Yes! You CAN Raise a Daughter Who Loves Her Body!

[Note: This is a guest post from an amazing woman I met via twitter. I'm super excited to share her writing and her message! I think it is a CRITICAL message for everyone who has a daughter. Give Hilary a shout out via twitter or in the blog comments if you agree!]

If I had read the title of this post a few years ago, I would have had two reactions: ‘that’s not possible’, and ‘tell me more.’ I would have been split down the middle between believing that we exist in a world where loving our bodies as women is nearing impossibility, and wanting desperately to know that it didn’t have to be that way.

But all of that doubt changed a few years ago. When trying to pick a topic for my master’s thesis, I kept coming back to the fear that I would one day have a daughter who struggled with her body in the same way I have. So, my supervisor and I set out to find young women who loved their bodies, and learn from them and their mothers what went right.

Over hours and hours of conversation with these women, and their mothers, we learned two very important things.

First, it is possible for young women to love their bodies, and their mothers absolutely had a role to play in that.

Seven Things I Learned This Year (or ways in which I'm growing up)

Stuff I learned this year that moved me along the path to growing up…. (cue my daughter singing her favorite song – I won’t grow up….)

1. My kids respond better to direct orders than guilt.

I entered the kitchen and surveyed the mess. Two of the three guilty party were present on laptops at the counter. Dramatically I lamented, “I wonder what time the maid is coming to clean up these dishes….” 

Loud sigh from one child and eye roll from the other. Spying the open container of cereal, I smiled and said brightly, “I guess it’s good this cereal has been left open since breakfast, now it can be good and stale, just the way I like it.” I shoved the box back in the cabinet and slammed it closed.

My oldest child, the wise one, yanked the ear buds out, looked at me and said, “You know, if you want me to do something you should just ask.”

All manner of sarcastic retort clamored to be allowed out, but I calmly looked at him and said, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it would be better if you just said what you wanted instead of laying all this guilt on us.”

My daughter joined the conversation at this point and added an icy, “Yeah.”

“So, you’re telling me that if I simply ask you to do something, you’re going to do it?” (It was all I could do to point out 18 years of evidence to the contrary.)

“Yeah,” he says. I looked to my daughter, who shrugged.

“Okay…..can you please put away your dishes from this morning?”

“Sure.”

Remarkably, both children got up and cleaned up the mess they had left.

I’ve tried to keep his words in mind these past months and miraculously there has been some compliance. I suppose, what he was really asking was that I treat him like the adult he has become and not wield my passive-aggressive weapons of self-esteem destruction.  It takes a lot of years for these kids to teach me how to parent.

Live Intentionally

NOTE: This is an introductory chapter explaining my working title for my forthcoming book based on this blog. After WAY too much agonizing, I finally decided that my blog is about much more than eating. It's also about more than organic living. It's about living intentionally. So, that's the title (for now) - Live Intentionally. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. The manuscript goes to beta readers this Friday! 

What Does an Intentional Life Look Like?

An Intentional Life is a life that is authentic. It’s real. It can be trusted.  It means not just healthier eating, but knowing your food – where it came from, how it was prepared, and what it can do for you. It’s also enjoying that food and taking pride in the care you’ve taken in selecting or creating it.

It’s feeling good about how you spend your time and how your children spend their time. It’s taking care of your body and teaching your children to do the same. It’s exploring your own creativity and ability and not being a stand-by passenger in this life. 

Cheez-it Hoarding

We’ve turned our children into Cheezit-hoarders. It was quite by accident. In general I’m opposed to Cheezits, partly because of their addictive quality which I came to know first hand when I was freshly out of college and in charge of my own food budget for the first time. I ate them by the boxfuls. It was quite uncontrollable, and I was young and clueless. My main opposition to Cheezits now comes from the fact that they are a processed food of epic proportions. Read the label if you don’t believe me. And while you’re at it, notice the salt content and the hydrogenated oils. There truly isn’t much good in Cheezits. But I completely understand they taste good. That said, my children and I had to come to terms in regards to the number of boxes of Cheezits I would provide on a weekly basis.

For several years now, the three boxes of processed snack food a week (primarily Cheezits, but sometimes goldfish or whale crackers) has been our bottom line. But as they all are in or approaching their teens, their appetites have increased. So has their mistrust of their siblings’ fair consumption of the Cheezits. Fights began to break out and nasty comments about who was eating how much were flung about. When my kids were little and fought over a toy I would always take the toy, place it on top of the refrigerator, and say, “If you’re going to fight about it, then I’m going to get rid of it.” That would settle that. But life, apparently, can’t go on without Cheezits. And all of them can reach the top of the fridge now.

Book Review! Cleaning House: A Mom's 12-month Experiment to Rid Her Home of Youth Entitlement

I realize I already spilled the beans on the book Cleaning House: A Mom’s 12-Month Experiments to Rid Her Home of YOUTH ENTITLEMENT by Kay Wills Wyma, but here’s the rest of the review.

As I said last week, I loved the premise of the book. However, some of Wyma's methodology left me scratching my head and reaching protectively for my wallet. That said, I’d still recommend it to any parent and think it will have a huge impact on your parenting no matter how you feel about the strategies presented.

Just in case you didn’t read my post last week (what? Unthinkable!), here’s the premise: Our children feel entitled because we do everything for them from cleaning their rooms to cooking their meals to fighting their battles. Many times this is because it's easier and more efficient to do the work ourselves. This leaves kids with the message that we don’t think they are capable and this process snowballs into children who can’t clean, cook, or handle tasks they will need to survive as adults. We rob them of problem solving opportunities time and again.

Wills organized her plans around a list of 12 skills she wants her children to have mastered before they are adults.

A Life Entitled

How capable do you think your kids are? I’m not talking about their math ability or how well they throw a baseball, but can they clean a toilet? Can they cook a meal? Can they handle an overflowing toilet? Have they ever changed a light bulb?

I’m nearly finished the book Cleaning House: One Mom’s 12-month experiment in ridding her home of YOUTH ENTITLEMENT by Kay Wills Wyma, (This isn’t the review- that will come next week), and I’ve taken her premise to heart. I have mixed feelings about her methodology, but the idea behind it is spot-on. Much to my children's dismay.

Many kids today live a life of entitlement. Very little is asked of them in terms of responsibilities at home. I know, at least in my house, this is mainly due to parental laziness. It’s much easier to do a job myself, especially if I want it done right (interpretation – the way I think it should be done). And I get tired of nagging, demanding, and threatening. I accept half-hearted efforts because “at least they did something.” My kids have very few responsibilities in the real scheme of things, yet they claim that kids at other houses aren’t enslaved as they are in our home. Hmmm.

Summer Computer Battle Plan

Ahhh summer, the sound of birds chirping, crickets singing, and that annoying little jingle that plays as the computer fires up. My house is no exception and these days we are 1:1 in the ratio of computers to humans. This means that on many a Saturday, you will be amazed by the eery silence that fills my house, punctuated by the occasional “Aghh, I died!” or “OMG, you have to see this!”

As the end of school nears (in fact it’s in sight), I have been frantically looking for a way to curb the computer use. I can’t bear the idea of my precious spawn wiling away the hours staring at a screen and having all of their creativity slowly drained and replaced with an irritability that marks the extended use of computers.

My first assault was to try to work with the beasts. I informed my two older children, who have basically unlimited access (although the computers are programmed to shut down at 10pm and fire back up at 7), they will be joining me in the blogosphere. I figured if they are going to spend time on the machines, at least I could force them to engage their brains while they are at it instead of mindlessly chasing digital chickens in Minecraft.

Child #2 will create her own blog and is required to post to it three times a week. Posts can include poems, stories, songs, videos (created by her), powerpoint presentations, or screenplays. My husband and I (and of course the grandparents) will have the blog address and will verify that there are at least three new posts each week. After the initial groaning, Child #2 has been a font of ideas. She just can’t seem to come up with a name for this blog.

