Knowing When to Push Your Kids

The other day Mr. O realized that his bff was getting on the rocket swing without him and he scrambled to get there before takeoff. I said, “You want a big push?” and he, with his foot stuck underneath himself, said, “I’m not ready yet.” I replied, “I won’t push you ’til you’re ready.”

I was so proud of my little life truism. I felt like Splinter to his Leonardo. Master Shifu to his Po. Avatar Roku to his Aang. For those of you who don’t watch children’s cartoons all day, I was Obi-wan to his Luke (my geek police are not pleased, I realize that).

Silliness aside, I find this is one of the daily challenges of parenting and working with children. When is the right time to push a child, and when do you hold back? It’s one of those questions that never has one simple answer, because every child is different. When you live and work with them you learn what is the right amount of expectation and support for each individual, but it’s a constant balancing act.

On a daily basis I find myself presented with a situation that begs this question. Do I push him now, or do I realize he needs help and give him that instead. Chores and consequences are one thing – you can’t go to your friend’s house until your homework is done. That’s simple enough but it’s just a basic rule, not a judgment call. When he’s had a bad day because he failed a test, do I say YOU NEED TO WORK HARDER NEXT TIME! Or do I tell him these things happen, and pledge to help him study for the next test?

Even the child who could always be pressured a little to do better has periods of regression. The kid who was a superstar last year may have had something bad happen and now he’s plummeting. It doesn’t mean he turned bad – he needs support and love more than ever, and we in our competitive culture tend to be harder on them when they most need kindness. You were great before – why can’t you be great now? Suck it up kid!

We all go through periods like this and I still find myself on that roller coaster as an adult. Usually I’m on top of my game all the time – I got the mom thing mastered and I love it. But when I have those downswings I just want someone to tell me it’s going to be ok. Doesn’t it make sense that when our children are in a dark place, we should do the same for them instead of just demanding for them to “be better”?

I can’t…how can I put this delicately? provide constructive feedback to? or sometimes even make a simple comment to my teenager without fear that he’ll sink into depression. All parents of teens know this. But when we think they’re just being emotional and crazy and want to react and write them off, we should remember how everything felt like a personal attack at that age (hormones). My husband told our son he did a good job on something and his response was a litany of things he did wrong and storming out of the room. That shirt looks good on you. How could you SAY something like that?!

So the story becomes, as we decide when to push our child, we should also be pushing ourselves as parents. We must assess what we’re doing and take an honest look at our own behavior. We have to recognize when we’re out of line or when we need to change instead of trying to force a change on our children. They are their own people and will make their own choices. We can only provide guidance, and constant reminders of what’s right and wrong of course. Back to the hero’s journey. We send them on their way and hope they find the right path.

When parents are having trouble communicating with their children I always ask them, How would you feel if your boss spoke to you that way? Or your partner? We need to be aware of our tone of voice and body language when talking to our kids – which is often lecturing, yelling, or tossing some remark at them while we rush to the next thing or stare at our phone, if we’re really honest.

It is our job to recognize when it is time to push, when it is time step back and let our kids fail a little, and definitely, most importantly, when we need to have real open communication and hear what they need. Then figure out the best way to get them that support – which might not even involve our help, but instead teaching them how to find it elsewhere.

I say it constantly, but parenting is the hardest – and most important – thing most of us will ever do. No one fully understands that until they’re in it – at 2AM after a string of sleepless nights with a baby who still won’t go to sleep and we are ready to lose our freaking mind. Or just standing there at the end of the school day with a kid in tears, trying to find the right way to help him. Steel yourselves, Masters of young heroes. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

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Groaning the End of Summer Blues

Last week Google told me it was the first day of fall. Shut up Google. I haven’t even turned the calendar in my kitchen from August to September yet – because if I don’t, summer’s not over. This is just my way of showing mother nature that I object. I’m usually fighting the power, but I might have to admit that there’s nothing I can do to keep fall from coming.

In the weeks before we went back to school a lot of parents were excited to get their kids out of the house. I even saw a few non-parents posting funny cartoons on Facebook, dancing chimps and frazzled moms, with comments like “I hear this is how parents feel this time of year.” They haven’t talked to me.

