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7.25.2013

two parenting techniques that make parenting a joy



Parenting River has always been pretty cut and dry. He's a great kid, and I'm not just saying that because he's my son and obviously I think he's the greatest kid that ever was. Parenting two completely different people really challenges me to go with my instinct, because what works for one kid doesn't always work for the other. Now that Austen is reaching the age where I believe consistent discipline is key, I'm curious to see what will work for her, and what won't. 

But despite the speed bumps that come up now and then, they are always just phases, and we get through them without too much crying and hair-pulling (if I can stay patient with him). There are two things that have made parenting more pleasant for me. The best book I have ever read on parenting in called Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline. I took so much from this book. It is so worn and loved and underlined. I want to freakin' declare from the mountain tops what an amazing book this is. If I could buy a copy for all my friends with young children, I would. In fact I've considered doing a giveaway on my blog, just to get this book in someone's hands.

One of my favorite things about the book is that the author explains the psychology and development of a child's brain and offers ways to parent in a way that can build up a child to be the best person they can be. This book is perfect for any parent who is dedicated to gentle parenting, but wants techniques that actually work. I'm not going to lie, it is hard to parent in this way. It would be so much easier to smack a kid on the bottom and scare them into obedience. But the techniques in Easy to Love get to the heart of the matter, and I've even seen it work with Austen, who is my high-spirited, stubborn, intense and easily angered child.

Among the latest parenting woes with River have been arguing and cleaning up after himself. Since he's been two, I've encouraged him to do little chores here and there, but I haven't been consistent. And a lot of the arguing, I've realized, stems from me not allowing him to do things because I don't want to clean up the mess afterward. Maybe this should have been something I'd thought of myself, but one kind woman on Facebook suggested to cut the arguing by just expecting him to clean up after himself. Oh, right. That makes sense. I feel that now, at nearly four years old, he is at the perfect age where I can start giving him regular chores.

One of our constant clean-up battles is books at bedtime. He loves looking at books. I've never minded him reading books in bed, because when he is very sleepy, he will fall asleep quickly without a problem. If he is less sleepy, at least he stays in his bed and is doing something quiet. For a while, I had the rule that he could only take three books to bed. But he would always argue (Can I take five? Just one more? Just seven. How about twelve. Just twelve books, Mama.) and eventually I gave in, and every night he takes piles upon piles of books to bed. One night I decided to count his books after he'd fallen asleep and he had thirty-seven! When he is finished with one, he knocks it to the floor, and so in the morning books are everywhere. The task is daunting enough to me, so I usually ask him to "help" me put them away, which means he puts away three or four and I'm left with the rest.

This morning I was about to chide him for the amount of books he takes to bed and complain about how much I dislike putting his books away, and then I remembered the advice of that fellow mama. His room was atrocious and I knew expecting him to clean it up on his own was both impractical and impossible, so I cleaned up his toys and then put his books in the hall next to the bookshelf, and told him to put them away.

Five minutes later, he came to me and sighed. "Mama, I'm done putting books away. I'm tired."

One of the chapters in Easy to Love explains parenting with empathy. Parenting in this way had never even crossed my mind before. Maybe this means I'm an awful parent, but my first instinct is to respond in a patriarchal way. "Excuse me?! You don't tell me you're done! I told you to put them away, now go to do it! It's not that hard. Stop complaining and just do it." Most of the time, in the moment, I want to snap at River to cut the complaining and just obey. But this is both disrespectful and inefficient. Just because he is a child doesn't mean he doesn't deserve understanding. Do I still expect him to obey me? Absolutely. I am his mother, and I know what is best. Gentle parenting doesn't mean I let my kid do whatever he wants. But working with him rather than against him makes our days go so much smoother. Cue empathy.

"I know it's hard to put them away. It's a big job. You're tired, and you've been working at it for a long time. It is really hard. But you have to keep going," I said. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. "Yeah. Okay." and walked back and continued to clean up.

Let me tell you, it took forever. I think the whole process spanned about 45 minutes. But he did it! And he did it well! At one point, I walked past just as he was putting a book with the pages facing out. He corrected himself and turned the book around, "Whoops! The binding goes out," he reminded himself. Squeal! Um, my kid is adorable. (Anything that involves books or cleaning make me really happy.)

When he finally put the last book in, he excitedly announced, "I'M ALL DONE!"

