We all wish we had superpowers - superhuman strength or the power of flight, and I'm here to tell you that you do. This is how you unleash your powers:
1. Invite your squirmy, wide-awake child into your bed in the middle of the night.
2. Work at drifting back off to sleep despite the disturbance.
3. Hear the words: I think I'm going to barf.
Then, BEHOLD!
This happened last night. Echo joined us, which I didn't notice until I was woken because I was in trouble for pulling the covers off myself and making her cold. I don't know how she could be cold because I was on FIRE just from being near her. I switched to the outside position and figured it would be dreamtime for us all. Simple as that. Nope, not so simple. Echo was awake and talking and squirming and my sleep stayed shallow at best - so shallow in fact that my waking reality mixed with the dreaming one and soon my experience was that of being pressed on and smothered by a flock of hot, talking seagulls.
When Echo complained of her belly hurting I told her to lie on her left side. When she farted I thought Ah, there we go. That should do the trick. Helloooooo sleep! Nope. I heard those dreaded words.
"I think I'm going to barf" is the world's greatest game changer. We went from mild middle of the night disturbance to all-out emergency state. My superpowers kicked in full force and in less than a tenth of a second I went from prone, to standing with a six-year old child cradled in my arms. From hazy, hot seagulls to standing panic. Of course we didn't make it.
We really didn't make it.
In hindsight the cradle position may not have been a good idea as the projectile vomiting found its target in my face. Full-on barf shower sprayed in my face and then what didn't land there rained back down upon our heads. Nathan awoke to sounds of oh god, oh god, oh god! Bless his heart, he had no idea what was happening as I was completely blind and also completely incapable of describing anything clearly, desperate as I was.
Full shower for two at 4am.
And holy hell I appreciate having a partner. Knowing that I will emerge from the shower to find a bedroom de-barfed and ready for sleep, is possibly the greatest gift one can receive.
Anyway... see how simple it is? Barf in the bed = superhuman powers.
The best argument for co-sleeping or the worst? Discuss.
On the route to school there is a lady. She's a crossing guard. I don't know anything about her. We never interact except to wave hellos as I drive or bike past her post. But I see her A LOT, in part because her job is to be in that spot and I pass by a few times a day, but also because even when I pass by that intersection in the middle of the day she's there. She stays there all day.
All. Day.
She arrives in the morning, rain, snow or shine and holds up her stop sign for children and parents, then when the pedestrian traffic has died down she sits in her car. All. Day. At 3pm she's back at her spot. She knits, she does crosswords, she reads.
I've noticed my estimation of this stranger's life varies greatly day to day. Sometimes I feel sad that she's alone all day at an intersection, other times I envy her the quiet and solitude. I've been puzzled by my diverse responses and then recently it hit me. Her life is seen through my life. Everyone's life is seen through everyone else's life. The personal lens is unavoidable. It's also why people piss us off some days and delight us others. It's always all about us. All about me.
On the mornings when Xi and Echo are arguing over who gets to check and see if the dogs at a house on our route are visible in the window or not, I don't feel sorry for the crossing guard. I kid you not, my girls fight over who gets to say "Brown puppy in the window!". At those times crossing guard lady's silent vehicle and crossword look really fucking good.
On the afternoons when I feel the ache of missing my family, when that old wound opens and pulses with longing, I feel so sad about the crossing guard, so sad that she too must not have her mom or dad or sister nearby to visit during her break. Because otherwise she would, at least through the lens of my life she would.
When money is tight I feel comraderie with the crossing guard. On those days I assume she is budgeting her money and the long trip across town to her apartment is out of the question. When the lilacs are blooming and a warm breeze hits my face I'm certain that this lady, this crossing guard has the most serene and peaceful life of anyone on the planet. A good book, a purpose, and time.
I'm all over the place about this lady.
To be honest I am all over the place in general these days, at turns so sure of myself and place and then so unsure. So uncertain. I took a little break from this blog to think things over. Am I a blogger? Am I a parenting consultant? Am I an artist? Am I a writer? And do I have to choose just one in order to provide for my family? And shouldn't I know this by now? It's been giving me grief because I also want to be a good parent and a homeschool teacher and have a clean house. You can see the struggle.
And I'm not going to pretend that Echo's sixth birthday doesn't have anything to do with it. She is the blood of my blood and her milestones are my own. Her life has been six years long. Six years! Somehow the fact that it's happening, this time passing thing, to someone that I am looking at almost every minute of the day means I can't deny it actually is ocurring. Six years really did pass.
And that means they have passed in my life too.
