Tag Archives: advice

Like a drug dealer, but different

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As I watched Charlie willingly eat kale and pear, both foods he adamantly DOES NOT LIKE, I realized I haven’t shared this trick with you! My favorite method of encouraging the boys to continue trying blacklisted foods is to provide “gateway” foods. You know, like gateway drugs, except with a healthy outcome.

I happily dish up all sorts of gateway foods to promote flavors and textures most challenging to them. Charlie ate his kale salad and pear slices because they were paired with blue cheese. (I know. It’s nutty. Blue cheese isn’t challenging to him yet pears make him wince.) He’ll eat just about anything with blue cheese and I don’t see why he shouldn’t sprinkle some on his dinner.

If I make kale chips after a month or two break, I mix in a tablespoon of brown sugar with the olive oil and salt. The sweetness always gets them over their initial hesitation. In fact, I forgot to put any sweetener on our last batch and it’s been sitting around for a few weeks, waiting to be composted. Frankly, I don’t want to eat them either.  Just a sprinkling, and we would have demolished a hefty amount of kale in one day.

Same thing with smoothies. If I’m going to use greens and haven’t done so in a long time, I make sure they’re 1) hidden by blueberries or plums because sometimes the boys will turn their noses up at the very hint of the color green in a drink, and 2) sweetened more than usual (adding honey, instead of just relying on the natural sweetness of the fruit).

Historically, our most successful gateway foods have been butter, cheese (grated, sauces, sprinkled, sliced) and balsamic vinegar. For several years, both boys would eat just about any vegetable we gave them if they could dip it in balsamic. Vegetable dips, bean dips- including hummus, sweeter chutneys and sour cream dips sometimes do the trick, too. Ketchup almost always works for roasted root vegetables, of course. They learned that one from the french fry dealers.

I’m absolutely a food pusher. I don’t care one bit that it requires extra fat, salt and sometimes sugar for them to keep tasting. Fat and salt should be embraced with our fresh vegetables! I will sing that song until I die. In the meantime, pass the butter, please.

Here’s to independence

photo1 It’s been a few weeks, but I’m still thinking about the Fourth of July. I’m not alone. Tonight at bedtime Miles proclaimed, “Fourth of July is when I shoot Fluffy out of my bottom!” Fluffy is Charlie’s favorite stuffed animal, a white cat that survived my childhood but probably won’t theirs. Clearly, it’s going to be exciting here next year. Consider this an invitation to our potluck.

This year we decided to embrace the crowds at Seattle’s biggest Fourth of July event. More significantly, we opted to forego bedtimes. Fireworks are shot off from a barge in Lake Union at 10:15pm, while thousands crowd the shores of Gas Works Park for viewing. (My favorite comment of the night was Miles’, “Fireworks are rockets that shoot lasers!”) We forged our exit with the masses around 11, and then walked a couple miles to get home. Charlie stayed up past midnight, Miles conked out in the stroller somewhere along the way.

For years I would’ve rather gouged myself in the eye with a hot poker than keep them up late. Our exceptionally sleep-sensitive kids would undoubtedly attempt to continue partying throughout the night (the kind of partying that comes with wailing and the need to suck), only to wake at 5:30am for the day. This happened 99% of the nights they missed an hour or two of sleep. Lest you think this ridiculous night-waking would cease after one night, oh no. It would continue for at least a week, likely two, until we got them back “on schedule.”

For some perspective, these days Miles typically heads to bed at 7pm and Charlie around 7:30 or 8. They both usually rise around 6am, 7 at the absolute latest. Every time we’ve tried to push their bedtimes later, they’ve woken up earlier. So, while not worrying about the bedtime schedule was indeed fabulously freeing, the really magical part was that they SLEPT IN next morning. We considered opening a bottle of Champagne. It was 8am.

