Day 160: Mirror, Mirror

I always see Jackson's behavior as a mirror, but sometimes I misinterpret the reflection.

When he chooses to do the opposite of what I've asked, resists cooperation, and has a "bad" attitude, I've been allowing that negative, inaccurate script to trick me into thinking it's a reflection of my weakness, a lack of power and authority. So is it any wonder I've been reacting by trying to assert myself through changing his behavior?

In reality, the reflection I'm seeing is of my own behavior and attitude.

He has always freely offered respect and cooperation when he's treated with the same. He's always open and emotionally healthy when he experiences connection and acceptance.

Of course this doesn't translate into being permanently cheerful, but it does dictate how often, to what degree, and for how long he feels sad, frustrated and the like. When those feelings do arise, he communicates so openly and honestly when he feels safe and respected that, as he's heard, understood and valued, they generally float out as quickly as they came in.

When, on the other hand, he feels rejected, judged, disrespected or controlled, we find ourselves standing in a stagnant pool of those feelings - the ones that are there to guide us away from where we are and back to where we're meant to be.

When I feel disrespected, the question I should be asking myself isn't: How do I make him respect me?

It should be: How have I been disrespecting him? And how do I change that right now by showing him respect in this situation?

Even Bob the Robot gets love and respect

Kids truly do need love most when they deserve it least, and that means respect, acceptance, and connection in the face of real or perceived (as is often the case) disrespect.

As I challenge the authoritarian script, I'm going to start taking a more honest look in the mirror of his behavior so I can see myself for what I am in that moment and choose a different path - one that leads to listening and connecting.

Day 141: The Difference a Day Makes

Edit: Since we all have different definitions of various undesirable parenting behaviors, I thought I should add a disclaimer. I never use abusive language toward my children; they are never belittled, called names, or otherwise verbally abused in the overt sense of the word. And certainly I never cross physical boundaries with them. What I consider intimidation and domination looks more like "normal" parenting in actuality. Raising my voice, shooting angry looks, using a hurtful tone, and throwing out threats of lost privileges are all forms of intimidation and domination which are ultimately used to coerce children into desired behaviors through fear. These are the things I'm referring to in this post.

 I wrote yesterday, but didn't post. Partly because it was more a therapeutic rant than a composed post, but also because it felt a little too raw at the time to put out there to the world (aka my tens of readers *snort*).

But having stepped back from the ledge I now think there is value in 'going there' - by which I mean not only writing authentically in hindsight, but letting authentic, real-time venting make an appearance as well.

So here's yesterday's post: 

Day 140: Overwhelmed

It seems like this feeling comes in tidal waves. It swells and washes over me, then fades until it's like it was never there.

The problem is that the days when I'm under, I'm really under. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't move. And I certainly can't see the inevitable regression of chaos and inadequacy or the promised reappearance of order and capability.

Today is that day. With new rooms, neither of my boys are sleeping.

Max has been up since 6:30am and only napped one hour. He is now clinging to me as if I may forever abandon him at any moment simply because I tried to put him down in a new place. Never mind the fact that he's in the same bed with the same blanket, pillow and fan, or that I picked him up the moment he fussed, or that I finally put a mattress on the floor and nursed him to sleep there; I don't get any credit for that apparently.

Jack didn't nap at all. Can you say crazy? We've been in one long power struggle today, probably because I'm so tired from two weeks of waking all night with Max (when exactly is this fun little phase going to end?). Oh, and for some reason today seems like the appropriate time for an explosion in his desire for autonomy. Translation: Whatever I want him to do is now what he patently refuses to do because he didn't choose it himself.

All I want is for something to go my way. Can't something just be easy today?! Does everything have to be a struggle? And why, when all I feel like doing is crying because everything is so far from where I want it to be, is it easier to yell and punish my kids for the way I feel?

The fear of being unable to cope with less than ideal circumstances comes from being unable to cope with less than ideal circumstance. Days like today are the ones that make me frantic to control all things external in an attempt to avoid ever having to endure something like this again.

Yikes! Yep, that was the end. No positive conclusion, no pretty little bow to wrap it all up in. Yesterday. just. sucked. and I was wallowing in self-pity.

Thankfully my real-life knight in shining armor came home after a long day at work and jumped right in, doing dishes, playing with the kids, doing bedtime, and otherwise rescuing me and the boys from each other.

But with the perspective of a new day and a fresh sense of capability (I knew it would come, even if I couldn't feel it) I now have the benefit of analyzing my frazzled self from yesterday.

Here's the cold hard truth: It's my fear of weakness and the choice to feed into that fear rather than facing it that drives me to where I was yesterday.

When I start to feel as if life is just too much and nothing is as it should be - when the house is a mess (again...still), the HMN events need to go up (two weeks ago), the bills need to be paid (with what?), the article needs to be written (swallow your pride and appreciate the paycheck), and the kids need attention (are they still here?) - I feel inadequate. For me this translates into weakness, because if I were just more efficient, more organized, more focused or just all around better, I would be strong enough to carry it all on any given day. Riiiiiiiight.

My default reaction to weakness is to grasp at power any way I can get my hands on it. Unfortunately for the small walking and talking being in our household, this sometimes means asserting myself in the forms of intimidation and attempted domination. Tactics he is now (thankfully) confident enough to resist - hence the day-long power struggle.

Although I can't consciously identify it at the time, what I'm actually doing is trying to feel powerful and in control by taking power and control from someone else. How disgusting! And I don't say that in the self-deprecating, I'm-so-awful kind of way. I really just mean that this is objectively a disgusting way to treat another human being.

But the real problem isn't weakness or inadequacy. It's my refusal to let go, to accept my limitations, my circumstances and the lack of control I have over them. It's these things that leave me 'unable' to cope, not a lack of strength to power through and make it work.

Overwhelmed is much less likely when I'm living and parenting consciously. It even feels manageable when I'm focused on relationships over tasks, communication over accomplishment.

Instead of needing things to go my way, I see the value in reaching and expanding my limits and using the accompanying feelings as a guide in resetting priorities and reassessing responsibilities. When I release myself from the fear of weakness I feel what's real in that moment - be it sad, unhappy, unsatisfied, inadequate - instead of masking those 'inferior' emotions with 'powerful' anger. When I let go of expectations and address the reality of what is, I'm able to creatively meet challenges and I'm rewarded by feeling capable and powerful in a healthy way. And most of all, when everything goes 'wrong' I can still take pride and joy in connecting with my kids in the midst of all the chaos.

That is not where I was yesterday. It is thankfully where I am today.

