De-Tangling "Tangled"

Since I was pretty much catatonic after our yard sale Saturday, the girls and I hit up Redbox and collapsed onto the couch to watch Tangled. It had come recommended by a few people (see Danica's review here.) Have you seen it?

Y'all, I liked it. We all did, in fact. "Mom, I can tell you liked this movie, because I see tears on your face," Eliza commented with typical matter-of-factness, while wiping away her own.

I cry at every movie I ever watch, pretty much. Blame my mother. My daughter will be saying the same thing any year now.

I was a little miffed about the whole blonde-hair-turning-brown-when-the-magic's-gone idea. It just seems so old school -- and not in a charming-antique-shop sort of way. But our swashbuckling hero, Flynn Rider, saved the day by admitting to a preference for brunettes.

Afterward, I asked the girls, "So, Rapunzel and Mother Gothel have this little ritual where they say:
'I love you.'
'I love you more.'
'I love you most.'
...  do you think Mother Gothel really loves her?"

"No," Eliza answered with certainty, "She only loves her hair."

It occurs to me that my girl gets what millions of adults still do not. How many people grow to middle age never knowing that they're loved unconditionally -- and never passing that kind of love along?

For how many people does that pain color their view of who God is?

My daughter has moments of tender affection, and moments of knowing just which buttons [of her sister's, usually] to push. She still speaks a bit more slowly than average, and stutters over some of her words. She has days where she'll pick up a book and fly through the pages, and days where I despair of the reading fever ever taking hold. Most days she looks decently fetching in a color-coordinated outfit. Then there are days of head-to-toe stripes.

I have hopes and dreams for her, as with all my children. Some of them may come true. Some she may toss by the wayside, if only to test me a bit: "Do you love ME -- or just something about me that works for you?"

Here's what I hope she'll always know:
No matter what ...
I see YOU
and
I love YOU.

Boys 2 Men

A friend was over at our house yesterday with her three boys, who were tearing around the house with my boy, engaging in heated battle. In other words, Nerf Gun nirvana.

My friend and I talked about the Dilemma of the Modern Boy. Or perhaps, the Dilemma of the Parent of the Modern Boy. It can be summed up as follows: We want them to read great, enriching books. They want to play video games.

Are you with me on this?

This is a hot topic with nearly every parent-of-a-boy I know. Nothing gets the eyes rolling faster, the angst level in the conversation ramped up higher. And we all agree, we can restrict the video games and screen time until our hair stands on end, but the bottom line is, the more you make something a precious commodity, the more it becomes, well, precious. On the other hand, they clearly need limits. I know of what I speak.

My friend related a conversation she'd had with her middle son. She'd made the stump speech most of us have made at one point or another: "You know, J., a long time ago, people didn't have ANY electronics for entertainment, and they still managed to have lots of fun."

His response was telling, "Yeah, but Mom, they had creeks to explore and Indians to watch out for and real guns to shoot!"

Here's what we concluded: Boys today have the same drive they've had wired into them for thousands of years. They need excitement. They need that feeling of being in a groove, preferably lubricated with adrenalin. They need the joy of achievement. In the words of Daniel Pink, they're seeking purpose, flow, and mastery. (Girls seek that too -- maybe just differently. Generalizing here.)

And what do video games provide them with? Purpose, flow, and mastery. Structured, reliable, unemotional feedback. The opportunity to defeat enemies and obstacles, and to conquer their previous skill level. There's some adrenalin in there. There's the bonding with, and recognition from, peers.

Last year Ian and read aloud the wonderful book Little Britches: Father and I Were Ranchers. We both recognized how Ralph, the main character who literally comes of age in the course of the book on the Colorado frontier, had his deepest needs met by learning the art of ranching and contributing to his family's living, riding herd with the cowboys and earning his dad's respect. This kid was not bored. As a ten year old, he worked long days all summer minding the neighbor's cattle -- alone. His family needed the money. He needed to learn what it would mean to be a man. (See also, Secondhand Lions.) 

My friend and I realized how hard it is to provide our boys with this kind of experience today. We live in neighborhoods with yards. Labor that contributes meaningfully to the family's welfare and gives them a sense of purpose, flow, mastery is scarce.

So we do our best -- giving them chores (cleaning toilets isn't stacking firewood, but it's a whole lot better than nothing), taking them to Scouts, sending them to camp or whatever we can. We do our best -- working from a whole new script we're writing together, hoping that boys can still be boys, trusting God for the men they will become.

(Some photos courtesy of Stefani)

The Quality World

An friend asked via email that I share more about the "Creating an Effective Family" course I'm taking. One exercise we've done in class is to brainstorm some components of our "quality world," or, in layman's terms, Things We Like to Have in Our Lives.

