Kid Conversation

Kendon:"Kaylee, do you want this?" 
Kaylee (holding hand out): "Yes, thank you." 
Kendon(still holding item): "Did you say yes?" 
Kaylee: "Yes."  
Kendon (holding item just out of reach): "Did you say Yes? or No."  
Kaylee: "I said yes." 
Kendon: "Did you say No?... or Yes."  
Kaylee: "I said Yes." 
Kendon (still holding item barely out of Kaylee's reach,) "Did you say Yes?..." 
 [5 minutes of repetition later...] 
Kaylee: "No" 
Kendon: "Okay...Did you say No?" 
Kaylee (laughing): "Yes"
(Kendon walks away with item in hand.)

Celebrate Calm Stop Defiance Live Event in Fairfax County, VA

My kids ate WAY too much sugar a few weeks ago.  They ran around crazy, screaming, not listening to anything I said, and I started to lose it.  I know better, and I know how to do this correctly, but that night, the truth is, I too had eaten WAY too much sugar myself, and I did not feel completely in control of myself.  So my husband comes home to find me yelling at the kids to "CALM DOWN!  YOU ARE OUT OF CONTROL!!!"  (The irony of which they of course picked up on.)

He did not say anything to me right then, he just went in the room, and let me go back and forth from the bedroom where I yelled at him about the kids, to the rest of the house, where I yelled at the kids.  He looked at me with pain in his face, but said nothing.  I raged even more, because I thought he was no help at all!  Had I been thinking clearly, I would have realized that he wanted nothing to do with my anxiety, and neither did my kids.

Finally I realized that my anger was escalating, and I locked the kids in their room to bounce off the walls in there, while I washed the dishes.  (Locking them in their room is not a principle of attachment parenting, but neither is yelling.  I just needed a few minutes of peace to get control of myself.)  So as I did the dishes, my husband comes up behind me, and gently, with a warm smile, starts stroking my back.  He says with a smile, "Are we going to become a screaming family now?" We laugh a little.  I feel the muscles in my back begin to unwind.  Without saying anything else, offers me unspoken words of love in his gentle touch, and I can't hold back a return smile.

His calm was contagious.  I immediately felt humility returning to my soul, and remorse begin to set in.  He made me feel like the luckiest wife on Earth in that moment.

I think that's how God reprimands us.  He lets us feel the difference between what we're choosing, and what He is choosing, and gives us the space to come into His calm if we choose-- to choose love instead of rage-- to chose self-control instead of controlling others.  His way is the way of closeness, the way of kindness, the way of self-mastery, and most of all, choice.  I chose a different evening, and apologized to my children.  I chose love.

I choose love.

Every Girl Deserves a Father

7 years ago this week, I stood in the hallway of a church in a long, flowing white dress.  Its train was carefully jeweled with pearls and tiny roses, each sewn carefully by hand.  My blonde hair had been bundled on top of my head, while my ringlets gently kissed the back of my neck as they brushed from side to side.  A pearled tiara held in place a veil, which flowed gracefully down my back, tied on each side by ribbon.  My hands held the most beautiful flowers I could imagine, white water lilies, nestled in ivy and baby's breath.  My bride's maids stood in front of me, their yellow and green shimmering dresses I had carefully chosen.

My father stood by my side.  In his shadow,  I looked up at this giant's towering frame, wondering if my husband would ever become the man I saw my father become.  I felt secure with my father's arm in mine.  I knew I was loved, and always would be, by this man I still called, "Daddy."  Then it hit me.

I was walking into the unknown, about to be bound to a man I barely knew!  I forgot the two years I had spent learning to love with Kevin, and suddenly I felt as though I were at the precipice of a cliff.  My heart began to race, panic set in, and I started to uncontrollably cry.  This was moments before I was to enter the chapel.  It was all wrong!  I was supposed to marry in the Temple, not a church.  I was supposed to marry a dancer who loved poetry!  Kevin hated poetry!  He worked with his hands, not his feet!  Worst of all, I had seen Kevin get angry, and I didn't like what I saw.  I had seen myself get angry, and I knew he wouldn't like what he would see.  I turned to look at my father, pleading silently, what should I do?

My dad looked through my fear to my heart, and smiled warmly.  He kissed my head, and said gently, "I know.  It's okay.  You're doing the right thing."  He placed his enormous hand on the small of my back, and led me into the room of the church.  We walked an eternity, the 300 or so pairs of eyes were all warm and loving to me.  I hung subtly to Daddy's arm, a rock, firmly lifting my own.  Each step toward the front of the church calmed a few more of my fears.  I was walking into a warm embrace.  I looked only briefly at my mother, I was afraid she would make me cry.  But I could feel my parents smiling at me.  I could feel their love and support.  I knew that no matter what, they would help me in this next phase of my life.  When my father let go, the thought occurred to me, "I could run now, and no one would stop me."  But I stayed, because as I looked into the kind eyes of my soon-to-be husband, I could feel my father's confidence, and I knew that I could love, because first, I was loved.

