Rosie's love

My dog, Rosie, worships the ground I walk on. That may be an understatement. When I take the trash cans out to the street, she leaps with unbridled joy upon my return, as if I’d been away for days. If I come home after being gone for a few hours, she runs circles around the back yard, unable to contain her excitement. If I were to go to the airport to pick up my son after he’d been away for a week, she would fall into a state of bliss upon our return---because of seeing me. Her love is constant and uncomplicated.

This morning when I emerged into the living room, I acknowledged Rosie briefly as she greeted me with delight, and then I put the kettle on and went to check my email.

And then I stopped myself. There she was, looking at me expectantly, eyes full of adoration, and there I was, absentmindedly noticing her in my peripheral vision while I got down to the “important” task of checking my email.

She was beside herself with happiness when I got down with her on the floor. I scratched and rubbed and loved her up, and she did what dogs do best—exude pure, unadulterated love. And the funny thing is, although I had originally felt a certain urgency to respond to an important email, my priorities restacked themselves as I sat with Rosie and remembered—again—that what I care most about on any given day is living with a heart full of love and enjoyment.

I got to thinking about how similar kids are to puppies. How often do our children wait in our periphery as we do important (“important?”) things? How many times do they end up going off to do their own thing after seeing that we’re busy? How often are we stingy with ourselves, putting a lid on how much love we allow ourselves to receive?

I’m not suggesting that parents stop to play with their children whenever they ask. It’s essential that kids learn to figure out how to entertain themselves without having a parent who drops whatever they’re doing when their child announces, “I’m bored.”

But I do know that if we want our fifteen-year old to confide in us about how much vodka was at last night’s party, or look to us for help in figuring out how to handle a friend’s betrayal, it’s a good idea to get down on the floor with them when they still believe our attention is a prize.

I’m convinced that the beauty of a child’s heart (and we can throw in doggies, as well) is in large part what keeps the world sane. When you drink in their love and affection, it feeds their sweet hearts, and yours as well.

So today—remember what matters, and see if you can fit in a moment for a scratch or a cuddle. Stretch your heart a little wider and receive that perfect love that might otherwise go unnoticed. It might just make your day.

Holding Hands with my Mom

I’m sitting in the audience at the Kansas City symphony listening to Hayden, beside my eighty-eight year old mother who is bathing in the beautiful music. We bickered briefly this morning, but I’m proud to say that we both let it go and are enjoying the concert together.

I pat her arm with love and she turns and smiles at me. Then she reaches for my hand and places it in hers. And there I sit, holding hands with my mom and sharing one of the most simple and perfect moments of my life. My heart fills, my eyes fill, and I relax in an unparalleled moment of being at peace with my imperfect mom, as her imperfect daughter, connecting where perfection doesn’t matter.

How often I have believed that my mom made it hard to love her. She criticized, nagged, doubted --all those things that flawed parents do with and to their children. And how often did I make it hard for her to love me—passionately defending and explaining myself in the hopes that she would “get it”, whatever “it” happened to be that day, all the while resisting her efforts because they were so off the mark.

If there’s a more complicated relationship than mother/ daughter, I’ve yet to discover it. Growing up, as much as I resisted her, I longed to feel our love for each other. Certainly it got easier when I became an adult, even more so when I became a mother, but I confess to still having at least one big argument a year as my inner child’s longing for her to “get me” collided with her inability to do so.

Being a parent helped me figure some things out. I began to realize that if I held my mom to an unattainable standard, it would only be fair that I hold myself to one, as well, and I simply couldn’t always be a great parent. I did my best, and in fact my 19 year old son actually called me a couple of weeks ago from college because he wanted to tell me something important. “Mom, I want to thank you for raising me the way you did. You did a really great job.” I was speechless.

I thought about what he’d said—how I’d taught him about being accountable and responsible and so on, and that now that he’s at college he sees that in ways he never could before. But the truth is, I lost my patience plenty of times with him, saying and doing things that were ridiculous and beneath me

But one thing I did do was refuse to incriminate myself or dive into guilt and self-flagellation when I blew it. I acknowledged my mistakes without leaning too much on defending myself or blaming him when I got upset, and tried to make sure he felt heard and understood when things went wrong. Beyond that, I think I also just have a very forgiving son.

