Party Time!!

I can’t say enough about the endless irritation of housekeeping. Sparing you the gory details, let it suffice to say that it feels nearly impossible to keep the house picked up. Any victory in this department merits a stopping of the world and a very extravagant party. Given that the holidays are upon us, perhaps this blog can suffice... And for those of you who have already figured the following out, I apologize for laboring this issue that may seem obvious to you. For those of you who are in our boat and could use any bit of help, pull out your party hats, cuz here I go...

Our typical routine in picking up the house is that everyone gets their junk, brings it to their respective rooms and then cleans their rooms. If we are feeling extra ambitious then we split up chores according to tasks. For example, Jossi will dust, Jillian will vacuum, Jeff will work on laundry, and I’ll do the dishes. Well, this weekend, the house had become a hazard of sorts and we had to face the music. Ugh! Dreading the usual routine (Kid’s fighting over who got what out, parents discovering children doing anything but picking up their stuff, and a 45-minute task taking three hours), I had a stroke of genius. Or probably more rightly, a gracious whisper from God. Either way, I heard myself announce, “We are cleaning the house but we are going to do things a little differently!” I proceeded to instruct each child to adopt a room for which they were responsible for everything in that room (picking up, dusting, vacuuming, etc). We proceeded to clean our respective areas and the results were nothing short of spectacular. I couldn’t believe how much better this worked. No arguing over who played with what. No sneaking below the radar. Each child (and person for that matter) had a very clearly delineated task. It worked from a developmental perspective because it was fairly straight-forward. No sorting through what’s mine and what’s yours, missing ½ of what’s mine as a result. It worked from a character perspective. Rather than take care of our own messes, we each served the family in a different way. In fact after everyone had completed their jobs, we toured the home, showcasing each person’s work, and affirmed each person for what we appreciated about the work that was done. Providing each child with a domain of responsibility yielded another surprising result. They took such pride in their chore that each child elected to do additional work. For example, one child decided that it would look nicer if the blinds were dusted and the other child decided that not only should the bathroom mirror be cleaned but the window, as well!

Now I do realize that the bit about cleaning house in a novel way may have added a little extra energy to the process, but I have to say, I’m still hanging on to the potential of some lasting benefits to this new strategy. If you haven’t tried this out, I encourage you to give it a whirl. Just pick a discrete, age-appropriate task for each child, and see how it goes. And, as far as the Verners are concerned, for the gracious little whisper that helped us out with a challenging issue, we offer a heart-felt word of gratitude!!

Disaster Averted!

I am writing to report a small victory from the trenches of family life. I’ll start out by confessing that it hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing in the parenting department. Over-full schedules seem to have blown up in our faces sending shrapnel of hyper-emotionality, short fuses, and exhaustion. My hope is that you have no idea of what I’m talking about, though, if you are a parent, I fear you may.

When things are extra crazy at our house, it is in these moments that I am grateful for tricks of the parenting trade. Those little tried and true strategies that can defuse an escalating situation and spare us all THE DRAMA! Well, this morning, we successfully circumvented a problem and I was reminded of how much I love a particular trick. It involves use of the imagination and I believe I ran across it in a book on emotion coaching by John Gottman. This trick is particularly useful when your child wants something that they cannot have. It’s referred to as giving your kids their wish in imagination and it allows you to align with your child, convey understanding, and ultimately, to stand your ground. When used with humor, it can be extra effective.

This morning, we encountered yet another snag. Early morning fatigue turned the “my jeans are too short” mole hill into a mountain of tears. I’m just as tired as my kids are these days, so my own coping skills are rather depleted. Consider that, much to my own horror, our 2-year-old mimicked us the other day by screaming at his sister, “Stop crying!” I know. Pathetic! Anyways, I found myself encountering yet another challenging situation marked by high emotions, and I remembered the trick. Instead, of my never effective “suck it up” speech, I offered the following: “Wow. I know you would like to have some longer jeans in your drawer. You know what I wish?” (This is the part where I mustered up some animation to my presentation… An early morning miracle and evidence that there is a God!) “ I wish I had a magic wand. And if I did, I would wave it and POOF! You’d have a brand-new pair of jeans sitting in your hands. Super cute, super long, exactly what you want. Then, I’d go ahead and wave the wand again. BAM! Then you would have a beautiful, soft, cuddly, brand-new long-sleeve shirt in your hands, as well. Then, just for flair, I’d clap, just like this, CLAP! CLAP!, and all the tags and stickers would fall off to the floor so that it would be perfectly ready for you to put it on.” Both girls began to laugh and offer their own thoughts and wishes. I looked at my daughter whose face beamed with the look of feeling understood, and I knew that she was ready to move on to problem-solving. I concluded, “But alas, honey. I don’t have a magic wand. What do you think you can wear instead?” Disaster averted!