Turning six, that's not a baby anymore. It makes me look at my life and my choices and tilt my head. It also makes me tender. Echo. She's just perfect. She is everything I would wish for a family. She is everything I wish for myself. It's a strange mix of hardly being able to believe this incredible being exists and the sense that of course she exists, she is the very air I breathe, the molecules that float in and out and dance and shimmer with my every inhalation. And now she's six. Her cheeks are slimmer. Her words are bigger and complicated. Her smell is different. She has friends and ideas and opinions. She was a speck and now she is this... this.
It makes me want to cry with the joy and wonder of it all. And the pain too.
But really those soccer games! I tell you it's like a whole parenting universe shrunk down to a bite-size and potent chunk. There are other kids doing things and I have thoughts about those things. And there are other parents doing things, and by god I certainly have thoughts about those things. And then there are MY KIDS!
Xi came to the soccer game this time and as we were arriving she was getting Echo psyched about her opponent, a local Orthodontics team in green jerseys. She was pretty sure Echo's team would win. And there it is that competition thing, the part I have been cringing about, the part I was worried other people would impose on my family, and the first time it reared up was in our own van. I ended up saying: "Well win or lose it doesn't really matter because you still get to do all the fun parts either way. You still get to run and cheer and kick and all that good stuff."
Then I crossed my fingers that mere words could land in the hearts of my girls and make a difference.
Then, unrelated to this conversation, Echo wouldn't play the game.
Our worst nightmare! Okay, now that I read those lines it sounds a bit dramatic. The other night I woke up and Echo was nowhere to be found. Not in bed! In the middle of the night! I went into complete shock but before I FREAKED out and died of fear and sorrow that our littlest was taken in the night I went pee. In stumbled Echo - returning from (irrationally) having gone downstairs to find me - alive and well. Phew. So, a child disappearing is our worst nightmare, but in the world of sports, having the kid that simply won't go onto the field even though the game is starting is at the very least, nerve wracking.
She was nervous. Too nervous and she wanted to go home.
Nathan and I pulled out all of the logic we could.
- her team needed her to be the fifth player
- her team needed her to help them protect the goal and get the ball
- she had chosen to play soccer and this is what "playing soccer" means
- they built the team with the notion that Echo would be the fifth player and it isn't really fair now to not be that fifth player
- she was nervous last time and remember how much fun it was?
- it would feel better after she started, perhaps she should just get out there and give it a shot
- Xi is here to see the game and she really wants to see her sister play
- we're asking you to trust us. We think this is really something you can do.
- You can look to make your own fun, you can look for opportunities to have as much fun as possible.
But Echo was serious. She. Wasn't. Playing. Meanwhile the coach was calling for her and the game had actually started. We poured on the empathy.
You're cold.
You're nervous.
Oh man. That's hard.
Nathan and I were exchanging OH SHIT! glances as all of our words just rained down on the resolute girl.
Because here is the truth folks. You can't make kids do anything.
I wanted her to join her teammates. I also wanted her to have fun. I wanted her to want to play. But she didn't want to and even if I dragged her out there I couldn't make her actually play. Even if we threatened her with punishment we couldn't make her have fun or like soccer or do anything different than what she was doing. And of course I wasn't going to punish or threaten. Of course I am only ever going to use empathy and information because my relationship with my girl is more important than all of the drama possible at a kindergarten soccer game.
Still I wanted her feet to move.
In the midst of it all I was able to slip in some self-empathy. I noticed I was embarrassed. And I was panicked. I wanted to run away to our van and get out of there.
And then for no discernible reason Echo hugged each of us in turn, fiercely, with her eyes pinched closed. She ran out onto the field and had the time of her life. She was feisty and involved in every play. She was running and grinning and narrating her every move: "Uh uh uh...", she said to the ball, "Not so fast! You can't get away from me!!!" She had the time of her life.
We asked her about it later. Away from the epicenter of pure emotion she was able to break it down for us. The opposing team was a new one and that made her nervous. The field was new too. And there was an additional kid on her team too. All of this made her more nervous than before. The thought that inspired her to play though is that she remembered how much fun she had at the last game and she wouldn't even have a chance to have that kind of fun if she didn't play. And then once she was in the game she made a point of looking for all the fun she could find, and this literary girl knows very well that telling the story of playing the game while playing the game is a guaranteed source.
Ideally I would have skipped the persuasion part altogether. It didn't feel good at the time and it also didn't feel effective. And as it turns out there is a reason for this. When kids are in the throes of intense emotion they aren't able to process in the same way. Echo couldn't hear us about "fifth players" and "commitment" because she was deathly nervous. We said the words anyway because we were panicked and felt short of time (The coach was calling! The game was starting!) but if I had it to do over again I think I might go for empathy first and just suck it up and wait for a bit while that empathy sunk in.
