Our Childish Ways

About a year ago I moved to Instagram as a more expedient means for communicating to parents, but I occasionally write a blog post, as some ideas need more words and thoughts than can be effectively communicated in a few sentences. Today is my one of my occasionally(s).

In John 9 is the story of a man, blind since birth, that Jesus and his disciples ”passed by.” This man, blind and a beggar, generated a plethora of questions, from the disciples to the Pharisees, friends and neighbors to the man’s own parents. Interestingly, none of the questions from any were out of concern or compassion for this man.

While answering the disciples, the Bible says that Jesus knelt, spat on the ground, made a mud clay out of the spittle and “anointed” the man’s eyes with it. He then told this man to go wash in the pool of Siloam. The man went straightway, washed his eyes as he was told, and received his sight.

This miracle set off a firestorm of discussion – apparently, all over the town. How did he do it? Why did he do it? Was it legal for him to do it? The greatest to the least wanted answers, and they grilled the healed man, not once, but twice, when finally he said, “Look, I don’t know if he’s good or he’s bad, I only know that once I was blind and now I can see.”

I have thought a lot about this story and the miracle that seemed to happen almost by accident. Because I live now and not then, I can figure out the “how” question. Assuming that Jesus is indeed the son of God, which I believe He is, I’ve watched enough Law and Order to know that in that spittle was the DNA of very God of very God. Of course the mud healed his eyes. It couldn’t not. The miracle is not so miraculous after all.

But I do not think restoring the man’s sight was the miracle. I think the miracle is that this seemingly random man, blind since birth, hearing the disciples and Jesus talking about him without so much as acknowledging him, allowed Jesus to put mud on his eyes, and when told to go to the pool of Siloam to wash it off, he did it. Without explanation or understanding, this blind man obeyed.

There is a mother duck who has returned to our neighborhood for the third year in a row this spring to hatch a new family of ducklings. This weekend I was fortunate enough to observe this mother and her brood swimming in our neighborhood pool. As you might expect, this little family soon had a bevy of observers.

I watched as this Momma duck confidently led her nine new babies who swam dutifully in a line behind her, as their growing audience watched with amazement and awe. Suddenly she swam to the edge and hopped out. Obediently, the ducklings did the same. 5 made it; 4 tried, but with no success. Awwww went every woman on the observation deck. The mother duck, however, seemed unfazed.

She returned to the pool, jumped in, followed by the 5 who made it out, the remaining 4 falling in line behind them. She took a loop around the pool, returned to the edge and jumped out again. And like before, the babies followed in line. This time 8 made it. The last lone little duckling tried, but remained in the pool. Every woman watching exclaimed, Someone needs to help him, most moving towards the pool to do just that.

Thankfully Momma Duck intervened. Back in the pool she jumped, followed by the 8 and the one who had not quite hurdled the edge. Just like before, she circled the pool, went to the edge and jumped out. And this time, all 9 made it, to the thunderous applause of their adoring audience.

Nature understands what the current parenting culture does not.  That wise mother duck knew that there was only one way for her babies to get out of the pool. They had to do it on their own. She never left them, but neither did she rush in and help them. She waited confidently and patiently for all 9 to do it themselves.

And here’s the real irony. In a culture whose parents are so consumed by their child’s self-esteem, these same parents are quick to rush in and explain, demonstrate, teach, tutor and help – instead of just standing patiently and confidently by as their babies figure it out themselves. With the very best of intentions, they are quick to brand their duckling as the one who couldn’t do it on his own.

If only I had had my camera with me.

I always tell parents that if they want their children to listen to them, they need to talk less, not more. I decided to take my own advice. I have felt for some time that possibly my blogging had outlived its usefulness, yet I didn’t want to lose my connection to the parent community. Time for a change and the time was today.

On November 8, 2015, I got another girl! My middle son proposed and she said yes -best Christmas gift ever. Welcome dear one . . . we all love you.