The house is still a mess, HMN business still needs to be attended to, phone calls still need to be made, paperwork still has to be filed, and supper isn't going to make itself. But we're happy today. We're enjoying each other, laughing, getting through the hiccups quickly and cooperatively, and having a darn good day despite it all.

Thankfully days like yesterday make me appreciate days like today much more, so they do serve a purpose after all!

Day 112: Isn't it Ironic

I'm not being authentic enough.

I've recently gotten a few very kind and much appreciated comments about my superior mothering skills (from someone other than my own mother believe it or not) so it must be time to air out some dirty laundry! I want to make sure I'm finding a balance between processing my parenting philosophy and my parenting reality - two very different things some days.

In a sadly comical turn of events, mere hours after I received one of these compliments I found myself yelling about potato soup train tracks and a spoon locomotive mess on the counter, complete with banging finger and disapproving eyebrows. Fortunately Jackson met my anger with quiet compassion: "Mommy, you should throw a ball instead of banging on the counter. Or you could hit something soft to get your angry feelings out. Those are things you could do because it's not okay to bang on hard things when you're angry."

Teaching him to advocate for himself, manage his own feelings, and even help me manage mine is my proudest accomplishment as his mother thus far. Not only for what it gives him, but for what it gives me. Along with a greater understanding of the grace that covers my shortcomings, this has released me from the anxiety I had been carrying.

My greatest parenting fear has always been the potential damage my mismanaged anger could cause. And when God found it fit to give me an intensely sensitive little boy, I practically started questioning His existence. Why would an all-knowing, loving God subject such a sweet soul to me?! Didn't He know I wasn't equipped for this?

Turns out He did know. He knew that the only thing that would draw me toward the kind of radical change I needed was the love I have for my precious son. He knew that the only thing that would get me to take an honest look at myself was seeing my reflection - sometimes in imitation, sometimes in effect - in the child I cherish.

Some days I still feel ill equipped, like I just don't and maybe never will have what it takes to be the kind of mother I want to be for Jackson and Max. Although fortunately not all catastrophic, the failures come daily.

But on the days I feel capable, when we all get to experience the intersection of philosophy and reality, I see the beauty of God's messy plan for our family.

He didn't give Jackson to me because I was the perfect mom, but so that He could perfect me through him. Every day I'm being refined by the love I have for Jackson and the God who blessed me with him, by the joy that comes with our peaceful and harmonious interactions, and by the grace that covers the chaotic discord that finds its way in more often than I'd like to admit.

So when you see me in a moment of loving patience or read about me celebrating a good day, know that those came out of the growing pains we've experienced along our way. And when you inevitably see or read the opposite, trust that grace, forgiveness and growth are not far behind.

Then extend the same kindness to your own parenting journey that you apply to mine, because you deserve it as much as I or anyone else.

Day 102: Activism Is...

I'm sitting at my dining room table surrounded by enfamil swag, literally sick to my stomach. I've got a "hospital gift," a "first visit nutrition gift," a "2-month visit gift" and even a "third trimester gift," because it's never too early to undermine breastfeeding.

And if you're silly enough to try to breastfeed anyway, their "breastfeeding support kit" complete with vitamin D (you know your milk isn't good enough for your baby, right?), pump accessories (babies need to eat from bottles - you wouldn't want him getting nipple confusion and refusing the bottle, now would you?) and plenty of formula (you haven't heard that mothers aren't able to produce enough milk to feed their babies?) is sure to change your mind!

A quote from my lovely end-of-pregnancy present that includes a cloth clutch "purse" filled with, you guessed it, pre-mixed formula: "Why not pack this clutch with your hospital essentials now - so you can just grab it and go when the time comes...And don't forget to slip the enclosed hospital gift certificate inside - so you'll be sure to receive your Enfamil hospital gift, including Enfamil PREMIUM Newborn formula."

I could go on to quote every piece of tripe they included in each of these "gifts," because every word undermines a woman's confidence in her body's ability to feed her baby and gives "advice" that is meant to, and successfully does, sabotage a breastfeeding relationship before it even has a chance. I start to shake every time I think about it.

Where did I get this nice little package? At a local Baby Expo. The first thing you saw when you walked in was the Abbott Nutrition (Ha!) booth lined with beautiful green and brown totes chock full of freebies, with an attendant whose perfectly lined lips and drawn-on eyebrows said, "You're not going to have time to look like me if you breastfeed!"

I was there to represent Holistic Moms Network, so I did my best to bite my tongue and man my own booth. But with each pregnant woman and tiny baby that walked by with one of these totes, I got more upset, until my heart was racing and my hands were shaking.

I had to take a break from the expo to head home and nurse Max before finishing out the day, and half way there I started to cry. This may seem like a dramatic response to a little free formula, but those bags embodied so much more for me.

It was a representation of all the babies around the world and plenty right here under our noses who are literally dying because their mothers are being intentionally lied to and sabotaged. It was a tangible reminder of the mother crying over her child lying in a hospital bed struggling to breathe, the one facing cancer in her little one whose life has barely begun, and the mom who has to leave her babies all too soon because of her own battle with breast cancer.

In those bags I saw the corporate greed that values profit over human life, and I was disgusted, angry, and devastated all at once.

I was overwhelmed because deep down I wanted to grab each and every one of these parents and beg them to read and think before they made a decision about how to feed their babies - to not simply accept formula, and thus illness, as normal, but to demand better for their children. Because I can guarantee every one of them wants what's best for their child, they just don't know where to find the truth in all the lies.

This was obviously not an energy I wanted to bring into my home and to my children, so I quickly started to calm myself by speaking these words: I cannot save the world. I love and support the people who cross my path, I stand up for what I know is right, but it's not my job to save the world. I do what I can and I let go of the rest.

When I returned to the expo, I had come to this conclusion: I may not be able to save the world, but I can and should speak truth when the opportunity presents itself. So I walked over to the booth and struck up a conversation with the woman, which, while it may not have been productive (although you never know who's listening in) at least gave me the opportunity to practice kind and respectful activism, something I was not so good at in the recent past and which I'm continually working toward. It also gave me a little more insight into their business practices and how their reps are trained to answer questions.

What's the nutritional role of corn syrup solids in infant formula? ("It's a carbohydrate.") Do you think these are the best ingredients your company can find for feeding babies - is corn syrup really an acceptable carbohydrate source? ("You'd have to call our 800 number to talk with one of the nurses or medical experts on the scientific stuff.") Why is there formula in your breastfeeding support kit? ("Because if mom's milk supply is low, she has something to grab out of the cupboard because baby's going to need to eat.") How do you feel about the product you're representing and promoting - about feeding corn syrup and vegetable oil to babies? Not professionally, but personally, ethically? (*silence* "I'm proud of the company I work for.")

