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.

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.

Signs of Life

Signs can point us in many directions. Lately, my oldest son who is pushing 15 has been paying much more attention to signs. I think it has something to do with the fact that driving a car is a possibility in the near, rather than the far, future. At any rate, he takes great delight in reading road signs out loud. Some of the messages make little sense out of context to a young person who’s never read a driver’s manual. But they’ve brought a bit of humor to our daily travels and even inspired a little deep thinking.

Driving to school yesterday (Yes – we missed the bus on the first day! Doesn’t bode well for the new school year.), we passed a farm with a sign that all of my children find hilarious that says – “GOATS, SHEEP, LAMBS, KIDS 4 SALE”. Driving to a friend’s house over the weekend, Brady announced, “WATCH CHILDREN.” Then he stifled a giggle and looked around. “Where?” he asked. When we turned the corner, there was another sign. “WATCH CHILDREN!” he yelled to me as if I hadn’t done it the first time. By now I was laughing too.

Once as we were driving on a particularly narrow and winding road, we came to a sign that said, “DO NOT PASS”. As we passed the sign, Brady yelped, “But you’re not supposed to pass!” Another time driving with my husband through a construction zone, he announced, “BE PREPARED TO STOP,” My husband mused, “That seems like a good way to go about life.” Profound thoughts for an early Sunday morning.

In Australia, instead of saying, “YIELD,” my daughter informs me that the signs say “GIVE WAY” which seems like a much nicer way of putting it. Our house is backwards and requires that all guests drive around to the back of the house (to get to the front of the house). This creates a blind spot of sorts and cars can surprise my children when they are shooting hoops or playing four square in the drive. For years we had a sign posted that said, “DEAR CHILDREN AT PLAY”, just in case the UPS man doubted that our children were important to us as he backed up the driveway at 30 mph.

When I worried that one of our cats might get hit because they frequently play chicken with the cars ascending our hill, my then-six-year-old daughter found a board and painted a picture of a cat on it and carefully lettered, “BE CAREFUL OF CATS”. I think it’s all in how you ask. People always drove slowly up the drive after that (with a smile on their faces).

This summer I’ve taken two road trips which required full days of driving with a car full of kids (and no husband!). I’m happy to say we all survived and have reached a new milestone in maturity. Of course the number of devices plugged in at any given moment nearly drained the battery. But we do what we have to do, don’t we? Besides reading a lot of signs, it also gave me time to think and filled me with ideas for blogs, essays, experiments, and plans. I apologize for the summer of few posts and promise to get back to posting regularly this fall. If there’s a topic you’d like me to explore, please let me know. I’m happy to be given some direction. All I need is a sign.

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.

Fast Food Fight

I know this post is most likely point-less. But I’m going to say it anyway. Seeing as it is the season of fast food. And maybe I’m a hypocrite because I’ll confess right up front that during the two road trips we have planned for this summer, we will undoubtedly wind up eating at a fast food joint. And yet, I must carry on with this rant.


Please, please, please don’t eat fast food. I understand that when you have children in the car who are pulling your fingernails out one-by-one with their incessant whining while they wither away to nothing with bloated bellies and sunken eyes in the back seat, you have no choice but to pull in to the fastest food possible. You have no other option. But let’s be honest here, folks. Sometimes we choose fast food because it’s easy. It makes the kids happy. And heck, it tastes good.

But you know what else it does? It makes our country fat and unhealthy. It makes our kids develop tastes for foods that are over-salted, drenched in fat, and coated with sugar. It teaches them that eating fast food is an acceptable choice for their meal, rather than a last-ditch, there’s no-where-else-to-eat, it-might-make-us-sick, kind of option. My three kids will never eat at McDonalds without at least feeling bad about it. I’ve driven the knowledge in to them that when they eat fast-food they are eating food that is not so much food as animal by-products, lard-coated pesticide-enriched, GMO potatoes, and chemically created drug-filled sugar water.