My boy has inspired me to become a more forgiving daughter. As I learn to accept my mom with all her beauty and kindness, as well as her neuroses, I find myself better able to put aside my expectations and simply love her. The funny thing is (and maybe this has something to do with the fact that she’s reading my book!) she is easier. Less defensive. Better able to listen.

I’d like to think it’s a result of her reading her daughter’s book, but I suspect it has as more to do with the fact that I’m giving her plenty of Act Ones, coming alongside her instead of at her, making her feel less defensive and better able to navigate our challenges.

Being a parent has to be the most challenging experience we can go through, but if we’re lucky, we get the chance to grow up and into our best selves. I’m grateful to my son for inspiring me to keep growing, and to my mom, for giving me the opportunity to grow even more.

My very best to all of you. Be kind to yourselves, and enjoy the ride.

New year, New Start

New School Year

Unless you’re living in a cave or you’ve decided to ignore all those school-related emails and hide with your children in some secret compartment of the Disney cruise ship, you’re probably aware that we’re about to launch into a new school year. You’ve downloaded a list of must-have school supplies, read articles on helping your child adjust to his or her new teacher, and depending on how the economy’s treated you, maybe even gone shopping for some new school clothes.

But there’s one thing you might want to think about doing that has nothing to do with conventional school year preparations. Consider the role stress plays in your child’s adjustment to school, as well as your family’s enjoyment of the morning send off and the evening homework experience. I’m going to suggest a few things that you can do to set a smooth course as you begin the school year anew.

1. Relax. There is nothing, I repeat nothing that will add to morning or homework drama like making it appear to your kids like it’s a life or death issue, leading them to believe that their sluggish behavior has the ability to knock you off your feet.

2. Use what I refer to as Act I and Act II to come alongside your child when he’s resistance or upset, rather than coming at them with advice, demands or instructions when he or she isn’t yet receptive.

3. Allow extra time for everything as their bodies adjust to the new rhythm of waking early, getting to bed earlier, and having less free time.

4. Make sure your kids have adequate unstructured playtime, ideally out in nature. Don’t make homework and/or after school activities so desperately important that you neglect to give your children time to be children. Kids need to play, and that is not the same as organized athletic activities.

5. Set guidelines at the beginning of the school year regarding the amount of video games/ TV/ Internet use to avoid daily arguments and battles. Some families allow one TV show per night. Others have no TV or video games during the school week. Announce the plan with authority, and use Act I to compassionately handle your kids’ reactions.

6. Show a genuine and sincere interest in something your child is learning about at least twice a week. Whether it’s looking up the origin of the “+” sign with your 2nd grader, or engaging in a discussion about the pros and cons of drilling in the Arctic with your 11^th grader, demonstrate to your kids that you find their education of value.

7. Turn off the TV shut down the computer, and put your cell phone on vibrate for at least 20 minutes a day to give your kids real attention that is not related to getting them to do homework, prepare for bed, or do chores. Just hang out with them for a few minutes day deepening your connection, and watch life get easier.

It’s my first year without the back to school rituals having dropped my boy/man off at college about three weeks ago. Instead of school supplies we bought pillows and blankets. I have no idea if, where or when he does his homework, given that he’s 3,000 miles away. And as much as I don’t miss waking up to do the morning breakfast or drive (which were minimal), believe me…I miss him like crazy.

So do what you can in advance to set a smooth course for the coming year, and keep in mind what’s most important: Enjoying your kids, and letting them know that you do.

Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional

Is this going to be a burden or a blessing? I was listening to a Dr. Oz radio interview in the car the other day. His guest was a man named Sean Stephenson, and although I’d never heard of him, I got a tingly feeling early on in the interview. My son was in the car, and I nudged him (he was on his own planet, listening to his ipod) suggesting that he might want to listen in. He reluctantly took off his headphones and tuned in to check it out. Sean was born with a rare disease. By the time he was 18 years old—long past his original life expectancy—he had broken over 200 bones. AND, he’s three feet tall, mobile via a wheel chair, and unquestionably a remarkable person who has been through a lot of life challenges. As he’s telling his story, Dr. Oz asks him to talk about the turning point in his life—the moment that changed him from feeling depressed, different and a victim of his disease to becoming the gratefu, joyful man he is today. Sean described an experience he had in the fourth grade. He was excited because it was Halloween, the one day of the year when he could dress up and sort of “blend in.” He accidentally caught his leg in his wheelchair, snapping his femur and immediately realizing he would have to be immobilized for at least six weeks…again. His mom came into his room to offer some comfort and distraction, but he was having none of it; he was miserable—as I’m sure we can easily understand. But then his mom gently asked him this question: “Sean, is this going to be a gift or a burden in your life?” With that question, his life changed. Even while his rational mind was scoffing at the idea that his condition could be anything but a burden, he began to have a kind of mystical experience. His mother continued by saying, “In life, pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” From this point on, he recognized that while he had different cards to play than others, he still had a full deck. He went on to alter his diet and include a daily exercise regine when he was 18, resulting in the fact that he hasn’t broken a bone since. He has graduated from college with honors, become a professional speaker, been appointed to serve on the Board of Directors for the National Association for Self-Esteem and worked at the White House as a Presidential Liaison for the Office of Cabinet Affairs. More importantly, he is a man who is on purpose, rich in loving relationships, connected to his heart, and content. My son kept his headphones off for the rest of the drive, commenting, “This guy is incredible!” It’s powerful and humbling to realize how we, as parents, have such power to inspire our kids.

"What I like about you..."

It’s a funny thing about parenting: We adore our kids (most of us, at least most of the time) but so much of what we say to them is about how they should be different. “Don’t dawdle!” “Be nice to your brother!” “How do you think Susie felt when you didn’t say ‘Hi’ to her?” Our kids so easily become our project—at least it can seem that way. And it can also seem that the majority of our interactions are about how they should change or improve.

So here’s an exercise, for those of you interested. The next time your child walks into the room, tell them something you like about them. “I forgot to tell you that I love your laugh!” or “Did you know how much fun I had with you last night when we were walking the puppy?” And then let the sweet aroma of your love just hang in the air for a while before you move on to something else.

Love is food for all humans. For a child, it’s vital to feel fed at all times. Kids who yank on their parents all day long are often sending the message that they need more than “snacks” of focused attention. A bite of something when you’re really hungry might stave off the shakes for a little while, but it doesn’t have the same effect on your blood sugar as a full on meal with protein and complex carbs. Similarly, when we dose our kids with full on, heart-wide-open loving connection at least a couple of times a day, the nourishment they get from that interaction leaves them feeling sated and full.

Notice the changes in a child’s behavior if you try the “What I like about you” exercise at least twice a day for a week. It can take less than a minute or two, but can fuel a child’s desire to follow your lead better than all the lectures in the world.

If you want to try the advanced version, sit them down in a chair and flood them with appreciations for a few minutes. “I love the way you so carefully play with the kitty…I love how it feels to hold your hand when we cross the street…I love watching you when you’re doing puzzles with so much focus…I love how hard you try to tolerate your little sisters…”

Try offering your child specific things you like about them, and see them bloom even more into the extraordinary beings they are meant to be.

Emptying the nest...

So, I come out of my room on Sunday morning feeling a spring in my step and a sweet tickle in my heart. Had a lovely meditation and am ready to launch into my Sunday; the house is quiet and there are little projects I hope to get to before heading down to the beach.

“Joni Mitchell would be nice,” I think to myself. For some reason Blue keeps playing in my head and I decide to put it on while I make breakfast. Musing a bit about my boy and his upcoming high school graduation, I head toward the stereo.

“Blue…Songs are like tattoos…” and unexpectedly, my heart breaks apart and I’m on my knees. And there you have it—a wave, in many ways the first real one, has hit. A bit like labor...but this time I'm birthing my son as he emerges further into his own life, rather than arriving into mine.

I’ve been told it can be like this. Wild fluctuations in mood—both for the teen and the mom—as we edge ever closer to departure for college, and with that, the beginning of a new chapter in his—in our—lives. But I’ve been pretty good so far, excited for him and living blissfully in some state of denial.

And there you have it. Denial, apparently, wears off. I’m like the bird in those cartoons, flying along and then smacking into the window, caught unawares.

The sobbing is primal, gut-wrenching. I’m astonished by its force, and the sudden appearance of this grief. I allow it, give it space: Take all the room you need, as if it wouldn’t. It’s impolite and demanding, and takes over the room, my heart and this day.