Child #1 already has an excellent blog and is expected to post to the Teen Takeover blog as part of his commitment to writing for the York Daily Record. His assignment is more vague – three posts a week to either/both blogs and/or a third blog created for the summer project. His reaction was a heavy sigh and an eye roll, but being the first born, he’s a willing subject.

The real screen addict, though, is Child #3. He begs, borrows, and barters for computer time beyond his two day-a-week allotment. He knows how to work the grandparents and babysitters, plus he’s expert at sneaking computer time when I’m preoccupied by the garden, animals, or my laptop. We finally put lockdown on the computer, but he figured out how to get around that by signing in as a guest.

I can’t bear a summer of negotiating with this child. This past Sunday as he presented all the reasons he should be allowed a few hours with the sacred screen, I threw up my hands and said, “Go ask your father!” I’m usually where the buck stops in this house, at least in regards to children, so this outburst shocked us both.

His father was equally surprised and after considering telling him to call Nana, he proffered his ipad. Something must be done or this persistent child will be running the show by the end of June.

We huddled up as parents and created the “Summer Computer Plan”.

No computer (me included) can be used before noon.

Every Friday will be “Screen Free Friday” in which no computers, TV’s, Itouches, Iphones, or Ipads will be turned on with the exception of family movie nights, but then everyone must watch the same screen (forced togetherness – love it!).

As you would expect, groans all around. But then I said, “Isn’t there a project or hobby you’d like to work on this summer? I’d be happy to help you get started.”

And my ever thoughtful, but never present on a Friday, husband offered, “Maybe you could find some fun things to do all together on Fridays.”

This got the creative juices flowing and before the end of the evening Child #3 had drawn up elaborate plans to build a “real fort”. Child #2 was asking if we could go to laserdome on the first Friday after school is out. Child #1 was quiet, his wheels turn more carefully.

If the onslaught of summer has you quaking in your parental boots, consider taking the battle to them. Make your own plan and announce it, don’t bargain, negotiate, or even seek the input of the shorter species. Just do it.

Camp Achterberg

July seems like the longest month of the year to me. I don’t know if it’s the long wait for ripe tomatoes, or the endless days of children brimming with energy and attitudes. Either way the month surely drags.

When they were small I stockpiled all the camps for July. A few hours of peace were worth the price tag, besides Vacation Bible Schools run back to back and cost nothing. But then the protests began. No one wanted to go to bible school. No one wanted to get out of bed for camp. It’s too hot. None of my friends are going. Blah, blah, blah. And the costs of camps for bigger kids seems to escalate with every year and every sport.

To avoid their rebellion, I rebelled. No more camps. Alright just one each. This summer we’re down to the free Harry Potter camp at the library and a Medieval Times camp through the school system. My checkbook is happy, but I’m back to the endless days of nothing to do but ferry the children to the pool or friends’ houses. Frankly, I’m bored.



"Swimming in the driveway"

 So it’s time for “CAMP ACHTERBERG”. Camp Achterberg was born one summer a few years ago when there was too much time and no money for camp. So I made our own camp. Five days of homemade fun! When I first announced it, you could hear the groans for miles around. But ask them about it now and they love to tell stories of Camp Achterberg. “Remember when that lady came and yelled at us for swimming in her driveway!” This was the stream hike that went a little too far and ended with threats from a distant neighbor when the kids were jumping off her driveway bridge in to the creek that ran underneath. She was pretty worked up and it certainly didn’t help that the kids thought she was kidding when she yelled, “No swimming in my driveway!”
Camp Achterberg is one week of planned events led by none other than mom. Here is a list of ideas we’ve used and/or considered:

- stream hike - you don’t need a stream running down your street like we have, you can head over to a park or just pull over along the side of the road. Be sure to wear old shoes, sunscreen, and bug spray.

- Visit a farm – there are loads of farms out there that give tours, check them out online or ask a farmer at your farmer’s market if their game.

- Visit an obscure museum. Most of us never visit the museums in our town unless we have company visiting, and then we just hit the big ones. There’s a National Clock and Watch museum nearby that gets rave reviews, look in your phone book or online and find a museum noone knows about – they’re usually free or even cheap.

- Make a big, messy art project. Go to your local arts & crafts store and buy something you’ve always wanted to do – tie dye is fun. Last year we painted tiles left from a rehab project as stepping stones for the garden (and grave markers when the fish we won at the carnival died).

- Go to the movies

- Have storytime – no matter the age, kids still love to be read to. Fix a snack, get comfy and read.

- Taste test all the ice cream stands in your town (get a pint to go from each and dig in blind folded!)

- Go bowling or ice skating

- Invite friends over

- Take a hike

- Go canoeing or kayaking

- Sleep in a tent in the yard

- Have a bonfire and make s’mores (or use your grill if it’s too hot)

- Swap bedrooms

- Go berry picking

- Take a factory tour (we loved the candy factory tour!)

- Make a water slide in your yard

- Put on a talent show (pets are also invited to perform)

- Visit a kennel with new puppies

- Volunteer at a food bank

- Take a bike ride somewhere other than your own street

- Build a bug or rock collection

- Go to the pool from the minute it opens until the minute it closes

- Go geocaching or letterboxing

- Have a picnic

We brainstorm ideas and nothing is off the table. Sometimes a camp day is simply each kid inviting three friends to come play which makes it feel like camp. Or it’s a trip to the dollar store with all the money you can earn in one morning (great trick for getting your house picked up). It’s doing anything you wouldn’t do on a normal day. It makes every day a special occasion. For us, going out to eat is rare, so a camp day might include a meal out somewhere new.

Hairnets required for factory tours!

If you haven’t got a whole week to dedicate to camp, try one day a week. “Camp Tuesday” works just fine. Some of these activities might cost a little money, but compared to the camp fees, they are a real bargain. Start your own camp this summer. I promise you’ll make memories that last a lifetime and you’ll never realize how much fun you can have in your own hometown.

Parenthood According to Poultry

WARNING: This post is much too long and if you don’t really care much for chickens or mamas, you can skip it. I won’t be offended. Heck, I’ll never know. But if you linger over the nature channel, or struggle with your own ideas of motherhood, this one might be right up your alley.

Lesson one – You can’t stop motherhood.

This spring several of my chickens became mothers. Witnessing their adventures has been a privilege and a lesson. It’s also made it apparent why it’s necessary for chickens to lay an egg nearly every day to ensure the species’ survival.

Way back in February, when I was cursing the cold and fumbling my way through the barn in the near dark trying to find the light switch, my hand fell upon something feathered. Now, all things feathered should have already made it back to the dorm by the dusk curfew so this was unexpected. One of the surprisingly consistent behaviors of chickens is that as soon as the sun begins to set, they will always find their way back to the hen house for the night. So when I come flying up the hill in my pajamas at 10pm, they are all there quietly cooing on their perches only a little indignant that someone forgot to shut the door on the cold night.

I finally managed to locate the light switch and was shocked to see one of my Buff Orpington hens perched in the hay bales. I was even more shocked when I attempted to pick her up to move her to the hen house and she puffed up, bristled her feathers, and started screaming at me like a junkyard dog protecting a bucket of fried chicken. My first reaction was to jump back and put my hands up to show that I was unarmed (or maybe to be certain that I still had my fingers). Then I remembered that I’m the person and this is a small, relatively brainless bird. Plus I was wearing gloves. So I swooped in once more, ignored her protests and her sad attempts to remove my fingers and hauled her to the hen house. I retrieved the eggs she had been protecting and went about my chores.

Everything I’ve read says that the “broodiness” has been bred out of our modern chickens. So I felt fairly confident that this hen was simply confused, until we repeated this little scene every night for a week. To my children’s protests, I simply said, “We don’t need any more chickens unless these are chickens we raise for the dinner table.” That shut them up. And soon the hen quit her attempts at motherhood, or so I thought. A few nights later when I was moving some hay bales, I caught site of my would-be mother hen hiding back between the bales and the walls. This time to remove her I was forced to squeeze myself between the wall of hay and the nasty cob-web covered side of the barn. When I bent down to pick her up, my face was way too close to her fussing beak. I’ve fed this hen for two years, raised her from a peep, but I’m fairly sure she would have taken my eyes out if I’d gotten much closer. I considered moving the hay, but it was stacked six bales high and it was late. So, that’s how “Jules” got to live her dream. Because I’m the chicken.