I haven’t been writing much lately – not that the words aren’t in my head, they just aren’t making it to the page. And for good reason. I have teamed up with a rehabilitation firm and have been busy learning to integrate a physical component to parent coaching, for concerning behaviors that are persistent and sometimes extreme.

Physical challenges do not eliminate personal responsibility – explanations are never excuses – but sometimes the challenges have a biological component. I remain ever faithful to John Rosemond and his “brand” of coaching, but I am excited to extend his wisdom to a holistic approach. More to come in the New Year.

Until then, I wish you the very merriest of Christmases and a well-behaved, personally responsible New Year!

Best,

Today would have been my mother’s 90th birthday. She is so much a part of who I am that I miss her and feel as if I never lost her all at the same time. I will be with her one day and I know when that happens, I will find her in the Mother Hall of Fame. Knowing my mom, she will be running it.

I was a sensitive, insecure, anxious little kid and I was blessed to get the mother I got, because she had the distinct gift of being sensitive and caring and aware of my needs and feelings, while at the same time remaining distinctly herself. She was my rock. I never doubted her love, her devotion, her abiding joy to be my mom. At the same time, I was distinctly aware that my life was my life and her life was hers. She did not blur the lines. I respected her as much as I loved her. She understood boundaries.

For many of today’s moms, that balance is missing. The boundaries between mother and child are so fused, so blended, so vague that it is no wonder that moms today describe parenting as the hardest job they have ever done. It is no wonder that they are exhausted physically and emotionally. It is no wonder that they are overwhelmed.

I am confident that my mother had her hard days. No doubt she had moments of worry and fatigue. But I did not overwhelm my mom. My brother did not overwhelm my mom (although I think he gave it a good try). She ran the house, she helped my dad with his business, and I’m pretty sure she ran the church, all the while caring for and raising two children. And as much as I needed her love and care, I needed her confidence and sense of self. I needed the boundaries, because without them, neither of us would have survived.  With them, we thrived.

I chose the picture above because I love that a woman with such a sense of self and purpose, a woman who demanded respect and responsibility, a woman of such care and compassion, was also a woman with a sense of humor who allowed my brother to put a Mickey Mouse hat on her head and sunglasses on her face and take her picture in her robe while on the phone. We were rolling on the floor laughing and she never skipped a beat in the conversation.

From my friend Sarah Hamaker at www.parentcoachnova.com, good words for moms. Dad might not do it just like mom, but doesn’t make his way wrong - just different from mom. And kids need both.

My path to work takes me through several residential neighborhoods and the timing of my commute coincides with the presence of “bunches” of school children standing waiting for their bus. Bunches of primarily middle schoolers, as many high schoolers drive to school and elementary children have already arrived at school an hour prior. Bunches of children huddled together with their earbuds and cell phones. Bunches of children looking down at their phones, not talking to each other. Ah . . . the seeds of isolation.

But Janet you say. I have found some good friends in the digital world. I have made some real connections through a screen. And I have no doubt that you did. Because you are an adult and my assumption is that you know and understand and have experienced real connection with real friends through real relationship. But an 8th grade boy? A 7th grade girl?

But Janet you say. The schools require the use of technology. A lot of homework now happens on a computer screen. I am not suggesting throwing the baby out with the bathwater. I am suggesting boundaries and parental oversight. I am suggesting a few house rules for the responsible use of technology. And, I am suggesting serious consequences when those rules are broken.

But Janet you say. My kids need a phone for safety. They need to be able to get in touch with me. OK. I’m good with that. But, they don’t need an iPhone for safety. They don’t need to take pictures or connect to Facebook or Instagram or the internet. They just need to be able to get in touch with you.

And then I arrive at work and talk to parents whose kids have their days and nights mixed up because they are up all night on their computer. Kids who are not doing well in school because they are too tired to participate. Kids who have only digital friends. Kids in all kinds of trouble because they connected on line to all kinds of dangerous people. Kids for whom the seeds of isolation not only planted, but flourished.

The final step for my kids to receive their driver’s license was for them to appear before the judge with one or both parents.  In that meeting, the judge made it quite clear that driving a car was a privilege and at any given moment, a parent had full authority to revoke said privilege.