Apparently, a person is actually incapable of complex thought when dealing with intense emotions. It's part of the human survival design. When confronted with a raging lion or anything else terrifying and life-threatening (like a soccer game) the part of the brain that deals with complex processing shuts down. It shuts down and boots up the reptilian brain. Your brain doesn't want you to have complex thought in these situations, it wants you to charge up your self-defense skills, like running away really fast or charging headlong - whatever it takes to stay alive. It doesn't want you weighing the odds or thinking about it too much.
Only after the threat has passed, only after the emotions have been processed, does the rest of the brain turn back on. This is why explaining to your children about the rules and consequences of hitting while the child is in an enraged, flailing state is like throwing words into the wind. They don't stick.
Empathy. (Time passing). Information.
Oh but that part in parentheses can take forever! Waiting for emotions to shift enough for the complex brain to take back over is the most trying part of parenthood.
In fact this morning, after making a fort in our bed with the clothes that I, ahem, leave piled up at the foot of our bed, Echo got up on her own, picked out an outfit for me and laid it on the bed, got dressed, fed all of the animals, and then made us both toast. I ate that kinda cold, poorly buttered toast in my "stylish" outfit of fleece pants and a sexy-mama sweater-shirt with shoulder cut outs. Her aim was cozy and special and she definitely hit the target. In fact I was feeling so cozy and peaceful that I forgot all about the dark days we have just emerged from.
During those days Echo would have argued irrationally and eloquently with me, explaining with fiery urgency why today was NOT a day in which it made sense for me to snuggle with papa before getting up. Then she would have shrieked at me as I made my way to the bathroom, sure that I was going to snatch away her right to pee on the toilet first. She'd do the same with the stairs. Then she'd spot something her sister was doing and launch into a full-blown red-in-the-face tirade about whatever it was that Xi was doing. She'd flail on the floor and demand my presence and argue, argue, argue about the injustice of it all.
So what's the difference?
Nothing.
Time passing.
Empathy.
Homeopathy.
Basically in that order.
NOTHING: Sometimes kids are just fucking crazy. Then time passes and they are different. So I was waiting for this. Hoping that the transition was coming. Trying not to count the days. Going into emergency mode - scheduling as little as possible, making sure food levels remained high, maintaining an early bedtime, ensuring that my physical body and interest were available for crafting, hugging, and talking, and avoiding getting myself involved in challenging things like trouble-shooting a new idea in Adobe Illustrator.
TIME PASSING: See above. Also, with time comes perspective. The first time Echo flung her body at Xi for using the stools Echo wasn't using but was going to use I was absolutely blindsided. I spent a lot of time explaining how her view of things was baldly incorrect and therefore she shouldn't be upset. Stupid me! But like I said I wasn't prepared. After the tenth time, when Echo perceived an injustice no one else could see I didn't linger over the discussion as long.
EMPATHY - Of course. Because even folks, or especially, folks that are not feeling quite right, that are super upset (even irrationally) need empathy. And I'm not saying this was easy to give. I am cerebral before emotional so it's tough for me to become empathetic when I see there is no cause for the set of emotions I am supposed to empathize with.
When Echo warned Xi that she was using the fort and Xi veered away from the staked claim to find a seat on the pink chair instead and Echo still got upset about Xi using something that she was "just about to use", I've got to admit that I didn't have easy access to empathy. My mind wasn't ready with "Oh honey. You're so mad. You were using the pink chair huh? Shoot. Are you so mad that Xi is in your way?" because my mind was too busy playing "WTF?" on repeat. And I really can't leave my mind behind as much as I want to sometimes. If I could have crawled into the fort with just my heart to soothe my girl I would have.
So I plowed through the irrational "facts". I rationally explained while she irrationally explained. And that got us no where, for sure, but all the while I was holding her and giving her my full face and care. Eventually we broke through to the other side, into the grassy plain where Echo finally slackened and said: "I just don't feel right! And I just really want the pink chair. And I'm just really mad." PRAISE THE HEAVENS - that is a state of being for which I can have mountains of empathy.
HOMEOPATHY - Get some.
No really, empathy and time passing and a simplified life is all great but it is SO MUCH EASIER and effective when the set of feelings are true. When things are just insane, when one of our children is acting loony, when empathy helps but doesn't prevent the exact same scenario from popping up again, Nathan and I know that there must be something more going on. We do our best to treat the girls with homeopathy because when they are in imbalance the things they are feeling, at least some of them, are due to the imbalance more than any particular set of circumstances. A child suffering imbalance isn't as receptive to good parenting.
For instance, when Xi is "off" she cries easily. And when I say easily I mean that she cries even before there is something to be upset about, even before she asks for help with a possibly, slightly, troubling situation. Like if I ask her to move her homework off the counter she'll start crying because the buckle on the backpack is hard to un-click. I can give her empathy for those feelings, and I do, but I also go straight for the cabinet and give her her homeopathic remedy. After the remedy is in place she is still Xi, but she is a Xi that is dealing with "true" emotions, not emotions derived from imbalance.