The grind of the school year is too much for me. I like lazy summer days with their own rhythm. I let the boys sleep in, then they get their own breakfast, watch a little tv, get bored, and hop on bikes to ride to all their friends’ houses and see what’s up. They come back hot and tired, with some goodies from the candy store, and maybe hang out with me and the day care kids in the yard for a while. In the evening it’s another ride or walk to town, a board game, kicking the soccer ball around in the yard, grilling, ice cream.

Now that school is in session I’m finding ever more creative ways to pry teenagers out of bed in the morning. Hustling them out the door against their will. They come home and there’s barely time for a snack before it’s off to practice (well that’s fun). Then the endless late nights of homework are like sticking a needle in my eye. Nobody is any good at that hour. We are barely three weeks into it and I can hardly keep up.

The sad remnants of a provider's summer: one last apple from the tree, bathing suits to be packed away for next year

The sad remnants of a provider’s summer: one last apple from the tree, bathing suits to be packed away for next year

Fall also means another year gone by. I sit here writing this in my house that will be 100 years old in eight months. The previous owner lived here for forty years and when I, the young pregnant wife bought this house from her, I thought good God, forty years. That’s a whole lifetime. Well the new housewife has been living in this house for fifteen years. She has four (blink-of-an-eye, instantaneous) summer vacations left until her baby goes away to start his own life. So yeah, I don’t want to send them back to school. I want them with me all the time.

I’ve always been fascinated with the detachment that moms of older children have – they don’t always seem to be as engaged with their kids as the moms of younger children. I see the goodbyes that parents of younger kids go through, the long hugs and kisses, secret handshakes, hanging around to be sure they’re OK before mom and dad leave. Now my guys just march themselves off to the bus while trying to avoid my hugs. So it’s self-protection to become a little detached the more our babies draw away from us. It’s not because we’re not interested – we’re naturally a bit hardened by all those goodbyes.

My big boys and I still have our own ritual, even if I’m not allowed past the hedge. They each have a saying for me and I try to keep it simple. I can’t yell, “Goodbye sweet darling light of my life I love you so much my little petunia, have a wonderful day and don’t let anything bad happen!” (Though I do toy with that every day.)

They can’t possibly know that my “Have a good day” flung out the door as they leave means so much more than its words. It means, I hope you don’t get bullied. Take care of your friends. Be smart. Behave but be cool too. Don’t stress yourself out over getting perfect grades. Think of me when you’re in a bad place because I am always thinking of you. And I’m always wondering how you’re doing, if everything’s OK, if there’s anything you’re not telling me. And what could I do if you did? It means my child, you are the most important thing in the world to me, and I will be missing you until you’re with me again. Forever and always.

Spam Poem

Amidst the tumult, Caterina could easily lose her sense of self

It’s actually very complicated in this active life

Women tend to do what is best for their family and their marriage,

even if that means swallowing their pride to forgive their cheating husband.

the home she’d purchased bulldozed.

 

she wants to be available in that detail,

therefore that thing is maintained over here.

 

The complaint alleges that Mr. You say” I don’t care about the great opportunity.

But he’s tryiong none the less.

The drill is always to acknowledge what your dreams are providing you as ideas

and also

to produce a game intend to fulfill the dream.

Once you have your tray filled with objects,

you are ready to play another game.

 

You can benefit from a less-qualified contractor

who has worked long enough in his left thigh.

Sleeping at night, dozens of Mr. What Accountants for contractors

just wants to get his required amount without any hindrances

a great deal more than 50 others and some birds [women].

You can certainly see your bdkbkebabafd

 

Now, I am going to pay its compensation under this program.

Hygiene and attention to yourself are part of the treatment.

Once the chicken test was done, we moved on to beef, and so on.

As the communication bridges start

their building process relating to the two worlds,

we all know

that might know about

expect

in the relationship isn’t different

than what are the one else wants.

(Disclosures are boring)

 

I do trust all of the concepts you have presented

May just you please lengthen them

a little from next time?

