Safest Place

So, recently, as I was laying down baby Eva for a nap, I heard the suspicious sound of sticky giggles floating down the hall from the kitchen.

It suddenly occurred to me that after a breakfast of waffles, I had forgotten to put away the bottle of maple syrup. Crud muffins. After a quick effort to quietly run down the hall, managing mostly to sound like a sneaky elephant, my suspicions were quickly confirmed. Big puddle of maple syrupy goodness, with my delighted little toddler dipping her fingers into the sparkling amber lake and licking the sticky trickles off arms happily.

I did what every good mommy would do to keep from completely losing her cool. I grabbed the camera and made a happy, gooey movie.

(she’s saying…”I poured maple syrup on the floor, just for funsies!”)

I’ll be the first to admit that I wanted to say some choice words and react in anger, initially. It’s adorable to read about, and even charming to write about, but in the moment,I was mightily tempted to blow a fuse. Maple syrup is an expensive treat that we use sparingly, it’s a pain in the back end to clean up off the floor, and it was the third thing my 2.5 yo had dumped in the past few days. I wanted to grind my teeth and shout at her, and scare her to death, honestly.

As luck would have it, something she’d said earlier that day stopped me. She’d been watching a mild “bad guy” movie with us this weekend, and afterwards, while talking about it, she snuggled down on the couch and said contentedly:

“There are no bad guys in our house. Our home is a safe place. I love my home!”

That little statement really stuck with me. Home is a safe place. A simple observation that rings true on so many levels. A good home is safe for it’s occupants. A place where it’s OK to mess up, where it’s alright to cry, where a person can try their wings and crash and get up and try once more. There’s a marvelous shortage of bad guys who might tell you you’re not capable, tear you down, or hurt you spitefully.

In light of this, I’m making an effort to help our children take responsibility for their mistakes, and to also make home a safe place to learn that lesson. Correcting without shame is a learned skill for most humans, I think, but I’m in the midst of trying to learn how. If I can make a habit of gently correcting without sarcasm, shaming or intimidation, I think I’ll be thrilled to find that I’ve tapped into the heart of “home”.

Undoubtedly, it’s going to take some time to fully get there, but I do believe that eventually, one maple syrup success with follow another, and eventually, we’ll have a string of successes consistently following another like a pearl necklace. The language and tone of gentleness with start to feel less like marbles in my mouth, and I’ll learn to speak “good guy” quite fluently. Hopefully, as it becomes habit for mama and papa (well, especially mama…my spouse is already quite good at it), gentleness will be set as the default tone of the home. As a lovely ripple effect, I suspect that kindness and laughter will drizzle on down the ladder of authority like golden honey. Correction will become sweet, as rebukes are much more precious from the lips of a safe person.

It’s a super cool thing to be able to say, “My house is safe. There are no bad guys here.” I’m all for that. <3

Alrighty then. :shifty: I’ve been doing some digging, and I actually got some really decent advice from some non-parents who share dd’s personality type, by asking what they wished their folks had known about them. They provided some really helpful insight.

I pulled out my “Nurture by nature” book, and, as far as I can tell, in the Myers-Brigg personality theory , she’s an ENTP “The Innovator”. Obviously, this could evolve and change over time, and I don’t want to pigeon hole her, but, for practical purposes, this is amazingly accurate assessment and info. On this site , ENTP children are described by this quote:

ENTPs are lively children who question established truths and norms, dream and scheme, and develop unusual ways of doing traditional childhood things. The ENTP child is oriented toward doing the unique, which may mean taking risks and outwitting parental, school, and societal authority. They enjoy creating projects and following interests that are unusual and different.

ENTP children enjoy inventing new toys, dances, and languages. Because they are outgoing in their personality style, they often engage other children in their projects and assign them particular roles to play. ENTPs rarely accept things just as they are. They like to test or explore to see new meanings and relationships. When things do not go as they want, they use their ingenuity and cleverness to bring people and situations around to their point of view.