I find myself unable to breathe; the air is coming in and out, but I can’t feel it. I’m picturing him not here, not at his dad’s, not at his friend’s, but 3,000 miles away, which is where he’s theoretically going to be in two months. I realize he cannot go. He simply can’t go. I’ll talk to him. He’ll agree. He’ll understand it was all a big mistake and decide to go to the nice community college down the road. Or maybe some other little college within a few hours drive.

Of course I realize I’m insane, but I let myself play that scenario out, coming to the inevitable understanding that I’m insane and he is going to the very best place for him—for who he is and what he needs right now to become more of who he is, out from under my watch.

As it happens with grief, it subsides after a time and allows me to eat something. I wander around for a bit, considering who I might call—what friend who’s going through this right now, or what seasoned mother/ friend/ sister who has already been where I am and lived through it. Instead I just stay present with the waves as they come and go, not wanting to engage my left brain enough to actually try to talk about it.

Eventually, there’s a peace—that depressed sort of peace where you’d like to lay on the couch and stare out the window. But I rally, and set about cleaning out a box of papers, periodically coming across something like a Mother’s Day card or Ari’s selective service notice and the waves come again. Knocked over until it subsides, and then another fragile hold on acceptance.

The sadness follows me around most of the day, but it’s kind enough to let me function reasonably well, and even go down to the beach for a time. I watch the six foot five version of my heart play volleyball; he’s arrived not long after me after being in town with his dad. I leave him be, grateful simply to watch him from a distance after exchanging the proverbial head nod, feeling a little like a stalker.

Six pm or so I’m reading, puttering around the house. Ari comes in the front door and his appearance is so ordinary and blessed; my heart does a quiet little twirl. And then he tells me “a bunch of people are coming—is that okay? We’re gonna watch the Laker game” and my heart does somersaults and I lie through my teeth and say “I was about to go to the store—can I get you anything?”

I hop to the market picking up burger fixings and hot dogs and skip home and my heart is fully bandaged and intact and life is good and as it should be. They watch and eat and at half time go outside, the nine or ten of them, and play catch with a big rubber ball (really.) The game ends, the Lakers win the finals, and the seventeen and eighteen year old guys and gals go out in the driveway and play basketball, like they did after watching basketball when they were ten.

And grief has left the premises for a while.

I guess that’s what it’s like…These days I'm happy for him, thrilled at the adventure that awaits him. I guess you could say I'm in between contractions...

What is it like to be you? Or how to avoid a power struggle...

Here’s what I know happens whenever I come at someone with my point of view rigidly holding me hostage: I become nervous—will I be able to convince them of the validity of my position?; forceful—do I have the strength to get them to see things my way; and/or passive—defeated before I begin. (And yes, I suspect my punctuation in that sentence was lacking…)

Here’s what I know happens when I come alongside someone with a flexible mindset and willingness to understand the situation from their point of view, or at least consider that they have one equally dear to their heart:  I listen with what I call a quiet mind. And most importantly, I come across as genuinely wanting to know: What is it like to be you?

For those of you familiar with my work, you’ll recognize this as Act I. It’s the essential pre-cursor to offering our advice to our kids (or anyone), and our best shot at actually activating their willingness to hear what we have to say, whether it’s a suggestion about how to approach a difficult friend, a critique of their history essay, or an expression of concern about their withdrawal.

When we feel heard and understand, we humans lower our guard and become more receptive. Conversely, when we smell someone’s agenda and their need to inflict it upon us, our guard goes up and so does the wall that prevents us from taking in whatever they’re trying to lay on us.

The next time you have something important to say to your child, your teen, your spouse or your neighbor, try giving them the chance to describe to you the planet they live on. Ask the question, “What is like to be you?” and then keep your lips together and listen. Encourage them to keep talking with, “Tell me more” or “Gosh, that sounds like it was pretty hard when your teacher told you to sit back down just as you were coming to ask for help. What happened then?” 

When we give someone we love the chance to show us reality from their vantage point, we offer them the opportunity to be seen and accepted as is. From there, we have a chance of sharing our thoughts, ideas or opinions, without coming across as shoving it down their throats, or correcting their “faulty” thinking or behavior. 

Consider this the next time you prepare for a difficult conversation—or when one lands unexpectedly in your lap. Start with the mindset: What is it like to be you?Chances are, the conversation will go in a new, healthy direction.

For more information please visit www.passionateparenting.net

Happy Parenting!