Reflections of Motherhood

Seeing the Children With Our Own 'I's'

Some time ago, I wrote about my feelings of Attachment Parenting.  "Let me be clear," I had said, "I am not a fan of Attachment Parenting."  I wrote that I tried it with my oldest child, it was a disaster, and I would not wish to make the same mistake again.  I truly felt like I had learned something, and I did not wish to revisit it.  

To be completely honest, however, I hadn't actually looked into the program myself, only heard about it from others.  I based my practice of the program on conversations I had, some for and some against the practice.  I practiced only a watered down version of the program, trying to apply only the outward appearances of it without actually getting to the deeper roots of the beliefs.  I don't believe it was laziness, it was more about anxiety.  I had so much information coming in from so many sources, it was overwhelming!  I think many new parents have been there. 

With parenting magazines, books, chat rooms, blogs, and random advice from family, and hundreds of friends and strangers lolling about my head, how could I find space to utilize the most important parenting tools I owned --my 'I's?

Inspiration, Intuition and Instinct. 

Where did I go wrong??

1 Kings 19: 11 And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:

  12 And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.

  13 And it was so, when Elijah heard it...

I laugh now (and sometimes shudder) at the things I used to say about raising kids--talking about them as though they were horses or dogs and just as trainable.  Books like Back In Control, authors like Dr. Spock, and most parenting magazine articles, all approach kids as though they were a different species.  We begin to separate ourselves from our children as we follow these kinds of trends.  Our natural love for them begins to take a back burner, along with the God-given inspiration and intuition we desperately need, as a subtle wish for perfection, control, pleasing others, and for parenting to be EASY take over.

It doesn't happen all at once, but gradually and steadily, the need for order begins to trump the need to connect with the children.  Parenting books and magazines, most of them, are constant, unchanging and predictable, unlike our children.  So for the anxious new parent, they are particularly tantalizing.  

As our children challenge us more, we cling to these philosophies of control and forced obedience more.  We keep looking for EASY.  We keep wondering when our children will be perfectly behaved like so-n-so's kids.  We wet our pillows and wonder why this isn't working the way it promised to.  If we are convinced enough, we will begin to blame the children for these teachings of the world not working.  "If she weren't so strong-willed!"  “Why won't the kids just listen??”

“To thine own self be true...”

I remember telling my husband early on that I didn't think it was right to let a child cry themselves to sleep. I said, “It seems cruel, and I can see that causing insecurity, not confidence.” But parenting books, mommy chat rooms, and well meaning family and friends told me the opposite. Eventually, because I couldn't control my toddler, and more importantly, my own anxiety, I became convinced that my first instinct was wrong.

Naturally my husband was confused when I changed tunes, and told him we now had to follow the trend of C.I.O. (Cry It Out.) “This way of 'Sleep Training,'” I told him, “will teach the children to comfort themselves. They have to learn that they are okay even if we're not with them.” I was informed that my daughter who clung to me did so because she was “insecure.” I was now conviced that confidence was just around the corner for our little one as long as we didn't 'give in.'

Just an insert: ARE your little children okay if not supervised by a loving adult?? Is a 2-yr-old ready to be left on their own? Why should they NEED to learn something that is absolutely not true??

Second: is that actually what they learn as they cry alone in the dark? How can you control what conclusions their little minds will draw? Is it not just as possible that the child will instead draw the conclusion that he or she is not loved, is not valued, is not safe from abandonment, or an infinite number of other possibilities?

(YES, I did go in and check on them, and tell them I was still here, they were safe, yadda yadda yadda. It is not about me not following the program correctly. I still walked away from them as they cried, and they still reached for me as I pulled myself away from them, and went to the hallway and wept—creating unnatural physical and emotional barriers between us.)

As my children grew, my daughter with whom I first followed a watered down version of attachment parenting, then turned around completely and followed C.I.O the most rigidly, was the most insecure. She was afraid to try things, she hid behind my legs constantly, she was afraid of strangers, she had no confidence in her abilities at all. I thought that if she didn't cry when I left her, that was confidence. That's what I was told. She stopped crying when I left her, and I swelled with temporary pride.  Now we were free to go out and leave her with a sitter, plop her in her bed and walk away... AHH. Life was so EASY!  We had a short period of time, about a year and a half, when we thought we were the BEST PARENTS EVER! Our child was submissive and broken. See? She'll do anything we make her do!