And it left me with this thought: Activism is not what most people think it is.

It's not about winning or proving a point. It's not about getting heard or getting attention. It's not about being superior or right. It's not about hoping someone else feels inferior or wrong. And it's not about forcing anyone to live or feel a certain way or to make a particular choice.

So here's the completed title: Activism is empathy in action.

It's genuinely wanting the very best for everyone around you. It's heartfelt compassion and love for the anonymous people whose homes you pass on your way to the store, the drivers who wait at red lights with you, and the kids in the shopping cart next to yours. It's seeing and feeling their pain, past, present, or future, and doing all you can to heal it, end it, or prevent it.

This is activism and this is why I post incessantly on facebook, talk to anyone who's open, support anyone who's wavering, and speak truth in the face of lies.

Day 96: Food For Thought

I'm a firm believer in the health-promoting and healing power of food. When we became a totally pharm-free family a few years ago, we first turned to herbs and homeopathy as alternative medicines, which then led me to discover the medicinal properties of foods - many we already had lying around our kitchen.

Nutrition became a passion of mine and a really important tool in approaching our family's health. And as I continue to explore, I'm thrown deeper and deeper into this belief that food is the gateway to maintaining good health and the guard which expels intruders when the gates are compromised.

That said, I'm also a foodie. My passion for nutrition is only trumped by my passion for eating. Thus wining and dining is the way to my heart - which, I suppose, explains my marriage to Mr. Sommelier extraordinaire.

And while the wining came later, the dining has been always been an important piece of life. Maybe because I grew up in a half-Italian family (Mangia, mangia!) or because my mother is such a spectacular cook and took the time to make our meals from scratch every single day.

Maybe it's the enchanting way that food attaches to memory. There are few experiences that simultaneously stimulate all the senses the way good food can, and because of this many of my memories, childhood and beyond, are tied to a meal.

To this day, I can close my eyes and smell the scent of a roast in the oven on Sunday afternoon; it would hit my nose the moment we walked in the door after church, and I'd start salivating in anticipation. I can hear the sizzle of a pan on the stove and see my mom's smile as I ran in from playing at the neighbor's house, where the menu was frozen pizza or mac n' cheese. And I can still taste her homemade chicken soup and feel the crunch of the toast she'd make when I had the flu.

It could also be that mysterious ability food has to connect people. Food touches the soul, opens and relaxes, excites and energizes us. And because of this, communing over a meal, however commonplace it is, is significant. It's no wonder dates usually happen over dinner!

I frequently find myself reminiscing about the many-hour, multi-course meals Nick and I indulged in during the short pre-child phase of our relationship. I remember the way foie gras melted in my mouth as we sipped Sauternes and bore our souls to one another and the flavor explosion of decadent chocolate cake that we tamed with Irish coffees as we planned our future. Feelings come rushing in because they're inexplicably tied to the sensory experience of the food, and I fall in love with him all over again. It's nothing less than magical.

But for each of these beautiful food memories there is an equally significant, yet much less enticing one. For instance, stopping at the doughnut shop to pick out a dozen circles of death on our way home from church and parking under the golden arches for a road-trip Crappy Meal. Then there were the summer "freezies" dripping on my bare toes, dairy queen birthday cakes, pancakes soaked with "syrup," and murky milk from hyper-colored cereal.

It's this death-defying list that defines American childhood food memories, even my own. And since my children won't experience them, I want to make sure I'm consciously providing others. My hope is that the marriage of my competing food passions - nutrition and indulgence - will redefine food memories for my kids in a way that is consistent with our nutritional values.

I want them to love and enjoy food as much as I do, for what it does and how it tastes. I want their experiences to be different, but equal.

I hope they'll attach memories to juicy mangoes popping out of the peel and dripping down their chins instead of chemically-dyed corn syrup leaving their tongues painted blue. Rather than ammonia-treated "beef" and fried, pesticide-coated potatoes in the car, I want them to remember traveling to a farm to meet the cows and farmers who provide their tasty, home-grilled burgers and to the farmer's market where they pick out their own potatoes.

I don't believe food memories have to come at the expense of health. The meals my children eat will be different than most, but I know the experiences will be just as powerful and special to them. When they're old enough to venture out into the world of food on their own, they'll have the opportunity to attach warm fuzzies to whatever evil-knievel combinations they decide to try. But for now, we'll focus on connecting over foods that nourish us, body and soul.

Day 76: Don't Require, Inspire

So many parents see respect and obedience as synonymous, and I couldn't disagree more. In fact, I'd say they have little to do with one another, at least in the way the terms are commonly used.

Respect doesn't require obedience.
Obedience can be carried out devoid of respect.

So why is it parents, myself included sometimes thanks to conditioning, tend to equate disobedience with disrespect? And why do some think they're teaching their children to respect them when they're simply requiring them to go through empty obedient motions?

I think it boils down to a distorted view of respect. Does respect lie with the the person offering it, or is it contingent upon the feelings of the person receiving it?

If I'm only able to accept behavior as respectful when my reaction to it is positive or when the behavior is in line with my desires, then I'm teaching my kids the same perverted view of respect that is so widely accepted it's rarely questioned. (After all, questioning would be disrespectful, right?...!)

I'd like our home to be a place where my boys are able to develop a healthier kind of respect - what I would call authentic respect. And in order to do that, I have to put my money where my mouth is.

As impossible as it seems sometimes, I'm working hard to accept that they can respectfully disagree, respectfully decline to do what I'm asking of them, and respectfully ask me to change my mind, my request, or the way I'm communicating with them.

If respect is about a sense of worth and honor (not status or authority), it requires all of us (since respect is deserved by all) to express our genuine feelings and come to an end that we all feel positive about. Sometimes that looks the same as obedience on the surface; but instead of a person's will being forced to bend to someone else's, he willingly bends himself out of a desire to honor the feelings and needs of another over his own.

When they see me bending to meet their needs, the message they get isn't that I'm weak or easily manipulated, it's that they're respected and that giving of yourself is a privilege rather than an obligation. And in turn, I want mutual respect to inspire them to cooperate, rather than my authority requiring them to obey.

By forcing obedience and rendering children powerless, we strip them of their natural desire for cooperation and their ability to feel secure and confident enough to give of themselves freely. By not allowing them to experience a mutually respectful, and thus mutually satisfying relationship, we leave them with the impression that you only feel good when you're on top looking down.

