Emward Bound

We’re heading west, toward my dearest sister Emily. We are packing the mini-van and hitting the highway like true americans. We even have a red and white cooler.

I love my sister and if you follow this blog you may notice that I am constantly scheming to get to her or get her to me. There was just the two of us growing up and we switched off being the youngest and the oldest, meaning that though Em technically is two and a half years older than me, I occasionally pulled out in front, drawing on some inner wisdom or know-how that gave me the mature sister position. Other times she rescued me from peril or counseled me through the hazardous terrain of teenage social life, acting like a true elder. A bit of freedom from birth order roles meant we were friends.

• When I was a dorky freshman in high school she shared her locker with me because it was an “upper locker” situated near the quad which set me up with a higher social status from the get-go.
• Also in high school, she protected my reputation by editing my outfits, something I didn’t exactly relish but appreciated in terms of her interest and care.
• She pumped me to elementary school on her rickety ten speed. I sat on the back rack carrying a saxophone and causing us to list deeply to the right.
• She has brown curly hair and is taller than me by a few inches but anyone that hears us speak for even a millisecond has no doubts as to our relation.
• Whenever I see her she tosses a few choice clothing items in my direction and always provides me with the best of the latest Filly collection. Almost my entire wardrobe is from her.
• She drove an orange european karmman ghia, fast and furious like a true teenager, running out of gas and locking the keys inside repeatedly.
• As a child she had trouble falling asleep and would check in with me every five minutes to see if I was asleep. I’d wake up long enough to say no, not yet, before falling asleep again.
• She is young at heart and spent every friday night with me at our grandma’s house, long into high school.
• When hoarding something yummy she coined the term I should get the most because I like it the most! A phrase she stands behind to this day.
• She dreams big and then systematically creates that dream for herself. Again and again.
• When she worked at our aunt’s deli she’d snack on the tubs of ice cream, boring a hole straight to the bottom because she only ate the good, candy, chunky parts.
• She slacked her way through high school, got straight A’s in community college, majored in Chinese politics at a prestigious private school, spent a year in law school before dropping out to run a bike delivery co-op, taught herself to sew, went to design school, learned enough to drop out and began a highly successful clothing line. In other words she is smart and interesting.
• We each had teddy bear hamsters and developed an elaborate imaginary life for them including rock careers and relationship jealousy. We’d talk for them in high-pitched hamster voices even if they weren’t around.
• She shunned me only once, sitting among a pack of other teenage girls she shooed my twelve-year old self out of her room by hurling insults and a shoe. But it was just the one time.
• She makes beautiful little matching Filly dresses for our girls and treats them like humans not babies.
• She lives her life like it is a story. A romantic, tragic, aesthetically beautiful and triumphant novel.
• I call her when I’m sad.

So we are making a new batch of Gak, gathering every fairy in the house, and shoving bathing suits into duffel bags. We will fend off boredom and stop to pee three million times. I will lean forward in my seat, willing myself closer to my sister.

Seven

We celebrated Xi’s seventh birthday yesterday. Nathan catalogued our multi-stop celebratory parade here if you’d like to see photos. The load above is what I pulled home from our last river stop. Holy cow, birthdays are a lot of work.

Leading up to the special day I pumped the girl for details of how she wanted to celebrate. And now that I think about it I guess that might be part of the problem. If you’d like to keep things simple and low-key, don’t ask an almost seven-year old to plan the day. Especially one that fashions herself after royalty, poufy dresses, sky-high cakes, and fancy balls always dance through her mind. She planned a bike parade with streamers and balloons to highlight her celebrity, a stop at the coffee shop to allow our older community friends to celebrate with watermelon, rides on the carousel, a cake party at the river, and a birthday dinner at home.

What I forgot was that with each birthday request there would be a mountain of parental tasks attached. Streamers? Those need to be made and taped. Balloons? That means an additional stop, toddler in tow. Watermelon? That means a trip to the grocery. Rides on the carousel? That means Papa has to be willing to go around and around and around. Cake at the river? That means Mama skips the carousel in order to race home for swimsuits, towels, snacks, water, tubes, forks, napkins, goody bags, and the cake. Birthday dinner? Mac-n-cheese and chicken nuggets is about as simple as it gets but still requires effort and dishes.