A few quotes from Nurture by Nature (Paul & Barbara Tieger) describe preschool ENTP children thusly:

ENTPs are also not as motivated to comply with orders simply because they are told to ir in order to please…adults. Even as small children, they have the courage to stabd up to adults and will challenge their parents whenever they see fit. Since youn ENTPs actually derive great energy from arguing, it is usually better for parents to decide on what their position is, [b]state the reasons behind their limits..clearly and logically[/b], and then stick to it.

(It goes on to suggest entering respectful bargaining, but only on strategically chosen points.)

Becoming gentle or nurturing is a learned skill for young ENTPs…As (they) begin to learn that feelings are the logical and natural effects of actions, they will better understand and even be able to predict what effect their behavior will have on others (pg 140)

Here are some (paraphrased) thoughts from adult ENTJs I’ve conversed with:

“I hated it when my parents tried to force me to be “nice” like everyone else. They always seemed convinced that I lacked something emotionally that others had, like I didn’t have a soul.”

“I wish they (parents) would have taken the time to explain things to me, rather than getting angry whenever I broke their rules. All I wanted was to know why.”

“I hate feeling that my opinion didn’t matter.”

“I felt demonized.”

Many have mentioned, even as adults, sadness for being rejected because they don’t follow rules for the sake of rules. /

Stepping back and thinking about it, in many ways, dd is a very, very reasonable little girl. If you take the time to explain things to her, 9/10, she’ll cooperate with you. It’s the taking time to explain WHY it’s not OK to do something to the length she’d like to take the conversation that gets me running screaming for the hills. (I’m more of an INFJ)

Dh shares some of her personality traits, and suggested this script for moments when I absolutely *can’t* take the time to explain: “You’re a very smart girl, and I think you’d understand most of my reason if I could tell you. Right now, I can’t do that, and I need you to trust that I want the best for you.” Very wise.

Someone else suggested identifying the source of their struggle (wanting to create something, needing to feel capable, needing independence, etc) and then helping work a solution together that speaks to that. Very gentle discipline. Rock On.

For an ENTP, that sort of empowering and confidence building might look like: DD takes my chapstick to create a robot. I point out that she’s taken it without asking, explain how that effects me, and involve HER in problem solving-what might be acceptable for robot material, and how to work to pay restitution for the chapstick.

Here’s a couple more quotes I found helpful from Nurture by Nature and You Can’t Make Me, But I can be Persuaded (Cynthia Tobias):

Real and lasting self-esteem for ENTPs comes from seeing themselves as the creative, competent, and resourceful people they are. (Nurture by Nature, pg 148)

Standing firmly behind ENTPs in all their high energy and flamboyance communicates a lasting appreciation for the bright and fresh originals they are.

SWC’s (strong willed children) would rather have a compelling problem to solve than just a list of chores to do. Try soliciting my input regarding the chores. (Cynthia Tobias, “You Can’t Make Me”, pg 50)

The more I hear from these personality types, the more I realize that, mostly, they want to be treated with respect. Not just non- punitive (though many of them have pointed out to me that corporal punishment was an especially embittering violation of their person ), but actually valued for their ideas and capabilities. If a parent of a willful, creative thinker has even a *shred* of the “I’m the parent and you will follow me blindly because you’re a mere CHILD” paradigm in their thinking, they’re going to attack the problem from a totally wrong angle and make life a living hell for both themselves and the child, and likely destroy lifelong relationship in the process.

I think, for me the biggest obstacles to overcome have been (and continue to be):

-Defeating my own “children should be subservient” background, and combating that attitude from others for my child.

May post more later…those are my general thoughts for now.

Sister Love

This morning, Eva was smiling so big at Essie, and Ess cupped her tiny chunky face in her hands and started singing to her, with Eva cooing and grinning the entire time. It was insanely sweet, and I nearly swooned. I’ll take that over screaming any day, lol.

“You are so beautiful,
You are such a precious baby!
When you get older,
you’ll have hair on your arms just like me!
Oh, Eebsie-Eberton, it’s true…
Here’s where my soft spot used to be,
and right now you have one, too!
You’re the best baby in the world!!!”