A Bitter Pill and a Warm Hug

Big confession: One of the hardest things for me to do is to forgo the temptation to allow other’s mistakes to justify my own failings. If it shows up anywhere, it shows up in marriage. Lucky Jeff! He and I had a crazy busy weekend that predictably ended with a fight over getting the dishes done. Clearly a life or death matter! Given that we were both tired, I would offer that we each made decisions that were informed by our fatigue. Unfortunately, my way of coping with things when I’m tired is probably the most aggressive which often sets off our typical pattern. I get in his face, he withdraws, and we limp along in silence until we have the courage to pursue some sort of active resolution. Hours, days or maybe even a week later. Ouch! This time, I put our silent evening to an early death by hitting the hay.

It was upon waking the next morning that the haze began to clear. It’s amazing what a little sleep can do. In my morning clarity, I had to admit that failing to wash the dishes was not in fact a critical incident. In fact there are people who live healthy and vital lives with a sink full of dirty dishes. Not only was I recognizing that a clean kitchen was not a quintessential lovely household attribute, but at least one part of me was willing to admit that perhaps I had been a little difficult. This admission of guilt hesitantly emerged amidst residual chatter of bitter rantings regarding his "clear" transgressions.

This time, unlike many other times, I made the active decision to attempt to own only what was mine and to leave his possible transgressions between him and God. His potential wrong-doing in no way negated my poor behavior and nobody could own that but me.  Dang it!  And so I bit my tongue and confessed something like, “I know you were tired and I can understand that you may not have been up to doing the dishes. I was tired too, but I expressed that in an unkind way and I am sorry.” The quietness that followed was filled with the temptation to sneak a little critical dig in, but I didn’t. I left it alone and waited. A couple tears rolled down my cheek and my husband turned to me and hugged me with a hug that trumped all other hugs. His sweatshirt felt soft, his body felt strong, (Look out Harlequin Romance!) and I was filled with love. The reward of reconciliation far surpassed the indulgence of keeping score and I was sold on the idea of forgiveness.

“Those with good sense are slow to anger, and it is to their glory to overlook an offense.” Proverbs 19:11

Feelin' Giddy!

I encountered a bit of giddiness this afternoon and thought I might allow a bit of it to spill over to you all (And yes, I do realize it may be necessary to use the term “all” loosely... As in all 3 of you! :-P ). Driving home from a busy day, I was chatting with my husband on the phone and learned that he had finished painting a shelf that could now be re-hung at the front of the house. His words transformed me into a giggling school girl. You would have thought he said something like, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you and your fresh skin are more radiant to my awe-struck eyes than the day I met you.” No, he was merely updating me on the status of a honey-do. I know it’s a bit pathetic, but I couldn’t help it. I simply could not contain the thrill of no more nude brackets shooting out into our front walk-way shouting from the top of their metal lungs, “Look at us! We live with the Verners where projects are clearly started but never, ever finished!”

I don’t know if you have any idea what I am talking about, but as a working mom, it can feel like I’m running up the down escalator. I’m all too familiar with one step forward, three steps back. We mess up a house faster than we can clean it, eat food faster than we can buy it, and dirty laundry faster than we can wash it. It is from within this defeating rhythm that we still insist on adding those special projects, the most recent of which is our ½-painted house (Fortunately, we strategized well and as long as we don’t invite anyone into the backyard, it’s a bit of a secret that we aren't done!). In spite of the seeming impossibility of completing extra projects, I can’t live without them. It’s the extra projects that give me the sensation that I am engaged. I’m not simply sprinting on a treadmill, but I’m actually moving forward. I’m dreaming and daring to try new things. They are the positive thoughts of progress amidst the trials of day-to-day life.