In order to make it come together I found myself scheduling the pre-birthday moments with military precision. Bella! If you want to get that banner done you need to get a move on! Nathan! We have fifteen minutes until Xi’s arrival! Next task: balloons and flowers, GO! And of course, like any smart mama I attempted to get as much done the day before as possible, the cake for example, but even that method has it’s pitfalls.

Birthday cakes are mildly stressful affairs so I like to make them at night while the children are dead asleep and I can concentrate fully, but Xi’s is a dead-of-summer birthday and I didn’t want to heat the house up in the evening when we are trying to cool it down enough to sleep. I figured early morning would be better. That’s until I realized that the children aren’t asleep at that time, they are wide-awake and more than willing to offer Mama lots and lots of “help”. I was doubling the recipe in my mind while negotiating whose turn it was to stir and that, as we all know, is not a recipe for yummy cake, it’s a recipe for disaster. The end result? Flat and salty frisbees.

Xi’s request was for a three-tiered, pink cake with white swoops and swirls, blueberries, raspberries and flowers. Flat frisbees were simply not going to get the desired loft and round two of cake making was required. Even with the best get-it-done-ahead-of-time intentions I was still up at midnight fighting a split piping bag and licking pink frosting off my fingers. The birthday girl did not get swoops but she did get a pink masterpiece and she seemed happy.

In the end I am exhausted but also glad. Xi is a middle child and try as you might to prevent it, they do get a bit lost in the shuffle. For example, Xi lost a tooth the other day and tucked it under her pillow. But after helping the three-year old thrash herself to sleep, and late night talks about puberty with the oldest, we simply forgot our tooth fairy duties. Xi woke in the morning and sadly noticed that the tooth fairy didn’t come. That was a low point in my parenting career. I set her up to write a note explaining the situation (perhaps the tooth fairy was running late and Xi woke up before she had a chance to visit?) while I slipped unseen into the bedroom. By the time she tucked the note under her pillow the tooth fairy had done her deed and Xi was delighted. But still!

I want her to know that she’s special, that her desires are important to her parents, and I think we accomplished that. Now if we could just press pause, freeze these girls while they sift through birthday gifts, I could sleep through the afternoon…

Follow Me

The Birds and the Bees, what a light and silly name for a subject so complex, in any case, that’s what’s in the air at our house. We don’t hold back when our children ask us questions, often droning on, detailing further angles and layers long after they have lost interest. But as far as sex is concerned they have been content with The mama has the egg and the Papa has the seed, and together they make a baby, for years and years. Not once have they asked how the seed actually meets up with the egg.

Until yesterday…

It began with menstruation. I recently finished the Red Tent, which sparked my imagination with ways in which to celebrate a girl’s passage into womanhood. And as my reading happened to coincide with an article in Mothering that describes a modern-day celebration of a young girl’s first menses, it suddenly dawned on me that our wide-eyed, forever young at heart Bella might be nearing this very milestone herself. Holy shit.

I set the article beside her cereal bowl and casually mentioned that she might want to take a glance when she got the chance. She never did read the article, but she saw the words period, menstruation, and PARTY!, and hopped up to eagerly ask if we could have a party for her when that time came. That started it off.

Bella: What does the blood feel like? How do you know it’s coming? Why is there blood? Can you see the egg when it comes out? How big is it?  Why does that happen?

Often when I jump into the river to float with the girls I jokingly let out a “quack, quack, quack!”, like a mama duck signaling her ducklings to follow. Our girls “quack, quack” in response and immediately hurry in my wake. Now I use that same quacking method when moving through a crowded grocery store or airport. It triggers something primal and never fails to get their attention or to get them to follow my lead.

As I began to field Bella’s questions my voice must have sounded a metaphoric Quack! because soon enough three sets of eyes were eagerly pointed in my direction. They were ready.

I described fallopian tubes, the uterus, the journey of the egg, the shedding of the inner lining of the uterus, all the wondrous working of the female body. And then they realized the gap, the whole “egg meets seed scene”, so I asked:

Okay, the egg is waiting and ready. What do you remember about making babies?