Same rules should apply to technology. For the most part, phones, iPads, computers, internet service, etc. belong to the parents, not the child, as parents are the ones who purchase the equipment and pay for its use. All should be considered a privilege, all should be used within strict rules and parental oversight and all can and should be revoked when used irresponsibly. Period. No isolation seeds falling on fertile ground – not on your watch.

We google. We read. We research. We worry. We fret. We fix. We protect. We talk to the other parents. We compare. Sometimes we judge. We try to control. Sometimes we manipulate. Our feet hit the floor running and we do not stop until we can’t put one foot in front of the other. All in an effort to get our kids to behave, to learn, to succeed.

And sometimes it works . . . sometimes. More often than not, however, we humans seem to have to learn our lessons the hard way. Most of us have to figure it out ourselves. Age is not a factor in this equation. Neither is parenting, unless the factor is to parent (verb) less and be a parent (noun) more. Unfortunately, parenting (the verb) does not eliminate the lessons of childhood, but rather extends them into their adulthood, where they are much harder learned.

I know whereof I speak. I am 59 years old and am just now learning how to be still and know. I have raised four of my own and I know what it is to run the race. I have done my fair share of fixing and protecting and fixing. I understand the spin because I have survived it. I have lived a life of faith since childhood, but I have only lived a life of grace in the past year.

I went to see the movie Far From the Madding Crowd. At the end of the movie, the hero looks at the heroine and asks her if she will let him love her now. What a great question. Behold I stand at the door and knock. For the first time in my life, I had a good answer. I said yes to life and grace. I said yes to be still and know.

Being a parent is not the hardest thing you will do. The hardest thing you will do is stop doing. The hardest thing you will do is sit before your feet hit the floor. The hardest thing you will do is be still and know. The irony is, the less you do, the more you will find you accomplish.

My mother used to say that the hardest job in the world is being the parent of an adult child. Those words have stuck with me over the years and now as the mom of four adult children myself, I get it. When baby birds fly the nest, mama birds do not follow. The new job is all about letting go and being quiet. Their turn to live their lives and make their choices and learn their lessons.

But then I had the thought that it really is not that much different than when they were baby birds. They may have still been in my nest, but they were constantly making choices and learning lessons. Although I was with them to provide and protect and occasionally “offer” a few consequences to some of their less favorable choices, the choices were nevertheless theirs to make. My roof, my rules, but always their choice. No victims.

And then I had the thought that if it is hard for me to watch my kids “learn it the hard way,” if it is hard for me to stand down and be quiet, how much harder it must be for the God of all that is and will be, to watch me do the same. To be able to swoop in and fix, but choose to wait and watch and let me make my choices and learn my lessons. Behold I stand at the door and knock. He never busts the door down. He always waits for the invitation. And He never turns me away because of a bad choice. He’s the good Father. Grace.

The hard part of parenting is not about age or stage. It is not about behavior or grades or money or time. It is not about what we say or do. The hardest part of being a parent is about what we don’t say and what we don’t do. It’s about loving someone enough to let them suffer their own consequences. It is about allowing someone to fail and then recover, without busting the door down to fix it. It is about silently suffering their choices and offering grace.

We all talk to our kids about saying no and walking away from the dangerous temptations they will encounter as they grow up, but reading this post by Glennon Melton made me realize the greater need for teaching them how to say no. A must read.

Now that’s what I am talking about!  A high school asking kids to be responsible for themselves - mistakes and all. Helping their students by not helping them. My friend Don Jacobsen brings us this story:

So, Sean gets to school on the school bus Monday morning. But, bummer, he forgot his homework assignment - or his lunch - or his backpack. Or something. No problem; call mom and she'll bring it, right? Sorry. Displayed prominently in the entrance to the school is this sign: "Attention students and parents. We do not accept items for drop-off such as lunches, backpacks, homework, or sports equipment. Please plan accordingly." Whoa. What's this about?

