Day 115: Parched

When I step back and take a look at my life, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude and humbled by all I have that I've done nothing to deserve. In my real-life Prince Charming and two boys who could not be any more beautiful inside or out I find daily evidence of God's infinite grace and mercy, proof that on my own I could never be worthy of the blessings that flow freely from His hands.

And when those realizations come, they carry with them a reminder of how spiritually dry my life is right now.

Once upon a time we were part of a church community - one that was authentic, inspiring, and challenging. But the busier life got, the more commitment faded. Eventually Jackson became too talkative for the service and unable to be separated from me in the toddler room, and the final nail was in the coffin. It has now been about a year and a half since we've been back. And if feels like it.

Not that a weekly church service is a spiritual prerequisite, but without it, I've found it far too easy to let my other relationships and responsibilities crowd out my most important relationship - the one that, if at the center, elevates all the rest with it.

I feel more ready and open for connection with God than I've ever been thanks to all the other growth I've been undertaking. I think this is because spirituality permeates all aspects of life, and because the expansion of my worldview has stretched me in ways that allow me to see God in places I never knew He was before.

I'm sure some read posts on energy, unconditionality, the mind-body connection or intuition and think "New Age" (ahhhh, run for the hills, Christians!). But I see God's incredible physical and spiritual human design in these things. He made us energetically interactive beings, our intuition is a guiding gift from Him, it was He who interconnected our physical and emotional states, and the unconditionality of life only exists because of His sacrifice that allows us to experience freedom. What a shame to miss out on these dimensions of life that He intended for us to experience, utilize, and enjoy! If you gave someone a Swiss Army knife for Christmas, wouldn't you want them to use more than just the tiny, nearly-useless scissors?

So now that my eyes have been opened to the can opener, the screwdriver, the blades, and even the nail file, I find myself wandering alone in a spiritual desert. Those who share my foundational spiritual beliefs reject much of my philosophy and theology (which, by the way, are essential to my foundational spiritual beliefs!). And vice versa, those who share my philosophical beliefs often differ significantly in the spiritual realm. And in particular, a similar view of respectful, loving discipline is hard to find among Christian parents. (A post on that later!)
 
But I'm committed to finding my way back to center, back to the love that is the root and reason for it all. And to do that, I'll need to live in community with like-minded people. I'm a part of this amazing holistic parenting community that has been so instrumental in my mothering journey, and I need to dive back into a church community to foster the same growth in my spiritual life.

My hope is that the community we left behind is one that will embrace us again, new ideas and all. But whether we find our home in the familiar or new, I'm feeling ready and drawn to search. And this is reassurance that now is the right time. Not last year, not last month, but now. Acceptance and forward motion: two more blessings I couldn't live without!

Day 95: Room to Breathe

Yesterday was the first truly beautiful Spring day we were able to get out and enjoy, and boy did we take advantage! The morning was spent at the "Sugar Shack" where we learned all about maple trees, sap, and syrup. We even got to roam the woods with buckets, collecting the dripping sap. The combination of sun, fresh, open air, leaves crunching under our feet and mud squishing up around our boots was magical after a long winter, especially for my earthy boy.

But the real treat came after the field trip was over. We sat in the grass and dirt - sans blanket or wet wipes (*gasp* I'm working on appreciating the value of unclean and messy!) - and ate a picnic lunch with good friends. When the kids (all 2-3 years old) had finished eating, they ran to the row of massive rock piles right next to us, where they spent nearly an hour climbing, jumping, and sliding around with each other while we mothers enjoyed nearly uninterrupted conversation.

The conversation itself was energizing and encouraging as it always is among this supportive group, and it stirred ideas that will be coming out in future posts. But I was affected on a deeper level simply by watching these wonderful women with their children.

I cringed as Jackson rolled around in the dirt and dust. I worried when he wandered out of sight on the other side of the mound. I held my breath as he stood at the top, working to keep his balance. I watched intently as he interacted with his peers to make sure I'd see if he needed my help.

Then I looked around and saw the freedom these other women felt and started tuning in to it.

One child was climbing the rocks barefooted, another without pants, and all were taking their turn on the other side of the mountain where they could be heard but not seen. There was no one yelling, "Careful!", no one standing up to check in. These women were trusting their children, giving them some much-needed freedom and space to play and explore. And they seemed to be doing it without a second thought.