They shouted: It needs a seed! It needs fertilizer!!!

Me: How does the seed from the Papa get inside?

Their brows wrinkled and I saw the machinations dawn on Bella and she said: Oh God!

I kept it simple, informative, and neutral. I giggled knowingly when Bella commented that she certainly doesn’t like imagining her parents making babies that way. No one does. I reassured them that when done properly, when all parties are ready emotionally and physically, there isn’t pain involved. And I answered inquiry after inquiry.

Their questions were smart and their interest was age-appropriate. Echo tuned out for parts, rejoining to celebrate being born with eggs inside her body, and smiling broadly when imagining the egg and seed growing into someone like her. Xi stayed tuned-in but spent most of her time absorbing the basics. Bella pieced together the facts I was offering with all the bits she has overheard in movies and music, and I saw satisfaction settle over her face. Finally it was all making sense.

Eventually we wound our way back to the start, to the part that is most pertinent to their current lives. They can’t even imagine kissing anyone until they are at least teenagers, but some girls have their period at age ten, and that fact put them on high alert as Bella is wrapping up her ninth year.

Bella: Let me just get this straight… is having my period a good thing or a bad thing?

Oh man. I was so happy to be lobbed that big, fat, slow-ball, the chance to set the stage positively. I gazed at her with love and light and said: It is the most amazing, incredible, beautiful treasure.

Her shoulders lifted in delight and her face glowed with excitement. With deep, contented sighs all three little ducklings went happily back to their fairy adventures.

So often parenting is spent feeding the children, keeping them from ripping their own heads off, and shoving them into bed before we rip their heads off. When they are little there is also holding and grooming, but with the older ones it seems safety, sleep, and food make up most of the day. It was rewarding to remember this other part of the puzzle, the leading and guiding. The part where I get to hold their hands and walk with them toward their future, their empowerment and toward self-appreciation.

Incredible Capabilities

One of the greatest things about giving birth is that it gives you a glimpse of your personal power. Bringing a human into the world requires intense physical, emotional, and mental strength. After Echo’s birth I did not bask in post-natal bliss and missed taking advantage of my new and honorable state wherein you are allowed to lounge in bed and graciously accept care from your family. I was too pumped up, too charged with endorphins and energy, and I sprung out of bed at first light, toasted waffles while breastfeeding, and yearned to shine my glorious, powerful light.

Little did I know that growing a child in my body and then bringing it forth was only the beginning of strength requirements.

Babies nurse through the night. Sleeping on your side all night goes on for months and months. And although your spine develops a permanent crick, the muscles seize up on one side to ensure long-term lopsidedness, and your inner knees exhibit permanent bruises from clacking against one another for hours on end, you do not roll over on to your back.

A mama’s body can do that.

Babies need help falling asleep. Sometimes only the perfect bounce, bounce, swoop, jiggle jiggle combination will coax their eyes into verifiable closure and deep sleep. And although both your arms fall asleep, a stray strand of hair tickles your nose, and your calf muscles threaten to pop, you continue. Bounce, bounce, swoop, jiggle jiggle no matter how long it takes.

A mama’s body can do that.

Kids cry a lot and often. For them there is sorrow and trauma waiting at every turn. Sometimes a popsicle falls. Sometimes a bug crawls over a toe, or even just near a toe. Sometimes there is only one sock to be found, or an elephant crucial to the nighttime ritual goes missing. Tears are frequent, screams are common, and although you’d like to scream as well, or leave the room, or curl up under the covers and eat chocolate, you don’t. One more time you reach down and pick up, you wipe tears and kiss noses, and you set things to right, however momentarily.

A mama’s heart can do that.

Children like repetition. They want you to say where’s the baby? while covering your eyes three hundred and forty-nine times before they are ready for something else. And even if you have already read Me Hungry that morning, and last night, and every day for three weeks before that, they want you to read it again. And again, and again. And although you’d rather brew a pot of tea, or pee, or talk to your husband for thirty-seconds, you still read Me Hungry one more time.

A mama’s mind can do that.

