I wish you peace and love on this November 11th.
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Tuesday November 10th, 2009 “Do not teach your children never to be angry; teach them how to be angry.” Lyman Abbott Pip surprised me the other day by stomping her foot on the floor when she was frustrated. It was a case of her not getting what she wanted, and instead of talking about it, she stomped her foot. My instinct was to tell her, “We don’t stomp our feet when we’re angry, we talk about it,” but I understand her impulse. The other day we were playing at our cousins house and my niece got angry when her space was invaded. She was instructed to take a time-out, and on the way to her bedroom, she took out her frustration on the piano keys. It sounded marvelous; passionate and dark, and I thought to myself, “What a great way to express anger.” My teacher-training and experience have provided me with many strategies for helping children deal with anger. I always ‘taught’ anger management lessons to my homeroom class. We’d talk about anger being a natural feeling that everyone experiences and I’d assure the kids that there was no shame in feeling angry. I taught them that anger served to identify problems, but it wasn’t a good way to solve problems. We’d brainstorm ways to control angry feelings so that we could get on with problem-solving. Kids learned to do such things as take three deep breaths, take a step back, seek help, and find the humour in situations. It occurs to me now, though, that the focus was on ‘controlling’ and ‘managing’ anger, but there wasn’t much literature on releasing anger in appropriate ways. A few years ago I read an amazing book by Gabor Mate called, ‘When the Body Says No.’ One of the important messages I took away from the book was that our bodies suffer ‘dis-ease’ when we don’t deal with our emotions in a healthy manner. Suppressing anger, for instance can be very dangerous to your health. Reading the book changed the way I dealt with my emotions. I used to swallow my anger in the name of peace-keeping. I’m not a person who enjoys conflict or drama, (unless it’s scripted, of course,) so I used to avoid it like the plague, not realizing that I was actually doing damage to my body. The more important issues would live inside of me for awhile and fester until I finally gave them a voice, and by that time they had grown to unwarranted proportion. Not healthy. Now, I tend to express frustrations as soon as they come up. That way, they are dealt with before they even become a source of anger. It’s as though the negative feelings are robbed of all of their power once they’re set free. My husband and I both feel as though we’re in the healthiest relationship of our lives, and I think the way we deal with conflict has a lot to do with it. So, not only do I want to arm my daughters with strategies for managing anger, I want them to be able to release their angry energy in a healthy way as well. Of course it’s ideal if frustrations are identified early on, when it’s easy to problem-solve without anger or tears. If that point has passed, though, and a child is really angry, there’s no point trying to rationalize with him or her. It just does not work. So why not encourage them to bang on a drum, play piano, do some jumping jacks, put on some music, dance, rip up some newspaper, or do something else that will set their ‘angries’ free? Once they’ve calmed down it’s time to problem-solve. I think it’s important to have an anger-plan. Talk about strategies when everybody’s happy, and make sure your kids know what kind of behaviour is intolerable. (For example, hitting is an automatic ‘time-out’ in our house.) And make sure YOU have a way to release your anger. It used to be jogging for me, but my back-health prevents me from enjoying that form of release any more. Now I find that getting outdoors and going for a walk works wonders, and music also does the trick; just listening to it, dancing to it, or playing along with it is a cleansing experience for me. Whatever you do, deal with your feelings. Even if it means an uncomfortable conversation with your spouse, as long as you’re speaking respectfully to each other, it provides a great model for your kids. They learn that conflict exists in even the most loving relationships, and problems can be solved by talking them through. (Forgive me if I sounded too ‘preachy’ toward the end there; the ‘teacher hat’ appears from time to time.) Monday November 9th, 2009
“Too bad that all the people who know how to run the country are busy driving taxicabs and cutting hair.” George Burns Do you remember Grassman? Well, he’s still around. He’s been hanging out on our kitchen counter with our jade plant, watching the fall storms blow through our yard. Some of his grass has turned brown from neglect, I’m afraid, and his facial features aren’t what they used to be, but he seems to be in good spirits nonetheless. He has a certain wisdom in his eyes; it’s as though he knows that he was little more than ‘craft of the week’ to my daughter, but somehow he doesn’t mind. The other day I was tempted to dispose of Grassman, (perish the thought,) but I realized that Pip had yet to give him a hair-cut. I asked her if she was interested and, of course, she jumped at the chance. I took a before photo:
Several photos during the haircut:
And of course, an ‘after’ photo:
Fig was very patient throughout the entire procedure, so she had earned some styling time. It was the first time she had ever actually held scissors on her own, so she was delighted to simply pose with Grassman instead of attempting to make any cuts.
