“I can’t do it.”

“I’m no good at this.” 

“No one wants to play with me.”

or from yourself:

“I’m not one of those big-time bloggers.”

or

“I haven’t written a real book.”

So often we parents argue, countering, “Yes, you can!”, generating a back-and-forth argument, and causing our partner (adversary?) to dig in her heels.  The “I can’t” person gets defensive, adding strength to the argument just to convince the other person she’s right.  It doesn’t seem to help at all, does it?  In fact, we sometimes end up more convinced the original statement is right — or perhaps understated — and further from encouragement. 

Instead, empathize and just add the magic word:

“You can’t do it. . . . YET.”

“Okay, you’re not good at this. . . YET.”

“Today, no one can play with you . . . YET.”

And tell yourself:

“I’m not one of those big-time bloggers. . . YET.”

“I haven’t written a real book. . . YET.”

See the difference?  Three little letters validate the sentiment, open up the conversation, shift emphasis toward the goal, and create a sense of possibility. 

I’m trying to work it in more often.  I’m not quite there yet.  But I can feel it coming.

Visit We are THAT Family  for more Works for Me Wednesday ideas.

photo credit: nyki_mi

adapted from the archives

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

She has that look — a shell of the formerly vibrant, social woman clinging to her last rope, reaching for a shred of hope as the overwhelming waves of chaos crash toward her again.  I know it well.  She’s usually in the back row of my parenting presentations, or quietly listening at the moms’ social outing, and she needs someone to tell her things are going to be okay. 

She may be the mother of a colicky baby, a defiant toddler, a learning-challenged fourth grader or a rebellious teen.  She may have wonderful, well-adjusted children but still feel completely overwhelmed by it all.  She also might be a he, of course, who feels like he’s the only one out there forging uncharted territory.  She might get paid to work (or not), but it doesn’t matter.  She loves her child with every ounce of her soul, and she treasures those moments of joy, but she still feels like she can’t pull it together like all the other parents seem to do. 

I know this woman because I have been there.  I am she, and she is we, and we need to do a better job reaching out to that person. 

Parenting is one of life’s most rewarding and toughest challenges, and anyone who says otherwise is not telling the whole story.  Yes, some flow through it more naturally than the rest of us do, but I don’t think it was ever meant to be easy.  Perfect parenting is a myth.  June Cleaver and Carol Brady do not exist in the real world, and the SuperNanny doesn’t even have her own children.  The difficulty isn’t necessarily bad: parenting is a great opportunity to for adults to stretch and learn beyond our imagination, and working through tough challenges is an amazing way to grow.

But I don’t believe we’re meant to face that challenge in a vacuum. We need a friend to hear about our latest episode and offer ideas to face the next one. We need someone to help us see the long view and assure us that we didn’t scar our child for life this morning. We need a frequent reminder that kids are resilient, that our mistakes are forgiven and that next time, we will respond better. We need a friend who pulls us out of that ocean of diapers and tantrums and shines light on the moments we can laugh about and celebrate. We can’t expect all that from one person: we need a community of grace.

So let’s make a pact to skip the judgement, finger pointing and mommy wars. Let’s stop competing over food, child care, schools and activities. Let’s reach out to one another and offer support.

What if we sat next to that woman in the back row and listened to her story? What if we reached out to the parent whose child misbehaves in school? What if we remembered how hard it is to simply get out the door with young children and congratulated that mom for a job well done?

Just for today, let’s stop pretending we have all the answers. Let’s hold back our judgment and encourage one another. It will make a huge difference to that struggling parent. And I bet it will make your day a little brighter too.

It works for me. 

photo credit: Béni Rivière

“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

My middle son (age 11) is a dramatic one.  He loves goofing around, speaking in funny voices, and even dressing up upon occasion.  He’s always dreamed of being an actor.  I have no idea whether he’d be good at it, but I do know he would have a blast. 