Here's mine, in no particular order. (Disclaimer: we did this in two minutes, so if you don't see yourself on here, you are hereby barred from taking offense.)

A clean house
Reading
Laughter
Blogging (and hearing from readers)
My husband
Sunshine
Giving
Scrapbooking
Time with the Lord
Friends
Walks on the beach
My siblings
Yummy, healthy food
Secure relationships
Spring and fall
Extra money
Funny podcasts
Service
LOST
Dark chocolate
Connecting time with the kids
Travel

As I said, no particular order.

The next week, we revisited our lists and decided which of the four needs (other than Safety/Survival) was met by each of these items. Some of them met just one -- but that didn't minimize their importance. Conversely, some met three or even all four but play a minor role in the big picture. For example, time with the Lord met my love and belonging need, albeit in a deep way. Although it may sound silly, LOST actually met all four, although obviously on a more superficial level. Here's how:

Love and Belonging: This is a connection that the Professor and I share. We inhabit separate worlds all day long, but watching and discussing the show once a week (or more often, when we were catching up), is part of our conscious effort to find common ground. Also, I have other people in my life -- my brother Paul, for example -- who share the interest and don't seem to mind texting about it.

Power/Competence: Although much of the time the complexity of the show leaves me baffled, I enjoy the challenge of trying to figure things out and develop theories about how the pieces fit together. It's a bit like solving a doozy of a crossword puzzle or discussing a masterfully crafted novel. When, once in a blue moon, one of my theories proves to be correct -- well, you don't want to be in the same room with me, 'cause there just ain't room for much else but my head.

Freedom: I'm in the parenting realm all day long. LOST happens after the kids are  tucked away in bed. Q.E.D.

Fun: Well. This is probably self-explanatory.

The point is that we need "things" (broadly defined) in our lives that address each of our fundamental needs -- particularly the needs we've decided are most important to us. The other side of the coin, of course, is to consider the people around us and to ask ourselves how we're filling their cups.

Since knowing what makes up their Quality World is a huge part of understanding what makes them tick and why, the next step is to sit down and do this with my kids. I sense a Family Meeting coming on. Better stock up on that frozen dairy substance that's surely on all three of their lists. I think it fills the fun cup, although they might argue it's all about Survival.

Begin with the End in Mind

The above is the result of a breakfast table discussion between the kids and me on the morning of our departure for a short vacation last week. In case you're wondering, the black letters can only be described as a Learning Experience, which we shall call "Permanent Marker is Not The Best Choice for Dry Erase Boards."

Hey. We all have to learn these life lessons sooner or later.

The four red marks represent everyone's vote AFTER we filled in the grid together. See, I realized that too many times, we depart for a trip in a high-stress flurry, with the Professor and I sulking in the front seat over the kids' failure to pitch in to an ideal degree. "All hands on deck?" Make that a few fingers. But usually, that's because we never quite transferred the thought, "We should all work together to make this trip happen" from our brains to the kids' ears. There's no group buy-in on the "all hands on deck" mission.

So this time, we began with the end in mind. And lo, our departure was both peaceable and reasonably prompt. Larks serenaded us on our way down our street, and angels flew by strumming their golden harps. Fluffy little kittens waved bye-bye.

Fast-forward to the vacation. We take this trip twice a year with my in-laws to a resort in San Antonio. And when I still had a babe in arms or a toddler in diapers, the idea of plopping myself in a beach chair and zoning out for the duration was simply out of the question. But now that all my kids are fairly self-sufficient and like to run in a pack with their cousins, I have more of a choice. Part of me wants to just relaaaaax. (And, truthfully, I do.) To slip the moorings of their demands and needs and lose myself in a book. To not get chlorine in my hair.

But. I have an end in mind. That end is a vision of a family that plays together instead of just making it from one day to the next. Of grown children who include time with their parents as part of their fondest memories. Of time spent deliberately enjoying them, rather than just managing them. Of no regrets, once they enter the years when bobbing around the pool with Mom and Dad has decidedly lost its lustre.

So, the Professor and I both endeavor to strike a balance. We need rest. The kids need independence. We also need them to grow up without us growing old, which means making a point of having fun together. That balance is different for every family, and kids whose loving parents don't play with them on vacation will probably turn out JUST FINE. I mean, they might grow an extra digit and develop a lifelong nervous twitch, but other than that? JUST FINE.

But with faces like these, who can resist?

The Four Cups

A couple weeks ago, I enrolled in a parenting seminar. Guess what? It's sort of hard to admit that, which is why I'm doing it. Should there be any shame in admitting your skills in the World's Most Important Job could be honed? 