Well, the faculty at Easyville High School (I won't identify the school since that might sound like I was advertising for them, but it's a true story.) has taken the position that high school students ought to be responsible. That is, the high school years comprise that period of life when responsibility needs to develop. They want to help. So, bring what you need for the day or go without it. Kind of like life.

I also like some of the things the school says about its goals:"Easyville High School is committed to the development of the 21st century student by providing rigorous courses that foster intellectual curiosity. It is also committed to the students' personal development by utilizing curriculum that will focus on individual character... Individuals will demonstrate personal integrity, the highest standards of behavior, and initiative in their education." Amazing. I like it. It seems like one of those wonderful settings where the school and the family are in cahoots in seeking the best interest of the student and of the community. 

Years ago when I was teaching at a university in Michigan I came across this statement that helped to shape my goals in the classroom: "To educate the head and not the heart only increases the capacity of the scholar to do evil." Education is not just about information; education is preparation for life. I'm convinced Easyville High is on to something.

Not surprisingly, there has been push back from some of the parents in Easyville. We probably should expect that in today's environment. But not many of the kids fuss about it. They understand. When asked how he felt about the rule, one junior student replied, "Well, it's kind of a bother, but it's probably a good rule. I don't want to show up at work some day to build a house and forget my hammer." I think he gets it.

The following is a direct quotation from this book by Karen Purvis, written for the parents of adopted children, foster children and at risk children, but her words are good for ALL parents of any children.

The goal is for a child to interrupt his or her own misbehavior at the point of intention, instead of parents interrupting a misbehavior at the point of action.

If you say “Stop!” and your [child] does in fact stop, that means he had to consciously and deliberately control his own action. That’s a real accomplishment. If you just pull that knife or plate away, you’ve denied him the opportunity to physically encode the correct response. Pulling stuff out of the way turns the interaction into a game, or an arms race. Instead, use words to communicate and help your child build desirable habits. The only time to physically intercept your child is if someone’s physical safety is in immediate and serious danger. 

From my friend and blogger Lindsey Mead, the following message that all moms cannot hear enough. 

Jessica Lahey’s book, The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed, is an absolute marvel of honesty and rigor and gentle reminders that truly one of parenting’s central tasks is just getting out of the way.  I read it and loved it and am looking forward to reviewing it in a couple of weeks forGreat New Books.

In short, reading the The Gift of Failure felt like staring in a mirror.  The book’s central tenet is one I share without hesitation intellectually, but it is also one I fall short of meeting in myriad ways on a regular basis.  Jessica’s persuasive writing helped me see what stands in the way of my being the parent I want to be.  Since reading it I’ve given Grace full responsibility for making family dinner one night (she did great, and told me afterwards that she felt proud of herself), stopped re-folding clothes in Whit’s closet that aren’t as neat as I’d like, and given both children more daily jobs around the house.  I also watched Grace make a mistake with her job (she walks a local dog twice a week) and work her way out of it, including direct communication with the adult on the other end.  I stayed out of it, even though I could easily have helped.  It was a learning experience all around, though there were certainly some tears.

I was recently asked what I thought was the biggest challenge facing parents today.

I think the biggest trouble facing parents today is a crippling availability of information. Parenting is not a science, it is an art, and as such it is not confined to a set of rules or instructions. Today’s parents have lost their inner voice. My own mother had Dr. Spock and the pediatrician as her back up, but she trusted her gut to know what was best for my brother and me. Her gut was her confidence and it was her authority. And for the most part, her gut was rarely wrong. I learned most of my mothering skills at the hand of that gut. And all the technology and information in the world will never replace that.

And then just last week, I went to hear Brene Brown in Washington DC and heard these words:

Wholehearted living is about engaging in our lives from a place of worthiness. It means cultivating the courage, compassion and connection to wake up in the morning and think, “No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough.” It’s going to bed at night thinking, “Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am brave and worthy of love and belonging.”

Let go of who you think you’re supposed to be; embrace who you are.