But he doesn’t like to be pressured.  He wants to know exactly what to expect.  And the most important thing in the world right now?  His friends.  Of course, that’s the nature of 6th grade:  those other tweens know so much more about the real world–at least what’s cool or interesting– than mom does.  If mom thinks it’s cool, it’s most likely not.  That’s probably my fatal flaw.       

When the opportunity of the all-school play arose, I was sure he’d want to join.   This isn’t a dweeby activity–the annual play at our middle school is a huge event.  Everyone who makes the commitment is accepted, and last year, almost 200 kids danced and sang their way through Bye Bye Birdie.  The community support for this gig is unbelievable.  My son saw the production and clearly announced he wanted to join as soon as he could. 

That was before he started talking to his new 6th grade friends.  Most haven’t experienced any of these productions, so they rejected the idea of putting themselves out there.  What self-respecting 6th grade boy would do such a thing?  

Except we all knew this activity was perfect for this 6th grade boy.   That is, everyone but my son knew it, and the unknown is to be avoided at all costs.   

So despite much encouragement, haranguing, pressure and bargaining, he dug his heels in deep.  I finally remembered to follow my own parenting advice:  let him make the choice.  If I forced him to do it, he’d probably keep arguing about every rehearsal.  The battle between us would continue, and he’d have a hard time enjoying the process on his own.  We’ve learned this the hard way on other matters, and sometimes I’m slow to learn. 

So we let him choose.  He’s not doing the play this year, and he doesn’t have to be in the shadow of his big brother (which probably was part of the issue).  He’s got two more years to see if he’s interested, and if he does, he’ll throw his whole self into it.  (And he’ll love it, mom knows!)

I think we all breathed a sigh of relief when the decision was made, and I’m fine with it now.  I love my kid for sticking to his convictions.  But I really hope he chooses to do it next year.

photo credit: Wootang01

Schedule a one mile “luggage walk” with their fully packed travel gear a week before departure:

Might seem silly, but it’s a very effective way to ensure they can carry all of their stuff.  

Sometimes the most brilliant strategies are the simplest.  

How do you get your kids to think ahead?

“It was crazy, mom,” my sixth grade son breathed when he burst through the door after his first middle school fun night.

“Is that good?” I wondered, my imagination filling with crazy things that could happen in middle school.

“I think it was the best night of my life!” he gushed. 

Whew.  I breathed a sigh of relief and basked in his excitement as he told me all about the pizza, the dodge ball, and the crazy dancing, with everyone jumping and shouting to the hippest tunes.  He demonstrated, jumping, bobbing his head and waving one arm high:  “You (bounce, bounce) change your mind (bounce, bounce) like a girl (bounce, bounce) changes clothes (bounce, bounce). . . ”  I was energized and exhausted at the same time, just watching him buzz through the joy of youth.

“Well, he’s an extrovert,” my rather introverted husband deadpanned.  An understatement, if ever there was one.  This son definitely draws his energy from the crowd. 

Fun nights are a huge improvement over the junior high dances I remember.  No longer do opposite sexes line up against the wall, awkwardly awaiting an invitation or hiding away in the crowd.  At our school, fun night includes options for the wild diversity of teen or tweenhood:  swimming, basketball, dodge ball, food, dancing (mostly in groups), or just hanging out.   Kids are given opportunities to find their comfort zone and revel in it.  Chaperoning one of these events is a fascinating window to the middle school habitat. 

Of course, there’s no escaping the complicated social dynamics of that age.  At any given turn, for mysterious reasons, one can slide from the top of this exciting roller coaster to the depths, wondering if he’ll ever rise again. 

For tonight, my boy is feeling the thrill of the ride, and I’m thrilled with him.  I hope that he hangs on to that confidence as the roller coaster lurches through its necessary twists and turns, the recent joy boosting him through the low scoops. 

And I pray that he stays safe and securely buckled for the duration.

photo credit: thecrypt

“I meet many parents who are trying so hard to be perfect parents, to make everything just right for their children, that they are draining away their pleasure in parenting.  They’re too exhausted and too unconsciously resentful to enjoy the amazing show of childhood. . .

