Talk Feeleez

Code Word: Giraffe

 

A page from our book "Some Monsters" which is still looking for a home at a publishing house.

In our children's book Some Monsters, one of the tricks for battling monster fears is to keep a flashlight handy and shine it into the dark corners every now and then. I think the same could be said for parenting. Totally triggered by something your child is doing? Bring out the mag light and do some serious poking around. Children are born good people, they aren't psychopaths that will grow up to kill, rob, and knock over old ladies if parents don't mash and mold them into moral folk. The goodness is there already, blooming, and when they mess up, or piss us off (That's what we mean by "mess up" isn't it?), it's usually for a good reason.

They have needs that aren't being met.

or

They are experiencing a feeling so unbearable that their primal brain compels them to an action that might discharge some of that emotion.

or

They have developed some belief about themselves or others in the absence of information.

or

.... something else.

The other day I walked over to pick Echo up from our friend Romy's house. She didn't kick and scream when I told her it was time to go, but outside the gate when she handed me her tap shoes to carry and I hesitated for a split second, rage flared behind her face and she jabbed impatiently, ready to lose her shit.

A few steps later I said, so sweetly, and non-aggressively: "So Echo... lately I've noticed that you've been mad at me. Kind of out of the blue, anger leaps out. Are you mad now? I'm confused because I don't understand why."

Know what she said? 

Nothing.

She kept walking and didn't say a word.

I kept my cool. "Wow. I feel really sad that you aren't answering me. I'm so super frustrated by that."

Nothing.

"Man, this feels terrible." (Starting to lose a little cool.)

Then she said: "I don't want to talk about it!"

Me: "Why not?"

Echo, exasperated: "I just said I don't want to talk about and you're talking about it!!!!"

Then I did lose it. Totally triggered by this point I pulled out all the "info" about how at our house we don't do time outs and spanking, that we talk about things instead. And if we can't talk about things then what do we do??? I put "info" in quotes because really it was a veiled threat (If you don't talk about this, then what choice will I have other than something totally unsavory?) and also because Echo was certainly not receiving information. She was triggered too, and in that state no one hears information.

It got worse. I think I even decided I'd "play that game" too and joined in on the silent treatment. It wasn't pretty. Echo sat on the porch and cried. I steamed in the kitchen. I checked on her a couple times, each time a little more gentle and neutral. Eventually she was ready for deep sobbing and lots of hugging. I propped her on the counter and together we pulled out the metaphoric flashlight and took a look around her emotional mind.

It wasn't a quick process. There was a lot of empathy for all of the feelings Echo was experiencing, starting with the loneliness and sadness she felt out on the porch, then going further back, for the frustration she felt on the walk home, then further back, for the anger she felt toward me about the tap shoes. This part is hard for me, the part where I give her empathy for her feelings even though I am so tempted to say: "But I didn't do anything wrong with the tap shoes! Why were you mad at me?!", or "You were alone on the porch because you decided to be alone on the porch!" Empathy is for the feelings involved, not a condoning of actions, or an agreement about the "truth" of the situation. Empathy is acknowledging that her reality is real for her, and her feelings are valid regardless.

Plus, I was interested in helping her move back into her higher brain where we could discuss rationally the recent trend to be angry with me and to not want to talk about that anger. Empathy was going to soothe her feelings enough for her brain to feel like the environment was safe enough to re-open the executive function. 

We kept shining the light. She was able to describe a feeling that compelled her to hide her feelings. She said the sensation was like being slapped anytime she thought to share her emotions. She said the feeling was dark green and lurked inside her, spreading across her whole stomach and chest. It was a scary feeling, like having an enemy inside that told her not to trust anyone and that it was shameful to share, and not safe.

You can just imagine my eyes popping out of my head can't you?

Now that her whole brain was back online we looked at when this began. She was certain the green feeling arrived before our trip to Santa Cruz but remained hidden because she was too distracted by all of the fun. Then she got real quiet, for several moments, before crumbling into sobs. She revealed that the scary audio story, Revenge of the Witch is responsible. Revenge of the Witch is a story we picked up at the library. In preparation for our trip I immediately loaded it onto the ipod. Echo started listening to it right away and I didn't think anything of it. From the outside she looked rapt as usual. Little did I know that Echo was scared out of her mind. She finished the entire six disc program before letting me know that she had been living a horror story through headphones for two days straight.

Dammit.

Anyway, she thinks she felt so scared by that story that the idea sprouted in her mind that you couldn't trust anyone, not even your mom.

So although she had been wanting to talk, although she had been wanting to share her feelings, that green presence in her torso slapped her back, and scared her from doing so. Our troubles would start because she wanted me to know what she was feeling without having to tell me. And when I failed, she felt angry.

So complicated.

Now our plan is this: When the green sensation pops up Echo will use her code word: "Giraffe". My response is to give her a hug and know that she will talk about whatever is bothering her later, when the green feeling subsides. We've tried it once so far with great success. She also is going to build a bonfire with Papa and perform a ritual that involves burning  a piece of paper with the word DISTRUST.

Holy shit.

There I was, walking along the sidewalk, pissed and triggered by this little twerp who was mad at me for no reason and giving me the silent treatment. Little did I know about Revenge of the Witch and terror, and green feelings slapping her from the inside and preventing her from speaking. Does it make sense to me? Nope. Not much. But that doesn't matter. It makes sense, to her. She isn't a misbehaving twerp, she's a person with her own sense of logic, rationale, and emotional landscape.

I'm so glad we pulled out the flashlight instead of the paddle.

Pace, Pressure, Praise

We don't use praise at our house. On the surface I know that may seem a bit scrooge-like. When our kids do something fantastic we don't squeal "GOOD JOB!" or say how proud we are of them. We don't. (And its taken a lot of practice to get there.) What we do do is watch, celebrate when they are celebrating, commiserate when they aren't, stay with them wherever they are emotionally. It's not like we don't do anything, we do a lot, but we don't interject our opinions on their achievements.

Why? 