I was surprised at how naturally Pip assumed the role of ‘hairstylist.’ She didn’t take her eyes off of Grassman whilst trimming, she talked to him throughout the cut, and when it was all said and done, she asked to have her client back because she had spotted one long, stray piece of grass that she’d missed. She had trouble cutting that last piece and sighed as she said, “We need an Elton.” Elton cuts my husband’s hair.
Friday November 6th, 2009 “The more you eat, the less flavor; the less you eat, the more flavor.” Chinese Proverb We don’t typically eat dessert, but every once in awhile Big Daddy-O brings home some sugary delight when he goes grocery-shopping. Last night it was those evil little two-bite brownies. Ironically, Pip didn’t even know they were called ‘Two-bite Brownies’ when she took one nibble, then popped the rest of the entire brownie in her tiny little mouth. I found myself looking at a guilty chipmunk across the table. “Pip, did you put the whole thing in your mouth?” I asked. Her mouth was too full to speak; all she could do was flash a gooey, chocolate grin. “Oh, Sweetie,” began my husband, “you don’t want to eat too fast. There’s no rush. You should eat your dessert slowly.” Now, those of you who know my dear husband may be rolling your eyes right now because you realize that this is a PRIME example of the pot calling the kettle black. Firstly, my husband eats faster than our dog, and secondly, he has been known to have two helpings of dessert after consuming three servings of dinner! Granted, he doesn’t do this on a regular basis, but I’m not exaggerating! At any rate, I couldn’t possibly let an opportunity like this go by without giving my husband a hard time. With a twinkle in my eye I said, in my most sarcastic voice, “Pip, you should definitely listen to your father because he ALWAYS eats VERY slowly. He SAVOURS every single mouthful of his dessert; he chews SLOWLY and he NEVER, EVER puts too much food in his mouth.” Big Daddy-O chuckled, and Pip, who had finished swallowing her brownie during my little monologue, asked if she could please have another. “Sorry, Sweetie; ONE brownie after dinner and that’s all.” “But Mama, I need two desserts.” “Why is that, Pip?” “Because I eat a lot faster than Daddy.” Lord help me. Thursday November 5th, 2009 “Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.” Peter De Vries When we were in Vancouver the week before last, my husband and I were filled with memories of our lives in the city. For some reason, we were often compelled to share little snippets of our past lives with our daughters. Interestingly enough, whenever we told Pip a story, she’d follow it up with one of her own. The conversations went something like this: “Pip, do you know that your dad used to live on a boat? A long time ago, before you were born, I had a boat in this marina. Look right down there, that’s where I used to live. Isn’t that neat? When I had to take a shower, I’d walk over to The Rowing Club right over there. ” Big Daddy-O’s face would light up with pride at the end of one of his tales, but instead of hearing ‘Wow,’ or ‘That’s cool, Dad,’ from his daughter, he heard the following: “Dad, when I was a little girl, before you and Mama were even born, I used to live on a boat, right down there. Do you see that? I would walk right over to that building to take a bath every night.” Kind of takes the wind out of your sails. (Even when you no longer live on a boat.)
Wednesday November 4th, 2009 “Talk to the animals.” Rex Harrison, Dr. Doolittle Do you remember Dr. Doolittle’s ‘Push-me Pull-you?’ I think it’s going to be my daughter’s new nick-name. You’d think that when Fig is feeling sick, all she’d want is a good snuggle with Mama. Nope. She wants contact, but not too much contact. She’s very particular about how much of her body is being touched at any given time. For instance, she likes to sit on my lap, but she doesn’t want my arms around her. When I’m nursing her, she doesn’t like my top arm to be resting on her body. Tricky. Sometimes she’ll even squirm to get off of my lap, then cry and hold her arms out to me because she wants me to pick her up. I can’t figure out what it is that she wants at times, and it seems that she doesn’t know what she wants either. Pick me up or put me down? Push-me Pull-you. I know it’s not helpful to compare my daughters, but it’s amazing to me that two girls who have been raised with the same amount of contact and love can have such different appetites for affection. Pip loves nothing more than to be cuddled; the closer the better, whereas Fig is affectionate, but it has to be on her terms.