Until this year we’ve endured Seattle’s very late hours of darkness on Independence Day cringing with each firecracker that popped by our windows, hoping to Jesus that our boys would continue sleeping while simultaneously cussing (in our minds or with each other) at the teenagers setting them off at 2am. The trauma of years of significant sleep deprivation will make one a teensy weensy bit anxious about explosives detonating nearby. Even if the kids slept through the bangs, WE certainly couldn’t. No luxury of earplugs, of course. We needed to hear our babies cry! So, instead we lay in bed with deer-in-the-headlights expressions on our faces, patriotism dwindling by the second.

photo3 By the way, the next time you hear someone giving a parent a hard time about maintaining a schedule, recommend trying this:

1) Lay in bed at 9:30pm. Just as your eyelids start to droop and you fade away, have a partner yell loudly in your ear, simulating a wailing baby. They must yelp for at least ten minutes while you bounce them, pat them, rock them, or walk with them. To be fair, though, it really should be at least twenty minutes. Once they’re quiet, hold them and rock them for at least another ten. (It might feel awkward doing this with an adult. Use a dog or a stuffed animal if you prefer. Or simply remind yourselves, this is all worth it to build empathy!) Next, set them down carefully. Don’t sneeze, fart, burp, sniffle, step on a squeaky floorboard, trip over a toy car, or move your fingers away from their body too quickly as you gently lay them down. If make any startling noise or jostling body movement, start again from the beginning.

2) Repeat the entire routine again in two hours, this time taking time to warm up a bottle and feed the “baby.” (Unless you happen to be randomly lactating, which is odd enough that you should get that checked out.) Once the “baby” is asleep, set your alarm for 2:30am and try to fall asleep even though you know you’ll get two hours more shut-eye at best.

3) At 2:30 complete a half hour of simulated diaper changing, bouncing and shushing. The stuffed animal option is probably best for this.

4) You’re not done yet. Treat yourself to a final wail at 4am that continues until 5. At this point your mind will be racing because you know that you probably only have a half hour left to sleep. You’ll battle with yourself for awhile as to whether or not you should try to sleep more, thus wasting precious time. Eventually, you’ll convince yourself that this will be the day they’ll sleep later, and just as you close your eyes, your partner must babble loudly and immediately demand breakfast. (You now have two children. Just so this this experiment is highly effective.)

5) Repeat this routine nightly until you experience deep compassion for parents of babies who don’t sleep well. If it takes you more than a few nights, borrow someone’s kids to care for during the daytime hours, too. All screentime is off-limits. Grocery shop, do laundry, and cook at least once.

Now you probably get why I’m still thinking about the holiday. My husband and I gained a little independence this Fourth of July. It feels like we just might’ve made it through.

Summer PSA: My scariest parenting moment to date

Generally one of the best ways for me to process a horrible event is to share it with friends and write about it. This particular one was witnessed by a friend, and I was comforted to have her immediate empathetic, non-judgmental response as my first. When I told my husband he also responded lovingly and graciously, understanding how this could happen. That’s the only type of response I can handle right now. Here, I’m requesting virtual hugs while simultaneously providing a PSA.

While visiting a friend’s pool today, a common summer event for us, I did as I usually do: walked into the courtyard, placed our gear and food on a table, and turned to help get the boys ready for the pool. But this time I turned around and my youngest was bobbing up and down, silently drowning. (I can’t yet write this without crying.)

I jumped into the pool, cover-up dress still on, and placed him on the side. I held him, kissing him and holding him for a long time while my hands shook. He was breathing. Thank God. He didn’t cough either, so I suppose he did a decent job keeping his mouth closed each time he went under.

I don’t know how long he was in. Probably just a few seconds, certainly no more than a minute. He had to walk down a couple stairs to get to the deeper part and he was already a few feet away from the stairs when I got to him. Given the outcome, it doesn’t matter. I can replay it all I want but I’ll never know exactly how it happened. I just know that he got in over his head.

For the past few summers he’s worn a puddle jumper to swim “independently.” He’s never tried to get in without me holding him or wearing that. I assumed, after several years of safe behavior, that he understood he could not float without assistance. Obviously, there was some cognitive shift in which he no longer understood that he wasn’t floating by himself. Or he simply didn’t understand the consequences. Even immediately after the incident he tried several times to get in the pool without me or the puddle jumper after we’d removed it for bathroom breaks and lunch. Having learned my lesson, I was vigilant at that point and didn’t allow him out of my line of sight, but I was surprised that he tried entering again so quickly.

I simply want to add to the chorus of water safety PSAs, specifically to remind parents of young children that our little ones may demonstrate safety over months of time, even years, and then immediately disregard the rules. (I certainly could’ve used a gentler reminder.) After it happened I recalled that my oldest tried to cross the street without me when he was four, also after years of always waiting for an adult’s hand. There just might be something about this age, as they shift from babies and toddlers to more independent little kids, that they overestimate their own skills. Don’t assume a history of consistently safe behavior will continue.