And so I leave you with the following challenge. Can you delay the laundry or ignore the mess just long enough to do something you’d really enjoy? Plant a flower, clean out a closet, write a real letter on cute stationery to a friend. Inspired by news of a soon-to-be finished shelf, that’s what I did. I let the kids occupy themselves with the candy drawer so that I could take a moment to share with you. And let me say, it’s feeling pretty good!

Why I Love Being a Mom

I turned down the lights and held him for a moment before I sang him a nigh-night song. He rested his little head on my shoulder listening to a voice that only a baby could love. I laid him down, tucked his cozy blankets gently around his body, and said a little prayer thanking God for my special boy and whispered “amen” to which he yell echoed me, “AMEEEENNNNNN!” I kissed him one last time, whispered goodnight and turned to leave. My heart began to race. I’m almost free! A casual tip-toe quickly became a sprint followed by my own version of touchdown show-boating on the opposite side of his bedroom door. I made a beeline for the kitchen. That bowl of cereal that I had been craving was seductively whispering my name, “Come and get me! You won’t even have to share one bite!” Just moments after the milk bathed my mini-wheats in nummyness, my ecstasy came to a screeching halt. It was interrupted by a little boy screaming at the top of his lungs. It appeared to be something urgent. “Moooooommmmmyyyyy!” Staring longingly at my cereal, I ignored the first five to ten shouts. Eventually, I admitted that I would have to suspend the passionate affair between me and my late night snack. Slightly dissheveled, I tear myself away from my lover and head back to the slave cave. Making my way toward his room, the beckoning voice becomes louder with every step. I whisper urgently, “I’m coming honey.” Translation: “Please oh please stop screaming before you wake up your sister.” I open the door expecting to see him standing in his crib, but instead I find him laying just as I left him all nuzzled in his blankies. The only difference is his left arm is raised with his index finger extended. He looks at me and softly comments, “Boogie.” I fumble around his finger to find a miniscule yet sticky fragment, peel it off his finger on to mine, whisper good night and make my way back to my cereal, grinning ear to ear. Despite the intensely hard work, I wouldn’t trade this job for the world!

Ode to the First Borns

When my father was a young boy, he got his picture published on the front page of his community’s newspaper in recognition of bravery for putting out a local fire. What the newspaper failed to report (for the sole reason that he hadn’t confessed) was that the young home-town hero had bravely extinguished a fire that he himself started!
As my first born is getting older, sometimes, I feel a little bit like my dad in this story. As I parent her through new challenges, we are battling fires that, somehow, I feel responsible for starting. From the beginning, I have been the parent who felt the subtle yet irresistible pull toward high expectations, especially when it came to my oldest. I have always felt impressed by her and confident of her emerging abilities. Believing so highly in her, I have observed myself challenging her, oftentimes, seduced to realms beyond what is developmentally appropriate. I still remember with a tinge of pain, the day I took her to kindergarten readiness testing. As I sat in the far corner of the room watching her tiny hands struggle through the most rudimentary of exercises, I was overwhelmed with emotion. Tears ran down my face as I encountered with fresh eyes, the violent dissonance between what I had been expecting of her and this more accurate picture. As a tender green shoot, she had just barely penetrated through the soil into this thing we call life and I had been trying to hang swings from her branches.
Flash forward five years. As I now watch this same little girl, I observe an emerging young lady with a broad, and at times overwhelming, sense of personal responsibility. As her mom, I have taken on the role of trying to help her be gracious with herself, to accept personal limitations, and to give herself as well as others ample space for being human. I want her to be able to cope with the fact that sometimes when you do your very best, it still isn’t enough. I want her to be able to live with the reality that sometimes others let us down. And so I try to help her, and yet I must sit with the awareness that her whole life I have challenged her toward excellence, inadvertently lighting the match of perfectionism and fanning the flames of personal striving.

Dirty Monies

Talk about a super strange week! Jeff was traveling and all three of the kids were visiting family. I actually found myself with some extended time alone. Completely unheard of! While I definitely enjoyed the strange experience of finding everything in the house just as I had left it, I also began to notice a dull ache that took up residence in my heart. It definitely felt like something important was missing. It was particularly obvious when I got to spend some time on the phone with my 5-year-old. She affectionately shared, “Mommy, I miss you so much that I am going to surprise you when I see you! With pictures and money from the ground cuz I found three monies!” My heart leapt at her little expression of love. As I delighted in her cuteness, I was reminded of the strange bind of being a mommy. I LONG for space to breath, and yet as soon as I get it, I am thrilled bythoughts of dirty monies.