I looked up “broodiness” in my chicken-keeping bible (Storeys Guide to Raising Chickens) and discovered that while most domestic chickens no longer have the urge to brood, occasionally a Buff Orpington hen will and sometimes she is even be successful. Huh.

Jules sat on her eggs faithfully as the hay bales slowly receded. Not being sure exactly when she began her sit-fest, I wasn’t sure when the eggs might hatch. It takes 21 days. I didn’t know how many eggs she was sitting on and I didn’t know if she knew what she was doing. It seemed pretty cold for an egg to be sitting on the ground. Plus the barn flooded during that time and I was too distracted with getting everything else to high ground, I forgot about Jules.

When I was pretty sure it had been more than three weeks and enough bales were eaten that I was able to reach her, I donned the gloves and picked her up. Much to my shock she was sitting on over 30 eggs. And I knew they weren’t all her eggs because there were brown, blue, white, and green eggs. Obviously, Jules was ready to raise everybody’s babies. When the other hens were out during the day, they must have been laying them next to Jules and letting her claim them. I didn’t have the heart to tell Jules that most of the eggs lying near the outer edges were ice cold.

That day we moved her to her own private box (the old pack-n-play). I selected six eggs that seemed warm and built her a small nest out of hay and shavings. She settled right in after lecturing me a bit to stay back. I had to admire this little hen’s determination to become a mamma. She was bucking her breeding, ignorance, and my efforts to deter her. And then one day, in addition to Jules nasty warnings, I also heard a little “peep”. A chick was born! There was much celebrating! And of course I posted her picture on Facebook. I’m glad Jules has a bird brain and probably doesn’t realize that this chick is obviously an Arucana chick and not a Buff Orpington, like her. A few days later a nearly identical chick popped out. And that was enough for Jules. She abandoned the remaining eggs and fretted over her two babes.

Lesson Two: Motherhood is contagious.

About two weeks in to the sitting project, another hen set up shop high in the bales. This was another of my Buff Orpington hens, so I knew better than to fight her on this. I barricaded her in with more bales hoping to deter the other hens from dropping their potential off-spring on her but soon discovered it wasn’t working. Her egg pile quickly rose to 15. So my husband and I “candled” her eggs. Candling is when you shine a light through an egg so you can see what’s inside. It’s no ultra-sound, but we were able to tell easily which eggs had a chick-in-progress and which were duds. My roosters are busy boys, but apparently they aren’t servicing each and every hen. So we pulled out the hot eggs and set this hen (“Treat”) up in her own digs just like Jules. Treat hatched her one and only chick about a week after Jules. Even though she sat faithfully, one day the stench of rotting eggs was so bad, I had to ditch all the remaining eggs and convince her that one chick is plenty.

My oldest son named the lone chick “Not-a-Rooster”, never even considering my suggestions of Ranger or Hans (as in Hans solo). He stuck with his choice, reasoning that this way maybe the chick would have better odds of survival since I (being the “meanest mother in the world”) had already declared that we had plenty of roosters and if any of these chicks was a rooster, he was going, one way or another.

When the chicks got a little older we let the two hens and their chicks out and delighted in watching them running around together. The two moms shared mothering duties and some nights when I would go up to the barn to put them away, I’d find all three chicks under one hen and no chicks under the other.

Not long after we began letting the chicks and moms run loose, I found a hen in the chicken pen sitting on eggs in the laying house. I guess seeing the other hens with their chicks was too much for her. I wasn’t too worried because this hen was a Jersey Giant and the book says that Jersey Giants are not good brooders, “rarely able to successfully hatch”. Good news for us. I confidently removed the would-be Mama from her egg box each night and shoved her back in the hen house with the others, apologizing profusely and grateful that she kept her beak in check.

I did this for two weeks straight. And then I began to worry about this hen’s psyche. What if she really, really wanted to be a mama? What if she would never stop sitting on eggs until I finally let her fulfill her destiny? What if she was really a Buff Orpington trapped inside a Jersey Giant? The two mama hens and their brood had moved in to the same pack-n-play, so I had an extra box. And now that we had three chicks, what’s a few more? I’m becoming soft. So now we have another hen sitting on eggs in a pack-n-play in our barn. She’s due on Memorial Day.

And that’s not the end of the story. About the time that I moved “Monty” to her new digs, “Python”, another black Jersey Giant began a campaign of her own. It’s been a week now of pulling this hen off her eggs every night. I’m torn. I feel the injustice that must tear at this hen’s heart (or it would if she had a brain that worked like that). How can I allow three other hens to realize their dreams of becoming mothers, and deny her? Probably I can’t, but right now there just isn’t an available pack-n-play.

Lesson Three: Some mothers are better than others.

Sad, but true. Some of us are just not cut out to be mothers. That’s what Jules figured out about two weeks in to the shared motherhood with Treat. One night I was late getting up to the barn to put away the mamas and babies. Normally at night they settle down in the old nest Jules built way back when this odyssey started. After dusk, I move them to the pack-n-play and cover it to protect them from any stray foxes or cats that get the wrong idea. But on this night I found only one hen. All the chicks were accounted for, but only one Mama. I looked everywhere, but no Jules. The only answer could be that a fox had gotten her. I imagined her sacrificing her life so that the others could escape. There was a real Lassie feel to my fantasy, but alas, no Lassie had come to the rescue.

In the morning, I sadly told the kids. Being kids (or maybe being my kids), they didn’t believe me. They slapped on their boots and went in search of Jules. Maybe she was trapped somewhere! They held out hope. And in just a few minutes they arrived back at the house triumphant! They’d found Jules! She was in the chicken yard with the other hens. Apparently, this motherhood gig wasn’t for her, so she hopped the fence and rejoined the single life, leaving Treat to deal with her two chicks. Oh, I laughed over that one. And now I remind the kids of Jules’ chicken run when they are pushing me to the brink.

Lesson Number Four: Some mothers will sacrifice all for their babies.

This was the saddest lesson for all of us. This past weekend, my husband and I were away on a rare weekend without kids. My parents had kid rustling duties. I had divvied up the barn duties and the dog duties and the cat duties, and yet it was still my mother who discovered late Saturday night that there were three chicks in the barn, but no Mama Treat. And in the morning, she was still gone.

When we got home I sent my husband to find the body. We both knew what had most likely happened. We have an old dog, a good dog, who is also a foxhound. She can’t help herself. We were fairly sure if the mama was gone and the babies were there, it wasn’t the act of a fox because a fox would have eaten those babies for dessert. No, this had to have been our old dog. And sure enough the evidence was under the deck. I lectured her as best I could, but really, she can’t help herself. Most likely, the babies had wandered in to dog territory and Mama Treat had put herself on the line between danger and safety. I’m certain she stood her ground to that huge, bumbling dog who kills simply for sport. Poor Treat. What a good Mama.

We knew better than to ask Jules to step back in, she’s moved on. So the babies are settled in to the chicken tractor until they are large enough to join the rest of the flock (except for Not-a-Rooster who really is a rooster and will be moving on to greener pastures hopefully at a neighbor’s farm).

I feel more attached to my girls now than ever. We are kindred spirits of sorts. I remember when I gave birth to my first child feeling very primal and at one with nature. As humans we tend to project our own experiences of motherhood on the animals around us. Animals do motherhood in a million ways, but some of their behaviors are very human.

Sadly, it does seem that motherhood is unstoppable and it can be contagious. Some people jump in to motherhood without serious consideration. Societal expectations have been ironed on to their hearts just like animal instincts, or maybe they do it because “everyone else” is doing it. There are others who would do anything to become mothers – suffering all kinds of indignities and hardships.

Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. There are some days I truly do want to fly the coop and rejoin the single life, but deep down I know I would lay down my life if it meant the safety of my babies. So maybe lesson five is: Everybody does motherhood differently. Expectations and comparisons are a dangerous game. We never truly know what we are capable of until we let our children (or our chickens) teach us.

Corks and Caps and Kids

We have a currency of corks and caps in our house. When someone treads dangerously close to the line of bad behavior, my husband or I caution, “That’s your warning. Do it again and it’s a bottle cap.” And sometimes when we see stellar behavior, as in when one sibling actually helps another, you’ll hear us say, “Aww, that was great. You get a cork for that.”

This system is the latest evolution of discipline in our long line of creative solutions to the age old problem of how-do-you-make-your-kids-act-right. It’s very simple really. Each of the kids has a large mason jar in a basket on the piano. Whenever we catch our children doing something good we put a cork in their jar. And whenever we catch our children doing something bad (or neglecting to do something good when the option is there to do, say, their assigned kitchen chore), we put a bottle cap in the jar.

Let me explain about the corks and caps. For this new system we needed something small that we already had lying around. As I’ve explained before I have difficulty throwing out things that can’t be recycled and could one day prove useful. Hence, the caps and corks. The colorful plastic caps from bottles were collected for sorting games for my toddlers, but once they outgrew the thrill of hundreds of small bright plastic disks, I couldn’t give up the compulsion to stock pile them. Lucky for me, the art teacher at the elementary school loves caps and puts them to use in beautiful mosaics. The corks have been collecting since I first attached myself to the man I call my husband. We used to write the occasion and date on the corks, but now we just toss them in a drawer. I have plans to make something useful out of them someday, but that day hasn’t arrived. So corks and caps we have in great abundance. Perfect for the latest parenting endeavor.

When any child accrues 8 corks, he or she may trade them in for a prize (see below). The corks continue to accumulate until they reach 15 corks and then the prizes get even better (see below). After that, the corks get dumped back in to the cork drawer. The bottle caps work a little differently. If a child manages to garner 5 bottle caps, he or she loses all screen privileges (ALL screens) for the following weekend. They may give up 2 corks to remove 1 bottle cap but only until they reach 4, but on that 5th cap there is no escape. (This was a technicality quickly developed by my youngest and wiliest child.) Each Sunday night all caps magically disappear and Monday morning begins with a cap-free jar.

Maybe this seems like a little too much effort, but it sure beats yelling and threatening and then trying to remember what you threatened. It helps us reward the good stuff like running up to shut the chicken coop in the dark when it’s raining, helping your brother with his homework, carrying in the groceries, or doing something thoughtful without being asked. My daughter recently spent an evening helping her little brother (the very same child who that morning she proclaimed she would hate FOREVER!) to master the hand brakes on his bike – 2 corks for that one!

Amazingly, no one has yet earned 5 caps. In fact, the mere threat of a cap usually causes the offender to turn the other cheek. Even I didn’t think this system would work so well. We are six weeks in and all I’ve had to give up is a couple sleepovers and a cherry cheesecake. Mostly they choose the extra time on the computer.

Just in case you’d like to adopt this system for yourself, here are the details on ours. We think it's only fair to spell out exactly what earns you a cap or cork. I’m sure yours might be different, but this’ll get you started.

Expectations - Consequences
1 Treat each other with respect and kindness. Consequences: One Cap  (One warning)

2 Do not hit, kick, or in any way physically harm each other or the pets. Consequences: One Cap (no warnings)

3 No Back-talk or deliberate lying. Consequences:Two Caps (no warnings)

4 No Hurtful Words: “freak”, “idiot”, “shut up”, “hate” or others TBD. Consequences: One Cap (One warning)

5 Get yourself ready for school (fix breakfast, pack lunch, pack up back pack, take vitamins, brush teeth, and remember the things you need to have for the day like sneakers, instrument, etc.)  Consequences: One Cap (One reminder)

6 Do your kitchen chore each weeknight. Consequences: one Cap (one reminder)
7 Take care of your pet (Raisin, Hans, Cody). Consequences: One cap  (one reminder)

8 Put your dirty clothes in the laundry room sorted by color in to the separate bags by Monday morning.
consequences: no clean clothes  (one reminder)

9 Put away your clean clothes the same day they are returned to you. Consequences: No Clean Laundry (one reminder)

10 Do your weekend chore each weekend. Consequences: Two Caps (one reminder)

11 Keep your room reasonably clean and vacuum it once a month. Consequences: No Friends In/out (one reminder)

Five caps in one week: Lose all screens for the following weekend.

Corks

1. Doing something nice for someone else.

2. Cleaning something you don’t have to clean.

3. Good grade on a test/project. (eventually clarified to A+ as we were bleeding corks on this one)

4. Feeding dogs

5. Taking care of Kernel [our blind chicken] -clean cage & change water or walk her

6. Helping with barn chores

7. Cleaning up yard

8. Unloading the dishwasher

9. Anytime mommy or daddy thinks you’ve done something deserving of a bonus

10. Writing a letter to a relative (real letter, not e-mail)

When you earn 8 corks, you can choose from the following rewards (keep adding corks to get to 15)

1. pick the movie night movie

2. decide the menu for one dinner that week

3. choose a special dessert or snack for one time that week

4. earn an extra ½ hour on the computer

5. propose a reward for approval

When you have 15 corks, you can choose from the following rewards:

1. sleepover

2. date night – movie, dinner out with parent or friend

3. new book from Amazon or Scholastic

4. watch an extra movie that you pick

5. earn an extra hour on the computer

Surprise!

I love surprises. Well, maybe I should clarify that – I love good surprises. No one likes to be surprised by bad stuff. I once had a bad surprise that was actually a great surprise for my kids. We had recently moved in to the house we are in now and I was sorting through our accumulated life in boxes upstairs, when my oldest son suddenly burst out of the basement door yelling, “I need my bathing suit!” This alarmed me only slightly because my kids were big in to dress up at that time. As I continued sorting, curiosity got the better of me. It was early spring and definitely not bathing suit weather on our chilly hill.

Opening the basement door, I heard delighted squeals from my then 3 year-old daughter. Descending the stairs I got my awful surprise – the basement was under six inches of water. My daughter was happily splashing and the cat was floating on a “raft” made of the foam carpet squares we had just put down so the kids could play. An example of how one surprise can be good for one person and bad for another. (turns out the sump-pump was jammed, easily fixed and it helped us part with the ruined contents of too many boxes)

My husband and I love to surprise our kids. Christmas morning is always filled with its share of surprises, but there are lots of other holiday and non-holiday surprises too. St. Patrick’s Day is fast approaching and my kids are already talking about the tiny leprechaun hats they discovered last year that contained clues leading them to more hats and eventually a “pot of gold” (chocolate coins).

A few summers ago, we woke them up at 6am and said, “Get your suits on, we’re going to the beach!” and we fed them breakfast in the car as we drove to the beach for the day. Never mind the fortunes we have spent renting beach houses, that day remains their favorite beach memory.

The cruise we went on a few weeks ago was our greatest surprise yet. We planned and prepared for it for six months without the kids knowing. On the day of the cruise, we waited for each one to get up and get dressed for school. When they found us in our room packing suitcases, they scratched their heads sleepily and then we said, “How about instead of going to school today, we go to Florida?!!” Oh – that was the best moment of the entire vacation! (the picture above is of my youngest realizing we’re weren’t kidding)

What makes surprises so special is they are proof positive that someone was thinking about you. Which feels pretty good. I think surprising your kids is one of the greatest joys you can get as a parent. They don’t have to be huge surprises. And they don’t have to be that often. In fact, it’s best to spread them out otherwise they cease being surprises and become expected. Need some ideas?

• Pick your child up at the bus stop for an impromptu movie date (the movies are cheaper before 5pm!)