If anyone had asked you ahead of time whether or not you were capable of such feats, or even wanted to be capable of such feats, you probably would have said NO, but here you are, doing it, not just once but daily. The quotidian, maternal versions of lifting an elephant, saving the world, and defeating a chess champion.

Okay, sure, there are plenty of times when you actually say I can’t do this!, but most of the time you do it anyway.

In the picture above, Kris is holding thirty pound Sascha and nursing while standing on shifty river rocks. After giving birth, Kris’s  muscles grew as Sascha did, rendering her strong enough to do that for prolonged periods of time. Her heart swelled and became well conditioned, making her willing to give that to her girl, to soothe and love her in this way. And her mind became burly, allowing her to stay in that moment, watching the creek flow by, waiting for her daughter to finish.

She is capable of that, and if we want to be,we are capable of it as well.

Obedience

Obedience. The holy grail of raising children. Well mannered, polite, obedient children is the goal of many, but I think if they gave it a little thought, more parents would toss this goal aside, maybe even drop it like a hot cinder. Why? Because requiring children to demonstrate absolute obedience to authority results in adults that are fearful, mindless sheep.

When children are young we, the parents, are the authority, and it feels good that when we say DON”T, they… don’t. We tell ourselves we know better, that we are teaching them how the world works, that minding their parents is the most important lesson we can impart. But what happens later when we are no longer the authority? Or if we aren’t present? If our children are taught to follow orders and their standard authority is at work, running errands, or watching tv, they will have no choice but to seek out an alternative authority. The tricky thing is that parents don’t get to choose who that alternative authority is. Often a boyfriend takes up the position, or a pack of peers. We cannot require them to obey our every command while at the same time teach them to think for themselves.

So what does a parent do?

1. Demote obedience in the hierarchy of child behaviors and instead relish the moments when your children challenge your ideas, ask questions, and assert themselves. These are desired qualities that will serve our children in the long run as they become adults and are given the opportunity to make their own decisions. If they are given enough room to think for themselves during childhood the likelihood of these decisions being good is high.

2. It seems counterintuitive but to have more control you must let go of control. With fewer rules to resist, children resist less. Many of us have created numerous and senseless regulations that are needless. Rethink your own list of “don’ts” and see which can be loosened. Whenever it is safe, give your child freedom to explore and discover natural consequences. When given time to move freely and think independently a child will be more open to following reasonable guidance.

3. Use NO sparingly. This word is most potent when used only in critical moments, such as immediate safety situations. Watering it down by automatically using it at every turn renders it useless. And even if your answer is negative there are ways to frame it so that  there is less friction to brace against.

Yes, I will be able to read you a story, but I want to brush my teeth first. (Instead of: No, not right now.)

That’s a possibility. Let me think about what our next steps might be and I’ll let you know how we can fit a trip to the park into our day. (Instead of: Well, we have a lot to do today, probably not.)

Yes, I hear that you want to go to the library very badly. I’m not sure we have time today but I know it’s important to you and I will work to make that happen as soon as possible. (Instead of: No, not today.)

For further examples of saying YES more, and No less, look here. For more on the hazards of an automatic NO look here.

4. Use empathy as a way to teach empathy. “Good” behavior or obedience, can be achieved by encouraging empathic behavior. A child that can recognize feelings as they occur for others automatically considers how their choices are contributing to those feelings. This often results in actions that we have come to consider “polite” or “proper”. A child that recognizes another’s pain and feels bad for bumping into them will naturally apologize. An enforced Say your sorry! isn’t necessary. When given the information that Aunt Flo feels sad when kids chase her cat, an empathic child will, more likely than not, stop chasing the cat. A rule that declares NO CAT CHASING isn’t required. The most effective way to develop empathy in children is to treat them with empathy.

The related topic of manners can be found here.

5. Look for the underlying need behind the action. When a child is driven toward a particular action, and especially when they won’t stop doing that action, even when you have asked them not to, there is a very good chance that a strong need is their motivation. Look and listen closely, open your mind to strange possibilities and you just might be able to offer information and an alternative solution that meets that need.