Xi is consistent in what remedy she needs. She has benefited from the same remedy (in different potencies) for six years or more. With Echo we use a couple different ones depending on what's going on with her. This is why it's great to have a homeopath because they keep it all straight in their database and also because they can see your child more objectively. I am partially masked by fatigue and love so it takes me a few days to clearly see any usable symptoms.
But it was the pink chair/fort incident that finally illustrated some useful (in terms of selecting the proper remedy) symptoms. I explained to Echo that I wasn't going to make Xi get off the chair, that we don't do that in our house... When something is available for play anyone can play with it.... etc.
Echo: Yeah well she's NOT playing with it! She's just sitting there!
Me: She's pretending it's a house. She's sitting in the house.
Echo: Well it's NOT a house! It's just a chair! So if it's not a house then she's not playing with it! SO THERE! You have to get her off of it and give it back to me!
Me: She is playing with it honey. I'm not taking it away from her.
Echo: Well what she's NOT doing is giving it to me! And that's not fair!
An eloquent, irrational lawyer.
That's when it struck me, the pattern of all these outbursts. After Echo had settled I hopped up and went to the computer. When we don't want the expense of calling our homeopath we use a site called abchomeopathy.com. I entered these terms in the search box:
perceived injustice, irrational, antagonistic,
After answering several questions and winding my way through the database I landed on one of Echo's tried and true remedies. A quick trip to our cabinet and within an hour Echo was smoothed out.
Yes, she still gets mad at Xi. Yes, she still prefers to be the first one to pee in the morning. But the veneer of imbalance has been removed. Now I am just dealing with my daughter, not my daughter in imbalance. And that is about a bajillion times easier.
So there it is. A little more peace, a little less crazy.
ps. Our course in parenting with empathy starts tomorrow! Join in!
But inside? The five-year old is a raging beast of provocation and irrationality.
I went to let the chickens out and thought about just staying out there, in my jammies, waiting for the day to be over.
Here's an example of recent issues:
Xi is at the counter doing homework and playfully sitting on two stools. Echo rears her head from her play and sees this. She flies into a rage and shoves Xi off the stools ranting about how "she can't snatch that stool away from me!". She screams, cries, and rages.
or,
I'm practicing yoga and Echo circles. She asks me to clip a barrette into her hair and when I am done I go back to my pose. She has curled her toes under the mat and is now F-ING MAD that I am keeping her from using the mat the way she wants to. She screams, cries, and rages.
And you'd think that with this kind of madness the big sister would steer clear right? Would give the demon operating her little sister a wide berth, yes? NOPE. That Xi is right in there trying to use what Echo's using, trying to play a game with Echo that Echo doesn't want to play, trying to insert herself into the eye of the storm by any means necessary.
See why early morning frost and chickens sound better?
This is day three of this. When Nathan kissed me goodbye this morning I questioned his love for me, not believing that he would leave me with these two FOR THE WHOLE DAY.
Why is this happening?
-Echo is probably fighting a virus.
-Xi's personal make-up and life situation pre-determines an interest in not playing alone, in not being left out even if what she's being left out of is insane raging.
-The seasons are shifting and transitions (even positive ones) throw children off kilter.
-Just because.
What am I going to do?
-write a blog post!
-receive empathy graciously
-make sure we are NEVER trying to get somewhere at a certain time
-empty my bladder frequently so I'm not holding my pee
-drink enough water, eat enough food
-try to keep my voice soft
-do what it takes to squeeze in some yoga
-let them fight and/or stop fearing they may fight
-dig out empathy for them, even robotic-ly until I actually feel it
The internet is wierd, strange, and cool. Here I am with a five, nine, and twelve year old, but somewhere out there someone is reading my post from way back when I was nursing a two-year old through the night. When a person comments on that post from three years ago I am obliged to re-read it and return a comment. In that process I re-visit who I was at that time and what I was focusing on. And, of course, it's usually something that does me good to hear once more.
The Universe is so clever that way.
The old post I speak of is called Not a Baby Anymore and it's about continuing to nurse my not-baby through the night even though my back hurt and I wasn't getting enough sleep. It's about making the choice to lean into my own strength and the strength of loving my girl instead of making a different choice that I don't feel good about.
It's timely in a strange sense because that little girl who was nursing through those long nights and putting my body and mind to the test still sleeps with me and still inspires me to dig deeper into myself. These days she doesn't nurse - though she desperately wishes she still did! - but she does take two million and seventy five years to fall asleep.
I lie with her anyway.
