Guests of Honor

Doesn't this make you think of a warm summer evening with friends?

We have entered into the wild and wooly summer schedule now.  I am teaching 6 hours a day for the rest of the month, and then about 3 days after classes end, we are taking a new group of students to Puerto Rico for a couple of weeks for a class there.  We are using a new textbook for that class that I need to spend time with before the trip, and of course, there are all the usual things of daily life with four kidlets.  Something has to get cut, at least a little bit, and it was either family time or computer/blogging time.  Guess what I picked?

The really cool part of that is that some of my fabulous blogging friends are helping me out.  I am so excited about sharing their guest posts here, and so grateful and honored that they would do this.  These are amazing ladies full of worthwhile things to say, and I am thrilled to be able to share them here.  We have lots to look forward to!  :)

A sneak preview for you:  expect posts from Little Bird You are Perfect, The Hippie Housewife, One Rich Mother and more!  The first one will be up very soon.  :)

And, this last week I did a guest post of my own for the Tiki Tiki blog series on Becoming Mami.  It was so much fun and already I am finding new amigas who make my heart smile.

Many thank yous to my wonderful friends--I am so very honored and grateful for all of you who read here, for all of you that would write here, and most of all for your friendship.  You are a dearly loved part of my parenting community.  <3

La belleza de esperar

   Hoy es viernes (gracias sean dadas al Señor), y voy a participar en Spanish Friday por primera vez.  Estoy muy emocionada.  :)  A veces es difícil para mí seguir una rutina estricta, pero me gustaría escribir más en español, y es un honor ser parte de esta comunidad de blogueras.  Muchas gracias a Chantilly, Tracy y Eliana por animarme y por la oportunidad de participar.

¿Alguna vez has sentido que estás demasiado alterada como para reaccionar? ¿Y eso resulta ser algo bueno?  Mientras yo esperaba antes de responder a una situación con mi hija, me dio la oportunidad de ver algo bello que me habría perdido si no hubiera esperado.

Sucedió después de una tarde agotadora. La más chiquita tenía picazón, y estaba de mal humor.  Por fin se durmió.  Me felicité a mí misma por haber conseguido que la bebé se durmiera y de repente, me soprendió la calma y el silencio alrededor. Yo debería haber sabido que algo raro estaba sucediendo...

Escuché un grito ahogado y entonces mi hija mayor dijo con tono ominoso: "Mamá no va a estar feliz cuando vea esto." Contuve la respiración para no despertar a mi hija que se acababa de dormir, me levanté lo más cuidadosamente posible y salí en puntillas a la sala de estar. Cuando vi la escena, me mordí los labios para no gritar... toda superficie imaginable en la sala estaba totalmente manchada con lápiz labial.

Mi hija Elena, de dos años de edad, está fascinada por el lápiz de labios.  No sé por qué, pero está obsesionada.  Todos los días me pide que le compre lápiz labial de color azul.  Un día, para darle gusto, le regalé un par de tubitos de brillo de labios. Su astucia la hizo darse cuenta rápidamente que no era un pinta labios regular y como el azul es su color favorito, el tono no daba el azul brillante con él que ella soñaba.

Yo tampoco tenía su color preferido de Spiderman-azul, a excepción de un lápiz violeta intenso con brillos azules que compré hace mucho por diversión. El lápiz estaba casi completo, como no lo usaba.  Al parecer, decidió que a falta del color ideal, éste era un sustituto acceptable, y en cuestión de minutos : de lleno pasó a vacío, lo utilizó todo.

Pintó la sala entera con él. Había huellas de sus manos en las paredes, ya que como al parecer se había subido a admirar su obra en el espejo ... todos los muebles y objetos que tocó, incluídas las persianas, quedaron con su huella, además de los otros muebles que al parecer manchó mientras buscaba dónde esconderse, luego de por supuesto, haberse pintado ella misma por completo.
 
Yo estaba horrorizada. Normalmente guardo todo mi maquillaje en la camioneta porque sé cuán tentador es para ella dejarlo en la casa, pero como la camioneta estaba en reparación había metido todo a la casa lejos del alcance de ella sobre el refrigerador, sin siquiera imaginar que con la habilidad de un monito lograría alcanzarlo.
 