Naomi liked the song so much, she wanted one, too, so Ess made this one up for her:

“Naomi climbs really well,
and she’s a really good listener!
She will climb so high,
she’ll sing Frere Jacques and Do A Deer,
She’ll put out fires,
And give you gumballs from a machine!
She knows what’s on my mind,
And now I think it’s time for you to take a bow!!”

And, feeling badly that mommy was left out, lol:

“Mommy is the best woman in the world
she’ll give a kiss or sing you a song,
she’ll even cook you some eggs if you’re her daughter
she’ll even play at the park w/ you
And sometimes she scratches people’s backs,
She likes to play in the sand!
(Even if she can’t jump as high as me) **choke, cough, cackle**
she”ll save you from danger, if her babies get hurt,
She’ll say, “No!! Those are my babies!”
Mommy is the best girl woman in the world!”

Annnnnd now they’re chasing one another with a fly swatter. Gotta balance out the saccharine, I guess. ;OP

School of Fall

Essie’s learned how to read short Bob books (those things are easy to read, but painfully boring), and is now trying her hand at spelling out new word creations of her own. It’s fun to watch.

I definitely find we get more actual learning accomplished while meandering outside in the woods, playing together, shopping or asking questions in the car. It’s just a matter of me disciplining myself to recognize those moments, I think. Sitting down at the table and focusing solely on a piece of paper seems to create so much unneeded tension for her and me, and lacks the natural “flow” that happens when she’s playing or actively exploring outside. We’re going with it. For now, I suppose we could be classified as “unschoolers”.

I’m excited to see them so eager to learn where the lessons are. Like everything we’ve ever done, we kind of stumbled onto success by accident, I think. Our best teachable moments tend to flow from the natural rhythms of our day, and what they’re showing intense interest in at the moment. I think there’s less disconnect learning this way in their early years than to me trying to ram facts into their heads through rote learning, perhaps. Things that they’re genuinely connected to and excited about tend to stick with them, because they’re learning them in context, I think.

Noni listens closely to everything we do, and learns a modified version of it. She can actually pick out a few letters and their sounds, and has suddenly clicked with colors! Yeah, Nooms! She’s quieter than Ess, so she often doesn’t vocalize something she’s learned until she’s rolled it around in her mind a lot. It’s fun to watch their distinct exploring styles emerge.

Silly monkeys

Writing messages in the dirt

Trying their hand at building and sleeping in a squirrel nest..

“Squirrel beds are NOT comfortable. People beds are better.”

Trying Day in Momville

Today I’m sitting on my ugly old “might as well keep it since we have small kids” couch staring at the breakfast (and dinner) dishes that need to be scraped off and loaded into the dishwasher.

I’m pulling strands of wild, oily hair from my dark ponytail and winding them tightly around my index finger until it turns dark crimson, contemplating when I might be able to schedule an appointment at the cheap hair salon without the girls with me. I’m imagining taking them with me, and it’s making me giggle. Then shudder.

I’m wondering where all my energy went, and then a thumping in my abdomen reminds me that I’m almost 22 weeks pregnant. Oh. Hello there! Yes. That’s why I’m so tired. I’ve been so busy trying NOT to give in to the bone crushing exhaustion and keep the show rolling while cooking, shuttling, chasing, planning, dressing and nose wiping that I’ve sort of forgotten that a new person will appear in our house late this winter. I add to my “to do” list: find time to mentally and emotionally bond with this new baby.

I’m wondering why on earth the earthy scented candles my husband bought need to be kept within the reach of two wax loving giggle monsters. My eyes are growing squinty as I think about it. Candles are supposed to be relaxing, right?? I’d like to toss these out the window for all the stress they’re causing me.

I’m chewing on the inside of my lip and staring at what’s left of a bowl of oatmeal…oatmeal with a strange fruity flavor and crimson specks throughout. The day before, my daughters decided to “cook” with mommy’s new cranberry tea, and dumped several packets into a giant container of oats. This while I rinsed the training toilet in the tub because it had begun to smell like elderly people in a nursing home.

