It's Time to Sell the Children

On Sunday one of our church leaders counseled us to do all we can to minimize contention in our homes. Not one to delay acting on inspired counsel, I thought about auctioning off my youngest two children to the highest bidder Monday morning. You know, because auctions on the Sabbath day would be totally inappropriate.

That night as the fighting between Halle and Lyla escalated to hitting and biting, I reached into my mental grab bag of disciplinary strategies. Ah, yes. The front porch- perfect for a time when I needed a break from the noise to think more clearly. 

Picking my six-year-old up with one arm and opening the front door with the other, I explained with as little emotion as possible that hitting is NOT allowed in our house, so she'll have to wait outside.

"You can try again in five minutes," I told her. 

As I locked the door, Halle defiantly crossed her arms and screamed. Both she and I knew how this would end.

And sure enough, five minutes later I found her sitting quietly on the doorstep, ready for a good conversation and an even better hug.

Great. Situation successfully reset.

Ready to enjoy a peaceful evening, I tucked both little girls into bed and sat down in the hallway just outside their door.

Arggghhhh! Not ten minutes later those two were at it again!

"It's my book!"

"That's my space!"

"Stop singing!"

"Mom! Lyla's out of bed!"

"I don't like you!"

My mind honed in on the irony of the soft primary music coming from their CD player. A lot of good that was doing!

I recommitted to selling both of them just after breakfast the next morning.

Beau and Sophia, the oldest two, hardly ever fight. In fact, they are black belts at communication- watching them have a rare disagreement is even amusing. Beau will quietly, but firmly, state his concern with a classic "When you...I feel..." statement. Then Sophia will take a long, slow breath before restating his concern. Though perhaps a bit dramatic, it's impressive. I don't think I learned those skills until I was well into adulthood. To see these short people with squeaky voices managing their tones and saying things like, "So if I understand what you are saying..." is almost comical. 

My middle child, Tyjah, is getting there, too. He's still pretty good at pressing buttons and minding everyone else's business, but we've seen lots of progress even in the last few months.

(Sigh...)

Recognizing the progress of my other children softened my resolve. Maybe I wouldn't auction off the two little girls. Maybe what we're already doing to minimize contention is sufficient. Maybe I need to recognize the process and not just look for success in the ideal.

Doing all we can do to minimize contention doesn't mean our childrens' bickering won't occasionally drown out the peaceful music coming from their CD player at bedtime. Okay, right now it's more than occasionally. But it's a learning process. Teaching our children to be better communicators, encouraging them to be peacemakers, and loving individuals all takes time and patience. And their little minds need to develop, too. Piaget wasn't making all that stuff up.

Before long I realized the two little girls were quiet- not asleep yet, but peacefully reading books, humming along here and there to the music. I noticed Halle reaching over to gently stroke Lyla's head. "Go to sleep. Close your eyes, " she softly crooned. A moment to melt this mother's heart. 

I'll be keeping these two.

Why Mom Doesn't Freak Out These Days

"Oh, okay. For the third time this week, you're not going to stay buckled in your carseat as I'm barreling down the interstate at 70 mph?"

After five kids, I've logged countless hours waiting on the side of the road for someone to get buckled. Bring it.

Resourceful child.

But there was a time when I would have been in tears over this. In knots over whether or not I was handling the situation the right way. The subject would have animated multiple discussions with the rest of the 10 A.M. new-mommy stroller brigade as we dominated the sidewalks of Seattle's north-end.

The experience of raising five children, though, has smoothed out much of the rough surface of my parental anxiety, polishing it instead with at least a bit more wisdom about how much to worry or whether or not to worry at all.

Take, for example my nearly three-year-old daughter who has been talking intelligibly for over a year now, but suddenly slips into gibberish over lunch. Six years ago I was fretting over Sophia doing the same thing. It's like some sort of made-up language they expect the real world to find absolutely charming. Just talk normal, already! Which at ten-years-old, Sophia does now quite successfully, using her impressive rhetorical tactics to draw out a late night shoulder rub from even the most exhausted parent.