I, on the other hand, was running an inner monologue to convince myself to honor these same needs that I know Jackson has: The car seat can be cleaned, his clothes can be washed, he can take a bath - let him get dirty. He is capable of asking for help if he needs it, he is capable of making safe choices without me hovering - let him play in earshot out of sight. He's thoughtful and cautious - let him decide when to be careful and what careful means. He's an excellent communicator, capable of navigating peer relationships without interference, and able to ask for help when he needs it - let him interact without guidance and decide how to handle conflict if it arises.

After a while, my nervous energy was overtaken by the calm coming from these other women, and the monologue was put to rest. Then both he and I were able to really bask in the gift of freedom we were being given in these moments.

Jackson is sensitive, but not weak. And he's growing stronger by the day. I'm doing my best to recognize and respect his emerging confidence and abilities and his diminishing need for guidance and assistance. But in all honesty, I'm probably doing a below-average job.

I hover. And when I do, I communicate distrust. When he senses that I don't think he's capable, that I think he'll need help, it eats away at the confidence he's trying to develop and stunts his growth. My only reward is a bump or bruise avoided, maybe an insignificant conflict diffused; very small prizes when they come at the expense of his autonomy.

The times I'm able to let go and give him room to breathe, I see him flourish. I watch him attempt big things, believing he can accomplish them, and he surprises me with capabilities I didn't know he had, because I never gave him an opportunity to showcase them. And the payoff I get when he beams with pride or learns to pick himself up and try again is enormous.

Being a part of this community is a humbling and inspiring experience, and one for which I will be eternally grateful. I'm continually challenged and validated in ways that wouldn't be possible on my own. So thank you, to those of you who blessed us with your presence yesterday and gave us the gift of freedom!

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 74: Label-Free Living

Trying on the 'lounge singer' role

One of the things I'm loving about Jackson's current stage of development is the imaginative play. Throughout the day he becomes any one of a host of characters, and includes Max and I by giving us roles to play along.

With a play sword he's the Grand Duke. When he dumps out his pillow and dons the case or steps into my shoes, he's Cinderella in a beautiful gown and glass slippers. Sometimes I suddenly find myself talking to Max the Bunny (not to be confused with Max the baby), Prince John, Pooh, or Baby Bear (of the Three Bears). I only know this because when I address him as Jackson I'm corrected: "No, Mommy. Max the Bunny would like more hummus."

These adventures in role play allow him to put on various identities at the drop of a hat. He can be curious and mischievous, strong and masculine, sweet and dainty (that's right, I said it...dainty...Sorry, Daddy), the possibilities are endless.

Whether it's the cause or effect I'm not sure, but the beauty of this is that it shows his totally fluid view of himself. He's not boxed in by who anyone says he is, by his experiences or past choices, or by any label he's come to accept. He's free to just be whoever he is in the moment, without having to perform to some external expectation or interpretation of who he is.

I'm doing my best to avoid playing the label game, to describe his choices or his behavior rather than his person. When he's showing off his spelling skills, instead of calling him a smart boy (*cringe*), I acknowledge how hard he worked to figure the word out or how he was paying close attention to notice the way two words rhymed. Instead of telling him he's sensitive, I try to talk to him about how he notices other people's feelings and pays attention to how he feels about things.

I can look back and see how being "the smart one" or "the serious one" kept me from developing and appreciating my creativity and sense of humor. Being labeled "rebellious" and "strong-willed" certainly didn't help me tap into my innate desire to bring harmony and cooperation to my world.

I don't want him to get bogged down in a few dominant pieces of himself and neglect or fail to ever see the rest. Nor do I want him to only be able to see himself through my eyes, with my judgment of his capabilities and traits, strengths and weaknesses.

This is no small task. Labeling is a huge part of our cultural language and definitely a huge part of my own language.

Training myself away from using labels has been a process, but I see the fruits of that labor every time Jackson shows me a new dimension of himself or tries on a new identity to see if it fits. I can only hope that giving him this space and freedom in his early years will make the labels the rest of the world will try to place on him so ill-fitting that he'll merely shake them off and continue on just being who he is.

Day 72: Streak of Freedom

I want to be this free! Maybe more free-spirited than free with my booty, but you get the point.

As Jackson walked around this morning in my mukluks sans clothes, belting out a tune without a shred of insecurity or inhibition (he posed for a frontal shot, but we'll keep that in the family!), I felt a twinge of jealousy quickly followed by an intense desire to shield him from all the ways the world will try to rob him of this.