A million reasons. Alfie Kohn lays out the most convincing arguments ever seen in print for leaving both praise and punishment behind. Nathan and I read his Unconditional Parenting book and his logic combined well with what we had intuitively already figured. It seems like praise would feel good, would be encouraging, would show a child that you are on the same team as them and are rooting for their success. It also seems like praise would encourage actions the parents desire, thereby cutting down on actions they do not. It all seems this way but actually praise backfires. It muddies the waters so to speak. When a child is praised for doing something at first the praise seems to work, but then not only does it stop working but it actually backfires and inspires the cessation of said activity. Read Unconditional Parenting because Alfie does a better job than I do of describing the ill-effects.

What stands out for me is that praise takes away a child's personal motivation and dilutes it with the element of mom or dad's pleasure. The child quickly switches from "I'm doing this because it's fun" to "when I do this mom likes me more". Ack. And mom's approval is so strongly desired that the child often will stop doing the activity to avoid risking any displeasure. I've seen this very thing in our home when momentarily I forgot myself and whooped out a "Good Job!". I am not kidding, Xideka immediately halted the very activity I was lauding.

Without praise our kids are free to follow their own interests and learn new skills because of their own personal drive, not because we will reward them (or punish them) with our own emotional response.

Which brings us to swimming. And to pace and pressure.

We got a family membership to the YMCA and have been jumping in their chlorinated pool several times a week for the last three weeks. We like it because we get the exercise of treading water and the girls like it because kids, in general, go ape-shit for pools. When we first started Echo was just polishing off her dog-paddle. She tentatively left the pool's edge and swam carefully to my close-by arms. I'd hold her a bit and then send her back to the wall. 

Now Echo, from an outside perspective anyway, is a slow-mover. She emphatically moves at her own pace and that pace could be considered slow. One day while she was at the top of a slide she said: "Mom, I noticed something, whenever someone tries to convince me to do something I don't want to do it." Ain't that the truth. The girl does not like to be pressured, even in the slightest "You can do it!" sort of way. What does this require on the part of mama and papa?

A truckload of patience.

So that was/is my tactic in the pool. Even though I knew she could put her face in the water, or jump from the side, or kick better, or whatever, I didn't say a word. I caught her mid-dog-paddle, hugged her, turned her around, and sent her off. A bajillion times. Day after day.

And then one day she said "Mom! Look I can do the backstroke!" And she could. And it wasn't as if I wasn't watching. Dog-paddle, catch, turn. My eyes were on her. But she was right. She had perfected a back stroke. In her wiggly, squirmy, dog-paddling she was working on things. She was developing. She was learning in a completely invisible way to the outside eye. What looked like a stand-still, or snail-slow pace to me was actually a skipping-right-along.

Okay. So there was a backstroke out of the blue. I wanted to squeal in delight and praise the bejeezus out of her. But I didn't. I said: "Look at that! A backstroke. You can do a backstroke now huh?" And she grinned, pleased as punch with herself and moving on (invisibly) toward her next milestone.

No praise, allowing her pace to proceed as it will, and patience. In other words GET OUT OF THE WAY and the little pipsqueak will astound.

So more days of dog-paddle, turn, backstroke, turn, dog-paddle, hug, turn, backstroke, turn. Again and again and again. 

Then one day the lifeguard sees Echo swimming and says "You know hon you'll swim a lot faster if you put your face in the water! Want me to get you some goggles? If I get mom some goggles she can go under too and you can wave at each other. Want to try?!" Echo smiled awkwardly and looked at me. I said I was willing if she wanted me to, but I felt myself wanting her to want to. I found myself suddenly, and (secretly, repulsively) wanting to please this lifeguard I didn't even know. Wanting her to think of Echo as a good swimmer or something. Echo agreed. We got goggles. She gave it a half-second attempt and then burst into tears. I held her while she cried for thirty-five minutes.

We went from blissful, swimming-on-her-own-terms to sobbing, miserable child in the blink of an eye. She cried because she didn't know if she could do it and she wanted to be able to do it. She cried because suddenly adults she admired were moving her a few stepping stones ahead before she knew herself to be ready. She cried until the moment became hers again, until enough time had passed and the terms were her own.

Then she slid from my arms, adjusted the goggles and put her face in the water. For two seconds. Then she flung them off and went back to dog-paddle, turn, backstroke, turn.

Lesson learned. Pressure doesn't help. GET OUT OF THE WAY.

All of the days of invisible development started to add up to confident swimming, spinning in circles mid-pool, and bactstroking all over the place. Her mind and body were working overtime yet still without many outward signs. Then yesterday she said: "Mom I'm going to practice my backstroke and them I'm going to take the swim test."

The swim test???

At the YMCA kids have to pass a swim test in order to go into the deep end. Echo and I heard of this our first day and I never gave it another thought. I figured, based on our pace, the deep end would happen for us in a couple of years. Days would go by, other kids would exhibit their skills for the lifeguard and splash off into the dark blue depths, but Echo and I contentedly paddled away well within the five-foot mark.

I was utterly shocked by Echo's new goal but I didn't say anything. And sure enough: "Okay I'm ready mom!" We paddled over to the lifeguard, Xi coming along too, emboldened by her little sister's gumption, to take the test herself. The guard stood, clad in official red, towering over Echo's tiny pinto-bean head. "You know what to do sweetheart?" But Echo was already off. She paddled all the way out to the middle of the pool, touched the center lane line, gracefully laid back and backstroked her way all the way back to the guard. Cool as a cucumber. 

She passed.

She felt good. She was stoked to explore the deep blue. And her victory was all hers.

When I saw her tiny slick head confidently making her way across that aquamarine I finally got it. Her pace is her own. Don't pressure, don't praise. She's reaching for the stars and succeeding.

It's Just Hair

One day at the fair with hot sweaty hair, put into bun at midday.

One afternoon with said bun dunking in the river.

One night's sleep on that bun.

One day with bun removed and hair tucked into helmet.

One more night's sleep.

Voila!

Can you tell tht her image of herself has nothing to do with the state of her hair? 

I'll do everything in my power to keep it that way. Keeping my mouth shut for days of increasing tangles is step number one.

F*** Summer Reading Programs

Okay, a little backpedaling. 

