Flowers for You On Mother's Day
wisteria blooming in inwood, just for you
I wrote the piece below last year on Mother's Day. Since we are experiencing a childcare challenge right now, I thought I would share it while putting my Simplify, Simplify, Simplify Tool to use.
Anytime families face challenges, transitions and/or any other issues that can set them whirling out of success, The Simplify Tool is the first one to pull out of the box. (Also, I wanted you to know what's going on so you would know I haven't been ignoring you. I've been itching to post, so it hasn't been from lack of desire that I've been absent.)
And I want to appreciate all of my amazing mommy friends who have been supporting me now and in the past when I have been in similar situations. May you all and everyone reading have a joyful Mother's Day, regardless of circumstance!
MOTHER'S DAY
2007
I spent my Mother's
Day alone with my 15-month old daughter and I loved
it.
In fact, this experience turned around my idea of
what Mother's Day is all about. I guess I'd never
really thought about it before, but just sort fell in
with the notion that Mother's Day was when moms don't
cook, wash dishes, feed the cat, feed the fish, feed
the kids, etc. Instead, family takes care of that
stuff and mother receives.
That wasn't my experience today. My daughter is my
family and while she does feed me by shoving veggie
booty in my mouth when
she decides I should
have some, its not quite the same as the receiving of
a meal.
Today I "chopped wood and carried water" (as in
“Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After
enlightenment; chop wood, carry water” the Zen
proverb that speaks to changes in perception and
finding inner peace in the mundane). I've had a
change of heart about what I value in a Mother's Day
celebration.
Instead of being on the receiving end of gratitude
for all that I do as a mom, I gave thanks for the
opportunity to be a gentle, loving, empathetic
mother. I decided to enjoy every mundane moment, and
there are quite a few in the life of single mother
and young child.
I have so much joy in my heart that my child is in my
life, though my intention had been to give her (and
myself) a different family experience. Regardless, I
spent the day in gratitude and joy. That doesn't mean
that I denied the sadness, just that I can
acknowledge it, provide myself with empathy and then
move on to enjoy every minute of mothering this
precious being who has joined me.
In doing so, I model for her, as Magical Child
author Joseph Chilton Pearce said, by becoming
the kind of person I want her to be.
Designate a Day for Dawdling
Today, Monday, was a day for dawdling around here. Sunday may work too, or any other day. Whatever it takes, just dawdle. It does wonders for relationships. No pressure. No frustration. No meltdowns (for me) over the amount of time it takes to put on a sock. Well, actually, to catch the foot for the sock.
Instead lots of time for hugs, kisses, laughs, silliness and just smelling the daffodils.
"learn the language of things" --froebel
Dawdling is a fun-sounding word, isn't it? Heard it at David Elkind's lecture on Saturday at the New York Public Library and haven't been able to get it out of my mind. I figured it must be time to do more of it. Elkind, Professor Emeritus at Tufts University, wrote the acclaimed book The Hurried Child. (See Meta-Dad's interview with Elkind on his latest book: The Power of Play)
Elkind likened children's dawdling to adults going to a far-away country. Can you imagine being mesmerized by all sorts of aromatic smells, fascinating textures and intriguing sights and sounds while someone (like a brusque tourist-intolerant New Yorker) behind you hurries you along, constantly interrupting, criticizing and insinuating that you are wrong by your very nature? Not very easy to have a respectful relationship with that going on.
All of this and most of us haven't even left the house. Dawdling can be a real button pusher whenever we want or need to move on, to get somewhere in adult time.
What to do?
- Start out small with an hour or two.
- Give as much as we can by simplifying our lives and making space for dawdling and just being together. Call it an investment, if you will. An investment in our relationships and an investment in our children's education. They need and want it a lot more than the latest toy we think will teach them all about the world.
- Create a relationship that is based on respect for children--for their needs, feelings and thoughts. When we have this, we build trust with the child. Then, when we really need to move more quickly, they'll be more likely to cooperate with that busy New Yorker that is inside most of us.
Think before Shouldn'
want to feel some guilt? should on yourself
want to feel some anger? should on someone
want to feel both and then pass them on? should on children
On the Road, Prescott AZ
i'm up for a drink of this scenery while in prescott
I'm presenting the updated "Key to Cooperation: What Every Parent Wants to Know" Strengthening Family Connections workshop in Prescott, Arizona, on Monday, March 10, at 6:30 pm. Sarah Edmonds, who runs Precott's NVC parenting group, invited me and I'm thrilled about the possibilities! I've spiced up this talk a bit more and can't wait to try it out.
This is one of those openings that happen when some paths close and I keep on moving forward. I guess that's why I was so drawn to this image when thinking about this post. According to the photographer, Farol, is a "view of Watson Lake from the Peavine trail in the Granite Dells outside of Prescott, Arizona."
I find it fascinating that the water level is 10 feet below normal. A drought? Not from Farol's perspective, nor mine as I view his shot, an image of ever increasing possibility.
When I look at it, I see the path the water is cutting, widening and leading out to the horizon, and the vivid greens in the foreground, and the character of the rocks. Even with the brewing storm I want to be there, to see and experience this magnificence.
This shot reminds me of life. And parenting. The beauty lies in the acceptance that it ain't perfect and things aren't always as they seem. And there is so much beauty in the dry parts as well as the stormy parts.
It's the "big picture" that holds the miracle, so beautiful and stunning it hurts--
Just like a child.
Connecting with Children in the Everyday
yesterday: sunset: isham park: snowman.
So what does this maintaining connection stuff look like anyway? In the everyday, when things are going well and we don't even know were are at risk for flubbing it? I'm not talking about the obvious parenting challenges here. The ones we address in the NYC Connection Parenting Workshop Series or in the myriad reasons that parents may call a life coach. I'm talking about during average everyday experiences when we are on autopilot (ok, so we are usually on autopilot when we flub it under stress, too) and we aren't aware of how a child may interpret our actions.
Here's a snippet:
"Ohhhh!" My 2-year-old daughter calls out. "Snowman!" She stops abruptly and points at the white rectangle painted on the stone steps that wind down from Isham Park.
Well, who am I to tell her it isn't?
I hold on to the urge to "correct" her, to inform her about the world, to make sure she knows all the reasons why this can't and will never be a snowman, to teach her what this "really" is. To say "No."
I hold on tightly to that impulse that overtakes us adults. That compulsion to pull children from their world into our logical one, even when it may not be in their best interest to do so. This "No" is the one that makes her "wrong" and risks whittling away a small part of her child-like, creative, joyful being with the chisel of reality.
Instead, for that second, I give over to her and her snowman. I live with her in her moment in time, her world. I began to "see" through her eyes. Now I am her ally, the leader who understands her. I relax into connection.
"A snowman!" I say as I bend down. "What's he doing?"
"Sleeping."
"Can you show me?"
She points into the rectangle's whiteness.
"Do you want me to take a picture of him?"
"Yes." She seems content. My heart feels full.
We move on.