I care for such info a lot.

The remainder of the liight can be used to produce electricity

It might be following you back again.

 

Addiction is a Disease. Period.

In the last year we’ve lost three of the greatest actors of our time: James Gandolfini. Philip Seymour Hoffman. Robin Williams. Only after they died did we learn the true depth of their suffering.

After Gandolfini’s passing you didn’t hear as much anger or blame in the response. People were just sad. Because his compulsion was overindulgence – we can all relate to that. He was a man of big passions, he loved food, he loved cigars. While worrisome (and ultimately fatal), this type of behavior can even be admired in a man of his stature – he deserved to put his feet up and enjoy himself after all his hard work. People weren’t angry at him.

In the cases of Hoffman and Williams, I don’t have to discuss how visceral and inappropriate the response has been. And I probably don’t have to spell out that the difference is because their problems were addiction and depression. It is widely known that if a person had cancer we’d all be rallying to support them and their family, bringing food, making hospital visits, starting funds, holding charity baseball games, leaving coffee cans around town for donations. But when they have the disease of depression, or alcoholism, and a host of others I’m forgetting, we shun them. We blame the sick person.

Ironically, while looking for answers to Williams’ death, I found comfort (or at least a laugh) in Chris Rock’s retweet of an Onion story about how assigning blame is now the fastest human reflex. I think when we’re feeling grief over a suicide or an overdose, we blame the person because we are hurting and it’s their fault. Then it becomes very easy not to see the victim’s hurt.

When I first studied alcoholism, I learned that anyone can suffer from addiction. And many people in your daily life are actively struggling with it. It is very easy to put on a mask of normality and continue about your business. You can rise to the highest position in your career and go on for years in an active drugs and alcohol situation without anyone really suspecting what’s going on. A “drunk” is not just the guy living in the gutter.

Thank you Mrs. McShea, 2nd grade

Thank you Mrs. McShea, 2nd grade

In elementary school we learn (well we used to learn, I don’t know if it lives up to common core standards nowadays) that you have several aspects to your “self” – mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical. We were told that in order to have a happy life, we should work to keep all these areas healthy. My husband and I are teaching our kids that when your body is sick, you go to the doctor. When your mind is sick, you go to the therapist. There is no shame in this. It’s common sense. Our society needs to embrace this ideology and stop shunning normal human responses to stress. Because we’ve got more stress than ever nowadays.

Throughout my life I’ve loved people who suffered from mental illness. I’ve loved people who suffered from depression. I’ve loved people who suffered from addiction. Those people deserve no less respect than the ones stricken with other more socially acceptable diseases. They crave compassion just as any other sick, hurting person does, and it is not their fault that they are sick.

Until you’ve walked in someone else’s shoes you have no idea what they suffer. There but for the grace of God go I. In these times of loss no one has the right to cast judgment, or call someone a coward, or say how could they not get help. These men were fighting battles their whole lives, as any addict does. Sometimes they win. Sometimes they don’t.

I don't have his egg anymore :(

I don’t have his egg anymore :(

Mr. Williams’ death hit me hard. The odd thing is several of my friends said they thought of me when they heard the news – I don’t know why, except that I’ve obviously loved him as so many other people have throughout the years (or maybe it was my Mork from Ork action figure). People say he had everything, and how could this happen. I think we need to flip that around and see the other side: the fact that he was able to get up, get out of bed, get to work, get on stage, get in front of people – everything that he gave in spite of what he was dealing with is nothing short of a miracle. We should simply be grateful.

Summer, Boys, Bikes, Freedom

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said,
- Speak to us of children!
And he said:
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Khalil Gibran – The Prophet

One of my dearest friends gave me those words and they hang on my fridge, an everyday reminder of what’s important to me. If our refrigerators are a peek into our minds, I am a more than slightly crazy person. But my kids are doing great.

Anyway these words ring truer for me this year more than any. When she first gave me the poem my kids were so young, probably still in preschool and kindergarten. At that time letting them fly into the world meant spending a few hours a day away from me in the full-time care of another competent adult. And that felt huge for both of us.

