For my own personal sanity, a few times a month, I scrape up some extra cash and pay a lovely woman to spend a few hours at my house cleaning the bathrooms and floors. Yesterday was one of those glorious days. When I got home from work around 5:00 pm, I was looking forward to some of that good stuff. That shot of dopamine I get when my house is...cleanish. I walked through the door, peered over my daughter's shoulder and into the kitchen as she greeted me with a hug, and immediately noticed the blueberry Cheerios sprinkled around on the kitchen floor. My gaze shifted upward to the kitchen counter where the most notable item in the crowd of usual suspects (toy food, sports water bottles, charging cords, hair ties...) was a plastic cup half filled with milk and a few soggy chunks of graham cracker placed on top of a carefully laid out hand towel usually reserved for the bathroom. With a smile and an optimistic attitude I ventured further into the house. My father-in-law stood up from his post on the living room recliner to greet me, and sawdust rained down off his clothing onto the chair and recently vacuumed living room floor. Soon after, my husband came upstairs and immediately apologized. Just a general apology. The only specific thing about the apology was the description of the bear meat chili and left over pizza he ate at work for lunch. I took the next opportunity to head downstairs and change before getting started on dinner. When I got downstairs I grabbed some comfy clothes from our bedroom closet (and a beer from the mini fridge) then stopped by the bathroom to change. When I glanced at the toilet I noticed the cleaner that my husband was thoughtful enough to spray on the toilet bowl that no one could have guessed had been cleaned a few hours prior. By the time I got back upstairs I'd adjusted my expectations and settled on the idea that even if I wasn't there to see it, my house had been clean a few hours ago. After dinner I was feeling pretty good (the sweatpants, can of beer, and not having to work on Friday probably had something to do with this), so when Ryann danced through the kitchen and accidentally knocked her milk off the counter and onto the floor I somehow managed to keep the lid on. Unfortunately, I'd cleaned up the plastic cup filled with soggy graham cracker from earlier and given her a fresh glass of milk for dinner. So I had a combo milk and broken glass clean up situation on my hands. Wait. Actually, it was a combo milk and broken glass situation on our hands. Without me asking, Ryann got out the broom and dust pan, put on her winter boots, and stuck with me as we cleaned the mess up together.
This is a big deal. After we came back to school from holiday break, Ryann and I got sucked into this exhausting push and pull dynamic in the mornings. It would start with me going in her bedroom to wake her up. Right away she would refuse to get out of bed, and then I would immediately get annoyed and complain that she was going to make me late for work. After a week or so I realized that some version of the same fight had taken over the entire morning routine. From getting out of bed to getting dressed to eating breakfast to putting on her outdoor gear....all the way through the front doors of the school until we parted ways at the bottom of the steps that lead to my office. For several weeks this went on regardless of when I put her to bed the night before, whether or not we set out clothes for the morning, what time I woke her up for school, etc. None of that seemed to matter and it was really starting bother me. I was taking it personally, and unlike my boys, she didn't really seem to care. One of my jobs as the school psychologist in Esko is to consult with teachers when the behavior of a student or students is becoming a problem for others in the classroom. After assuming this role for 15 or so years across many different school districts, I've come to the realization that it's less about the ideas I bring to the table, and more about helping the teacher shift their lens ever so much. It's about helping them observe the problem from a different angle, because the best solution for most problems inside the classroom resides within the teacher, not me. On Martin Luther King day a few weeks ago, as part of an educator professional development day, I was able to listen to speaker Sasha Long, a behavior analyst and former special education teacher. Two things that she shared that day helped me shift my lens on my morning routine problem. One of the things she talked about was something I've heard numerous times before. "Is it a can't do or a won't do problem?" Like I said, I've heard this so many times before I doubted I would learn anything new around this idea. But then she put up a slide that had three lines on it.
Next, she told us that if someone asked her run a mile and get $500, then she would actually want to run the mile because the $500 would motivate her to want to do it. Lastly, she said told us if someone asked her run a mile in 7 minutes she wouldn't even bother attempting and it wouldn't matter if someone offered her $500 or $5000. She felt confident no matter how hard she tried she wouldn't be able to do it...so why bother attempting it? The other idea that stuck with me from her presentation was, the most effective way to change how Ryann behaved in the morning was to start by changing my own behavior. The fresh perspective on the problem led me to first do a little experiment using a highly sought after box of kinetic sand. This would help me determine whether the morning situation was a can't do or a willful won't do. My assumption was it's a willful "won't do" (you know to spite me of course) since I've seen my daughter independently hop out of bed and get herself dressed on many occasions. You know what? It turned out that even with a little extra motivation she still struggled to get out of bed. Maybe it wasn't all about me after all. I started to think about the many things I know I am able to do under certain circumstances (like get out of bed in time to exercise in the morning or wash the dishes after putting three kids to bed), but still struggle to do even when I know I'll feel better after doing them. All of a sudden I had some empathy for my daughter's situation and I recognized that lecturing or guilting her out of bed in the morning wasn't ever going to work. A few things have changed since then. Rather than turning away, or turning against my daughter in the morning, I've turned toward her with empathy, and held her accountable for getting up by taking the time to stick with her through her routine. Is she able to get out of bed on her own? Get dressed? Brush her teeth? Under the best of circumstances, of course she is. Guess what? That doesn't change the fact that my 5-year-old is struggling to meet those same expectations on weekday mornings. So I've been scooping her up out of bed, helping her get dressed, holding her hand and walking her to the bathroom to brush her teeth, tugging her gloves onto her hands, and holding her backpack up for her to loop her arms through. To do this I need to have myself ready to go earlier and set aside that time for her, and if I don't and I am late for my 7:45 meeting...well that is just as much on me as it is on her. I am capable of getting myself out of bed in the morning to go for a run. I actually love running in the morning and typically enjoy the benefits of having gone all day long. When I have plans to meet someone at 5:30, I get out of bed 10 out of 10 times when the alarm goes off at 5:15. When there is nobody waiting for me, but I still want to go.... And I still set my alarm And I still set out my clothes 9 out of 10 times I hit the snooze button and opt out. Sometimes accountability is the best kind of motivation. Especially when it comes in the form of encouragement and support rather than criticism and guilt. I can't say that I've made to every 7:45 meeting on time since January 16th, but parting ways with my daughter each morning is a lot easier (even if I'm a few minutes late) after we've worked together to get through the morning rather than against each other. Apparently our group effort has spilled over into other parts of our day. Quite literally. If Ryann wouldn't of knocked that glass of milk off the counter last night I don't think I could have fully appreciated that. Also, the next time I get my house cleaned during the day, if I want to enjoy it for 30 minutes, I should walk home for lunch.
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Is it just me, or does anyone else ever wonder if your kids have enough adversity in their lives? I think one of my fears for my children is they have it so good that if things ever go sideways for them, they won't know how to deal with it. In their book Option B, Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant explain that resilience isn't a trait that you have or you don't have, it's more like a muscle that you build by working through hard times. There are some things that I experienced in my childhood and throughout my life that I wouldn't ever wish upon my children. It's just that those experiences have also afforded me a capacity to see life and understand people in a way that wouldn't otherwise be possible. Even though I wouldn't wish certain things upon my kids, if given the chance to have not experienced them myself...I think I would have to pass.