Experience has taught me that, operating under this misguided idea of respect, we mold them into power-seeking, rigid adults who have lost the value of sacrifice and continue the cycle. And I believe this is the reason I still struggle to embrace a healthy, respectful relationship with my kids.

But I want better for them than learning to toe the line until they get their chance to be on top. I want to let them keep their power and help them use it along with mine to establish an environment that we all feel good in, a home where we all feel respected even when we don't get our way.

That's something that obedience will never create.

Day 75: Stranger Danger

My danger seeker ironically also happens to be my stranger danger baby.

With few exceptions, most family and friends get a look of terror, the world's cutest quivering lip and waterworks, sometimes even when he's in my arms. Of course he eventually warms up, but the initial interaction is nearly always challenging for him. If you've interacted with him and haven't experienced this, you're one of the special few whose energy must really put him at ease from the start.

Jackson never went through a phase like this, so I'm learning as we go. It's no stretch to accept that he wants to stay with me, but somehow the small part of me that's socially trained to think "polite" means compromising yourself to make sure no one ever feels uncomfortable still exists, and it stirs up a compulsive need to apologize or make excuses for him, sometimes even try to coax him into warming up before he's ready.

It seems so minor to us because our established relationships tell us there's nothing to be scared of, but to him it's clearly a major emotional upheaval and should be honored as such. So he's giving me lots of great opportunities to practice kind authenticity.

There is a "nice" way to honor his feelings and advocate for him. Although whether or not it's received as polite is up to the person involved, I suppose. But since a big part of how it's received has to do with whether it comes from a place of acceptance or resistance, I have a pretty significant say in the matter.

Am I focused on resisting a person's desire to take him from me or interact too soon? Or am I putting my energy into accepting his need for security and time to get reacquainted? The latter puts everyone at ease, especially him, so I'm working to stay present during these chaotic interactions instead of slipping into default and choosing the former.

I want to send Max a clear message that his feelings are valid and simultaneously show him that the person we're with and the environment we're in are safe. With a little practice, and a little patience from our family, I think we're getting there.

Day 73: Livin' on the Edge

I have a danger seeker.

You can see it in his eyes, especially when he sticks that little tongue out the side of his mouth with determination. This one's going to be a whole new kind of handful. He's intensely curious, fearless, and takes the bull by the horns.

After two and a half years of encouraging one child to assert himself, take risks, and jump in, I'm going to need to learn how to help the other learn caution and gentleness. Having conditioned myself to be almost excessively emotionally in tune with one sensitive child, I envision myself throwing my hands up as the other laughs at my "feelings board" on the wall and runs off to set something on fire.

As it stands now, my two boys have some definite similarities that seem to be far outweighed by their differences.

Of course nothing about them is written in stone and I want to leave them both plenty of room to change and grow in whatever ways they choose, but some pieces of their temperaments are clearly innate qualities.

So as Maxwell's world is so quickly expanding, I'm coming to a fuller realization of what's in store for our relationship in the future - and in turn, what's in store for my personal growth. Because as much as God entrusts children to our loving care so that we can model and teach as they grow, he also sends them to us so that they can teach and even model for us as we grow.

I've learned more in two years as a mother than in the previous ten combined, and this is no accident. This is God's plan for a mutually satisfying and challenging relationship between parent and child.

I look back with profound gratitude at all that Jackson has taught me in these two years, and forward to all the ways Max gets to benefit from those lessons already learned. And now as Mom-to-two and Mom-to-Max, I get to expand my knowledge and experience, and work on new specialties...like fire safety or first aid perhaps.

I can't predict the future, but I do already know that Max is going to stretch me in different ways and force me further outside my comfort zone, definitely further out of control and into trust.

Good news! You're just in time, Max. After years of preparation, Mommy's finally ready for you.

Day 58: You Make Me Feel

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

A conversation on my Facebook wall today prompted me to think about this concept and how it relates to my children, namely what I model and teach them.

"How did that make you feel?"

"Did that make you feel angry?"

"That made me feel sad."

These are phrases I'm trying oh so hard to discard from my parenting repertoire. You may be asking yourself why. Emotional intelligence is so important and it begins with giving a child an emotional vocabulary and helping him connect with and understand what he's feeling. So these would be good phrases to use, right? Not quite.

Sad, angry and feel are great words, but make...not so much.

What I'm teaching Jackson each time I say this to him is that someone else's actions, feelings or words control his feelings. I'm unintentionally reinforcing the widely accepted idea (in our culture anyway) that someone else has the ability to decide whether we're okay or not. And in the process, I'm letting conditionality seep in to his unconditional world.

Instead of placing blame on a person or circumstance, I want to teach him to take ownership over his feelings and responsibility for what he does with them.

If he feels angry because a child took a toy from him, I don't want him to think that boy made me feel angry. I want him to think that boy took a toy from me and I feel angry about that. It may seem like an insignificant distinction, but I believe it's critical.

Placing responsibility and blame on the boy, the toy stealing or the feeling makes him a victim - a victim who has willingly surrendered his power to his assailant.

Seeing the experience as nothing more than something that happened and the feeling as something he has ownership over empowers him to do something about it. Instead of giving his power to his assailant, he retains that power and can direct it toward getting his toy back or accepting that the toy is gone and moving on.

I'd do well to remember this when he's "making" me feel frustrated or angry too! Because placing blame on someone else for my feelings disconnects me from the true source of that feeling. How can I see that my anger is arising out of a deeper fear or control issue if I put ownership for those feelings on him?

Feelings are God-given guideposts that shouldn't be ignored. They are a way to find healthy direction through life, and when we write them off as someone else's responsibility instead of paying them the attention they deserve, we take that away from ourselves.

So I'm in the process of replacing those phrases with others framed in a more accurate way:

"How do you feel about that?"

"I felt sad when that happened."

"Did you feel angry when that happened?"

And I'm purposefully connecting to the true source of my feelings, not the trigger. I hope doing so will keep my children from being conditioned by our culture's view of feelings.

Day 53: Hand in the Hunny Pot

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Jackson's favorite activity as of recent is rummaging through the pantry. He builds towers out of cans and jars, he "cooks," and he "organizes" it for me. His other new favorite is drinking out of a shot glass he found in the basement cupboards (I definitely never envisioned that when I bought the old college relic!). Today he decided to combine his two favorites into one new, exciting activity.

We had just gotten home, so I was letting Max potty before starting lunch. Jackson was in the kitchen waiting patiently and playing with his little cooler. Or so I thought.

I heard the pantry door open, but thought nothing of it. He's never really gotten into any trouble in there. Then I heard a jar hit the counter. I figured he was organizing again and just had to get some things out of the way so he could rearrange. Then it was quiet. Too quiet.