I don't think so. 

Anyway, the material for this course comes from the rather oddly named Real Restitution (website not so explanatory) and is based on control theory. Rather than diving into tricks and techniques for handling sticky situations with the kids, we've spent the first two weeks looking at big-picture issues like understanding WHY we choose to do what we do, why coercion doesn't work, why and how we attempt to control other people or allow other people to control us, what motivates us to change our actions, what we consider to be an ideal child and an influential adult, and the five basic human needs. 

There's a lot to think, talk, reflect, and write about. For the purpose of brevity and clarity, I'll try to rein myself in and focus on one thing at a time. 

Obviously, the questions we're discussing around a dining room table on a Sunday afternoon apply to any human relationship, including our relationship to ourselves (and, if you're a person of faith, to God). So here's a brief description of the five basic human needs: 

1. Safety/survival -- food, shelter, water, security, etc. 

2. Love and Belonging -- unconditional acceptance, care, connection with others

3. Power -- self-control, competence, capability, effectiveness with integrity

4. Freedom -- freedom from harm and to make choices, express ourselves, etc. 

5. Fun -- playfulness, spontaneity, humor, delight of learning

(Note: these concepts are expanded on in the book My Child is a Pleasure, written by Diane Gossen.)

Here's the kicker: We ALL have these needs, just in different relative capacities. You may have a large love and belonging need, medium freedom and fun needs, and a lower power need. If so, you're a lot like me! Or at least, my best estimation of me. Or you may have a big power need and a low fun need, with the others somewhere in the middle. You get the picture. 

Our need levels (picture four cups of water; the survival need doesn't count because it's a given for everyone) can fluctuate from day to day or from life phase to life phase, or even moment to moment, depending on our circumstances. But they tend to motivate much of how we feel and behave. And … how our KIDS feel and behave.

I'm planning to do this exercise with my husband and kids to see how they view their own needs. But already, I've been observing them to figure out what their needs profile might be. I've realized that one of my daughters, for example, has a huge love and belonging need, so when she comes to me crying, she probably needs a hug.  Nine times out of ten, the crying is a response to hurt feelings -- i.e. a broken connection. The other has a bigger power need, so her tears are more likely from frustration; a simple "Do you need some help doing this?" would fit the purpose. And I think my son's primary need is for freedom. Can you see why my largest need might be for dark chocolate? 

Kidding. 

You don't have to answer this, but how do you see your own cups? What's the one of the four you could most easily do without? Which could you NEVER do without?  How do they rank relative to each other? How are your levels right now? What about your kids?

Of course, from there we start to distinguish between needs and wants, which are ways we choose to try to meet our needs. Sometimes the wants can be satisfied; often they cannot. Maybe the temptation to snack all the time is a way to meet a freedom need (our instructor's example). As we understand what's going on, we can figure out other, healthier ways to meet the need. As kids learn this, they can to. 

So, this is a journey my family and I will be undertaking together, not something I'm going to be doing TO them. Without going into any "how to's" yet, this class already seems to be having an effect on our home. Today I chewed one of the kids out for violating a clear rule. A few minutes later, after some reflection and some eating of humble pie, I called him back and said, "I'm sorry.  That is not the kind of parent I want to be. I don't want to lecture you, but I lost my temper and said too much. Will you forgive me?"

Restitution. Peace. 

(P.S.In case you're wondering how faith fits into all of this, I would propose that our deepest need is for something higher than ourselves, which our family recognizes as God. I believe that growing as Christians means allowing getting that need met first, and that over a lifetime of maturing spiritually, filling that need takes care of all the other needs as well. We're all just at different places in that process.)

Mean Girls

A couple years ago, the children and I read a wonderful, bittersweet book called The Hundred Dresses. I feel like this short novel should be required reading for every child and parent. It's a touching portrait of schoolgirl dynamics, told through the eyes of a girl who feels caught in the middle, who joins in the taunting of an immigrant classmate against her better judgment and lives to regret it. In the end, all the girls realize the mistake they've made in belittling their former classmate, Wanda. Fortunately, their lesson comes at a less-than-mortal price for Wanda or themselves.

Sadly, for kids like Phoebe Prince of South Hadley, Massachusetts, any regrets on the part of her tormentors come too late. This fifteen-year-old Irish immigrant hanged herself after relentless cyber- and in-person-bullying by the Mean Girl clique at her high school drained her of the hope and self-esteem that's already so fragile in teenage girls.