We will now establish a routine that prevents accidents. I will be putting his puddle jumper on prior to entering the pool courtyard. Or I will hold his hand until it’s on. Or I will not take my eyes off of him. But even writing that idea feels dangerous. Another kid falling or crying can be a big enough distraction to take my eyes off of him, just long enough for a him to get in the pool. So, I think I’ll stick with putting it on the minute we have access to the water.

Right after it happened I would’ve spent a thousand dollars for amazing swim lessons to get him 100% water safe. I’ve talked myself down a bit, but I feel increasingly horrible about it. I will never forget the look on his face. I couldn’t be more thankful that this ending wasn’t different.

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Giggle therapy

This morning I enjoyed time with a friend and her absolutely scrumptious ten-month-old girl. That’s a dangerous age. If “we” weren’t “fixed”, we just might’ve made an impulse baby tonight. I received those precious uninhibited smiles, chubby hands repeatedly hit my hat off my head, and about every five minutes she let me hold her for two seconds.

I find it sadly ironic that we can summon our creative, silly side best when we’re refreshed, yet parenting young children almost guarantees you’re rarely not exhausted. Parents desperately need humor after a night of hourly wake-up calls. We are far more likely to resemble Frankenstein than Barney. Well, maybe that’s not sad after all. At least not for us.

Anyways, this post is dedicated to those of you who are bone tired and in need of some inspiration for connecting with your baby. A few giggles just might help you remember how fun and cute they are (or will be soon!) even if they’re not allowing you an ounce of shut-eye.

Peek-a-boo, with yourself or toys, probably works so well since babies don’t have object permanence in the early months. (When penguin is gone, she’s gone. Oh no. But, look! She magically appeared again!) You can shake it up by not being predictable with your actions. Babies love suspense! Make them anticipate with your pauses, eye contact and body movements. Next, pair silly noises and you’ve hit baby giggle jackpot. By the time both boys reached toddlerhood, we probably accumulated fifty versions of peek-a-boo games.

While you watch the clips below, you may notice that my husband and I often wait for the (incredibly adorable) baby to make eye contact. We’re checking in for interest and fatigue level, but also allowing him to control the routine a bit. If we wait until he looks, we’re ensuring he’s interested. He can give himself breaks, too. Or completely call it off.

These links all take you to videos on vimeo. (I wish they could be embedded, but I’d have to pay extra for that, which isn’t happening at the moment.) The videos presented show forms of peek-a-boo and building suspense with eye contact. Since I’m done having babies, if you have one that needs a laugh or your back is tired, I have open arms! This ranks up there with spotting orcas for me.

Hiding, ball-spitting hand

Tummy time peek-a-boo

The crazy disappearing cow

Squeaky thighs

Suspenseful leg eating

Nurturing your three-year-old

Lately I have strayed from writing parenting advice to reflect on my own experiences instead. Sharing about communicating with young children was my original intended focus for this blog because my parenting experience was enhanced as a result of my knowledge base from Speech-Language Pathology. But, I lost motivation to write from that standpoint because I felt sensitive to people dishing out parenting advice. I don’t want to add to the “you should be doing this, you should be doing that” craze. Most of it is just plain ridiculous. One of my friends was chastised for her TWO-YEAR-OLD not yet being potty-trained. This stuff needs to end.

Not so long ago I came across this picture of Charlie and had an ah-ha! moment. At the time, Charlie was almost three-and-a-half and Miles was a few months old, nearing the height of his refusal to sleep. We were sleeping horribly, trading off bouncing and doing squats with him from 12-4am so that he wouldn’t scream and would for-the-love-of-all-things-good go back to sleep. I was so tired that I experienced auditory hallucinations. I frequently chose not to drive because I knew I wasn’t safe. I also was experiencing absence of smell and diminished taste. In general, I was a disaster. Plus, I had a three-year-old. For the first time. I was completely blindsided by what having a three-year-old means.