I LOVE LIBRARIES. Really I would marry a library if I could. When I first moved to Missoula I was basically single (even though I was in a relationship), with no kids, no friends, not even a dog!, and my family/friends/community was the treasure trove of books at the Missoula library. I often sink my nose into the spine of the books I love and breathe deep. I love books and I love libraries.

Summer Reading Programs are put on by local libraries. They are basically a coloring sheet to track the hours that a child reads (or is read to) and after each milestone the kid receives a reward of some sort, like a Dilly Bar from Dairy Queen. The idea is to get kids reading. Great! And keep them intellectually engaged over the dog days of summer. Great! And really these intentions are great, but for kids that already are reading and loving reading the method sucks.

It basically boils down to the "evils" of praise/reward in order to illicit desired behaviors from kids. There is a lot of research about this. Alfie Kohn spells it out like nobody else in Unconditional Parenting and once I read that I was a complete convert to a non-rewarding style of parenting. The theory is that extrinsic rewards (praising phrases, gold stickers, chocolate) work against a child's natural intrinsic motivations. It's completely counter-intuitive but basically if you reward a behavior that a child naturally loves to do, it muddies their own interests, and actually deters them from continuing. I say it's counter-intuitive because many of us have seen praise "work", and when I say work I mean that we have all seen a child swell with pride when dad or mom  says "Wow! Good job! You did that all by yourself?!". We've seen that same child then scurry to do more of that sort of task and return to show mom or dad his achievements.

But what we often fail to notice is what happens next, or in a few years, or later as the child grows into an adult, which isn't so great. Some of what occurs is a growing lack of interest in tasks like those if the child doesn't receive the same kind of praise or greater praise. The joy of achieving something is eclipsed by the need to meet someone else's approval. This is why children that receive allowance or treats or any kind of reward for doing chores don't do any other or different chores that aren't rewarded. It's also why some children will treat people one way when mom is watching (generously), and another when mom isn't. The behavior is chosen based upon what the child might get as a reward, not because that behavior feels good, is pleasurable, or is the right thing to do. Basically if parents use rewards as a form of motivation, that motivation evaporates as soon as the reward does, and at the same time reduces the type of motivation we'd rather they have - personal, intrinsic.

But that's all theory. Read the book and you'll be convinced by the theory as well, ready to drop praise and reward like a bag of poop. But one can basically find a theory that can prove anything, especially in the world of parenting. I myself am inspired to drop praise/reward because I have seen the negative effects with my very own eyes. 

Take Summer Reading Programs for instance. Nathan and I don't say Good Job! when our girls do something pleasing, we don't give stickers to them when they make their beds, we don't promise ice cream in exchange for good grades. But sometimes reward rears it's head in unexpected places, like the beloved library. Last summer during one of our trips the girls spotted the Summer Reading Program, and gathered three log sheets. When they got home they penned their names on them and hung them on the fridge. Then a reward horror movie ensued before my very eyes.

Our girls LOVE to read. Absolutely. Love. It. They read all the time. Echo would have me read to her all day, every day, if I was willing. These girls would fore-go food in exchange for books. And once the Summer Reading Program was in effect they still read, but with no joy. I am not kidding. The joy immediately evaporated and in it's place stood competition and stress. The older girls became acutely aware of how quickly the other one was filling in the reading log. They'd read for thirty minutes, just to be able to fill in another box and either catch up to the other sister, or stay ahead of the other sister. Suddenly the kitchen timer was being used constantly as the girls were clocking themselves. They were counting their completed boxes and snapping at one another if their reading time was interrupted. "XI! Stop playing near me! I have thirteen minutes left on the timer!"

Get this.

Xi, so stressed-out by the whole thing, stopped reading altogether. From mid-July until school started in September she didn't read at all. And Bella, once she filled in the entire log and received her Dairy Queen coupons, stopped reading as well, not altogether but almost. (Echo meanwhile had no notion of what the whole thing was even about so she merrily read her way through the summer, drinking in every word.) 

That's when I decided: Fuck Summer Reading Programs.

So this summer, when we went to the library and the girls gathered books by the dozens I didn't mention those pesky reading logs and hoped they had forgotten the whole thing. We made it all the way through June before Bella remembered and grabbed a log. Nathan, recalling last summer, said "Um, let's check with Natalie about that..." I groaned when I saw the multi-colored fun-looking sheet. I said Bella could bring it home only if she immediately filled in every box. Bella was utterly confused by this reaction. Isn't that cheating, she asked. I said she already had read enough to meet the requirements and in any case I didn't care, because my primary interest was in preserving her innate interest in books.

Bella isn't a complicated person. She immediately deciphered that she'd get to check out books, get to reap Dairy Queen coupons (which by the way, went completely unredeemed last summer), and wouldn't even have to keep track of a single minute. But later I overheard her explaining the situation to Xi. She added that last summer she was so intent on filling the reading log and reading so fast that she didn't remember any of the books she read. 

Theory Shmeory. This is for real.

Right now from the library we've got a million Bone books, several Royal Diaries, a poetry volume, some Spiderwick Chronicles, an historical book about hair, and dozens I don't even know about. And everybody is blissfully turning pages. No timers, no races, no stress. Just unadulterated, unrewarded, beautiful reading.

Is It Even Possible?

I've had an email from a sweet mama yearning to find connection with her children. She parented the first in an empathetic style with wildly positive results for all. But now that there are two kids... well it doesn't seem to come as easily. She feels she's just going through the motions and coming up short. She described a typical interaction at her house:

Ella is building some amazing elaborate lego house. Harper sees this, thinks it looks so cool and heads over to touch it and taste it and figure it out. Ella screams and cries when her building gets touched. 

Me: Ella! I know that's so disappointing...
Ella: No! Don't talk to me about that right now!
Me: But I want to talk about what you're feeling!
Ella: Harper touched my building! Make him stop! Fix it!

At this point, Harper starts climbing on me, pushing Ella out of the way, pulling down my shirt to nurse and also starts screaming. She amps up her screaming because she's just been pushed off my lap. I'm so so sad and exasperated at this point that the next part of the conversation goes like this:

Me (yelling, now): Ella, I told you if you want to build stuff Harper can't touch, you have to put it up high! He's curious! 
Ella: Mom! That's not fair! Much more crying and screaming.