At ten-years-old, Sophia can't get enough real words- or Nutella.

So now when three feet of babbling beauty beseeches me from across the table, I exaggerate my amusement with a giggle and then non-chalantly take another bite of my grilled cheese sandwich. Lyla can be so silly.

Or how 'bout the fact that on Sunday morning I adorn Lyla in the sweetest pink floral dress, brush her tangled hair, and pull it back into two perfect pig tails on either side of her head. An hour later she smiles back from the end of the church pew, wearing an additional sweatshirt and an orange and blue chevron headband over her one remaining pig tail. Yep. Sophia did this, too. And she now has her own sense of style and wears it well. It eventually all came together for her and I no longer worry how she walks out the door.

So with my fourth child, Halle? I don't even blink an eye when I drop her off at kindergarten wearing pink and orange plaid shorts, a long-sleeved purple shirt, and yellow boots. 

"And that green ribbon you saved from last year's Christmas package that's tied hippie-style around your head? You're rockin' that, too, Baby Girl!"

Then there's Beau, my first-born. Back then I was worried that the thirty minutes of red-faced hunger-screaming from his infant carseat- when my husband just wanted to get there- would damage him for life. And I don't know, maybe it did. But he seems to be getting along okay these days.

Beau getting a laugh out of his brother.

And I guess that's the point.

Five children later and an increased scope for what's going to matter down the road, allows me to face parenting with a little less anxiety and a bit more acceptance. Stuff passes, most of the time leaving us unscathed, whether I freak out over it or not. So while my children still aren't allowed to run with sticks (more on that experience later), I relax about a whole lot more these days.

Just Listen

We came home late last night from a friend's house. Halle had a tough time keeping it together as she got ready for bed. There were tears, dramatic scowls, and some very unkind words to her mother. I was just grateful that I kept it together. With my own eyelids heavy, it wasn't easy.

By the time she crawled into bed, her sobs were deep and overwhelming her attempts to catch her breath. Her eyes were puffy and the messy strands of hair framing her face were damp with tears.

She had been downright mean to me in the last twenty minutes. I took a deep breath and told her I would sit down on the end of her bed while she calmed down. She begged me to curl up beside her instead, so I did, wrapping my arm around her trembling frame. I could tell she was hurting. As she struggled to overcome her sobs, a list of grievances exploded from every pressure-packed inch of her kindergarten mind. There was no holding them back now.  

Almost imperceptably the Spirit counseled me to just listen.

So I listened.

"I DON'T LIKE CHANGE! I don't want my best friend to move away! I don't want my big sister to move out of my room! I want my little sister to move back to HER room! I don't want to meet new friends! I want MY friends!  

My heart is breaking!"

(Just listening to her, so was mine.)

"I want Sophia to move back in my room! 
 I promise I'll keep my room clean. My heart is cracked and it all just doesn't make sense!"

Her rant included a few other heartbreaks, but I could tell she was most upset about change. And really, this is not breaking news. I've always known Halle to have difficulties with even the slightest hint of change. But last night she let me know that she knew it, too.

I'm so often amazed at how well all of my children evaluate their personal thought processes.  In fact, at nearly six-years-old, I think Halle displays greater frontal lobe development than I reached by age thirty. Ridiculously sad on my part. I know.  

But that's not the point. The point is as subtle as the Holy Spirit's prompting was to just listen. Halle's Heavenly Father loves her. He knew exactly what she needed last night and exactly how to give it to her. He prompted her mother to overlook the offense she might have taken and to just listen.

I stroked her hair as she fell asleep. Wow. She had been really disrespectful. And that's putting it nicely. I could have thrown my arms up and walked out. I could have "taught her a lesson" about respect. But that's not the lesson the Lord knew she needed to learn last night. He wanted her to learn that she was not alone. That she was loved.

And I think she felt loved. She may have only recognized her mother's love, but someday I hope she will recognize her Heavenly Father's love as well. And that with His love, she can handle ANY change.