On Halloween night Fig went to sleep at 6:oo pm. When she awoke at 5:00 a.m. the next morning, I thought she might be up for the day, so I brought her into my bed. My typically un-snuggly girl turned to me and said, “Hug,” then she wrapped her little arms around me and patted me on the back. It didn’t last long, but I’ll take what I can get. Tuesday November 3rd, 2009 “Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness.” Martin Luther King Jr. Lately, it seems that many of Pip’s sentences begin with, ‘I want…’ We’re not sure where the ‘May I pleases,’ have gone, but we’re determined to find them. Changing Pip’s syntax is a matter of training; with consistency and diligence, we’ll get her back on track. The more difficult issue at hand is ‘the wanting.’ I’m not talking about general requests like, “I want to go outside,” or “I want a snack,” I’m referring to the greedy, self-absorbed variety: “I want to go to the store and get a new pony,” and “I want ballet slippers,” and “I want a bike like Tia’s.” I wonder how best to teach my daughters to appreciate what they have instead of focusing on wanting more. I want to teach them to shift their focus to the needs of others rather than themselves. These are lofty goals, I know, but well-worth pursuing. In my experience, it has been the children who have very little who are the most gracious. I’ve written often about my host-family in India, and I will tell you that I have never met more generous, altruistic, gracious little children than the ones I met in Jejuri; and they had next to nothing! I don’t think that Baby, the three-year-old daughter, had one doll. Comparatively, my daughters have an extraordinary amount of toys, and yet we don’t feel as though we spoil them. Isn’t that interesting? I once read that you cannot spoil a child if you are giving of your own free will. It’s when you give to appease the “I wants” that you end up spoiling children. Which brings me back to Pip. She has been ill, and although it’s probably not the best time to start cracking down on her ‘wanting’ behaviour, we’re doing it anyway. One rainy afternoon when we were all feeling sick, Pip, Fig and I sat down to ‘The Yoga Game.’ It’s a fabulous, cooperative game that was handed down to us by our friends, and we love it! Fig is really too young to play successfully, but she wanted to be included, so we gave it a whirl. Once the board was all set-up, Pip picked up the dice and said, “I want to go first!” Here we go. “Actually, Pip, the rules say that the youngest player goes first, and Fig is the youngest player. Please give the dice to your sister.” “But I want to go first!” repeated Pip. “You can go right after your sister, Honey.” Pip’s lip started to quiver as she gave Fig the dice, then she exploded into a crying heap on the floor.” I chose to ignore the behaviour and focus on Fig. Fig rolled the dice, then we counted the dots and moved the bumblebee around the board. We both had to make a tree pose and I giggled at Fig’s adorable attempts at yoga. She earned a flower for her posing and planted it in the garden. By the time it was Pip’s turn, she had snapped out of her crying fit and was able to enjoy the game as though nothing had happened. I decided not to ‘de-brief’ the incident. It required no further explanation. I took my turn, then it was Fig’s turn again. “Mama, I’m not going to make a fuss this time,” said Pip. “Oh, that’s fantastic, Pip!” I hugged her and kissed her, which was probably a bit excessive, but I was just so proud of her. I was also delighted that my decision to take issue with Pip’s ‘want’ paid off. It’s going to be a long road, and I’m sure we’ll be teaching the same lessons, in a different context, when the girls are well into their teen years, but they may be the most important lessons we ever teach them.
Monday November 2nd, 2009 “I’ll bet living in a nudist colony takes all the fun out of Halloween.” Author Unknown Is there anything more sad than kids being sick for a holiday? I remember having the mumps as a kid one Christmas, but I don’t think I was ever ill on Hallowe’en. Luckily, Pip and Fig didn’t really know what they were missing. Neither of them remember last Hallowe’en, so when we told Pip about ‘trick-or-treaters’ coming to the door, she was incredibly excited. It didn’t even occur to her that she might go around to other people’s homes. Our Hallowe’en went down like this: First, we decorated the house, carved the pumpkin, decorated our front landing and got into costume. Next, we had a little photo shoot and Pip enacted various scenes from The Wizard of Oz.
It was only five o’clock, but the girls started to watch for trick-or-treaters.
They waited, and waited, and finally, their cousins were brave enough to approach the house of illness. Thank you family. That visit was the highlight of our night! Dorothy, the Tin Man and the Wicked Witch of the West had a brief, but exciting visit in our front foyer. They were each asked to utter a few lines from the play and our lovely little witch said, “I love you Dorothy!” Not necessarily the best character study, but certainly a heart-warmer.