It’s every mother’s duty to give their kids some baggage. And this is one of the carry-ons I’m loading on mine. I think it’s a good one. To be sure, you can occasionally find something nutritionally redeeming at a fast food restaurant. But my guess is your kids aren’t choosing the carrot sticks or fruit cup. And if they go for that baked potato, it’s sure to be smothered in artificially-colored cheese food products. A grilled chicken seems harmless until you ask about the chicken’s heritage and discover it was raised amongst millions of other chickens crammed in a dark, closed-in house with horrible ventilation and hopped up on antibiotics to keep it from dying from the bacterial infections that are common in such set-ups. Don’t be fooled by those lovely pictures of chickens sitting on a fence. Those chickens can’t even walk, let alone hop up on a fence because they’ve been bred to have grotesquely large breasts that prevent them from even moving. Egg to deep fryer in about 12 weeks time. If they live any longer, they’ll die from congestive heart failure because their bodies can’t support their breasts (no lie – I know someone personally who didn’t get his chickens butchered in time and this is how they died!).

If my ranting and raving isn’t enough to make you steer past those golden arches and smiling freckled-faces, consider these facts:

“With 250,000 quick-serve restaurants to choose from, Americans fork over more money on burgers, burritos, and bacon-topped sandwiches each year than what we spend on higher education, new cars, and computers combined.” (Hyman, Ultrametabolism, 60)

“The average weight of a ten-year-old boy in 1963 was 74 pounds; by 2002 the average weight was nearly 85 pounds. The average weight of a ten-year-old girl in 1963 was 77 pounds; by 2002 the average weight of a ten-year-old girl was 88 pounds.” (National Center for Health Statistics, October 2004.).

“One Big Mac is equivalent – in terms of grain produced and consumed – to five loaves of bread. But instead of feeding the hungry with grain, a lot of it is going to the waistline of people in wealthy countries – often to their detriment.” (Bittman, Food Matters 2009)

Heart disease is not only the number one killer of adults; frighteningly, it’s also the second leading cause of death for children under 15. http://champsforlife.org/whatishcm.html

A person would need to walk 9 miles (14.5km) to burn off the 923 calories found in Burger King’s Double Whopper with cheese.

So what’s an overloaded, stressed-out mom to do? Here are a few suggestions to get you through:

- If you’re in town, go home to eat. A peanut butter sandwich or a frozen pizza are healthier choices. Besides, they’re just as quick and cost less.

- If you’re traveling – pack food. Stuff a cooler with fruit that travels well like cherries, apples, bananas, and blueberries. Toss in several bags of baby carrots. Wheat crackers, raisins, craisins, apricots, nuts, and cheese sticks are easy too.

- When all else fails, remind yourself and your kids that HUNGER IS NOT AN EMERGENCY. There are very few people starving to death in the US. Your kids can go several hours (at least) between meals. Hunger will pass and many times it’s actually habit and/or boredom that drives us to demand food.

- If you must stop, look for a place that serves fresh food quickly, instead of processed food. Chipotle Grill is one of my favorite stops and it’s quicker than the average fast food. Stopping in a Mom&Pop type place can also be quick, if you tell the server you’re in a hurry and ask what can be prepared quickly.

- Find a restaurant with a good salad bar. Don’t forget that many of the newer supermarkets have salad bars. You can even get a pound of shrimp steamed quickly and enjoy a decadent treat instead of a mashed up hamburger that will make you feel ill hours later.

- If you know you’re going to have to stop and you can’t bring yourself to pack food. Remember you have other options beyond fast food. The internet gives you the power to find restaurants on your route that serve healthy fare. And in a pinch, an iphone or GPS usually can give you information on restaurants nearby.

Here’s my bottom line. Fast food won’t kill you, if you eat it once in awhile. (It will kill you if you eat it daily – see the movie Supersized if you don’t believe me!) What’s most important is teaching our children that this is not a healthy way to eat. When we swing through the drive-thru on a regular basis, we are training our kids for a lifetime of unhealthy eating. Every mom I know loves her kids too much to want that for them. I know fast food is easy. I know our children love it (they love candy and potato chips too). But this is one of those things we must do for our children (like driving the speed limit and being nice to rude people). This is the point when we need to stop saying it’s OK even if everyone else is doing it.
Besides the health issues raised by consuming fast food, I’d like to raise another point. When we eat “fast” we are not respecting the place food has in our life. It is our sustenance. When we choke down something in a wrapper while our children duck in and out of the playland between bites of ground up chicken-parts coated in bread and fat, we aren’t paying attention to the food we eat. When we sit down and face one another and eat good food together, it is a form of communion. We need to teach our children to taste their food, to appreciate where it came from, and who prepared it. We need to teach them the power they have in choosing what to put in their bodies and about the power food has to make our bodies healthy or unhealthy. Whatever decisions they make will be apparent at some point in their lives on the bathroom scale or the doctor’s table. Teach them to make healthy, empowering choices for their bodies and their lives.