So how to I help my kids understand how good they have it, without asking them to apologize for what they've been given? How do I help my kids build that resilience muscle while sparing them some of the stress and adversity that was always just sort of there while I was growing up? Awhile back, I came across an article in the Washington Post entitled Take it from this spy mom: Our kids are capable of more. In the article a woman describes how she and her husband taught their kids how to be "resourceful, self-sufficient, and able to take on whatever the world throws at them" by emphasizing skills they learned while serving in the CIA. She walks through four different skills we can teach our kids that will set them up for more independence. I will say, although I didn't immediately run out to buy my kids pocket knives and sign them up for orienteering classes, there was a skill she talked about that made a lot of sense to me. She called it Get off the X. I guess in the CIA "X" equals danger, and danger equals any situation where your gut tells you to run. The idea is, the longer you stay on the X, the more likely it is that you'll be harmed. I really like the idea of teaching my kids to pay attention to when their gut is telling them to move, or to be on the look out for danger. In the Fall of 2020, rather than taking the school bus, my boys started walking the 5 blocks to and from school. Parents were asked if they could provide transportation to help alleviate crowded buses during the pandemic, and it seemed like a pretty easy thing for us to do. Nolan was in 3rd grade and Brock was in 1st at the time. After a few hiccups early on (one of which included our school guidance counselor, who is also in charge of the crossing guards, calling my office to let me know that she saw my boys approaching the school and then suddenly turn and start running back towards home), things went pretty smoothly. My daughter, Ryann, started kindergarten this past fall, which added a new dynamic to the mix. I considered putting the kids back on the bus, but the boys advocated hard to continue to be walkers. They like the freedom of being on their own, and being on their own timeline. The only thing was, now I would need to rely on the boys to make sure Ryann got home safely; specifically across a busy road that is actually a two lane highway. A few weeks ago, when I got home from work, I caught wind that things had not gone perfectly on the way home. After interviewing of all three of my children, I pieced together that my 11 year-old had enlisted the 8 year-old to walk the 5 year-old home so he could scurry on ahead to watch a bunch of young adult men play whiffle ball on Youtube. Brock (the 8-year-old) and Ryann (the little one) walked home with some of the neighborhood kids, and at some point, the group decided to cross the busy road one block early. This is where things get kinda fuzzy... Brock says he called out, "Come on Ryann" and assumed she was following, but didn't look back and also didn't notice she wasn't with the group until he arrived home (3 blocks later). Ryann says she never heard Brock call out to her, nor did she notice that the gaggle of kids she was walking with crossed the street until she arrived at the block we live on and realized she was alone. When I asked Ryann what she did next she said, "Well, Brocky told me once that if I was ever lost in the woods I should hug a tree and that would make me feel less lonely. So I hugged a tree." When I asked her if the hugging the tree thing worked, Ryann said it did make her feel less lonely. Hmmm...not exactly getting off the X, but I'm taking the fact that she didn't cross the busy road by herself as a win. I asked Ryann what happened next and she told me that there was a lady who pulled into the driveway next to the tree she was hugging. It sounds like when she noticed a little girl in her yard...hugging a tree..and crying....she asked her if she was okay. I think what happened next (based on what I pieced together from my investigative interview) was Ryann explained to the woman that she lost her brother on her way home and then the woman brought her home. Even though I was relieved that this kind woman brought my daughter home, I was immediately concerned that none of my kids really thought this was a big deal (They barely looked away from The Floor is Lava during the entire interview process). Right away, I asked Ryann if she got in the woman's car, and Ryann explained that "No, she didn't get in her car." The woman walked her across the street and down a block to our house. I explained to the kids that I was relieved that Ryann didn't get in the car, because none of them should EVER EVER get into a stranger's car. Brock shrugged his shoulders and said, "Mom, I think she's a pretty nice lady. It probably would've been fine if she put Ryann in her car." Nolan even piped in and asked me what the big deal was. He figured everyone got home safe and I was getting worked up over nothing. This next part I am not proud of. I can't say for sure exactly what was uttered, but I know that I mentioned that when I was Brock's age there was a little boy named Jacob who was riding around his neighborhood with his friends when a bad man stuffed him into his vehicle...and killed him....and the police didn't find the remains of Jacob's dead body until 30 years later.... Like I said. Not my proudest parenting moment. Although, I think I finally got them all to pay attention to how serious this situation could've been. The next day Brock went to pick Ryann up from her kindergarten classroom to bring her home. That evening Brock explained that when he arrived in her classroom, Ryann was already gone and her teacher said that a girl with dark brown hair had already picked her up. Brock said he imagined Ryann getting stuffed into a van by a girl with dark brown hair so he bolted out of the room, hopped on his bike and started racing home. A few blocks later, he ran into Ryann and my girlfriend's daughter, who sometimes comes to our house after school. It turns out she was the girl with the dark brown hair that picked Ryann up from her classroom. Needless to say, this was one of those ruptures that required some repairing on my end. I apologized to Brock for traumatizing him with my kidnapping story and we had a great conversation about the importance of making sure Ryann makes it to and from school safely each day. I also told him how much I appreciated him looking out for his younger sister. Next, I had a serious conversation with my 11-year-old about how, like or not, he is ultimately responsible for both his siblings safety each day, and shrugging the job off onto Brock, so he could get home 4 minutes faster, wasn't going to fly anymore. I have to admit that my mind immediately considered putting the kids back on the bus; a much easier solution to some of the after school messiness. Not to mention a lot less embarrassing. I wonder how many people drove by that day and wondered what the heck my 5-year-old daughter was doing, alone, near a busy road, hugging a tree. But here's the deal, if I want my kids to build their resiliency muscle I have to be okay with allowing them to get used to the feeling you get when things don't go as planned. I want them to learn how to make mistakes and then know that I believe in them enough to let them try again, because I know they will do better the next time. Dr. Sasha Heinz, in a recent podcast interview described confidence as an inner belief of who you are, a clear appreciation of your strengths (and weaknesses). She explained that our children have a better chance of gaining this when we give them the space to build upon those strengths and learn to manage small doses of stress. I'm learning that each time I'm able to avoid the urge to rescue my kids from any and all potential danger (or uncomfortable feelings for that matter) they gain more confidence and skill at using the discomfort as a sign, or gut feeling, that they need to look around, assess the situation, and decide quickly how to use that uncomfortable energy to move forward....or backwards....or to find a tree to hug until a kind lady helps you cross the street. A special thanks to my neighbor, who is undoubtedly a kind woman, for helping my daughter safely cross the road. It's been, well, since February since I've taken the time to put my thoughts down in writing. This one felt good. I don't know what it is about this time of year, maybe it's the cold weather or the mere eight hours of daylight, the post-Christmas crash, or the kids crazy hockey schedules, but if it wasn't for the Kwik Trip gas station's plethora of grab and go meals and clever ways to dress up fried chicken, my family would probably be living off of a solid rotation of mac n cheese, pizza (frozen or Papa Murphy's because we're fancy like that), tacos, spaghetti, and breakfast for dinner.
Recently my running buddy, (who happens to be a dietician taking the world by storm one hilarious and informative instagram post at a time; check her out for yourself @alexlarsonnutrition), shared a podcast that really helped me put things into perspective. Victoria Garrick, host of Real Pod, interviewed Jennifer Anderson, a registered dietitian and founder of Kids Eat In Color, a community that offers evidence-based help for feeding kids. Something that resonated with me right away was when Anderson explained how important it is to be realistic about what your "capacity" is for feeding your family at any given time. Reflecting on my capacity for feeding my family, or what that could possibly be by the end of the week, and acknowledging the many factors at play (what food we may have in the house, evening schedules, how busy work will be this week, how balanced my kids are emotionally heading into the week, how much patience I have for complaining at the dinner table) was liberating. I used to pack lots of cold lunches pre-pandemic, but then, after a stretch of being in charge of virtual learning, working full time, and delivering three meals plus snacks to my kids for months on end, when we returned to school, this was one thing I let go of. At first there was some complaining, but now my kids take school lunch every day and school breakfast many days. I am free of guilt and have more capacity (and money) for planning dinners and snacks. I have also recently discovered some unintended benefits of school lunches. Apparently my eldest now likes red-bean chili and many different kinds of beans that he used to stick his nose up at. I was having lunch with my second grader at a restaurant recently and he ate the pickle on the side of his plate. Apparently he likes pickles and eats them all the time at school. Who knew? The other night I made orange chicken for the first time at home, because my son mentioned that he loves the school’s orange chicken….Huh…I guess my laziness has unintentionally broadened their horizons! Anderson also reminded me that all food is a source of energy for our bodies. She talked about an 'aha' moment with her son when he asked why his treat was called a Skinny Pop after a soccer game one day. "Why is a food is associated with a size? Is skinny good? Does being skinny make you good and being fat make you bad?" This really hit home for me, probably because I have my own baggage going all the way back to being a kid who would've never been described as skinny. I remember as a 9-year-old thinking that my size was something that made me less worthy of love and affection and admiration from others. Things came full circle as they often do (I've learned this since becoming a parent), and a little over a year ago I wrote in my post Helping Without Hurting about how those ideas and ideals from my childhood were impacting the way I regarded my own child. When I brought my kids in for their well-child visits a few months ago, it felt really good to notice how much healthier my internal dialogue was around the topics of food, nourishment, exercise, and size. This internal shift has re-shaped the way that I feed and talk to my children about food and their bodies. Ellyn Satter's division of responsibility in feeding has been a really helpful tool for me. It helped me learn that my job as a parent is to provide a loving, secure, and healthy environment for my kids by deciding:
More importantly, I learned that it is my kids job to decide whether they are hungry or full, and how much of what I offer them they are going to eat. In the podcast that my friend, Alex, shared with me, Jennifer Anderson explained that ALL food has a name and a connection to our bodies. There are SOME foods that do more things for us than others. I really like how this strategy helps kids make important connections, but it leaves out all the judgment around food. I've always thought that I was doing my kids a favor by telling them that sugar is bad and chocolate is unhealthy. Anderson challenged me to look at how I talk to my kids a bit differently. I guess if my kids were on a desert island where food is scarce, and all they had was a pallet of chocolate bars, I would want them to consider those chocolate bars as a source of energy. And let's be honest, when my capacity for feeding my children is on empty, our household mildly resembles a desert island. When my 4-year-old was an infant it wasn't uncommon to find her foraging around underneath the kitchen island for food scraps. She has evolved so much since then. Now my daughter tends to forage around in her nose for extra bits of nourishment rather than on the floor. Seriously though, Anderson's advice when it comes to food is: describe rather than demonize. Broccoli does a lot for our bodies. It has fiber that helps with digestion, vitamins that our bodies need, it has iron and potassium, and even a little bit of protein that gives us that full feeling. Candy does one thing for our bodies. It is an energy source. I've been trying to use this way of describing food to my kids for awhile now and I will say, it's actually kind of fun! It has also forced me to educate myself and/or have the kids educate themselves a bit on what certain foods do for our bodies. Thank goodness for the GOOGLE machine! So what happens when it's my toddler who screams his head off in the store? When it's my kid who gets kicked off the bus? Or suspended from preschool? When it's my son who gets accused of bullying? When it's my daughter who has said terrible things about another classmate in a Tic Tok video? What happens when it's my kid who hurts another kid? Or mouths off to a teacher? Or breaks the neighbor's window? What happens when it's my daughter who got busted for drinking, or my son that people are warning their daughters to stay away from?
