Just stop a minute

I took nearly three weeks off over the holidays. Maybe a lot of you are busy bees when you're home too-buzzing aroung and taking care of all the things you don't have time to do when you are working all day. It took a while for me to slow down enough to stop buzzing. I find that I vibrate on a high frequency all the time-which generally makes me a very productive person. Most days I start before 5 am packing lunches, and I leave the house before 5:30; I work a solid 10 hour day, take the train home, and immediately start dinner; then it's bath time, lotion and jammies time, and one-snuggle-on-the-couch-and-show time; then books and milk, and bed (for them) and straightening up (for me). I go until I collapse into bed, like most parents. The few times I have had some time off and was able to come to a standstill kindof result in a coma-like state for me-my head gets fuzzy, I feel really, really tired, my eyes get dry, and I feel a little groggy and brain dead.

These past few weeks-an honest-to-God-staycation, I didn't kill myself editing videos, or making a photo book for anyone, or overbook my life (or the girls' lives) with social outings (always well-intended), or wear myself out running chores when everyone else was sleeping or recharging. This time, I recharged-I took naps with my girls, we played my little pony and veterinarian, and we just hung out. I did the other stuff too, but I had more time to get reaquainted with my children in a very profound way. And you know what? My girls are absolutely, breathtakingly awesome.

When I talk to other parents about kids, we can sometimes have this haggard, pained overtone because someone in the house "is in a phase" or because someone isn't getting sleep, or because (in my case it's true) siblings are at eachother's throat every second. Wheedling, and whining, and arguing, and fighting can wear you down-really wear you down. Especially when you're tired and stressed out for one reason or another. It's a lot like your marriage-when it's hard to focus on the awesome when the annoyance of the every day starts to grow seeds of resentment inside you. Then somehow, all we notice is what isn't right and what didn't get done. We forget to be grateful.

It took a while-to meditate on that...to take a bite and savor that bit of truth. I have been thinking about it for a few weeks now, and I'm convinced that many family woes can be remedied with Thanksgiving. Maybe in a marriage, partners would be more forgiving of eachother's shortcomings or mistakes if they knew they were loved and appreciated; if they were cherished and adored. Maybe as a parent, we could understand that helping define boundaries that lend security to our children and constant criticism of children (that can become habitual and destroy our magical child's self-esteem) are very fine lines to walk.

And so, when I feel like a grouchy wet cat that MY kids are the only one in their music institute that wait for their lessons in a common area NOT EVEN CLOSE TO patiently (while most kids quietly sit and do homework or obediently do some other quiet activity (iPad, movies, you name it), Gillian won't get up off the floor under the waiting bench facing her teacher's office door; or maybe the girls get into a pretend-I'm-going-to-hit-you match and start in on eachother in the silent-as-a-church hallway; or how Addie might deliberately swing something into the doors of the offices where people are taking lessons to test me.....), I should remind myself that these kids are MY KIDS. My discipline should come from a place less about my concerns over the comfort of people I don't know and how annoyed they are by my kids, and more a place of tolerance for them being children. After all-it is my choice to take them there in the first place. Where does respect for other people's comfort end and harsh over-judgement begin, anyway (the balance part of parenting is off the chain!)?

So, during my break, and our naps, and our snuggling, and all our conversations, I settled into a different vantage point-one where I could REALLY observe them-beyond all the silly stuff that can block the view of their precious true selves. What if I chose to be humbled by the fact that they want to play with me every.single.second instead of getting bent out of shape because I planned on getting something done that day? What if I sit with them on the couch in the mornings we're all home and watch their insipid shows instead of doing laundry and cleaning the kitchen after making breakfast-and luxuriate in the beauty of holding tight to my babies-that-won't-be-babies-much-longer and simply breathing together? What if we really savor all sitting down and coloring together and admire eachother's handiwork-recognizing that these moments are absolutely numbered (oh, how they love to make and illustrate story books right now!)?

Here is how reframing taught me to look at a situation differently. For several months, Addie has done or said something mean, and when we call her on it (with even, non-yelling, patience 99% of the time) she gets really upset and cries and tells us she is waiting for us to say we're sorry or demands that we say we're sorry. For the longest time, I refused to apologize and always tried explaning that no one yelled and that if she hits someone or says something unkind, she should be the person apologizing. One night I had an epiphany and asked her if it was hard to say she's sorry-and she admitted that it was. I asked her if it made it easier to say she was sorry if I said it first, and she said it did. Now she will sometimes tell me she needs help saying she's sorry when she does something she's ashamed of and we tell her it's not ok. I finally stepped back away from my frustration at her stubborn refusal to apologize and realized that her shame made her stubborn about apologizing-much like something I had to overcome as a young adult. Compassionate awareness in this instance is changing the game. I don't want to break her for the sake of "showing her a lesson"; I want to model the things I want her to weave into how she deals with people.

All of this to say I'm not even close to a perfect parent. I don't even know what that means. When I think good parenting means constantly engaging children, I read studies about how detrimental that is to a child's independence, self-reliance, and creativity. We shouldn't be telling them what they should be doing, thinking, drawing, and playing every second...constant parent-guided activity/structure creates a dependence on parents that can have terrible outcomes when those kids leave home. I really think there is a natural social order that plays out, and kids teach eachother what is acceptable much of the time, with or without parents stepping in to correct situations. Like, if you're being a jerk, no one wants to play with you. I am even now trying to deflect tattling for the girls to address their own problems-e.g. "did you tell her that it hurt your feelings before talking to me about it?"

It's really easy to second-guess yourself with the false front given us all with how happy and perfect social networking makes every family on earth seem. One thing I know-it's important to talk about the challenges and difficulties of growing another human being because it's therapeutic, and it helps us process a path forward when we're in a rough patch. It gives us more ammo for our parenting tool box. I stopped trying to keep up with the Jones Family well before Addie joined us-because chances are, they're at least as dysfunctional as we are. Every single family has their own challenges-things you can't even begin to imagine. I know my set of challenges are the ones given to me because I am specially equipped to handle them with the strength allocated to me by my life experience. Every person has experienced hurt, and loss, and heartbreak that you may never know unless they tell you. I'm pretty sure perfect parenting is an oxymoron. I think at the end of the day, parenting success is to just love your kids and get out of their way, and try to be kind to yourself during the journey. I think we should deal with other parents and children with great compassion, no matter the behavior, because they might desperately need some love and support.

The point of my rambling? I reaquainted with the girls. I got all wrapped up in them and them in me, and it was luxurious and humbling and fantastic. When you have nowhere you have to go, and nothing you have to do, you have to sit together in complete honesty. I stopped fighting to do anything. We just were. And wow, these girls are beautiful, and funny, and charming, and sweet, and brimming with love. They are really kind. They are polite and creative and good. I was humbled by the pride I felt. For once, I let myself feel like we had done something right, that we had parented well. My children are good people, really good people, aside from all the evolving-into-conscious-beings pains and figuring-out-their-place-amongst-the-stars pains. And I am proud that they are so spunky that they can barely sit still in a quiet room, and so passionate and self-assured that they argue their side of a story until it makes me insane. That is who I birthed-they are mine. And I love them exactly as big, loud, stubborn, and spirited as they are.