• Show up at school at lunchtime to pick up your child for an “appointment” which is lunch with you at a favorite restaurant or a picnic at the park

• Leave a small gift on their pillow

• Write a note in their planner or leave one in the pocket of their jeans.

• Bring home a new outfit or a book for them “just because”.

• Do a chore for them (mine love when I do their kitchen chore for them)

• Leave a love note on the bathroom mirror or the inside of the closet.

• Serve breakfast for dinner

• Make a special dessert or hand out fortune cookies

• Bring home a new pet (hermit crabs and betta fish count!)

These things don’t have to cost a fortune either. I find all kinds of treasures at the Goodwill and love to surprise the kids with them.

I think I picked up this habit from my husband. He surprises me regularly with small gifts or gestures. Sometimes it’s messages in unexpected places (my to-do list, my calendar). Sometimes it’s doing a chore for me, filling up my car with gas, or fixing something that’s broken that I never mentioned to him. Every once in a while, it’s even flowers. Little stuff, but it makes the ride more interesting. I just never know what might happen on a given day.

I hope my kids are developing this same belief. The belief that anything could happen today. Life is full of surprises. Sure, some of them stink. But you never know, the one after that might be amazing. You might wake up thinking you have a science test and a few hours later find yourself on an airplane bound for warmer places. So much of the time I’m nagging my kids, driving them, reminding them, disciplining them, lecturing them, but every now and then I surprise them. And that makes up for a lot of grumbling. It tells them that I love them so much I’m always thinking up ways to make them smile. They just never know what I might be planning. So they better be nice to me!

Actions Speak Louder Than Words No Matter How Loud Your Words

Actions speak louder than words. I’ve run in to this truth several times this week. I think it’s a fitting motto for those of us who claim to be attempting to live life in harmony with the earth and our bodies. We can say all the pretty, socially acceptable things we want, but when it comes down to brass tacks, we are what we do.

I do believe that actions speak louder than words. In fact, I’m staking my parenting success on those words. My kids may say really (really) mean things to each other and to me. They may call each other awful names, threaten to hurt each other, and make all manner of snide comments about one another, but when they are out in the larger world (i.e. not at our house), I am relieved to see that they treat people kindly. They don’t throw things at people or slam doors. They don’t call people that annoy them “idiots” or make sarcastic comments. They swallow their frustration and their pride. And it always surprises me, though it shouldn’t by now.

They may scream things at me that will haunt me for days or tell me that I am the meanest mother in the world (or lately a “freak”), but when I observe them with other authority figures like teachers and coaches, they are respectful and obedient. They even seem to work hard to secure their praise. I’m not saying that my kids always treat me like the trash waiting to be dragged to the curb, just that for every nasty word they scream at me, there are thousands of kind words used on others (and occasionally me).

While I don’t appreciate being the verbal punching bag, and there are certainly consequences when it happens (apparently that’s what makes me a “freak” since other parents would never take away screen time or force their children to apologize), I am grateful that it appears my children are learning the lessons I am trying to hammer home. Their actions speak louder than their words. They may yell at me, but they will still complete their weekend chore. They may say they hate their sibling, but they will still share their after-game treat with them. They may scream that the homework is stupid as they settle down in the bean bag chair to get it done.

This motto has not been easy for me to embrace. I think words are important. I think they are powerful and dangerous and tricky. So I admit to overreacting to some of the words that come out of my children’s mouths. The learning curve on this one hasn’t been steep for me, but I’m getting there. Slowly I’m learning to be quiet and wait and see what they actually do. Sometimes they just need a safe place to vent. I do the same thing with my animals. If anyone ever put a hidden camera in our barn, they would deem me a lunatic. I talk to the animals, compliment them, and ask them questions. But sometimes I curse them, call them names, and complain to them. It’s a chance to vent. They listen to my ramblings with practiced indifference and it’s refreshing. I don’t have to own up to anything I’ve said because no one’s going to call me on it. Animals have only actions to communicate with, no words. I understand them most of the time. I know exactly where they stand and don’t have to try figure out why they said what they said.

As a parent, it’s difficult not to call my children on the things that come out of their mouths. I find myself letting some things slide and then blowing up over other things. And sometimes it feels like the kids are really feeling around for the limits. “I can say this and I don’t get a reaction, so how about this…”

When I flip the motto around and apply it to myself, I’m grateful. I truly hope that my actions are speaking louder than my words. I may be so angry I shake, but I will still feed my children a healthy meal. I will still do their laundry and drive them where they need to go and tuck them in at night with a quiet song and a hug. The millions of actions that I have done for my kids speak volumes. Hopefully enough to drown out the times I’ve said harsh things out of pride or been cruel in my effort to get my point across.

Sometimes it’s helpful to take a breath. I’m learning to say, “There will be consequences for this. I don’t know what they are yet, but there will be.” And then walking away instead of saying something I’ll regret later. It’s a nonstop juggling act this parenting gig. How much patience before you have to step in? How much do you tolerate before you have to act? Should you say something or let them figure it out on their own? I don’t think any of us get it right every day, or any given hour for that matter. I guess the best that we can do is the best that we can do. Take a deep breath. Be quiet. Let the words settle before you spring to action because those actions will always speak louder than any words.

A Whole New Generation

In general, I avoid kid movies. I occasionally stomach them when I can’t avoid it, but for the most part, I find something else to do on movie night. I know, I know, this is the family tradition of the our era – the whole family hunkered down in the dark living room eyes fixed on the latest flick with popcorn in every lap. But kids’ movies get on my nerves. Beyond the obvious plots and dumbing down of the humor, I can only suspend reality so far before I start making snide remarks. So it’s best if I avoid the whole scene.

Last night we had an impromptu family night to re-watch Diary of a Wimpy Kid, which was Friday night’s movie. The kids REALLY wanted their father and I to watch it. So we did. The whole thing. I kept waiting for some poignant moment when it would become obvious why they insisted we watch the movie, but mostly I spent the entire time being annoyed with the horrible, self-obsessed, shallow lead character. And apparently there are four more books centered around him. In the end he makes some retribution for his horribleness, but it was too late for me to be impressed.

All morning I’ve been contemplating that movie and why it was that my kids insisted I watch it. Maybe it was to make sure I understood just how awful middle school is and how much pressure they are under. I asked several times if the scene on the TV was representative of the scene at their schools, and they assured me it wasn’t quite that bad. But I do remember how awkward it is to be a middle schooler. I hope my own children will be a little more clued in than I was.

I worry that we are handicapping them by not having cable, satellite, or high-speed internet. We have no hand held games, Wii, or Nintendo. The only screen we have to fight about is the computer screen and there are plenty of battles over that. In fact, the bigger the battles over the screen the less likely I am to tell the kids that just last week they finally ran cable down our street. We’re toying with the idea of high-speed internet, but I’m loathe to poison our happy existence with a high speed invasion. Right now, the lack of screens leads my kids to play elaborate imaginative games, read books, build things with legos and marbles, create artwork, write stories, and spend hours outside.

They aren’t completely ignorant. They’ve played video games at other kids’ houses. We spend time at the library exploring the World Wide Web. And we have a subscription to Netflix for our weekly movie night. The free television that comes over the airwaves to our house enables us to watch football and baseball and Nova. And on Saturday mornings the major networks still show cartoons and ridiculously trendy (and stupid) kid sitcoms.

That’s still much more media exposure than I had as a child. And it makes me wonder what kind of generation we are raising. These kids are addicted to screens. They know how to react to all kinds of elaborate games, but could they create a computer program? I myself, think the computer works by magic – nothing else within my limited brain capacity could explain how it can open eight web pages at once while I am editing my latest post and listening to the new Rosanne Cash CD my step-mother-in-law sent me.

Our children witness endless stories on TV and online, many that push the limits of their emotional maturity, but could they write an original tale? They laugh and gawk at reality TV, but can they tell the difference between “reality” on TV and real life reality? Will they expect this world to be as entertaining or dramatic or exciting as what they experience online and in their living rooms? More to the point, will they be able to cope with disappointment, difficulties, boredom, and hard work?

