Dreams are coming true…

I’m not sure how many of you are following my new blog already. I started writing GypsyMom.com when I became consumed with the idea of taking an extended road trip; actually I want to LIVE on the road indefinitely. That’s not happening yet but we are in the midst of our very first RV trip ever ( a 12 week practice run) and we are having the time of our lives.

You can read the entire process of the journey at Gypsymom.com, or you can just go over our adventure so far. The day we started our adventure, I was so excited I thought I’d explode. Everywhere we’ve been has been awesome. It’s not exactly the trip I fantasized about, but in many ways it’s been better than I dreamed possible.

In Rapid City, South Dakota, we had fun taking our picture with statues of US Presidents. Then, we visited Mount Rushmore and enjoyed the hospitality of our very first RV Resort. After that, Betty the Beaver (Yes, we named our motorhome) decided to show us an adventure in Cheyenne, Wyoming. And finally, our stop in Monroe, Utah, at Mystic Hot Springs has been my favorite so far.

I have yet to blog about our visits to Denver and Las Vegas and as I write this I’m smack-dab in the middle of our very best trip to California EVER. I love seeing family and friends we haven’t seen for ages. The kids are seeing their dreams come true as they get to meet their cousins. Mason and Fletcher are their “boy cousins” and they got to spend a few hours playing with them (more later) They also got to meet Aiden and Farrah (Evie thinks Farrah is a celebrity, she’s always saying how she’s the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen) and whenever we get down to San Diego they’ll get to play with Liam and Sadie, too. Cousin Justin was a big hit, I think we have at least one serious little girl crush on him, and his girlfriend, Ashley, was a sweetie.

We still have a lot of adventuring in store for us. I’ve been blessed with some new clients along the way, and thank goodness because the trip is costing a lot more than we imagined it would. PLEASE share the link to GypsyMom.com on your Facebook wall or on your blog, because the more traffic my site has, the easier it will be for me to get blog sponsors.

Speaking of blog sponsors, if you stumble upon some crazy articles on any of my sites, make a mental note that I do have a category for sponsored posts. Anything listed in those categories, or marked as a “guest post” is coming from my site sponsors. They pay for the backlinks because it makes Google think their site is important. Sponsorship keeps us on the road, so don’t think I’m a commercial sellout, it’s actually part of my job!

Incidentally, half the people reading that will say “I want to learn how to do that” and for those people, I direct you to Freelance Web Writing, a site I started a few years ago to share my experiences while I learned how to make a living as a niche blogger. If you have direct questions, feel free to send me a note on Facebook (link to my facebook page) and I’d be happy to help you get started, as long as you’re patient with me not responding quickly, this traveling business is exhausting!

Guest Post: Home Security

As you have surely realized at some point in your life, whether you are a mother, have friends with children, or simply think of yourself as somebody’s son or daughter, mothers are proud. They are proud of every little milestone their children reach, and of every day that their children grow older and more experienced. But a mother’s job goes well beyond taking pride in her children and sharing her joy over them with the world; a mother must, above all else, make sure that her children are always as safe as possible, which is why a topic like home security is as relevant to a parenting discussion as discussions on potty training or children’s privacy, etc.

Particularly if you are a new parent, or if you are a parent moving into a new home, you may well want to look into professional home security companies. Simply search for options in your area (for example, plug in “alarm companies in Michigan,” or something simple like this) and you will certainly encounter a number of options for how to best ensure that your home is a safe and secure environment. Most home security companies can offer you everything from standard house alarms, to motion detectors and recording cameras, and even devices that alert you to harmful accidents like house fires or dangerous gas leaks. In fact, even the little sign that a security company will put in your front yard (indicating that you are protected) can be a powerful layer of security, as it may deter criminals from attempting to break into your home. Ultimately, the system and security features you end up with depend upo
n your own preferences and needs; but, it is a good idea to at least consult a professional security company to make sure that you are aware of all of their options.

Again, if you are a mother, this is something you may prefer not to think about. You would rather focus on the pure joy of raising your children, and if you come online to seek parenting advice, it is probably with regard to smaller issues. However, try to imagine the damaging effects a break-in, theft, or accident may have on your children’s perception of the home as a safe and comfortable place. Your children should always feel secure at home, and as a mother you will always appreciate the fact that you have provided them that type of home. After all, there is arguably no more important aspect of parenting!

I’m writing this in my sleep

I told my kids I was going to bed a few hours ago, and I did, I swear. I was up early and it was time for my body to rest. They tried to make me stay awake, but I needed to lay down.

Times like this make me so glad that I know I can just go to bed instead of forcing myself to stay awake while tending to the house or the kids. I can not imagine what it would have felt like to stay awake and try to be nice while reading bedtime stories or otherwise ignoring my body’s needs.

We live in a very old house and unless it’s locked, my bedroom door pops open spontaneously. The light and noise rush in and I lay there patiently. If I get up, they’ll see that I’m “awake” and have something important to tell me. If the light or noise bothers me, I can throw a blanket over the top half of my head. Without me having to ask, eventually one of the kids will come shut the door for me. Sometimes they’ll tell eachother go do it. Someone else always volunteers if they disagree. But I know that eventually someone will come and slam the door shut. It won’t shut at all if it isn’t slammed.

So I’m not catching any deep REM sleep, but it feels good to “check out” even though I can still hear their little-voice conversations and I love that they’re “taking care of me” by shutting the door and yelling at each other periodically to “Be quiet, Moms sleeping.”

After a little while, Evie comes. she had to open the door to get in (which is just as loud as closing it) and she makes her way across the room slowly in the dark. I assumed she was coming up to snuggle with me. I play sleep and I feel her little self climb over me. Instead of cozying into my side, she climbs over me again. Maybe she wants to snuggle with the other side of me. Instead, I can feel that she’s hanging off the bed and her little puckered mouth is pecking at my face to give me a kiss. My heart melted and I “woke up” enough to say “Goodnight sweetie, I love you.”

She shuffled out and slammed the door shut behind her. I snuggle in, listening to the girls playing outside the door, thinking I’m the luckiest mom in the world. But I’m laying on something weird. I realize Evie has tucked a Teddy bear under the blanket with me. My heart melts again. So that’s why she climbed over me.

There was a time- thankfully many years ago- when I would have barked at her to “shut my door” before she even came in. I might have said “What are you doing in here, I’m trying to sleep” or “You can snuggle with me, but don’t talk or play” and there was a time when I wouldn’t even have bothered trying to go to bed because the kids were awake. I would have ignored what MY body needed because of some self-righteous belief that they would drown, choke, burn down the house or kill one another without my conscious presence.

I’m so glad for all the different “ways of being” that we’ve experienced as a family. I know it’s hard for my teenagers sometimes, having witnessed our early days as a more rigidly-disciplined family and wondered why the littler kids have “such a better life” than they did. I hope what they learn is that people can and do change, we each manage our own experience and that when we make sure our own needs are met, we can allow for magic little moments like getting “tucked in” by a 3 yr old.

