Mood Resolution

A few weeks ago I attended a workshop on conflict resolution. The goal of the session was to introduce parents to a structured format of working through conflict in a non-judgmental, non-punitive way. I admit I didn’t really want to attend, having been through several of these types of trainings over the years and not really feeling like I had the energy to tape mock identities to my forehead for role-plays about bullies and nerds.  But I felt pressure to attend from the mass of flyer and email announcements, and the buzz about it from other parents sparked a sliver of hope that this workshop would offer something fresh and new. Plus, with free childcare, I really didn’t have any excuse. But as I sat down in the circle of other parents, I couldn’t help but regret having given up what could have been an afternoon to myself.

I participated in the workshop nonetheless. There were no bully-nerd role-plays; instead we provided examples of conflicts we’d recently experienced to work through in small groups. The time our neighbors wouldn’t turn down their music. Then we identified our emotions with “feeling cards”, angry, frustrated, disappointed, and linked them to our needs that weren’t met, support, shared reality, understanding. We provided feedback to each other on how to word an offense in a neutral, non-accusatory way. When the music is loud, I feel frustrated because my children can’t sleep. I played along half-heartedly while the parents around me appeared enlightened by the concept of identifying the true source of the conflict.

After the workshop, a friend asked if I had enjoyed it. I shrugged and mentioned it wasn’t really new information, and made some vague comment about having heard all of this before. She nodded and said, “Well, it’s always good to hear it again”. This friend obviously had a good attitude. I, obviously, did not, and at home, I complained to my husband that I didn’t get anything out of the workshop.

But of course that wasn’t actually true. Over the past few weeks, snippets from the workshop have snuck into my mind, not in moments of conflict, but in moments of general dissatisfaction. Like on those days when my late afternoon plan unravels in the face of tantrums and bickering, and my cup of tea, already twice reheated, sits un-sipped on the counter. The snippet hints, as if mocking me, Hmm, it looks like you are frustrated that you don’t even get ten minutes of uninterrupted time for a cup of tea... Or when my irritation suddenly spikes for no good reason, say, at the sight of the pile of crap that’s been sitting on the table for a week. The snippet taunts, Gee, I wonder what need isn’t being met; longing for a tidy and organized space, are you? At first I ignored the snippets, grumpily giving up on my tea and cursing the pile of crap on the table. But in the background, I’ve started to realize this annoying little voice in my head might actually carry some wisdom. Maybe the workshop wasn’t just about identifying emotions and needs during my children’s conflicts. Maybe I could use the information to work on bettering my mood. Mood resolution.

It’s pretty easy to identify frustration and impatience as the core “bad mood” mom emotions, and I can easily rattle off a whole list of unmet needs, as could any other mom, with lack of sleep at the top. But when I push past the superficial needs (I mean, everyone - kids or no kids - could probably claim sleep as an unmet need), the one thing I cherish but never, ever get anymore is time alone at home. I can add up an hour’s worth of time to myself if I count the six-mile drive to school for drop-off and pick-up and the occasional twenty-minute walk at lunch. But those moments borrowed against the usual routine are nothing compared to the liberation of being alone in an empty house for a good, long stretch of time. Time to wander through the rooms in their quiet stillness. Time to put things where they belong without little hands taking out other things à la Sisyphus. Time to not be needed by anyone.

Hey, look at that, the snippet applauds, you’ve identified the unmet need that is the source of your poor mood! Enlightening.

Of course I don’t see any way to meet this need for at least the next two years, and the workshop, unfortunately, didn’t cover how to deal with unmeet-able needs. But maybe simple awareness is a good start. It’s already easier to curb my frustration when I admit the mess itself isn’t really the issue, and that in a few years I will get to sip my tea while it’s still hot. 

Winter Garden

In the winter garden, through the falling snow
Stars are gleaming, streaming, gleaming,
Down to earth below.

I'm not sure who wrote this (Nancy Foster?), but we used to sing it it Katherine's class and it has been in my head all day... and in the back of my mind I've been trying to figure out what to do with our garden before winter.

The family who lived in this house before us left a beautiful flower garden, and as recently as last week, we filled a vase with the last of the fall flowers. But after several nights in the teens, the green has finally turned to brown. Except for the pansies. They are a hardy bunch.

I've been asking friends what they do to their flower gardens in the winter, and everyone has a slightly different answer. I guess it is a personal decision: some like to cut down all the stalks, neat and tidy; others have very specific plans -  straw covering for this, leaf covering for that, cut this down, leave that standing - depending on the plant; and a few simply do nothing. I sort of assumed I would fall in the neat and tidy camp (seemed like a nice middle ground that wouldn't require too much thinking on my part), so this afternoon I went out with my clippers to get things in order. I cut a few things here and there, but found myself hesitating. 

As I hummed the Winter Garden song, I realized I wanted some sort of reminder of what was here all summer. Plus, the crunchy brown stalks are interesting in their own way. I bet they'll look quite nice in the first snow, before they are buried under what I hope will be many feet of snow (hey, if it's going to be cold and grey, then I want snow!) 

So for now I'm going to leave the flower gardens as they are and see what happens. 

And then it snowed! So here is how it looks in that first snow. 

