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The Opposite of Living Gently

12/30/2013

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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. 

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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.

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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.”

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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. 

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How Does that Make You Feel?

10/8/2012

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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.

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Resetting Ourselves

2/9/2012

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Before I was a mother, I regarded tantrums as something good parenting prevented.  Once I became a mother (of a baby), I acknowledged there was a time when even "good" parents could expect tantrums, but that they would be mild.  Not the screeching and lashing out and rolling around on the floor (of Target) kind.  "Good" parents didn't have children that behaved like that, I thought.  And mostly, I didn't either. 

Prior to their turning two, with both kids, there was screeching. But I attributed it to frustration at not being fully vocal.  Between two and three there were tantrums, mostly at home, and mostly solvable by timeouts.  Between three and four we had tantrums, and these I attributed to blossoming independence.  Which brings us to four. 

By now, I only sheepishly admit, I thought we'd be done.  Even relatively recently in my motherhood, when I saw a child of four or five throwing a fit, I determined they were "too old" to behave that way.  I condemned them or, more likely, their parents.  

The tables have turned.  

My elder daughter is bright.  She is, for the most part, cheerful, and energetic, social and active.  She is a wonderful child.  But she is also testing us on a daily basis.  She is an emotional creature.  I cannot always predict what will set off the tears.  Or the whining.  Other times I can predict it, but I refuse to be held hostage by it, so I begrudgingly proceed into what I know will be a glass cage of emotion.  My usually sweet daughter's face will contort; there will be tears and yelling.  Mostly just on her part.  We do not tolerate it, but we have also not necessarily found the best way to deal with it.

I find that trying to reason with a child in the throes of a tantrum is much like trying to have a rational conversation with a person who is drunk.  It cannot be done, and if you try, you will end up dissatisfied.  A child in a tantrum is not in her right mind.  I realize this, and that it is of the utmost importance that I remain calm, because she is, very likely, frightened by her own lack of self control.  It is imperative that I not lose control myself.  But, by very nature of the fact that a tantrum is going on, I am decidedly not in control.  

Thankfully, the worst of these moments do occur at home.  I can count on one hand how many major meltdowns have occurred in public.  Usually I can distract or stave off or penalize them away. Usually.   We do not spank, though that's not really what I want to talk about.  And I am not judging you if you do.  Anyway, I'm just saying that it's something we have thoughtfully considered and chosen not to do. It's relevant to this discussion, becuase it means we do not have this trump card; this elevation of consequences. I am willing to accept it, but certainly it makes things more challenging when the situation devolves.

Distraught over the lack of respect and whining we started to see recurring in our daughter, and over the resultant negativity presiding over our home, we attempted a positive reinforcement track, the token economy. We decorated a mini checker set and pencil cup and let Mirabella personalize it with stickers.  We wrote her name on it.  It was all very exciting.  We created an illustrated list of treats and the number of tokens they cost. We made a list of behaviors that earn tokens (denoted by a smiley face) and those that cost tokens (denoted by a frowny face).  As a result, we have endured constant ribbing from various family  members amused by this effort. They ask how many tokens Daniel earns by doing something well (or more likely, how many he should have taken away).  For about a month, every time Mirabella did something Emerie didn't like, Emerie would should "BELLAS!  TOKEN A-WAY!"   But giving and taking goes on throughout the day, so we felt a little better because she always has opportunities to earn them back once they are lost, and there are many opportunities to praise her for good behavior as well.  

However, the tantrums persist.   Mirabella's fourth birthday party took place at a bowling alley, much to her delight.  We did not keep score and she ended up bowling for about an hour straight.  She was elated.  Every now and then, when the pins wouldn't clear, she would get frustrated.  We explained the reset button, and she pushed it with reckless abandon. Lightning struck my brain.   Now, when I sense her losing it, I give her an opportunity to push her reset button.  "I can't find it," she'll whine, or, "I can't reach it."  Not surprisingly, the reset button is never in the same place twice  (unless it's in the middle of her back.  It is often there).  It seems, sometimes, she can sense she is not going to enjoy the coming consequences, and this trick works.  For now.