The “added bonus” here is that one long day didn’t snowball into an entire week of sleep troubles. Years ago, I stumbled around constantly tired thinking that “this is life” because I’m a mom. But that doesn’t have to be true. YES- there were messes to clean up the next day, as a result of leaving them “unattended.” But there would have been messes anyway. Taking care of myself is the best way to make sure I have the energy it takes to clean them up and the mental resources to participate in the constant chatter of conversations that little girls require. Years ago, I would have felt guilty for going to bed at such an early hour. I would have guzzled a pot of coffee or even an energy drink to fight it off. Today, I just go to bed. I hope when Evie grows up she never feels guilty for making sure her own needs are met.

Can we grill them?

Grace loved her little brown turkey


I just found 5 dead baby hens and a turkey on my living room floor.

I woke up this morning and thought I saw the dog laying by a rather large mouse. We get teeny little field mice in the house and she loves to catch them, but this was HUGE.  When I got closer, I realized it was a little black chick. In my 4am mind-fog, it took me a while to look around the room and see that the floor was covered in lifeless little chicks. I was sad for the birds but mostly sad for my girls. I wanted to wake them up and tell them.  I wanted them to sleep all day so I didn’t have to tell them.

Chicks like crushed corn


They took the news rather well, and started arranging the funeral right away.  A hole was dug. Flowers were picked. Chairs were arranged in rows around the grave. We had to wear black (luckily my pajamas were black). At the service, there was a solemn procession of dead baby chicks, each laid in the ground gently and called by name. There was debate about which song should be played, but in the end Maddy sang a little song of tribute to all the pets we’ve lost over the years (2 dead rabbits, 1 dead duck, 2 dead turkeys, 3 dead dogs, 5 dead chickens, a parakeet, some fish and now…. all these dead chicks….). Evelyn said a few words “I love you and I miss you,” which the kids tell me is her standard funeral speech) and Grace chose not to speak, she just cried and said “I loved my turkey.” I apologized to the birds for not making sure the dog was locked away last night. None of the kids turned to me and said “So it’s your fault.”

baby turkey


I find it amazing how well they were able to move on with their lives and embrace the process of laying the chicks to rest.  The kids have brought the baby chicks outside with them to play every day. They’ve been vigilant about making sure the chicks have food and water. They cradled them in their tiny hands, cautious of the potential for broken wings and the danger of falling from high places. They comment daily on how the birds are growing and seem to notice the smallest amount of growth on their wing feathers or in the shape of their beak. They notice differences in the chick’s personalities. One is always a little bossy with the others, one is somewhat fearful, one is reluctant to be held for long while another happily hops up into their hands and snuggles down as if it their fingers were nest, even climbing up to grace’s shoulder like a parrot. I love that my children notice the differences between each chicken’s personality and treat each one as an individual.

Chick mass grave


I love how the kids aren’t focusing on the slaughter, the sadness or the destruction and they’re instead focusing on the funeral. There hasn’t been any talk of getting new chicks or dwelling on the sadness of the ones who are gone. There hasn’t been much hatred for the dog (it’s just what dogs do).

Anyway, I’m just impressed with their gentle little hearts. They’re so compassionate, so sweet, so full of love and so ready to love again even after a loss.

baby robin the kids found


Later this day, the kids found a baby robin stuck in the boiler room and nurtured it with drops of water and earthworms until a friend of ours came by with 5 new baby chicks. These ones aren’t getting the play-time the others got (mainly because it’s been raining) but they’re fiercely protected. Sometimes I wish I could love as freely as the kids do, no fear of getting hurt and no hesitation when it comes to giving themselves. If I learn half the lessons they’re offering me, I will be a better person just for being their mom.

next generation of baby chicks

Flower Wars

Flower wars

Maybe I’m just easily amused, but every single day my kids give me cause to rethink something, or learn more about myself and this world.

On this day, we had friends over for a backyard BBQ. It was an all-day affair to celebrate my husband’s birthday, with a bonfire, marshmallow roasting, a giant wild salmon to grill, hula hooping, hackey sacking, tree climbing, chickens, sprinkler play and all sorts of other treats.

Evelyn chasing Maddy with flowers


Madelyn (7) enlisted the help of our friend’s 14 yr old daughter to collect a wheelbarrel full of flowers to dump on the lawn so she could lay on them. When the “bed of flowers” was finished, she called us over to share her moment. It was really sweet. After a while, the kids began picking up the bunches of flowers and throwing them at one another, like a snowball fight, only with flowers.

My friend and I were calling it a “flower war” and enjoyed watching the kids having so much fun.

 

Evelyn came and sat with us at one point, she’d been enjoying the flower game with the other kids and needed a little break. One of us mentioned the “flower war” and she looked confused. It’s not a war, it’s called “flower catching” and we were struck by the idea that we’d chosen the word “war” whe she was choosing the word “catching.”

My drink caught a flower

To be truthful, when the 14 yr old girl pinned her big brother down and stuffed his mouth with flowers, the word “war” might have been a little more accurate, but it’s all about perception, right?

Life Rocks Conference Recap

If you’ve never been to an unschooling conference before, you’re missing out on one of the most life-changing, empowering experiences EVER. This life attracts some of the most dynamic people on the planet. Being in their presence has been invigorating, exhausting, exciting, inspiring…

I think I’m running out of adjectives.

Maybe you know the feeling. If you’ve ever bared your soul to a friend, sharing hopes & dreams, your deepest secrets, and hearing theirs… Maybe if you know that no matter what you say or do, you are loved and the world is right and magical people are sprinkled all over the place(except for last week, when many of them converged upon the town of North Conway, New Hampshire).

I can think of ten thousand amazing moments that I want to share, here they are in no particular order:

- I loved meeting and hanging out with Amy Steinberg (the rumors about her being phenomenal are absolutely true, plus I love her). On the last night of the event, she gave a concert. I loved watching her sing Exactly and looking around the audience to see that everyone really was exactly where they needed to be… nursing babies in arms, toddlers on the dance floor, dads hula hooping, and moms arm-in-arm basking in the glow of the moment… it was so powerful. In a way, I was where I needed to be, too.  I was also lucky enough to take her on a Thai food lunch date and ride with her back into the airport and I kinda feel like I’ve known her forever. Actually, I had that feeling quite often during the conference. It was more like a reunion, in that way.

-Zombie babies were awesome, my new friend Caitlin had a zombie-lover’s gathering and offered zombie face painting. It was absolutely adorable to see some of the sweet little 2 yr olds in their sun dresses, wearing white face paint with black, hollowed-out eyes and bloody, brain-sucking mouths. Creepy, but adorable because they were little walking bits of irony.

- Having someone come up to me after a workshop and tell me they were so glad to hear some something awesome that I didn’t even remember saying, and seeing in their eyes that this deep thought was really rockin’ their world, knowing the entire family will feel the ripple effectand that the words came through me. My ego is generous, it gets off on helping other people. I was pleased that I didn’t really feel like an idiot when I was speaking. Before the conference, I set the intention to really connect deeply with people, to communicate clearly and to be of service. I feel like that was a success.

- Sharing my love of the hoop. Seriously, I like being a hoop evangelist. It brings me so much joy and peace. And most people who THINK they can’t hula hoop just need a proper sized hoop, a little practice, a little teeny bit of guidance to get the right positioning, the right rhythm… I can’t always SEE the difference between trying and actually “getting” it, but I can tell by watching their face. I love to see people’s eyes light up when they’ve figured out a trick or finally felt the force of the hoop around their waist. It’s sexy, it’s spiritual, it’s fun and my abs feel like jello today :) I was so glad that someone brought hula hoops for sale, I should have worked a commission deal with her, darnit. Next time, Hattie, we will SELL OUT.