Then I hand Harper a toy and start cleaning the kitchen or something just to get my mind off how sad I am that I don't have unlimited time with either of them. I've been trying so hard to keep things even. To give Harper all the things we gave to Ella when she was his age and to treat Ella the same as we did before Harper was born. It's not working though. I'm exhausted when I wake up and I feel as though both kids are left at the end of the day wanting more of me. 

Crap. That's my first reaction because I can just hear the emotions behind the words.

• Sadness.
• Loss of hope.
• Self-criticism.
• Sorrow. 

The scenario sounds hard, so very hard. But my second reaction is one of optimism. It is possible to parent two children (or three or four) with empathy, and to find, and relish, connection with each. So where to start?

Specific Practicalities

Let's start here with the "what do I do?" part of the scenario.

1. Still the panic.

When the tower crumbles get to the scene as quick as possible. Stop the "offender" from further changing the structure, not because he is wrong for exploring the tower but because you want Ella to be able to hear you, to sort out her feelings and to find a solution, and she will not be able to do any of that while in a state of panic about the tower.

2. Communicate to Harper.

Use words and sign language (the sign for "talk" is a wide open hand turned sideways and tapped on your chin) to explain why you are restraining him from touching the tower. "I'm going to hold you a moment and talk with Ella about the legos."

3. Communicate to Ella.

Use a loving face and explain to Ella that if Harper wants to nurse you're going to let him because that will give the two of you an opportunity to talk things through. Restrain Harper from kicking her. "I love you and I'm going to help you. Let's let Harper nurse because that will distract him from the tower and give me a chance to work this out with you. Here, let's make room right next to me so I can put my arm around you."

4. Self-Empathy.

Talk yourself down from panicking (as the two voices are raised and things are looking bad) by using self-empathy. "Shit this is hard. I'm ready to lose my top. I'm so frustrated." Let these words create a smidgen of emotional space for yourself so that you don't end up lending your own raised voice and haggard emotions to the pile.

5. Listen.

Play dumb. Act as though you don't know what the problem is so that Ella can tell you all about how hard she worked on the tower and how sad she is that it has changed shape and how tired she is of Harper touching the stuff she's working on. If the conversation goes there let her describe how sucky it is to have a little brother. Don't judge. Just listen.

6. Provide Information.

"It's important to you to build safely, but it doesn't seem as though the tower is safe down here. Harper sees a really cool, colorful thing and he wants to check it out. He's so little that right now the way he checks things out is with his hands and that changes the shape of your tower."

7. Ask.

"What do we do?"

8. Wait.

After empathy and with the perspective that you are all on the same team (no one is wrong or right), children find solutions quite easily. Wait to see what they come up with. Once completely heard through empathy Ella may not be attached to the tower at all. She may come up with a new idea. She may even want to find a game that includes her brother.

Larger Scope

1. Look for opportunity.

Instead of getting things done while both children are happy use that time to amp up connection with one of the children. Even if Ella is happily reading a book and doesn't need you, and if Harper is asleep or doing something else, use that moment to connect with Ella. Sit with her, read to her, listen to her, just tune-in completely. 

When my kids are occupied I like to scurry around and clean things and try to get out from under the always growing pile, and it is really hard not to do this. But it sounds like connection is at the top of the wish list, so perhaps the to-do list should take a back seat. It might help to keep in mind the time frame. For the next two years or so your children will need you to be very hands-on, which definitely sounds like an eternity, but in the spectrum of their lives it is quite short. So for two more years you will have a messier house and life than you like, but you will also have a lot of connection. And no regrets.

2. Set reasonable goals.

Keeping a lego tower completely intact? Not reasonable.

Maintaining connection even though the tower tumbles? Definitely within reason.

Giving Harper all the things you gave to Ella when she was his age and treating Ella the same as you did before Harper was born? Not reasonable.

Giving Harper and Ella an incredible amount of love and connection in a variety of ways? Absolutely reasonable.

3. Set an intention.

Set an intention for the day without getting too tight about how that intention is going to come to life. It seems that some of your sadness is that the ways you are able to connect with your two children don't match the way that you were able to connect with Ella when she was a solo child. Perhaps it makes more sense to intend to connect and gratefully accept the ways that connection pops up instead of deciding that it only counts if it comes in a certain package.

Decide to make the purpose of the day about connection and watch as opportunities to connect rise up. If connection is your intention then you are lucky because any instance is an opportunity; spilled milk, scratched knee, funny jokes, or surprise rain. 

4. Build trust with Ella.

Responding with empathy, choosing a same team stance, refraining from blame, and everything else mentioned above will build trust with Ella. She needs to know that she's important and loved, that she's just as important and loved as Harper even though you don't hold her and nurse her to the same degree. She will come to know that she is loved and important because you care about her thoughts and feelings, her towers and ideas. 

When she wants you to be in one place doing one thing and Harper wants you to be in a different place doing a different thing, go back to "What do we do?". This will drive home the point that they both are important, their desires are important, and that together as a team you will find a way to meet everyone's needs. 

Even Larger Scope

1. Check your level of guilt.

Really. Forgive yourself. You are not harming either child by having birthed the other. You have plenty of love to go around and with each day it grows bigger. 

2. Rewrite your story.

The current story is as you described above. Two children simply cannot be parented with a satisfying level of empathy and connection. You do not want this to be true. The more you tell this story to your neighbors, friends, husband, and to yourself the deeper it will sink into your reality and the more true it will become for you. You have a different story in mind as to how you'd like your family to unfold and if you want it to become more of your reality you'll have to start noticing it now. You already have a huge jump start. The final part of your letter said this:

The whole reason this style of parenting appealed to me was because of the connection it seemed to foster. I see it "working" in lots of other ways; the kids don't fight often and are really sweet to one another, they are both kind to other kids and communicate their needs really clearly, they are both so sensitive to others' feelings. But...