This summer, even the past few weeks, have meant whole new worlds opening for them. Last year it started with the baby steps of letting them walk home from school with a gang of friends and hang out downtown, terrorizing local businesses with noise, food messes, and probably the occasional profanity. Today, they are free to go wherever and whenever they want. They tell me whose house they’re going to, or what store, and hop on their bikes and off they go. They haven’t started taking the money directly out of my wallet yet – they still ask for it and wait around to count it.

They even had their first real babysitting job yesterday, the two of them together (I figure that’s better than one, in an emergency they might be able to use each other’s help, or just make each other more panicked, but eventually somebody would figure out what to do?). Letting them be in charge in someone else’s home (and that dear lady for trusting them) felt like baby steps into adulthood, just as those preschool steps felt so many years ago. It doesn’t seem like it in my memories, but I have to admit it – ten years is a long time.

The choices they are making show me how far these arrows will go. The other day when they wanted to go for a ride downtown I gave them all the cash I had, which came down to a whopping $4 each to spend at the candy store. I figured it would be gone in seconds, on milk shakes or the biggest bag of candy ever. But they came home and handed me a Kit Kat. It was the best part of my whole week.

Best candy bar ever

Best candy bar ever

Their thoughts are their own and they make that clear when I try to impose mine, which is great. They’ll listen to advice but make up their own minds (and that’s when I have to back off). As another friend said the other day, her girls who are the same ages as mine won’t speak all day but then something will come out and she has to be READY and focused at that moment to hear what they have to say. But when they do share what’s on their mind I’m so pleased.

The ways in which I strive to be like them are many. They’re small adults but still uncomplicated. They ask questions and really are curious about how the world works. They fight bullies and speak truth. There’s no drama or if there is, they get over it in the boy way of punching each other, being mad for a little while, and then getting over it.

I know I can learn more from them, or from the journey I am taking because of them, than they can learn from me. They’ll get educated on the subjects they need to learn eventually. That’s not my job. Making sure they know what’s important – and knowing when it’s their turn to teach me – that’s my job.

Feeling Contemplative on a Bike Ride

A day for me. As a home child care provider, let me stress to you how rarely this happens. I have worked for 12 years in my home, every day, all day. Think about it – when you’re a child care provider, you can’t leave the house. You don’t run out for a cup of coffee, or take an afternoon off for a dentist appointment. You don’t even get to stop at the market on the way home for a gallon of milk. You just – stay home. It’s a little confining. Don’t have claustrophobia and become a home child care provider.

Lately I’ve found myself taking a few steps back into the world. It’s been wonderful getting re-acquainted, and seeing the town around me for the fun and lively place it is. Of course in true motherly fashion, the day for me became the day I scheduled the recall work on the car. But that’s OK because it forced me to take a bike ride around my town, which is one of my favorite things to do.

I dropped the car off early and relished the quiet morning before the world woke up. I rode to the bridge over the river and took pictures of the rowing crew working out. Smelled the fresh air and flowers (and the garbage truck), and watched all the people dressed up in business clothes heading to work.

As I passed the sights along the way my moods changed wildly: traffic building at the highway entrance. A homeless man sleeping along the bike path. A grandmotherly lady with her bike basket, smiling and ringing her bell. The words “kill you” graffiti’d on the bridge underpass. A nanny with two young boys on bikes. A young guy with headphones actually smiling pleasantly. A serious bike racer all decked out in spandex.

My mind wandered and I couldn’t help but flash back on the days when I used to get up and go, like these folks, to a real professional-like office job. I thought about the plans I’ve made that have come true, and those that didn’t. How I felt about the loss of those things and how I’ve come to be content where I am. The benefits of a corporate job versus being my own boss and working with children. I thought about working at home and how nice it would be to work away from home again. Did I make the right choices, for myself and for my children?

I was probably in this speculative mood because we spent the weekend at a family wedding. My sons got it – the meaningfulness of what was happening. They knew they were part of something big and they took it seriously. They loved every minute of spending time with family and were incredibly sad when it was over. When I asked Older why he didn’t want to leave he said, “I don’t know when we’ll have everyone together like this again.” I promised right then to find an occasion, or throw a party for no reason just to make it happen.