Ego Boost

I hate to brag, but as it turns out I am super slick with talent when it comes to cleaning the bathroom. Some of my talents are especially pronounced when it comes to cleaning the toilet. First off, I know how to swirl the brush around the bottom of the toilet to get it sparkling even in the hole. I also clearly rock at scrubbing the water line and, if you can believe this, I know how to wipe around the rim and then to fold my disposable disinfecting wipe in half to get maximum usage without ever touching the yucky side!! It’s a special skill that I have considered posting on YouTube to provide a visual on this delicately choreographed move. It may necessitate a “Do not try this at home” warning though as it definitely is one that you don’t want to flub up. Beyond the toilet, I also have a number of other proficiencies including spreading out a cleaning rag to obtain maximum coverage. It requires fewer swipes AND results in fewer missed areas meanwhile bringing a sparkling shine to those larger surfaces. If all of this were not enough (bear with me), I have this tricky way of incorporating specialized dexterity to the application of pressure which effectively removes difficult stains, AND I know how to strategically order my cleaning efforts which, when combined with my sharp-shooting precision with Windex , makes for mad skilz! I can hear the Randy Jackson of American Domestic Idol shouting now, “You’ve got mad talent, Dawg!”
Now, how do I know this, you may ask? Great question! It all came by way of comparison, when I recently decided to teach my 5-year-old how to clean the bathroom. As I watched her shaky little hand grasping a wadded up rag haphazardly “cleaning” spots here and there, I realized just how far my skills have evolved in the last 36 years.
Together, as my daughter and I walked through the apparent intricacies of cleaning, not only did I get an ego boost (I did have that “showing off” feeling at times), but I was startled by her struggles. I was reminded in very concrete terms of what it is like to be five years old. As my mind wandered back to a variety of recent frustrations as I challenged her to hurry, or to pick up, or to help with her little brother, I felt bad. My adventures in the bathroom reminded me just how important it is to temper my expectations of my kids with a realistic picture of what it is like to be their age. And so I am left with this useful image. As I encourage her in her growth and participation in family life, I also need to remember what she looks like when she cleans the bathroom.

Worse Than a Root Canal?

Settling in to the dentist's chair, Dr. Manese pulled the short cord around the back of my neck and clipped it to the other side of the ever-familiar blue paper bib. She instructed me to relax into my seat. It slowly reclined. Once in place, the looming over-head light quickly located my face. Following a few moments of oral inspection, Dr. Manese and her gloved hands presented the large glistening needle. The procedure would soon begin. I had arrived at the place where fear often reigns supreme and yet it became for me the place where peace settled over me like a warm, heavy blanket. (For those of you who are wondering, it was not a substance-induced state.) The thought that nestled cozy alongside me in my chair was, "I'm not in charge and there is nothing I have to do right now." I was firmly planted in this chair and no number of screaming children, appointments, dirty laundry, email or hungry babies could rouse me from my place. As she began the procedure, I felt coddled by the drill as it hummed in my ear, "None of what is going on right now is up to you. All you must do, my sweet dear, is sit, close your eyes, and rest."

No, I am not crazy. Just really tired and I guess that pain is all relative. Sometimes, the discomfort of busyness and constant responsibility feels even worse than a root canal!

Excerpt from "Coming Up Short"

I have been working on a book which reflects on my experiences as a working mom. Just for fun, I thought I would include a brief excerpt from a chapter titled, "Ode to Mother Hubbard." It chronicles the perils of combining children and grocery shopping. Enjoy!