But it wasn't confidence that she had learned, it was hopelessness. She had done everything in her power to re-attach, and was pushed away at every turn. Eventually she just gave up. When I was really frank with myself, I could see that her resting self, as in when she wasn't being entertained, cheered, or distracted, was sad and mellow.

Kaylee was 19 months old when my second child was born. By then she had been broken. I followed my first instincts once again with my newborn baby. Once again, I felt I should keep my baby close, breastfeed, and let him sleep in our room. He was next to our bed in his crib, with it pushed all the way up to the bed and the side let down. I wanted quick access to him, and to be able to hear him breathe all night. This continued with him for over a year.

Meanwhile, I was doing the opposite with my daughter as I tried to force this toddler to grow up, and not NEED me anymore. I was completely conflicted.

Kaylee's rage started manifesting about a year later. She began fighting us in other ways she COULD control. Suddenly eating was a battle, potty-training was a nightmare, getting dressed, shopping, and any other aspect of life where I needed her cooperation. Now it was WE who were frightened! Who was this child that had once been so mellow?? Where was all this anger coming from?? I wasn't ready to look at what I had done, so I just started losing it all:

I lost my temper. I lost my composure. I lost my self respect and self control. Worst of all, I lost the confidence of my little children.

I KNEW something was wrong. But I didn't know what! What had I done wrong? The whole world couldn't be wrong about parenting, I thought. So many sources agreed! I decided it must have been that first instinct to attach that had been wrong. I began to gradually push my son away as well, so he wouldn't be as “insecure” as my daughter was. I had lost my confidence in my own instincts completely.  Naturally my son began to express and harbor hurt and rage as well.

My greatest moment as a mom was when I threw out the books and magazines.  My family took a sharp turn for the better when I emptied my mind of everything I thought I knew, and EVERYTHING I had been told, and listened FIRST to the still small voice.  THEN that voice directed me to the information I needed to validate and expound on what I already felt was right.

A wise source will inspire you to follow your own intuition on behalf of your children, and most of all, seek out personal inspiration. I have since found several tools to help me in my path that help my I's grow stronger, not weaker. (Celebrate Calm, Attachment Parenting -the real version-, Scream-Free Parenting by Hal Runkel, Take Your Time by Easwaran, to name just a few. Not to mention scriptures, prayer, church, The Ensign, church websites and talks, and so many other religious sources that offer peace, assurance, and guidance.)

I continue to have struggles with my kids, because of course, we're not perfect. There are many days I get discouraged, but never, ever do I feel confused. I do not say any more, “I just don't know what else to do!”

I am not yanked around by every new parenting trend I hear about. My kids are not subjected to Super Nanny, “Let's fix the kids” or other quick-fix attempts at changing their outward behavior. We know where we're going, and how we're getting there. Even the children are invested and know about our parenting goals, because they are not parenting, but family goals. We have personal boundaries that guide us—that have become the cushioned boarders of our family life--that keep us on a narrow path. We no longer wander from one experimentation to another as our kids take on the role of the lab rats.

Now, if I do experiment, I make myself the lab rat. But I do not do anything unless the still small voice tells me it is good.

I was once told by the Lord in a blessing, “Follow no advice, not even that of your parents, if the Holy Spirit does not prompt you to do so.” I ignored that admonition when my anxiety took over. When my anxiety was under control, and I was back in the driver's seat, I could finally listen to that most wise counsel.

In order for me to truly change directions--to take that first step of letting go of what I thought I had leaned about parenting, I had to turn to my God. I didn't know what to do, but I knew I needed help. I knew that I was on a path I didn't like. The Lord let me know that I was leaning on my own understanding completely, and was making a mess of my family because of it. His spirit led me to see things through HIS eyes. It was really hard at first, I must have cried for weeks on end, ashamed, embarrassed, and humbled. But gradually, it became easier to humble myself and let go of my need for power and control, and finally let HIM be my navigator!

It didn't change all at once! That's not how real change works. But now looking back, I can see how far the Lord has brought us. I praise and give thanks to Him over and over again. I write this, hoping that someone somewhere will read it, and not make the same mistakes I did. Make your own mistakes, not mine, (as my mother often says!)

Adendum: What I un-learned , learned, and re-learned by watching my third child:

Real confidence in a child is not manifested by not crying when you walk away. If they are not crying when you walk away, it does not mean they are confident. Shyness does not equal insecurity. A need to connect and remain connected to parents does not signal insecurity. A desire for comfort and consistent affection from parents is not insecurity.

Confidence is:

knowing that no matter what happens, you are loved

knowing it's okay to try and fail, and try again

knowing where to turn and receive comfort when you are afraid, lonely, hurting, or sad

knowing you are safe

knowing that some GOOD things in your life are certain and unchanging

Confidence is manifested when:

A child is willing to try, fail, and try again.