. . . My advice to all of these parents is to tolerate some low-quality time.  Have a little less ambition for yourself and your children.  Plan nothing.  Disappoint your kids with your essential mediocrity and the dullness of your home.  Just hang around your children and wait to see what develops.  Strive to be a good enough parent, not a great one.  It can make everyone in the family relax, and paradoxically, make life richer.”

--from The Blessing of a Skinned Knee:  Using Jewish Teachings to Raise Self-Reliant Children by Wendy Mogel, Ph.D.

I print this not to be pessimistic, but with the hope of accepting and celebrating ourselves and our children right where we are. 

May we all remember to celebrate the joy of being good enough. 

Discuss.

How’s your morning routine going? Do you hear some variation of this tape running every day:

“Get dressed. . . you’ve got to eat breakfast. . .brush your hair. . . do you have your homework? . . . don’t forget your lunch. . . did you brush your teeth?. . .remember I’m picking you up today. . . “

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:

1. Set expectations
2. Provide a system for success
3. Say, “check yourself” and hold your tongue
4. Let the consequences do the teaching
5. Enjoy your coffee

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 some 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”.  I need to let my child be frustrated with his forgetfulness, not my blaming.  If I decide to rescue him (which I’ll admit I typically do once a season), I’m fully aware that it delays the lesson.  Chick Moorman puts it like this:

1. Rescue once? you’re a nice mom
2. Rescue twice? it becomes an expectation
3. Rescue three times?  Congratulations.  You have a new job. 

I hope to teach my children to self-monitor and take on little responsibilities, so they become responsible adult citizens.  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.

photo credit: bookgrl

I received this email announcement yesterday: 

BECAUSE OF GROWING THREAT OF THE H1N1 VIRUS IN OUR COMMUNITY

WE WILL BE CANCELING THE POTLUCK PORTION OF THE MEETING. 

Color me confused.  The potluck itself is no big deal to me –I’m happy to skip preparing a dish– but I cannot find any logical explanation besides irrational fear.  There is no huge outbreak of H1N1 in our area, but “a growing threat”.  I’m sure there are some cases, I’m sure there will be more, and we’re all taking precautions like washing hands often and staying home if we’re sick.  Yes, sharing food is also discouraged, but I don’t expect this crowd to be swapping saliva like kids in the cafeteria. 

I feel like fear is turning our world upside down and topsy turvy:

• Potluck?  Scary.  Same group sending kids overseas?  Great idea. 
• Using the bully pulpit to encourage kids?  Scary.  Pulling kids out of school to avoid it?  Great idea.
• Health care reform?  Scary.  Keeping millions of people uninsured?  Great idea. 

I don’t mean to belittle the complexity or legitimate concerns surrounding these issues, and I admit, mentioning those hot button topics scares me a bit.  Most challenges can’t be boiled down to polar right/wrong sides but require discussion, debate, and negotiation.  I just feel like we’ve gotten a bit off kilter with hysteria.  It seems like fear is taking the lead on everything, and I don’t think that’s healthy.

Fear makes us hunker down and avoid contact.  It halts productive conversation, exchange of information, trust and enlightenment.  We make assumptions based on limited or skewed information and exaggerate differences.   We pass judgment.  The chasm grows.  It makes problem solving very difficult. 

And it blocks out love –as in “love your neighbor“– or the seriously radical one:  “love your enemies.”

As a parent, I want to model for my children both confidence and compassion.  If fear drives all of my decisions, I fail on both fronts.   Sure, I have my fears, and I worry at times.  I need to make sure my kids are safe.  But I need to keep the beast of fear from getting out of control, for my kids’ sake.  I want to get better at walking right in, facing the challenges, and seeking understanding before I react with fear. 

How do you keep fear in check?  We’ll talk more about this soon. 

A couple of related writings you might appreciate:

• Jon from Stuff Christians Like  on the bravery of a six year old.
• Allie Pleiter’s book Facing Every Mom’s Fears:  A Survival Guide to Balancing Fear with Courage

photo credit: kevindooley