The more you notice and appreciate and languish in thoughts like this, the more your family vision will come to life. The only part I would edit is the "but" there at the end. A good rule of thumb would be to stop short any time you are about to add a "but" to your sentences. For instance: "The kids had a really great day, laughing and playing together. It was so fun to see but I just wish every day could more like that instead of the squabbling we usually see." Stop your thoughts and words before you get to the "but". Notice what you like and turn your thoughts from that which you do not.

3. Trust.

Go ahead and trust that everything you want is possible.

***************

Co-sleeping Revisited

I did these drawings last year. Echo sleeps with us and we, for the most part, really like it. I say "for the most part" because there are times, certainly, when I wonder: Is this working???? I think this to myself when I realize that for three months straight I have been sleeping on the very very edge of the bed without room to even roll over because Echo has plastered herself to my side. We've evolved from the drawings above, now Echo sleeps in the middle every night. When I get into bed I like a few moments sans entanglement so just slip in near the edge without making a fuss, leaving room between us. And then at some point her pinky toe meets my thigh and like a heat-seeking missile and without opening an eye, she sidles her way over to me until she had wound one arm through my hair, one arm around my arm, and both legs over my pelvis. And there we remain for the next six hours.

There's no doubt it's working for her. But for me? Sometimes I'm not so sure.

Because the truth is I sometimes wonder about this whole attachment parenting thing. I wonder about it especially when I compare myself and my daughter to other people. I fret about how much I carry Echo, or that I never go anywhere without her. Lots of other people don't do this. To be clear, they compare themselves to others, sure, and fret about their parenting, of course, but many people don't sleep with their kids or hold them as much. When I think about this I start to question our family set up. 

Then I read Nathan's recent blog post. He writes over a period of days and often around 2 in the morning so I never actually know what he's writing until it goes online. And his latest post is titled "Hold That Baby!". I started reading it because he's my partner and that's a supportive thing to do, but based on the title I figured it was a bit of a review, a summary of the benefits of holding your babe, stuff I already knew. But I kept reading because he was giving me new information, utterly compelling news about brain development.

In order to claim the promise of the human brain, we parents must spend those first months tending to the infant’stransition from in Mama’s womb to on Mama’s chest, and then onto Mama and Papa’s hips (backs, etc.), and then holding onto Mama and Papa’s hands, and so on. And the way the brain needs us to do that is by continually making each chapter of the transition feel safe.

This part I think I knew in some sense. The first few months after the baby is born is the time to hold that baby and let it hear your heartbeat and transition into this strange new world gently. This intuitively made sense to me so that's of course what we did. But I read on...

The sense of security that the brain needs to develop has a spectrum of thresholds: without any sense of safety a newborn will die (from a condition cryptically know as “failure to thrive”); with a minimum experience of security, babies will live but be vastly under-developed and/or psychologically dissociated; at a higher amount of security, as most of us have had, development proceeds largely unimpeded, but with less vigor than that of which it is capable, babies grow into under- or mis-developed adults with all the physical, mental, and emotional atrophies and dysfunction that are so prevalent today. Of course, there is a higher threshold, still, experienced by precious few, wherein the infant and growing child is made to feel ultimately secure, comfortably safe, and unconditionally loved — in short, as though he belongs – at which point the brain, nervous system, and body are fully signaled and empowered to develop, absorb, learn, and create in ways that most of us can barely imagine today.

It was at this point that I started to realize that the brain is still a brain even after the early months of a child's life. Safety and security are just as important for a five-year old as for a two-month old. And the part about the higher threshold, well that's appealing...

I read on. 

Think of it this way — if brains in general are machines, then the earliest models of brains were/are wind-up toys: they’re set in motion and just perpetuate repetitiously until they wind down (usually immediately following procreation). Reptile brains are calculators: they perform a prescribed set of specific functions only, and very little if anything outside of those parameters. Mammal brains get into higher and higher forms of computing devices, all the way up to humans, which are a bit more advanced than your standard desktop personal computer. And as mentioned above, part of what makes the human brain-computer so powerful is that it has carefully maintained and refined the best elements of the wind-up toys, the calculators, and the simple Commodore 64′s that preceded it evolutionarily. We’ve got hardware, and hardwired programs that run, whether we tend to them or not; and we’ve got additional programs that come added in (on arrival) and that can expand as we use them; and then, depending on the software that is downloaded onto our hard drives, we run more and more varying and coalescing programs throughout our lives. If we get low-grade software, or if it doesn’t get downloaded properly, or our hard drives get hacked by destructive programming, or the like, then our capacity may be limited, our programs may run into errors that force shut downs, or our programs may conflict, etc., etc.. Whereas, if we get top-of-the-line software, and it’s loaded with care, and our security systems are in place to protect our processors, then we are capable of running programs like Mozart 2.0, or Einstein 3.1, or Gandhi OSX.

 

And as I read I again kept remembering that all this is true for brains in general, and that brains don't stop needing to feel safe even if the brain's home is now the body of an almost five year old, they continue to develop, forming new pathways as long as the environment is secure enough to allow for that expansion. 

Armed with this new perspective I myself developed a new perspective. When Echo sidled up to me in the night and took over my body with her own I wasn't thinking of all the parents that sleep with the whole bed to themselves. I wasn't doubting. Instead I was thinking of her ear next to my heart, that sound that has brought her comfort from the moment she could hear it. I pictured her mind feeling so safe that it could venture to wire new roads and develop complex ideas and thoughts. I imagined her in a nest of security and therefore able to unfurl her developmental wings.

Who knows, with all of this "top-of-the-line software loaded with care" she might wake up one morning and literally fly.

 

It's All Okay

In the Montessori magazine I just picked up from Xi's school there is a list of what three-year olds should be able to do.

• Dress themselves
• Get themselves a drink
• Fix a simple snack
• Wash hands and face
• Brush teeth
• And much more

These kinds of lists are bad for parents.

I read the list and thought, oh dear. Echo is four and a half and does only one of the five activities on the list on her own. I don't even want to know what the "much more" includes because I'm afraid she doesn't do those things on her own either. I read further and the article detailed what needs to be in place for those activities to be made possible. Clothes with no buttons or snaps, a low table with crackers sitting on it and a small knife and tiny jar of peanut butter for spreading, a mini water pitcher, stools. I felt a little better. Our house certainly isn't set up this way.  A low table with food sitting out? Can you say labrador retriever? That snack would be inhaled in two seconds flat. A mini water pitcher? Ours is giant and heavy and very high up. But maybe if I reorganized our world Echo could do more things independently.