I see that you’re banging that hammer on the wall… I am concerned about making marks. Are you wanting to fix something and be helpful? Hmmm. Can I set you up with the work bench outside? (Underlying need: purpose, effectiveness, or creativity)

Honey, I asked you to stay out of that tree. It isn’t strong enough to hold you. Are you wanting a challenge? Shall we go to the park where you can climb that dragon’s tower? ( Meeting the underlying need of: freedom or competence)

Please stop hitting your sister. She doesn’t like it and is getting angry. Do you want her attention? Can I help you find a way to get that in a different way? (Meeting the underlying need of: love, to be seen, or companionship)

A complete list of needs can be found here.

6. Offer as much information as possible. Disobedience is often due to a lack of understanding, something easily remedied when the parent is willing to take time to explain. We often have very good reasons for asking our children to do something, or to stop doing something, but don’t share them. Providing information allows children to see the thought process behind our decisions.

Tommy that stroller was built for a baby doll so I’m pretty sure it can’t hold you. Will you climb out of there?

Elizabeth, I notice that the cat is putting her ears back and swishing her tail. I think that means she doesn’t like the way you are petting her. Will you try something else?

7. Respect children as human beings and treat them accordingly. Children are not pets to be directed with barks and commands. They aren’t even yours, they are theirs. They have their own opinions, thoughts and desires and recognizing this will go a long way in getting them to do anything.

Letting complete obedience go might feel like a scary thing. Many of us are attempting to meet our own underlying needs by controlling our children. But the benefits to our children of rethinking this goal are well worth it. In the moment, explaining, using empathy, and offering alternatives can feel trying and time-consuming but I think that most of us would trade those few minutes and extra energy in exchange for independent, bold, thoughtful, and spirited children.

The Power of Words

What does this mean for our kids and the words with which we surround them? You probably aren’t visiting this site if you find yourself frequently bellowing “you make me sick!”, but what if we were EXTRA diligent with our words and our children? What words do you want to rain down on your loved ones? What words do you want to linger in their bloodstream? With which words do you want to paper their lives?

When choosing words I look for ones that describe what I want to happen, or that describe how I want my child to think of herself.

Will you slide that glass of milk over so that it stays on the table? (not, “so that you don’t spill the milk”)

That bench is pretty splintery, will you sit over here so that you stay safe? (not, “Look out! You’ll get a splinter if you sit there.)

The pants were designed to go the opposite way, can I help you turn them around? ( not, ” Your pants are on wrong.”)

I’m going to pick up this towel so that it stays dry. (not, “so that it doesn’t get wet”)

That’s so funny! (not, “You’re so silly.”)

Can I help you stay safe? (not, “Careful!)

Will you put this on so that you stay warm? (not, “You’ll freeze without a coat!)

Will you speak more quietly? (not, “Stop yelling!)

The river water isn’t healthy for you. Do you want the water that we brought? (not, ” Ew! Stop drinking that. You’ll make yourself sick.)

Will you talk to your sister and work something else out? (not, “No fighting!”)

Words dramatically affect the environment, peaceful, positive words create a peaceful and positive space. Children also take words very seriously, especially when they come from their parents. If they hear, bad, wrong, no, hit, yell, they will associate these words with themselves as human beings and stretch to meet that expectation.

And pragmatically speaking, if you say:

Don’t poke your eye with that stick!

Law of Attraction dictates that, somehow, the stick will make its way to the eyeball. Describing what you actually want to happen, or how you want your children to be, will save everyone a lot of grief.

Did I ever Mention This?

This is my girl today. Eyes ablaze, striking first, screaming second, pissed.

My logical, solution-seeking brain wants to know why? I scan through the last twenty-four hours. Did she get enough sleep? Food? What the bleep is wrong? Eventually I come to my senses, it doesn’t matter. I feed her all the time and we strive for as much sleep as possible. There aren’t days where I let sleep slide, or forget to offer nutrients, so even if I found a culprit to blame there still wouldn’t be anything to do differently in terms of physical needs.

After flailing about in this direction, I remember that I can still address emotional needs and quickly pull out empathy and information.

Empathy: Oh Echo. I see you’re really upset, really mad.