Role Reversal

This past year has been an interesting one... wonderful because we made it to Vermont and love it here, and challenging because getting here meant a lot of changes. Probably the biggest change was my becoming the working parent and Dave becoming the stay-at-home dad. I haven't written much about that side of life, but here is an essay I wrote about our role reversal.

Role Reversal

When my husband, Dave, and I were in the Peace Corps, planning our future together, he warned me he had no idea what he wanted to do when he grew up. I replied with certainty, “That’s fine, I plan to get a high paying job so you can do whatever you want.” Then I ended up going back to school for nearly ten years.

I tried out that high paying job when we first returned to the U.S., but I only lasted nine months before I couldn’t stand making one more dentist appointment for my slimy boss. I decided at that point I would never again work for someone who thought he was superior; I applied to grad to school in hopes of getting out of having a real job for as long as possible (while promising Dave I would be done in two years and then get a high paying job I would like, in Vermont).

The reality of our post-Peace Corps plan was that Dave supported me through grad school and we had three children. I did end up getting a job, but mostly I was home with the kids, and we hadn’t made it to Vermont. We were still living in D.C. when our oldest daughter reached kindergarten last year, Dave and I decided it was time to move; we wanted to be in our final landing spot before she started first grade. So we both asked our respective bosses if we could telecommute. Dave’s said no. Mine said yes. Turns out that was all we needed and within a few months, we left our lovely city neighborhood of nearly ten years and moved to rural Vermont. I became the full-time working parent and sole breadwinner, and Dave became the stay-at-home Dad. Finally, I had come through on my promise. I had the high (relatively speaking) paying job, and Dave was free to figure out what he really wanted to do.

This role reversal has been an adjustment. I used to know all the details about the kids’ day: what they liked for snack, whose knee got scraped, who napped and who had a meltdown. Now when I come home from work I feel like my arrival is disrupting a scene I wasn’t written into. I sit down to draw with my six-year-old, not knowing she has been asked to put her books away three times and still hasn’t done it. I brush past my four-year-old to listen to a phone message, not knowing she’s been waiting for me by the door for thirty minutes. I cut my one-year-old’s quiche into bite-size pieces and then feel admonished when Dave tells me she hasn’t needed her food cut for weeks now. I feel out of sync with my children and admit to myself it would be easier to work late than to come home early. The guilt of this realization sits heavily on the weight of responsibility, and I have to fight the urge to throw up my hands and snap, “I guess I’m just not the mom anymore!”

It’s difficult for Dave, too, to be home all day with the kids and the monotony of daily household chores that never amount to any final product of accomplishment. Finding chunks of time to focus on a new career takes creative energy that he doesn’t always have after a day at home with three young children.

But the reversal has also been as enlightening as it has been challenging. For one, I am beginning to understand that having to work and getting to work are two very different things. I like my work slightly less knowing I don’t have a choice, but take greater pride in it knowing its value to the family.

Finding guilt-free time for myself is also far more difficult than I expected. It was easy to head out the door for a run when Dave came home from work; after all, he hadn’t seen the kids all day and would surely be grateful for an hour alone with them while I took a little break. Now, slipping out for a run not only adds an hour to Dave’s already long day, but takes away an hour from my already limited time with the kids. The time-at-home disparity of a one-working-parent set-up does not favor personal time for the working parent, a concept I didn’t grasp when I wasn’t the one working.

However, the piece I never fully appreciated is the responsibility the sole working parent carries. Everything is wrapped up in my job – our income, our health insurance, our retirement, and even our vacation schedule. I didn’t give Dave nearly enough credit for the burden he carried for all those years.

It still comes up in conversation every so often, my early promise of a high paying job. For years it was a question Dave asked in jest, “Tell me again, when are you going to get that high paying job you promised?” Now the conversation about that promise, which we have both fulfilled for each other, carries a deeper understanding and mutual respect for the other’s role in the family. 

Halloween

As I sit here by the woodstove, eating my children’s Halloween candy and sorting through pictures of their costumes to send to the grandparents, I can’t help but think how much I love Halloween.

There has been a lot of discussion among parents over the past few weeks about Halloween traditions, and surprisingly, many parents expressed their dislike of the holiday, claiming that the focus on super heroes, princesses, and candy pretty much represents the worst of our consumer-based, corn syrup-soaked society. Of course other parents countered that they love the creativity that goes into making costumes and the joy their children get out of carving pumpkins, dressing up and trick-or-treating.

But the most interesting conversation I had about Halloween was with one of Katherine’s teachers. He noted the duality that exists in humans – the animalistic, gluttonous side and the kind, virtuous side – is mirrored in this holiday, with Halloween representing avarice and All Saints’ Day representing morality. This is the same duality we see in literature throughout history: the struggle between the wicked and pure characters that portrays every individual's inner struggle between good and bad, right and wrong.