We're born with a free streak, an innate brazenness that slowly slips away from us as we grow up in a culture that values conformity and teaches competition, comparison, and ultimately condemnation for things outside the box collectively labeled "acceptable."

Now, not being nudists, we've been modeling for Jackson the appropriate time and place for brazenness of this nature (which I'm sure will all go out the window when he gets to college), but I want to be careful to never taint him with feelings of shame or insecurity - about his body or his being.

He may always be "different" by common standards - the things he enjoys, the environments he feels comfortable in, the way he communicates and relates to people, and the way he responds to things - and I want him to be free to continue seeing that for what it is, simply his individuality and the beautifully unique way God created him to be. (I also want him to be free to see it as fluid and adaptable, but more on that soon)

My deepest desire is to see him embrace who he is at his core and find strength in that so that the insecurity and shame other people try to pass on to him will just slip past, unimportant or even unnoticed.

In parenthood, I've become very "different," (I probably always was, but in parenthood I could no longer fight it!) and learning to embrace that has been a very freeing experience. I may never get my original free streak back, but with practice I'm at least moving in that direction.

Day 66: Pass the Bubble Wrap, Please

My fondest and most vivid memories of childhood all involve adventure. Whether I was hiking through the wood behind our home, swimming in the fish-filled creek up the road, or traversing the expansive nearby fields, it was moments of freedom and exploration that remain embedded in my mind.

Sure I played with dolls and put together puzzles, played school and house, and those things were fun. But there was something about being unsupervised, especially when there was an element of danger, that really made me come alive. This was when I got to feel powerful and capable, where I learned to trust my judgment and my gut, maybe even push my limits and learn something new about myself and my world.

I can't begin to count the number of things that could've gone horribly wrong on any one of these excursions. Looking back at my ten-year-old self coasting down a steep hill on my bike in the middle of the road, no helmet on my head, no hands on the handlebars, flying around a sand-covered corner at the bottom and just barely staying upright merely makes me shake my head and wonder how I'm still alive. But when I think about my sons taking those kinds of risks, I start sweating profusely and hyperventilating.

Knowing I made it out in one piece makes it easy to see those experiences as valuable. But looking out into the unknown with my own children makes me recoil in horror and reach for the bubble wrap.

Not a whole lot has changed in the world since I was young, but the way we see it has. There wasn't a single day of my life that I wore a helmet as I rode my bike through our neighborhood, but my son is required to wear one to ride a tricycle in the playroom at school. The risks are the same, but our assessment and reaction to risk is much different now than it was twenty years ago.

This culture of fear traps us in protective bubbles, where risk is always something to avoid and safety is the only goal. And if I'm not careful, I'm going to let it rob my children of the valuable experiences my own loving and protective parents provided for me.

Risk is an inevitable and important part of life, and one that I want my children to approach with wisdom and confidence, not fear and avoidance. I want to let them explore their own limits, find out what they're capable of, and feel that sense of freedom and independence that comes with choosing to take a risk.

My job as their mother isn't to protect them by avoiding anything risky; in fact that will only leave them vulnerable and ill-equipped when it comes time for them to face life on their own. Instead it's my duty to let them learn, in an ever-expanding circle of freedom, when to jump and when to back away from the edge.

I have to trust them if I want them to learn to trust themselves and approach life with confidence. Worry and trust are mutually exclusive, and I find myself worrying all too often, even now when they're so young their almost never out of my sight.

So I've been working on trusting Jackson more - letting him decide what he thinks is safe and what he thinks he's capable of. If I don't start now, I'm afraid when he's ten I'll be saying, "Sure, honey. You can go for a bike ride...as long as you stay in the driveway."

Today, he got to play outside in front of the house (with no snow pants or thick mittens) while I got lunch ready and watched him through our windows. I'm sure to anyone watching I looked like a negligent mother, but what I was actually doing was making a conscious choice to empower him. (And as a disclaimer, not all kids his age would be safe left alone outside near a street, but he is extremely cautious and would likely stay on the sidewalk even it was on fire and the street was his only escape.)

He shoveled, threw snowballs at the car, checked out a slippery patch of ice, and climbed precariously up and down the massive snowbanks. At one point I watched as a near face plant turned into a balancing act and recovery, an opportunity to feel capable I'm sure I would have intruded on with a hand hold or a "be careful" had I been out there.

There was no need to coax him into the house or to try to motivate him to leave behind the shovel (which I just realized is probably still in the middle of the sidewalk). I didn't have to tell him "it's too cold" or "it's time for lunch." When he was cold and hungry, he came to the door and asked to come in.

