There is about to be a newborn in our house. There’s already a crib, below a welcome bunting. There have already been tiny socks washed, cooed over, matched and put away. Our freezer becomes more crowded by the day and requires an inventory spreadsheet. There is a bassinet by my bed and my belly is so big that even I am a bit astounded every time I catch my reflection. 

There has been a lot of discussion with our girls about what it will be like. It will be exciting. It will be loud. It will be different. It will be messy. It will not always feel the way it does at first. It might not always feel good. It might feel a little lonely and strange. Both girls pinkie promised me at lunch today that they would tell me or their daddy if they started feeling “outside the circle” or forgotten, instead of holding those feelings inside or hurting another because of them. 

Lately we’ve talked a lot about gentleness. The sweet sisters who fill my days aren’t always sweet to each other. We’ve been working through a lot of yelling. I’ve been reminding, prodding and nagging about kind words and gentle tones with varying degrees of success and with varying levels of patience and gentleness of my own. 

We talk about having patience with our new baby, empathy at how strange it will be for him for everything to be so new. We talk about touching him gently, loving him gently. We talk about having patience and grace for each other as we will all be enduring changes.

The house we’re still settling into is the second youngest we’ve lived in as a family. The first was around 150 years old, the second 130. This one, at 35, is a mere babe in comparison.  One family occupied it for 32 of those years and took impeccable care of it. We laugh at some of the relics that clearly date back to the beginning, but there is nary a burn mark or slice on the original Formica in the kitchen. The trim throughout the entire house may be dark wood, but it’s nearly perfect, not scratched or dinged. In 35 years. The people who came before us were not impatient. They were not careless. They lived gently.

I can’t say the same about us. Gentleness, like so many of the fruits of the Spirit we talk so much about, is something we aspire to, not at all a destination we’ve reached. None of us. Least of all me. I cringe at the irony of my booming voice telling my children to speak to each other with kindness and gentleness. I shudder at the ridiculousness of my attempts to slow their clumsy feet while I carelessly ram a vacuum cleaner into corner trim that had, somehow, been unblemished until my arrival.

The truth is, we are not gentle people. Emerie went to bed in her favorite shirt tonight, a pink t-shirt with pink script from A Midsummer Night's Dream given her with love by my dad; “And though she be but little," it rightly states, "she is fierce.”

So, my sweet little boy for whom we have waited and prayed, we can hardly wait to meet you. We will love you always, but I can’t promise you will always feel it. I have cherished you since I knew you were coming, but I can’t say I will remember that in every trying moment. 

We are loud, and a little rough. We will hurt your feelings. We will be careless with our words. We will forget to be kind. We may not always remember to put each other first. 

There may be moments we don’t focus on the beautiful blessing it is just to have you. We will not always embody the principles we so desperately cling to. 

But we are working on it. We are trying. We are learning to apologize, to extend grace and forgiveness like breathing in and out. We will make a lot of mistakes. Life with us will be messy, and there will be times it all feels like a little too much.

We will not always be gentle. We will hug you too tight. I will beg you not to grow up. I will cry over you for reasons you and your sisters may never understand. 

But you will always have a place with us; you will always belong. We will love you fiercely, and we will accept you without condition. Always. 

We've been dealing with feelings a lot lately.  So. Many. Feelings.
My first-born is an emotional creature.  I have yet to figure out if the recent abundance and fortitude of her emotions has something to do with a phase or the changes our family has gone through, but in the meantime, they are fierce.

Many have told me, ever so helpfully, "Welcome to having girls."  Newsflash: I am a girl, and not a stoic one.  But I have never in my life seen so many feelings, and homegirl is not even 5.  Heaven help us make it to 15!

Mirabella's preschool is Reggio-Emilia inspired.  It's one of the things I love most about it.  Its founder champions the inclusive concept of The Green Circle.  The children sing The Green Circle song each morning, which reminds them of the importance of including others and showing love. It is a central tenet of the school. Each child has a photo of herself that she can place in or out of the circle each day, which prompts the teachers to know how the children are feeling.  They are encouraged to talk through their feelings, and the circle is a very effective tool. It helps them know themselves and relate to each other.