In many countries, All Hallows’ Eve is nothing more than the night before the true holiday, All Saints’ Day. In Poland, and probably many European countries, families spend All Saints’ Day decorating graves with flowers and candles, and return at dusk to walk through the cemetery.  When I lived in Poland I joined my friends in this tradition, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more beautiful, peaceful sight. The entire cemetery glowed with thousands of candles as people walked the paths quietly and thoughtfully. Catching glimpses of the writing on the gravestones in the twinkling light, wondering about the woman who had lived to be 80, or the child who had lived to be 2 over a hundred years ago, helped put day-to-day life in perspective. The words that come to mind when I think of that experience are peace, warmth, and comfort. The celebration of All Saints' Day meets the virtuous inclination of humans.

In contrast, Halloween in the U.S., with the overload of candy, certainly gives in to the gluttonous side of human nature. We would probably do well to tone down Halloween (as I unwrap my fourth candy bar…) and balance it out with a reverent celebration of All Saints' Day.

But still, I love Halloween: the decorations, the costumes, the pumpkins, the candy... and even though I find the concept of duality fascinating, the part I love the most is the way we let go of our fear (which is no small feat in our fear-based society) and not only open our door to the whole community, but send our kids out to collect treats from complete strangers. It is a day of mutual understanding that everyone is welcome to join. I think that is pretty awesome.

Finally, a picture for the grandparents.

Mrs. was my Mom

I admit to feeling a bit prickly when my six-year-old’s friends casually call me “Karen”. My initial reaction is to haughtily ask them if they don’t mean “Mrs. Vatz”, but then an even stronger aversion kicks in and stops me. I am not Mrs. Vatz. That was my mom, and she was much older then than I am now... Actually, she was several years younger than I am now. But still, “Mrs.” sounds so old, so outdated, and I don’t relate to that title at all.

When I was a kid, we all called our friends’ parents “Mr.” and “Mrs.”, just as my parents’ did when they were kids. In fact, my dad still refers to his boyhood friend’s mom with the title “Mrs.” The formality between a child and an adult was a pretty stable cultural norm.  But now, I don’t know any kids who use “Mrs.” and “Mr.”, other than to address their schoolteachers. It seems that norm has dissolved, leaving an awkward lack of formality where there should be at least something to indicate a difference in age and social rank between children and adults.

This new norm – or lack thereof – is difficult for me as a mom. It feels too formal to insist my children use “Mrs.” and “Mr.” – I know I don’t want to be addressed that way. But I’m not comfortable having my four- and six-year-old call adults by their first name. I want some degree of respect embedded in my children’s speech towards other adults. Beyond a marker of respect, using some sort of title establishes that the adult is a responsible being with whom a child can simply be a child. In other words, a title offers a sense of authority that I think children find reassuring. I also think children, at least my children, appreciate the distance it establishes, as though it relieves them of the pressure to hold their own socially with adults before they are ready. But perhaps I am reading too much into it, or perhaps I am just more traditional that I thought.

Still, I find myself searching for a contemporary alternative to “Mrs.” and “Mr.” At first glance, the “Miss + first name” option seems like a nice middle ground. I could accept being “Miss. Karen”, and my kids would be comfortable calling my friends “Miss. ____”.  However, I’ve found the population to be split on this – with half my friends embracing it as the right balance of casual-formal, and the other half deeming it a lame pseudo-formality that comes across as too “pre-school”. Therefore, I’ve ruled out that option; it’s just too confusing for me – let alone for my kids – to remember who prefers “Miss” and who doesn’t.

So for now, and as long as our society is lacking a widely-accepted title for children to use when addressing adults in their life, I am forced into a too casual norm, with the first-name basis being the least awkward option. But I’m not entirely happy with it.

What do you have your children call other adults? Do you agree that no title is too casual? Or are you comfortable - even happy- with this norm?  I'd love to hear how others feel about it!

Guiding Exceptional Parents

A friend and colleague of mine, Sarah, works with parents of children with special needs. Because the work Sarah does is so important and because she does it so well, I would like to share with you a little about her and her services. She is a wonderful resource, and as you'll see below, she is passionate about working with exceptional families. You can also check out her website at Guiding Exceptional Parents.

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 Tell us a little about your business.

I support families in two related ways: (1) Care coordination for children with special needs (especially learning disabilities, ADHD, and autism; I'm also an expert in helping twice exceptional kids who are both gifted and learning disabled), and (2) as a Relationship Development Intervention (RDI) consultant. 

The goal of the care coordination is to help families to appropriately set their priorities and to give them the tools they need to get the best possible support and care for their child. 

RDI is an individualized training program that helps parents learn how their child's mind works. By working closely with the family, I can help parents learn how to create meaningful learning opportunities in everyday situations so their children can acquire the social-emotional skills fundamental to making and maintaining meaningful relationships.

How did you come to start your business?

I have two kids with learning disabilities. When our oldest son's kindergarten teacher first told us "something was up" with him, we had no idea what to do. We got a neuropsychological evaluation, but were at a loss regarding how to follow up and find good clinicians to work with him. We didn't understand how to prioritize. We didn't realize that the fix would not be quick. And there was no one to help us do these things. Each person had their own view of the world - the speech language pathologist was worried about our son's language and lack of social skills, the developmental pediatrician was worried about his ADHD and his executive functioning, the physical therapist was worried about his motor coordination. 

Which was most important? What treatments were actually effective? Which were a waste of money and time? How should we evaluate? 