Information: When you scream at Bella like that she turns away from you and doesn’t want to play. Can I help you talk to her and figure out a solution?

I use my face to show understanding, I make myself physically available in case a hug or snuggle is desired, and I keep listening, searching for deeper feelings that can be empathized with. This is our formula and it works. It is time-consuming, at least in the moment, (although I’d argue that time-outs, threats and bribes take more time out of your life in the long-term), and quite verbal, but our children thrive under this system.

That being said, I’m not sure I’ve ever mentioned the fact that I also use physical restraint. Today, empathy is reaching Echo’s ears, but not before she lands a few blows. Once I caught wind of her fierce temperament this morning I have been quick to slide my body between hers and her adversary. When the safety of others is involved I follow the same formula, while gently but firmly holding Echo in my arms.

Empathy: Oh Echo. You’re really mad. You want to hit her, huh? Oh you’re sad too? You wanted to play with that toy and she picked it up before you had a chance.

Information: You want me to let you go so that you can hit her and scratch her? Well, I think I’m going to continue holding you so that your sister stays safe. When you hit her she feels mad and probably won’t give you the toy. Do you want help figuring something else out?

It’s a safety clause but you have to be very mindful when you use it. It’s tempting to convince yourself that you are keeping others safe when in reality you are looking for ways to justify controlling your child’s movements. It’s better for your relationship to assume the best and be mistaken than to continuously and thoughtlessly jump in and use restraint. In addition, blocking a blow to spare another child harm is very different from grabbing an arm as an expression of your own anger. Empathic restraint is a short-term, temporary measure to protect others, the real, effective work is being done by your words, expression, and empathy.

Keeping With The Theme

Early on in my relationship with Nathan, we made the now familiar three-plane trip to Alabama to visit his folks. In the middle somewhere, maybe in Atlanta, Bella fell asleep on my chest. She’s a big girl, she’s always been big, and her three-year old frame filled my entire torso and pinned me to the plastic airport chair. As I was immobilized, Nathan fed me bits of food, an avocado if I remember correctly. With the heavy weight of sleeping child on my chest, and tasty food brought to my waiting lips, I was purring like a kitten. Nathan too seemed quite content, he turned to gaze at me with glowing warmth and said, You look like a queen.

I surely felt like a queen, motherhood had always been appealing to me, but what struck me more was that he found motherhood appealing. Mothering is beautiful to Nathan. I dropped a few feet further into love in that Atlanta airport. If you want to be a mother, there is something extremely appealing in a man who finds the role of mother attractive. I’m not sure if this quality is rare or simply routinely squashed. Our american culture would have us believe that to be a mama is to relegate ourselves to slovenly housewife aesthetics, to un-sexiness and unattractiveness. Women in heels and underwear are the standard image of beauty, and never include a baby on the hip.

I blame feminism for this, or at least the form of feminism that was finally allowed. The push for women to be equal to men at the workplace did not mean that they could bring their womanliness into the boardroom, it meant they could bring their best impression of men into the boardroom. Curves, breast-feeding, and menstruation weren’t honored by more, they were shoved aside, or at least scooted over to make room for all the new roles women could play if they so desired.

Women today are expected, or expect themselves, to be “more than just a mother”, to run a business, maintain an immaculate home, volunteer, have lots of sex with her husband, and raise children. More and more I see women wanting to have children without looking like they have children. Boob jobs, tummy tucks, and daycare all maintain the illusion of unattached, sexy, non-maternalness.

I really didn’t intend to climb onto a soapbox with this post. There is certainly nothing wrong with looking good, but I wonder about the outside influences that encourage us to move away from motherliness in order to do so. If left to their own judgement I think women would declare their child rearing days as the time they felt the most beautiful. Round and ripe, part of the earth and sky, and tied inextricably to all the curvy, juicy women that came before.

Broken Record

Without a doubt the single most common refrain that I hear from my children is: Will you tell me a story from when you were a kid? There are other fragments that pop up with more regularity, Mama? or, Can I… ?, or I’m hungry… but the most consistent request is for a description of something, anything, that happened before.