- Setting up the conference was magic. I think it was the anticipation of bonding with the other organizers and knowing we were heading into a week of unprecedented bliss; hanging thoughtful quotes all over the walls, anticipating the joy they’d bring people, seeing everything empty, but ready. (yeah, I know I violated a lot of punctuation laws in that sentence. If it’s too difficult to read, please get over it) it was so cool to watch Susan and Dayna planning the event over the past few months, then seeing all the energy that went into every teeny bit of last0minute preparation, then suddenly BOOM- the hall is filled with people, families, beautiful sparkling people with inner glow and soothing smiles and peaceful faces and love love love everywhere…

- the creativity of the participants. At the renegade bazaar, families set up vendor tables with everything from custom-made embroidered “Life Rocks 2011″ clothing items, to handmade jewelry, to painted rocks, silly bands, books, paintings, hand carved hardwood magic wands, stuffed toys for resale, hand massages… (Oh boy, I hope I’m not leaving anyone out). In addition to the bazaar, we had filmmakers, photographers and performers on hand, each with their own unique way of showing the world inside ourselves, channeling the essence of the moment through their lens, by focusing in one one teeny moment that captures the energy of the room. Like this one.

-I was so inspired to be in the presence of the authors, like Julie, who wrote Nothing Short of Joy (which is now on my amazon list because I totally trust the person who said “Oh my god, just get it, you will be so glad you did), and Eva whose presentation was the most exciting history un-lesson I have ever seen. Her book, Lost in Learning: The Art of DiscoveryLost in Learning: The Art of Discovery, is beautiful and she’s touring and speaking right now, we were so lucky to have met her. Of course, my beautiful friend Dayna was also there with her book (Radical Unschooling – A Revolution Has Begun-Revised Edition (Volume 2)) which actually introduced a lot of these families to unschooling, or helped them find a name (and a tribe) for the life of peace and freedom they were already living. I felt so inspired amidst the talented, creative people that were guests, nevermind the presenters, who seemed to be spilling forth words of wisdom and love! I love unschooling because the souls that are attracted to it are so vibrant and creative, they contribute as much to the event as the attendants, it’s not about hierarchies, everyone is there to learn from another. Someone just has to open the door.

- where were we… pulling random moments that I just don’t want to forget. My new friend Jenn. We had a great and deep discussion and at one point, she recommended a book for me. I went back that night and added it to my Amazon.com wish list but instead, she said that she just so happened to have the book in her car. She’d let someone borrow it and happened to have it returned when they were on their way to the conference. It was serendipetous. The entire week was. A million strange and wonderful little synchronicities… like we were all just… old friends.

- The kids. One thing about unschooled kids is that they’re not taught to “stay with the kids” and unschooling families don’t segregate kids activities and adult activities, so that in every workshop, every funshop, every everything, there was a decent mix of kids and adults. I was missing my own girls and had a great time bonding with some of the kids there, like my new friend Autumn, who owns Pretty Things for Pretty Princesses, a jewelry company.

- The joy. I wonder how many groups of 250 people can hang together for 4 full days with only like… 3 little conflicts. It wasn’t a drama-filled environment, everyone was there joyfully, learning, loving and having fun.

-The adventure. Roderick Russell (no relation) was one of the entertainers and speakers at the conference. In addition to putting on one hell of a show, Roderick is an amazing person, it was a joy to have met him. He swallowed a ginormous sword. I know what you’re thinking (Well, I know what I was thinking, something along the lines of “compare it to a blowjob”) but honestly, this was sharp, hard metal blade that went all the way down into his stomach. Yikes! Talk about conquering your fears, what an amazing story he has and I was so honored to be able to visit with him.

- Falling in love. It’ so weird to meet people for the first time and feel like you’ve known them forever. Maybe it’s spiritual, like a recognition of the soul… maybe it’s just because (in some cases) we’ve been able to connect online first. Whatever it is, it was magical and it reminded me of falling in love <3

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the conference. If I haven’t added you to my Facebook list yet, please feel free to send a request.

If you didn’t attend this year, be sure to pay attention to the Life Rocks Conference website, because the Martins already have “bigger & better” plans for next year.

Have a beautiful day <3

 

Plan C, I guess

I went from being a kid in my parent’s house, to being a wife & mother within a year, I was 18. It never bothered me while I was growing babies, I was THRILLED to set aside myself (whoever that was) to provide warmth, space and love for a baby. My body is yours, sweet little one. I know I’ll get it back later. Plan A said “my mind belongs to you, who enjoys Barney and sleeps erratically. My personality is… a result of my mood and whatever entertains you, sweet little monkey of mine… There will be time for me later.” Now I wonder sometimes, if putting their needs ahead of my own was a bit of self-defense. Having never BEEN a woman alone, to sort out my own identity, it was easier to just be a mom. There were books about being a mom.

Perhaps I should have predicted that the decision to stop making babies would result in some kind of identity crisis, right?

Crisis is the wrong word, it sounds like a bad thing. I don’t feel like I’m in crisis. I feel like I’m an explorer, with a map in my hand, looking out at a great expanse of wilderness, knowing that wherever I step, a path will unfold in front of me and it will be MINE and it will take me somewhere amazing, because the world is filled with amazing and dammit, I want some.

For many many months now, I’ve looked at my family (kids and husband) as baggage. Explorers don’t have baggage. They forage, they meet new people along the way and share resources. They make spur-of-the-moment decisions, their lives are serendipitous, they embrace whatever comes their way, and they reach toward things that bring joy with the ultimate goal in mind, of adventure. The more I viewed the situation like this, the more clear it became to me that I’d need to separate myself from them. I’d planned several grand adventures this year and each one was cancelled before it started. It became clear that I was alone in this NEED TO EXPLORE and that was fine. The idea of being alone was riveting. Seriously- the most exciting thing I could imagine. I mean, I’d still BE a mom, but half the time they’d be at their Dad’s house. I’d be able to devote 50% of my time to doing whatever the hell I wanted. Oh yes, I want this, I decided. That was Plan B.

My husband was less than enthusiastic, though. He didn’t share my excitement about a potential divorce, and it really broke my heart to see him suffering. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years but he’s never tried to be hurtful. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. But he was hurt.

Not that I’m glad I hurt him, but I’m glad I was heard. As these thoughts were brewing over the past year, I dropped clues- as I learned about them. When I realized that the desire to travel was making me nuts, I told him so. It wasn’t effective, planning a bunch of trips that didn’t materialize but I made it clear that I needed to travel. When I realized I needed a break from the kids, I began insisting upon it, arranging for appointments with new clients away from home, coffee shop meetings, joining new clubs and volunteering to leave the house whenever I could, just.to.get.OUT. When I realized I just HAD to get a trapeze, he built me one. When I wanted to spend 6 hours a day hula hooping, eat nothing but fried foods, drink extra wine and start reading erotic literature, he knew something was “up.” But what he didn’t know was how difficult I found it to continue communicating my changing needs, or that I felt trapped by the life we’d created (and LOVED). That is, until I dumped him in exchange for an unknown life of freedom whereby I can do whatever the heck I want for 50% of the time. Then, he got it. As much as he could.

