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.

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

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!

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!

“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.

Rise without trying

at 5:00 am

capture the sunrise

beat the heat

pretend we belong

escape to the spa

dip in the pool

laze in the river

catch a movie

dinner for two

slumber again

in that big soft bed

then off to the farm.

Big hugs

extra tight this time

catch up

greet the dogs

and sink bare feet into

the softest grass in the world.

Breathe in

break bread

sit on the porch

enjoy the view.

Ruffle feathers

make amends

try again.

Girl time

guy time

swing on the tire time

sit on the porch

enjoy the view.

Savor the flavors

reconnect

celebrate early

watch not-so-small kids play

on that soft green grass. 

5:00 am again

more hugs

dewey eyes

unspoken words.

Fly home

regroup

and remember

our lovely respite.

And make note

every day

to

enjoy the view.

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:

and 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?

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. 

photo credit: Ro / wererabbit

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?

It was our first day of spring break, so it must be time to start up the sibling wars.  It was also time to nip this in the bud — right here — right now.  I think we’ve been here before. 

Instead of forcing apologies, we “invited” the boys to take some time to contemplate what they learned and what they might do next time.  After the requisite protests, moans and groans, they wrote one another the following essays (printed with permission from the authors):

from N, age 10:

I can avoid fighting my brother in many ways.  I could just left him alone and find something else to play.  I could have gone outside again.  Me and D. could have watched Dad play his game.  Or we could have played more wii.  Me and D. could have talked do A. about our idea.  I should not have acted the way I did.  I feel very bad about my actions.  I should not have bent your arm back.  I should not have stabbed you with a pencil.  Next time I will just walk away or found something else to do.  Me and D. are both very sorry for our actions and we will never do it again.  Next time I will walk away or just leave A. alone.  I am very extreamly super sorry that I almost broke your arm.

Sincerely, N.

from A, age 13:

I think overreacting isn’t a good thing, but many of us are prone to it.  It helps to avoid a situation altogether, but sometimes if we are attacked, then we need to make a decision.  Its a dilemma, that decision, but there is a higher road.  In case your wondering, there are 3 choices. 

One, retaliate.  This may work, but often leads to overreacting, and someone getting hurt. 

2, let it happen to you.  This may get you hurt, but its all together more peaceful than option 1.

Then theres option 3.  Option 3 is the high road.  Option 3 is the way out of it.  Option 3 is getting away.  If its a brother attacking you or fighting anywhere else, option 3 is the way to go.  It may leave you or someone else with some steam to blow off, but nobody gets hurt.

I have experienced all 3 options, and with numbers one and two I have eventually overreacted.  3 I’m just all angry and hyped up.  Overreacting will get you into trouble and it will get sombody hurt.  It may even get you into writing an essay on it.  Overreacting will probably get you into a fight.  You may be defending your self from a playfull “sneak atack” from your brother.  Or you might overreact and spaz to the result of a football game and throw something at someone.  Either way its not good, and people will get upset with you.  Even common bystanders.  Like a sister when two brothers are fighting.  So overreacting is something we all just need to avoid, at all costs.

After working awhile, and sneaking little snickers with each other (which I chose to ignore), they cooled down and came to me with a proposal:  instead of separate essays of the requested length, they stapled both essays together as a unified symbol of family cooperation. 

With pleasure, I accepted, and stashed the letters in our memory box.  Maybe we’ll get through spring break after all.  

What tricks do you have up your sleeve to stem sibling arguments?

photo credit: hey skinny