This is where my another of favorite parenting techniques comes in: parent without judgment. The whole concept takes a while to explain and I'd heard quick explanations of it before, but it didn't make much sense to me. Essentially, the idea is to avoid words and phrases like, "Good job!" and "That's so cool!" when responding to children's attempts at doing things (such as mastering the monkey bars, getting themselves dressed, or in our case, cleaning up) and instead, to use non-judgmental language, repeating back to the child what he has accomplished in a positive manner, and letting him come to his own conclusions about what he has done.

This is one of my favorite ways of responding to my kids, because I feel it also makes me a more perceptive parent. It's easy to say, "That's great!" and harder to use descriptive language. By noting the accomplishments of my children, I listen better and pay more attention and appreciate them on a different level.

"Wow!" I said. "Goodness, that was hard. You got really tired, but you kept working, and you did it! That was a lot of books, and you put them all away! Your room is so clean, now!"

He stood and put his hands on his hips, superhero-style. "Yeah. I did a great job!"

Whoa. That makes it all worth it. *climbs off mountain top*


7.24.2013

threw out the list, living day by day

I have been trying to accept who I am the last few days, but it is hard. It is so ingrained in my mind to compare my actions to The List, that I can't get through the day without thinking about it. I am trying to change my language toward myself, and get to the real reasons why certain things bother me. This afternoon, I was going to make a big salad for myself with roasted squash, garbanzo beans, dried cranberries, flax seeds, and more. But the thought of heating up the veggies and chopping the leaves and whisking the dressing just became too daunting to me. As healthy and pretty as it was going to be, I didn't want to go through all those tasks just to eat a salad in ten minutes.

I asked myself why. Because it takes too long. Because it's Austen's nap time. Because I have to finish the laundry. Because I need to sweep the kitchen. And a list of probably ten other things, but I stopped. I have an idea of what I think I have to get done today (and tomorrow, and the rest of the week, and next month), and without even thinking about it, I am comparing all the those things to what's happening now, accurately assuming that I will fail at getting them done, and then I feel that if I don't take the time to make a salad and we just eat eggs and sauteed greens for lunch again, that I am failing somehow at being a mother, or at least as a lunch-maker.

Why do I have such a problem with eating eggs for lunch? Is that not better than running to a fast food restaurant? Who says I have to make a glorious salad for lunch and Instagram that ish? Why do I have to sweep the kitchen, anyway?

I know I'm writing about my thought process of deciding what to make for lunch, and I'm not sure there's anything more mundane than that.

Then something else happened. The dog needed to go out, so I asked River to take him out, and then Austen followed him, and they decided they wanted to play outside, and I came to stressful decision: Do I let them play outside and eat lunch later? How long are we going to play outside anyway? And if we do play outside, we will have to clean up all their toys and bring the dog in and Austen will throw a fit and is playing outside for 15 minutes worth all that? (I wasn't literally thinking these things in terms of actual words, just sort of standing there stuttering and picturing Austen screaming as I attempt to drag her indoors.)

I constantly have to tell myself to chill out. Sometimes, the easier way is the way to go, and I shouldn't feel bad about that. And sometimes, the harder way is the way to go, to enjoy the journey along the way. Yep, still talking about lunchtime and playing outside.

So today, we played outside for twenty minutes, halfheartedly threw the toys from the grass onto the porch so the apartment manager won't leave a note on our door (I'll pick those up later), and had scrambled eggs and carrots and cups of water for lunch. Austen didn't take a nap, but she'll just go down for bed early tonight. What is so bad about that?

7.22.2013

my daughter's intensity

I will never forget one of the first times we left the house with Austen. We didn't even make it out of the neighborhood. Not two blocks down the road, I shouted at John to stop the car, ran around to her side, swung open the door, unstrapped her as quickly as I could, and pulled her hot, stiff, gasping and screaming, bright red-and-purple body out of the carseat. She had begun screaming instantly when I put her in, and didn't stop. The screams became worse until they were high-pitched, frantic, as though she were in pain, and she started holding her breath for a longer than what was comfortable. Her entire body was rigid. I had never seen such a young infant so upset. She was one week old. I started crying because it scared me. I didn't know what was wrong, and felt horrible that whatever it was ailing her, my tiny newborn had to experience this amount of emotional or physical pain. She hadn't been pinched by the buckle. The straps weren't too tight. She wasn't too hot or too cold. She nursed on-demand and often, so I know she wasn't hungry. She let out exhausted little sob-hiccups as we nursed in the front seat. I stroked her hair and tried to reassure her with a soothing voice that mommy was there and everything was okay. Ten minutes later I put her back in the carseat and we were on our way -- and she was fine. This type of crying from her became so frequent, by the time she was a few weeks old, it hardly phased me.