One of the things that I hate (and my children clearly love) about Albertson’s is the car carts. While the adult shops, the children can pretend they are driving. The cart comes complete with an enclosed cab, doors, and a steering wheel. The sheer excitement of such an experience can transform everyday children of seemingly moderate energy levels and average self-regulatory abilities into complete maniacs. Such was clearly the case today. What started out as the slightly annoying opening, closing and reopening of the doors on the cab followed by the inability to secure the latch over and over again soon turned into arm wrestling over the steering wheel seasoned with multiple attempts at riding the roof. It looked a little something like this: I would take a few steps, stop, and fix the latch. Grab some plums. Stop again, order a child off the roof and explain the hazards of riding on the roof. Take a few additional steps, pick out green onions. Stop, explain the hazards of riding on the roof and add in the comment about “the manager of the store will probably yell at you” to give things a little more weight. Turn around and head back to the oranges and bananas that I passed up while talking her down from the roof the first time. And so on and so forth... Half-way through the “quick” trip, the novelty of the car finally wore off and my oldest was now into asking for every item off the shelf. “Hey mommy! It’s the cereal bowls with the straws. We have pink and blue but we don’t have green. Can we buy that green bowl too, Mommy? Mommy… Mooommmmmy!!!!” By the time we made it up to the check out lane, simply put, I was fried and beginning to evidence dissociative-type behaviors. My eyes began to glaze over and the various grocery store noises faded and blended together. Having severely violated my threshold for time spent in split attention, the walls had begun to spin. “No you can’t have that gum.” “Yes I have my rewards card.” “Quit swinging on the bars!” “Plastic is fine.” “Because I said so.” “Quit poking your sister.” And on and on and on... We finally made it through the checkout stand and headed for the door only to be accosted by some over-zealous store clerk informing us that the car carts must remain in the store. Failing to comprehend why the bagger would load my many groceries into a cart that I would only be permitted to use for the next 10 feet, I gave up my pursuit for that which is logical, pulled up to a normal cart and began to transfer my things. It was only a matter of moments until I discovered my oldest had vacated the immediate proximity and could be observed surfing the roof of a car cart buried deeply amidst the aisles of carts. “What on earth are you doing? Get over here!” Having scaled a number of cars to make it back that far, I waited for what seemed like an eternity, wincing as she made her way back, “Please don’t fall and crack your head!”
With the groceries reloaded to an outside cart, she finally made it back and we prepared to exit the store. The automatic doors swung open as we were promptly greeted by a litter of little girls, “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?” Recollecting that I had charitably promised to buy some on my way out, I ignored the overwhelming evidence that I was no longer fit for public and should be making a bee-line for my car. I headed for their table. The table was set up with several young girls and their mothers. As I moved toward the table, wisdom’s hushed whisper escalated to a scream, “Just get in the car! You can get cookies another time. You are on your very last nerve. Warning!! Abort mission for cookies. Abort!” Having never been fantastic at deviating from my plan or my word, I smacked upside the head the mini-me with wings who sat upon my shoulder and continued toward the cookies.

Sibling Squabbles

I decided this week that I am so over my kids bickering and fighting. Deep into summer break, I was beginning to feel as though, every time I turned around a new dispute was breaking out. On one incessantly petty morning, I decided to take a stand. Fortunately, I have been studying for the EPPP (Exam for the Professional Practice of Psychology) and was prepared with an influx of arsenal for addressing unwanted behaviors. At the first sign of conflict, empowered by my options, I was ready for battle. Call me over-zealous, if you must, but I decided to use them all. The poor little humans had no chance against me. I mixed a batch of “Oh No Not Today” that was complete with over-correction, re-direction, interval time sampling, seasoned with natural and logical consequences and a pinch of paradoxical intervention. I finished it off with an empathy glaze which allowed it to sound far less sinister than it might have been. In a nutshell, it went something like this: “This fighting isn’t going to fly. I realize that it isn’t always easy to get along, but this is the deal: I don’t want to hear it. I need you to fight quieter. In fact, when you fight and I have to hear it, it zaps all my energy. So much so, that all I am able to do is lay on the couch while you clean the house.” All disbelieving eyes were on me. Even the sing-songy voice could not conceal the threat of chores. I capped off my statement with a friendly effort to redirect their attention. I asked them if they would like to help me make some special breakfast. I got one taker. I figured this would also address the possible role of low-blood sugar in all of our problems. It was 10 a.m. and we had yet to eat breakfast. All in all, I have to say, I was actually quite pleased with my intervention. I didn’t raise my voice and yet I clearly got their attention.
After conveying my intent to take a serious stand against fighting, I decided to also log their behavior to attempt to determine just how big of a problem this fighting thing had become. After a brief period of documenting their every move which began to feel like a big fat waste of time, I decided to move to interval sampling. I would set the alarm for an hour and document their behavior on the hour. Not only could I inventory their fighting, but I could utilize the “catch them being good” technique to encourage positive behavior as well.
In spite of the pride I felt over my strategic intervention, I am here to confess that the truly profound discipline that took place on this particular morning was not with the children but with the mind of the mother. A strange thing happened as I began to tune into their behavior and take inventory. Much to my surprise, I quickly realized that I had been neglecting to notice the abundant episodes of peace and cooperation that my children share with each other. More difficult to log than the conflict would have been to attempt to document every episode of giggling, imaginative play, kindness, playful wrestling, and even (dare I say it) sharing! This notion of catching them being good – was far more profound of a corrective for me than it was for them. I began to realize that my negative reaction to their conflicts had caused me to severely over-estimate their frequency. I was under the impression that my kids “fight all the time” and I wasn’t noticing the ample evidence that testified to quite the opposite: my kids enjoy many moments of shared friendship.
As I write, it’s several days past this insight-provoking morning and my new appreciation for my kids and their relationship remains intact. Of course there have been squabbles, but it seems like my ability to tolerate them has improved. Even if, from time to time, I offer with surprising effectiveness, “Should I get out the vacuum?”