There is a flipside to all this. Because these kids have been exposed to so much, maybe they will be more understanding of people with differing ethnicities, opinions, or lifestyles. Maybe these kids will believe anything is possible because they see the realm of possibility challenged on a daily basis. Maybe they will believe they can do anything they set their minds to since they’ve seen all manner of humankind accomplish unlikely feats. My younger brother spent all his spare change and every spare moment in the arcades of our youth. He held the high score on hundreds of machines. Guess what he’s doing today? He’s still playing video games – only on the government’s dime. He’s an air force fighter pilot. After years of flying combat missions, he spends his days teaching young pilots in the simulators. He let me try the simulator once, I crashed in minutes. Lacking the hand-eye coordination and quick decision making skills he garnered during all those long afternoons in the arcades, I was hopeless.

It’s impossible to say whether being exposed to too much or very little media will help or hinder our kids. As a parent I know all too well that I can’t predict my kids and the days of controlling their daily activities and decisions (or the illusion of that control) are quickly passing. At this point, our best bet is to support them and love them and continue to expect things from them – things like following the rules, treating others with respect, and taking personal responsibility for their actions. Those are much bigger issues than how much TV they watch.

So as you battle over the screens, remember the battle isn’t about the screen, it’s about the parameters you’ve set as a parent. Don’t make the screen the bad guy (I’m guilty of this!), it’s no more the bad guy than too much candy, not cleaning up after yourself, or not doing your homework. It’s not that they should shut down the screen, it’s that they should do their homework or practice their saxophone or take the dog for a walk or clean up the mess they left in the living room. Focus on the things they should do and let the screen take its place where it should – in their spare time.

Me? I’m still not going to allow open-access to the screens in our house. But that’s the rule and it’s understood. We’re always negotiating the computer time. I’m toying with the idea of letting down some of my restrictions. As long as my kids always understand – the computer games are a privilege, not a right. Privileges can be lost, but rights can’t.

Who knows what kind of generation we are raising? I hope it’s a generation of open-minded, generous, and quick-thinking people who just happen to have great hand-eye coordination.

A Little Dirt Never Hurt Anybody

As much as I miss my hubby when he travels for business, there is one aspect of his absence that I kind of enjoy. There’s no need to clean. Not that he is fussy; he isn’t. He never says a word about the condition of the house – bless him. But when he is here I feel a need to show some evidence that I’ve been doing my job. Until this writing gig starts to actually produce an income, my main job is still the kids and the house and all the nonsense outside. I’ve said all along, the only reason I want to get published and make money is so I can hire a cleaning person. That hasn’t changed.

This has been a busy summer for Nick, so the house has been enjoying a little rest too. Even so, I do the minimum – the toilets, the kitchen floor and counters, and sometimes I even vacuum.

I only feel self-conscious about this lack of cleanliness when I visit someone else’s sparkling house. I admire them, but I don’t feel the need to emulate them. I think a little dirt never hurt anyone. In fact, I think a little dirt is good for everyone. We all need some good germs. I’m serious about this. Bacteria challenge our immune system. If our immune system is never challenged, how will it grow strong enough to truly protect us?

A few months ago I was in the pediatrician’s office for my son’s well-check up. A cute young mom came in with her cute young offspring. The baby looked to be maybe a year. As she was checking in, the little girl reached for the antibacterial hand wash on the counter. The mom squirted some in her hand and told the receptionist how much her darling loved antibacterial wash. In fact, to keep her quiet and happy, I watched this mom squirt antibacterial hand wash in to her daughter’s outstretched hands five times just while she was signing in and making her co-pay. Then in the 10 minutes while I waited for my son (he’s too old for mom to accompany him in to see the doc), she proceeded to follow her toddler over to the counter to fill her hands probably ten more times.

I wanted to yank the soap off the counter and fling it out the window only after explaining to this woman that she’s not only fueling a future OCD issue, she’s ensuring that she and her daughter will spend many more mornings in the doctor’s office.

Germs are good sometimes. Why are we so hung up on avoiding them? Dr. Mary Ruebush, an immunologist and author of Why Dirt is Good says, “It keeps your immune cells, which are there to protect you, multiplying and reproducing.” If we don’t expose our immune system to bacteria, how will it be ready when you really need it to protect you?

What’s more, all this handwashing and anti-bacterial this and that and overuse of antibiotics is setting us all for a real epidemic. The anti-bacterial agents used in those wonderful handwashes contain some of the same ingredients that are in some of our antibiotics. The heavy use of these antibacterial washes is training bacteria to resist them, instead of training our systems to resist the bacteria. See the problem here?

I know this post belongs in the throws of flu season, but it’s on my mind now. This time of year, my kids are covered in mud, sand, dirt, bug bites, poison ivy, and sunburn. When other kids come to play, most parents know to pack extra clothes because more than likely, the ones they are wearing will get filthy, wet, or torn. It goes with the territory. And before these dirt-packed children come in the door, I instruct them to go clean up with the hose. There is no anti-bacterial soap involved. Water works just fine in this circumstance.

At bedtime, if the kids are too filthy to get in bed, they might hop in the shower or bath, but you won’t find any antibacterial soap in our house. In fact, you won’t find any soap in our tub at all. My kids have seriously dry, sensitive skin and soap irritates them. Hot water and a wash cloth will take care of all but the worst. If there’s a possibility of poison ivy, they wash off with dish soap just in the areas that were exposed.

Before meals and snacks, they do wash their hands with soap (I hope!). My two favorites are an organic tea tree oil soap I get at Trader Joes and a goat-milk soap made with added coffee grounds which act as an exfoliator to help scrub the dirt off. The goat-milk soap comes from a local vendor who make their soaps by hand (Wash Your Mouth Out Soap).

No anti-bacterial soap for us. I’m not worried about a little bacteria. You shouldn’t be either. If you want to worry about bacteria, worry about the bacteria you’re eating when you stop for a fast food burger, cook up an egg raised on a factory farm, or munch on non-organic produce from half-way around the world. Now that’s some seriously dangerous bacteria.

My Plan for Staying Sane(er) This Summer

School is out and summer stretches before us. I’m shooting for a calm summer this year. We don’t have any big plans for exciting vacations or expensive camps. We’re just gonna hang out this summer. So I’m trying to apply a little trick I learned from the cowboy who is helping me train my horse, True. When my True was a little excited (dragging me across the ring and dancing around on the end of the line), he talked about lowering my energy. It was a novel concept for me. I’m a high energy person. I watched him and although he didn’t do anything drastically different physically, I could truly tell when he “lowered his energy” or “got his energy up” and my horse reacted to the changes. True calmed when the energy was low and became alert and reactive when it was up.

I’ve worked on mastering this with my own training efforts to mixed success. I tend to forget to concentrate on it until I’m in some trouble, but it really works like magic. I think animals and children (and adults for that matter) have a lot in common, so I wondered how this would work on my children. Again, I tend to use the tactic in a reactive manner after my children are already threatening lives and holding prized possessions captive, but when I apply it conscientiously, it does work.

Just a few minutes ago, my daughter approached me as I finally sat down to write after a morning of taking care of life’s details and spending too much time in the car. I thought I would steal 30 minutes to myself before I put a dent in the housework that has piled up around me. So, when she bounced (literally) in to the room to explain in detail her grand plan to build a giant bubble machine using her fan and her brother’s K’Nex, I consciously thought about lowering my energy. I took slow, deep breaths and made myself be still.

When I’m working with my horse, I think about aligning my center and quieting the middle of me. I think about being still in my core. I know that sounds like psycho-gobbledy gook, but it’s the best I can do. Basically, you relax all of you and don’t make any sudden movements or unnecessary noises. I nodded and listened and forced myself to let go of my own frustration. It took her 5 or 6 minutes to lay out the plans. Then she looked at me expectantly. I said quietly, “That sounds amazing.” She agreed that it did and told me all she needed was bubble wands, so could we just pop over to the dollar store to get some, right now? I consciously thought about keeping my energy low and said, “If you can’t find any here, then later we can do that. But I need some time right now to do my writing.” She rolled her eyes and harumpphed, but left peaceably.