Austen has always been like this. There is so much intensity and emotion in her tiny body.

She is extremely particular. When she was a baby, I'm talking two to six months, she had to be held a certain way. Not just on the hip, or in a cradle hold. She had to be twisted between arms, held by her chest, on people's shoulders, swung like a carnival ride. She didn't have bad colic, but there were a few days when she would cry for 45 minutes to an hour and I didn't know what to do with her. A handful of times I had to let her cry for a few minutes while I left the room and regained my composure. I'm surprised it wasn't ever worse than this. It usually just came down to finding a position she really liked, or swinging her swiftly. My arms and emotions would be worn.

One time when she was about three months old, she was playing with a toy that fell out of her reach. She screached and screamed in anger as she grasped for it, and wasn't happy until someone handed it to her again. That is the exact moment I knew -- my child is going to be very strong-willed. Toddler Austen might be a little scary.

Distraction did not work with Austen. When she was about 7 months old and became increasingly more mobile and began pulling up and crawling, once she had her mind fixed on something, she was not giving up. Taking the object away, removing her from the situation, and giving her something else to play with quickly became a non-option. She would not fall for that, as most babies would. She would go back again and again. Nothing I offered would top what she really wanted. I might hold out something for her to grab and speak in my most enticing baby voice, and she would glance at it, unamused, and turn her attention back to the object she wanted. Her focus was impressive. She's smart, my family would chuckle.

She hated be surprised or scared and she was easily overwhelmed. Popping up from nowhere and saying, "Peekaboo!" only made her cry. Stacking blocks and toppling them over made her cry. Loud noises, crowds, new places, and new situations made her cry.

The ages of sevenish to 16 months were rather pleasant. Once she was more mobile and could entertain herself (and retrieve her own toys), she didn't cry as much. She threw passionate mini-fits from time to time, but they never lasted more than a few minutes and all I had to do to calm her down was pick her up and stroke her back. She would melt into me and forget about being angry.

Lately, however, she has become increasingly difficult. Some days, all day long I hear high-pitched ear piercing screams, from something as simple as River taking a toy away. Just a couple weeks ago, when I put her in time-out in her room, she would get distracted and play and come out happily when her timer went off. Now she screams bloody murder and pounds at the door with all her might. I have decided I can't do this to discipline her anymore; it's too much of a strain on the both of us, and she exhausts herself. It is not a "gentle" parenting method that works for her. I can't go to the bathroom without her screaming outside the door, or sit at teh computer without her screaming to sit on my lap.

Most of the time I am emotionally, mentally exhausted. When she is by herself, she can be an angel. No brother to fight with, no sharing required, no older influence. She listens well and is happy. But when the two of them are together, it brings out the worst in her, and all I do is count down the hours until they can go to bed, and I don't have to listen to her scream any more. I don't know what to do. I feel like a failure as a parent. This is the one thing I've always known I want to do: be a mother. Since I was tiny. I've always wanted a houseful of children, I've always wanted to homeschool and devote all my time and energy into raising kids, and I feel like I can't even do that well.

My patience is worn thin enough, and I feel like Austen's intensity plucks away at the strings holding me together. I love her so much. I get so much joy out of holding her, kissing her little upturned nose, nursing her, chomping on her toes. I love watching her, reading to her, spending time with her. But the screaming and constant out-pour of emotion does me in.

My husband is a patient person. He doesn't yell or loose his patience. He can put our daughter to bed in five minutes. He can stay home with the kids all day and have the entire house clean, both kids bathed and in bed, and dinner waiting on the stove. He is a better stay-at-home-parent than I am, and that's supposed to be my job description!

I wish being a mom came easier to me. Often, I think my children deserve better. I wish constant talking, questions, screaming, bickering, arguing, and being ignored didn't phase me. I wish I had an endless supply of patience. I wish I didn't snap and yell. It seems that as my patience increases with one child, the other starts giving me another issue. Sometimes I do believe being a mother brings out the worst in me. I don't feel worthy of raising these two precious souls. I have one chance to do it right, and I don't think I'm doing a very good job.

I have recently realized that the thing about having a blog with a modest audience is that you seem to have to have an answer for what you're writing about. You can go through a trying time, and then write this how-to blog post for how other moms can get through it. But you can't be in the middle of a journey. Well, I don't have an answer for this one.