We only get one shot at raising our children. This is our one and only chance to teach our children about eating healthy and being healthy for a lifetime. It’s more than a meal and much more than fast food.

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

Don't Know Nothing 'Bout History....

History was never my strong suit. I think the turning point was the overly enthusiastic teacher I had in 7th grade who scared me so much. I struggled with the requirement in college, garnering my only C. Whenever I find myself at a historic battlefield or museum, the sight of all those plaques makes my eyes glaze over. But in the interest of making up for lost time and setting a good example for my children I do try to drum up some enthusiasm.

I recently spent five days in Williamsburg, Virginia. I will admit up front that it wasn’t my idea and I went there for reasons having nothing to do with history. The trip was a Christmas gift from my husband. He (and a bunch of other incredibly thoughtful hubbies) gave me (and four other women from my book club) five days on a beautiful plantation. So, being honest, I went there to eat, drink and be merry with friends. Oh, and of course we read a book. One of the husbands (shout out to Mark, here) picked the book, “Dark Enough to See the Stars in a Jamestown Sky” for us to read and discuss (we really did!). Despite the verbose title and somewhat dry writing, the book brought history to life. It was the journal of a woman named Joan who journeyed across the Atlantic to settle in the first Jamestown settlement, survived the “starving time” and hostile Indians, and lived to tell.

Joan’s story raised a lot of issues about self-reliance, food preservation, and just how easy we have it these days. Most of us have never been truly hungry and we’ve certainly never been in danger of starving. Reading about the struggle for sustenance and the possibility of death on a daily basis was a foreign concept for me. But it is a very present reality for many on our planet. The desperation that rearranged priorities and perspectives was clear. The plight of a mother unable to adequately feed her child was heart-wrenching. I was glad I could close the cover. While it was a lesson in history, it made the present real.

What will history say about us? The house where we stayed was built in the 1700’s - the first time. It had only resided at its current location for 30 years. The owner had painstakingly moved it, piece by piece in his Ford Pinto. (Yes, really!) It was restored beautifully and we delighted in the details we discovered – dishes, carpentry, art work, weaponry, books. The grounds were gorgeous. The whole place looked like it had been plucked right from the center of Williamsburg and placed there in the forest across the river.

In between the revelry (no kids!! no where to be!! No one will ever know!!), I managed a few trail runs. Some of the trees I passed were enormous and I wondered if they had been there while Joan was across the river starving in Jamestown. Knowing the settlers had survived by eating acorns, I had new respect for the tiny nuts as they crunched under my feet. Maybe it was my hangover, but I really felt those woods were hallowed.

Which makes me wonder – what kind of history are we making? There have been huge changes in my lifetime. The world has become a different place. I’m not sure that all of it is for the better. But what kind of history am I making here in my family? I know so little about my own grandparents, and even less about my great-grandparents. I don’t know what their lives were like, what they held as important, or what kind of dreams they had. That’s only two generations removed. What will my own grandchildren know about me?

Because I write so much, I’m guessing my grandchildren might know more than they want to know about me. I trust that my journals will prove much too boring for any of my children to ever wade through. But I hope they will know something of me. How will you be remembered? Have you given the idea any thought? Will it be for the beautiful collection of art or stamps or books? Have you preserved your stories in scrapbooks or journals? Will you leave jewelry or furniture that has been infused with your spirit? I realize that the “stuff” we leave behind isn’t as important as our impact on the lives of the people we leave behind, but being in that historic house and wondering about the stuff that was left behind made me wonder about the people who left it. It made me want to know who they were.

Most of us don’t stay long enough in one place to allow our gardens to be our legacy. Our first house was 150 years old. The garden in the foundation of the old carriage house was probably at least 75 years old. I loved to work in that garden and wonder if the peonies (there were hundreds) were descended from peonies planted by someone who gardened at the turn of the century. We found a collection of old tobacco cans in the crawl space and my husband and I laughed at the idea that someone used to hunker down in the pump room for their daily fix. What are we leaving behind?