AND I KNOW THIS BECAUSE.... I catch myself wanting to go here over and over again when my kids misbehave. In his book The Power of Showing Up, Dr. Dan Siegel reminds us that one of the strongest predictors of a young person turning into a decent human being (in other words, NOT an asshole or a criminal) is by being there for our kids when they really need it. I'm not sure about the rest of you, but when I think of the times in my life when I have really needed my parents and family and friends...I mean really needed them... It has been when I've screwed up. When my family and friends have been there for me, when they've shown up with love, understanding, support, and accountability, they've given me the space to safely reflect on my mistake and the circumstances that led me there in the first place. I can also remember times when the people whose approval I was desperately seeking, responded to my screw ups with frustration, anger, and judgement. It seems like the only true lessons I learned from those mistakes were rooted in shame, and the way I dealt with the shame was by burying it. There is no better way to bury shame than by redirecting anger, frustration, and judgement right back at the people who have sent it my way in the first place. In his book, Siegel explains that how we show up also matters. Our best shot as parents of ensuring our children attach securely to us (which leads to healthy attachments in future relationships) is to make sure they feel:
I've learned first hand that dealing with my kids bad behavior, particularly if that bad behavior is on public display, can push me into a trifecta of going rage monster at my kids and becoming a source of terror which then further dysregulates them. In this state of mind, I am physically incapable of reflecting on my child's behavior and the inner experience that triggered the behavior in the first place. I recently read this super interesting article on attachment theory that kind of blew my mind. There's this British guy, John Bowlby, who after studying how different mammals rear their young, observes that young ground dwelling animals, when under threat, run for cover, BUT.....tree dwelling primates like chimpanzees and gorillas, they run to a protective adult who then carries them to safety. Bowlby goes on to make the leap that human babies, the most dependent of all infant mammals, are predisposed to seek closeness and protection from the adults around them. The adults who will ensure their safety when under threat. It makes sense as kids get older, when they link their bad behavior to parents loving them less, they feel less safe and secure. Our kids need to feel confident that the platform of self-worth (being worthy of love) they are standing on is large enough to absorb occasional missteps. They need to believe it is possible to act badly without being "bad". Our kids often feel that the better, kinder, nicer they are, the more the important adults in their lives will love them. At first glance it sounds like a good incentive, right? If my kid is motivated to be "good" because they want to please me, then I've done something right. If I reward good behavior and punish bad behavior, I will have a good kid, and people will want to align themselves with my kid. The better my kid behaves, the greater the reward. The worse my kid behaves, the more I punish. Here's the problem, though, kids are smart and they intuitively understand the proportional relationship between their behavior and their parent's regard for them: "When I am good, mom and dad love me more. When I am bad, mom and dad love me less." Here's the other problem. There is no such thing as the perfect kid. They are going to screw up. Some more than others, but the screwing up part is inevitable. If our kids think our love for them is dependent on how "good" they are, chances are when they are bad they aren't going to tell us about it. If they don't talk, we don't get the chance to frame up the experience for them. To help them learn from it and change up how they might handle a similar situation in the future. If we confront them about their behavior, and they understand that bad behavior equates to less love and positive regard....They will lie. They will justify their behavior. They will blame others. Because the alternative is losing the thing they need the most in life, love and closeness from us without strings attached. The unconditional kind that is steady and unwavering. The kind of closeness that their lives have depended on since birth. I just have to stop right here and say, this is super hard stuff. I don't get it right every time. And that is okay, because there is no such thing as perfect parenting either. If we recognize when we've screwed up as parents and circle back around to repair the relationship, there is a lot our kids learn from that experience as well. I am judgmental sometimes. I say things that make my kids feel really bad. And sometimes my kids feel like I will love them less when they are bad, even when I don't judge or shame. I found this to be especially true with my middle child, Brock. So what is the right way to deal with our own kids bad behavior? The world of parenting is just like everything else, full of advice and new books and new information. It's hard to keep up with what "the right thing" to do is. I first learned about Love and Logic parenting at the very beginning of my career (circa 2006); long before I had kids. I have to say, as much as I have grabbed onto and got excited about new information and new ways of looking at things in the parenting world, when it comes to how I can best respond to my kids behavior, Love and Logic holds up. Every time. Love and Logic folks discovered a long time ago that the most effective way to respond to bad behavior is with equal parts:
I know this sounds weird but the empathy piece is just as important as the consequence, because leading with empathy leads our kids to seeing THEMSELVES as the source or their problems. When parents (or teachers or caregivers) respond to bad behavior with anger, kids redirect, and the person who is making them feel terrible becomes the source of their problem. Empathy can be a hard thing. A few pointers after lots of years of practice are:
This next thing might be a little controversial, but hang with me...If your kid screws up at school (or if your kids are older and they get into trouble with law enforcement) and someone else delivers a consequence, I want you to consider NOT layering an additional consequence on top of the consequence. Let's say your kid pushes or hits another kid on the playground. Chances are someone at school is going to deal with this. They might be sent to the principals office and have to stay inside from recess for a period of time. Another natural consequence is the kid who got pushed (and the kids who witnessed it or heard about it) might not want to play with your kid, for awhile at least. It's actually possible that an empathetic response from you can actually make the consequence from school more impactful.
"Buddy. That sounds really bad. I am sorry you had to go through that. You really enjoy recess, so that is going to be hard missing out on recess for the rest of the week." "Also, it sounds like you really hurt your friend. That is really hard. Your friends mean a lot to you. The good news is, you can fix that too. It's called making a repair. What could you do to make a repair with your friend when you head back onto the playground next week?" Can you see how this keeps your kid owning their problem? Can you see how differently your kid might react if when they got home you told them to go to their room, that they are grounded for two weeks, and that you are taking away their electronics? I've learned to see natural consequences and consequences from someone other than me as a gift for both my kids and me. It allows me to be a safe harbor where I can soothe and see my kids so they feel secure enough to file their behavior into the "lessons learned" category while the consequences of their behavior and mistakes are still small. Time is precious and the older they get the more devastating the consequences. When we rob our kids of learning from their mistakes by responding in anger or by not holding them accountable at all, and we don't circle back around to repair our mistake, chances are the universe will eventually teach them their unlearned lessons the hard way. It is impossible for me to control every variable that could lead to bad things happening in my children's lives, and it's really not up to me how my children "turn out". What I do have control over is fostering and protecting my relationship with my children above all else. This includes risking the possibility that someone else (or sometimes it feels like the entire school or the entire world) might judge how I handle a situation in a negative way. I am okay with that. I care about my kids that much. Have you ever wondered or had the thought that some kids are just bad? Or considered the idea that there are kids out there with no moral compass looking to gain power and control at the cost of others? As a psychologist working in schools, I find it relatively easy to be objective about kids behavior. If I take the time to observe, I can often find logical explanations for why they behave they way they do; for why kids are mean. Here's my problem, when I observe, or even hear about my own kids being treated with anything other than kindness and respect....well....let's just say I'm at times incapable of being rational. I can remember one of the first times I had an out of body Mama Bear experience. It was my eldest son's first year of hockey, and there was this annual meet and greet to kick off the season at the local park. My son was in preschool at the time. When we got there he went straight to the playground and approached several boys from his class, greeting them each by name. Both boys shrugged my son off and kept playing without acknowledging him. I'm not really sure what happened, but something inside of me just took over and decided to march right over to those boys, shake them, say something cruel, and then force them to acknowledge my son. Fortunately for me (and those two boys), the logistics of having an infant strapped to my chest slowed me down enough to remember these were 4 and 5 year old kids, I was in a public park, and shaking and cursing at children was frowned upon in this community. My moment of pause also gave me the opportunity to see my own 5 year old shrug the rejection off, and move quickly onto climbing on the playground equipment. Full disclosure: not only did I have my infant son attached to my front, but my hair was tossed up in a pony tail, I had no make-up on, and I may have rolled out of bed in the outfit I was wearing. Apparently I had missed the memo that I would have been better off showing up to this thing dressed as Sporty Mom. You know...leggings, tall boots, a puffer vest.....hair combed, make-up on, and an unwavering enthusiasm for concession stand sign-ups. There's a chance I may have been transferring some of my own social insecurity onto my son as I wondered through the droves of parents who all seemed to know each other. I guess what I am saying is, as a parent, it's really tempting to want to teach my own kids that if someone is mean to them, or excludes them, or hurts their feelings, then they should just ignore them. Stay away from them. Cancel them. At the very least, it seems like a more civil way to handle the situation than my own parental instinct which was to scare and humiliate two small children for being mean...not even...rude to my kid. It also feels like a simple way to teach my kids about a complex world that I sometimes don't have the energy or words to describe. If my kids learn there are only two kinds of people in the world. The good ones and the bad ones; I can teach them to align themselves with the good ones, and stay away from the bad ones. Isn't that what we as adults often model for our kids on social media these days when we jump at every opportunity to align ourselves with the "good" by weighing in and ridiculing others who have been deemed "bad" or who we simply disagree with? I've discovered one flaw in this very simple, very straightforward strategy. My own kids aren't perfect. Not to mention the fact that I am also flawed. I just admitted that the only thing stopping me from humiliating a couple of 5 year-olds for not acknowledging my son on a playground was a Baby Bjorn. I'm not proud of it, but the truth is, I have hurt others both intentionally and unintentionally. So, if at times I act mean, but I still consider myself a good person (I am pretty sure I could recruit a few people to agree with me here), I think I need to at least consider the possibility that good kids are mean sometimes too. It makes things more complicated, but has come as a huge relief when it's my own kid who gets kicked off the bus or is mean to someone on the playground. Just a few weeks ago, I was at flag football with my boys and I observed my 10-year-old son shrug another boy off when he tried to team up with my son for the days activities. You know something crazy? That same boy I watched my son exclude, was one of the two boys from the playground at the hockey meet and greet 5 years ago. One of my good buddies recently suggested I watch an episode of Bluey called "Mum School". If you are a parent of young kids and you haven't checked out Bluey on Disney Plus, you are missing out. Super clever, and funny, and inspirational. This episode was a really good reminder that there is a "reason" kids behave the way they do. As I wander through the hallways of the school helping teachers and parents and kids figure out what those reasons are I see....