My husband and I have recently had some deep conversations about the meaning of real parenting. Is it sending your kids away to camp to teach them independence? Is it letting them lay around the house all summer and get the desperately-needed downtime their bodies require for summer growth spurts? Is it strict discipline or having fun? Where is the balance and what is right? Does any of it matter that much, if they grow up to be relatively happy and sane people?

In the end that’s really the most you could ask for. I think parenting comes down to this: having fun. Teaching them to be grateful for what they have and to share what they can. Keeping them interested in trying new things, and showing them the joy of exploring new places. Letting them know that things may turn out as planned, or they may not, but you move on and find the next thing. Giving them a sense of hope, and the resiliency to keep moving ahead no matter what comes.

Don’t Make Me Go All Amnesty on Your Ass

Some moments in child care take everything you’ve learned up until that moment. It sometimes feels like the culmination of my whole life as a daughter, sister, mother, master’s degree student, teacher, and therapist. The last of which I’m not, but often find myself having to be with the demands of the job.

This week’s moment was with my brother and sister pair. They are typical siblings with the usual squabbles who band together rabidly if anyone else bothers them (she’s MY sister – only I can beat the crap out of her!). This time it was brother who took the blow. I missed the beginning of the fight but saw and heard the outcome. He hit the deck, hard. Full-on WWE body slam.

I walked into the room and all eyes were on me. I had a lot of choices as to how to handle this situation. I could yell and make a big scene, I could punish her, I could try to set an example for all the kids by showing everybody how wrong this was, and how angry it made me.

Sister was too afraid to even say she was sorry. She was staring at me waiting for the hammer to come down.

I looked at brother. He was laying on the floor, pained not only because he’d whacked his head pretty good, but I could see it in his eyes: How could she do this to me? My heart melted.

I didn’t say a word to anybody. I went to him, knelt down, pulled him into my lap, and just sat and hugged him in silence.

No one knew what to do. They spoke a few words here and there but were at a loss as to what I was thinking. I looked around at the kids and realized they were all playing their roles. Sister knew she was in trouble and was trying to blend into the background while knowing she still had to atone for it.

The other instigator of the fight knew this was big, but was thinking I didn’t know she had anything to do with it and she might get off scot free. My class clown started being funny to try to distract everybody from the tension. But I wasn’t going to move on without addressing the moment.

As I sat and held brother I took a moment to collect my thoughts and decide how I was going to handle this. It was good to let the kids stew for a moment, worrying about how much trouble this was going to be. And it’s good for me not to have to make snap decisions all the time. Sibling fighting is a ploy for attention, and sometimes when you give the right attention the fight is resolved (doesn’t mean there won’t be another one).

I remembered raising my own boys and being so angry at one when he’d hurt the other. It didn’t matter who was the perpetrator or what they did – when one of my babies was hurt, mama bear roared. It was unacceptable to me – you do NOT hurt your brother! This is your FAMILY. That may be the one thing I fought them the hardest on, and I know I got it from my mother.

My sister and I rarely had fights but when they did, they were a doozy. I didn’t necessarily want her to be punished – I just wanted someone to understand how I felt. My mother would spend a while talking with her in her room, then come to me. Usually we’d have to say sorry, but it didn’t feel so hard after we aired our feelings and got the attention we needed.

In the end I just ignored everyone but brother and kept asking him how he felt. We talked about how hurt and scared he was. I asked why she pushed him down. He said he took her toy. I said, “Do you think taking her toy made her angry?” He nodded yes. Then I asked, “Do you think it’s fair to be tackled for taking a toy?” After that, sister approached and genuinely apologized to him.

I don’t know how much it sank in – it certainly didn’t stop them from battling out the rest of the week. But for the moment, she really saw that what she’d done was wrong. Brother felt comforted, not because it came from me but most importantly, because it came from his sister.

And at lunch time, when sister told me, “You always give me the food last,” I resisted the urge to tell her that those who try to destroy their brother will eventually pay the price.