I do believe we will leave some kind of history, however sketchy. If we don’t want our legacy to be the hours we spent watching reality TV or reading profiles on Facebook, it would behoove us to consider what we will pass down. I hope my grandchildren get a few of my freckles, but I also hope they use my bone china and mismatched pottery. I hope they read this blog. I hope the tomatoes I grow this summer will pass along their seeds in to the next century. Imagine.

Like the settlers at Jamestown, we need to prepare. Maybe we don’t have to crush acorns for flour, but we do need to think carefully about what we teach our children. What we arrange our lives around. We are living history. As I read the story of Jamestown, it wasn’t so much the survival of Joan, but the thousands that didn’t survive that haunted me. So many people traveled so far, only to perish. We know nothing about them but a name on a roll, and sometimes we don’t even have that since many women and children tagged along unaccounted.

Make sure someone remembers your name. Think about the legacy you will leave behind, including the “stuff”. This is the only life you get, don’t squander it. Start collecting acorns.

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!

Cruising and Questioning



Where I was this time last week

 We just returned from our very first cruise. This trip was born last March when we were living with the remnants of four feet of snow. I could only think about going somewhere the sun was guaranteed to shine on my bare toes. When I signed on for the cruise, I didn’t think about any of the realities – the cost, the details, the extravagance. We don’t vacation like that. Our vacations usually include some kind of physical discomfort – sleeping on the ground, driving a long distance, cleaning up after ourselves. We are not accustomed to five course meals, chocolates on our pillows, and days filled with no other options but – lay around, eat, lay around some more.

As nice as it was to escape the cold, I must confess I was a little uncomfortable with the lifestyle. And I’m not just talking about the tightness of my clothes by the end of the week. It seemed a bit overindulgent, which is nice on occasion I suppose. Seven days of it was more than enough for me. While on the cruise we heard about people who stay on the boat for several weeks or take tours that last months, even around the world in 107 days. There is an elderly woman who has actually lived on the ship we were on for the last 15 years. Doing the math, my hubby and me figured it’s about the same cost as a good retirement community.

All this indulgence got me thinking. Why do we need so much? When we were in Belize City we saw such desperation. The lucky merchants who had stands near the port showcased a tired, but colorful, assortment of items for sale. If you paused longer than a few seconds in front of any one item they were ready to bargain down to pennies to make the sale. As we walked in one open-air market guarded by military with machine guns, women yelled to me through the gates – “Mama, Mama, I will braid her hair! Just a few dollars! Bring her here!” They spotted my long-haired daughter with the big wide eyes and wanted to do business. It made me disconcertingly aware of how much I have. Here we were grumbling about spending too much for the drinks on the ship. These people could live for years on the cost of our cruise alone.

I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy my vacation, I did. I just couldn’t help but be struck by the disparity. I couldn’t help but ask the question, “How did I get so lucky?” Sure, I went to college, I worked hard, I tried to be a good person, but bottom line, it has much more to do with where I was born than what I have done since that day. Seeing such overwhelming poverty made me feel not only guilty, but helpless. Although I needed nor wanted nothing, I tried to spend a few dollars at the market. I can’t imagine it made all that much difference.

Having so much free time to lay in the sun, I did a lot of thinking. I wondered how we evolved in to such entitled people. I liked that Holland America didn’t use paper products wastefully and didn’t insist on washing our towels and sheets every night (although we could have requested it). But there was still so much that we wasted. Foil wrapped chocolates, a breakfast menu, and fresh bucket of ice left in our room every night. My kids had three or four different juices with nearly every meal, not to mention a sampling of each of the plentiful desserts. And the individually packaged butter, sweeteners, tea bags, straws, and yogurts were available by the thousands. At the cafeteria style dining room, full plates of food covered abandoned tables. With so many options, why not try everything? After all, we paid for it! I took a tour of the humongous kitchens and was told that the leftover food is chopped up in to tiny pieces and thrown out to sea for the fishes. They couldn’t say the amount. I imagine enough to feed much of Belize City for the day.

Flying home on the airplane as the flight attendants came around with drinks and snacks, I wondered why it is we need them. We can’t survive a 2 hour flight without food and drink? I know my own children can barely survive a 10 minute drive without nourishment. But why is this? Again, when did we become so entitled?