Maybe? Or maybe they are beings who have evolved to depend on the pack for a sense of belonging, acceptance, worthiness, and protection. Maybe they are so desperate for that acceptance that their instincts kick in when they have an opportunity to make everyone else laugh, or kick someone when they are down, or feel like they are part of something bigger than themselves. Maybe they act on those instincts, because unlike me in the park, they don't have a baby strapped to their front, making them pause to consider the consequences of going along with whatever pops into their brain....or with whatever pops into the brain of someone nearby. So how do we as parents deal with kids when they are mean and cruel and inconsiderate to our own kids? The kids we are supposed to protect above all else? Good question. If you have the answer, please share! When I take my parent hat off and put my school psychologist hat on, my answer is....its complicated. When I am helping parents and teachers and kids replace behaviors that aren't working for them at school with something that is more workable I think of a few things:
So how does this look when my kids comes home and tells me his friend teased him for not knowing how to read? Well, the first thing I can do is validate my kids feelings and acknowledge how much other people's words and behaviors can hurt (This seems so logical, yet I often forget this step and jump right into problem solving mode). Then I can pose questions that take them out of their emotion mind and into their wise mind.
These questions may not lead to perfect answers. They may actually lead your kid to ask more questions. You and your kid may not be able to wrap up the conversation with a little bow, solving the mystery of why people are cruel to each other. The good news is you, as the parent, don't NEED to have the answers. Sometimes it's better if you don't. Hopefully, at the very least, your questions lead your kid to feeling safe talking about hard things. Hopefully your kid walks away considering the idea that there are "reasons" kids behave the way they do. Reasons that have nothing to do with them. Reasons that sometimes don't make a lot of sense, because, well, not everything people say and do makes sense. I have to admit, there are things going on in the world right now, some closer to home than others, that are difficult to wrap my head around. Accusations of behaviors that are both disappointing and unacceptable. I was reminded last week as I sat, in my final week of jury duty, through three hours of a jury selection process that a cornerstone of our democracy is the obligation of the jury to presume innocence until our justice system has proven guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. There were thirty or so of us that stood with our right hands' raised swearing to the defense that we would uphold this obligation. Because if we didn't, there would be consequences. People's lives could be ruined. Maybe, before anything else, I need to teach my kids that. Merely hearing about or observing behavior that is reprehensible, doesn't give license to do the reprehending. Even if that behavior feels like it was aimed in our direction. Sometimes what we hear and what we see isn't always what it seems. Sometimes those who have the job of doing the reprehending need time to gather the facts. Sometimes the circumstances surrounding the behavior are relevant. Sometimes those circumstances leading up to the behavior provide a context. Maybe the most important thing for my kids to know is when they screw up, I will pause and take time to gather facts, to consider the circumstances, and place the behavior in proper context. It may not change how I handle the situation in the end, but just like anyone else's kid out there, they deserve to be treated with decency and respect. It is the civil thing to do. Watch out for Bad Kids Part 2 where I share more thoughts and things to consider when it's my kid who has screwed up. I started to seriously dig into the concept of rules a few months ago after a conversation with my friends, Dan and Cheryl. We were sitting around visiting in their garage one evening and settled into a discussion on the paradox of rules. As parents of young kids we acknowledged how important rules and expectations are for order, security, safety, boundaries. On the other hand, there was an immediate consensus that rules are exhausting to enforce. Dan talked about their struggles of setting limits with video games, and how in the spirit of encouraging the boys to take advantage of the outdoors and pitch in around the house, he'd recently found himself trapped into a complicated system of rules and expectations around the video games that became so much work for him to enforce, he finally gave up on them all together.
Been there! How many other parents can relate to this? Make your bed each morning. Say please and thank you. Brush your teeth for two minutes. Helmets on and buckled before you get on your bikes. Trash in the trash can. Hats off at church. You're going too fast, slow down. You are going too slow, we are going to be late. Do your homework as soon as you get home from school. Stay seated at the table for dinner. Chew with your mouth closed. No interrupting. No dessert unless you clean your plate. Hang wet towels up after your shower. Read for 20 minutes. Watch that tone of voice with me young lady. Watch your language young man. Turn the TV and video games off after one hour. Lights out at 8:00. Okay 8:15. Okay 8:30. No talking!!!! Go to sleep dammit!!! Is it just me or does anyone else find themselves falling into habits of policing and punishing rather than teaching? Commanding and demanding rather than connecting and redirecting? We start to see our kids as disobedient, disrespectful, disruptive. More rules. Stiffer penalties. Zero tolerance. The cycle escalates. In their book, The Whole-Brain Child, Siegel and Payne Bryson assure us that many parents struggle with connection even when trying to be intentional about it. They give several examples of things that can prevent us from connecting to our kids which can include: our lack of sleep, a fear of reinforcing bad behavior, expecting too much from our kids at their age, feeling uncomfortable about being judged by family members or strangers, and feeling overwhelmed by other commitments (being on time, following a plan, meeting the needs of our other kids). Seasoned dad and grandfather, Dennis Snow, talks with his adult daughter, Megan, about how he despises rules in their unique parenting podcast called Generational Wisdom. Dennis is about as real as you can get when it comes to parenting advice. He has three adult children, a career's worth of working in youth group homes, and a relatively new gig of caring for his young grandchildren. Dennis explains he learned early on in his career that pre-set rules can "box you in" and invite power struggles. He has found over the years, that going around micromanaging kids, enforcing rules, and issuing punishments is a waste of time. On the podcast, he shares some good examples of how he uses "momentary rules" to set boundaries. I found some interesting research to back this up. In a study conducted by David M. Schimmel in 2003, he concludes that restrictive, ambiguous, and unexplained rules are often perceived by children as arbitrary. He goes on to state that lots of arbitrary rules can lead to a culture of ignoring or disobeying rules without guilt, and encouraging others to do the same. After I read this, I started to think about the rules my kids (especially my older boys) seem to ignore and disregard. I noticed when my kids sense that the rules call into question their personal freedoms (like deciding how much dinner they want to eat, what they would like to wear that day, or when they get to close their eyes), it challenges them to ignore or evade them altogether (Schimmell, 2003). I learned through digging more into the research that when we rely on control and punishment to teach responsibility and self-control, it doesn’t work. Actually, it has a tendency to backfire. Punishment stops behavior for awhile, but it's not effective when the rule enforcer is not around. As kids get older and more independent, this style becomes less and less effective. Don't get me wrong, teaching kids to follow rules without question, feels good; it gives us a sense of power and control and order. I long for more control and order in my life! The problem is the more we demand it from our children when they are young, the less of it we have as parents when they get older. The research on this topic insists an “obedience” approach often leads to children who are immature, lack responsibility, struggle to think clearly and critically, and feel helpless. They are ripe for aggressiveness and look for ways to strong arm control in any given situation….ahhh....there it is....power struggles. Dang, Dennis, you are good. Here's the thing though, we need rules. Our kids depend on us as parents to set limits. They feel unsafe in environments that are chaotic, unpredictable, and unproductive. Rules afford our children the order and safety and security they need to flourish. What I've been doing for the past few months is trying to think critically about my intention behind the rules I make and enforce while keeping these things in mind:
The research suggests when individuals have a voice concerning the rules and decisions that affect them, they tend to have more positive views of the decision-maker and the institution AND they are more likely to comply with the rules AND more positive about their work (This is true for adults as well. Think about how this relates to your current workplace). When children obey rules because they are reasonable and fair, rather than to avoid punishment, they are more likely to internalize them. Which means they tend to follow the rules even when the enforcer isn't around. The rules become more than just posted words on the wall. Children's actions actually become rule-independent; an internal moral code or value-system they live by. When I visited the Generational Wisdom podcast, Megan asked me to talk about this thing at our house called the "screen-time checklist" Ever since then I've thought about the screen-time checklist, and how I have used it over the past year. I realized that one reason it has been so successful is because I've taken some liberties in deciding when the checklist is in play and when it isn't. When it feels reasonable and fair to my kids and when it doesn't. When it works for me and when it doesn't. For example, sometimes on a Saturday morning I just want to lay in bed and let my kids watch TV rather then hop up and start doling out chores, so when Nolan wanders downstairs and asks to watch TV, I allow it. If I don't use it every day in the exact same way, then why do my kids still fall in line when I chose to enforce it? I've been wondering the same thing! I was thinking about this while trudging through the snow on a hike a while back, and it occurred to me that I take liberties with rules all the time. The morning of my hike, we were cutting it close to making it to church on time (a common theme for our family). On a normal Sunday I often push it a little bit on the Hwy 45 straight away between Scanlon and Carlton. Just a little bit, though. The posted speed limit on this stretch is 55 mph. Even if I'm in a hurry I wouldn't ever go over 65 and in most cases I won't push it past 60. You know why? Because chances are, even if there is a police officer out "enforcing" the rule, I most likely won't be pulled over for going 59. Even though I am not following the "letter of the law" I am showing a certain level of "respect for the rule". If I blew by an officer at 65, I might get pulled over, and maybe even issued a ticket. 70 mph....that is blatant disrespect not only for the rule, but the intention behind the rule which exists because the road isn't built for an average driver to safely navigate that section of highway at that speed. It's too narrow, there are too many turns and curves, several blind intersections, and lots of deer! I didn't speed that morning though, and like I said before, it wasn't because we were running ahead of schedule. It was snowing and I knew that in order to safely make my way to church, I was going to have to drive more cautiously then if the road conditions were better. I respect the intent of the speed limit rule (which is related to my personal safety) and in this instance had to utilize my good judgment and actually drive under the speed limit to ensure I was in control of my vehicle and minimizing any unnecessary risk. So what does all of this have to do with our kids? Well, I think it is okay that we set rules and guidelines for our kids, but I would urge you before doing so, make sure you know the "intention" behind each of those rules. And make sure your children understand, or at least come to understand this as well. That way you can enforce the rules when they make sense, and give yourself permission to let them slide, or accept an "approximation" of the rule, or a baseline of respect for the rules when that makes sense. Because, guess what? Our kids are not reptiles. They have this thing called a prefrontal cortex and the ability to understand that our world isn't black and white. I would argue that as parents it is our job to teach them this! I want my kids to respect laws and rules by seeking to understand why rules and laws are important and why they exist. I also want my children to have the courage to question authority when things don't make sense. I want them to be the kind of soldiers of society who would disobey an order if that order required them to move away from the internal moral code that they live by. In Fredrik Backman's novel, Beartown, washed up veteran hockey coach Sune offers this nugget of advice to David, the young coach who will be taking his place: “For me, culture is as much about what we encourage as what we actually permit.” David goes on to ask Sune what he means by this and Sune replies: “That most people don’t do what we tell them to. They do what we let them get away with.” Last night I was lying in bed with my boys, and I lost my cool (I was trying to read aloud to them and they kept screwing around and interrupting me). I used my friend Mary's classic line when the boys called me out on my overreaction, "You're right guys. I overreacted. Hey, I'm far from perfect." Brock lifted his head to rest it on my stomach and responded, "Yeah, you screw up all the time Mom." I am a work in progress, and after several parenting steps in the right direction, one thing I can always count on is losing momentum and sliding backwards. Over these past few months one thing I've learned when it comes to rules is, just like the five people that reside in this household, they are an ever evolving process. Things seem to work best if I remember to periodically check in to make sure the rules are working for our family and our household, not the other way around. Thanks for sticking around! Several weekends ago, I took my eldest son, Nolan, to his first official Squirt hockey tournament.