Having navigated all this for two children now, I want to make sure that no parents feel as lost as my husband and I did with our oldest son. I have the knowledge and resources to help others; I want to put it to good use! 

One of the the therapies we did with our kids that was incredibly effective at restoring a more normal family dynamic was RDI. It helped us so much, I decided to get certified so I could help other families. 

What do you hope to bring to your clients?

A deep understanding of how the schools work, what therapeutic options are available, what works, and how to evaluate a new approach. I can help parents who are wondering about their child who seems "different" - by determining how to help them figure out their child, or, if they have a diagnosis, by pointing them to effective therapies and clinicians. My approach is family-centered; my goal is to help family members learn how support and nurture each other. 

My goal is to teach parents the skills they need to navigate the medical, educational, and social systems effectively so they no longer need my support. Education and knowledge are power - I can provide parents with the resources they need to support themselves. 

What is your favorite part about your job?

Many parents are confused, lost, and scared when they first seek my help. Many are in crisis. I love watching these amazing people grow as they learn how to help their children, and how to effectively navigate the system. The most rewarding part, by far, is when I realize that these parents who were once so lost now have the confidence and knowledge to help others. 

What do you envision for your business in the future?

There are "Elder Care Coordinators", but there's no equivalent position for a person who can help coordinate care for kids with learning disabilities and other special needs. I would love to start a revolution, so parents everywhere would know that there's someone who can help them coordinate their care across all domains - medical, educational, and social. 

What inspires you?

The amazing richness of life. 

Do you have anything you would like to share with us?

How about a few of my favorite quotes: 

- You can't boil the ocean. (A reminder that you can't fix everything at once.)

- I'm not responsible for the outcome, only my effort. (Marsha Mandel)

- You can't make a flower grow by pulling on it. (Marsha Mandel)

- Never attribute to malice that which can be attributed to ignorance.

- We are all doing the best we can with what we have.

- I can only control myself.

- I'm responsible for my efforts, not the result.

- You can't argue with a thunderstorm.

[Please note that this is not a sponsored post; I am sharing this interview because I believe Sarah is a great resource!]

Leaf Maze

At bedtime the big sisters often ask for a story about when I was a little girl. I try to make the stories seasonal, so in the fall I tell them about a leaf maze my mom once made...

...When I was a little girl we had a long driveway that we shared with our neighbors. In front of our house, the driveway was narrow, but back behind the house, it widened into a large circular space to accommodate the two garages at the end. A huge oak tree stood between the two garages. Most of the time we used this space to play basketball, hit tennis balls against the garage, roller skate (which once resulted in a broken arm, but that is another story), and bike ride. But one fall, my mom raked all the leaves that fell onto the driveway into a maze. My sister and I, and all the neighborhood kids, had a great fun in the maze. Every night I worried that my dad would ruin it when he backed out to go to work in the morning, or that the wind would blow it all away. But it lasted for days, matted down by rain and tidied with a rake from time to time...

I can't remember if my mom created a maze every year and the memories all melded into one great experience, or if it really was just one magical maze. Either way, Katherine and Clara love that story, and this year we finally have a yard, lots of leaves, and a functional rake (a non-functional rake, in case you are wondering, is a child-size rake that looks cute in the store but is inefficient and results in a terrible back ache).  

So this week, as our maple tree drops her lovely yellow leaves, we are raking up a maze. 

Balance

The crappy-wonderful balance of my insignificant, first-world existence has been thrown off. My Facebook status feed confirms it. Usually Facebook provides a nice perspective on the balance of good and bad, in fact, I have come to rely on the predictability of this balance... a new mom bringing home her baby, a layoff, a birthday celebration filled with friends and family, the loss of a loved one, a beautiful fall family hike, a broken into car. But yesterday was a crappy day for a lot of people, and crappy update after crappy update rolled in on my status feed. Having lived in DC for ten years, the government shutdown affects a lot of my friends and colleagues. So does the sequester. Today will be just as crappy, and tomorrow too. It may be crappy for a long time. 

To balance it out a bit, I am trying to focus on a few little things that have made me happy this week. It's not much, but it does create a picture of warmth and happiness that will have to balance out the crap as best it can.

A child's painting project. I love all the paintbrushes lined up. 

Every year we make an autumn mobile, this year Katherine joined me. I love the colors and the fact that they usually stay up well into May. 

Our first fire in the wood stove. It wasn't quite cold enough, but we were ready.

My first apple pie (usually my baking endeavors involve chocolate, but I'm branching out). I've been asking people for their recipe for weeks, but everyone says, "Oh, I just add a little bit of this and a little bit of that..." , so that is what this is, a little bit of this and that, and it is (was) delicious. But I guess you can't really go wrong with a buttery crust, apples, cinnamon, and allspice.

Sisters getting along, collecting leaves.  

If you have happy, beautiful moments or stories, please link to them in the comments. I know a lot of people could use the balance right now! 

Screen time - can it be a good thing?

Screen time tends to be a sensitive topic that often leaves parents feeling defensive. Please note that I do not mention whether we do or do not allow screen time for our children, or if we do, what kind or how much. This post is not meant to address or judge any individual situation; rather, I am interested in exploring the topic of screen time at a more global level, and reflect on my own observations in hopes of articulating my concern about the impact of screen time on children.