That said, on more than one occasion, Mirabella has told me, upon being reprimanded, that I made her feel "outside of the circle." This might happen when she has yelled at her sister or stolen a toy from her, or when she has thrown a fit in a public place.  Initially, this really irritated me.  I know my child is smart and that there is a smidgen of manipulation at work here.  So, how to deal with that and the issue at hand that requires discipline, all while acknowledging and validating her feelings?

I never thought I'd be the kind of mom worried about "validating feelings."  I think I thought I'd be more "because I said so" (yes, I do say that more than I'd like). But here's the thing: I don't want to trample my children's feelings. I don't want to yell.  I don't want to say "get over it" or "tough" when they tell me how something made them feel (that's not to say I haven't said those things). I firmly believe there are a variety of intelligences, and that being emotionally intelligent is essential to having a happy, productive, well-adjusted life that benefits others.  I want to hold my children accountable for their actions, and I want them to feel they can talk to me about anything. I believe that if I dismiss them now, I am teaching them that they cannot trust me with their feelings. But navigating this minefield while also keeping my own emotions in check has been difficult.

In the past, we have handled tantrums punitively.  Privileges and treats have been withheld, or conversely, rewards earned when tantrums were avoided.  This worked when Mirabella was younger.   But as she approaches 5, I'm just not sure we're getting to the root of the problem.

We decided to lean into the feelings.  To listen to them, to name them, and to take control of them.  I explained that feelings are good and important. We have begun talking about the importance of being "in charge" of our feelings, so that they don't become in charge of us. When a meltdown starts, we ask who is in charge.  Mirabella usually considers this and answers accordingly.  We have encouraged her to take a break when the feelings start to feel stronger than her ability to control them. We agreed that the "reading nook" (a corner of her closet with a kid-sized chair, pillows, blankets and twinkly lights) would be a good place to take a break.  We agreed that all she needs to do is tell us that she needs to take a break and she can go there until she feels calm.

I'm not sure if it's working.  I know that it has worked, on occasion.  When a freakout is brewing, without any prompting from us, Mirabella will announce that she needs to take a break, disappear for 10 minutes or so, and come back a different child.  It doesn't happen every time, and of course, this only works when we're home.

What it has encouraged is more discussion about feelings.  Instead of focusing solely on the behavior, we have been talking about what prompted the behavior.  How she was feeling, and behaviors that might be a better way to deal with it.  It has also increased my ability to talk about the effect of her actions on other people's feelings.  It's given us more tools, I guess.

Ironically, all of this emotional management has coincided with our studying of the Fruit of the Spirit.  So far, we've studied love, joy, peace, and patience. On multiple occasions when Mirabella is distraught, I have overheard Emerie pray, "Dear God, please give Mirabella peace."  (Granted, often Emerie is the thief of the peace.) The irony of these lessons I am teaching my children is that I very well may need the reminders more than they do.  As a stay-at-home mom, I have found it easy to become duty-bound.  Though all of my efforts are grounded in love, they are also incredibly mundane--endless.  It can be easy to lose the love.  Easier still to lose my joy and complain. I am not advocating being fake.  I don't want to speak positively for the sake of seeming positive-- I want to feel joy, love, peace and patience.  And I don't know how to feel it unless I choose it, all day, every day.  That is so much harder than it sounds.

I winced as I taught the girls their most recent verse, "Love is patient, love is kind."  How quickly I can lose my temper with my little ones and speak to them harshly, loudly, unkindly.  This morning, as we prepared to run errands, Mirabella was especially fragile, telling me, "My feelings just feel too strong today!" and taking a break at the same time I needed her to be getting her shoes on. I probably rolled my eyes and made a sarcastic comment.  When she came back down, she told me the way I had talked to her made her upset, hurt her feelings. I knew that it had. And all she had done wrong was not moved quickly enough, with the same sense of urgency I had. Once we were finally on our way, I apologized to my children.  I do it a lot.  For yelling, for losing my patience, for being unkind.  How can I teach Mirabella to manage her emotions if, when pushed, I can't seem to do it myself? Who doesn't need a "break" now and then? We agreed to push our reset button on the day and move on, and we did.

It amazes me how unprepared we are to parent well.  I was previously one of the least compassionate people I've ever known. My children are teaching me love, consideration, patience, kindness, and compassion in ways I would have scoffed at not long ago. I am not the mother I thought I'd be.  But maybe these little girls are helping me inch a bit closer to the kind of mother I'd like to be.