7.17.2013

who i am versus who i want to be

If there was a theme to my life, it would be looking elsewhere. Looking ahead, wishing for what's to come, instead of enjoying the moment. Looking past, wishing things were as they once had been, instead of living joyfully in my current circumstances. I did this a lot, especially, when I was a newlywed with an infant. I'd look back to my fun fresh-out-of-high-school years, and wonder if I had done it all too soon.

Along the same lines, it is another attribute of mine to make goals, or lists, and leave them incomplete and undone. For years, I've wished I was an early riser, but I'm not. I'm a night owl, and after the kids are in bed and I am enjoying my first quiet moment of the day, I find it hard to have the self-control to put myself to sleep when my body tells me I am tired. I've been wanting to eat dairy-free and factory meat-free for a few months now, and I will do great for a couple weeks or so, until my dad calls me up and says, "Hey, we're going to our favorite BBQ place for lunch! Want to come?" It is incredibly difficult for me to make changes, even when I know they are best for me. It's like I don't think I will be able to succeed, so I don't even try.

I have this idea of the person I want to be, and I can't keep my gaze off of her. In my mind, she is the perfect mother. She is organized and patient. Lighthearted and wise. Full of energy and always equipped with glue stick, construction paper, and a book full of educational craft ideas for her well-behaved, well-mannered children (who eat all their spinach).

I want to do a lot of things, I have plans to eventually do a lot of things, but I've not succeeded in actually transforming myself into the person that does these things (with the exception of having successfully given up soft drinks) and I'm not sure I know how. I believe that my life would ultimately benefit from these things, but apparently that is not enough motivation for me to just do it already.

And then I had the thought -- what if I just accepted myself, my life, my habits, as enough? What if I gave up every attempt to change myself, and became content with who I am now, and threw out the lists, the plans, the currently unattainable goals. What if I simple lived life as it came, and made decisions and choices that I felt were best in the moment? What if I just chose whether or not I want to go back to school this fall, instead biting my nails and dreading the process and going back and forth about it in my head? And then, if I say, Okay, yes. I am going back to school and will take it one step at a time, then I really, truly do that without a second thought, without a worry, and just trust that it will work out, because I AM capable. And if I choose not to, then I forget about until next spring, when I have to decide again. This doesn't mean I would loose all ambition or that I would just lie around all day, watching Netflix and giving up on going back to school. But what if I just accepted the Whitney that is, instead of focusing so much on the Whitney I intend to be? (

My first instinct when I thought this was that is not okay. After some pondering what life would be like if I did stop the lists and goals and expectations, I realized not much would change. My lists can sit there stagnant, with duties uncrossed and rewritten a million times, switching from crumpled paper to fresh, clean pages to make me feel better and give myself more motivation, but if I'm not actually doing anything on the list, then all I'm doing is adding extra stress to my life by wishing I were different. And wasting paper. If I stopped trying to always be better, or if I'm honest, trying to be perfect, would I be happier? Would I make wiser choices in the moment, because I didn't feel the pressure of trying to please... someone. Who? Myself? My children? John? My mother? My friends? I don't even know.

I can't even really answer these questions, because the thought of not having The List is almost unimaginable to me. I've always had The List, since I was a young girl. I've always wanted to be better. Do better. The problem is I so rarely follow through. I never change. I remain very much myself.

Night owl. Relaxed. Hates cooking. Loves cheese. Eats excess amounts of sugar.

One thing I've wanted to do in the past that just happens to fall into place when needed is getting myself off the computer. I often found myself lost in Internet world, debating parenting styles and politics with angry people on news websites and message boards, playing mindless games that took up way too much time, scrolling through social media sites and liking and retweeting and hashtagging and whatnot. And I realized I hated this. It took up my time, it made me feel lazy and unsatisfied and negative, and so I decided to stop. It wasn't ever on The List: Stop spending so much time on the computer. It was just simply a part of me that I wanted to be different. I wanted to read more. I wanted to be more present for my children. And now, if I spend a day on Facebook and am feeling tapped out from the rest of the world and need a break from a screen, it's not difficult for me to sign off for a few days, or weeks, or even months. I don't freak out when I leave my phone at home.

I wish other choices could be this easy. Maybe they would be if they didn't hang over my head with so much authority and disappointment and negativity. Maybe I need to stop looking at them as tasks, forget about them for a while, and just live the life that comes to me moment by moment. And maybe they'll fall into my life gently, without a fight, without expectations.

That's almost a scary sentiment. I don't even know who I am without The List, much less, if I will be able to accept that person as Enough. Part of giving up on this idea of who I want to be will have to be okay with failing, once I make the decision to do something. And not failing in the I-give-up way, but failing in the I-tried-everything way.

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