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I now know that the three-year-old’s highly predictably irrational behavior is a hallmark of the age. You all know that two is nothing compared to three? Right? Nothing. The sobbing, screaming, hysterical “This banana is BROKEN! I WANT A GOOD BANANA!” seemed to come overnight, and all because a banana had somehow been peeled “incorrectly”, or was completely out of the peel, or had brown on it, or was in two pieces. You either give in and get them a new banana to complain about, you eat it yourself, or you make them deal. No matter what you do, they will not be pleased. They’ll want the original banana if you eat it. They’ll want a third if you give them a second. If you give a three-year-old a banana, YOU CAN NOT WIN.

If we didn’t have friends with whom we could commiserate, we would’ve been wondering if our child was headed for lock-down. I was equally shocked by my own response to his behavior. I was raising my voice, which I had truly almost never done prior, and at least once or twice I physically carried him to his room to isolate him during a tantrum. This is necessary for some kids for safety, but for him it wasn’t. Charlie was such a sensitive little guy that me crossing this boundary of not respecting his body as his to move was a clear sign of me crossing the line. He knew it, I knew it. I needed the right skills and language to navigate both Charlie and my emotions during his challenging moments. I was feeling like an awful mom. In general, actually. I was feeling awful in general.

I read several parenting books and discovered some helpful ideas, but thought most lacked a compassionate voice. I already knew time-out, spanking and other “traditional” discipline methods weren’t for us. An “old classic” comforted me a little by normalizing behaviors for this age. “Refusing to obey is perhaps the key aspect of this turbulent, troubled period in the life of the young child. It sometimes seems to his mother that his main concern is to strengthen his will, and he strengthens this will by going against whatever is demanded of him by that still most important person in his life, his mother.”

Unfortunately, most books provided few practical tips, which made me feel powerless. “No mother of a child this age should hesitate to place the burden of daily routines on the shoulders of a sitter, who, for the time being, may be the best person for the task. Nor should the mother who needs to put her child in day care feel burdened with guilt.” Not very helpful to a stay at home mom on a budget. Thankfully, just in the nick of time, a friend lent me her copy of Gottman’s Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child.

Three years later, I’m scouring those pages again. I really should’ve done this months ago. I had been resorting to more “no’s” and more exasperated comments than I care to admit. Our little stroller incident gave me the kick in the butt I needed to refresh my skills. Three-year-olds are super fun and energetic, crazy horrible and wild. In equal measure. One moment you have the sweetest conversation about the colors of a leaf, the next moment they are whacking you in the face with a stick because you held the leaf wrong.

I share these ideas with you with hopes that they bring relief during such a trying developmental period. Not guilt-inducing, just thought-provoking. Not shaming, but edifying. Not polarizing, but unifying. These techniques, strategies and specific language choices have assisted my parenting and brought more peace into our household during this butt-kicking stage.

Establish positive routines and bribe the heck out them

Three year olds are all about routine, control, routine and control. They also respond well to positive reinforcement, rewards and bribes. The difference between those last three basically boils down to semantics unless you’re a behavioral therapist. Most parents will choose to call the dangling of carrots one of the three. Take your pick.

When a routine changes, three-year-olds freak out. Their expectations may be simple: graham crackers aren’t meant to be broken, plates are meant to be blue, and mamas aren’t supposed to wear gray hats (“I want the purple hat! Take that off!”). They may also be as complicated as a memory of a particular event, like “Last time we shopped here I ate those red and black things. I want those red and black things NOW! And we don’t walk THAT way, we walk THIS way to the bread!”

Some of these routines you have control of, others obviously not. When possible, try to maintain a consistent schedule so they can rely on some aspects of their life to be predictable. For situations within your reign, there is plenty to be gained by establishing new routines or making sour ones positive again. You might find them beneficial for entering the preschool door, hopping in the carseat, staying in bed, waiting in line at a store, or taking turns with toys.

Our current most successful tool has been a “Surprise Box”, aka our reward and motivator system. I fill an old shoe box with incredibly random stuff, like old race medals and therabands (Angry birds catapults, people!), and dinky toys, like stickers, sponge capsules, marbles, magnets, balloons and party favors that were long forgotten about but exciting again after a few months sight-unseen. If you wanted yours to be stuff-free, you could put in pictures of places you’d visit (parks, playgrounds, beaches) or other experiences (scavenger hunt!, dance party!). My only warning about experiences is that they should be delighted in as close to the time of success as possible for it to be salient, especially when establishing new routines.