Then again, maybe not.

I immediately turned to Echo and said I was thinking of setting things up better so that she could do some things on her own. She said: Great! Like what? I said like pour her own water and get herself a snack, but that we might need a new water pitcher. She asked about the food part and I said I hadn't figured that out yet. She said; Oh, okay. Because I'm in no hurry to start that stuff.

She's in no hurry to start that stuff.

Right. I forgot. I've facilitated her interests as they develop, every step of the way, and pant snapping and water pouring are no exception. She'll get there in her own sweet time.

These lists of "shoulds" wreak havoc on parents, forcing them into a place of fear and worry. Revise that, "shoulds" wreak havoc on human beings, be they parents or not. 

Some examples: 

I've been having a lot of beak up sex with my ex-boyfriend. Do you think I should do that? Is that okay?

I was thinking of not making pumpkin pie for thanksgiving and doing an apple cake instead. Do you think I shouldn't? Is that okay to not offer pumpkin pie on thanksgiving?

Do you think I should buy a house? I mean I'm thirty-eight. Shouldn't I be a homeowner by now? Is it okay to just keep renting on into adulthood?

Yesterday during recess duty a mother came to pick up her four-year old daughter and stopped to observe her first. Her daughter was growling and prowling under the play structure. I explained that this girl and her friends had been playing lions and that one girl was so kind as to play a dead human so that the pride of lions could gather round and eat her. The mom looked at me like, is that okay? So we of course got into a conversation. She was also wondering if her plan to postpone kindergarten was an okay idea. I don't know why she was asking me, we don't know each other at all, but I turned to her and said:

Yes. It's all okay.

Bella started pre-school at age two and has been in school ever since. Xi didn't start school until age seven and is totally rocking it. Echo hasn't been even a day in daycare or school of any kind. All three are wonderful girls. 

There are all kinds of choices to make and "shoulds" don't help us decide, they only help us worry. Seriously I think that any parenting choice, within reason, could be appropriate for any given child.  What really has the potential to harm is the parents worry and concern about those choices. Let's take Echo for instance. She doesn't dress herself or brush her own teeth or make a snack for herself. Never ever. I could worry about this. I could, after reading that list, see her as a developmentally stalled child in need of drastic measures. I could develop an entire story about her with several unhelpful labels including "lazy", "baby-ish", "lacadaisical", a "mama's girl", "spoiled" etc. I could do that and then watch as she grows to meet those expectations.  I could use my fears to force her into independence, ignoring her personal pace in order to meet the goals of the list.

But really in this scenario, the problem isn't that our house isn't set up properly, it's all of the thoughts and fears I attach to the "shoulds" involved. I could get rid of our dog, track down a small pitcher, and buy a low table in order to soothe my fears, or I could simply soothe my fears and trust my daughter is developing at just the right speed. It isn't the fact that I don't have a low table with easy to prepare snacks that is the threat to her development or our relationship, it's how I think/feel/act in response to her stage of development.

The choice or action a parent makes isn't as important as how they respond and feel about those actions or choices.

It's all okay.

Echo will eventually snap her own pants. She will also eventually make a ten course meal. We may indeed end up tracking down a small water pitcher if she wants one, but I need not get it for fear of her becoming some lame adult. 

It's all okay.

Instead of fretting the choices, studying "should" lists and making a checklist for ourselves and/or offspring, we'd be better off stilling the fretting. I would be much better off trusting Echo's interest and sense of self than enforcing the achievement of a list I found in a magazine. And for the record, if once you set aside the list of "shoulds" and your choice feels right, it is right. Including apple cake for thanksgiving, sex with an ex, and renting until you die.

It's all okay.

Double Gold Star Humming Heart of Happiness

 

If I listen carefully there is always a theme bubbling around me, a concept that keeps popping up here and there. If I pay attention I can pin it down for a bit, chew on it, and figure out what I'm supposed to learn from that theme. Lately it's modeling, no not runway style, but parenting style. 

I think I have completely absorbed the idea that the most potent way to teach our girls how to treat others is to treat them in that same way. They do what they see. When the girls were learning how to climb down stairs we took pains, as we ourselves were descending, to turn around put our hands on the top step, and reach down with our feet to the next step. The babies watched and quickly, instead of teetering at the top and threatening to bash their heads in by toppling downward, they spun themselves around and crawled safely, step by step. Modeling works. I've talked about it a lot on this here blog, just search "modeling" or click on these links: motherhood manners sisters.

But it's been popping up again, so I've been looking at it again.

Nathan has been reading Nurture Shock and wowing me with excerpts. One part that stood out is the explanation that there is a need for more children's books in which the characters model behaviors and perspectives that are helpful, kind, empathetic. The model currently in vogue is for a character to display a wide array of repulsive, "wrong" behaviors, and then in the last few pages, that same character comes to their senses and "learns a lesson". Unfortunately the twenty pages in which the character is a raging tyrant have more effect on a child than the last page that exhibits remorse and apologies. I know this to be true, no matter how obvious the lesson appears to me, Echo (one of the smartest kids I have ever known personally) does not grab that part as her take home message. She remembers the nasty brawl Brother Bear and Sister Bear got into better.

(Note to self: carry on with our next project- children's books that show empathy, again and again and again.) 

Apparently the same is true for television shows, especially the "educational" ones whose sole intent is to teach these very things! The book is pretty incredible. And if you need even more reasons to lower the amount of t.v. your family watches, Nathan has a great post here.

As he was reading this bit from the book to me we were on the airplane, which is the place for feeling in the hot seat in terms of parenting. Traveling with kids is where parents get their street cred. Airports, airplanes, fatigue, stress, timetables, and millions of eyes watching your every move. Those fellow travelers send messages, through the exhaust filled air, with their eyeballs, letting you know just how they feel about the seat kicking, the crying, and just about everything else your child happens to be doing, and of course, what you are doing in response.

Shall we say that the pressure is intense?