I got Max dressed and rushed to the kitchen where I saw Jackson with the shot glass to his lips, a noticeably less full, dripping jar of honey sitting next to him. All I could think about were the little candida cells inside him throwing a party because their famine was over.

Cue the slow-motion: I yelled, "Nooooooo!" and yanked the glass from his hands. Unfortunately this was followed up by a frantic and too loud, "Jackson, oh no! Why did you eat the honey!? How much did you eat? It's not okay to just grab things and eat them! This is so bad!"

This reaction was understandably met with tears. He didn't know that I wasn't calling him bad. He didn't know that I wasn't disappointed in him. So I gave him a hug and had to explain that I wasn't upset with him, that sweet foods made his itchies come back and I reacted so strongly because I was worried about that, not because of him.

He quickly recovered and explained that he was Pooh Bear drinking honey from the bees. I can just imagine his excitement when he found the hunny pot and transformed into his chubby-little-cubby alter ego. That spontaneous, effortless leap into imaginative play must feel exhilarating. And that must have made the abrupt and intense interruption even more alarming.

I want to be responsive, not reactive. Reactivity is explosive, even when I don't mean it to be. It's scary and confusing for Jackson when I react. But when I respond, he understands, he feels understood, and he learns.

Ultimately this has everything to do with control versus trust, but that shift is going to be a long process. In the meantime, I'll be searching for ways to catch myself in the split-second moment between recognizing what's happening and reacting to it.

Maybe cultivating a habit of turning around and walking away to process would help, but sometimes a situation requires immediate intervention. What helps you cage your reaction so you can thoughtfully respond?

Day 43: Freedom Conceptualized Part I

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

This is going to be a thinking-out-loud post that may or may not make a whole lot of sense along the way, but will hopefully come to a thoughtful conclusion at the end of part II. The concept of freedom is one that I'm still working through, so my thoughts aren't fully formed ideas yet. I say this to say: if I ramble, bear with me!

Freedom is the cornerstone of my country, my politics, my faith, my worldview. You would think this would make it accessible to me, but it always seems decidedly out of reach. The obvious conclusion, then, is that I am the only one denying myself freedom. How ridiculous. To be surrounded by freedom, yet choose to live in captivity to anything is simply asinine (I've secretly always wanted to use that term and never found a fitting place for it, but if ever there was a time!). But to everything there is a purpose, so what purpose does rejecting freedom serve in my life?


When it comes down to it, living freely requires accepting responsibility...for everything. If I'm tethered to my defaults, they can take the blame for my failures. If my feelings control me, I can't be held liable for my actions when they take over. If my Italian genes determine my fiery temper, it's not my fault when I fly off the handle. All of this comes in quite handy when I don't want to carry the burden of responsibility that comes along with my choices.

If I'm tied down by my circumstances, I get to complain about never getting time to myself. I can talk about all the sacrifices I make for my husband and my children, and how those things don't allow me to do what I find relaxing or stimulating. I can moan about how stressful my life is and how that makes me less patient, less capable of living outside of default mode. To put it in no uncertain terms, if I'm captive, I can be a martyr.

But when I take a good honest look at my life, and when I remember that at every moment of every day I am free, suddenly things are very different. Suddenly I'm choosing to yell when I'm angry, choosing impatience, choosing not to make time for myself, choosing to let the things that bring me fulfillment (outside of my children of course!) fall by the wayside. Suddenly these things aren't happening to me, they're happening because of me. 

In most of life I have a strong sense of personal responsibility; I can't stand a victim mentality. But in these insidious ways, I've been living as a victim. How ironic that I'm my own perpetrator. I've refused to accept freedom because I don't want the responsibility that comes along with it. I don't want to accept that the reason I don't get time to myself is because I choose to sleep with my baby and refuse to offer him breast milk from a bottle. What fun is it to look honestly at why I feel stressed: I take on too much, I refuse to admit when I can't do something that's asked of me, and I refuse to ask for help. Oh, any my time management skills suck! 

No one forces responsibilities on me, and no one can make me feel guilty for saying no or not getting something done. That's a lot to accept. But whether I accept it or not, it's reality. So why pass on the freedom staring me in the face just so I can hide behind a false sense of "I'm not responsible?"


More on that tomorrow...

Day 41: Setting the Tone

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Max, who usually doesn't require me to lift my head off my pillow at night, needed a 4am potty break. Then again at 7am at which point he decided he wasn't going back to sleep. Beyond the fact that I was tired, I was irritated that his plan to start the day didn't align with mine. I was already envisioning all the yelling I was going to hear from a tired baby and how I wasn't going to be able to take it. Talk about setting everyone up for failure! And wouldn't you know, our morning nap - if you can even call it a nap - was a huge struggle.

When Jack woke at 7:30am I was resentful because I wasn't ready to take on the day yet. Of course these feelings of preemptive resistance were only self-fulfilling. I had an appointment to pick up some goat's milk nearby, and decided I needed to go alone. And although Daddy being home usually trumps me, today my leaving was the end of his world. He could feel me pushing him away and it made him need me that much more. Eventually we worked through it and I headed out.

The chance to get away for a short while gave me a much needed opportunity to breathe, but I couldn't shake it all off. The rest of our day was a roller coaster. One minute I'd breathe through it and respond calmly to him, the next I'd raise my voice and get disrespectful with him. I just couldn't give myself to him without resentment today, and being the sensitive and perceptive little man that he is, he felt every bit of it. It's really hard being Mom to a kid like this, but thankfully it forces me to be real with myself and him.

Before his nap I told him when he woke up I would put all my work away for the night and focus on him. And we did have a really fun hour of playtime before Max got up. In that hour I was open and available, I was engaged and playful instead of distracted or setting limits, and there wasn't a moment of conflict. Once Max joined us and responsibilities arose - cooking supper, keeping the laundry going, getting him to the potty - the fun was over. Max would yell and he would lose it. He wanted to nurse while supper was cooking. One of his toys wouldn't balance like he wanted and he was a puddle.

A few times I yelled over him to get his attention, which of course heightened his anxiety and made things worse. Other times I spoke calmly, bent down, touched him and connected, and voila, my self-regulating helper showed up to bring Max a book and pat his head to stop the yelling. 

I see it every. single. day. What I resist, I create. And yet I still fight with myself. I'm constantly engaged in an internal power struggle and it colors the rest of my world in conflict because that energy is what my children live by. I'll write it again because it's that important: My energy is what my children live by. When I walk into a room, they know exactly how I feel before I open my mouth or touch them, and they feel what I feel. Too many days it's something I don't want them to have to feel.