Sometimes I fall asleep even if she doesn't. When I wake up a bit later, Echo then is asleep but I am a groggy mess. I come downstairs, determined to grab some adult-time, looking like and feeling like a crabby train wreck. Other times I coax gently and sweetly, helping Echo to remember to close her eyes. I sing songs and guide her through meditations. And just as often I totally lose my shit and watch her eyes like a hawk, springing out at her with sharp, not-sleep-inducing verbal jabs: Close your eyes!....Close your eyes!... Close your eyes! Then she cries and we have to process and make up and another hour slips into the night. It often takes over an hour.
On those nights I stumble downstairs like a wilted train wreck with a still revving engine. I cry at Nathan and despair. I look at the clock and see that it's basically already my own bedtime. Then I whine and say things like, It isn't fair! Even though I'm pretty sure there isn't a Great Arbitrator in the sky doling out fair or unfair scenarios.
Then the next night I snuggle in again with Echo, determined to see her into sleepland, determined to be the kind of mom that does this, determined to be the kind of person that finds the strength to love even more at even greater lengths.
A couple days ago Echo found a Hello Kitty sleeping mask at the Goodwill. So for the last three nights bedtime has been swift and peaceful. The novelty of that mask has usurped all other rituals. There have been no songs, no back rubs, no meditations, no close-your-eyes admonishments. She simply pulls that fake satin cat face over her own and it's light out.
Three nights! Now I'm not fool enough to think this will go on forever. I know that one night the mask will feel scratchy, or that Echo will want to tell me about an important idea or that something will inspire a more lengthy bedtime. So I stayed there in bed, enjoying the quickness of her sleep and thought about it all.
From the outside it looks like I am a devoted mother. At least it looks this way to folks who think/parent like I do. To others, from the outside, I look like a crazy zealot - a hairy arm-pit, attachment hippie. And I know on the spectrum of parenting styles I do belong over there on that hippie end. But more specifically what I mean is that I (and others) describe extended nursing and co-sleeping and babywearing and all those other things as good for the baby. And they are! I imagine Echo's brain seriously flourishing, multiplying it's cells and other smarty-stuff like crazy, but even though I know it's true, it's not why I do any of this. Or its only partly why.
The secret motivating factor is me. None of this is self-sacrificing. It is all about me.
When folks say: You need a break! or, It's important to have a life outside of your kids! or, You've got to take care of yourself too you know! I only smile because all of this intensive parenting is for me.
It isn't just that I notice that Echo doesn't reach for my hand every time we walk together these days.
Instead of the instant and instinctual folding of her little hand into mine she's walking and talking and jumping and using pockets and picking up rocks. She isn't right there in my body space anymore. She spends a good part of the night sprawled in her own dream word, not even near me. Yes, the nights where she is tangled in my hair and has both legs thrown over mine still happen. Yes, the evenings where it takes her an hour and a half to fall asleep and I lie there stewing still happen (All the time!). But they won't always. She won't always be little and near me.
My family stock lives past their nineties, so even if Echo stays with us and holds our hands until she is twenty I will have FORTY YEARS of a child-free home, a child-free lifestyle. I will have FORTY YEARS to go to the movies instead of reading stories and waiting for signs of sleep. I will have FORTY YEARS of all of that. I am not in a hurry to get there now. Now, when the hands are still little and the house is full of stuffed animals and scuffs on the wall. Now is the time to endure thirty minutes of a kid reluctantly falling asleep because this is the only time in my life where that is going to happen.
(And if I don't have all these many more years to live, if I am meant to die tomorrow, I damn sure am going to help my daughter fall asleep tonight. No matter how long it takes.)
But it's not just that. It's not just that I like this time of children and I don't want to shove it along with irritation. I also like liking myself.
Being the mother I want to be, reaching for the goal of who I prefer to be, even when the kid is screaming or unlikeable, even when it's nine-thirty and I'd rather be eating chocolate and watching Downton Abbey, even when there is a birthday party at night and I'm not going to go, is the most self-loving thing I have ever done in my life.
Here the girls are on their spring hike fashion shoot.
Just kidding.
The two are merged in my mind because the hike was a true hike! And fabulous! And because there was a huge crying session beforehand about footwear.
It's looking like spring around here and this family is in hog heaven. We are shucking jackets, riding bikes, swinging on the swing, basically rolling around in the joy of it all. Like pigs in mud, foxes in hen houses, ducks in water, all those sorts of animal phrases that involve serious joy? That's us. So of course we were gung-ho about hiking up our local sunny mountain. The mountain we can see from our bedrooms, from the playground, from our front yard. We are surrounded by these colossal beauties and when the sun shines on them its a serious come-hither.
Nathan, Echo, and I were running for it, lured by its siren sound. But Xi? Not so much. The girl doesn't like sudden moves, especially ones in which her family is suddenly doing something she hasn't had much time to think about. I remembered this and slowed down a bit. I drew a map of our route options and she became in charge of not only choosing the route but also holding the map. She was on board!