The environment percolated with the book excerpt and then my mind threw in a conversation I had with my sister. We have a mutual friend that is pregnant and is pretty irreverent in the words she uses to describe the fetus, being pregnant, and the whole child scene. I think she's trying to be funny. But Emily was comparing it to how Nathan and I talk about our kids, or how we talked about Echo when she was in my belly. We revere our kids and our words and actions reflect that. So Emily, in turn, sees our children as indescribable treasures as well.

A light bulb went off in my head. DING! Modeling works, not just in teaching our kids how to treat others, but in TEACHING OTHER PEOPLE HOW TO TREAT OUR KIDS.

Holy shit.

For instance, back to the airplane...

Echo was pulling a fuzzy pink suitcase. Does that say enough? Probably not. Well I should add that she loves this suitcase, had never before pulled her very own, and was super proud of doing it herself. What this meant was a three-year old negotiating steps down to the tarmac and back up into the airplane and down the aisle, slowly, carefully, with passengers, large, adult, in a hurry, passengers, piling up behind her. Stress, timetables, and the pressure of it all had me itching to yank her up by the arm, apologize to those furrowed-brow folks over the sound of her wailing, and get on the motherf-ing plane. But I didn't.

Instead we told her about the custom of moving to the right to let others pass and we took deep breaths and smiled. We treated her with patience, care, and respect. And guess what? Everyone else did too! The flight attendants crouched down and admired the fuzzy suitcase, fellow passengers waited, delighted to experience this momentous activity. They all smiled and supported her. They were given that opportunity, permission to treat a child like an important human being, because we paved their way.

I love kids. And I have enormous amounts of empathy for them but I even find myself seeing a child in a negative light when the parent is leading in that direction. An exasperated look and a tossed out phrase like: Ugh! He's been acting like this lately. A total prim madonna! We'll never get out of here if I wait for him, and before I know it, I too am a bit irritated and annoyed. I saw it happen throughout the airport, a melting down kid splayed in the aisle, an exasperated parent dragging and fuming, and surrounding them, several onlookers rolling their eyes and crossing their legs in irritation. 

My theory is that we all think it is the kid that is bothering everyone, but really the reaction by the parent is what is giving everyone the idea that they should be bothered. When Echo took her turn, melted down and puddled up on the airport linoleum, my body language and words indicated that there on those cold tiles was a human in distress and in need of help and comfort. Passersby gave us looks of concern, their postures and faces soft with care and kindness. 

I want people to treat our girls that way.

The way our culture does it is like reading page after page of the Berenstein Bears mistreating each other and then expecting a child to use the last, short page as their model for living. We treat them disrespectfully, inspiring others to do the same, and then have the audacity to expect them to say Excuse me, pardon me, and wait their turn quietly. Madness!

The bright dinging light bulb in my head brought great hope and joy to my heart. If I treat our children well, they will treat others well, and I can pat myself on the back for a parenting job well done. But, BONUS!, if I treat our children well, then other people will treat them well, and that's not a job well done, that's a double-gold-star-humming-heart-of-happiness.

The Best Way to Love a Girl

Your kids are so cute. Our kids are so cute. Sometimes they are so goddamn darling that we want to literally rip them to pieces and consume every last crumb. Sometimes the twirling ballerina is so breathtaking that our breath actually does leave our bodies. Their eyes so wide, so bright, so gorgeous that the angels sing. 

At times like these, as loving, adoring parents the words come tumbling out, showering their downy heads,You are so beautiful! Cute! Awesome! Incredible! Pretty pretty pretty! It's true they are, and it feels not only natural to let them know, to shout to the heavens our regard and esteem, but also good for them.

But the thing is, it's not.

Alfie Kohn's book talks about praise, and after reading it I felt like punching myself in the stomach for every "Good job!" I ever slung at the park and elsewhere in the years preceding. His argument is rock solid. His argument is inarguable. His argument makes sense, both on a guttural, emotional level, and an academic one. Praise backfires, praise is an arm of conditional love.

"The more we say "Good job!" the worse the child comes to feel about himself, and the more praise he needs." " As a result of praise, children become less able or willing to take pride in their own accomplishments - or to decide what IS an accomplishment. In extreme cases, they can turn into "praise junkies" who, even as adults, continue to rely on other people for validation..."

Statements like these make me want to drop praise like a ton of bricks and walk away forever. You don't have to tell me twice. I want my kids to feel good about themselves, to work and play based on intrinsic motivation not because they are doggedly searching for my approval.

But then there is cuteness. Can't it be excluded from the above? Please? Sadly, I think not. And with girls especially, I think you should quickly cut off your lips before you praise them for their appearance.

Okay that's extreme, but let's look at the material we are working with, let's look at what a young girl/woman is going to face in her lifetime, the magazines, the music videos, the advertisements, her peers. Do we really want to set them up now to look outside themselves for validation for their appearance? A girl's mom says she looks cute and that feels good, so the next morning the girl tries for that again. Do I look pretty and cute in this outfit too Mom? Fast forward only ten years and it's not Mom she's looking to to tell her wether or not she looks pretty anymore. 

And what she looks toward, magazines and videos, will NOT tell her she looks good. They will tell her her boobs are too small and her armpits too smelly. And furthermore, that she should do something about that, change who she is, how she looks, and what she smells like if she wants to come even close to validation.

Yesterday Echo came to me, eyelashes batting, dressed to the nines in a sparkly green tutu, so sun-dappled and precious as to cause suffering, and asked: Do you like what I picked out Mom? and I wanted to say: I think you are the most beautiful human being I have ever seen in my entire life. You are drop dead gorgeous. But instead I said: Oh! You picked the long green shirt and the sparkly green skirt huh? Do you just love it?

I wasn't satisfied. 

But SHE WAS. 

She wanted to be seen. She wanted me to notice her delight. That's it. She did not want me to decide for her if it was pretty, she was already sure of that. If I had doled out the "Beautiful!" "So pretty!", she probably would have liked it, but subconsciously my comment would remain with her and the next time she selected her clothes, instead of reaching assuredly for what she knows with certainty is pretty, she might instead wonder "Is this pretty?" A seemingly loving comment is like a little invisible time bomb, an insidious undetectable poison that robs her of her own knowing and supplants it with a guessing and a striving.