A child is able to progress by teaching themselves as well as learning from others.

A child's resting self, (when not stimulated, entertained, or distracted,) is joyful.

A child knows how to express and receive love, first with family members, then others gradually.

A child uses the above knowledge to propel themselves ahead in their development

A child can be flexible and adapt whithout being broken

A child trusts you and believes you will keep your promises

Confidence is gained by:

Creating an environment that teaches the above, with consistent patience and love

Abolishing anxiety and fear

Trusting and believing the Lord every minute of every day

Don the Gas Masks People, I'm Cleaning out the Fridge!

One time my sister told me she discovered she had been inadvertently holding her breath every time she walked by the kids' bathroom.  I laughed heartily, and thought, hmmmm, I'll have to watch out for that one.  So imagine my chagrin when I realized that I had been inadvertently holding my breath every time I opened the fridge.

To be honest, I discovered this a couple days ago.  But when the odor began to hang on, even after I'd closed the fridge and started breathing once more, I surrendered, and started cleaning the fridge.  Yes, I know, the town of Floyd is thankful that the vultures are no longer circling.

While cleaning the fridge, I ponder on the number of uneaten leftovers, and wonder why I bother sealing up the uneaten food, knowing most of it will never get eaten.  Then I look at the sheer volume of leftovers, and wonder why I bother cooking at all.

Leftover coleslaw.  Does anybody eat this stuff?  I love me some fresh slaw, but only eat it at potluck dinners.  Making--a.k.a. spooning it into a dish--and eating it at home just seems, nasty, and a little depressing.

I encounter my spaghetti sauce that I had felt so smug for adding to the Prego:  parsley, basil, rosemary, and meat fried with the same plus a fist-full of savory and other random Italian seasonings.  What resulted was a mess of flavors we had to choke down after chewing as little as possible.  I still remember my kids' poor faces when they encountered the long sprigs of rosemary.  Why did I save it?  Well, because my mother is apparently trapped in my mind.

This would be the same reason I saved a large pot of inedible potatoes salted far beyond perfection.  The mother in my mind said, "Those were expensive potatoes!  You can't throw them out!"  So I froze them until I had satisfied the voice in my head, then secretly sneaked into the kitchen one night when she must have been sleeping in a far nook of my encephalon, closed my eyes, and tossed the offensive spuds.  Where they went, I may never know.

Today as I continued rifling through the fridge, smelling potential suspects, I discovered that I had apparently created a crude sort of beer with a jar of barley water that had been sitting in the door of the fridge since last summer.  Interesting to note, it's not hard at all to make nasty smelling, fermented beverages that no one would ever want to drink!  Just ask the tomato plant that got to be the recipient of the stuff, another experiment to see if I can rid the area of some bothersome beetles and caterpillars eating my tomato leaves.  It may instead rid the area of some green bulbs that wanted to grow up to be red juicy fruits that could have gotten shoved into the back of the same fridge some day.  Only time will tell.

I end my project when the sink is full of empty containers.  The fridge may not be finished, but a full sink is the maximum of my dish-doing ambitions, a.k.a. the most my dishwasher will hold.  This tidbit of information tells you just how large my sink is, which is big enough that I was able to bathe in it one day when the water filter was stopped up, a story for another day.  It also tells you about the even larger number of leftover Gladware containers cluttering up my cold storage.

In the end, I have to bag up my trash and take it out to our deck box, where we keep our bags of trash until we can drive them to the dumpsters.  We of course don't have curb-side pick-up like those fancy city-folk in Bent Mountain.

The deck box is the third and hopefully final solution to our trash dilemma.  I used to set our bags in the garage, and Kevin would take them out each morning on the way to work.  But that attracted mice, and it was a bother to walk all the way downstairs.  So then we bought a large outdoor trash can which the wind and dogs laughed at as they knocked it over and spread the contents amongst themselves.  Finally, a deck box screwed down to a utility trailer parked behind the house was Kevin's final idea.  This one seems to work, as long as we reflexively hold our breaths each time we walk by it.  Some skills just come naturally.

Part of the reason the trash is so stinky, and cleaning out the fridge is so dreaded, is because I don't have a garbage disposal.  I have felt very sorry for myself for the past year, and often gripe and complain about this fact to anyone who will listen.  My husband refuses to install one, for several reasons I think are flimsy at best.

When I self-righteously whine about this to my friends here, most of them stare blankly, with a slight twitch of their mouths that seems to say, "I lived without electricity or running water for 3 years in the early 90's.  I think you'll survive."

And so I do survive, but often I wonder if not having this little amenity is just giving me really good practice in holding my breath every time I open the lid to the kitchen trash.