I think lowering your energy could be a very useful tactic in lots of situations not just with animals and children, but with life in general. I played my guitar in a recital this past weekend and I was ridiculously nervous about it. I kept wondering why I was doing this and hadn’t I left these kinds of anxious feelings behind back in middle school? So as I stood backstage, I thought about lowering my energy. It helped me stay calm even if it didn’t make me completely comfortable. I need more practice (guitar and lowering my energy).

When things don’t work out the way you plan or another person irritates you, lowering your energy is a great way to get your own emotions under control. It takes the other person off-guard. They sense something different about you, and just like my horse, they become quieter too. One of my children struggles with some anxiety and I’m hoping I can teach this child about how helpful lowering your energy can be when life swells up around you.

Lowering your energy can help you find perspective. Maybe if the people in charge of political parties, warring countries, or the local elementary school, tried lowering their energy before spouting off about issues or negotiating with the opposition, things would be different. I think many of us waste much too much precious energy on things that aren’t really all that important. We need to focus on the things that matter and let go of the stuff that doesn’t. I’m hoping this summer I can save my energy for things that matter and make summer what it’s meant to be – a time for relaxing and recharging.

An Examined Life

I was able to spend some time with a good writer friend this weekend. We spend a lot of time scheming about how to get great writing jobs and this adventure was no exception. We attended a Creative Writing workshop with author and poet, Melissa Greene (www.writefromtheheart.us). There were an interesting group of people in attendance. They were all people who loved to write and loved to use their imagination. Melissa talked about the creative writing process and said a lot encouraging things. She then led us in some exercises to help us find our “creative focus”. I enjoyed the opportunity to let my mind wander, unfortunately everything it wandered to was pretty depressing which was a surprise considering it was a gorgeous afternoon, I was hanging out with a friend I don’t get to see enough of, doing one of my most favorite things with someone who could be a potential mentor. That’s the thing about your mind though – it rarely goes where you tell it too. So sometimes you have to just follow it where it takes you and believe there is a reason.

The overall message of Melissa’s workshop (and I would say her “ministry”) is that writing is healing. It helps us to process what’s going on deep inside. Especially when you are writing for no one but yourself. I’ve kept a journal all my life. Every now and then I think about burning that huge box in the basement because really – why am I hanging on to those journals? I wrote those words for myself so that I could process my own emotions and ideas. I’m fairly certain they would be ungodly boring to anyone else, except maybe back when I was young and single and wrote about my dating exploits. But those entries might get me in trouble and I certainly wouldn’t want my children to happen upon them. Which brings me back to the question – why don’t I burn them? Maybe I will some day. Or maybe I’ll leave directions in my will that they be burned. Or maybe I shouldn’t really care because I won’t be around to be embarrassed by them.
If you’ve never kept a journal, I would encourage you to try one. Here’s why – life is going by much too fast. We are all in a hurry and there’s too much on our plates. When we stop for 10 minutes just to write what’s rushing through our minds it forces us to be present. To be here in the now instead of already planning what’s coming next. A journal doesn’t need to be great writing. In fact, it’s very freeing to know you can write whatever you want, capitalize what you want, put commas wherever you want, and no one’s going to judge. (I just got some critiques of my novel back from a contest I entered and they were all over my horrible use of, actually lack of, commas. I felt judged, but that was the point. Now, though, I’m feeling I should put a comma in every possible place,.) But with a journal you can leave your grammatical hang-ups behind and write stream of consciousness. Heck, you could do away with punctuation altogether. That might be a good way to confuse anyone who reads your journals upon your untimely death. Ah, now there’s an idea!

Anyway, today’s kid-friendly organic life idea is that you should keep a journal. If a journal is intimidating, find a scrap of paper and make a list of the words that run through you mind. Or look around you and list the things you see. It will force you to be present. Try this with your kids. In fact, this is a great summer project idea! Find a journal for your kids – you can buy a fancy one, or pick one up at the dollar store (they always have blank books) or just grab an empty notebook. Find a pen that feels good to write with and start journaling. When I got my daughter started, I bought a blank book that had a gray cardboard cover, used stickers to write, “Addie’s Dream Journal”, and then added all kinds of animals and flower stickers and left space for her to write. Inside the cover, I told her to fill it with whatever came to her mind and heart.

I think we have to help our kids be intentional in their living. They are much busier than we were at their age. I keep trying to figure out why that is and I think it comes back to expectations. When I was a kid, you had all the time in the world and no one was really paying attention to what you were doing and whether you were using your time wisely. Nowadays, kids have so many options - sports, camps, after-school activities, music lessons, religious groups, scouts, and instruction in everything from foreign language to computer programming. Although I think I limit my kids, we still have an activity every evening except Tuesday, so obviously I’m not practicing what I preach here.

I don’t know if all this activity is bad really. Who’s to say? I doubt there’s been any long-term studies done. What I do know is that we need to help our kids to pay attention and be present at whatever they choose to do. And journaling is one way to make that happen. It helps us sort out what our heart really wants and gives us permission to say what we think, uncensored by manners or expectations. It’s a safe place for our creative and contemplative spirit. And that is a spirit that must be nurtured if we intend to be happy (and sane).

Here’s one important final note – and I’ll write it in caps so you know I’m yelling this at you. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU EVER READ YOUR CHILD’S JOURNAL! Trust is key. This journal is meant for no one’s eyes but its authors. No matter how tempting – promise me you’ll never read your child’s journal.

I have some really special journals I keep in a fire safe. I could lose pretty much everything other book in my house, but not these three journals. They are the journals that I write to my children. I started a journal for each child when I first learned I was pregnant. I write in their journal of all my worries and wishes for them. I write about funny or poignant things they say or do. And I write the things I wish they would sit still for me to tell them. I write lots about how much I love them and how proud I am of them. I write observations about the things that seem to make them happy or sad or angry. I hope that some day no matter where this life takes us they will have this physical record of how much I love them and how important they have been to me from the moment they were conceived.

I hope this post inspires you to start (or re-start) your own journal and encourages you to get your kids journaling too. There is potential in any thought. It was Socrates who said, “An unexamined life is not worth living.” Kind of tough love reinforcement for journaling I’d say. Life is such an amazing, rich, boring, incredible, complicated, beautiful thing. I, for one, think it’s worth examining.

The Battle for Screen Time Rages On

The showdown at the OK Corral happened here almost two months ago. I really didn’t think they had it in them to hold out like this. My children have been without computer games for so long now, I’m not sure they even miss it. They could hold out indefinitely. I’m losing this bet, but I’m beginning to realize this may not be such a bad thing.

Two months ago I had a Mommy Melt Down Moment. I’m sure you’ve had one yourself, so I don’t need to make excuses (but I will anyway). I got up one morning and I didn’t know it but I had reached the breaking point. As I made a pass through several bedrooms picking up towels off the floor and tripping over the baskets of clean clothes yet to make it in to their drawers, my blood boiled over. When I encountered them in the kitchen where they had left their dishes on the table, pencils on the floor, and shoes abandoned in front of the door I began my assault. They retreated to their default positions of “It wasn’t me”, “I never touched it” and “I was going to do that when I finished (fill in the blank)..”

When my verbal assault produced no action, I had to go for the heavy artillery. “No computer until you start doing your share!” I spelled out a lengthy peace treaty which involved them doing their part (i.e. the dinner chore assigned to them, putting away their clean clothes, picking up their belongings, etc.) and in return they would be given their computer privileges. Until then the computer would stay locked down.