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Recently, my friend posted a link on Facebook to this article. It is a short piece in which Susan Linn argues that screen time deprives kids of the opportunity to be creative, which is detrimental to development. Here is an excerpt that captures the main point:

A commercialized, screen-saturated culture deprives children of what’s essential to creativity: time, space and silence. Children constantly bombarded with stimulation are so busy reacting that they never learn how to generate. Instantaneous access to an endless array of videos, television, apps and games may stave off boredom. But those stretches of having “nothing to do” are exactly what foster the creative intersection of children’s inner world and their immediate surroundings.

As with everything, there is a range of tolerance among parents when it comes to screen time. There are, of course, the two extremes – those who prohibit any screen time and those who allow a free-for-all, but most parents fall somewhere in the middle, acknowledging that screen time generally isn’t good for young children, but still allowing it in moderation due to the reality of our culture.

For example, it is pretty common for kids to watch TV here and there so the parents can take a shower in the morning, respond to an important work email, make a few quick phone calls, or prepare dinner late in the afternoon. The TV/Computer/iPhone is the perfect babysitter – it is available on demand, captivating, and free. In other words, it is a sure thing - parents can do what they need to do, knowing their kids are occupied and safe. On a day-to-day basis, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, to allow a little screen time in order to get things done, especially if parents are conscientious about what they allow their children to watch. Many TV shows are gentle, benign stories, and there are hundreds of educational apps that teach kids about music, nature, math, art, reading, etc. In other words, the content isn’t detrimental in any way. In fact, in the comments section of Linn’s article, some argue that screen time may even be beneficial, and that technology not only allows for creativity, but also allows for better learning.

So, assuming screen time occurs in moderation and parents carefully select screen-based activities that are age appropriate and educational, can screen time be a good thing? I think it is necessary to look at (a) what the child is getting out of screen time, (b) what the child isn’t getting out of screen time, and (c) what the child could be doing instead.

The answers will vary depending on the type of screen time. During a TV show, children passively watch a two-dimensional story play out. The benefit may be a lesson in morals (two friends work through a conflict), or the presentation of factual information (the life cycle of a butterfly). The drawback is the lack of both an imaginative component and a sense of independence. Unlike a book, which has a limited number of images for a few selected scenes of the story, a TV show provides continuous imagery covering every single moment, leaving no room for imagination. While a nature show on the life cycle of a butterfly may present valuable information, the show progresses at a set pace that does not allow the child time to focus in on and examine any one image, as he/she might choose to do when reading a book or observing a butterfly in the backyard. 

For an “educational” app, however, there may be additional benefits. The child may have the opportunity to create a picture using an art app, or use problem-solving skills in a game that requires completing a puzzle to save a princess. But still, there is little room for imagination beyond what is already programmed into the app, and in addition, while children may use their hands to control what happens on the screen, they are not actually touching anything other than the keyboard, mouse, or keypad. Their sensory experience is limited to flashing lights and a repetitive audio response.

All in all, the drawbacks are not actually harmful, but the benefits are not all that impressive, especially when compared to other options, which brings us to the third, and really, the most essential question, what could the child be doing instead? Even if screen time does allow for creativity, problem solving, and imagination, what is the alternative activity? A simple example is an art app vs. drawing with crayons and paper. In an art app, children can create shapes, designs, and even elaborate pictures using a wide range of colors; it is an open-ended, creative experience. The same is true for drawing with crayons and paper, but the child also experiences valuable sensory input: the waxy smell of fresh crayons; the weight of a crayon, with broken pieces being lighter and harder to grasp than bigger pieces, and bigger pieces snapping easily if pressed too hard to the paper; the different shades one crayon can make depending on the pressure applied; the toughness of the paper as it crinkles or tears when scrubbed on; the pattern that appears through the picture from an unevenness under the paper – such as crumbs on the table or deliberately placing a leaf under the paper; the finality of the mark that cannot be erased. As adults, we take our experiential knowledge for granted, often forgetting that children do not yet know what we know. Drawing with crayons and paper offers far more information about the world than the most powerful art app.

Instead of spending time in front of a screen, a child could be building a spaceship with Legos, setting up a tea party for dolls, creating a swamp out of the living room, where the floor is quicksand and cushions are land…the possibilities are endless and they all engage problem solving, social, and physical skills. Plus, falling into a hardwood floor quicksand pit is a sensation that a screen simply can’t provide.

But perhaps even more important than the skills children are gaining through their play is the development of self-reliance. I remember the boredom of waiting rooms, restaurants, and long car rides. Because complaints of boredom were ignored, and fidgeting and impatience were considered poor behavior, my sister and I had to be resourceful. We played tic tac toe and hangman on receipts found in our mom’s purse, made fortune tellers out of napkins, perfected our cat’s cradle skills, played hand games, and made up silly guessing games and songs that got us across three states. Looking back, I realize now how firmly my parents set the expectation that they were not available to entertain us or find activities to occupy our time.  The responsibility of figuring out how and what to play fell on us, not them.