I’m growing increasingly irritated with my 4yos out of bounds behavior. I’m furrowing my brow at my own snappy impatience with her, and that brow furrowing is giving me a headache. I’m trying desperately to see my child through the annoying taunts of this teasing, pushing imp that looks strangely like my daughter.

I’m smiling wanly on the outside and flailing my arms internally as my two year old daughter proudly runs through the house with a crap covered tushie, decorated with a streaming white line of toilet paper…as she exults, “I dood it myself! I dood it myself!” I giggle despite myself. And gag.

I’m realizing that the thought of hovering around the house doing everything that needs to be done bores me out of my ever loving mind, and the thought of answering one. more. repeated. question. makes me want to burst into tears.

Gagging to the point of hot tears one more time as I carry one diaper full of urine and the other full of poo from the bathroom. Realizing the tiny octogenarian-smelling potty needs to be scrubbed again. Wincing at the stinky overflowing garbage that needs to be taken out again. Silently groaning that last night’s garlic smelling soup pot needs to be scrubbed again. “Again” permeates my life.

Realizing that I need to exercise again today, or I’m going to end up gaining forty pounds before February, which isn’t really very healthy. Wondering how I’m going to trick my mind and body into complying one more day, when it’d rather be sitting in the tub drinking three gallons of sweet tea and ice water.

Not a positive way to start my day, I realize. But it is what it is. I won’t deny that I feel this way. I’m tired and bored and lonely, and I wish my daughter was somewhere else today even though I love the stuffing out of her. I simply don’t have the energy right now to be the mother I’d like to be.

If I weren’t pregnant, I’d be downing coffee like nobody’s business, leaving my anti-caffeine ideals in the dust. As it is, I add to the list of things I shouldn’t consume: really strong, black coffee…bringing the contraband list to: alcohol, excessive caffeine, really hot baths, running, motorcycle riding, staying up later than the kids, decent adult activity, excessive sugar, St. John’s Wort, several pain meds, undercooked eggs and sushi.

And people wonder why pregnant mothers are so grouchy. What? What’s that you say? A little louder over the screaming? Ah. Erm, yeah. That’s it. I’m hormonal.

Indulging in a whine.

As a small child, being sick meant reading books in bed and eating chicken noodle soup and drinking lots of water through straws. As a college student, it meant skipping your least important classes and treating yourself to naps and too much reality t.v. As a newly married couple, it meant propping your feet up on the couch after work and having your spouse bring you hot tea and advil. Going to bed early and taking it easy was an option.

There is no such luck for the parents of littles. They are a precious job that you can’t stop doing, even if you wanted to. There are diapers to be changed, other mouths to be fed, tears to be wiped, stories to be read, dinners to be cooked, clothes to be washed. Life doesn’t pause for parents of small children, even when you desperately need it to.

My head feels like it’s underwater for the 4th day in a row, my voice sounds croaky as I try to instruct “No, honey, gourds are not meant to travel around in our underpants!”, and my energy level is shot all to hell. Yet the show must go on.

Essa’s keyboard we made for her kindermusik class yesterday

There are, of course, priceless perks. Carefully scrawled “Get well” cards, hugs, messy attempts to “bring you sumpin’ to help you feew bettew!”. Earnest prayers that Jesus will heal mommy’s “Snuffly nosie”. Snuggles and worried looks and lots of advice. “When I feel bad, brownies ALWAYS help my body feel better soon! Maybe you should bake some brownies!” Har!

Hot tea is helping. And, thankfully, it doesn’t have Nate and I down at the same time. Lots of water. Lots of sticky kisses. I’ll be so grateful when my head stops pounding and I’m waking up my usual 5 times a night rather than dozens. I might take a hot bath with rose oil later while the girls help “clean” the bathroom with their water squirt bottles. Mom and Dad are coming to go out to lunch, so that will be a help.