What would happen if we tried more often to do without? What if we passed on the free soda and pretzels on the plane? What if we simply brought an apple with us instead of stopping to buy a 16 oz soda and individually bagged chips at the convenience mart? Or what if we just waited until our next meal or a water fountain? People survived for centuries without “snacks”. It was such an ordeal to produce a meal, that there was no time to snack in between. Maybe it won't make a difference if I forego these things, but what if thousands did? Following the logic of the butterfly flapping his wings in Timbuktoo, something would change. What would it be? I want to redefine for me and for my family what we truly "need".

My house is crammed with stuff. And when I look around and think about getting rid of a few things, it only takes me moments to convince myself I might need the item in question someday. But I don’t really need this stuff. When we returned from our trip, I learned of a family nearby who suffered a house fire. Everyone was fine, but much of their belongings were damaged or lost. I wondered how it might feel to lose the things that fill my house. How much would I truly miss?

I don’t have any clever answers or ideas this week about living organically with children. I only have questions. How much do we really need? Are there any ways we can cut down just a little? How can my consumption and my decisions affect the rest of the world? If all of us gave more careful thought to the things we buy and consume, maybe there would be a little more to share with those who truly need it. And maybe we would discover that many of the things we're "entitled" to we don't actually need.

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.

What Do You Expect?

December is a whole month filled with expectations. We’re all expecting something – a present under the tree, a few days of vacation, visits from family, stress, snow, or maybe just homemade Christmas candy.
I’ve been musing on expectations lately for lots of reasons. I coach a group of pre-teen girls in an incredible national program called, Girls on the Run. I get the chance to know these girls on a different level then as a parent or a friend’s parent. I enjoy hearing what they think about a wide variety of social and health issues. And it is exciting to see them train for and complete their first 5K. Listening to them this fall as we ran our laps or “checked in” at the beginning of our sessions, I heard their frustration with their teachers’ expectations and their assumptions of their parents’ expectations. When asked about their own expectations they get giggly or quiet, and then tell me they expect to have fun. I wish that was all the world was expecting of them.

As the weeks passed they girls regaled me with tales of the lunchroom. Seems their expectations of lunch and the administrations expectations were worlds apart. At our school, sixth graders rule. They have been in this building for seven years and it is theirs. So when new regulations are pressed on them that include expectations of quiet during the lunch hour (actually more like 30 minutes), they protest a bit. And the protests have been getting louder and messier. I’m not sure what this will lead to in the spring when sixth graders tend to be notoriously wild - their last chance to be top of the heap before fall when they will gather at the middle school as lowly 7th graders.

The thing about the lunchroom battles that is evident to me is that everyone has a different set of expectations. The kids expect some free time to carry on with their friends – laugh loudly, tease each other, and maybe get a little rowdy. The staff expects them to sit in their seats and keep their voices down. Now the expectations have shifted. The kids to be yelled at for any move they make, and have recess and other privileges revoked for the smallest infraction (their interpretation). The staff expect the kids to be out of control, throwing food and insults, and generally ignoring authority. Comments are made about a grade that is disrespectful, difficult, and unruly.

As I’ve said before, I’m not in the lunchroom, so really I have no place even writing all this, but it’s a free internet and this is my blog so I will. I think the basic problem here isn’t disobedient sixth graders or mean staff. I think both sides need to change their expectations. And maybe they could share their expectations with each other. Respect begets respect I find. Maybe the sixth graders won’t listen. Certainly within the realm of possibilities. But then, what do you expect?

Now let me tell you another story of teachers, students, and expectations. My older son is in eighth grade. At the end of summer when we received his class assignments, he discovered he had an English teacher who is known far and wide around here for her expectations. She expects her students to work hard, really hard. She expects them to learn. She cuts no breaks. She treats them like they are high school students because she sees her job as not only teaching them 8th grade English, but also preparing them for their high school careers. As she said on Back to School night to a room full of expectant parents – “no college will ever request your child’s 8th grade transcripts”. So she pushes them to be real students, knowing that they may fail at times. She expects them to take their education seriously, because she does. And you know what? They do it. Or at least most of them. If you don't set that bar high, there's no reason to expect very much.

I tell you these stories because in all my years of working with kids, my own and other people’s, it’s very clear to me that kids will fulfill your expectations. Whether you vocalize them or not, kids know what you’re expecting. If you’re expecting them to be difficult, lazy, indifferent, or rude, they will be. And if you’re expecting them to smart, caring, creative, and fun, they will be. I believe there are some studies out there that prove me out.