This might not be burned into his memory as an important childhood moment of freedom, but it will be remembered in mine as an important mothering moment of trust.

Day 61: Learning to Fail

Failure is not an option in a black-and-white world. Even small failures are associated with judgment, shame, inferiority, inadequacy, and worthlessness. I've always liked to live in my comfort zone, and it used to be that the rare occasion when I was forced out, I became a caged animal. Only I was on the outside of the cage pacing back and forth to get back in.

I tried the things I knew I'd succeed at, and avoided everything else at all costs. I almost never put myself out there if failure was a possibility, so after calculating my odds, I usually decided to stay where it was safe rather than jump.

As you can imagine, looking back in my life revels a sea of missed opportunities and things I never tried. It's a little sad to think about all the fun I could've had and abilities I could've developed if I had just taken a small step outside myself. But what's even more disappointing is realizing that passing on those things and the experiences they provided stunted my growth.

Limiting myself to comfortable experiences kept me from maturing into a well-rounded adult, and it's one of the reasons that I'm now learning so many life skills along side my two year old, sometimes at a slower rate than he is.

The beautiful thing about motherhood, is that I don't get the choice to stay comfortable. Failure is a daily occurrence, and there's no backing out or shying away from this job. It's in your face all day every day.

I've spent that past two and a half uncomfortable years working on basic things I could and probably "should" have figured out before I hit college. And now that I'm emerging from the bubble I created out of fear and insecurity, I'm realizing how exhilarating it is to take a chance, and how the process and experience trump the arbitrary success or failure at the end.

Repeatedly falling on my face and picking myself back up as a mother has opened my eyes to resilience and perseverance I never knew I had. It has taught me that who I am, how I see myself, and whether or not I'm okay does not ride on success or failure. And it shows my children what took me so long to learn; that failure is a necessary, useful and beautiful part of life.

Learning to accept and even welcome failure brings me one step closer to embracing freedom and trading in control for trust. And that is no small success.

Day 47: The Student Becomes the Teacher

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.

...Again. Someday I'll have to thank Jackson for raising me.

For the fourth week in a row, I watched as Jackson enjoyed pumpkin seeds and nuts during snack time at school while all the other kids at the table ate crackers and craisins. No fussing, no complaints, not even a request. He loves craisins and the few crackers he's had have been a pretty big hit, so it's not that the desire isn't there. He's simply satisfied with what he's given.

Now let me be clear, this is a God-given quality, not something I take credit for. We've certainly instilled nutritional values and respect, but that kind of contentment is simply a gift. He doesn't look around to find out what he's missing, he looks at what he does have and feels good about it. Obviously this comes from his glass-half-full father (hence the project, right?).

When other parents talk about the horror of taking their children down the toy aisle at Target, I can't relate. Jackson wants to look at all the cool stuff, then happily goes home empty handed. At the grocery store, he loves going down the cereal aisle to see the leprechaun on the Lucky Charms box, but he's never once asked to take it off the shelf. Although to be fair, he probably has no idea there's even anything in the box.

He doesn't throw a fit when we don't have time to hit the mall play area after shopping, he almost always takes it in stride when I have to work from home instead of giving him my full attention, and he even waits patiently for his turn when Max needs to nurse before him at nap time. He pretty much lives in a perpetual state of contentment.

I've always considered myself to be pretty content. But then my measure was always materialistic. It's true I don't need a flashy car, a huge home, or an expensive wardrobe to feel satisfied. And although I'd probably kill a man for an attached garage, packing my kids into the snow-covered car on the street is just part of life, not something that gets under my skin every day. By this one-dimensional standard, I guess I am pretty content.

But when it really comes down to it, I'm not content at all. Contentment doesn't leave room for resistance. It doesn't allow for control issues. It doesn't place conditions on happiness.

If, like Jackson, I lived in perpetual contentment, my circumstances wouldn't dictate my feelings or my behavior. But I live in a conditional world, one that requires things to go my way for me to feel good. What I long for, and what I see in my son, is a life that is unconditional. His contentment and happiness don't hinge on whether or not he gets what he wants. He simply is content and happy, and what happens in the world around him is just what is, not what defines him. 

I can choose to live an unconditional life, a life of contentment, but it requires that I embrace the freedom I've been dismissing. It's not about talking or bullying myself into contentment or just deciding to ignore feelings of discontent. It's about truly accepting that I'm free - to feel contentment, discontentment and everything in between - and releasing myself from the hold that I've allowed circumstances (be that my children's behavior, a flat tire or a bad mood) to have on me.