Returning to the original question: can screen time be a good thing? Even though screen time in and of itself is not necessarily harmful, it’s what the child is not doing - the sensory input and physical experience that the child is not getting - during that time that can be detrimental to development. Obviously, movie night or enjoying a TV show or app here and there is not going to cause any developmental delays. But screen time so quickly becomes a habit, a quick fix for boredom, and 30-60 minutes a day – the time it takes to take a shower, answer a few emails, and make dinner – adds up pretty quickly, especially when free play is already minimal due to homework (which now seems to start in kindergarten), afterschool activities, and time spent in the car getting to and from these activities. In many cases, those 30-60 minutes a parent takes for him/herself may be the only opportunity a child has for free play… and in that case, I think screen time, no matter what the show or app, is not a good thing.

A few pictures

Our fall flower garden, where Goat Girl spends her time rattling poppy pods and chewing up and spitting out pansy petals (now that the raspberries and blueberries are gone); the last of the sunflowers; and for those who asked, the wood pile all neatly stacked. 

Girl Energy

Not too long ago I took my girls to a group picnic at a playground. I spent most of the afternoon following goat girl around as she climbed structures meant for four- and five-year-olds. Katherine and Clara spent most of their time on the swings. Towards the end of the picnic, there were more children than swings, so Katherine and Clara ended up sharing. They created some sort of game by which one pushed the other and then jumped out of the way to avoid being bumped as the swing came back. Shrieks of delight ensued. I mentally checked them off as happily occupied and continued to spot goat girl as she sought higher elevation.

After a while, I became vaguely aware of louder shrieks. I glanced over at the swings and saw that my girls’ game had escalated into a rougher version of their earlier play. Now, Clara was pumping as hard as she could in order to crash into Katherine, who was standing directly in front of her and no longer jumping out of the way. Both girls were willing participants, delighted with their high-impact game. These two have been playing like this all summer, and I’m used to it. But as I turned back to keep my eyes on Alexandra, it registered that several moms were looking at me expectantly.  Slowly, it dawned on me that their expression read, “Are you going to do something about that?”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I went over to the girls, fully aware that the other moms were still watching me, and told them they were playing too roughly and needed to find a different game. They looked at me with surprise – usually I only step in when I think someone might get hurt, something might get broken, or they are way too loud for the space. But this play was perfectly acceptable to them, and to me. Yet I still stopped them: a classic case of performance parenting.

For the remainder of the picnic, I felt like “that mom”, the one with the wild kids. The one who either doesn’t know how to control her kids’ behavior, or worse yet, doesn’t see the need to. I had the urge to tell the other moms,“Wait! My girls are really good! They’re just having fun, this is how they play together!”

All evening I ran their play, and the other parents’ reaction, through my mind. Were my girls really that wild? Do other kids play rough? I’m pretty sure they do… but as I racked my mind for examples, I realized the question was not do other kids play rough, but do other girls play rough.

I see rough play all the time - on the playground, at school pickup, at birthday parties. But it is usually the boys. Boys wrestling, boys jumping on each other, and boys tumbling on top of each other like playful puppies. Sometimes their rough play bothers me– they knock things down, they crash into others, they look like they might hurt each other. But the words that echo around their play are “boy energy”. Expectant glances from observers (the kind that read, “are you going to do something about that?”) are often met with shrugs of acceptance mingled with modest pride. Boy energy.

There is no question boys and girls are different: in utero, male and female fetuses produce different levels of hormones, which influences development from the onset; studies measuring levels and location of brain activity show differences between men and women; and no one would argue against the fact that men and women are different physically.

But my girls have “boy energy” too, sometimes. As their mom, I should regard their rough play as something they need for their physical development. They are learning control over their bodies and their play should be respected, preserved. Yet, at the first glance from other parents, I felt compelled to shut it down – and I very rarely cave in to performance parenting. It was surprising to realize how deeply I am influenced by this societal norm, especially considering I typically reject traditional gender roles. My girls play with dolls and trucks. Their drawers are not dominated by pink. I mow the lawn and my husband does the laundry. We both cook. But those examples are superficial compared to the behavioral standards that I adhered to at the picnic.

I’m not going to attempt to delve into the complexity of these deep-seated gender norms and their consequences on our society. But I won’t cave in again when my girls play rough. I’ll be prepared with a slight shrug and a knowing smile as I voice the words, “girl energy”.

Making...

I'm taking this week off from work... the first vacation I've taken in the last two years that hasn't involved a newborn or a move to a new house, not that I'd call either of those "vacation".  I was sure that with a full week, I'd write up a storm, stocking up on a bunch of posts to tide me over until Thanksgiving, or whenever the next break from the usual routine comes. Obviously that hasn't happened. Instead we've been busy with a bunch of little projects. So following Kim's Make and Listen series, here is what we've been up to (well, at least the "making" -- about the only interesting "listening" was Neil Diamond's Forever in Blue Jeans in the fabric store. I love that song.)