You’ll be pleased to know that my little guy is walking into his preschool happily these days. Halloween week he even flew in, dressed as Batman. Epic. Thanks to the advice of a very wise friend, I had a picture of our family in hand that he could show teachers once he was inside, I told him he could hold my hand extra tight if that helped him feel better, and… da da da daaaaah!…. I bribed him. In the end, that was what worked. He didn’t want to take the picture inside, he didn’t want to hold my hand for long, but he desperately wanted the little dinosaur sponge capsules I promised him after preschool if he entered without screaming, hitting or kicking. I told him, “You don’t have to feel happy. You can still feel nervous and sad. But you need to walk in nicely to have the dinosaur sponges after school.” The first day, he walked in dragging his feet, with his shoulders slumped and a huge frown on his face. But he did it and was quite proud of himself when I picked him up. The next day, he scampered in happily. I “rewarded” him three times, all upon request, and he hasn’t asked for more since. Can I get an amen?

I first made a Surprise Box for Charlie when he was three because he wasn’t staying in bed at night. Harry and I would tag team to walk him back upstairs, sometimes twenty times per evening. After a week or two of nonsense, we wised up. I made a picture for him showing him the bedtime routine. (“First we snuggle in bed, then you snuggle with your animal, close your eyes and sleep. When you stay in bed until morning you get a surprise!”) A few nights of reminders followed by one success and we were pretty much done with the back and forth bedroom dance. He only needed a reminder here and there in the months to follow. (If he’d come downstairs we’d let him know, “If you stay in bed for the rest of the night, you get a surprise” and the following night we’d remind him he had to stay in bed from the get-go so as to avoid him learning that coming out once also got rewarded.) If you’ve played bedtime tag with kids, you know just how nice it is to have a peaceful routine. End of the day bliss. HEAVEN. It’s a clear case where a little extra work up front pays off with a better sleep routine (a better rested child!) and much less long-term frustration.

Since I seemed to have birthed out half of my brain with Miles, it took me forever to remember about the Surprise Box. I first thought of it when he refused to get in his car seat several days in a row. I remembered after having to force him in it, which made us both feel awful. Lo and behold, the box worked like a charm. I probably pull it out once a week now. I simply say, “If you cooperate for X, you can have a surprise!” He likes to pick his surprise first and then he almost always happily runs to do whatever is being asked. Can I get another amen? (And why didn’t I use it for preschool entry right off the bat? Who the heck knows! The other half of my brain suffered oxygen loss with chronic sleep deprivation, folks!)

I think many parents worry that these types of rewards need to last forever. With both of my boys they have been easily faded out after a routine was established. Now, with our six year old, establishing positive routines is much more of a conversation with natural, intrinsic rewards. “If you get dressed first thing in the morning, then you can play until we need to leave for school. You won’t need to rush and I won’t need to bug you.” He appreciates this and changes his pattern. And yes, he’s six going on forty.

Emotion coaching

So, even with routines established and bribes abounding, it’s not going to be easy. It will be easier, filled with plenty of wonderful moments, but there will be exorcism-worthy tantrums. Gottman’s emotion coaching has been the other critical component for all of us to manage our feelings in the midst of such intensity.

I am working hard to identify and respect emotions, empathizing with his very real feelings. I may know that a broken graham cracker is one of life’s smallest problems, but at that moment, he feels devastated. So, I choose to respect his sadness. “I’m sorry that’s so hard for you and you’re sad. You really like it when they’re whole, huh?” If he allows, I will hold him while he cries and let him sit with his emotions as long as he needs. Once he’s calm, I reassure him that I know what matters to him. “Next time I’ll try to give you one that’s not broken.” I don’t make him eat it, but I don’t get him a new one. I see this as having compassionate boundaries. (It is easy to assume that every time a three-year-old complains it’s unnecessarily ridiculous. I sometimes forget that this may not be the case, so coming from a place of compassion while simultaneously looking into the problem has revealed some “real” problems. The milk just might be sour, the nuts rancid, the fruit mealy!)

Next, I try to say yes as much as possible, saving no for when it’s absolutely necessary. I do not give him an open wallet and free reign. I soften my language so that he knows his desires have been heard and he can prepare for any delays or disappointments. Here’s an example that I hear quite regularly:

3yo: “I want to go to the science center!”

