Vista Point

If you’ve ever taken a scenic drive, I’m sure you’ve noticed the signs that direct you to those pullout spots where travelers can stop to take in the view and maybe even snap a couple pictures. It is here that the driver is relieved from the challenge of trying to experience the majestic scenery amidst managing the wheel of the car, the winding roads, and the safety of the passengers. No more multitasking and fleeting views. Instead everyone can inhale deeply, take their time, and soak in all the beauty that nature has to offer. It is here that the details can emerge. The visual intricacies, the smells, the feel of the breeze on your skin…

I’m beginning to think that spending quality time with my kids serves as a sort of vista point in my life. So often, in the process of racing through my day (working, cooking dinner, picking up the house, throwing in a load of laundry, etc), the little faces of my kiddos begin to mimic the blurred images that race past my side window when I’m driving in my car. I don’t fully listen to the words they say. I neglect to notice the expressions on their face. I lose touch with the texture of who they are.

Yesterday was my day to spend a little quality time with my middle daughter. We enjoyed a tasty breakfast together at one of our favorite spots and then headed out for a wonderful hike in the foothills near our home. In the ½ day we spent together, I was able to notice so many things. Released from the rush of a busy schedule, I studied her little body as she climbed in the car. I noticed the contour and size of her little legs. They seemed so small and cute compared to mine. I noticed the awkwardness of her gait as one who has not quite yet mastered coordination and control of her 6-year-old body. In spite of her lean build, my eyes were drawn to the soft roundness of her arms. It really hasn’t been that long since she was a baby.

As I reflected on my day, I was filled with gratitude for the opportunity to move beyond simply meeting her various needs for food, clean clothes, and assistance with her homework, to simply look at her as the beautiful creation that God has made her to be. I feasted on the joy of a deeper kind of listening to the feelings behind her words. I made mental notes of how her little hand felt in mine as we traversed the steepness of the trail. I tried to memorize her giggle as I cooled her pony-tailed head with my drinking water.

I sit here this morning with lingering feelings of a delightful inner warmth. I took in a gorgeous view and I am challenged. I want to find ways to enjoy my kids even more. To recognize when I’m becoming a mindless driver who races through the winding mountain road never stopping to take a look at the breathtaking beauty around me. I hope to learn to be more mindful of those signs pointing in the direction of a vista point.

A Romantic SEND-away

Sometimes, as a busy working mom who is part of a busy family, I have had a difficult time redefining my definition of fun in a way that is true for me now. Fun used to be synonymous with “going.” There was nothing fun about staying home. Staying home meant boring, monotonous, isolating. Fun conjured up words like beach, party, amusement park, shopping, restaurant, driving, visiting, laughing, and mingling. Fun meant a cute outfit and make-up. In my grown up life as a working mom of three, I confess that those kinds of things sound fun in theory, but on most days would require a gigantic vitamin B-12 shot in the butt in order for me to pull them off. No matter how many times I tell myself that going out is fun, truthfully, it doesn’t always sound fun anymore.

Despite this personal change, I oftentimes succumb to the voice that tells me what I should find fun. Usually, I drag myself to my “fun”, feign engagement, and then drag myself home. Every once in a while, I put my foot down in favor of naps, mindless puttering around the house, and staying in my pajamas. I don’t do this near enough.

This weekend, my husband and I had the unexpected opportunity to leave my children overnight with my parents. Thrilled at the newfound freedom, I was like a child in a candy shop. I planned and replanned the next 36 hours in my head ten times on the drive home from my parents’ house. First we were going to breakfast and then Disneyland. Then I decided we were going to eat breakfast and then head to the Getty Museum. Finally, I landed on a hike to the Hollywood sign and a late lunch in Pasadena. I was exhausted by the time I got home simply from thinking about it. Even so, I mustered up some energy and enthusiasm in order to explore these many “fun” options with my husband. After a brief discussion of our options, no longer able to ignore my fatigue, still feeling ashamed of my boringness, I sheepishly asked my husband, “What would you think if we stayed home and worked around the house? Would that be too pathetic?” As it turns out, he was holding out for the same kind of fun. He appeared to sigh a sigh of relief as he admitted, “I had been thinking that might be nice.”

And so we did it. Instead of painting the town red, we chose the “romantic send-away.” The kids were gone and we stayed home. We completed our sentences, took NO breaks for changing diapers or refilling sippy cups, and got a few things done. At the end of the day, we felt refreshed, connected, and a little less stressed. While it didn’t exactly make for exciting reporting (I do apologize...) and I’m still not sure if it was technically romantic, if you ask my husband or me, it made for a great day! And if given the choice, we'd do it all over again!

P.S. A little housework didn’t stop me from wearing some make-up and putting on a skirt!

One of the MANY reasons why I love my husband…

Every morning when I see this little guy’s feet, I’m reminded of yet another reason why I love my husband. I guess you could say that I’m a little bit of an absent-minded professor when it comes to tending to some of my children’s more basic needs. Though I obsessively reflect and incessantly pontificate on the deeper values of parenting, I have been known to forget things like jackets or food.

For the sake of the kids, I’m grateful to report that my husband is just the opposite. While I’m lost in my own world, thinking things to death, he faithfully tends to many important details. One of which is the following:

Every night before he climbs into bed, he makes the rounds to each one of our children. It is at their bedside that he gently and imperceptibly places his hand on their leg or arm for a temperature check. He diligently makes any necessary adjustments. If it’s summer time, he’s turning up the fan. In the winter, it’s often pulling covers tight around the little restless bodies that have inadvertently worked their way out of the blankets. More recently, it’s been addressing Jonas’s cold feet by accessorizing the little guy with slipper socks.