Placemats and napkins. Katherine needs to take a placemat and napkin to school with her lunch each day, and having just received my first sewing machine as a birthday gift, I thought this would be the perfect get-to-know-my-new-sewing-machine project. Growing up, I occasionally used my mom's sewing machine in random bursts of creative energy, but was always discouraged by the final outcome - usually due to crooked lines and pieces of carefully measured cloth that didn't match up. Not much has changed. I would call my decision to make the placemats/napkins a random burst of creative energy, and I am definitely discouraged by the crooked lines. Luckily no one seems to care.

Curtains. Aware that I own a sewing machine, but unaware of my straight line limitations, Katherine's teacher asked me to sew the curtains for the first grade classroom. I warned him about possible crookedness, but he didn't seem concerned. So I agreed... they look great folded, but they measure two inches longer in the middle of each panel and I have no idea why. They also kind of curl up at the corners, another mystery. 

Trail. We needed a connector trail from the yard to the main trail. Actually, my sister and I just needed an excuse to get out the clippers and hack away at dead tree branches and drag logs through the woods. We now have a nice connector.

Wood pile. Our wood for the winter (finally) arrived! Good thing I'm taking the week off so we could have a family wood stacking day. We've been looking forward to stacking wood since our early days of dreaming about life in the country. Today we were livin' the dream. I think the novelty would wear off if wood stacking day came more than once a year.

Apple crisp. It didn't last long enough for a picture. 

That has been our week. Busy. Now we start the transition into the school year... 

One year

We had dinner with friends the other night - our first friends here in Vermont. We reminisced, as we walked through the woods, about how different the kids were when we first moved here, and how they’ve changed over the past year.

In our neighborhood in D.C., outside time centered around trips to the playground, family outings to nature centers, and walks around the monuments. A special outing on a cold, rainy day was a bus ride to the train station for hot coco – or for a really special outing, a ride on the bus and metro, escalator included. My kids were city kids.

When we arrived in Vermont, I eagerly tried to send them out to play in the yard while I made dinner, or cleaned, or just wanted a moment of quiet. But they wouldn’t go. They’d stand stubbornly by the door and wait for me. If I did manage to shoo them out the door, they’d wander aimlessly around the driveway for a few minutes before returning to the steps to peer through the window to see when I was coming out to join them. These same kids who would race down the city block, let themselves into the playground, and climb for hours without a second glance at me seemed uncomfortable in this new, undefined space around our house. They were fearful of the woods and wary of the steep slope of the driveway and street. There were no fences holding them safely in their play space, no sidewalks or stop signs to mark their boundaries. It must have been overwhelming to a three- and five-year-old.

But slowly they have eased into their new surroundings, regaining the confidence they had in the city. Katherine started biking up and down the hill, and Clara started digging in the mud and collecting rocks. Katherine joined me on long walks in the woods, and Clara followed caterpillars across the driveway. By spring, they were out the door before I could stop them.

Now, in our new home even further out in the country, we walked through the woods with the friends who had welcomed our city kids to their neighborhood one year ago. The kids ran ahead of us, disappearing into the trees, only an occasional streak of yellow shirt or shriek of laughter giving us a sense of where they were. They looped around, meeting us from the other direction, red-faced and out-of-breath, pausing for only a minute before running off into their new freedom again. The woods is now their playground, and they have settled in.  

I am reminded once again of the advice I was given years ago: it takes a year, a complete cycle through the seasons, to adjust to a major life change.

This and that...

In the other part of my life, the one where I do research in second language acquisition, the work has been very writing intensive this summer, leaving me with little energy for this space. I have a lot of thoughts swirling around that I would love to put down, but when I sit down to write, I find I am all written out. So, I continue on with pictures, recipes and books... 

Today, a few pictures. We are all about mud and cake this week. 

Tune in tomorrow for what is possibly my all time favorite "This moment" picture! 

Bike Races

I hear them from in the kitchen, their voices traveling from one side of the house to the other, and I know in a few seconds they will pass through my view from the window. My six-year-old runs with the wind; fast and agile, Katherine flies up the steep grade of our tiered yard and leaps back down the slope over the protruding tree roots without slowing her pace, calling over her shoulder, "Come on! Let's ride bikes!" Clara lags behind, her three-year-old legs sturdy and strong, but not yet fast.

I head outside with the baby and wander around the yard to keep an eye on them while they ride up and down the street. Michael, the 10-year-old across the street, has set up his new jump and is practicing tricks on his bike. My girls watch in fascination. Katherine cautiously takes a turn riding slowly up over the ramp and bumping down on the other side. Clara contents herself to ride around it in circles.

I busy myself picking dandelions and forget-me-nots, feigning oblivion so as not to intrude on their play. I circle up around the back of the house. As I wander back down the other side I hear Michael call out, "Let's race up the hill and back down - whoever gets there first wins!"

For a moment I hesitate, suspended between my instinct to call out "No! No races - Clara is too young, SLOW DOWN!" and my desire to allow her space to figure it out on her own. I look up the steep hill, covered with patches of loose gravel, and the scene unfolds in my imagination: Michael skillfully races down the hill, Katherine close behind, anxious to keep up, maybe even win. Clara, who has not fully mastered her back-pedal brakes, speeds out of control, barely keeping her balance on the tiny, blue two-wheeler. I can see her fear as she looses control, handle bars shaking as she skids across the gravel. She'll fall off, break her arm, need stitches… I won't be able to stop her in time.