Me: “Oh, fun! That sounds great. Maybe we can go next Thursday.”

3yo: “But I want to go to the science center NOW!”

Me: “You want to go there now? Well, I wish we could go now, too, but we have to get groceries today.”

3yo: “But I wa-ant to go NOW-OOOOOOOOOW!”

Me: “I understand. You sound really mad. I’m sorry it’s disappointing for you to have to wait.”

3yo: “I’m going to hit you if you don’t take me now!”

Me: “I understand that you’re mad, but hitting me isn’t going to help. I don’t want to take you if you hit me.”

3yo: “I won’t hit you.” (Sometimes. Sometimes he hits…which often leads to the end of our playtime and having a calm time together, or alone- his choice, on his bed. His self-chosen “safe, calm” spot.)

Me: “Great. Now, let’s keep playing blocks until we go to the store and we’ll go to the science center next week!”

This same type of method can be used for just about any request. It boils down to this: First, acknowledge their desire. Then, let them know the reality of if/when it can happen. Last, acknowledge the resulting emotions. Show them that you care about what they care about.

Sleep

Lastly, I’m throwing sleep into the pile because I think it’s a decent percentage of the Three-Year-Old Problems pie chart. Most kids are transitioning out of naps at some point during this year. If they take one, they go to bed too late, aren’t rested enough for the next day and need a nap again. The cycle continues. If they don’t take a nap, they’re very challenging at the dinner hour or will fall asleep in car rides at 4:30, ruining their bedtime. We’re trying to handle this transition with a few naps every week, mostly in the stroller or car. I try to not let him nap longer than an hour or 90-minutes, so that his bedtime is preserved. If he naps and then stays up too late, I try to not have him nap the next day (or keep it really short) and get him to bed early. We’ve found that a longer nights’ sleep, with an earlier bedtime, is more important than a daytime nap for our boys to be really refreshed when they’re in this in-between period.

The difference between a refreshed three-year-old and a tired one is like the difference between Jekyll and Hyde.

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So, there it is, friends! As always, may I remind you that I fall short of these things EVERY DAY. If you’re friends with me, you get to see this in action! These are patterns I am building, striving towards, integrating into my parenting because I find them useful. When I’m not at my best, these are not the first things to happen. I am also getting good at saying sorry.

If you have any tips for this age, feel free to comment below. I’m sure we all feel like we need a storage shed filled with tools at our disposal to get through this period gracefully.

(PS- First to comment is my 100th commenter on the blog! Yay! The reward for you is intrinsic…)

A Hiatus to Grieve

Even though my first post was just a few months ago, I began the process of writing this blog five years ago. Truly. Since becoming a mom I’ve pondered sharing how my professional training in speech-language pathology has enhanced my experience of motherhood. I’ve probably drafted fifty posts in my brain. I’ve discussed it a bazillion times (I think my oldest considers this a real number) with my very patient husband and close friends. It just took me ridiculously long to get over my hurdles of perfectionism, anxiety and self-doubt and take the giant leap.

My primary hope for this blog is that it brings anyone who interacts with children on a regular basis more pleasure in that experience, as well as helping build a better relationship for the dyad through opening up the communication pathways. I hope to relieve some of the stress by providing a few strategies that help with communication struggles. I’d be thrilled if storytimes transformed from a struggle to a joy. Same with mealtimes. Basically, it boils down to this: I know how incredibly hard caring for children day in and day out can be and I am hoping to lighten the load.

My goal is to post weekly but I don’t want to be a slave to the blog and start posting inane contributions just to keep it going. I value your time. I value my time. But, I do feel that pressure. So, the fact that I haven’t posted in several weeks stresses me out a bit.

It’s not that I haven’t written. I have actually spent hours writing. Most of that time was spent angrily venting my thoughts after the Aurora shooting. Coming so close on the heels of the Seattle shootings (Cafe Racer is close to our house and the other spot downtown was close to where Miles and I were at the time), and being in my homestate near the homes of several college friends’ parents, I felt this deeply. I dropped more than a few f-bombs and sat on it for a week, realizing this is not the place for that. There are many excellent journalists who have shared my viewpoint far more articulately with much better research. So, I took action instead- signed a few petitions and emailed legislators.