I don’t think he’s relating to the identity situation-that’s-not-a-crisis, but he is trying to keep us married, which is sweet. Originally, he was writing me notes on Facebook every day.

There are over million reasons why I love my wife. Those reasons are what makes Lisa so special to this world and her qualities I envy. For the next 90 days I will share with you these qualities that inspire my life and has made me the man I am today and the better man I will be tomorrow and I am sure will inspire yours.
Day 1. Her will for life in all it’s joy. She has enlightened my life by taking the path less traveled showing me the beauty and peace in nature.

You can imagine the comments he got, everyone thought it was so sweet (and it was) but to me, the pressure was too much. The next day, he posted this:

Day 2. She has a way with words. Her blogs and stories have not only captivated thousands of people through the years but through extensive research and practice she has made our household something unique and special and made our family bond stronger than steel.

And I thought my head would go through the roof. How can I assert my independence when a lifetime of friends and family are literally watching this unfold like a soap opera? Having our personal drama unfolding in front of people was just too much for me.

I got him to keep the notes private, and he started delivering them in an envelope each day, along with a rose or a box of chocolates.

He took me out to dinner so we could talk, and convinced me to go to counseling with him. The entire way out to dinner, I swore to myself “I’m not letting him talk me into anything” but that night, when he came home with me it just felt right.

On the way to counseling, I swore “I’m only doing this to help him with the transition” but when she said “This is a new chapter in your marriage,” it kind of made sense. If we’re writing our own lives, certainly there can be a chapter where I figure out who I am and he watches the kids, without the expense of two residences, right? If I can just clarify what it is that I want, whatever it is that I need, then we can make it happen, right?

In Washington State, it takes 90 days for a divorce to become “final.” there’s a waiting period of 90 days and when he and I sat down to dinner, he made it his goal to spend the next 90 days sweeping me off my feet.

I have to admit, it’s working.

love notes

So far

I realize it might sound like bullshit when I say I don’t share much on my blog. Years and years and years of posts don’t ever really discuss my private thoughts about my marriage, so publishing this has weighed heavily on me. It’s so much easier to discuss child development, psychology, bash the government, make fun of public schools and report on my own mental condition when the pressure to say SOMETHING gets too great.

So maybe this is me trying something new on, seeing if it’s “me” or not. Maybe I’m just avoiding the emails from people who honestly (and thank you) want to know how my marriage is (since the whole Facebook drama) and maybe I’m just embracing some inner drama-queen. Who knows?

I just know it’s easier to write a blog post than it is to respond to a bunch of email inquiries. It’s nothing personal, it’s lazy. But it helps me focus my time where it needs to be, which is on these munchkins who change on a daily basis and the house that gets messy on a daily basis and my school assignments (increasingly fun- I’m taking a course on Literature this month) and my friends (who amaze me, excite me and inspire me every day)

So the short answer is “We’re fine” and the longer answer is “We’re writing a new chapter in our lives, it’s the one where I get to focus on getting to know myself and he takes me out on fabulous dates.”

I think we’ll be OK.

Old Fart

So I’m here at my Grandfather’s funeral and my world is a bit rocked. Funerals often make people resolve to change something. “The thing that hurts the most is________.” I have several ways to end that sentence and each of them ends with a personal commitment to not ever feel that way again.

The thing that hurts the most is that I can never make things right again.

My PopPop and Grandma in the 70's, I think

Before I left, I told my husband “I don’t know why I’m so upset about this, I haven’t seen my PopPop for years, it’s not like his death is going to affect my day-to-day life, 3000 miles away, I can just pretend he’s still there… far away and alive. The same way I can pretend they still live in the same house they had when I was little. They lived in that house for over 50 years. My Dad and my aunts and uncles grew up there, it was like a family historic museum. The place was saturated with memories; every wall, window and doorway witnessed generations of King family’s milestones, setback, celebrations and struggles. That house knew my parents when they were dating. It’s ancient and my childhood memories all take place in that house. They call it “The House on The Hill” and it’s now a freeway onramp. Even the hill it stood on is gone. Fill dirt. It was a magical land of Christmas decorations, summertime swimming and Grandma’s love. In my mind, that house is as real as my back porch. Just because I’m not standing in it, doesn’t mean that it’s gone. It can’t be gone, it’s always been here.

Of all the files I lost when my laptop was stolen, the video I made walking through the rubble was the one I cried about the most. The day we filmed it, I wrote an essay and sealed it away in an envelope because it hurts too much to read. The envelope has been on top of my fridge for 5 years or so and every time I see it, I cry. Please don’t tell me Grandma’s house is gone. Where in the world is home, now?

Oh shit, my Daddy lost his father. I remember when my husband’s dad died. I think I’d be a basket case if I lost my own Dad. It ripped my heart out to imagine my Dad hurting like that. I just had to go to him. I can’t let my Dad suffer alone. I don’t know what I can do to help, and I don’t want to say goodbye to Grandpa and I don’t want to spend the electric bill on a last-minute flight, but I can’t fail to show up when my family is in need.

For the past few years I’ve been thinking thoughts like “My PopPop would like that, I should send it to him” or “My PopPop’s birthday is next week, I should send him a card” or “I should call my Grandma and PopPop” or “I should have my kids make pictures for Grandma and PopPop” “We should film a video for Grandma and PopPop.” But did I do any of those things? No. And Pop Pop noticed. Last time we visited, he pointed out that he didn’t have my current address. I resolved at that point, to mail him a note so he’d have it. 2 years later, I haven’t mailed him a note. I am a snail-mail-failure. I have had 4 nephews and 2 nieces come into the world over the past few years and I haven’t mailed any of them anything. I’ve bought cards, I’ve written notes, I even knitted a few blankets. I just haven’t mailed them. I have failed as a granddaughter, as a daughter, as a mother, as a sister and as an aunt.

When my PopPop died, one thing I lost was the opportunity to make amends. Before he died, I planned a better future. Since I suck, though, that future is gone. He’ll never have my address, now. I hope he knows I cared. He’ll never know how often I think of him.

As we walked through his new house, I noticed it smelled just like the house on the hill; 2 parts moth balls and 1 part cheap coffee. There were photos lining every wall, in frames on every shelf and countertop. There were framed wedding photos, graduation photos, old black-and-whites, and Sears studio photos for every generation, portraits and casual photos. He wasn’t an art collector, he collected love and every photo staring back at me was someone I loved. someone Pop Pop loved. The few wall hangings that weren’t art were grandma’s needlepoint work, framed. Some would be put away with the Christmas decorations, the Norman Rockwell needlepoint will stay all year long. That was enough art for them. With six children, you’d think my kids would be everywhere, but I fail to send photos. Someone loved PopPop (and us) enough to print a few photos and they were displayed in the house (Thank you, Dad). To me, they were painful reminders that I failed to keep in touch and that my kids will never know one of the greatest men in my life. And he never knew his great-grandchildren, the greatest kids in my life. And it’s all my fault. They would have loved him. He would have loved them.

I wonder if I’m smart enough to use this pain to make sure the rest of my faraway family knows I care.

