this is the year to claim that word:

Connect

Over the holiday break, I tried to focus on connecting with my family. I’d like to continue that effort.
In my volunteer leadership roles, we need to connect to draw folks in and make them feel at home.
In my work and volunteer efforts, I want to connect with the people we serve.

On my blog, I’d like to connect with my readers. 
In my spiritual life, I want to connect through prayer and sharing with others.

Will I get everything done that I’d like to do?  Probably not.  But I hope it will guide me in the right direction.  Two examples:

1. A friend just called out of the blue to invite me to lunch.  I could have declined, because I have a lot of stuff to do (don’t we all?).  But with connecting on my mind, I said yes, and I’m so glad I did. 
2. Blogher asked me to do my first review for one of their clients.  The topic:  10 connecting tips for parents of teens or tweens.   I said yes, and I’m so glad I did. 

And you might be glad too–there’s a chance to win $200!  Check it out over here.

photo credit: andrew and hobbes

“Mom, I just can’t stand to be in the same room with them anymore,”  she said, with tears welling up in her eyes.  “No one understands how bad they make me feel.” 

I felt the puddles well up in mine too.  The constant banter of put-downs slung between siblings over the long holiday was taking its toll.  My daughter was playing the victim in this case, but I knew it wasn’t a one-way street:  I’d witnessed plenty of antagonizing behavior from all three corners of this tumultuous triangle. 

I know sibling rivalry is a natural thing, and I do believe people can’t live together without some frustrations and annoyances.  With two middle schoolers clamoring for status, and a third grader trying to keep up, sarcasm and insults have invaded our home.  They’re tough pests to eradicate.  I want my kids to develop lasting relationships that will carry into adulthood, so I try to help them work out their differences with respect. 

Lately, though, I had fallen into the easier habit of scolding the offender when I caught wind of it:  “We don’t talk to each other that way in this family,” or “If I hear one more put down, you’re losing a privilege.”   The problem was, one child tended to be the target of the scolding.  Although he was typically saying the most outrageous things, I wasn’t catching the stealthy jabs of one or the incessant attention-seeking of the other.  The oft-scolded child was feeling resentful, the youngest was encouraged to tattle, and it simply wasn’t getting any better.   

It was time for an intervention.

I called them together and asked her to tell her brother what she shared with me.  As she began, the defenses shot up:  “That’s not what I said!  She constantly accuses me . . . ” So I had him explain his point of view, and his sister eventually admitted her role in the battle.  I asked them how they really felt when they picked on each other like this.  “It’s not getting us anywhere,”  one finally said.

Exactly. 

To shift direction, I asked them to write down ten things they appreciated about one another.  “Real things about the person,” I urged, “not ‘I like your shirt’ or something shallow.”   Typically, my kids sulk away with such an assignment but come up with pretty good comments when they’re left alone to write. 

To my surprise, middle son started talking aloud.  “I really like playing games with you when we’re not angry,” he said.  “I kind of like it when you act crazy,” she responded.  “I like seeing you laugh,” he added, “and I like it when you make me laugh.”    They went on for awhile, fondly remembering the fun they enjoy together.  My favorite comments:  “I like it when you come in my room when I cry”; “Sharing thoughts with you,” and on both of their lists:  “I really like playing with the rats with you.”   Who knew those Christmas rodents would create harmony in our house?

When big brother walked into the room, he slung an insult out of habit.  The other two stopped him cold.  “Looks like you need to write down ten things you appreciate about us,”  his siblings ordered.   He sputtered and squawked for awhile, but they held him to it.  He came up with a pretty good list, actually.  Number six: “I enjoy playing with the rats together.”     

Maybe there’s hope for this trio of siblings after all.  I know the harmony won’t last long, but I’ve got some lists to remind them (and me) of those happier times together.

And when all else fails, just let out the rats.

photo credit: Laenulfean

The packages are opened, the food is served, the kids are busy, and gift cards are waiting.   And yes, we have tape stuck on the carpet, tags and ribbons everywhere, stocking stuffers with no home, a humongous pile of garbage/recycling, and a slight sense of guilt for the abundance. Still, I feel like the real vacation begins today.  Now I can enjoy the leftovers, family, games, and relaxation without the pressures of holiday hype and preparation. I could worry about how we’ve distorted Christmas with our commercialism and high expectations, but for now I just want to revel in the aftermath. 

It seems like this is when we really connect as a family.  I’ve missed this.  As we cruise through the busy-ness of our days shuffling schedules, checking off obligations and preparing for the rest of our lives, I often wonder if we’re missing the real present:  the present.  The here and the now.  Together. 