Easier said than done, but a goal worth working toward.

 

Day 45: Free to Car Dance...

...and sing like you think no one's listening.

When you're Mom, birthdays aren't quite what they used to be. Babies just don't observe them. So my birthday began like any other day, with me getting out of bed early with Jackson, jumping back and forth between two children nursing, making breakfast, and doing laundry.

Fortunately I'm not a person who has ever really needed a big to-do on my birthday, so this was okay with me. The afternoon continued with helping my husband make forty pounds of mashed potatoes for a V-day event and watching Jackson dump a glass of water on his Dr. Seuss memory game "because the Grinch was thirsty." All in all, I'd call it the usual.

I took it all in stride, looking forward to the evening when Nick and I could get away for a couple hours while my parents watched the kids. I had really wanted to start tackling the freedom concept, so the plan was to take thirty minutes to myself before our date to write a post. Max had other ideas.

He was exhausted, but fighting sleep. Maybe he could feel the impending separation, maybe he picked up on my frustration and desire to get away that was heightening with each minute he didn't fall asleep. I watched as the clock ticked and felt my alone time vanishing before my eyes. This I did not take in stride. In fact, just the opposite. I got pissed.

My parents arrived and as Nick finished his potatoes, I handed off my happy-against-all-odds baby who wouldn't sleep and stormed out of the house to go sit somewhere quiet and write.

As I sped away (which I'm sure was much more dramatic in my head than in reality) I instinctively grabbed for a mixed CD I used to live and breathe by in my college days, but that I hadn't listened to in years. I turned the heat on, rolled the windows down, and cranked the volume until I could feel my eardrums about to burst. I belted out all the angsty tunes that got me through drama and breakups just a few short years ago, and kept on driving right past my destination.

Before I knew it, I was all the way across town and I just kept going. With each song came flashbacks of what seemed like someone else's life. The images bore no resemblance to my now baby-centered, poo-filled, breast-milk-driven existence. By coincidence, I drove past a few of the apartments I had once called home, and memories came flooding back. And with them tears. This was a mid-life crisis more than a walk down memory lane.

But as quickly as it had come on, it was over. As I reminisced about a life that was all about me - what I wanted and what made me feel good - I started to remember the emptiness, the longing for something more. I remembered the lonely nights lying awake, dreaming of having a husband and children to dedicate my life to. These were my deepest desires then, and now my reality. And finally with that realization came the car dancing...and weird looks from other drivers.

Frustration, sadness, and feeling overwhelmed were replaced with joy, freedom and intense gratefulness. The husband I once dreamed of pales in comparison to the husband I have. The children God gave me surpass the ones I imagined in every single way. I am so blessed, and I want to revel in that. I don't want to miss all the things I waited for that are right in front of me, and when I don't choose freedom and joy, that's just what I do.

The day ended with a precious few hours alone with my husband (and a few drinks that didn't hurt), and a pan of homemade brownies. I'd say it was a pretty great birthday, and one that I hope will color the year to come with contentment and most of all freedom.

Day 44: Freedom Conceptualized Part II

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.

When I know better, I have to do better - and I always know better. If it's possible, I'm informed to a fault. There are times when, instead of feeling empowered by information, I feel controlled by it - I let it fill my head with shoulds and rules instead of choices and guidelines. Of course it's not the information that is the problem, but what I do with it. Poorly managed, information sets the stage for the constant internal power struggle that inevitably seeps out to manifest in my relationships.

For those of you unfamiliar with the kind of knock-down-drag-out fight happening in my head on a daily basis, let me give you a window. I know the objective importance of respectful communication and honoring my child's needs as equal to my own, and when I fall short of the goal (which of course is perfection), the internal monologue goes something like this: "What you're doing is wrong. Stop yelling and get it together! You're failing him. You're damaging him. You're not a good enough mother for him. Just stop! What is wrong with you?!" 

I literally fight myself in the very same way I'm trying to avoid fighting my child. I know it's neither effective nor healthy for him, so why would it be for me? I feed my own power struggle by trying to be an authoritarian parent to myself instead of accepting where I'm at without judgment, understanding the basic needs that underlie the feelings and actions I'm projecting, and finding a way to meet those needs instead of trying to treat the symptom by controlling the behavior. 