Grandma had 3 kids when she met PopPop. This was in the 40′s or 50′s or something, when divorce was uncommon and single mothers were scandalous. Grandma’s first marriage ended badly and PopPop fell in love with the beautiful girl with the beautiful legs. Grandma would wash my mouth out with soap if I ever thanked her for the “milf gene” but she was a hottie. He became an instant father to three children and in no time, their clan grew to 7 kids. Every time I find myself overwhelmed with my 6 girls, I remind myself that Grandma had 7 kids. If Grandma can do it, so can I.

But Grandma can’t do anything now. She has Parkinson’s disease and requires 24 hour care. She cannot stand, she can’t take herself to the bathroom, she can’t reposition herself if she’s slipping or leaning to the side. She can’t swallow her own saliva or feel her own nose running. She often can’t hold up her head. She speaks sometimes, and sometimes you can understand her. She mixes stories and people from her life history with jibberish, things she saw on TV, things she read in books and methodist hymns. It’s difficult to listen to, but this weekend I’ve found myself trying to memorize the sound of her voice and clinging to every word I recognize. “My cousin is Billy Barnes..39 pounds that baby weighed…..Are you coming over for Easter…..He was the nastiest old fool you ever saw……what time is my Doctor’s appointment… 42…… bababababababab…If it’s not hot it’s cold……they had a house fire….How great thou aaaarrrrttttt, how great thou arrrrrrtttt….it wasn’t chocolate, it was a candy bar…..I auditioned for the play but they told me I had too much talent…. don’t go looking like a streetwalker….go tell that boy to stop running up and down the hallway like that….your father had one, too…..” There’s very little in the way of complete stories left. My aunt explained it well when she said “All your life, you file away little bits and pieces of information. Grandma’s file cabinet has been dumped on the floor and she’s picking up one random thing after another.” We all have a way with words in my family.

Still, my PopPop cared for her 24 hours a day. Since he’s been gone, it’s taken 5 or 6 people to do what Grandpa did. PopPop would actually style Grandma’s hair, dress her up and take her out to lunch every now and then. It took 2 or 3 people to get her to the bathroom. My poor cousin said “Your perspective in life changes when you’re wiping your Grandma’s ass.” Boy is she right. I never want to be that old.

For the past few years, my aunts and uncles have been telling PopPop that he needs to find someone else to take care of Grandma. He refused help. He said “I love her and I am going to take care of her.” I remember talking to my father several times and he’d be so angry that PopPop was trying to do it all himself. Everyone thought it would be too hard for him, and that he’d end up killing her. No one expected PopPop to go first. And no one realized exactly how much work that stubborn old man was doing.

Seeing how much he loved her hurts. I don’t ever want to be that old. I never want to be in Grandma’s position. I don’t want my husband to carry me to the toilet. I don’t want to be unable to communicate. Their life, as sweet as it was, looks like an absolute living hell to me. Pop Pop did all of the cooking, all of the laundry, and most of the yard work. He decorated the Christmas tree, fed her every meal, dressed her, bathed her, and spent every minute of every day tending to her needs. And he couldn’t hear her, either. So they would sit on the couch together, holding hands. No matter how much I try to picture it, the idea of “growing old together” is one of the most repulsive, horrible things I can imagine. I’ve seen “growing old together” and I think I’d rather opt out.

PopPop donated to charity, he volunteered his time, he kept an elderly widow’s medicine up-to-date, he served his country, he put his kids through college, he overcame a violent temper, he collected junk cars and broken things, he went to Church, he loved his family, his friends and his neighbors. He worked hard for each of his 85 years and taught us all some powerful lessons. Pop Pop taught us about hard work. He taught us that no matter how mean and nasty you are, you can change. Can you imagine raising 7 kids on $34 a week? My father slept in the bottom dresser drawer when he was a baby. They had an outhouse. He used to walk to work with patched-up shoes in the winter. My PopPop was a strong man.

The thing that hurts the most is saying goodbye to Grandma. I’m afraid she’ll die of a broken heart. Sometimes she knows what’s going on. I heard her cry to Aunt Susie “I can’t do anything for myself now, who is going to help me?” and we don’t have any answers for her, except to tell her not to worry about it. Other times, she talks to him as if he was in the kitchen. “Can you bring me a cup of Coffee, Dave.” Another time, she asked my Aunt Mary Ann “Where is your father?” “He’s resting right now, Mama” she says, and looks to us all as we share the moment. Where’s the manual for this? So maybe experiencing dementia isn’t as difficult as watching it. In Grandma’s mind, her mother will be back in a few minutes. Sometimes, she hasn’t lost anyone. Sometimes, she’s just reading from an old file for a while.

Somewhere inside Grandma’s pile of files, I know she must remember me. And somewhere in that pile, we’re all having Christmas Dinner, with her old lady linens, her fried chicken, and PopPop by her side. My cousins are there; grubby little boys, instead of the big (balding) old men I visited with this weekend. My aunts and uncles are there and they’re young and energetic adults eager to take us fun places, instead of aging, retiring old fogies with health issues and grey hair. (I love y’all to pieces, but this is my story and I can tell it my way) And I’m still me, somewhere inside of me I will always be a little girl at my grandmas’ house, waiting for Santa and wishing I was as worldly as my Aunt Mary Ann (away at college in A-la-ba-ma), as busy as my Aunt Susie (sports, school and social commitments) and as beautiful as my Aunt Donna (yes, that beehive was beautiful when I was 6)

So I’ll fly home, 3000 miles away and mourn both of my Grandparents, even though Grandma’s still alive. My kids never knew Grandma’s house. The best parts of my childhood reality are stuck in her pile of files. God, I wish I could go back.

It’s so much easier to just pretend it all still exists.

Every cell in my body plans to mail photos to Grandma, write notes to my Aunts, uncles and cousins and never ever ever let a day go by without telling my parents how much I love them. I hope Grandma can hang on long enough for my kids to visit again. I hope my Aunts and Uncles are able to see that in the end, PopPop’s parenting skills weren’t hereditary or contagious, he didn’t kill Grandma and each one of them is just as stubborn as he was, and maybe not be so hard on themselves for not realizing how hard he worked, how much he loved them or how much we all need each other.

Thank you, Old Fart. I love you more than you will ever know. You’ll always be in my heart and in my files.

I'm the one in the yellow bow. I bet my Aunt Bonnie tied it.

Bullying (quite possibly the longest blog post EVER)


These news stories about kids getting bullied are sad. But what’s even sadder is that so very few people see how bullies are rewarded and encouraged. Adults model bullying behavior in so many ways, but fail to connect the dots and see thatchildren learn by example.

Bullying behaviors are an adult privilege in our culture.

Kids learn how to be bullies from adults

I doubt many children see themselves as bullies, just as many parents, teachers, bus drivers and kid sitcom writers don’t see themselves as bullies. Subjecting people to a constant evaluation of their actions (while ignoring other aspects of their development, namely their preferences, dreams and skills you can’t see them making a living with) is just plain rude, including the labeling of certain behaviors as “bullying.” Call it what it is, rude. When we stop tolerating and teaching rudeness- on all fronts- and stop dividing the different flavors of rudeness into “parenting” and “bullying,” recognizing that being mean to other people SUCKS, then maybe it won’t be such a problem.