Keeping track of 80 Nails

I was on my way to my sister’s bridal shower last week. Driving in the car, I happened to glance down at my daughter’s feet to notice extra-long toenails decorated with bits of polish here and there – the vestiges of a once pretty pedicure complete with nail art. Peering down at her feet, I was at first bummed. I had done my best to pull together pretty dresses for the party, but had neglected to take note of fingernails and toenails. I think fingernails and toenails fall into the same category as the inner ear. Those pesky little, easy to forget areas that haunt me on the way to doctors’ appointments, school, and parties. They incite frantic and racing thoughts… “When was her last bath? … I thought I just clipped his nails?” In spite of clean clothes and combed hair, long crooked fingernails with a “dirt French manicure” as we refer to it in our house, let the cat out of the bag. They are those little confessions of hygiene transgression that let others know that we are not quite as on top of things as I would love to be. After reflecting for a moment on the daggers at the end of my daughter’s toes, I began to laugh. I often wonder why I’m so busy. Her nails served as a microcosm for expanding responsibilities. Instead of life back in the day when I only had to worry about my own 10 fingernails and 10 toenails, my responsibilities have expanded to include 80 total nails of which I must keep track. I reflected… If something as benign and silly as fingernails has expanded 400-fold to become such an unmanageable task, what does this tell me about keeping up with life in general? No wonder I always feel like I’m running after the last train that has just left town!

A Trip to the Beach

I recently read the following quote in reference to the marital relationship: “Think of your relationship as the emotional environment in which your kids live. Just as you want them to breathe clean air and drink pure water, you want them to grow up in a loving atmosphere” (Parents magazine, June 2008, p. 108).
We woke up the other morning with the whole day ahead of us. It was a summer holiday and my husband had the day off from work. The sun was shining and it was sure to be a beautiful day! It was Friday which meant a hiatus from swim lessons and summer school. I felt like a little kid in the candy store frantically attempting to discern the best way to use this little gem. The reality is that both my husband and I were tired and an ideal day for us would have been to alternate between lounging around the house and getting a few things done, while our children enjoyed a movie marathon. However, in spite of our fatigue, we made the decision to head to the beach with the kids. We knew that they would enjoy a family outing. Or would they?
Because we pressed ourselves when we didn’t really have it in us, in many ways, our efforts seemed to backfire. Between packing a picnic lunch, loading the car, and stopping by the store for some drinks and ice, the marital bickering was at an all-time high. Silly things of no consequence seduced us into sabotaging the day before it even started. A little bit of traffic and our inability to agree on a radio station left us tense. Despite my efforts to adopt the mantra “a harsh word stirs up anger but a gentle word turns away wrath,” I found myself baiting my poor husband at every turn. Although the day provided some nice weather and time away, as we sat in the nasty traffic for the trip home, I began to decide that we had made a bad choice by dragging our sorry butts to the beach. As I sunk my teeth into that sentiment, my ears tuned into the back seat where I heard my two daughters giggling and playing games. With sibling rivalry having been at an all-time high as of late, the sounds brought pure joy to my heart. Even though we were sitting in traffic, the extra time for the two of them created some space for sisterly bonding. I revisited my initial thought and came to a new conclusion. Life is often very mixed and this day was no different. While some aspects of our day felt like a train wreck, others felt like a pure gift and I guess that’s okay. While I can say that I don’t think I regret our day anymore, it did hold within it a little lesson. I want to give my kids everything, but if I give them everything at the expense of my husband and I running ourselves ragged, I can make a big mistake. I can fail to give them one of the most precious gifts that we have to offer and that is the gift of growing up in a loving atmosphere. I guess that means that my husband and I have to take our own thoughts, feelings, and limitations into consideration. On some days, that may even mean saving the beach for another day.