I feel like I'm captive to my defaults, to resistance and pessimism, but this isn't the truth. The truth is that I am free. Free to find joy in my life and in my children. That freedom doesn't change when circumstances change. It doesn't change when moods change. At every moment of every day, I am free. This is a concept I want to flesh out in another post tomorrow. But for tonight, these are the words I will sleep on: I am free.

Day 40: A Year's Work Pays Off

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

As parents, we're constantly teaching, consciously or not. Sometimes our children exhibit a new behavior and we wonder why or where they got it, only to realize they picked it up from watching us. Oh, were you there when I was kicking the dog for jumping on the baby? Oops! Other times we teach the same phrases, actions, and guidelines over and over for months on end without seeing a return. But if we hang in there, that miraculous, long-awaited day comes when we see all our hard work pay off. We experienced one of these at ECFE today.

Jackson was across the room from me playing with his favorite tractor, complete with a farmer and trailer full of animals, when he was approached by the oldest (3) and largest boy in the room. As the boy grabbed the tractor and started to pull, Jackson held on tight and searched the room for me with an uncharacteristically calm face. I stayed where I was and simply said, "Talk to him about it."

He turned to the boy and said, "I'm going to keep this." The boy continued to pull, and a teacher moved in to moderate. She told the boy to listen, and asked Jackson to tell him again, which he did with a little more gusto. When the boy persisted, the teacher encouraged Jack to repeat himself, and he replied with a strong, "It's not okay for you to take this from me." Finally, the boy took notice and they were able to play with the coveted toy together peacefully.

I sat back and watched in amazement and with intense pride. There was no fit, there was no yelling, not even a moment of reactivity despite that fact that his feelings were strong. He maintained composure, spoke strongly, but respectfully, and stood his ground in an intimidating circumstance. These are the things I've been consciously teaching for over a year, and he was finally able to access them without my guidance. Hooray!

It may feel like all the repetition is for nothing, like they're just not getting it. But the truth is they get it in their own time. Today was the day Jackson was emotionally ready to tackle this situation on his own, not yesterday or a day sooner. And tomorrow he may need guidance again. But at least I know the groundwork we're laying isn't for naught. No matter how many times you tell yourself, sometimes a reminder like this makes it that much easier to go on repeating the same lessons over and over and over.

And now that I know he's added this skill to his communication tool belt, maybe it's time for me to catch up!
 

Day 39: Respectfully Annoyed

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Before I had kids, I dreamed of vacationing on a Mexican beach, sipping mai tais and relaxing while my pre-baby body soaked up the sun. Now I fantasize about sitting alone in a quiet room for an hour. Oddly, I made the beach dream a reality more times than I've been blessed with the quiet room in the past two years. Perhaps this explains the short road to annoyance. But in any case, it's forcing me to look at an aspect of my communication skills that need a little polishing. Okay, this project may be about being kind to myself, but it's also about being authentic, so let's be honest: I'm not polishing, I'm developing this skill from scratch because it's sorely lacking.

Sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, they can be downright annoying. This is especially true when that someone is two years old. We've recently entered a persistent stage where names must be repeated over and over before a sentence can be uttered, and questions, regardless of the fact that they've already been answered, must also be repeated a minimum of four times. This is enough to drive me flippin' nuts. But of course I don't want to really drive home the message "You're annoying!" and make him carry that around, so what's a mom to do? 

The mainstream approach to this would be to try to hide the fact that I'm annoyed; pretend those feelings aren't there, shove them down, or coat them in other forced feelings that aren't really feelings at all because you're not feeling them. Not only am I too intense to be capable of these things, but doing so would model disingenuousness. The energy tied to our emotions is something people feel, not something they hear us say, and children are more in touch with energy than anyone. When we try to hide feelings, deny them, or name them something other than what they are, we either send the message that the true feeling, the one they can sense but we won't admit, isn't okay to feel, or we leave them confused because what they know (the energy they feel) and what we tell them (the mislabeling or denial of the feeling) are incongruous.

So if my approach, both by default and by philosophical choice, is to be authentic with these feelings, I have to do it responsibly. Here's where the communication skills are falling short.

As I made supper, Jackson was asking the usual questions: What are you doing? Can I see? Why are you doing that? How does that work? And on and on. Finally he came to his favorite, "Can I help?" In this case, there was a large, sharp knife involved in the project, so I explained why he couldn't. He understood, but didn't want to accept it, so he proceeded to ask me again and again. I hit my limit by the fourth or fifth time and finally shouted, "Jackson, I already told you no. Stop asking!" To which he replied, "Mommy, you should talk to Jackson more respectfully." Face meet palm.

It's okay to be annoyed by annoying behavior. I'm only human. But it's not okay to let that annoyance drive me to treat him with less love and less respect. Instead of being reactive, I can work on communicating purposefully. I can communicate annoyance respectfully just like I can joy, anger, love, and sadness. The emotions change, but the communication doesn't have to. And while I'm developing this skill, I can rest easy knowing that I've given him the confidence and tools he needs to stand up to my reactivity and even help me through it.

Day 38: Intuition

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Our Holistic Moms Network meeting last night was on "food as medicine." Having done loads of nutritional research, especially in the past few weeks, I didn't expect anything to rock my world, but I ended up walking away with something really significant. She talked about bioindividuality - the concept that no one diet works for every human body - and touched on allowing the body to guide you to what it needs. She went on to explain how that intuition isn't accessible when we're in a toxic state from eating processed foods, pesticides, hormones, and everything else that comes along with the Western Diet. I can identify with this so powerfully right now as the detox diet is slowly changing my dietary intuition.

I'm a person to which moderation does not come naturally or easily - in anything. When I'm in, I'm all in. This intensity brings so many positive things to my life. Most relevant to this project, it allows me to love my children so fiercely that I'm willing to fight through the ways that same intensity can damage them. Most relevant to the topic of nutrition, it means that food has been a battleground my whole life.

I believe so completely in the healing power of real food, and most days that knowledge is what guides my food choices. But when I fall prey to the enticing false promise of satisfaction from harmful food-like products, I go overboard. Way overboard. The only time I've felt my body's intuition guiding me toward healthful choices was during my pregnancy with Max, which also, not coincidentally, was a time I felt more energetic, healthy, and peaceful than ever before. 