Soon, I hope, I’ll be able to blog without sneezing all over my laptop, leaving icky little rainbow specks all over the screen.

In all honesty, I don’t think I’d be willing to trade all the pampering in the world for this phase of life, even if it means not so many chances to feel pampered. I already feel special, even with this nasty cold monster jumping up and down on my head. :OP <3

Cooking up New Year’s Resolutions

I hardly qualify as being traditionally Jewish, or even for Messianic Judaism, just as a disclaimer. I’m just starting to learn a little about Jewish traditions, and I have to admit I’ve been completely fascinated at the richness they have to offer. I’ve enjoyed tentatively dipping my fingers into the thick, sweet and beautiful tradition of Rosh Hashanah.

So, at the beginning of the holiday, I got in the spirit and decided to make my New Year’s Resolutions then, and bake some challah bread with the girls (which I later learned should have been round to symbolize eternal life. That’s what I get for being a dabbler, and admittedly not much of a baker.)

As I have a GREAT many faults I’d like to leave behind, I was having a tough time deciding which resolutions I’d like to ask God to help me keep. All this while helping the girls make (non round, fairly lumpy) challah bread.

I was explaining to Essie the concept of resolutions and peppering the conversation with, “No!!! Don’t touch that. Don’t do that! Be careful! Will you need to leave the kitchen?” and fretting over the state of my counters and floor. I yammered on about blessings and forgiveness, and grimaced whilst picking stray blobs of goop from hair and scrubbed tile. In a moment of recognizing the painfully obvious, I realized my resolution this year will be developing patience. I said as much to Esther, who heartily agreed, and went on to say her resolution was to acquire a new bicycle.

Before anyone says, “Be careful praying for patience!!”, I’ll go ahead and reassure you I’m not lacking in opportunity to develop it. I’ve plenty of that.

I need to work on letting others mess up and be messy and learn. To not freak out and roll my eyes and feel held back when others are learning to do tricky things for the first time. To realize that perfection, when it prevents progress, is not always a healthy thing. To find joy in the process, and see the growing order in disorder.

In the deep places of my heart, I earnestly want to overlook small errors that can be corrected gently over years, and praise the effort of the moment. To not always be bullheaded and worrisome and push the little things that trouble me on others in their moments of triumph. To realize knowledge doesn’t always equal the right to instruct right away. It’s a desire only my Lord could have put in the heart of this control freak.

Plants need room to grow. People need even more. Nothing will fall apart if I don’t keep super tight tabs on every blasted little detail. As the proverb goes, “The sun will set today without your assistance”. Sometimes, those around me simply need me to laugh with them and rejoice in their little victories, in the same way I’d like others to rejoice in my smallest efforts.

With my children, I’m praying for the ability to seize their teachable moments, but also recognize and delight in the moments when their hearts are wide open for encouragement and taking pleasure in life.

To laugh and enjoy lumpy Challah bread, and see the good heart in love expressed imperfectly.

Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season.

May it be Your will, Lord our God and God of our ancestors that you renew for us a good and sweet year.

Making pumpkin cheesecake

Essie got a new haircut recently that I’m pretty darn proud of, and Nomi is now rocking her usual (but newly trimmed) glam mullet. :OP

We made pumpkin cheesecake yesterday afternoon, in attempt to keep myself from behaving like a grouchy old witch. “Helping” usually involves eating most of the filling before it’s cooked and screaming “HOORAY!!” when the timer goes off on the over.

We also made some mason jar luminaries from fall colored construction paper and glue that Ess wants me to post a photo of later. Fun project (also designed to distract me from being a total grump, lol), but very, very gooey. It reminded me of my childhood hobby of covering my hands in paste and peeling it off. I *might* have done that yesterday, just for old time’s sake.

EDIT: Here are the luminaries. ) Essie really had a blast, and really enjoyed cutting the paper into bits..she’s not often allowed to use the scissors. I need to get new scissors for everyone; she doesn’t have kiddie scissors, so I sacrificed a pair of fabric shears. Anyway. Luminaries!