After about five minutes, the cousins left our home to continue with the Hallowe’en festivities, and Pip turned to me and said, “That sure was fun, Mama.” Bless her little heart. Friday October 30th, 2009 “Irony is just honesty with the volume cranked up.” George Saunders I made a big mistake the other night. I took Fig’s diaper off and let her dance around the living-room in her birthday suit. It was just before the girls’ bath and she was only going to be naked for a few minutes, so I thought it was safe. I was wrong. In the time it took me to walk to the bathroom to start running the water for their tub, Fig had pooped. Luckily, the healthy mountain of waste was on the floor, about five inches from the carpet. I called my husband in for support and he took the girls to the bathroom while I cleaned and disinfected the floor. That evening, I was so tired and sick that I went to bed right after the girls fell asleep. My husband worked in his shop for awhile, but he turned in early as well. My point is, neither of us spent time in the living room that night. The following morning I was sitting on the couch reading a book with Fig, and Pip was dancing around the living room in her ruby red slippers. “Mama, I think Fig had a poop!” said Pip with a sour look on her face. I leaned over to Fig and inhaled. Sweetness. “I don’t think so, Pip. Fig smells fine.” “No she doesn’t Mama, I can smell poop.” I got up and walked over to where Pip was standing. I looked down at the carpet and realized, with great remorse, that we had overlooked a small portion of Fig’s deposit from the night before. It had blended into the design of our Indian carpet beautifully, but it looked disturbed, as though someone had been standing in it…..NO….NOT THE RUBY SLIPPERS!!!! I tried to remain calm for the sake of the children. “Pip, I found a bit of Fig’s poop from last night on the carpet, and I’m afraid there may be some poop on your rubies. You’d better take them off and let me check.” “Oh no, Mama, there is poop! There is Fig-poop on my rubies!!!!” “It’s okay, Sweetie, I’ll be able to wash them. It’s not a problem.” I wasn’t nearly as confident as I sounded. The slippers are sparkly and textured; not the kind of shoe you can dip into soapy water or throw in the washing machine. This was going to be a delicate operation. In the meantime, I was impressed with Pip’s reaction. She calmly handed her shoes over to me and stared at the messy carpet. Fig was quite interested as well. “Poop, Mama.” “Yes, you’re right Fig, it’s poop. Don’t touch it girls, Mama has to clean it up.” As I cleaned Fig’s fecal matter for the second time in twelve hours, I was struck by the irony of the situation; Pip had only been wearing her ruby slippers indoors so that they wouldn’t get dirty. After cleaning the carpet, I went to work on the shoes. You’ll be glad to know that an old toothbrush and some careful cleaning did the trick. The rubies are back on Pip’s feet, and the diaper is back on Fig’s bottom; for good.
Thursday October 29th, 2009 “All of us have moments in our lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with a white carpet is one of them.” During our recent family trip to Vancouver,we were lucky enough to stay in our friend’s beautiful condo at the foot of Denman St., near Stanley Park. The suite was absolutely stunning; gorgeous furnishings, incredibly spacious, and an unbeatable view. We felt as though we were living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. (One slight drawback was that the carpeting was WHITE, but I simply resigned myself to the fact that we would only be bringing white food into the home.)
I had thought that it might be difficult trying to keep the girls entertained in a high-rise in the city, but I needn’t have worried. The girls loved our new digs because there was never a shortage of action to witness; they’d watch float-planes landing every fifteen minutes, rowers practicing, boats galore, runners and cyclists on the seawall, and a plethora of sea birds soaring through the sky. The square footage of the condo was much larger than the main floor of our house, and it was an open design, so Pip and Fig loved playing in such a large space, and I loved that I could keep an eye on them from almost anywhere in the home.
When it came time to pack up our things and leave our lovely accommodations, Pip did not want to go. She was ready to take up residence in the city. “Mama,” she said, “I used to think that inside tall buildings there was dust and dirt, I didn’t think there was furniture.” It made sense. Sometimes high-rises can seem rather cold and industrial from the outside. What a revelation it was for Pip to discover that behind every window there existed furniture and people and life!
I love having the opportunity to see things through my daughter’s eyes. She sees the magic in the mundane, and we can all use a little magic now and then.
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