For the last few days of 2009, I want to take time to connect.  Maybe I’ll even start a habit that rolls into the new year. 

I want to hang out with my tween and teen boys long enough to hear more about their world, trying my best not to lecture or direct.  I want them to teach me one or two of their video games and get good enough to beat them.  Or not.  And maybe they’ll let it slip which girls have caught their eyes, what uncomfortable things friends are getting into (because I remember a few things about middle school) and help me understand what’s so fun about texting “whazzup” or “OMG!” a zillion times a day. 

I want to get on the floor and play American Girls or Playmobil with my daughter until she’s tired of playing (is that possible?).  I’ll let her teach me the Hoe Down/Throw Down or the latest dance I’ve missed.  I want to hear her describe the complex social scene of third grade girls and affirm how to be an uplifting friend.  And we’ll snuggle a lot, because we both need that. 

I want to enjoy just being with my mom and dad, whom I only see a few times a year.  I want to relish their presence, their conversation and their wonderful hospitality, even in my own home.   I want to stop talking and hear more about their hopes and dreams in this season of life.  

I want hang out with my brother and enjoy his good company after years of twists and turns have left a few old scars.  With my brother, I just want to connect.

I want to enjoy my husband, my best friend for life who has a rare two weeks off work.  I want to drop cut back on the honey-dos and debates over must-get-dones and play together, like we used to do.  If that’s not possible, we can cook together and work on projects together, which is almost as good.  Maybe we’ll even find time for a date. 

This may be an ambitious plan for a week of vacation.  The housekeeping and other chores might have to wait, and my dear friends might not hear from me.  We’ll be that dorky family with lights and decorations out much longer than is fashionable.  I might have to keep this going for a few weeks beyond the vacation time. 

But my family’s all home, and that’s a rare thing.  It’s time to push the other stuff aside and take time to connect.

It feels to me like the cookie currency in my town is getting out of hand.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love cookies as much as the next girl.  I like to bake, and I like to eat, and I’m happy to do my fair share.  I believe cookie making is festive and heartwarming for those who bake and those who partake.  But is there a point when too much is. . . too much?

When I moved to the midwest years ago, I quickly realized the Christmas cookie culture was big.  It feels like every woman worth her salt (except me) gives up a full weekend to make a zillion dozen of a myriad of different kinds of cookies for the world.  Where I grew up, some people –those who thrived on baking as their love language– did this, but not everyone.  I do make batches to give as teacher or hostess gifts.  I enjoy baking a few dozen for our church’s cookie walk fundraiser.   I’ve learned to make extra for my family to enjoy at home, or I buy more at the cookie walk for a hefty sum.   It’s for a good cause. 

But that’s not enough.

There’s the cookie parties.   Everyone brings at least two, three or four dozen cookies to trade and share with everyone else.  When it’s all done, you get to bring home a small plate of assorted cookies.  But where, pray tell, do all the other cookies go?  Does every person at the party eat three dozen cookies?  It’s a mystery to me.

And that’s not all.

We have the church, school, and extracurricular cookie-driven events.  Typically, the night before every event, someone sends an email requesting “just a couple dozen homemade cookies” as your admission ticket.  Plus a small, insignificant but witty, beautifully wrapped gift.  No big deal.  Just whip up a couple dozen from your perfectly stocked pantry or pull it out of the massive stash you prepared the day after Thanksgiving.  Oh, you didn’t?  Oh dear.  Might want to think about that next year.

Then there’s the family.

When your children find you whipping up that last minute batch, they’re crushed if there aren’t “just a couple dozen” to eat at home.  So you make more. . . more. . . more to dial down the whining.  Then your husband, who is trying to lose weight, doesn’t want a cookie in sight in fear that he’ll gobble them up in one sitting.  So you conceal. . . stash. . . scarf the evidence to support his efforts.  Even though you’re jealous of his willpower.  Because you’re nibbling “just one” of every tray coming out of the oven. 

I think I’d have to make at least 20 dozen cookies to meet everyone’s demands requests, and it’s enough to put me over the edge.  Please tell me, invisible internet people:  who created this madness?   Who eats all of these cookies, and what do we do without them the rest of the year?  I love cookies, I do, but I’d like to make them on my own terms.  In the age of increasing obesity, over-the-top stress levels, and my own slloooowinng metabolism, is this the way it should be?   Could I be overreacting, becoming a scrooge-ess over  just a couple dozen cookies? 

Never mind, don’t answer that.  If I have to ask, I already know the answer. 

Step away from the oven, sister.  Just say no to the cookie conspiracy. 