Go Brene. I call it grace. And I am convinced that it is a missing component in parenting world. I am sure it is step one for all the sweet, tense, nervous, afraid, overburdened moms who come to me, paralyzed by information and opinion. Mothers who are held impotent by their fear that they will somehow emotionally damage their children. Mothers who live under the pressure the world offers them and then with the absolute best of intentions pass that pressure on to their children. Mothers who are afraid to trust their gut.

Accept the fallen world. Own your imperfection. Grace, grace, amazing grace. We cannot give away what we do not have. We need grace and the joy and freedom it gives us. And so do our kids. We need to find our voice and our gut and trust it. Grace, grace, amazing grace.

When I think about when my kids were little, my happiest memories are always in the most ordinary of moments. For instance my daughter, my oldest, loved The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins and there was a season of my life (and hers) when I heard those songs in my sleep. Combine that with her love of dress-ups and an audience and her best friend Emily and our home never lacked for “entertainment.”  

Or when my oldest son found an old ball of yarn and asked if he could have it. With my blessing, he went down to the basement (our ‘kid’ room) and proceeded to build a human spider web out of the yarn. He called me down to see his creation and I’m not sure who was more impressed, him or me. I had a small desk in the back corner of the room that the web made effectively out of my available reach.

Or when my middle son, at age three, stood on the neighborhood pool snack bar steps, leaning on the counter, one ankle crossed over the other, watching the kids who worked there sell and “make change.” After he had been there for quite some time, my conscience got the best of me and I went to the window and suggested that he join us in the pool. Immediately the kids working said, Oh no, don’t make him leave. He’s really helpful.

Or the way my youngest – my baby – swam backstroke at a swim meet. Goggles all scrunched up on his nose, he was rather forced to participate at a young age because when you are the fourth child – well, that’s just how it goes. And it took him forever to get from one end of the pool to the other. So much so that when he got out of the water all parental spectators would applaud, in part to encourage him, but mostly out of sheer relief. But he would get out of that pool with the smile of an Olympic champion on his face, blissfully unaware of times and ranking.

The daily message from an increasingly pressure filled culture is You are not enough – keep up or be left out. This is not a message of life. This is not a message of joy. This is not a message of peace and, from my own personal bias, this is not the message of the cross. And yet we believe it, we live it and we daily pass it on to our children. Despite mounting evidence to the contrary that the current pace and amped up educational lifestyle is detrimental to our kids, we continue to work hard to keep up, lest we be left behind.

We’ve all heard the adage, the days drag on but the years fly by. I can verify the truth of those words. I can also tell you that when the years have flown, your memories will not be of spelling words, or soccer practices or piano lessons. They won’t even be of Christmas mornings or birthday celebrations. They will be seemingly insignificant moments, apart from schedule and camera, quiet moments of greatest joy.

You are on the verge of a new school year. Don’t fill your days and theirs with endless “stuff.” Don’t believe the lies that you will be left out. Decide that you and your kids are enough – just like you are. Make memories of simple joy. Lots of them.

I wish I had had the cameras rolling. This was the scene last Sunday at the pool:

Son (8 years old):  Dad, could we go home now?  I’m bored.

Dad:  No.

And that was it.

No . . . . . Oh son, I know you are tired of being here. Would you like for me to play with you?

No . . . . . What if I go get you a snack? Would that help?

No . . . . . I know you are ready to leave, but your sisters are having fun. Do you think you can wait a few more minutes?

No . . . . . Well, if you are good for a few more minutes while your sisters are still playing, I will get you a treat on the way home.

No . . . . . Would you like to watch a video on my phone while you wait?

Just . . . . . No.  

Without explanation, justification or clarification.

And his son walked away without complaint or meltdown or whining. And within a very few minutes he was back in the pool, playing with his sisters.

Sometimes a parent’s response requires explanations, but more often than not, all that is really required is a good solid yes or no.  And, more often than not, that is what children really want. Boundaries. Confidence.  Authority.  More often than not, those words mean love and security and sanctuary. Those words say you are safe with me.