There are times when the same question arrives: Do you like this Mom? and the answer is NO! There are times when the outfit selected is completely and utterly heinous - stained pajama pants and an Elmo tank, an outfit that makes me cringe and dread leaving the house. But to watch her is to watch a queen. The Elmo tank feels just right on her shoulders and the pants fill her with warmth thinking of the dear friend that passed those along. She descends the stairs with sparkles dancing about her head, so sure.

So fucking sure of herself.

My need to express my esteem, or my opinion of her cuteness is less important than that. 

Other times Echo drags out the makeup case and paints herself up. When she's done she looks up and says: What do you think? The last time she asked the lipstick was a sparkly lavender line squiggled well above her lip. I said: Uh huh!.

And at night when I wash her face I refrain from: You're such a dirty girl! My goodness you've got the whole park on here! You filthy little monkey! If she objects to my ministrations, I explain that I'd rather get the stuff on her face off so that it doesn't slough off onto the bed. I give her information instead of my opinion. I'd rather she forget she had a face at all other than as a receptacle for kisses and a smooth spot to feel the Spring breeze.

When we are leaving the house for a fancy dinner we tell the girls where we are going and what it's like there. We ask, after receiving that information, if they are satisfied with their attire and appearance. If not they change, if so they remain as they are. It might mean a big swallow for the parents, a need for some self-empathy and a pep talk, in order to enter a restaurant with girls with tangly hair or outfits that involve seventeen layers of floral skirts, but it's worth it.

We are talking about their sense of self. Their whole sense of self. It's worth it.

To be honest, there are times when we speak on impulse and say: Yes, I do like that outfit! and although I think this is a step above the general declaration of beauty or prettiness in that it clarifies that our opinion is just that, an opinion not a decree, we don't feel entirely good about this response. We quickly try to turn it back around, placing the focus back on their own opinion with: Do YOU like it? These qualified statements could perhaps be better looked at as a stepping stone, a way of weaning ourselves from outright praise and toward loving, supportive, neutrality.

I received this email recently:

There's been a lot of discussion in these parts lately about how issues of body image jive with the whole no praise/punishment philosophy...  we like the idea of simply limiting comments about how children look to a minimum, and yet many of us yearned to hear our parents (fathers especially) call us beautiful growing up and never did...

It's true. What our parents say matters. A lot. So, many of us think it best to say lots of good things to our kids. Looking back we would have liked our fathers and mothers to tell us how beautiful they saw us to be, but I want to make the argument that we only think we wanted that, in part because we were taught through conditional parenting to want that. What I think we really wanted, what we all still want, what everyone wants, is to be noticed, to be loved and accepted. And as girls we look for this in the arena of looks, because well, let's face it, that's where women have historically had any hope of getting noticed. 

Imagine for a moment if your dad or your mom, when you got yourself all gussied up for the prom did not say: Oh how beautiful you are darling! (Giving the dress credit for your beauty), or, Oh, Honey, let me get that strap for you. You can't go to the dance with these threads hanging down... (adjusting the details of your appearance so that you, finally, now, are beautiful or acceptable) but instead they said:

You're all ready huh? Let me get a good look at you... Oh how I love you.

My friend Kris and I have a pact not to mention or praise one another's appearance. I have found insane comfort and freedom in this. I am a logical person with high self-esteem, but when someone makes a comment on my appearance (You look fantastic today! Oh wow, have you lost weight? What a cute dress, it's really flattering on you!) at first I am thrilled and then these tiny voices I didn't even know were there pop up. What did I look like yesterday that sets me up to look fantastic today? Was I like totally fat the last time we saw each other?  Flattering? Gosh, I guess that means some of my other outfits are a little less than flattering. I wonder which ones... I think I want praise but then I realize it's the flip side of criticism, it's in the same family, a family I want nothing to do with.

It's been a year since Kris and I made our pact and when I am with her I feel fantastic, and not because I happened to wear an outfit that pleases her, but because she loves me. She sees me. Maybe she does like how I look on most days and I know this, I feel this, because I feel her unconditional love. Unconditional love can make anyone feel drop dead gorgeous.

What if none of us ever mentioned appearance? What would we choose to wear? What would we think about our butts? Would I even notice the lines around my eyes? Would anyone wear skinny jeans?

What if we let our daughters be their own mirrors, how beautiful they would feel.

Want more? Check out Keeping it to Myself

Love Piles

Seems our house is one big snuggle these days. Even the cat can't get enough. He figures if he puts his big fat body on top of the keyboard I will have no choice but to pet him. He's the kind of cat where if you go to pick him up his body weight doubles and every muscle turns to mush. Like a rebelling sandbag.

Remember the days of tantrums? Before empathy. The days when a child would throw themselves to the floor and when picked up would go floppy-sandbag like the cat? I do. Maybe I remember that phenomenon from babysitting as a teenager. Maybe from Bella's early days, when Nathan and I were trying out time-outs and other parenting reactions we had inherited from our respective childhoods. Before we found Alfie Kohn. Before we really digested the fact that we could design our own parenting.

I'm glad those sandbag days are over (except for the cat versions). I'm glad that if you don't ignore the emotions of your kids repeatedly, pushing them aside in the forward momentum of the day, you seldom see a "tantrum". In fact I'm glad that I don't even view intense grief and frustration as a tantrum anymore. 

The cat is more an odd, big, awkward oaf than an emotionally distraught toddler. His sandbag move is part of his quirky personality, not an indicator of missed empathetic opportunities. Well maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe he asked for pets and I ignored him, maybe I did this enough times that he had to take matters into his own hands and block the computer entirely.

But snuggling is definitely in the air around here. I don't know if it's the snow or extra love is about, but there has been more cuddling than usual. This morning our entire family found itself in the parents' bed. Like a pile of puppies we tangled in each others warmth and spaced out, our eyes fixed on the falling snow. Only with reminders from the bedside clock did we reluctantly, one by one, peel off the heap and start our day. 

May your Friday be a pile of warmth as well.