The morning news played clips from an angry parents' meeting in South Hadley, where over 300 parents convened to express their frustration and grief at the situation. One father spoke with no apologies: "I am angry at the parents who are raising these monsters. Parents: DO YOUR JOB."

Y'all know that I strive NOT to be the parenting police. There are no perfect people living on this farm. But. In this case? Hear, hear!

It boggles my mind that human beings of such a tender age could be so devoid of empathy, the foundation of the conscience -- even to the point of mocking her on Facebook AFTER her suicide (If your kid is doing that? I'm sorry, but YOU HAVE REALLY SCREWED UP somewhere along the line.). Does anyone else think it's crazy that state after state has to pass anti-cyber-bullying laws to protect teenagers from the worst sides of each other? Talk about the government stepping in to shoulder the responsibility of absent parents!

If, as a parent, I can manage to raise my children to hear their own voice in the midst of the crowd, to refuse the temptation to gain favor through meanness, perhaps even to stand up in the face of bullying, to let empathy, decency, kindness triumph over the desire for acceptance, I have done my job.

And if, as a parent, I can be someone my children come to when they're hurt, scared or desperate; if my children know where to find hope and help when they need them and that the words of bullies do not represent the truth about who they are, I have done my job. If I can teach them to use social media (when the time is right) while protecting or disconnecting themselves from others who abuse it, I have done my job. This means I cannot throw up my hands and say, "Oh, kids these days and their computer stuff! Who can keep up with it all?" Answer: YOU, Mom.

My aunt, a woman I admire immensely for energy and spirit of perpetual learning, teaches middle school history. She also teaches those middle schoolers all about social media and its responsible use -- how to use privacy settings with vigilance, how to ward off cyberbullying, how to report signs of abuse. To do this, she stays one step ahead of them on Facebook, on Twitter, in the blogosphere. I have greater respect than ever for the task she has undertaken.

For some kids, it may be matter of life or death.

Hope, the thing with feathers

I had to chuckle, reading this lovely post by Molly of a Foothill Home Companion, because normally I would totally agree with her, but today my thoughts took a different turn.

I was actually ruminating on the times when we parents, we large people who try to give wings to the dreams of the smaller people, have to say "no." And sometimes, we really have very little choice in the matter.

At tennis this morning, my friend Lisa was accosted by her five year old son, vociferously stating (and re-stating) his intent to build a boat in which to take his friends (including my willing daughter) for a ride in the turtle pond. And what was he going to use to build this boat? Sticks. That's it.

I watched the tension mounting as she first humored his idea, then tried to gently break the news that they were going to have to leave the park today without building a four-passenger boat. Despite her best effort, a certain degree of hysteria ensued. This was TREASON! How could the adult world FAIL TO COMPREHEND THE GENIUS OF THIS IDEA!?

(Note: Lisa spent an hour and a half yesterday helping her son recreate the house from UP with a cardboard box and a bunch of helium balloons. Can we agree she's a dedicated and kindhearted mom?)

Oh, friends, how I did relate. With a couple of my kids, I've been through the same wash cycle: lather, rinse, repeat. As much as I try to say yes, (or my personal fallback: "Let's ask Daddy to help you with that pairs of stilts/fishing rod/fill-in-the-blank you want to make!") there are moments when we just run up against the laws of physics, or money, or time, or human capability, or hey, even Mama's patience.

(Once I literally had to drive my then four year old to a John Deere dealer so he could verify in person, man to man with the bewildered clerk, that buying a full-sized backhoe for a proposed project would not fit his budget.)

And we're left to compassionately pop the balloon of these grandiose visions, gently catching the shards and fashioning them into the kind of hope that makes our dreamers dust themselves off and come back for more.

Boredom (aren't you hooked?)

Confession: Although I have been a mother for over nine years now, I still find a certain level of anxiety stealing in when I see my children doing this kind of thing in the middle of the day:



This terrible urge to intervene, to hover, to give them something Productive to do, something Educational to fill their time, rears its ugly head, even when the three R's are checked off and they've indicated no dissatisfaction with their apparently idle state. It's like a disease, this boredom-phobia that threatens my more sensible instincts.

But since I HAVE been a mother for over nine years, I am learning to master this impulse. To remember that one of the greatest gifts of a true childhood is that of TIME. Time to quite literally watch the clouds go by. Time to cultivate "the inward eye/which is the gift of solitude." (Name that poet!) Time to connect with their Creator.

Two minutes after I snapped that photo, the boy grew quite excited over the shape of a cloud: "It's like a frowning man wearing a sombrero!" We tag-teamed the cloud identification thing for a while, sharing a few belly laughs, and ended up drawing our finds in sidewalk chalk on the driveway (since the girls were already drawing ships and knights). Not because it was productive or educational, but because we both wanted to, and it was fun, and childhood is fleeting.