*****

2009 update:  Pam hasn’t been invited to any cookie parties this season and is beginning to feel the urge– to bake or nibble, she’s not quite sure.  She’ll get around to it sooner or later, but for now she plans to pick up a few dozen at the First United Methodist Church Cookie Walk on December 11th.  Enjoy the baking and partaking! 

As an infant, we would tickle him over and over to hear his infectious giggle.  As he grew, he’d entertain us with dramatic antics, and at night you can still hear him laughing with his brother until they collapse into slumber.  He’s eleven. 

I have to admit, the controlling mom in me sometimes worries if he goes to far.  He loves to make other kids laugh, but is he too distracting in the classroom?  Does he really understand when to turn it on and when (and how) to simmer down?  At home, those boundaries blur.  Our meals sometimes disentegrate into ROFL laugh fests–sometimes that’s a welcome release, and sometimes it gets tiresome.

Recently we played a family board game together (Settlers of Catan–highly recommended for older kids), and the silly sounds and voices were in full swing.    We all laughed together until the antics got old and the game wasn’t working.  Dad and I tried to get our son to settle down but the goofy beast kept escalating, and everyone was irritated. 

Finally, Dad ordered him to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the game. 

N flipped off his internal goofiness switch.  The game resumed in peace and quiet. 

But it wasn’t fun any more.  We tried to continue, but everyone’s enthusiasm dwindled.

So we told N he could go back to his usual self.  He immediately perked up, and so did we.

And then he said this:

“See, I just proved to you how much this family needs me around.” 

You know, he’s absolutely right.  I’m so grateful for his gift of goofiness.  May he hang onto that spirit, and may we remember to treasure it every day.

If you’d like to join me in finding gratitude in the little things, register for 30 Days of Gratitude.  It starts Sunday!

Ann Arbor-Hikone Exchange 2009

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” — Mark Twain

Or, as my teen son summed it up on Facebook (not quite as eloquently, but I must admit, it captured the sentiment): 

“There’s a fr__kin’ sweet Japanese kid at my house!” 

 How sweet it was.  We had a great week hosting Kohei, our fourteen year old exchange student from Hikone, Japan. 

Prior to his visit, I worried about whether our home was welcoming or clean enough, how we would communicate, and whether he would eat well or miss his home.  I wanted to make sure he had a great time, that he appreciated our fair city, and that we pretended to act like a normal American family.   Or maybe even better than normal, whatever that is.     

There was no need to worry.  Kohei was delightful, and he spoke terrific English, to our great relief.  He was social and engaging:  playing football with the neighbors, riding ripstik with my younger son, and teaching my daughter magic tricks.  He deemed all of my food “delicious.”   Of course it was–even the squash soup and the boxed mac ‘n cheese.  I hope my own kids were paying attention.

By opening our home to a visitor from afar, we learned so much.  The state of my house wasn’t so important; by the end of the week it was as messy as usual.  Despite language hurdles and minor cultural differences (learning to work the shower, doing neat little bundles of laundry each day, or miso soup for breakfast), we’re not so different.  Teens don’t need major entertainment.  They are happy hanging out with friends, wherever they are.  They like to flirt and tease each other, just like our kids.   They enjoyed seeing the local sights, but more importantly, they wanted to make connections.  

When I asked Kohei what he wanted to do most while he was here, he promptly said, “I want to make lots of friends.”   

Mission accomplished. 

At our Sayonara (farewell) party, the Japanese host, Mr. Ikegami, framed it like this: 

 ”I cannot change the war of the past, but it is my duty to make sure it never happens again.”

If we are honest, we all have our history and prejudices.  Conflict with the Japanese is not in my personal history, but it is for many who still feel the sting of World War II.  But regardless of the differences, if we make a friend–a real connection–it becomes impossible to hate or paint broad negative assumptions about an entire group of people.  Because we’ll always remember that one friend who was so kind.   

So now we have a dear friend in Japan, who my son will visit in just two weeks.  I must agree with my son:  It’s very (is it okay to say fr__kin’?) sweet. 

1) Last week we hosted our young visitor from Japan and he was amazing!   We couldn’t have ordered up a more friendly, engaging, appreciative and English-speaking (whew!) fourteen year old.   We said our sad goodbyes this morning, and my son will have the joy of seeing him again in less than three weeks.  As soon as I have time to reflect I’ll write more about it.  

2)  You might enjoy these two articles about the exchange in our local paper:

Students raise money for trip to Japan

Local families host Japanese exchange students

3)  Today is my first born’s fourteenth birthday.  I can’t even process the meaning of this at the moment, but I must be off to prepare since we’ve been a little distracted.  In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a fun photo:

and some discussion on Flickr of the v-sign commonly used for photos.   Enjoy!