But despite the anxiety-driven vision rushing before my eyes, I can't bring myself to call out my warning. From the depths of my own childhood, memories of running free with neighborhood kids silence me. We rode bikes as fast as we could pedal, we did tricks on roller-skates, we forged secret passageways through neighbors' yards, we climbed high in trees where we held tree-house meetings. I broke my arm once, my sister got stitches. But during those long hours after school, and on summer evenings when we played until dark, we were free to figure it out, and it was magical.

I hold onto that cherished time in life, and in a display of casualness, I lean down to help the baby blow the seeds off a dandelion. The white flakes swirl around me as I watch the bike race out of the corner of my eye. Michael and Katherine come speeding down the hill, Clara not far behind, a look of fear on her face as she struggles to control the shaking handlebars. She skids on the gravel, tipping dangerously, unable to brake. Her feet shoot off the pedals and drag on the ground until she wobbles to a stop. She doesn’t fall.

Michael calls out the next race and all three head back up the hill again, as fast as they can pedal. I turn away and look for more dandelions, deciding that perhaps I don't need to watch them so closely.

Lots of pictures

It is so nice to be sitting at my computer, at my desk, at home, connected to the internet! Some people talk about how great it is to take a step back from social media... Not me. I missed it every day we didn't have it. 

But no internet did have its advantages. We've made a lot of progress settling in here. Mostly cleaning (indoors and out), but now we're starting to slow down and enjoy our new place. 

Here are a few pictures. (One day I'll get back to writing about parenting, but for now I'm consumed by the yard - and so are the kids, which means I'm not actually doing all that much parenting)

The first weeded garden bed.  

The other garden beds still look like this. Pretty, but totally out of control. 

Here is a little weeded patch with tomatoes planted by Auntie M.

And raspberry bushes. The kids spend a good part of their day snacking off the raspberry bushes, especially now that we've figured out they are a wild variety and are ripe when they are deep purple, not bright red. 

This space was thick with dead branches, but an hour with the clippers (I now love clippers and would be happy to clip away all day) and we made a little "house" for the kids. My mom sent us the hammock 10 years ago, and we never had a place to hang it (no yard and/or no trees). Usually I get rid of such unused, random things, but somehow this was overlooked. I think it made its way into the camping box, where it was safe in our hopes of camping again one day.  

The craft porch. Glitter, paint, spilled water, a million tiny pieces of cut up paper... I don't care. They can make whatever kind of mess they want and only half clean it up. During the day I look past the mess at the view, at night I simply close the door. 

And the night sky. I can always count on a night sky for calm and perspective. 

A clean coop

It's hard to blog with no internet. But we should have it by the end of the week, so I'm hoping to get back into my normal routine of wasting away in front of the computer screen into the wee hours every night, and then regretting it bitterly at 5 am when Alexandra wakes up. 

But in the meantime, I thought you might like an update on the chicken coop.  Three hours with a pitch fork, shovel, broom, and putty knife, and the coop is CLEAN. Fresh straw and pine shavings and a sun-dried mud pit make for happy chickens. I think they even like me now. They used to run away whenever I was near, but now they ignore me. I don't think I'll be carrying them around anytime soon (or ever, if I can help it), but we're making progress. 

Katherine and Clara have started naming the chickens. The names seem to change regularly, but as of yesterday they were: Dora, Dora, Golden Egg, Golden Egg, Speckled, and Best Chicken in the World. They have also started claiming specific chickens to be their "very own". I'm sure it's just a matter of time before they start fighting over who belongs to whom. 

One of the Doras

One of the Golden Eggs

Cleaning a Chicken Coop?

We inherited six chickens when we moved, and while I don't know anything about chickens, I'm pretty sure the coop needs a good cleaning.

If you have chickens, I'd love to hear how you clean your coop, how often, with what, etc. I need details; "Use pine shavings" is a little too general. For example, do you rake or shovel out the coop? Where do you put the used (what do you even call it? Bedding?) Can you dump it in the woods? Compost it? What do you use to clean the floor/walls? I've heard about vinegar/lavender/citrus concoctions... does anyone have a brand or recipe for this? What about the outside section of the coop? Any suggestions for the mud pit it has become?

Please advise!

How (not) to move with kids

1. Avoid going to Home Depot with children at lunchtime, especially if it means driving an hour each way.

2. Don't wait until moving day to begin packing. 

3. Remember that small children still need to eat and sleep regularly. 

4. Cry when you realize how much "stuff" you have. 

5. Treat yourself to coffee and chocolate croissants as necessary.

And plan on your kids needing clean, dry clothes at some point during the move.

Moving Day

Last week was filled with heavy rains, a leaky roof and flooded basement, a power outage, closing on what is now our house(!), and the beginning of moving chaos.

We love our new (very old) farmhouse, but there is so much work to do - fun work like gardening, feeding chickens, and exploring our new space, and not so fun work like clearing away cobwebs and packing. 

We will be busy this next week. I'll be back with updates and pictures next week, and maybe even a tutorial on how not to carry out a move with three small children. #1 Do not take three small children to Home Depot at lunchtime, no matter how anxious you are to get outlet covers.