But it ain't all Kum-ba-yah either

I don't want to leave anyone with the impression that where there are two or more homeschoolers gathered together, there will be the Camp David peace accords.

Mostly, yes, it is all fun and games. Like yesterday. Our American Girl doll club met for a birthday party for all the dolls. We discussed historical birthday celebrations. We let the kids decorate cupcakes.

We provided them with tote bags and loads of decorative material to make presents for their dolls.

Even the brothers participated. Here's Ian, MANning the glue GUN:

The highlight, for me, was watching my shy middle child sitting with other girls and interacting, smiling, mostly thanks to the American Girl Trading Cards she and others brought along. I think having a structured springboard for interaction really helps her, versus entering a room of semi-chaotic play (the kids' equivalent of a (shudder) cocktail party).

And I totally get that impulse. Maybe that's why I actually managed to be a La Leche League leader for a few years, and did not too shabbily at it. Even led a bunch of meetings. Survived. Thrived. Made friends who brought my newborn baby milk when I was in the ICU for three days after her birth.

Following our return home, I noticed a Facebook discussion started by a local friend about the book You Can't Say You Can't Play, about a school community that decided to make it illegal for children to exclude one another from play. To say this is a subject that tugs the heartstrings might be kind of an understatement.

Raise your hand if you've ever a) been excluded from a group, intentionally or otherwise; b) been part of a group that excluded someone, intentionally or otherwise, and failed to notice that fact because you were just so content to be inside those cherished walls; or c) been part of a group, noticed someone being left out, and empathized enough with her dilemma to want to reach out?

OK, I'm now raising two hands plus one leg. Isn't it amazing how I can still type with the toes of my left foot?

The Facebook discussion, my daughter's morning experience, and her negative experience with not wanting to rejoin our homeschool co-op because she feels like there is a club that excludes her and those girls (generally children of a tight group of parents) ignore her, really have me thinking. My first impulse when my child, or any child, is feeling left out is to intervene and ask the excluders to take notice. I usually keep my trap shut and stew about it, but there's definitely some blaming going on. And I WILL intervene if my own children are doing the excluding.

On the other hand, though, I do believe it's doing children a disservice to try and make their world a place of sweetness and light, especially if that precludes helping them develop the muscles of resilience and persistence. It's that fine line we parents constantly walk between protection and sheltering, between coaching and hovering. We desperately want to provide them with a safe haven where they can retreat when the world seems too much with them, and on the other hand, we want to give them wings.

What do you all think about the excluding issue? Do you intervene when you see kids excluding or being excluded? Do parents and teachers bear a burden to help those on the inside become more aware and compassionate, or is our job more to help those outside toughen up and either persevere or find another outsider to bond with? Or do you favor the Lord-of-the-Flies approach, believing that kids should sort it all out among themselves?

Don't be excluded! Speak up and be heard. :-)

Love believes the best

So I know that at YOUR house, complete harmony among siblings is the order of the day. But chez moi? In the last few days weeks months, my girls have remained frozen in a sort of suspended animation, constantly hovering between friendly play and all out bickerments.

They know EXACTLY how to push each other's buttons. The older one provokes, exhibiting mastery of the passive aggressor. The younger one, certain as the sun rising tomorrow, reacts, with considerable volume. It's like a beautifully choreographed ballet, except that the audience (me) wants to storm out of the theater in a riotous one-woman mob.

Moments like this? Irregular and golden.

You know what, though? I've been down this road before. When Ian and Eliza were at these ages and stages (see below), they danced the very same pas de deux. He'd provoke; she'd react. I could never understand why he found it so satisfying to elicit screeches and tears from his sister, and more than once, I wanted to bellow in my exasperation, "YOU are SO MEAN! You are a MEAN CHILD!"
Which I want to do sometimes now, since the former "victim" has become the new "tormentor."

Here's what I learned: Right when those angry words are buzzing on the tip of my tongue is the perfect moment to speak the unseen truth. To walk by faith and not by sight. To look past the behavior and see the heart.

"You are NOT a mean person," I would say to my son. "You have the capacity to be very kind. Teasing your sister like that is not worthy of who you are."

Speaking those words helped me believe their truth, and hopefully taught him that my love for him meant my seeing the best in him, even when he kept it hidden.

And now? Fights between the older two are pretty rare, I realized the other day. Not extinct, just not a part of our daily reality as they once were. They tend to hang together as a team. Which gives me hope for my darling daughters, next time I'm tempted to post them on Craig's List.

(Do I even need to tell you I'm kidding?)