Living in Northern Minnesota, hockey is a way of life. My husband, Jared, is Minnesota through and through. He has a love for the game that can be likened to someone's love for their culture or their heritage. I grew up just across the bridge in Superior, WI and, although hockey is a big deal in Superior, my childhood winters were spent in sweaty gymnasiums playing basketball. Over the years, I've gained an appreciation for the game of hockey. For me, the game my children play is less important than the experience and life lessons that come with playing any sort of team sport. This hockey season has been an adjustment for Nolan. Prior to this year, there had been a slow progression of the game that started with learning to skate, to playing on small rinks with many many opportunities to score goals, but no official "score" was kept. Everyone walks away a winner. This year, for Nolan's age group, they play on a full sheet of ice, with goalies, and penalties, and probably the most significant change, an official score. When all is said and done, one team is victorious, while the other team skates to the locker room (or outside to the parking lot because we are in the midst of a pandemic) exhausted from three periods of grinding their way through a game; only to end in defeat. If your team wins, good vibes carry you home. If your teams loses, well, I think most of us know the feeling of defeat. Clinical psychologist, Dr. Steven Hayes, often mentions that one of the most important questions that life asks us is: What are you going to do about difficult thoughts and feelings? He stresses its importance because there is loads of research out there that suggests, how we answer that question says a lot about the trajectory of our (or our children's) lives. Will it unfold in a positive way toward prosperity, love, freedom, contribution? Or will it take a downward spiral into misery and suffering? Our culture insists that humans are naturally happy. I bet most of you reading this could help me finish a line that is often featured at the end of some of the most beloved fairy tales from our childhood. And they all lived..... ....happily ever after. It’s so easy to get the sense that everyone around us is living "their" happily ever after. The reality is almost 30% of people will suffer from a psychiatric disorder at some stage in their life. Not to mention the other miserable things that life deals us: loneliness, divorce, work stress, midlife crisis, relationship issues, lack of meaning or purpose in life. People walk around, students walk around, our children walk around with the belief that everyone else is happy except for them. In his book The Happiness Trap, Russ Harris describes what he calls "happiness myths". Three common happiness myths he often talks about are:
Harris goes on to explain that anyone who is willing to hold onto these notions too tightly will be miserable. The truth is, life is difficult, and experiencing an ever changing flow of emotions is "normal". Good feelings are fleeting just like the rest of our emotions. The more you chase that "good feeling" the more you lose sight of true happiness, which as Harris puts it, is leading a rich and meaningful life. If you're not happy....that doesn't necessarily mean there is something wrong with you....in fact in many cases it means there is something "right" with you. If our children aren't happy. That doesn't mean there is something wrong or defective with them either. They aren't broken and they don't need "fixing". Often times when parents are asked what they want most for their children they will say, "I just want them to be happy." I get it. When my kids are experiencing those "good feelings", those same "good feelings" wash over me. It is miserable for me to sit in my children's unpleasant emotions with them. I feel a pull, an urge, to do something about it. Sometimes I even find myself feeling anger and frustration when they emot anything other than joy and gratitude. This is especially true if I have worked really hard to create an experience that I am hoping will illicit those "good feelings" in my children. I now realize this is just another form of me chasing that good feeling for myself. A few weeks ago, after many hockey-packed days, Nolan told me he didn't want to go to practice that night. He said he didn't even know if he wanted to keep playing hockey. He said it just wasn't as fun as it had been in the past. Nolan shared that his body was sore, that practice was hard, and that he didn't like that feeling in his body when he couldn't catch his breath. Luckily, I had just listened to this great podcast where Tim Ferriss interviews Dr. Stephi Cohen, a bodybuilder who holds 25 world records including one for deadlifting 4.4x her body weight. Seriously, she is a beast. One of the topics Ferriss and Cohen discuss is the concept of quitting. Cohen describes two types of quitting. The good kind of quitting and the bad kind of quitting. She acknowledges that there are times when quitting is the most courageous thing we can do. She talks about how when we invest time and money into something, we are often resistant to quit even if it's a job we hate, or a relationship that is going nowhere. Then Cohen talks about the bad kind of quitting. Quitting when we encounter resistance. Pain. Set-backs. Discomfort. The kind of resistance my 9-year-old was experiencing. I felt like the universe had kindly offered me the language I needed to have a productive conversation with my son while he lie splayed out on the recliner that Sunday afternoon, begging me to let him skip practice that day. It went something like this.... Me: Nolan, I bet your body feels uncomfortable right now. It doesn't feel good when your legs hurt and your lungs burn does it? Nolan: No. It's terrible. I hate hockey. I don't want to go tonight. I just want to take the night off and veg. Me: I understand. I think I would want to take the night off too. Unfortunately for me, it's my job as a parent to make sure my kids learn hard lessons in life. Nolan: I don't want to learn any lessons. I want to watch Bunk'd and relax tonight. Me: Oh, yeah. That sounds nice. It's just that I wouldn't be doing my job if I let you do that, so I am going to have to bring you to practice tonight. Sorry, bud. Nolan: (Cue waterworks) I don't want to go! You are so mean! I want to quit hockey. Me: I'm sorry you feel that way bud. It's just that as a parent it's my job to make sure if you are going to quit something, its the good kind of quitting, not the bad kind of quitting. (Enter in a few sobs from across the room. By the way I am in the kitchen doing some meal prep and he is in the living room so we are not making eye contact. I've found that children, especially boys, are more receptive to these conversations when they don't occur in a face-to-face manner). You made a commitment to your team and they need you. If you would like to quit hockey after the season is over that is up to you. As a parent, I just can't let you do the bad kind of quitting which is quitting when things get hard. Nolan: Silence. Me: Do you remember that episode of This is Us (This is our "show" that we love to watch together. I wouldn't necessarily recommend it for a 9-year-old unless you are willing to have some interesting conversations about family dynamics, relationships, sex, addiction, etc) when Kevin is in high school and he is feeling like he wants to quit the football team because all the weight lifting, and learning the plays, and the hard work is really getting to him? Remember how Rebecca wants to let him quit, but what does Kevin's dad tell her? Nolan: I don't care what Jack thinks! I hate that show and I hate Jack (just in case you were wondering Jack begs Rebecca to not let Kevin quit AND Nolan loves Jack). End of conversation. I walked away, because I couldn't have wrapped it up or left Nolan thinking about anything more useful. He slipped away to his bedroom after that and didn't ask to "not go" to practice again that day. When it was time to get his stuff on he gathered up his gear and I brought him to Cloquet. Fast forward two weeks to the first tournament complete with two nights in a hotel. Over the course of his big hockey weekend, Nolan rode a rollercoaster of emotions, and I found it difficult at times to keep myself on the rails alongside him. Nolan's first game was on Friday afternoon, and he played his heart out. I couldn't wait for him to jump in the van after the game so I could bask in his jubilation. A win for his team, two goals scored, and the knowledge that he left it all out on the ice. I was looking for jubilation, but what I got instead was disappointment. He didn't get the "player of the game helmet." Nolan is a great athlete, but he isn't one of those grinder-types who everyone notices and appreciates because they are just working their tails off at all times. He has played on several teams where there is a "player of the game" type of acknowledgement afterwards, but had yet to earn that honor on any of the teams he'd played on. Affirmation fills this kid up, and it turns out what he wanted more than the goals and the team win, was some recognition that his contributions to the game and to his team were meaningful. He wanted to be assured that he was a worthy member of the tribe. When he really felt like he gave it his all, and didn't get the acknowledgment that he felt desperate for, he was crushed. Well, I was desperate for some good times, man. Jared was home with the little ones and Nolan and I had an entire evening to live it up to ourselves!!! Rather than meet him where he was at and empathize with how he was feeling, I wanted him to push the feeling away and just be happy about his team win and the fact that he had the opportunity to be there in the first place. As I look back I kept trying to chase down that good feeling for Nolan all evening. I brought him shopping and bought him some new shorts, we went on a search for 2020 NFL Football cards which happen to be very difficult to find these days, I offered for him to pick where we went out to eat. We went back to the hotel and I gave him a slew of quarters to use for air hockey and arcade games with his buddies. I pulled out all the stops. You know what, though? Even if he got a little boost of the good feeling from the new shorts, the dinner out, or getting to play the arcade games with his buddies, it was always fleeting and it never took him very long to plummet down to the same place he was when he got into the van after his game. Disappointment. We climbed into our respective beds that night in the hotel room and it wasn't until then that I realized I had placed two unreasonable expectations on my son. Two more "happiness trap" myths: To create a better life, you must get rid of unpleasant feelings. AND You should be able to control what you think and feel. I asked permission to slide into bed with him and scratch his back. He reluctantly okayed it. As my boy lie in bed turned away from me, I said what I should have said hours before. You had a rough day today, didn't you bud? I'm really sorry you didn't get that helmet. I gave him permission to feel, and I finally for the first time that day let go of my expectations and agendas and took time to really "see" him. The emotion I had been asking him to hold back all afternoon washed over him, and we had one of those big little moments. I'm not sure how many more times Nolan is going to allow me to snuggle up in bed with him, so I'm planning on cherishing that one. Nolan woke up the next morning with a totally different outlook on life. I love that he is a morning person! The boys were really successful in their first two games of the day, and Nolan got "the helmet". It's kind of funny because, once he got it, other than feeling relieved that it had finally happened, I think he realized that knowing in his own heart that he played his best was just as rewarding as knowing someone else noticed it too. Saturday night Nolan's team was feeling pretty confident because the team they were up against hadn't won a game yet. What happened next was the best case scenario for a weekend packed