But oops, I spoke too soon. There was still the matter of footwear. Like all mothers everywhere the change of season sends me straight to the giant shoe tub. Much rooting and sorting later I had a variety of options for the girls to choose from. Echo chose some "speedy" running shoes and Xi slunk in misery.
Here's where the unknown criteria angle comes in. I am pretty observant as far as people go. I know Echo likes certain pants because they are soft and will never glance again at a shirt that has betrayed her with a scratchy label. And I know aesthetics reign supreme for Xi, but I still CANNOT predict what is going to show up on their bodies and how they make their clothing choices.
None of the shoe options satisfied Xi. Nathan and I empathized until we were empathy-fatigued. Seriously, there were tears like you wouldn't believe. There was troubleshooting and brainstorming and more empathy. By the end there was only empathy because the parents couldn't see anything wrong with the options yet the kid apparently was still drowning in those seemingly invisible problems. Empathy is so great because, quite frankly Xi was going on the hike. She also wasn't happy about the shoes. Not much to do in that situation other than love her, empathize and let her sink into her own solution.
She chose fake suede boots with fluffy fur trim, slightly high-heeled and TOTALLY not what I would pick for a hike.
Echo chose neon orange socks, slacks that needed serious rolling, a short-sleeve flippy-style shirt, and blue mittens. Both girls were over the moon about both their outfit choices and the spectacular spring hike.
Maybe the boots fit the image of "nature"? Maybe the neon orange socks seemed imbued with extra speed abilities? This is what I am telling you, I have no idea what the criterion are.
And I suppose I don't have to know. It sure is entertaining to see what emerges after all the drawer-ruffling. And maybe it's enough that even if I don't understand the choices I can at least understand the importance of getting to make the choice.
This weekend, after studying India all week in school, Xi spent her days in a DIY silk sari. She taught Echo how to tie one and together they spent days as indian princesses. There was grace and charm but also a lot of map studying. They traced the silk road through China with their fingers, imagining how fabrics reached their castle in India. As they did so I made a mental note that when we homeschool Xi next year to start any geography lesson with that region's fashion choices.
We all know that a large part of parenting involves high degrees of insanity.
It's a wonder that any of us have our wits about us at all considering how quickly they go out the window while we wait for our children to do something, while we scrape the very bottom of our patience reserves while they do something other than what we want them to be doing.
"I'm coming mama! I just need to zip my sweatshirt over this pillow because it's my baby." Then you stand there waiting while the tiny hands make every effort to match the two sides of the zipper. The hands miss. The zipper bonks against itself. The hands make another painstakingly slow pass... Miss. Your daughter assumes the pillow needs adjusting for this operation to work. She removes the sweatshirt, fluffs the pillow, struggles as the sweatshirt catches and folds into itself. She yanks it off again, those same little hands smoothing and tugging. The zipper is askew, the hands make the attempt again. Miss. And then?
Seven years of my life pass by and thirty new wrinkles pop up on my forehead.
Seriously.
Yesterday I sat in the front seat of the car. Sunglasses on. Ignition running. Audio story queued to proper chapter. My body twisted around to watch, so that I would know when I could pull out of the driveway, so that I would know when Echo had successfully clicked the seat belt into place. She stretched it long, she slow-motioned her body into view of the buckle. She arranged the belt in her hand. She leaned forward. She stretched her hand waaaay down. She waved the buckle, swaying near the opening. She made a thrust. Miss. She stretched again. The seat belt locked up and she, slow-motion, reeled it back into the starting place. She looked out the window. She adjusted the pillow baby. She reached for the seat belt. Stretched it long...
When the buckle clicked into place I realized I'd been holding my breath. When that silver bit found it's home in the gaping red mouth I felt like I'd never been so happy in my whole life.
No one tells you this when a baby comes out of your vagina. No one tells you that you'll spend a cumulative year of your life waiting for children to be ready for the car to pull away from the curb. When child-less people ask you what you do all day, it's not that they are insensitive, or that they undervalue the work of raising children, it's that they've done the math and it doesn't add up. Even when generous in their sums, adding in extra time for each thing a stay-at-home mom achieves in a day, the result still doesn't account for an entire day. They scratch their heads in wonder and assume there must be moments of bonbons and soap operas. Otherwise where does the time go?
I'll tell you. It goes into this bottomless pit called Having Patience. YOU SIMPLY CANNOT BELIEVE HOW LONG IT TAKES CHILDREN TO DO SOMETHING.
Turning a shirt right-side out? Seven hundred days.
Sorting out the straps of a bike helmet? Twenty one years.
Washing their hands? If the bubbles are good and frothy? Three hundred decades.