I will be the first parent to admit that sometimes I have pretty negative expectations for my children, especially at the holidays. They will be wild. They will be out of control. They will only think of themselves. And I know that when I change my expectations (or someone helps me change them, thanks honey), the results are dramatic. I find it extremely helpful to let my kids know what I expect. This worked really well when they were small. I remember taking my wild 5-year-old shopping in a dish factory outlet with my mother. At the door I told him – “There are lots of amazing things in here! And you may look at all of them! But if you would like to touch any of these things, you must first ask me.” It worked like magic. We broke nothing and discovered that rubberized nonstick basting brushes feel really funny in your ear.

All this thinking about expectations made me consider my incredibly disobedient, incorrigible puppy. She’s almost two, but she is still a puppy in my mind because she is so bad. And I tell her she’s bad all the time. In fact, I’d say I expect her to be bad. And she fulfills my expectations. When I let her go with me up to the barn to feed the horses, she chases the chickens, scattering them far and wide. And then she runs in the pasture and rolls in horse manure. And the whole time I’m yelling for her. But she doesn’t even look in my direction. She won’t even acknowledge my presence. Which makes me mad. Really mad. I hate dogs that don’t come when you call them. So I mutter and curse and do my chores. And when she doesn’t come when it’s time to go in, I leave her to the dark and the cold. And vow never to take her with me out to the horses again.

She is my running partner too, and I have extremely low expectations on our runs. I know that if another dog appears in any yard that we pass, she will forget that I exist, so I start jerking on her choke chain the moment I see another dog and we struggle past, Gracie gasping for air and me saying things I hope no one can hear above all the barking.

So I’ve decided to change my expectations of my dog. And I realize I need to communicate these expectations to her and that isn’t easy since she doesn’t speak English or listen to anything I say. But I am going to start by not calling her a rotten horrible puppy. Her new name is “Good Dog”. I’m going to praise her more and when she wants to jump on the kids or chase them and bite their fingers, I’m going to distract her with an ear rub and remind her that she doesn’t chase children. When I find her with the insert from my favorite pair of shoes, I’m not going to take the inserts and smack her with them and call her all kinds of unkind things, I’m going to exchange the insert for one of her six thousand chew toys scattered all over my house and remind her that she doesn’t chew shoes, she chews ugly stuffed bunnies.

I’ve heard it said that there is freedom in having no expectations. That sounds so wonderfully Zen-like. But we all have expectations of our children, our families, our pets, our friends. I don’t care what Buddha says, it’s impossible to have no expectations. It’s human nature, so don’t beat yourself up for it. Here’s the thing, if you’re going to have expectations, and you are because you can’t help it, why not expect good? Why not expect kindness? What happens when we treat people the best we can because we expect the same from them? Maybe we won’t always get the best from people. Maybe. But I’m fairly certain that if we expect people to disappoint us, they probably will.

Christmas time is crazy when you have kids at home. No way around it. Expect it. And you can’t change that by simply chanting, “I expect my children to be quiet and obedient little cherubs this year…” Expectations have to be grown in the soil of reality. But realistically – why can’t this be a great Christmas? What are you expecting? I’m expecting there to be chaos, but amongst that I expect there will be moments of joy. I expect my kids to be emotional and excitable and I expect that it will require more patience from me so I don't disravel into yelling and threatening. I expect my kids will want to wake me up before the sun, so I’m going to plan for that. I’ll tell them they can’t get up until 7am. And expecting that this will be difficult for them, I’ll leave a small present from Santa on the end of their bed. Something that will keep them busy (and quiet) until 7. Sometimes our kids need a little help living up to our expectations.

What are you expecting this Christmas? More than that, what are you expecting next year? Expect good things. Good things from your kids, good things from yourself, good things from this world. There's no reason to expect anything less.

Books, Books, Books, But Not A Moment To Read

This morning I spent some time considering walls. I’m looking for a spot for a new bookshelf. In my fantasy life, I’d have a library, but since I can’t kick any kids out of the house yet, there isn’t a room to spare. So a new bookshelf will have to do for now because the books are piling up. We have bookshelves in just about every room in our house, including two bathrooms (great place for a bookshelf, admit it!). My oldest son has an entire wall covered in bookshelves, and he has already filled it to overflowing.