Morning after morning, as I’m greeted by this little boy in his Dr. Seuss-like attire bumbling around the house, I think of the tender-hearted man that I am privileged to call my husband and I can’t help but smile.

A Parent Report Card

I dropped my daughter off at school crying yesterday. It was one of those judgment calls where a parent has to decide amidst many plausible alternatives, which is the best course of action. She had asked me to write her a note excusing her from P.E. due to an ankle injury of mysterious and unknown origins. I decided against writing the note. Although I stood strong in the face of tearful pleading, I was plagued with uncertainty as I drove off.

I delegated the making of lunches to my 10 and 6 year old and the strangest thing happened. All of the sudden those wretched school lunches fit for livestock were now a fine option. They were an easy win over the drudgery of making sandwiches and filling water bottles. They haven’t had a lunch from home in weeks. As I contemplate this shift, this could be a clear stroke of genius on my part. I have literally saved myself several hours per week in shopping for and making lunches. I have saved my ears another several hours a week in complaints over the content of said lunches. “I’m sick of lunch meat. You always make us the same stuff. I don’t really like sandwiches anyways.” On the other hand, if I’m totally honest with you, as I contemplate my children stabbing their straw through the BAG of milk at school and eating greasy corndogs and a cookie, I feel negligent and my heart aches. I wonder if I’ve shirked an important part of nurturing my children. I’m haunted by an image of a lovely mom in an apron handing each child their home-made lunch as they skip out the door just after receiving a soft kiss on the forehead. I’m not that mom.

From the rising of the sun to its eventual setting, parenting is inundated with choices. Some choices are easy. “No, you cannot have ice cream for dinner.” Many choices require significant insight and judgment or perhaps soothsaying and foretelling. Not a day goes by that I can’t envision some questionable decision that I make showing up on the proverbial couch. “Well, you see Doctor. I was 6 years old when it seemed as though my mom just stopped caring. One day, she was packing me a delightful lunch and the next day she wouldn’t do it anymore. It was like I didn’t matter to her.”

As I contemplate these parenting conundrums, I long for the days of report cards where someone who was wiser could assess my performance and provide me with specific and objective feedback. My performance, effort, and skills were evaluated in many different categories and I knew. I knew if I had done a good job, I knew where I needed to improve, and I knew that my teacher recognized that I was doing my best. “A+ for effort!”

I love my kids. What I wouldn't do for a little reassurance that my mistakes are not catastrophic and that everything is going to turn out OK.

The "Easymix" Life

For those of you who might be inclined to think that there is no big difference experienced by those of us who add to our career, the experience of motherhood, think again. My experience is dramatically different before I even sit down at my desk at 8 a.m. A typical routine for me as a working mom does not include a quiet house as I put on make-up, select my clothes, and allow my mind to wander sampling mental bits and pieces. “Hmmm…. I wonder if I should wear my hoop earrings or the flowers today… It looks like it’s going to be in the 70’s today… Maybe I’ll check the weather report….” There is no lackadaisical routine wrapped up with a drive-through at Starbuck’s and a little talk radio in the car. Oh no. My morning routine is marked by the frantic throwing of make up in the general direction of my face, tearing a brush through my hair, and quickly jumping in clothes laid out the night before that I may or may not have had time to iron. (Today it was “may not”)

Why such the rush? Well, I’m not simply preparing myself for the day, I am also coaxing three little ones out of bed and off to school. Scattered in between my own pathetic attempts at grooming and packing are the orchestrated events involving three additional heads of hair, three complete outfits, three pairs of shoes, three breakfasts, two packed lunches , currently, one dose of antibiotics, and whatever moods and emotions are being served up for the day. Today, the mood of the day was “weepy and tired”. In spite of one whimpering on the couch instead of eating breakfast and another lying on the floor of the garage bathing it in tears, the miracle of the day was that we actually made it out the door on time. We popped over to the neighbors’ to pick up their children, swung by daycare to drop off the little guy, engaged in five minutes of coaxing his tired arms from around my leg, and were on our way to the kids’ school. Ms. Whimper on the couch whimpered in the car as well. While we did have a champ who was Little Ms. On-time today, she turned a corner when she discovered she forgot her lunch. Tears streamed down her face as she was haunted by thoughts of hot lunch, “I don’t like mashed potatoes!” In the midst of it all, Ms. Whimper asked to borrow my cell phone and began to type up her grievance and pass it to me - the car version of a secret.

We eventually made it to school. Hallelujah! On this particular day, I had to park the car and stop by the school office to buy new lunch tickets. This is when the day really got interesting. A few minutes after completing my office transaction, my friend’s daughter was escorted back to the office with a fat lip and a bloody face. Apparently she had tripped. I comforted her, coordinated with office personnel, and made multiple attempts to contact her mother on the phone to inform her that a permanent tooth was loose. My phone rang again, but in the midst of the mayhem, I missed the call. Upon checking voicemail, I soon discovered a message from daycare. Never a good sign. Listening to the message, I learned that my little man was not simply sleepy and grumpy. He had vomited. The next order of business as I race off to try to make my scheduled appointment (14 minutes and counting), was to make phone call #8: the dreaded conversation with my husband to see who might like to miss work for sick child duty.

“The messages we receive about mothering promise an Easymix lifestyle: having kids will prove not only fun and good for us, but will blend effortlessly with the other ingredients that go into making up the ‘good life’” ~Susan Maushardt of The Mask of Motherhood

Hmmmm…..

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!