 

As long as we’re a nation with compulsory schooling, bullying will never end.

Yes- you read me correctly, I attribute a lot of bullying ENTIRELY to forced schooling. The rest of the blame is with parents, parents of both the bullies AND their victims

But in order to proceed with this diatribe, I need to try to stop using the word bullying. Yes, it’s convenient to lump every form of rudeness into one nasty word. Intolerance, homophobia, domination by force, physical violence, coercion, ridiculing… these are specific types of rudeness that are often lumped together as bullying. Or discipline, if you’re a grown-up.

Let’s take a look at the dictionary definitions of Bullying:

1. the act of intimidating a weaker person to make them do something
2. repeated acts over time that involves a real or perceived imbalance of power with the more powerful individual or group abusing those who are less powerful. The power imbalance may be social power and/or physical power.
3. includes behaviors and actions that are verbal, physical and/or anti-social, such as exclusion, gossip and non-verbal body language.


How can anyone expect children to be strong in the face of behaviors like this when popular parenting practices encourage adults to be BULLIES.

Think I’m exaggerating? Let’s look at popular parenting advice:

Sara Chana at Parenting-Advice.net gives parents this advice for teaching toddlers how to share:

Be a referee. When kids play together, always expect fights. Be observant. As soon as a situation comes up, get in between the kids and play referee. Use presence of an adult could stop a scene, but if not, then it’s time to negotiate a little. Use the opportunity to teach the value of sharing. If the kids do not want to play together, then divide the toys equally.

WebMD gives this advice for parents when dealing with the grocery store tantrum:

“I call it the “Stepford Wife” approach,” Lerner says. As your child screams, say, ‘I know, I know,’ but stay completely calm as you pick him up. Don’t show any emotion.

Sometimes the best tactic is to ignore the behavior entirely. “You just literally act like they’re not doing what they’re doing. You ignore the behavior you want to stop,” Lerner says. When your child realizes that his screaming fit is not going to get him a second lollipop or your attention, eventually he’ll get tired of yelling.

Supernanny advises parents struggling with tantrums:

(OK- more than half of the article WAS quoted below, I had to choose just one, but to be honest, it was a hard decision. PLEASE avoid the insanity that is Supernanny. Her techniques are not to be used on humans, EVER)

Sometimes young children need it spelled out so they can see how their behaviour relates back to Mum and Dad pulling them up all the time. Your child reacts aggressively when you try to enforce rules and limits – so he gets told off. Explain to him in simple terms the connection between those two events: “Jack, being told off makes you cranky. But if you keep hitting and biting, I’m going to keep telling you off. If you stop doing it then I won’t tell you off.”

So a quick rundown of those expert parenting resources tells us that parents should, at times,

1. Expect kids to fight and micromanage the child’s social life so that children can’t have an honest interaction with their peers. Keep your eyes open for the slightest sign of conflict and intervene right away. Show them (by example) how to take-toys-away, then arbitrarily re-assign them. This is a good way to be sure that they don’t get emotionally attached to anything they like because that’s an adult privilege. The goal is to teach them that they’re not in control of their social life or their possessions.

Does this sound like a practice that will help kids learn how to share with one another? These kids never had much of a chance to communicate with one another and the domineering intervention was completely insensitive.

Hmmm… this kinda reminds me of bullying definition #2, where parents use the imbalance of power to “force” toddlers to share, instead of respecting that the 1st toddler isn’t done with the toy yet. Nature doesn’t often put two toddlers in the same family, naturally occurring multiple births are quite rare and toddlers should not be expected to share, nor should they be forced. Luckily, adults are creative and resourceful and there’s ALWAYS a win-win option.

Sharing is an act of love, you want your friend to experience the same joy you experience when you’re playing with your favorite toy. Forcing a toddler to give up a toy, then to watch another child enjoy it is a SUPREME INJUSTICE- it’s torture. This breeds nothing but resentments and not a sense of generosity. Think about it. When you WANT to give something, giving feels good. When you do NOT want to give something, giving feels bad. Let’s not teach our children that sharing is a punishment.

Expert parenting Advice #2 teaches children to internalize bullying in another way:

Forget about preventing tantrums at the store by maintaining an active, connected constant conversation (It’s amazing how much a toddler can talk at the store when you’re counting grocery-dollars in your head) These “experts” assume that tantrums are inevitable and advise parents to ignore it.

Can you imagine the emotional distress a child must be feeling in order to throw themselves around, kicking and screaming like that? Is it really mature to pretend that such a display isn’t distressing to witness? In her defense, the author was trying to get parents to react without violence or anger. Which is noble. But how about we remind parents that the child didn’t suddenly notice the price of peas and implode. Volcanoes don’t just blast. they rumble, they vent and THEN they blow.

Tantrums at the grocery store are generally the result of a child’s repeated requests being ignored. Yes, it’s difficult to hear “can I have a cookie?” and “can we get corn dogs?” and “I wanted the blue noodles” and “Grandma has a cat named Lucy” and “I need to pee.” Especially when you’re on a budget or in a hurry or afraid they’re out of your favorite creamer.

I have six kids ranging in age from 2-16 and I promise you, without a doubt, that EVERY SINGLE grocery store tantrum I’ve experienced was MY FAULT. Toddlers want to be heard. Sometimes it’s hard to listen, especially when you’re distracted. Communication is a basic human need, like touch, food and sleep. Communication and opposable thumbs set us apart from chimpanzees. If you don’t want your child to act like a chimpanzee at the grocery store, allow him to communicate by participating in his conversation. YES- it is that easy.

But this expert’s advice is completely insane AND- bears a striking resemblance to the “social exclusion” version of bullying. It models a forced and phony lack of emotion at just the WRONG time- the time when your kid is dying to make contact. It’s almost psychopathic, isn’t it? The author even recognizes that, by likening it to The Stepford Wives.

Put yourself in the child’s shoes. You want something stupid (no offense). You asked. You might have whined, you might have yelled. You might have whispered or sung it to the tune of “Twinkle Twinkle.” But you asked. Several times. You might not even remember what it is you were pointing at 3 aisles ago, but you know that your mom is ignoring you. She might be talking to you “I know” but she’s obviously not paying attention and dammit, she’s supposed to respond. Your head is spinning, you hate this feeling, when will she answer?

So when you finally do implode and throw yourself on the ground kicking and screaming, you’re not even thinking about the whatever-it-is you wanted to begin with. You.just.want.to.be.heard.

But this expert advises parents to put on a poker face and ignore the child even more, until she is exhausted from the screaming and loses her will to try & communicate further.

Give it up, brat, no one is listening to you and they never will.

Your distress will never affect me.

Choosing a perfect cantaloupe is more important than listening to you.

I like this can of evaporated milk more than I like you.

Your emotional suffering doesn’t matter to me.

If that’s not bullying, what is?

Oh, I know.. blaming children for the parent’s lack of control, maybe. This Supernanny system teaches kids that control and order are of supreme importance, and that a parent’s job is to enforce rules. Affection, snuggling, cuddling and love, according to Suppernanny, are the perfect tools to manipulate children with, to gain their trust and cooperation. Give positive reinforcement (love) when the child is ACTING in a way that you like and take that love away (she actually advises a stern, low voice and more social exclusion) when children act in a way you don’t like.