When I try to enforce an arbitrary standard of behavior on myself, I forfeit freedom and feed my inner control freak. In a sense, I steal my own power, which in turn leaves me searching for ways to feel powerful again. And trying to feel powerful and in control parenting a two year old, as we all know, is a recipe for disaster. In the most basic sense, I'm not communicating effectively with myself, and it makes me unable to communicate with others effectively.

This is a concept that I believe is at the core of my personal and parenting struggles. So it seems, since mothering duties are calling now, that this will be an ongoing posting topic. Hopefully all the rambling and stream-of-consciousness writing isn't totally useless for those of your reading!
 

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 42: Freedom Exercised

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.

Well, I had hoped to work on the concept of freedom today, but instead I took advantage of a rare few hours of personal freedom away from my home and children. I spent some time with my husband for my birthday and had a lot of fun while my parents took care of the kids. And when I returned everyone was in one piece, so the day was a success for all of us. I also got 45 minutes of alone time that radically changed my day and my outlook, so I'm excited to revisit that in tomorrow's post as well. I think it ties in beautifully with the concept of living freely.

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 12: PJ Money

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.

PJ Money, while it sounds like a flashy hip hop persona, was really just a reminder to try to see the world as he sees it. I've gotten lots of these recently. I'm learning to ask why he's doing something before making a judgment about whether it should continue or whether I should be bothered by it. Nearly every time he's got an explanation that makes perfect sense, and it usually involves his imagination.

Back to PJ Money. Jackson was up from his nap, Max was still sleeping. When this happens, I find it's best for Jack to be in a non-adjacent space. Not necessarily because the noise will wake Max, but because it keeps me from turning into a crazy person shushing in Jack's face every few seconds (still working on transforming that resistance into acceptance!!). So we go to the basement or upstairs playroom or stay in his bedroom when he wakes up. 

Six books in to the large stack of books he wanted to read, we landed on one with caricatural drawings of wacky pets - an elephant, a giraffe, a huge snake, a coyote. Mr. Coyote became is playmate for the rest of the afternoon. They had deep conversations about life, shared a few laughs, and for some reason Jackson had to pay him money. He revealed at bed time that this friend he was so enthusiastic about was actually scary, so in hindsight maybe it was a bribe to remain uneaten by Mr. Coyote.

Whatever the case, it was very important to pay Mr. Coyote his money. That money just happened to be in the form of pajamas. I don't know about your family, but in our family, Grandmas love to give PJs. There are a lot of PJs. And all of said PJs were methodically ripped, pair by pair, from the neatly folded piles in the dresser. 

I watched in horror. All I could think about was the time it was going to take to re-fold them. By pair three or four, when it became clear that Mr. Coyote was not going to be satisfied until he had Jackson's every last cent, I started to say, "Jackson, I think he has enough money. I don't think we need to take any more pajamas out of the drawer." He gave me a confused look. Mr. Coyote's fee was clearly more than four pair of pajamas. We were at a crossroads, and as always, I was driving the bus. I got to decide how this interaction played out. 

Focusing on my own need for neatly folded PJs and a two year old who never takes or leaves anything out of place (HA!) could end in a cinema-worthy bus explosion, flames shooting out from the windows. Prioritizing his need for freedom to engage in imaginative play would bring us all safely to our destination singing "wheels on the bus" as we went. Hmmmmm...what to do, what to do...

Fortunately I took off the me-shades and put on the we-shades. What was best for all of us was for me to see the world from his eyes for a moment. To cherish the beautiful and sophisticated creative play he was allowing me to witness. The joy on his face when I explained that I had changed my mind, that he could go on paying Mr. Coyote in PJ Money, was all the payoff I needed to make up for 10 minutes of re-folding. 

Soon the drawer was empty, but still Mr. Coyote was not satisfied. So Jackson did the next logical thing. He filled the drawer with books and went on with the transaction, all the while chatting away with his new friend. We were both captivated, he by Mr. Coyote, and me by him.

I could have stolen this experience from both of us, maybe even chipped away at his desire to see these infinite possibilities in the world around him. I may have damaged his spirit by rejecting the way he was expressing himself through play, forcing him into my adult world instead. Sometimes that's necessary, and it is, of course, part of how children eventually learn about the real world, how to fit into and function in it. But so is this type of creative play! The times when I'm able to give him freedom to get fully lost in the wonder of his childhood, I hope I will. The real world will always be there waiting for him; his childhood is going to quickly pass us both by.