Mud Soup

Lyla spent most of Tuesday whining and yelling at me.
She was sick.
So was I.

It was hard to remain on the effective side of parenting.  I admit, most of the day I failed, employing such strategies as reasoning with my two-year-old, bargaining with my five-year-old, and lecturing my twelve-year-old.
Ug.

It was 5:30pm when the kids started playing The Hungry Games.  I looked at the kitchen.  Then, the couch. Then, I looked at the kitchen again.  And chose the couch.
I then resorted to even more effectiveness by waving my non-magical fingers in the air and asking the kitchen to make dinner.

Somewhere in Lyla's two-year-old mind, she must have rolled her eyes at my pathetic take on reality and took her resourcefulness outside to make mud soup.

The organic variety.

That was the low point of my day.  I knew I could find renewal in the scriptures so with one eye on the backyard soup kitchen, I opened up to where I last read in the Book of Mormon.
And, no kidding, THIS was where I left off the night before-

For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the (child) of her womb?  Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee...  

1 Nephi 21:15

I laughed to myself.  Really?  

My attention turned to the apparently forgotten child in the backyard.  She was stirring dandelions around in the mud with a big stick.

I smiled.  Really.

I had gone to the scriptures seeking comfort and strength.  I found humor.  Which was exactly what I needed.

A refreshing ten minutes later, I was finally standing in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The backdoor opened and in walked Lyla.  Muddy boots.  Muddy hands.  And a face smudged with dirt.  Instead of the exasperated look I may have given her earlier, I smiled, grabbed a wet wipe, and began tenderly wiping away the dirt.

It's good to smile.

Close

For the last three hours Lyla has been kneading my back with her feet.  Each time I wake up with a little fist in my face, I glance out the window at a slightly brighter sky.

I lift my head off the pillow and stare at her security.   Her breathing is heavy-she's out. It's not often that I need to bring her back to my bed in the middle of the night, but she's working on some new molars.  

She will wake up soon, feeling safe.  How nice it must feel to have her mother so close!  She can roll over (unknowingly slap me in the face) and know that if any scary monsters venture out from under the bed, I'm here.

I can't help but compare how she must be feeling with how I feel when I really turn to my Heavenly Father through scripture study and prayer.  Those times when morning and evening prayers are not simply checked off my to-do list.  When my need for sleep succombs to my need for spiritual nourishment and I search the scriptures late into the night.  It is those times when I feel my Heavenly Father so near to me.  I feel empowered to know that as I seek to remain close to him, whatever monsters may creep out of dark corners, he is there.  

So when you wake, my little Lyla, take in the closeness of your mother.  Remember this feeling.  Then, as you grow and begin to face those monsters, seek out that warmth and protection through real prayer and scripture study.  And let your relationship with your Heavenly Father breath confidence into all your righteous endeavors.  

He is close.

"It's okay. You can do it!"

I was pushing myself through one more set of crunches that morning.  In response to a few stray groans,  Lyla rushed to my side, took my hand and said,  "It's okay.  You can do it!"  I finished the set asymmetrically with my right hand tenderly yet tenaciously clasped in both of hers.

In this seemingly trivial moment, my two-year-old saw beyond my immediate struggle, and because she recognized my potential, did not seek to remove me from suffering, but sustained me through it and enabled me to become something more than I was.

REALLY??  Developmentally, I'm just not sure that her thoughts moved through such complexity, but her words and actions that day were certainly reflective of her divine heritage and potential.

I have felt the spiritual equivalents of those crunches, as everyone has. Times of prolonged suffering, crushing sorrow, having to push through, and facing seemingly insurmountable obstacles are not unique to my own experience.  I have also felt my Heavenly Father rush to my side to say, "It's okay.  You can do it!"

It has not been my experience in life to have God remove me from pain, injustice, or hardship. Instead, as my Lyla so eloquently reflected, he comforts, fortifies, and sustains me as I overcome and grow.