I am genuinely flattered and amused, Something about me?, and it is fun to reach back and find a little descriptive nugget to relate. Finally I have something to do with all the multi-hued illustrations that float through the nostalgic portion of my brain. I have stored pieces of information that seemed useless until now. The girls are satisfied with the most banal event, the presents I opened on my second birthday, for example, but if I can formulate a dramatic tale, preferably including pain, poop, or fear, their eyes bulge in wonder and their tiny thighs squirm with delight.

We’ve taken many trips to my parents homes, the same houses that I grew up in, so when a tale starts out:

Well, Aunt Emy and I were swinging on the swing under the big redwood when…

their ruffled heads nod, letting me know that yes, they know that tree. Or:

You know the steep stairs at Grammies house? Well we put a mattress at the top and …

their mouths open in a grin, they can picture the scene perfectly.

It’s deliciously fun for them to imagine their stepmom, or mama, as a young girl, and especially enjoyable to imagine their sweet Grammie, or gentle Grandpa sternly voicing objection to my disobedience.

But their appetites, my god. I have barely caught my breath after “The Time the Squirrel Bit a Boy’s Finger and Raced Into Our House to Hide” when they ask for another. Please? I pull out another oldie but goodie, “The Time I Used the Broken Toilet After My Mom Told Me Not To”, and they clamor for more. Our girls, if we let them, would watch the same movie more times than seems psychologically healthy, in fact it appears that the more times they have seen a movie the more they enjoy it, and the same is true for my childhood stories. But as a storyteller I resist repeating myself. I often start conversations with my close friends or even my partner with Did you read my latest blog post yet?, not because I am looking to drum up more page views but because I am about to talk about something I have already written about and deeply detest repeating myself. So when the girls chant insistently for another tale, instead of repeating a tried and true favorite, I scour the depths of my memory, walking the halls of my elementary school, the catalog of my owies or disappointments, looking for new material. It can be exhausting.

Sometimes I want to simply cook dinner, or manage a bowel movement in peace. Other times I want to use my personal brain space for my own thoughts, as a place to be alone in a crowded room, not as a stage for the evening entertainment. In fact the requests have gotten so out of hand, in my opinion, that I have been declaring official breaks from storytelling, and stashing bits of resentment.

Then I started the The Red Tent and my perspective began to shift. I have girl children. They are supposed to sit at my knee and learn our history. In fact, in the “olden days” when Bible stories were real life, if a woman reached the end of her fertility without bearing a girl she would anoint her youngest son as the heir of her stories. She’d excuse him from enough of the traditional role of boys to permit him time to open his little ears to her words, to her knowledge of things past. But what she yearned for, what all women yearned for was a girl, a vessel to hold verbal treasures.

I am not wrapped in tribal robes, squatting over a fire, spinning wool with my hands while I speak. I am stirring macaroni noodles, pulling a synthetic broom across hard wood floors, and chopping fruit for a smoothie. I am not describing gods and goddesses, the births of valleys, or the location of sacred trees. I am describing my parents, the births of kittens, and escapades to the drainage ditch. My tales take place on a neighborhood street in Santa Cruz, California, not the deserts and hills of the ancient Middle East, but I am biblical nonetheless.

I am a mother, like all mothers before me, whispering stories of love, pain, and adventure. Instead of seeing the hundredth story request as another intrusion, another task to tend, I now see it as a sacred ritual, a way to love my daughters, a way to pass history into gently cupped hands, and begin…

Well, we were in the backyard playing Native Americans. We loved that game, gathering berries and scraping acorns between rocks. I was the medicine woman and needed a wand, so I picked a stick and peeled the bark, using my teeth to make a decorative pattern. But later that night my face and eyes were really itchy, as it turns out… the stick I had chosen for my wand… was… POISON OAK!…

mental collage

I’ve been a little out of touch with my thoughts and feelings as of late, basically too busy to watch them float by, and never, ever, alone. Well there is the six-minute ride to yoga class but it goes by really fast, and then once I’m there my mind fuzzes out into hamstring awareness. After class I usually meet my brood at our coffee shop, I am afforded four minutes of transit time between class and latte but after bending and breathing for an hour I’m like a leaf floating down the alleyway river. In fact yesterday I was so airy and blank that en route to my family I allowed myself to drift right into the arms of a sidewalk solicitor. Usually I steel myself with a ready answer as to why, thank you very much, I don’t have a few minutes to save the environment. But yesterday I couldn’t formulate any thoughts, couldn’t drum up any resistance, and thus, was netted immediately. I forked over the contents of my wallet and signed up for at least a year of unwanted emails and environmentally themed phone calls before the tide sailed me forward to my waiting family.