I was listening to a CD today which mentioned Thorndike’s Law of Effect. Thorndike’s initial law stated that people will repeat behavior when it is followed by pleasurable consequences and that people will discontinue behavior that is followed by negative consequences. The CD stated that Thorndike eventually dropped the second part of his stated law because he found that while people might temporarily suspend behaviors that are followed by negative consequences, the cessation of these behaviors is not permanent. The conclusion was that punishment suppresses behavior but does not eliminate it altogether.
Obviously, as one who thinks often about parenting, I reflected on this brief comment in light of my own strategies with my kids. While I think punishment can be sufficient for those behaviors that we are happy to temporarily suppress, it cannot be the bread and butter of our parenting strategies. Beyond temporarily suppressing unwanted behaviors, I clearly want so much more for my kids. I guess this requires that I get a bit more creative. While grounding, time-outs, and loss of privileges may be simple and straight-forward strategies, they are insufficient to shape the heart of a child. Recognizing the limitations of punishment reminds me to be thoughtful when I confront my kids’ misbehavior. Especially in the heat of the moment when I am tempted to use a display of anger as a way to curb unwanted behaviors, Thorndike’s observations remind me to ask myself, “How far will my reaction really get me?”

Life is a Projective Test

All of life is a projective test for my son which reveals the true essence of what is in his heart: cars, bugs, and creatures that growl. His propensity for identifying all of the above in the world around him was made all the more impressive yesterday when I served him his juice in a hand-me-down pink sippy cup adorned with a picture of Cinderella. In spite of the overwhelmingly feminine theme of the cup, much to my surprise, he pointed to it and began to growl. Upon closer inspection, who would have guessed that the scalloping flow of the princess’s dress actually does look like a crocodile mouth and teeth? Even I could see it (with a little assistance from my husband).
Since my son’s arrival into our lives nearly two years ago, I have often been amazed to discover that I live a life surrounded by cars and bugs, of which, before him, I had little to no awareness. The other day, we took a short trip to K-mart so that I could pick up an anniversary card (my husband and I recently celebrated 13 years… I’m kind of uneasy with the idea that my marriage has become a teenager. I am hoping it doesn’t start acting out!) We couldn’t take two steps in any direction without my son yelling, “Car-car, car-car, car-car!” From piñatas to graduation gifts to a miniscule image of a car parked on the street behind a picture of a pop-up awning on a 5-inch label 10 feet away… We were surrounded by cars. Being with Jonas on a five-minute trip into the store was kind of like when you break up with your boyfriend in high school and then you discover just how many people drive his same car or one quite like it. Everywhere we went, we were barraged with images of cars.
Amazed with Jonas’ visual acuity when it comes to cars and other slimy creatures, my afternoon with my son got me thinking. What would it be like to have eyes that were so acutely attuned to see God’s blessings? Prior to Jonas, I lived amongst numerous motorcycles and images of creatures that growl, and yet I did not realize it. I began to wonder, how many countless gifts from God do I fail to recognize though they surround me in abundance? For Jonas, even common everyday objects reveal resemblances to crocodiles because his mind is so fixed on these things. Could I, too, begin to see even the tinier, less perceptible traces of God’s grace that surround me each day? I wonder…

Longing for Silence

Today the introverts teamed up against the extroverts (thanks to the ingenius strategy of my five-year-old, who also happens to be one of the introverts). We were on a family outing to the movies, and seemingly out of the blue, she suggested the following alliance: “Dad, you and I are going to be on the same team, ok? And our magical ability will be to shoot big apples at Jillian and Mommy that land in their mouths so that they can’t talk. They will be big and green and they will be stuck so they can’t take them out!”

Welcome!

Welcome to my new blog! I am really excited to connect with old friends and new friends through the exchange of ideas and experiences. From family life, to parenting, to reflections on faith, and all the random details in between, I hope this can be a place where our thoughts and perceptions are enlarged as we interact with each other. In service of safety and openness, let us remember to value different opinions through the use of both tone and words that are kind and marked by respect! Welcome aboard!