My Jack and Jill

I’ve always despised violent nursery rhymes for small children. Humpty Dumpty falls down and irreparably breaks into pieces, everyone falls down from the plague at the end of “Ring around the Rosies”, London Bridge is destroyed, Mary Contrary’s garden is filled with torture devices, Jack and Jill break their heads while falling down the hill…gruesome stuff. It used to make me shiver with protective indignation. Such stuff seemed wildly inappropriate for such innocent little people.

Then, my children became old enough for me to realize that there are some annoying traditions I cannot protect them from. Trying to keep them from absorbing those crazy poems (which mostly originated as political statements) is like trying to keep candy a secret from them. :OP They catch things from our culture that I wish I could simply disappear by waving my magic mommy hands and Avada Kadavra! But, in reality, it’s simply not possible, much to my annoyance.

Anyhow, I’ve found that most of the creepiness goes right over the head of a child under, say 4, and once that age is reached, they get a chance to process their newly found understanding of permanent damage and death in form of a silly game or rhyme. It’s not all terrible. If they don’t have gory songs to sing already, they’ll make up songs and stories themselves.

Case in point: Esther tells us a bedtime story right before bed…

“Once upon a time, there was a team with a mascot. They were (thinking hard with nose wrinkled) the Northeast Bears. Yes. They were bears that lived in the Northeast. They EAT people who live in the Northeast. All the northeast people were dead. The people got scared and SHOT the Northeast bears. Then, they were dead. And the team didn’t have a mascot. The end.”

I suggested the “Northeast Goldfish”, and Essie agreed that fish were a better idea. “They just swim in a fishbowl all day, doing nothing but swimming. Goldfish don’t eat people.”

Suddenly, Humpty Dumpty seems tame.

And, true to form, she generally finds a way to redeem the characters in her fantasies. She’s the eternal relational optimist, and loves to bring peace and solutions to tricky situations, as a way of bringing peaceful, safe feelings to her own mind about the subject. I love it about her. I love it about that age. She’ll have years to grapple with the realities of life, but in this moment, she embraces fantasy, the magical and the terrible.

She explores the fantastic with gusto and ease, and fleshes out every possibility, from extraordinary peace to dismemberment, without a bat of an eye. It’s constant. A character might die and be resurrected five times within a day, and she uses her magic words to change their fate, which is as capricious as a fairy tale.

Yesterday: “This is my little brother Jack (pssst! Mom! It’s REALLY just N’omi, don’t worry!) and I’m the sister Jill. But we don’t ONLY go up the hill to fetch pails of water. Sometimes, we feed BEARS, too. They’re not scary. They’re sick. We put them into bed, and feed them soup. We make them scarves. See? They live in shoes. They hibernate there and eat fried corn. They’re friendly bears.”

And, in Essie’s world of bright eyed wonder, everyone gets to live happily ever after. Or not.

Words are Magic

There are so many things in my almost 4yo’s day that seem disconnected, but stem from the same basic developmental behavior. It’s so interesting and earthshaking for me when I finally have that, “Aha!” moment that gives me insight into her behavior and how she’s processing the world…and connects all the things that have me mystified with a common, very practical thread. These are the moments I long for as a parent, because they make sense of SO many seemingly crazy behaviors in my preschooler.

She falls apart completely, because her 2yo sister tells her she can’t eat any dinner. She insists that flowers can regrow after they die if you put them in water, because her little friend said so, and cries for an hour when it doesn’t happen. She looks at me in astonishment when she tells me something will happen, and I say “No”. She insists she didn’t do something I know very well she actually did.

Words are MAGIC to her. To Esther, if you say something out loud, it HAS to happen, because words make it so. Sometimes, she catches nuance or joking, but the vast majority of the time, saying something makes it absolutely true…in fact, it can even reverse what’s already actually happened!

It’s making for interesting conversation, and also a really fun time to allow her to explore her imagination, and process and teach through fantasy. ) More, later, maybe…our 2yo is teething and fussy..

Here’s an excellent article by a friend of mine on the subject. )