with life lessons. Farmington came out guns a blazin' and the boys were faced with a familiar foe in life: Adversity. They closed the 4 goal lead in the third period and ended up losing 4-2, and still managed to make it to the championship game on Sunday. In the championship game, the boys got down again. More adversity to push through. They entered the third period losing 3-0. Somehow the boys tipped the ice in the other direction and popped in two goals within the first few minutes of the third period. A third goal several minutes later knotted it up at 3-3, and the game ended in a tie. In overtime, both teams skated their tired legs off, digging into the kind of resistance that these boys will experience over and over again in their lives. Stephi Cohen talks about, in the face of this resistance, the better athlete, the better team is the one that can adapt and adjust to the competition standards the most quickly. After one of Nolan's teammate's laid himself out as he pushed the puck towards the goal with less than two minutes left in overtime, the game presented Nolan's team with an opportunity. A penalty shot that would decide the outcome of the game. After what felt like a lifetime, there a 9-year-old boy stood at the center of the ice facing what was probably another 9-year-old boy standing in the goal, both with the weight of the outcome of the game for their entire team, resting solely on their shoulders. Pressure. The feeling you get when you don't want to disappoint the people who are depending on you. Trust. The feeling every other boy and coach standing on both benches put in those two boys. It turns out, in that moment, Nolan's teammate adapted and adjusted to the demands of the competition just a little bit quicker than the boy standing in the goal. Victory; and the sweetest kind. The kind that was hard fought. The kind that was found in the face of adversity. The kind that our boys will never forget. Nolan told me that night that it felt like his team won the Stanley Cup. It might as well have been. As exciting as that moment in time was for my son, his team, his coaches, and for everyone else watching either in the stands or on livestream, the life lessons that Nolan and his buddies gained were in the many moments on the path his team forged to get them there. A rich and meaningful experience. A full range of emotions. The kind of happiness I want for my children. The kind that only happens if I stop chasing that good feeling for my kids, and am willing to sit down next to them and hold their hand while we ride the rails. Thanks for reading and don't forget to subscribe if you want to know when I post something new! Last week, on Thursday afternoon, I had this weird feeling. I'm not sure if it was closing the chapter on distance learning for my 1st and 3rd grader for a long time (hopefully), the whispers about vaccines coming available for educators, the mild weather and rare sunshine for Northern Minnesota this time of the year, or the realization that I have recently begun to take for granted some of the amenities that come with my children getting older (like a good nights sleep or an uninterrupted shower or an uninterrupted trip to the bathroom for that matter). Maybe a combination of all those things. Anyway you slice it, as I trotted along on my 3 mile loop through Esko on Thursday afternoon, I drank in the cool crisp air and something about me felt lighter (which is weird considering the scale at home suggests I am still carrying around a few extra Christmas cookies). I felt so full of energy and hope for calmer waters ahead that I used the plane ticket vouchers from our canceled vacation last March and booked a trip to Florida for spring break.
Early Friday morning, my husband took off for a weekend fishing trip, and I noticed my outlook on being home with the kids, on my own for three days was, well, GOOD. I was actually kind of looking forward to it, and I have to say, it didn't disappoint. Right away Friday morning I was able to leave my eldest son, Nolan, in charge for 30 minutes while I went for a jog (for parents who aren't able to do this yet...I'm telling you. HUGE MILESTONE!). When I returned, the littles were still sleeping, and Nolan had the dishwasher emptied and was ready to start his day. After I got my two sleepy heads up and going, and Ryann off to daycare, I was able to sneak down stairs for a shower and a sauna. By the time I made my way back upstairs, I found the boys just sort of doing their own thing. Nolan was on his last day of Zoom calls and Brock was occupying himself by putting miniature toy figurines in cups of water and setting them outside to freeze (so he could later watch them slowly unthaw). Huh. I'm not sure of the last time I returned to my children on my own accord. I am so used to them needing me before I am finished doing...well...anything really. As I look ahead I see calmer waters, and I feel calmer because of it. I guess maybe that explains the lightness. When I look back on this past year, I am proud of what my family has accomplished on our trip around the sun. Last January, my husband and I started marriage counseling and have spent the last 12 months doing some really heavy relationship work (I've been calling it the 10 year tune-up). I remember having a discussion with a close friend about wanting to start therapy, and second guessing myself by saying, "But our marriage isn't that bad." She looked at me and said, "Yeah, but it could be so much better." She was so right. Both my husband, Jared, and I are givers. We are the kind of people who are at times willing to sell ourselves short, if by doing so, it will help someone else out. Our commitment to one another and our marriage had somehow slid down the list and taken up residence under kids, home improvement projects, jobs, extended family, youth sports, coaching obligations, you name it and it was probably on the Anderson List of Important Things, hovering over the top of "Jared and Alissa's marriage." Counseling has forced us to be accountable for our marriage to someone other than ourselves. I find it strange and a little embarrassing to admit that in order to give my husband the benefit of the doubt, assume the best of intentions, and consistently regard him with love and warmth, I needed to have someone to report to about it a few times a month. Something else that marriage counseling has forced me to do is take a good hard look at common themes in all of my close relationships, and the roles I often assume. I can confidently say that this past year the work I have done in my marriage, and on myself, has brought me a lot of clarity. Maybe that is what my 40's will be about...clarity. I had my eldest son five days after my 31st birthday, and entered my 40's during the first summer in 9 years that I wasn't pregnant, nursing, or changing diapers. When I look back on my 30's, I'm reminded of a quote I first read in the book, Distant Fires, by local author Scott D. Anderson. Such sights as these are reserved for those who will suffer to behold them. Eric Sevareid This life. This home. These children. It has been a lot of work. It will continue to be a lot of work. When I remember to stop, exhale, and to look around at what my husband and I have created, We've thrice been rewarded with a show that rivals anything we've ever seen. For you Scott D. Anderson fans, that's a paraphrase of his description of the Northern Lights on Gods Lake on his canoe expedition from Brighton Beach in Duluth, MN to the Hudson Bay. Much like Anderson and his expedition, the rough sees of the early parenting years have prepared me. They've strengthened me. They've challenged me, and forced me to take stock of what really matters in my life. They've encouraged me to look up and find something in the distance that I find personally meaningful and to use that as a guide. As long as I am moving in the direction of meaning, albeit very slowly and sometimes a bit sideways (other times more than a bit sideways) my life and my work have a purpose. My sister-in-law was telling me the other day about parenting a teenager. She said something like, As the parent of a teenager, you better have what's in your head straightened out and know deep down what you stand for because your resolve WILL be tested. The scariest thing about that statement is my 15-year-old nephew is about as pleasant of a peach as you will find. I love my kids, but I think I will enjoy these calmer waters while they last, because I am probably in for it. One thing I am encouraged by is this relatively new notion (for me anyway) that I can give my kids the sense of security and safety they need, while at the same time modeling feelings of uncertainty, anxiety, exhaustion, frustration, and even anger. The line that I try not to cross is a line where as the caregiver I don't become a source of terror to my children. My friend, Chelsea, recently introduced me to this brilliant guy named Dr. Dan Siegel, MD. Dr. Siegel is a clinical professor of psychiatry at the UCLA School of Medicine, author of a bunch of really good books including No Drama Discipline and The Whole Brain Child, and he is comedian Chelsea Handler's psychiatrist. I hope you're as impressed as I am, because he has a lot of really important things to say about parenting. Dr. Siegel explains that our children are born very dependent, and they innately attach themselves to us for the purpose of survival. He goes on to explain that when the very beings (us a parents) who are there to ensure survival, become a source of terror, it can often lead to some really messed up forms of attachment that translate into messed up relationships in the future. No wonder why this parenting gig feels like such an important job. The good news is there is no such thing as perfect parenting. We all mess up. Some, in more harmful ways than others. There is loads of research coming out about adverse childhood experiences that can come in the form of neglect, abuse, or household challenges like mental illness, divorce, violence, substance abuse, and incarceration. We now know that these experiences can have a negative cumulative affect on our life expectancy, and just as importantly (to me anyway because having a life worth living is just as important as being alive), the way in which we live our lives in connection with others. At some point, let me rephrase, at many points along the way we are going to either freak our kids out (that face-melting scene at the end of Indian Jones: Raiders of the Lost Arc may have done the trick on our kids when we watched it over winter break) or freak out on our kids (my kids can typically count on this at bedtime on Sunday night). The good news is these points along the way, can actually be an opportunity for our children to learn about the nature of human connection and the inevitable ruptures that occur in ALL relationships. Here is what we as parents have control over: Teaching our children the importance of taking the time to the repair the rupture and reconnect. You mess up, you make a repair. Even more important than the forced apology that I am guilty of enlisting my children in (mostly to show other parents that I am a good mom) is to model for my children the steps that need to be taken to make right whatever I have done wrong. In their book, The Whole Brain Child, Dr. Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson talk about two important strategies in the process of "making things right"