Emotional manipulation is NOT parenting, it’s evil and twisted. Can you imagine being cornered by your boss and having him say “Every time you wear that skirt to work, something comes over me. I know you don’t like it when I grab your ass in the break room, but you keep wearing that skirt. If you want me to turn in your overtime hours, wear it tomorrow, too.”

The real world doesn’t look like that. In the real world, the boss would be slapped with a harassment lawsuit. But at home, children are just supposed to suck it up and allow parents to blame THEM for losing precious control over the situation. Even worse- they’re supposed to be cheerful and obedient throughout the social hierarchy indoctrination.

We are not here to control one another. When you seek to control another human, you are focusing on the wrong thing. When you seek to control your children, you are setting up a paradigm where your children will either become comfortable allowing others to control them, or BECOME A BULLY- using any and all of their skills to manipulate and control others.

Can’t we all just be friends?

Nope- because shortly after they’ve passed this toddler stage (all of the above advice is directed to parents of toddlers) they’re expected to go to school.

Where teachers (who were previously strangers) are suddenly the ones “in control” and by the very fact that there are now 20 kids and one adult in the room, rules get even MORE arbitrary.

By the time kids are school aged, they have mastered the art of 1- withering in submission to their parent’s rules or 2- putting on a mask of compliance when they’re being watched.

So they’re sent to school where an adult they’ve never met before is suddenly in charge of 20 of them. Naturally, social relationships will form. Teachers WILL have favorites. The socially astute will climb to the top of the class, and have a lot of friends. The kids who have trouble adapting (to this completely unnatural environment that goes against nature and psychology) will fall to the bottom.

Humans are not meant to develop under the stresses of an institutionalized setting.

School is unnatural.

PARENTS are supposed to raise children, not teachers, not talk show psychologists.

I could scream when reading my psychology book. it talks about the stress hormones that are released when people are institutionalized. Then, it lists some forms of institutionalization, in case we need examples. Throughout the book, their examples are “prisons, nursing homes, dormitories, and residential treatment centers” but NEVER public school.

It’s like the entire psychological world is blind to the fact that forcing children to go to school creates an unnatural paradigm that humans are NOT EQUIPPED to deal with.

Valedictorian Erica Goldson said it very well;

I should look at this as a positive experience, especially being at the top of my class. However, in retrospect, I cannot say that I am any more intelligent than my peers. I can attest that I am only the best at doing what I am told and working the system. Yet, here I stand, and I am supposed to be proud that I have completed this period of indoctrination. I will leave in the fall to go on to the next phase expected of me, in order to receive a paper document that certifies that I am capable of work. But I contest that I am a human being, a thinker, an adventurer – not a worker. A worker is someone who is trapped within repetition – a slave of the system set up before him. But now, I have successfully shown that I was the best slave. I did what I was told to the extreme”

Is that really the best use of a brilliant mind?

We’ve been so insulated from the pseudo-reality that is public schools. With my teenagers enrolled this year, I’m consistently shocked at the things kids are expected to put up with. I’m not the slightest bit worried about my girls, they’re spreading light and love, making mental notes, analyzing the social dynamics and doing just fine. I worry for the kids who have no choice. I worry for the parents who feel that they can’t pull their kids out of school. I worry that so often bullied kids suffer in silence. (Memoirs of a Bullied Kid)

I was talking to a very good friend the other day, she said that in high school there was a boy she picked on mercilessly. A few years after they got out of school, she realized how horrible it was and wondered what ever happened to that guy. She found out a few years later when she discovered her cousin was marrying him. My friend was nervous & excited – he looked sane & healthy- but she wanted to apologize, before the wedding. She met the couple for dinner and apologized- deeply. “I am so sorry for calling you names, for embarrassing you, for treating you like shit and I know I can’t take it back, but I am very very sorry.” She totally cried at the restaurant and he forgave her. Today, they are friends.

Bullies are victims, too. Without fully developed brains, their reasoning, empathizing and social skills should not be expected to handle an adverse and unnatural social environment like school. Especially when the only skills they have entering into the situation are a 5 yr old’s perception of what he’s learned at home

Through the magic of six degrees of separation, I found a friend from 5th grade on Facebook. Crystal lived around the corner from me and we’d walk to school. My parents were freshly divorced and I had no friends at this new school. Crystal was my friend for the 4 or 5 months I lived in North Hollywood. Her friendship meant a lot to me back then.

When I found her on Facebook, the first thing she did was apologize. Apparently she’d turned into a bully that year (must have been after I’d left) and terrorized people throughout the rest of her time in school. She felt horrible for not remembering me right away (honestly, I didn’t expect her to, it was such a short time) but she was so glad to be able to apologize. I’m glad she didn’t bully me, I might not have handled it well at that time in my life, but the fact remains. Bullies suffer, too. It doesn’t feel good to hurt people. It felt nice to be able to tell her how awesome she was back then, when her memory was giving her shit.

The mainstream discipline-and-control parenting paradigm, followed by the insanity of forced institutionalization for children is BREEDING hatred, intolerance, intimidation, imbalance of social power, disregard for individuality, gossip, disregard for privacy, liberty and personal freedom.

No child can reasonably be told that they are responsible for themselves when they’re not allowed to make their own decisions. No child can reasonably be told that bullying in intolerable when the adults who rule over him are manipulative and coercive.

Check out Alfie Kohn’s “Atrocious Advice from Supernanny” (quoted below)

Supernanny’s superficiality isn’t accidental; it’s ideological. What these shows are peddling is behaviorism. The point isn’t to raise a child; it’s to reinforce or extinguish discrete behaviors – which is sufficient if you believe, along with the late B.F. Skinner and his surviving minions, that there’s nothing to us other than those behaviors.

Behaviorism is as American as rewarding children with apple pie. We’re a busy people, with fortunes to make and lands to conquer. We don’t have time for theories or complications: Just give us techniques that work. If firing thousands of employees succeeds in boosting the company’s stock price; if imposing a scripted, mind-numbing curriculum succeeds in raising students’ test scores; if relying on bribes and threats succeeds in making children obey, then there’s no need to ask, “But for how long does it work? And at what cost?”

In the course of researching a book about parenting, I discovered some disconcerting research on the damaging effects of techniques like the “naughty corner” (better known as time-out), which are basically forms of love withdrawal. I also found quite a bit of evidence that parents who refrain from excessive control and rely instead on warmth and reason are more likely to have children who do what they’re asked – and who grow into responsible, compassionate, healthy people.

If you can bear to sit through them, the nanny programs provide a fairly reliable guide for how not to raise children. They also offer an invitation to think about the pervasiveness of pop-behaviorism and our hunger for the quick fix.

I like how Mr Kohn sums it up. Avoid the quick-fix in parenting. Don’t be a bully. Don’t insist on instant compliance or obedience. Model intelligent decisions. Don’t succumb to the idea that you need to know everything or control everything. YOU do not need to be in control of anyone but yourself.

Your children learn more from the way you treat them than from the words you’re saying. You can’t hit a child and say “no hitting,” you can’t lie to a child and punish them for lying and you can’t bully a child, then send them off for institutional bullying and expect them not to be bullies.