Looking back, I now know that this is because this longstanding candida overgrowth coupled with the toxicity that results from overindulgence in moments of weakness has smothered that intuition for over a decade. As I detox, I feel it returning. Instead of feeling satisfied by "fake" foods, I feel physically sick when I make a poor choice. Instead of shoveling too much in with no signal to stop or repercussion when I don't, I feel full and even ill when I surpass full. It's only a matter of time before that intuition is fully restored to the point that non-foods are no longer appealing. What a welcome change that will be!

All of this got me thinking about emotional toxicity and mothering intuition. I think the parallel is strong. Emotional toxicity can come from unhealthy relationships, damage from early life experiences, insufficient coping skills, overbearing advice from family and friends, and any number of other sources. We all carry some toxicity, but when we become overloaded, it clouds out our intuition. The feelings - in both body and mind - that are intended to guide us through life and relationships are replaced with externally prescribed shoulds, and can'ts or simply confusion.

The danger is that shoulds and can'ts, like food-like products, can look appealing even though they're damaging. And the more we internalize them, the more they crowd out intuition. As we detox by refusing to engage in toxic relationships or listen to toxic advice, by finding ways to heal ourselves, our mothering intuition returns. Eventually the wrong choices will simply feel wrong, maybe even make us feel sick, and clarity will replace confusion.

So I've decided to engage in a full body and mind detox. As I get more in touch with my body's intuition, I'll work on connecting more fully with my mothering intuition. Together these things will bring me closer to the kind of energy, health and peace I want to experience and be for myself and my family.

Day 37: Me, a Screamer? Couldn't Be!

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Just look at my sweet, innocent face. I couldn't possibly be the one behind those horrific, earsplitting shrieks. Or could I?

Don't let the cherubic, chubby cheeks and goofy grin fool you; this one's a screamer. And I'm not talking your run of the mill scream, here. Oh, no. This is the kind of scream that could prompt the neighbors to call protective services. 

And what do I do to elicit these bloodcurdling screeches? It's quite simple, really: Anything that doesn't meet his approval, especially if it's not addressed in a timely manner, which of course means immediately. My mild mannered first-born did nothing to prepare me for this. When Baby Jackson needed something, he'd quietly gurgle or squeak to let me know, then kindly let me finish my task. Baby Maxwell is not quite so gentile. In fact, sometimes I don't even get a warning. He just launches straight into the high-pitched "Aaaaaahhhhhhh!" And if I can't get there right away, it's followed by the "Eeeeeeeeeyyyyyyaaaaa!" that I'm pretty sure can only be heard by me and the neighborhood dogs. 

You may have noticed by now that there is no crying involved. No tears, no sad eyes. This kid is just downright pissed that he's not getting what he wants when he wants it, and he's going to let everyone know until I make it right. Right now my mother is reading this thinking, "Yep. That sounds about right." And although she's much too kind to say it, she's also feeling just a teeny bit of satisfaction as I get a taste of my own medicine. Well, Mom, I can officially say it now: You are a saint for surviving me. 

Raising an intense kid isn't going to be a walk in the park. Especially considering that Intense Mommy also likes to have her way. If I'm not careful, Max and I will go through life fighting each other for control at every turn. But if I manage to effectively nurture our relationship, we can reap the benefits of our shared intensity. We'll understand each other on a deeper level than we could without this shared trait. We'll be able to use our similarity to work through our differences. And if I play my cards right, he'll teach me to tame my intensity when appropriate so that I can help him do the same. 

For the present, I'll endure the screeching as I rush to meet his needs and dream of the future implications: A confident, assertive, passionate man who loves as fiercely as he used to shriek.

Day 35: Sad Feelings

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Jackson has spent the past few days going through what I think is an another intense round of detox: Waking up sweating, not wanting to eat, drinking tons of water, asking to nurse a lot, and feeling sad for no apparent reason. Obviously this means my usually independent boy who has been known to entertain himself with empty vinegar and yogurt containers for hours is needing much more of my attention. 

My default reaction is to overlook the big picture and resist this; to expect from him what I know he's capable of on other days. I try setting up activities and moving on to my own things, only to find him at my side moments later needing me. I try putting off the things he says he needs, "We'll do that as soon as I finish this." Finally he realizes that his thick-headed mom isn't getting it, so he gives it to me in simpler terms: "Mommy, I need you to help me with my big feelings. I feel sad and I need affection."

 The bills can wait, the work can wait, the cleaning can wait. My opportunity to be this important to him and to be capable of meeting his needs so simply, with just my presence, is fleeting. Soon, he won't need my help with his big feelings. Not long from now the solution will be much more complicated and I may not be able to make those sad feelings go away at all. Someday he might not even share his big feelings with me; there will be someone else who has taken my place. 

I want to cherish these moments of dependence, not resist them. If I don't, I'll be the one with sad feelings looking back on how I squandered opportunities to love him exactly as he needed to be loved. I'm thankful for his body's incredible ability to self-heal, even if sad feelings are part of the process. I'm thankful that he communicates his feelings so openly and insistently that I don't get to let them go unnoticed. I'm thankful that what he needs more than anything in the world is me, because "me" is the only thing I can really give him. Sad feelings will come and go, but how I respond to them will shape our relationship forever.

Day 31: Open Lines

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Jackson was tooling around on his tricycle this morning (Yes, in the house. It's winter. The poor kid needs an outlet!) and cut it a little too close with my foot. I yelped, "Ouch! Jackson that hurt. Please watch where you're going!" He got off, walked up to me with a very thoughtful look and, wrapping his arms around my legs, said, "Mommy, I felt sad when you said that."

So we explored the situation and found out that he was sad about the way I said it because he thought I was angry with him. I was able to explain the difference between "angry loud" and "surprised loud" and give him the big hug he needed. If he hadn't been this open, I'd have never known he was sad. If he hadn't come up to me for a hug, I wouldn't have known he needed one.

These spontaneous pronouncements about his feelings happen throughout the course of each day, and today I was really struck with what a gift it is for our relationship, a skill I hope to help him retain as he matures.

In my experience, open lines of communication are rare, even (or especially?) in family relationships. There's a level of vulnerability that comes along with openness, something most of us avoid. We are a society of people who hate to ask for help, hate to admit even minor shortcomings, and hate to acknowledge hurts because all of these things signify weakness. In avoiding this perceived weakness, we actually miss out on all of the things that could make us stronger, namely living in connection with each other.
 
Children are beautifully immune to this. They haven't yet soaked up the "lone wolf" mentality; they simply communicate openly and seek out what (or who) meets their needs. They aren't afraid to ask for help or show how they feel because they don't know anything other than vulnerability. They live in their bodies and their feelings instead of their heads like we do, and this gives them freedom that we too often sacrifice for the sake of looking strong.