Last night I got really annoyed with my 6 year old son because, after repeated requests for him to calm his body and his brain down for sleep, he was climbing around on the bunkbeds like a little monkey. Today was the first day back to school and I really wanted him to be well rested in the morning. When 9:30 pm rolled around, and he was still wiggling and giggling, I kinda lost my...well you can imagine what it was that I lost on him. Tonight, before we start our bedtime routine, I am going to have a conversation with him that might go something like this, Me: Brock, buddy, I want to talk a little bit about last night. I am sorry for losing my cool and getting so angry with you at bedtime. (Note: I am not apologizing for being angry. I am apologizing for the intensity of my anger). Is it hard for you to calm your body down at night sometimes? (Note: Attuning to his feelings) Brock: Uh, huh (Just to paint you an accurate picture, he will probably be wrapped around me like the little monkey that he is and batting his big doughy eyes at me). Me: I thought it might be. I sometimes have a hard time slowing my body and my brain down too. (Note: Empathy). Did I scare you last night when I used a firm voice and pulled you off the bunkbed ladder and down onto the bed? (Note: More attuning) Brock: Yes! You yelled at me mom and I didn't like when you dragged me onto the bed. That was scary to me. Me: You are right. I shouldn't of done that. I took it too far last night. I am sorry. I think I get frustrated at night sometimes because I want you to have restful sleep so your brain is ready for school in the morning. Part of the reason why it might be hard for you to settle down is because we have been going to bed later these days with distance learning. I love you so much buddy and I want you to feel my love, not my anger, each night as you go to sleep. I will try really hard to keep my cool at bedtime. (Note: I am resonating with his disappointment last night and building trust by repairing the rupture) Brock: Okay mommy. Me: Would you like me to help you come up with ways to calm your body and your brain at night before bed? (Note: I am saying yes to his feelings. I am saying no to his bedtime behavior). My goal will be to emphasize connection through conflict so that my misstep becomes an opportunity for Brock to gain a better understanding of what it looks like to consider the feelings of others. Even more importantly ,Brock will hopefully learn what it feels like when someone considers his feelings. In order to face these situations head-on, I understand that the platform of self-worth I stand on has to be large enough for me to acknowledge that my behavior was hurtful to my child, but that it doesn't make me a bad mom. If you find yourself having a difficult time acknowledging your missteps outside of your own mind, looking down onto your own platform of self-worth as a parent, as a person, may be worthwhile. On a recent Unlocking Us podcast episode, guest, Dax Shepard refers to a book The Broken Ladder by Keith Payne. Shepard summarizes a notion from the book that, in our culture, we have a tendency to "up compare" or compare ourselves to others whom we perceive are doing things better or are better off than us. Shepard offers some salient parenting advice to podcast host Brene' Brown and guest, Tim Ferriss. He states: I would suggest you down compare. So on your worst day of estimating what kind of parent you’ll be, go to the grocery store, take a look around, and I guarantee even with your shitty, shitty evaluation of your abilities, you will see someone doing it far worse than you could do it on your worst day. In these calmer waters I know I don't have to paddle to survive, but if I stop completely I will be without purpose. I will no longer be moving in the direction of what is, and what has been meaningful to me all along. At hockey on Saturday, while we were standing around in the parking lot waiting for our boys to shuffle out of the arena, I visited with a mother of three children who are very similar in age to my three kids. I commented on how I was feeling hopeful for the months ahead, and our slow crawl back toward normalcy. The two of us shared a moment (yes this is possible outside in a slushy parking lot, freezing weather, and with face masks filtering our every word) and connected on how at the start of this pandemic we were still in the throws of diapers and naps and temper tantrums. This mom commented to me that at some point during this pandemic we had both emerged from the Dark Ages of parenting duties, but hadn't realized it because the circumstances of the pandemic still felt so bleak. Over the weekend I kept coming back to this space where I imagined my future self looking back and missing the moment I was standing in. Nostalgia. The realization that this moment in time is going to pass me by, and I'm actually going to miss it. In a way, I already miss it, just by having that thought. It reminded me of how Dolly Parton describes one of her iconic songs, Tennessee Home. She says something like.... What that song is...is about being exactly where you are. In that moment. The vividness of the imagery locks that moment in place. She goes on to say, I'm not leaving Country. I'll take Country with me wherever I am at. My home, my family, is my golden thread that keeps me tied to eternity. My husband. My home. My family. My Golden Thread. Thank you for sticking with me and don't forget to subscribe if you would like to know about future posts! Hey there! I have a little bonus Q and A. I often have friends, family, colleagues, ask for my advice on different parenting stuff they have going on. This one came from my college roomie group text and I thought I would share my answer. If you have any specific questions for me, send them my way and I will try to include an answer in a future post. Bonus Q and A: Question: Any thoughts on how to handle when one kid seems to have a chip on their shoulder toward one parent? Little brother seems to really gravitate to me (rather than dad) and I don't like that. It seems natural to have a slight preference but I don't like where it's headed... Answer: Try to support one another and don't give in if say the plan is for Dad to put him to bed but Little Brother says he wants you. Kids like control and if they can exert control by choosing one parent over the other they will do it....and keep doing it if it works. Also, remind Dad that it isn't about him. We all express emotions that invite others to either approach or avoid. This includes our kids, and it only gets more prominent as kids get older. Tell Dad to continue to approach even if Little Brother's behavior is suggesting he avoid. Over a month ago (because it's been that long since I last sat down to chart the waters I've been navigating) it was a Saturday morning, and I'd been up for a few hours when I thought I heard my daughter whimpering from her bedroom down the hall. It was odd, considering she has been getting out of bed on her own for months now, and if anything she would cry out in the evening at bedtime rather than in the morning. My eldest son, Nolan, and I exchanged a glance and ventured down the hall to investigate. When we got to her bedroom, my three-year-old daughter, Ryann, was curled up into a ball under her covers. Like fully under her covers. I approached her bed and pulled back the covers to find her drenched with sweat. Her hair was wet, like wet after a bath kinda wet, and let me tell ya this girl has a TON of hair. Nolan and I coaxed her out of bed and brought her into the living room for some snuggles, and an explanation for what the heck happened in there. In true three-year-old form, Ryann proceeded to tell Nolan and I that she had been hiding under her covers for who knows how long because there was a man in her bedroom who had been trying to get her. She gave us details about how he stood at the end of the bed, how he was a big man with small hands (I had a hard time not picturing Kristen Wiig's baby hands on SNL's Lawrence Welk Show when she told me this), and how she could feel him pushing on her when she was hiding under the covers. For real. Super creepy, huh? I felt so bad for her. I always struggle in situations like this: What kind of reassurance do I provide for my daughter? AND How much attention do I give it? Later that day, I got an SOS text from one of my college friends asking about how to deal with her 5-year-old son and his fear of the dark. The double whammy reminded me that, last summer, Nicki Peterson, the high school guidance counselor here at Esko (and my soul sister btw) shared an article she found helpful when dealing with her son's fear of sleeping alone. It was called Help Your Child Sleep Alone by Dr. David D. O’Grady. He's a clinical neuropsychologist practicing in Walnut Creek, CA. When she told me about the article, Nicki more accurately described it has bedtime boot camp. Anyway, the article is really good and worth the read, especially for folks who feel like their kids sleeping problems are disrupting family life in a big way. This was the paragraph that sucked me in... We want our children to feel confident and secure, able to relax knowing they are safe, able to seek help when they feel bad, yet able to comfort themselves when bothered by minor worries. We want our children to know their own feelings, identify anything wrong, and talk about problems. We want a balance of independence and closeness. When it comes to sleep, we want them to feel okay about coming to parents occasionally (on an anxious night), yet comfortable sleeping alone on a regular basis. Yes, please. Sign me up. For all of that! I could dissect the heck out of this paragraph and find ways that it applies to what I want for my children not just now, not just as it relates to sleep, but as it applies to what I want for my children in every way, throughout their lifetime. Fast forward a few weeks and I found myself in the doctors office with my two boys. I'd actually brought my daughter in earlier that day since we've had three CoVid birthdays and no well-child visits. Now that it was flu shot season, it was time. I have to confess, for several years now, I've had a lot of anxiety leading up to my eldest son's well-child visit. I'll never forget when we went in for his 6-year-old check up and what I heard (not necessarily what was said to me). The doctor told me the average child gains 5-6 lbs per year and my son had gained 15 lbs; which was concerning. Concerning enough for her to want to see us back in 6 months. I felt terrible. What kind of negligent mother allows her child to gain triple the amount of weight than other kids his age? How had my negligence hurt him? I had noticed he wasn't able to keep up with his buddies as well as he used to. Had I made his favorite thing in the world, playing sports, more difficult for him? Don't worry, when I screw up, I'm not one to sit around and feel sorry for myself. As soon as we walked out of the doctor's office, and up until a few weeks ago, I became my son's personal food and physical activity micro-manager. You can imagine what a pile I felt like, after all of that effort, when we sat in the same doctor's office three years later only to hear what I already knew: the plan had totally backfired when it came to my son's weight gain. The doctor and I had a heart to heart earlier that day when I had my daughter in, and we both knew what my son really needed to hear. My heart sank when I watched as the doctor leaned in toward my son to reassure him that he was growing just the way he was supposed to be, and his body was perfect just the way it was. It wasn't what she said. What she said was perfect. My heart sank because my beautiful boy's shoulders rolled forward and his eyes remained glued to the floor below him. When she was finished talking to him, he excused himself to the bathroom for a few minutes so he wouldn't cry in front of her. All that effort. All that emotional distress over my sons growth. Worrying about what he looks like compared to the other 9-year-old boys. All those times when, as he reached out for a second piece of cake, I kindly asked him, "Are you sure you want another piece?" That was love. Love in the form of shaming him. I don't care who you are, if you are reaching for a second piece of cake, and I ask you if you're "sure" you want it, it's gonna make you feel like dirt. Even if I say it politely. I was reminded what Marc Brackett, Ph.D. shared in his book Permission to Feel, when describing signs of emotional distress his parents missed when he was a child... "...loving me was not synonymous with seeing me." I'd seen the signs of my own son's emotional distress, and I didn't change course. I never let up. If anything I pressed on harder. Fortunately, a new friend in my life just