So I’ve totally failed to stop using the word and for that, I apologize. but I hope I’ve made my point.

And the only thing I have to add is that mainstream parents, who struggle to inflict those rules are suffering, too. Being a meanie doesn’t feel good, even when you don’t know another way.

Opt out.
It’s never too late.

Articles referenced here: (I’m not making clickable links to sites I disagree with. Google views outbound links as endorsements and I don’t want to endorse them. You can copy and paste the URLs if you’d like to visit those sites)

Parenting-Advice.net

http://www.parenting-advice.net/toddlers/my-child-wont-share.html

Web MD

http://www.webmd.com/parenting/features/7-secrets-of-toddler-discipline?page=3

Supernanny – How to control a wild child

http://www.supernanny.co.uk/Advice/-/Parenting-Skills/-/Discipline-and-Reward/Calming-your-kids-how-do-you-tame-a-wild-child.aspx

Alfie Kohn “Atrocious Advice from Supernanny

Supreme court rules parents can sue the school district if their child is bullied – Spokane Society of Young Professionals


Stop Being Consistent

Someone actually once said “Oh you must be so consistent” when my oldest was little because she was so “well behaved.” It makes me sick now, to think that I was consistently bossy and rigid enough to counteract her easygoing nature in order to force her to conform to my whim.

Consistency is ugly. Looking back, I realized this when my oldest was on time out. She’d go to time out really well, I’d say the word and she would run to the corner and stay there until I said she could come out. I put her there in front of people and they’d snicker behind her back about how compliant she was, whispering “she just stays there…hehe….wow” They were admiring my parenting skills, so I was proud. Little did I know that I’d look back at that time in our lives & wonder what the hell were we thinking. She was probably 3.

Consistency isn’t normal. It isn’t natural. The world is inconsistent. Unless children are violating laws of nature (gravity, centrifugal force) they’ll never experience consistency with humans, and that’s beautiful.

In an inconsistent home, Mom & Dad are distinctly different people, with different opinions and different perspectives, both of which are valuable. If we are to constantly grow & change and evolve as humans, and become better people every day, then what the hell are we worried about consistency for? Stop trying to be consistent and just be honest.

Do you know (you probably do) that so many parents are alienating grandparents because the grandparents have “different rules.” Consistency is supposedly so important, or maybe kids are so stupid, that they can’t be exposed to any adult who has different rules. WHAT is that all about? Different employers have different rules, different cultures have different rules. LIFE is all about understanding how to work within several different environments. HOME shouldn’t be a place you have to learn how to “be” in. At home, you should just be you. Safe, loved and growing. What rule can be more important than that?

As we prepare (which really means scrimp & save & stick to our budget) to go to the Rethinking Education Conference again this year, I’m trying to reflect upon everything we’ve learned about gentle parenting over the past 12 months. We’re not perfect. We still have a VERY LONG way to go. We’re improving every day. We’re helping each other be inconsistent. Consistently improving.

Here are three of my favorite resources that we’ve been using over the past year, to be more gentle parents.

The Daily parenting emails from Scott Noelle, called The Daily Groove it’s a really quick read. I subscribed myself and my husband, each one takes less than a minute to read. I wish I could get it via text message.

Bob Collier’s monthly Parental Intelligence Newsletter, which is absolutely HUGE- it can take all day to read but it’s so worth it.

And our kids.

I list them last not because they’re least important, but because they require a longer explanation. The concept of consistency in parenting assumes that you have a motive and a prescribed means of reaching that goal. Consistency means sticking to the plan, so that you never show your weaknesses. It’s very “Art of War.”

But our goal for the kids is that they’re able to communicate and have healthy relationships, loving each other and appreciating one another’s journey in life. I want them to spend their whole life growing and changing, evolving and improving. I don’t ever want them to feel like they’ve “figured it all out.” Most of all, I don’t want them thinking I’ve figured it out either, because no matter where I am in life, I always have more to learn.

In my opinion, the only way to reach that goal is to let them bear witness to our constant growing & changing, To not separate so much between us and them. They need to be part of our family’s changes, especially right now the older ones who know what “the other side” is like. Their transition has been an adventure because we really shook up their world when we decided to be radical unschoolers. It must have felt like having the rug pulled out from underneath them.

In life, including marriage and in business, the relationships you have with people define your level of success. A marriage without communication is likely to fail. An employer or employee who isn’t able to communicate with their co-workers, staff, clients, or vendors won’t be around for long. A person who can’t relate to others, or communicate effectively will be limited in the amount they can leverage the skills, wisdom and insight of the people around them. Relationships matter and honest, authentic communication is so important.

Consistency in discipline represents a solid and steadfast commitment to NOT communicating with the children. Or maybe it says;

Nothing you say will change my mind. Cry all you want, see if I care. Go ahead, have a fit about it. I’m not changing my mind. It doesn’t matter what you say. It doesn’t matter how you feel. I’m the parent, that’s why. Because you’re a kid. When you’re an adult, then talk to me about it.

I’ve actually heard adults saying these words to children before. Can you imagine how that would feel, to be crying and upset and to have someone you love saying things like that?

Parents may huddle together in unity, figuring out a “consequence” for some action, in an effort to represent an aligned front, but no one is communicating WITH the kids. The only REAL consistency is that the children’s voice doesn’t matter.

We just can’t do that anymore.

With six kids in the house the only way we can survive is with complete honesty.

I know you used to get punished for that when you were little, but I’ve learned that it wasn’t really fair, and it makes a lot of sense to me now.

And the thing about punishing kids is that it often teaches kids to just “not get caught” which means that they’ve really learned that they can’t have an honest relationship with you. They can’t be their true selves in front of you. I think it’s the worst sort of loneliness a person can have, the inability to be themselves in the presence of their primary relations.

or how about

I’m sorry I snapped at you for that, I really freaked out when I saw you _____ because all I could think of was _____. I love you, and I know that wasn’t very nice of me. Let’s figure out a way that you can __________ without the risk of _________ because you seem to be enjoying yourself

or most often

Because that’s how I was raised and I know it makes no sense, so let’s figure out what the root of this issue is, and let’s move on. Thank you so much for pointing it out. Really. You want this___ I’m thinking this_____ it’s really probably not a big deal, so can you just tell me when you’re done so I can clean it up. Thank you again, and I apologize for reacting so quickly.

It seems to me like so many of my parenting role models have been perfect parents the whole time they were raising their kids. Like they discovered the secret to perfect parenting while they were pregnant and have been radiant beams of sunshine ever since. Like Naomi Aldort, Alfie Kohn, Dayna Martin and Scott Noelle.

Sometimes I feel like I’m the only parent who started off with one philosophy and has learned another. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only person transitioning to unschooling. In my generation we were taught to keep our mouths shut. A lot. No back-talking. Don’t whine. Don’t complain. Don’t talk like that to your mother. Don’t talk like that to your sister. Not in my house. Not in my car.

Who is going to write the parenting book that teaches us how to move FROM authoritative parenting TO consensual, non violent communication? Has it been written? Please let me know because I have an Amazon.com credit that’s burning a hole in my… um… amazon.com, credit account.

All I know is that constant, honest communication has been the best tool we have. Our kids know we’re changing, and they know that their freedom is our priority. Some days, that’s enough.