As I said, that was two months ago. In the beginning they stubbornly tested my resolve. I fumed, they whined, but I didn’t weaken my position one inch. If they wanted this hill they would have to acquiesce to my demands. Which they didn’t. At first I was outraged – all I was asking them to do is not be slobs and pick up their own things! It’s not like I was asking them to scrub the kitchen floor or clean a toilet (or a chicken cage for that matter!). Ridiculously lazy! Who did they think was going to pick up their belongings? (Yup, the only person who cared that their things were strewn all over in the first place.)

So I did the picking up and I put things away, although I did hold the line on the laundry and hid my daughter’s clean clothes until she begged to put them away herself. And then a funny thing happened. My husband and I noticed that the kids were fighting less. They were playing together. They were exploring the woods again. They re-discovered the joy of the zip line. They wrote stories. They played games. They played legos. They talked to each other and to us. And they stopped even mentioning the computer and all the exciting games. They acted out their favorite fantasy game Balder’s Gate all over our property. It was as if a fog had settled over our battlefield and made all the soldiers peaceable.

My oldest son does use a computer for homework and I’ve taken to giving him 20 minutes before the others get home from school to play Balder’s Gate, but only because he’s finally putting his laundry away the same day I put it in his room and refraining from leaving his vast quantities of stray papers (he would say stories, theories, ideas, strategies, etc.) all over every surface of the house. It’s a very thin truce.

I write all this as a reminder to you – you hold the power as the parent. You decide what you allow and what you don’t. There is no constitutional law that says your children have the right to watch TV, play video games, computer games, whatever. You give them that privilege (and I bet you purchased that privilege) and you can take it away. That gives you tremendous leverage. Remember that you only have leverage if the child in question values the privilege you are holding over them. We don’t have TV or video games, so my leverage lies with the computer games.

If you don’t want to fight with your kids about what they eat – don’t buy it. If you don’t like the clothes your daughter chooses to wear to school – don’t provide them. If you want more help around the house create some consequences. If you don’t want your kids to spend endless hours in front of screens – don’t let them. I think we forget that, at least for now, we hold the power in these relationships. Everything is not negotiable. We have lots of opportunities to teach our children about dealing with frustration, boredom, personal responsibility, unfulfilled wishes, and shattered expectations. Handling inevitable disappointments and logical consequences are life skills many adults I know don’t own.

I know this might sound hard and you don’t really want to be the “meanest parent in the world”, but here’s your out - when you create and clearly explain consequences you can stop being the bad guy. That’s why my standoff over doing your part is working and no one’s holding it against me (well, OK, my daughter occasionally argues the finer details of “doing your part”). I think they’ll cave eventually. I know I won’t. There is peace in the land because there is no bad guy here. There’s just a set of decisions and logical consequences. They know that it’s within their power to regain their computer privileges and they know that the only reason they don’t have them is not that their mom is so mean (that’s a given), but because they don’t want to pick up their things. It might be frustrating, but it’s fair.

It might be shooting myself in the foot, but I’m hoping they never get their computer privileges back. Without the technologically induced emotions of the screen, they are much nicer children. And they have discovered how much fun they can have without electronics. It’s funny, since we took away the computer games I’ve hardly heard my kids say, “I’m bored” once. They’ve remembered how to create their own fun.

Natives in the Kitchen!

As I write this I’m listening to my 10 year old daughter giggle with two of her girlfriends in the kitchen as they cook macaroni and cheese for their lunch. I know when they are finished the room will be trashed and rather than allow my blood pressure to boil for the 20 minutes it takes them to make and eat their lunch, it’s just easier to stay away. I’ll wait until they’re ensconced in my daughter’s room with her stereo and guitar blaring before assessing the damage. That way they can’t hear my complaints. Because although I will be annoyed at the mess and even more annoyed that I didn’t make them clean it up, I am glad she is cooking. This is new for us.

For too long I didn’t allow my children to operate the stove or oven and certainly not a knife. The microwave was all I allowed, which is kind of silly because I hate the microwave and avoid cooking in it at all costs. (I’m one of those paranoid people who are convinced that someday we’ll all find out that microwaves are responsible for many of our health issues or at the least why our brains don’t seem to be evolving.)

These days I cautiously allow my children to use a knife to cut off the ends of their freshly peeled carrots (peelers are permitted too). Once they prove they can slice off a piece of bread without butchering the entire loaf, they can cut their bread too. The decision to let them begin using knives came about when I walked in on my oldest son’s full arm karate style chopping (using my gigantic butcher’s knife –OMG!) of his carrot. This, after he had somewhat successfully peeled his carrot with my good bread knife. The bottom line is that your kids are going to get curious about the kitchen and as they look for opportunities to assert their independence they will discover your knives. And your stove and most certainly the Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream you’re hiding way in the back on the top shelf of your freezer. The kitchen will no longer be your sacred space. Best to invite the natives in rather than wait for the invasion.

I want to bring them in to the kitchen on my terms. I began by teaching my oldest son. Sitting on my hands and doing my best not to make any funny faces, I directed him in making a complete spaghetti dinner. I told him I wasn’t going to do any of it for him. I would stay with him and direct him, but he was on his own. His wounded expression led me to an overlong explanation about the fact that he is now 13 years old and should be able to feed himself because I am not raising any domestically dependent men. I owe that to the future women in their lives. I am forever grateful that my own mother-in-law taught my husband to cook, do laundry, clean, and even sew on a button.

My daughter’s cooking career began not because of potential knife violence, but as an act of desperation. She is my picky eater. Somehow she continues to grow subsisting on macaroni and cheese, pita chips, cookies, and the occasional baby carrot. Each week her repertoire seems to shrink. Once my broccoli eater, now no more. “What? I never liked broccoli!” There was a day when this child ate red beans in place of whatever meat she was turning her nose up at, but again, my mistake. “I HATE beans! I always have!” Seems her memory is disappearing as fast as the list of foods she’ll eat.

Throwing my hands up in exasperation one afternoon when she declared all she would eat for lunch was macaroni and cheese, I said, “Fine. You make it.” Her face lit up with the possibility! “How?” she asked. Macaroni and cheese is one of those foods I have never been able to replace with a homemade version. My children had too many years on the blue box kind and I suppose they are ruined for life. I’ve made macaroni and cheese with expensive yummy cheeses like gruyere and still they turn their noses up. I found a wonderful recipe with cream cheese in it. It’s creamy and delicious but not quite salty and chemically enough for two out of three children. So we depend on organic macaroni and cheese from the box. I firmly believe that this is one of those cases where organic definitely does not equal healthy, but you do what you have to do. Ya know?
I pulled out the pots she would need, the measuring cups, and the box of macaroni and cheese and I let her have at it. She determinedly followed the directions, refusing to ask for my help. It was messy and there were a few tears, but she did it. Now she makes macaroni and cheese for every friend that visits and on busy nights when we’re all running in different directions, she can whip up dinner for everyone by adding nitrate free hot dogs cooked in the microwave (for shame!).

Not long after the macaroni and cheese discovery, she stole quietly in to the kitchen and asked, “What else can I cook?” Since it was morning and eggs were on the menu (like pretty much every morning here), I taught her to make scrambled eggs. Now she is the pro, offering to cook eggs for her brothers who tentatively agree confused as to why she’s being so nice. And after a few weeks of cooking eggs for everyone else, one day she decided maybe she might like eggs herself. The moment I had been waiting for!! Finally some protein!

I tell you this story not to impress you (I know, pasta and eggs are not so impressive, you’re waiting to hear about the grilled halibut and three layer cheese cake, right?), but to encourage you to loosen the lock on your own kitchen and get your kids cooking. Not just helping you, but doing it themselves, start to finish. It will not only expand their food options, but it just might expand their confidence too. And discounting the mess that is made, it can actually make your own job easier. We’re working on the clean up part. Teaching our children to cook also gives them the ability to discover that food made from scratch is not only healthier, but tastes better than processed food – especially when you make it yourself. In the end my goal is to raise children who can take care of themselves without the maid, cook, and butler I keep insisting they will need when they grow up.