happens to be a dietician, and while I was fretting one day over the upcoming well-child visits, she recommended I check out the book Your Child's Weight: Helping Without Harming by Ellyn Satter. Ellyn taught me that by depriving my child of getting to decide for himself how much he ate, I'd created an environment of scarcity. When one of our basic needs as humans is available at times and not available at other times we instinctually become preoccupied by accumulating whatever we can, whenever we can, as quickly as we can. Even if there are signs that we might be overdoing it, we ignore them, because we aren't sure when the next opportunity will come along. Anyone remember the toilet paper rush back in March? Yeah. Many of us ignored the pantry full of TP because we didn't want to be the idiot who didn't stock up when they had the chance. The more we saw other people running toward the TP, the more we felt the need to stock up ourselves. You get the point. Clearly I didn't when it came to how I managed feeding my family. So, I'm a good mom who needed to make a correction. I thought I was helping my son, but I was hurting him. I clung tight to that book for several days and then sat my son down one evening. I told him that I discovered it is my job as a parent to provide nutritious and enjoyable meals and snacks for him, but it wasn't my job to decide what or how much of anything he ate. I apologized for taking over his job of deciding what and how much to eat of those meals I provided. I apologized for not trusting him. Since then there have been some hard moments. My son still eats quickly and eats more than what his body needs at times, but he's learning to trust himself again. He's learning to trust me again. Mostly though, I've felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. Being a good mom no longer means I need to be constantly hovering over my son or watching him eat out of the corner of my eye. I think we both feel relieved. Through this process I've discovered one more thing. In order to give my son the best chance at being a confident and secure person, I needed to reckon with how I regard my son and his size through what I say and do, and just as importantly, I needed to reckon with how I regard my son and his size through what I think and feel. When I was Nolan's age I was chubby. I grappled with body image issues all the way into my 20's. At some point I gained a sense of security with who I was, and I learned to love my body. The problem is I love my body because it looks a certain way. When my mind's eye visits my 9-year-old self, I look at her with pity. I feel sorry for her and want to whisper to her that it will get better because she will grow into her body. She will find ways to shape it into something beautiful; something worth loving. Letting go of micromanaging my son's eating has been the easy part. This other piece, well, its a work in progress. That chubby little 9 year old was timid and insecure AND she was smart and sensitive and beautiful. Her body was growing in the way nature intended to grow. I'm going to continue to visit her in my mind's eye until she believes those things to be true. It's gonna take some time, but I feel confident I'll get there. If not for myself, for my son. The division of responsibility in feeding is what I needed in order to help my son and I find a balance between independence and support. The same goes for sleeping. We have jobs as parents to set the stage for our children. We say what time they go to bed, we establish what that routine looks like, they get to decide when they close their eyes. The same goes for reassuring our children when they are upset. We let them know we are here to support them, and help them find ways to comfort themselves. We give them permission to express how they feel and ask the right questions so they learn to understand themselves and have the confidence to ask for what they need....or don't need.
A balance of independence and closeness. When Ryann was upset from her bad dream, it hurt to see her that way. I wanted to take that pain away. But her brain is growing in the way that it is supposed to. She is figuring out how to decipher real threat from perceived threat, she is learning when she needs someone to make sure she is safe, and when she can ensure her own safety. She is learning how to comfort herself when she feels uneasy. It's all part of growing. If I take that pain away, I take the opportunity away. So instead I squeezed her hard, assured her she was safe, and gave her time and space to figure out for herself and then tell me what it was that she needed in order to feel better. I loved her AND I saw her. In her book, Ellyn Satter says, "Accepting a weight agenda- or any agenda- for your child will make you parent in hurtful ways." She goes on to say, "If you worry about your child's weight, it's tempting to do something about it, if only to relieve your own anxiety. In doing something about it, you are more likely to bring about the very thing you want to avoid." This statement was difficult for me to digest. I realized that if I don't check myself on my "agendas," I'm not allowing my kids to grow into the people God or nature intended them to be. I've been looking at how I parent through this lens for several weeks now, and I have to admit, it's not easy. The agendas I have for my kids usually exist either because of the pain I experienced as a child that I want to spare them, or the opportunities I had that I want to pass on. What agendas do you have for your kids because of your experiences? Good or bad. Do you want them to be super athletes? Or maybe the top student in their class? Or maybe anything but a "struggling reader". Do you want them to be seen as the leader of the pack? Do you want them to go to a 4 year college or own their own house? Do you want them to have loads of friends? Do you want them to be able to study abroad because you never had the chance? Do you want to spare them unpleasant feelings like sadness, loneliness, defeat, humiliation? Next time you find yourself "doing something" to relieve your own anxiety about your child, I would urge you to check your agenda. I can speak from experience. It is a humbling exercise. Thank you so much to Alex, Nichole, Nicki, and Dr. Erin Louks-Smith for being gentle guides through these waters. Last night, as I fluffed the pillow beneath my head, I closed my eyes and felt gratitude for the gift of tomorrow. A new day, a new week, a new outlook. Today, as people have been asking me how my weekend was, for the most part, I answer "pretty good" or "not too bad". A select few have borne the burden of hearing some of the details that might suggest otherwise. Was my weekend bad? Am I lying when I say it was "pretty good"? There were definitely some really fun and heartwarming moments this weekend. I even took a few pics of some of those moments, and might consider them social media-worthy. On Friday, my three-year-old daughter and I got to visit my 88-year-old grandmother, and have lunch with her. Just thinking about the collective joy we shared around her little dining room table immediately warms my heart. I can recall several really authentic and fun conversations I had with fellow-mom friends and family. I got to watch my son and the neighbor-boy catch crayfish in our river, and on Saturday night, the kids and I ate pizza on a table cloth on our living room floor and watched A Dog's Purpose. There was soccer in the yard, bike rides, and a hike in Pine Valley. I watched hockey games, got some yard work done, and got to spend a few hours with my 9-year-old as he prepared for his first communion. I even managed (with my husband's help) to get the laundry baskets full of clean clothes, that migrated and multiplied throughout the weekend, folded before I went to bed last night. There were many times when I felt joy, excitement, inspiration, and contentment. It's just that, when I look back on the weekend, those pleasant feelings were often fleeting and swiftly replaced with exhaustion, frustration, disappointment, irritation, or apprehensiveness. I was in a funk. Every time I felt like I had emerged, there was something that sent me wondering back into the fog... I think maybe it started earlier in the week when I felt like I was slowly losing ground on both our morning and our evening routines. Or maybe it was Friday morning when I decided it was time to reckon with the chest freezer (I had discovered on Wednesday morning the freezer in the basement had been mistakingly unplugged by our electrician sometime on Tuesday). Let me tell you, spending several hours tossing out frozen pizzas, boxes of pre-made cookies, and t-bone steaks, AND THEN chiseling through two inches of red-tinted chunks of ice on the bottom of a freezer can really get to a person. BUT, I managed to salvage the afternoon and had a really nice evening with the fam. It wasn't until bedtime, when I ventured out into the dark to put bikes away, that the fog moved back in. We've had contractors in our basement since February, so between the contents of our basement and a new boat my husband has been working on, our garage is stuffed so full that cramming three bikes in there (even with very low expectations for how wide of a path I needed to make it back into the house) was nearly impossible. I knew I was in a bad place, so after putting the boys to bed, I decided my best bet was to hit the rack myself and start tomorrow fresh. Saturday morning I woke up, got a run in, and was feeling optimistic as I ventured out to hockey with my eldest son. When we got home, my husband and I traded places and I took over the little ones while he got my 9-year-old ready for his second wave of hockey games. We'd been doing this back and forth thing for days now, leaving very little time to communicate, validate, and cut any tension that had been growing between us (like the tension I created when I stomped into the house the night before annoyed that our garage was stuffed full of his "crap"). By the time my husband got home from helping his dad out with a project on Saturday evening, the kids and I were grooving on our pizza and movie party. Now, looking back, in what I believe was an attempt to join in on our evening, my husband made a comment to my son about a broken bike reflector that was on our dining room table. I immediately reacted to his comment and interpreted it as him trying to make my son feel bad. My son corrected me and stated that what my husband said did NOT make him feel bad. Marital tension boiled over and words were exchanged. On Sunday morning, now that the lid on the tension pot was blown off, things were going pretty smoothly. We'd arrived home from church and were going to scarf some food before heading in two different directions again. What happened next was a rapid series of events (and questionable parenting decisions) that resulted in our pickup truck backing through the neighbors fence and into their front yard. Somehow we staggered through the remainder of the day, oddly enough feeling more "together" than we had all weekend. In between hockey, tending to three kids, and your typical Sunday chores, we squeezed in mending fences (and relationships) and looking online for a playhouse to replace the one that the truck had flattened.
This morning I woke up at 5:00 am ready to take on whatever the day had to bring. It was a new day, and it brought me the fresh start that I desperately needed. Boy am I grateful that both my husband and I have jobs to go to on Monday morning, the kids are able to be in school and daycare, and we have the means to fix things and make them right. I am also grateful for VERY UNDERSTANDING neighbors. Thank you so much Brittany and Matt for making a terrible situation a little less so. Please don't forget to subscribe if you want to be notified when I post something new! |
AuthorMy name is Alissa Anderson. I am the School Psychologist for the Esko Public School District in Esko, MN. I am also a mother of three and was certified as a Love and Logic Parent Educator in 2009. Archives
January 2023
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