But even prior to the shootings I was questioning aspects of this blog and feeling hesitant to write. A friend of mine, whom I deeply care about and respect, wrote this about parenting advice. I completely agree with her point about grieving and it was something I needed to read at just that time. I was wrapping up several weeks of dealing with increased anger and impatience towards the boys and Harry, unable to pinpoint why. Her post encouraged me to sit with it a bit and I ended up balling in Harry’s arms a few days later, crying about a variety of things I’d bottled up for far too long. But I needed to think awhile about the rest of her post and why I was hit so hard by it that I didn’t want to post here.

Basically, the last thing I want to do is make “parents everywhere feel like shit.” I know the judgment facing parents.I have sat in that boat, wondering why someone would act a certain way or horrified by a parents’ harsh words towards their kid, and considered that adult less because of it. Now, on my better days, I still think those thoughts but it’s tempered with more grace, compassion and understanding. I realize that I have no idea why someone might be acting that way. Given how much privilege I’ve experienced, chances are their life is much, much harder than mine. I also know that I don’t even come close to knowing it all. There are so many aspects of parenthood that are so ridiculously hard, to think that we have all the answers would be idiotic. Lastly, I am deeply aware of how lost sleep can turn a well-meaning loving mom into a mean ogre. After having Miles, particularly in the first year(s) when we were incredibly sleep deprived, I became the craziest looney on the block. Dr. Harvey did not help me. I was losing my marbles. I was really quick to anger with Charlie, who was at that lovely irrational age of 3.5. I was haunted by all the advice against letting younger babies cry but knew how desperately we needed to be sane. But I could only talk with a few very trusted people about it because of fear of judgment.

So, today’s post is simply to ask that you help keep me in line. If you’re feeling judged or inadequate because of something I write, please let me know. I do not want to go there. My desire is to be a place of inspiration. If you need encouragement in communicating with your little one in a certain way, please let me know. I might have some ideas that may help. This is not to say that I don’t have strong opinions about issues. I do. Oh, yes I do. But, my hope is that you’ll know when my opinions and advice are perfect for you and when you can leave them behind. Or maybe you just need to chew on things for a little bit and re-evaluate later.

In the meantime, I am taking my friend’s advice (I see the irony) to continue grieving while disregarding her advice to not take advice (and in my case, share it). My comment on her blog included this: 

 I really agree with the spirit of this- a parent’s healing needs to be a progression and grieving happens as a life-long process. One thing I notice about parenthood is that my grief, as it comes in waves, absolutely (deeply!) impacts my parenting style. My anger can surprise me with how quickly it will swell and then be directed at my kids. This shock sends me reeling to my books or favorite articles for reminders and ideas that get me through until I’ve had the time and space to properly understand the trigger. Parenthood just doesn’t allow the luxury to reflect during a moment. Those tips can help buy time.
I feel like I am a pretty good judge of what to take or leave. Some of it is crap. Some is fantastic. Some is neither here nor there. As far as development stuff goes (like language), I love learning about child development. My degree in speech-language pathology has made parenting much more FUN. Understanding development better has made my experience much richer. I know how to meet my boys at their level. I can connect much better with them. I wouldn’t have this without a stronger knowledge base. It’s 100% enrichment.
There’s definitely a difference between knowledge and advice. Knowledge allows a place of empowerment from which one can grow and flex along with the relationship’s journey. Advice will sometimes be more rigid and wrong for some, and sometimes be just fine.

I am remembering my own issues and talking more about them, instead of shoving them aside. I am taking steps to care for myself better. I am reading the stories about the theatre victims with amazement at those people who acted out of tremendous love and courage that night. I am reading the stories about Seattle’s Cafe Racer reopening, with the owner embracing a commitment to continued community for that spot. I am smiling and saying hi to the people I pass because it’s a lonely, lonely world sometimes. I am chasing my children around the house while wearing a colander on my head because we all need a laugh. I am letting Miles harvest carrots that are one inch long because he thinks it’s fun and it helps me hold my garden more open-handedly. I am inviting people into my home even though the toilets might be gross and the kitchen floor hasn’t been mopped since June. I am going to keep writing. I don’t want my anxiety of potentially offending someone to stop me from sparking any good that might come from sharing ideas. And I’m thinking about the next nugget of knowledge I’ll share with you.