And the thing is, you can't leave them behind! Bailing on them while they wrangle their minds and fingers into position just prolongs the event. They cry because they panic. They beseech you to return because they are sure there are monsters in the closet. Or if they are little enough, they'll kill themselves falling headfirst down the stairs or stepping off the wrong side of the footstool. So there you are perpetually married to a small, slow moving being who does not notice the passage of time or anything else for that matter. Blissfully in the moment they follow the thread of their challenge, as long as it takes.
That, my friend, is the source of the accounting error.
That is also the reason why patience is always a hot commodity, why we are always looking for ways to wring a few more drops out of the dry, dry well. Our sanity depends on it. Lately I have a new trick that allows me to stretch out my batch of patience. I label everything, every time consuming, every take-deep-breaths, every watch-time-stand-still moment - HOMESCHOOL.
When Echo "needs" to read off every number from the YMCA locker room lockers before putting her clothes on, I freak out! Do you know how many lockers there are in there? Well I happen to know. There are hundreds. But if I put this time-consuming, life-stalling activity into the category of homeschool, I chill out a bit. She's learning! In homeschool learning opportunities are literally around every corner. So no, she isn't quickly and efficiently getting dressed, but she is doing math! And that's what our days are (supposedly) about. Right?
Well it's at least right enough to eke out that extra bit of patience.
When we're all hungry and the girls want to "help" make dinner. I want to snarl and kick them out, not only out of the kitchen but also out of the immediate area, because I want to be a mean-cooking-machine, turning out a rapid nutritious meal, and I don't want them annoying and underfoot. But then they persist and I feel like a scrooge and I reach for the homeschool label. Yes it takes three million, two thousand and one times longer to negotiate whose turn it is to stir, or to wait while the little hands painstakingly level off the cup of flour, but they are learning! (Not to mention they always eat more of the food they are so proud to have made.)
It's my latest sanity saving trick. And I realize no one needs to be an official homeschooler to pull it out of the bag. Kids certainly don't limit their learning to school hours, they see every moment as a chance to better their skills.
Echo has this weird illness that is floating around town. The main symptom seems to be that you feel sick, then you feel better, then you feel sick again. Like a roller coaster ride. The good news is that she's not that sick, just a little fever and lethargy. The other good news is that we happen to have a stack of audio stories she is in love with.
She is clocking some serious audio story time, breaking her own personal records. We're talking eight to nine hours straight. She even listened to an audio story during the walk to and from the library where we got more audio stories.
Here is our current audio story lineup:
Charlotte's Web
Trumpet of the Swan
Lemony Snicket - Book One
Lemony Snicket - Book Two
Lemony Snicket - Book Three
68 Rooms
Riding Freedom
Olivia Kidney
Magic Treehouse
The Meanest Doll from the Runaway Dolls series
THe Sign of the Beaver
At night falling asleep Echo asks her vocabulary questions. "Mom, what are stakes? As in "high-stakes"?" And I love it that she can recite the exact source sentence so that I don't send her down the wrong explanatory road and confuse her completely. And sometimes I have to go to the dictionary myself.
But not everyone loves eight straight hours of audio stories. In this home full of work-from-home folks sometimes it simply doesn't work. That's when we pull out the headphones. But sometimes even this doesn't work. Just yesterday morning Xi came to full fed-up-with-audio-stories mode. She didn't want to hear them out loud and she didn't want Echo disappearing behind head phones either. She wanted to play! She missed her sister.
It got pretty snarky, I have to admit. There was lots of "Fine! Don't play with me!" and scowls and feigned indifference poorly hidden through desperate tears. I know some of you simply do not believe me when I say that we use empathy for 80 percent of our parenting, but seriously? We do.
I didn't even leave my yoga mat, I just paraphrased what I heard in clear feelings-based language. Sure, in my mind I was thinking: "We're screwed! This is going from bad to worse! I don't want to be interrupted! Just get over it girls! Maybe I should just declare that they aren't even allowed to play!" But on the outside I said things like:
Sure, you're sick and tired of audio stories huh?
You miss your sister!
You're sad that she doesn't want to play.
You feel lonely and left out huh?
You love it when you and Echo get a good game going.
You love playing together.
You were hoping for a different kind of morning.
And Xi got revved up by my comments, kind of indignant and more sad and angry. But she also stopped arguing her position and arguing the shitty-ness of audio stories. She stopped exaggerating Echo's use of audio stories and her own dislike for them. But also, and maybe more importantly, Echo listened to my empathetic rendition of Xi's position and I could tell from her face that for the first time she actually heard it. Without having to defend herself she could hear Xi's feelings.
To Echo I said:
You love audio stories.
It feels good, when you aren't feeling well, to cozy up and be still.
You'd actually like to play with Xi huh? If you felt better?
You love it when you and Xi have a fun game going, like "Girl Scouts" or "Wild Cats".