Short story? No concrete helpful musings.

But there are bits and pieces that occasionally surface:

1. For all those waiting in suspense, (ha ha), my new bikini is day-glo melon-orange, a color that looked fabulous on the white shores of the turquoise gulf but feels a little blingy on the banks of the Clark Fork. But then again, after I squat on some gravel, or shove a few more toddlers in toobies up a sandy slope, it might just be dingy enough to pull off. I’ll give it a go and let you know.

2. Nathan and I have been reading Magical Child by Joseph Chilton Pearce and feeling newly inspired to raise our children with consciousness and magic. One thing Pearce describes is the almost super-natural abilities that children possess and can utilize if certain elements are in place, particularly the belief on the part of the parents that these powers are perfectly normal, almost a given. So when Echo picks up the novel that I have been reading aloud to her and says that she is reading it by herself now. I believe her. If she wants to skip letter identification and sounding out words, and move right on to instant comprehension-at-a-glance, perfect. Acting as though that is reasonable is the first step in making that a possibility for her. There is more, so much more in this book. It is mind bending stuff and really exciting. Magical Child is a dense read but worth it.

3. Empathy can be accessed quite easily by taking out the “but” from all of our parental explanations.

Mom! I want my other sock.

I know you do honey, but I can’t seem to find it anywhere.

Waaaah! I fell and hurt my arm!

Oh, you sure did. You scraped your knee, but, you know that wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been running. I told you that running isn’t allowed at the pool.

Mom can we watch a movie, pleeeaaaasssse?

No, my love, we aren’t watching a movie tonight.

Ah! But I REALLY want to watch one!

I know you do honey. You really like movies but it’s just too late tonight. It’s almost bedtime.

If you remove the bold print the result is empathy, pure empathy. Explanations and information are really important. Never explaining the reasons behind our decisions is not good parenting, but so many of us rush past the empathy part, mush it right into the explanation, which neuters both.

4. Nathan has been writing some really incredible articles over on “A Beautiful Place of the World”. At times I feel a bit inadequate, as my posts are generally anecdotal first and educational/helpful second, and Nathan’s are like well thought out, mini-research papers, but most of the time I feel proud, and so glad that these ideas are entering the world so gracefully.

5. I’ve got a running list in my mind of reasons why one should never split from the father/mother of their children. The newest addition is summer scheduling. The amount of time Nathan spends figuring out how the girls we share can make it to the various summer events is equal to a part-time job.

6. Children are good for getting over body image bullshit. Days on the river mean days in bathing suits, which can be difficult if you are tinkering with thoughts about what your body should look like. If you don’t have children you might set yourself up in a flattering semi-reclined position, on a clean towel, with a chic, thigh-hiding sarong close at hand. But if you do have kids, or if you have our kids, there is no reclining, semi or otherwise. Our days at the river include trekking, in a bikini, toddlers on hips, up the most traveled biking/walking trail that runs through the middle of town (basically the most exposed you will ever be in your entire life), and dipping back into the river to float back to our pile of bike trailers and snacks. And when athletic-minded little boys are with us, the day also inevitably includes a foray onto the nearby football field. A bikini by the river is one thing but a bikini on a football field requires a different kind of confidence.

7. I’ve also been reading the Red Tent by Anita Diamant, and musing over rites of passage. When I got my first period I slumped sadly in the living room. There were no songs to be sung, no dancing in the moonlight, no gathering of loving matriarchs. I feel sad about that and want to do things differently for the girls in our community, I want to celebrate with them, guide them into womanhood with pride.

There might be more, I’m sure, but there are currently three little beauties, with summer reading charts in hand, ready to cash them in at the library for ice cream coupons.