I have lately considered using it on myself.   In our small group the other night, as we took prayer requests, I prayed for fewer freakouts.  Ahem, of my own.  Fewer times when the stress gets to me, fewer graceless moments, fewer instances of angry mommy.  Or, umm, wife.  But I think Mirabella might be on to something.  When I need that button the most, I can't seem to find it.

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Tips for Prospective Nannies

8/7/2011

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Our family portrait in chalk, by Mirabella.
Searching for a nanny online is, to an unsettling degree, like online dating.  Having had the unfortunate occasion to have tried both now, I know what I’m talking about. Our beloved day care provider is retiring.  She is the only one who has ever watched our kids (for more than a couple of hours), aside from family. She is family.  She wants me to promise to let the girls stay with her one day a week after she retires so they can have "girl time."  Her daughters are trying to get her to pull a Brett Favre, but  I can’t count on it.

So,  I signed up for a free trial of Sittercity, an online nanny/babysitter search service.  This trial allowed me to create and post a job description and to see when people had applied, but not to actually read the applications.  Fine.  I guess, as in online dating, it’s not a terrible thing to know people had to pay to play.  So I paid (after finding an online coupon code, of course).

Whoa.  This enabled me not only to read the applications of the people who applied, but also to search for nannies that might meet my specifications, even supplying, in some cases, references, background check results, and reviews.  This is where it got weird. The profiles are pretty basic: a photo, first name and last initial, age, location, and basic certifications and credentials. From here, I began to establish my list of tips for prospective nannies:

1. Practice Photo Etiquette. You are trying to get a job, not a date.  And not a job dancing or waiting tables or posing provocatively, either.  You are trying to get a job caring for children in their parents’ absence.  There must be no cleavage, no seductive poses, no pouty lips, no risqué clothing, and never, under any circumstances, should you be wearing a bathing suit. Which brings me to,

2. Know your audience. Off hand, I’d say there’s a 95% chance the person perusing your profile is a woman, a mother, who is in the stressful and emotionally draining process of searching for someone to care for her child, a job she likely thinks no one is actually qualified to do.  In addition to that, the whole nanny and husband scenario is pretty done at this point.  You’re already at a disadvantage, perception wise.  Do not make it worse.

3. Learn to spell.  Really.  Or, at the very least, spell check.  If you tell me you are studying elementary education and can’t spell “church,” I will not hire you.  You can’t profess a love of learning and that you will teach my child to read and write if it doesn’t seem like you know how. Likewise,

4. No shorthand. This is not a text message, it’s a profile on a job site you had to pay to join.  Use punctuation, capital letters, and spell words out.  Be professional.

5. Don’t be gorgeous and 22.  Okay, this is only half serious, and it’s probably just me.  But while hiring a nanny is bound to make this next stage of our family’s life much more bearable, I do not relish it.  In our interviews, I have felt as if I am hiring someone to do what is actually my job.  The women we have interviewed have all been wonderful, professional, courteous, good with the kids, and sweet.  They are not the problem; I am.  And I can’t help but feel that if I walk into my house and see a young woman with my baby on her hip, wiping down the counter in my kitchen and laughing with my husband I might just turn around and walk out.  No one wants to feel replaceable, least of all in her most important roles.

This process was always going to be terrible.  It feels impossible to find someone great to watch my kids when I just want to be there and feel like I’m missing it.  The occasional email I would read aloud to Daniel that started, “Hi, I’m Gaby and I’m Brazilian” (that one got a raised eyebrow and a resolute “no, thank you” ) were funny, but this is a big deal.  This person will have a front-row view into our marriage, our family, our life.  It’s not always a pretty picture. I am not proud of my complicated feelings on the matter, and I didn’t intend to turn something that’s all about them into all about me. I’m not sure what the right way to go about this is, but not everything is better online.

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    About Me

    Christina | Virginia Beach
    Psuedo Yankee, city-loving former working mom of four finds herself home with the kids and transplanted to the somewhat Southern suburbs. Finding her feet while still attempting to harness the power of the passion of her youth for useful good.

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