Sometimes I think we don't realize what we're sacrificing. Not only do we miss deep connection with other people, we miss deep connection with ourselves. We lose ourselves behind our own walls, the facade we've constructed to hide all the things that aren't "good enough" or "right," to the point that we don't even know how we feel or what we need anymore. And when we lose touch with ourselves, we lose our ability to be "in touch" with the people we love. When we walk through life with our needs chronically unmet, either because they're unidentified or unspoken, we are that much less able to meet the needs of those around us. And so the solo cycle continues.

So today, I'm taking a lesson from Jackson. I'm going to work toward openly communicating how I feel, unabashedly asking for what I need, and freely admitting when I can't do it all myself. If I want him to hang on to this skill, I better start modeling how to use it in the adult world!

Day 29: So This is a Tantrum

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Holy. Crap. I thought we had seen Jackson's first tantrums, but apparently that was just child's play. This was the real thing. There was no gentle fall to the floor in protest, no loud complaints, no statement of his need. Instead it was like he was possessed; nothing coming from his mouth was coherent, the screams were louder and more violent than anything I have ever heard from a human being, and he physically fought me so hard I finally had to throw him over my shoulder with no jacket and trudge through the wind and snow to the car just to save everyone in the chiropractor's office from enduring the rest of it.

Here's the kicker: It was all my fault.

This isn't just the mommy guilt talking. This is the reality. I started us down the path toward this tantrum before breakfast, and instead of hitting the breaks, I accelerated through it, causing even more damage. Here's what happened:

I gave myself a free pass on the detox diet Saturday because we had friends over for food and drinks, and I've been exhausted and irritable since. Today was no exception, and on top of it Jackson decided to get up an hour early. I managed to keep Max asleep which meant the living room was off-limits for the morning. Of course that means it's the only place Jackson wanted to be. So I spent the morning hushing and herding him and, I'm sure, making him feel unable to do anything "right." I had set the tone for the day and it reeked of resistance.

We decided to go to a friend's house before our chiropractic appointment, which may sound like a positive turn to the day, but actually made things worse. I should have been realistic about how long it would take to get ready and not scheduled anything in between. I'm not capable of being calm, patient or responsive when I'm rushing to get us out of the house; I know this about myself and should just avoid putting myself in the situation.

We had a power struggle over going potty before we left and with each minute that ticked by I got more aggravated. In hindsight, I think Jackson was showing me with his refusal to pee and incessant request to play with me upstairs that he needed a calm day at home with no appointments, but I ignored it. Instead I got mad and read him the riot act about "not listening" (aka not doing exactly as I told him with no questions asked regardless of his current feelings or needs or how unloving I was in my request). Let's just say it was a bad morning full of things I'm not proud of. We didn't get going fast enough to fit in the play date, so we headed straight for our appointment.

The car ride provided me with enough "alone time" to calm down and compose myself. I apologized and told him how much I love him, but was met with silence, which was really strange. So when we got there I reiterated those things as I was getting him out of the car seat and gave him a kiss, but he still seemed pretty quiet. I saw a problem and didn't take the time to address it.

When we got in he went to the toy box like usual and chose a basket of pretend food to bring in while we all got adjusted. But he wasn't moving fast enough for my liking (God forbid anyone have to wait a minute or two because I allowed my child some transition time) so I grabbed his hand and started toward the room. He protested loudly and said he needed the bread. Fortunately he found it right away because I had no intention of waiting - that's how far out of my mind his needs and feelings were today.

As our chiropractor opened the door for us Jack started saying something about squash (can you tell how closely I was paying attention?), shook his food basket and finally threw it on the floor and started yelling and crying when I turned and brought Max into the adjustment room. He knew I wasn't connected, he knew I had been resisting him all morning and treating him with disrespect, now I wasn't even listening to what he was saying and even walking away from him and he had had enough. 

He cried and yelled as Max and I were adjusted and refused to come into the room. All I could think about was what the other person in the room was thinking about my "lack of discipline" (strange passers by are one thing, but when you know the philosophy of your audience it becomes exponentially harder to ignore them and focus on what you know your child needs). I nursed him for a minute in the changing room to try to calm him down, but for some reason felt like we just needed to go. Again, not taking into account what he needed at that moment. I threw all the fruit back into the basket and shoved him out of the room crying. When I tried to get his jacket on things really escalated. By this point I was so far beyond frazzled I didn't know what to do, so over my shoulder he went.

At the car he wouldn't get into his car seat so I tried to physically force him. He got angrier than I've ever seen a person get and made sounds I've never heard before. All the while poor Max had been along for the ride, but now he was starting to get scared and cry. I was feeling absolutely desperate to stop the tantrum, but somehow I was totally disconnected from all the things I know and believe and I kept grasping for ways to externally control him instead of meeting his needs. 

Was I ever going to get him home? Was he going to freeze to death before I could get a handle on the situation? Was the screaming ever going to end? Were people passing us in the parking lot going to call the police? In an almost out of body experience I found myself trying to force him into his seat with my hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with fear and rage. Oh no! How did we get here!? I finally woke up. I took him in my arms and started bawling. We sat in the front seat together while he calmed down enough to get a few words out. I asked what he was so angry about and he replied, "Because Mommy wasn't treating me very nice today." Devastated doesn't begin to describe how I felt then or how I feel now. This isn't one of those times I can chalk it up to a learning experience; there's no bright side. I flat out failed all of us. And I am completely ashamed of myself.

His every movement had been critiqued and controlled from the moment he woke up, and I had been short, impatient, and disrespectful all morning, meanwhile expecting the opposite from him. I was putting all that on his little two-year-old shoulders and it was too much weight for him to carry. On top of that, I ignored all the signs of distress along the way and even failed to "show up" for his tantrum. It was not his fault, it was mine.

Rather than feeling a desire to meet the need he was showing me, I was feeling angry that I couldn't stop him and mortified because everyone in the office had a front row seat. Rather than loving him, comforting him and helping him through his intense feelings, I tried to smother the symptoms while I fueled the fire. In every way, I was more concerned about the people around us than I was about us - more importantly him.

In hindsight I know the severity of the situation was because of his own detox process and probably my cheating on Saturday. For the second day in a row he woke up from his nap drenched in sweat and his mood and self control are definitely tied closely to what's happening in his body. But none of that changes the seriousness of my poor choices. 

So if you want authenticity, here it is! You've just been invited into the worst day of our two and a half years. I'm trying to be gentle with myself (and I hope you will be too!), but I figure I might as well ride the failure train into self-beating station for the night. Breathe in...breathe out...It's over and I can't change it. I can only move on and thank God for a new day up ahead.