I’m sure you’re imagining I’m a hoarder at this point. But I would argue that I don’t hoard anything (except maybe plants). I’m happy to get rid of things. Any book I won’t ever need again moves along out of my life. I keep the ones that still have things to teach me. The plethora of books on my shelves must mean I have much to learn.

There are just too many books in the world and I can’t seem to resist them. Many of the books on my shelves are on my “To be read” list. It does make me a little anxious when I see them piling up, but then I remind myself that “someday” I’ll have more time and when that day comes, I’ll have plenty of good books to read.

I hear you “modern” people telling me to get a kindle, but I have an aversion to screens and can’t get beyond the need to feel the book in my hand. I buy nearly all my books used and there are tales to be told simply in the way a book has been worn – are the pages bent, the spine stripped with creases, or my favorite- are there notes in the margins? A pristine condition used book is probably not a good book. I underline in my books constantly – phrases that astound me, profound thoughts, clever metaphors, useful information. I write my own comments too, so I appreciate the thoughts of the previous reader. Finding an inscription and a date in a book leaves me to wonder about the gift giver and the receiver – what did this book mean to their relationship? Nope, there is no history in an e-book. Even with all my green issues, I’m not ready to go there.

Kids books present other challenges. My kids go through books like socks – constantly leaving them lying about, losing them, finding them, loaning them to friends, and there never seem to be enough. We do frequent the library, but with the overdue fines I pay, sometimes it seems cheaper to buy them at the Goodwill, so I do. Books pile up at our house worse than the dirty laundry and our shelves are bursting with so many books it can be overwhelming. I accept some responsibility for this problem due to the fact that I can’t ever say no to a book and I double the kids' money if they’re spending it on books (paying half for any book they want to buy with their own money).

Years ago, I came upon one solution to the multitudes of books. We had so many the kids couldn’t possibly appreciate them all – at least not at the same time. So I bought 12 hard plastic magazine files and labeled each one with a month of the year. Then I sorted books in to the files, choosing themes for each month. Some were obvious, like Halloween books and scary books for October. August is water, beach, and ocean books and April is anything to do with the nature and the earth books. Outerspace books are in June because that’s a great time to stargaze and snow books are in January. Books about love fill the February file and March is stuffed with Easter books. Over the years, the kids have looked forward to pulling out the month’s file. After not seeing them for a year, the books seem new to them.

This has been a great system for us as it lightens the load on our book shelves and creates ‘christmas’ moments each month as we looked through the ‘new’ books. The December file was replaced with a big bin because we had too many Christmas books for the file to hold. I still enjoy pulling out the new file with my youngest son each month. Before we put the last month’s file away, we sort through it and pull out books that are “too young” for him.

Which brings me to the next dilemma – what do you do with books your don’t want? I certainly hope you don’t sit on them. Books have the potential to open minds and foster creativity – they need to be read. I try to stay on top of our books, cleaning out the shelves on a regular basis. Books that aren’t in the being-left-on-the-couch-or-in-the-car rotation, might be ready for new owners. For this, I have to confer mostly with the youngest child as he is generally the last to read our picture books.

After he gives them the nod, I sort the books in to keep (to be read to the grandchildren) and give away. There are lots of deserving places for outgrown books. We generally divide them up between the school, the preschool, friends with younger children, Goodwill, and the library book sale. I like to keep the books moving along. It seems a shame for any book to sit unread on a shelf.

My book club has another really nice way to pass along used books. We each pick out a book we’ve finished and wrap it up at Christmas time for our gift exchange. It’s a fun tradition and a great way to pass along our books and our holiday wishes.

That tradition led me to try something new. All year I saved books I’d enjoyed but didn’t need to keep, putting sticky notes with the name of the person I though would most enjoy the book on them and keeping them in a box in the closet. At Christmas I gave people in my life a stack of gently used books with a note that said I’d donated to a cause in their name in lieu of new books. It was a great way to give a thoughtful gift and make a helpful contribution.

If your books are piling up, maybe it’s time to sort through them. Keep the ones that you need, but remember there are lots of opportunities to release their power on the world. Books can inspire, challenge, teach, and change us. But they can’t do any of that collecting dust on a shelf.