Echo broke down in tears and said: "I would do anything to play with Xi. I am so tired and bored of feeling sick!" She slumped further in her chair but not in defiance or as part of an argument, she had her eyes on Xi - kind, loving eyes.
Xi came up with the idea that maybe Echo could listen to audio stories during the time Xi is at her mom's house and then not listen to them at all when Xi returns. I smiled (knowing for sure that wasn't going to happen). And then Echo had an idea as well. She thought maybe she could just rally enough energy to simply stop listening to stories and play.
And that's what they did.
At least long enough to reaffirm their love and joy in one another.
Let's say we have a situation where a child has a strong emotional reaction at the prospect of an impending event - I'll pick going to the dentist (since I remember several of your posts on that topic).
The child doesn't want to go because (s)he is scared at the prospect, and you empathize with them about it - but you're still going. How do you avoid the child getting the impression, okay, she knows how I feel about this, but she's still making me go - ergo she doesn't really care?
Or, one of the instances of the linked post - Xi not wanting to eat dinner at the store - you empathized with her, and explained your preference, and that was what happened that day (and Xi got on board) - so Xi had her her preference, and you had yours, and that time, you went with yours. So what is like, the 'hierarchy', or order, in which you honour the different preferences?
Answer:
These are great questions.
I think the first thing to mention, and it's VERY important, is that empathy does not mean giving the child (or anyone for that matter) what they want. That's actually a big misunderstanding about parenting with empathy- that it is just permissiveness in disguise. Empathy is being fully there for the set of emotions - that's all. And quite often this empathy is "enough" to smooth most situations.
When heard completely, with empathy, kids don't feel uncared for even if circumstances don't go in their favor. Quite the contrary. They see and understand that their feelings about things are important EVEN IF events go against their wishes.
Let's say the child wants candy for breakfast. Mom says no. Kid still wants candy and mom still isn't going to give it, but mom CAN be with the child about their feelings. She can listen closely and explore all the depths of those feelings. There is so much connection available even if the candy isn't.
As far as a hierarchy of preferences go there certainly IS a hierarchy although it shifts all over the place depending on circumstances. As far as the eating at the grocery store example... my preference won out for sure. Xi didn't want to eat there and I gave her empathy for that, and explored the reasons why so that perhaps her preference could be tended to in a roundabout way. Specifically she didn't want to eat there because the last time she didn't enjoy her meal. So while I gave her empathy, and while we explored the reasons for her feelings, she naturally came to an idea of something she DID want to eat and thus was on board for the venture.
As the parent I was choosing to eat at the store for a variety of macro-view reasons. Though I cared about Xi's preference and had empathy for her feelings, I was also having some "pre-empathy" or insight into what the family as a whole needed. It was getting late and if we chose to eat at home we'd need to get there, unload the groceries, and prepare food - all of this would put the hour of eating and the hour of bedtime later than usual. I wanted to avoid this because I could see the girls were hungry and tired already. I wanted to avoid tears and sleep deprivation. I wanted to give them time to read stories before bed (something VERY important to them) and make sure they had a gentle transition to sleep. I also had empathy for myself in that I was hungry too and I also knew that eating at the store was the least stressful version of our evening.
So although it looked like a clear cut case of Xi's preference versus mine, my preference actually INCLUDED empathy for Xi as well. It also included empathy for Echo and Nathan too as they would be affected by the sequence of events as well.
In deciding whose preference gets honored these are the things I factor in -the logic of the preference with regard to time, the line-up of other tasks and pre-decided goals already in place, and the amount of stress involved. I also check to see if one preference is more "downstream" than another. Is it more work to move toward one preference or another?
That being said, empathy is a great checks and balance technique. If I settle in to giving my child empathy and through that realize that my preference is simply a preference and there isn't any solid, good reason to thwart the child's preference, then by all means we go with the child's. We use empathy this way constantly! We like to say "yes" as often as possible and empathy for the kids, and ourselves, let's us discern when one of us just needs our feelings recognized or when one preference should be embraced over another.
When one child asks if they can take a bath with their clothes on and my emotional state is screaming "no way!", empathy for my feelings and empathy for the child's feelings leads me, often, to see that there may not be any good reason not to bathe with clothes on, and my resistance is there simply because I am having disagreeable feelings (about something else usually).
I suppose the short answer is that empathy itself determines the hierarchy in many ways, and so does the common sense evaluation of the family's set of needs.
Want more? Nathan and I are running our parenting with empathy course: Parenting on the Same Team in April. Email me with questions! natalie(at)feeleez(dot)com
Talkfeeleez is an offshoot of Feeleez, a line of tools to teach children (and adults!) empathy. We believe so firmly in empathy as the foundation for all that is good in the world that we have based our personal lives on it as well. This blog chronicles that journey.