No es el azul brillante que quería. 

La mayoría de las personas opinará que la debería regañar y tal vez darle una nalgada para que aprenda a no tocar mis cosas nunca más, porque generalmente la gente piensa que para que los niños se arrepientan y aprendan hay que hacer de estos momentos una experiencia dolorosa, para que pagando por sus errores puedan entender lo malo que son, ¿no?

Yo estaba tan abrumada en ese momento que entré en el modo de piloto automático. Empecé a limpiar el desorden y gentilmente la ayudé a lavarse la carita y las manos. No sabía como afrontaría la situación aun, pero desde luego, no quería que lo volviera a hacer.   Sin embargo, no quería avergonzarla o castigarla.  Creo que todos somos digos de respeto, cortesía y bondad, sin importar la edad.  Prefiero guiar a mis hijitos con amor y paciencia, y disciplina en forma de enseñanza, sin castigos.  Por eso, traté de calmarme, y mientras yo esperaba, ella me sorprendió.

Mi peque de dos años de edad comenzó a hacer todo lo posible para ayudarme. Comenzó a frotar la alfrombra tratando de limpiarla y me dejó lavar sus manos y su carita. Se abrazó a mis rodillas con fuerza (sin darse cuenta que seguia manchando mis pantalones), y me miró con carita de preocupación. "Lo siento, mami: Se me rompió el lápiz labial, te doy uno de los míos, aquí está; me dijo. Este no está 'rompido' y es bueno, úsalo, es para ti! ¿de acuerdo?" y rápidamente me trajo su sabor favorito.

Le di gracias a Dios intensamente por haber estado demasiado abrumada como para gritar o intentar castigarla (el tener miedo de despertar al bebé me ayudó, también). De alguna manera, hemos sido condicionados para creer que tenemos que hacerles sentir mal a nuestros hijos para que ellos hagan el bien. No es cierto. No es necesario crear remordimiento.  A veces, todo lo que necesitan es un poco de tiempo para darse cuenta de lo que han hecho mal.

Ella estaba tan ansiosa por hacer las paces, y con generosidad me ofreció sus pequeños tesoros para reemplazar lo que había roto. Si yo la hubiera regañado y castigado, yo nunca habría visto o reconocido la sinceridad de su gesto, porque inconscientemente hubiera asumido que lo hacía por obligación, no porque ella quería.

Creo que tengo una nueva herramienta en mi caja de herramientas para padres ahora: “Esperar”. Esperar a que mis hijos se den cuenta de lo que ha sucedido.  Puede ser que tarda unos minutos o puede tomar mucho más tiempo antes de que lleguen a la madurez necesaria para comprender. Habrá que seguir enseñándoles en el proceso, pero estoy segura de que si esperamos, vamos a ver cosas hermosas que de otra manera no veríamos.
 
Cosas hermosas como el tierno corazón y la generosidad de espíritu en mi pequeña artista de lápiz labial. 

Wait and See

This one lacks the blue glitter, and is confined to her lips, but is otherwise similar.

Ever have times when you are too shell-shocked to respond?  And is that ever a good thing?  For me, it was.  It forced me to wait a moment before responding, and gave me the chance to see something beautiful that I would have missed if I hadn't waited. It happened after an exhausting afternoon.  I had just congratulated myself on getting a cranky, teething baby to sleep and was marveling at the relative quiet from the living room.  I should have known...

I heard a gasp, then my seven year old's ominous tone, "Mom is not going to be happy about that."  I held my breath lest the little one wake up as I eased away as carefully as possible.  I tiptoed to the living room and bit back a shriek.  Nearly every surface imaginable was smeared with lipstick.

My two year old is fascinated by lipstick.  I am not sure why, but she is obsessed with the stuff.  She asks every day for me to buy her some blue lipstick.  I had conceded to give her a couple of tubes of chapstick, but she was savvy enough to realize that it did not color her lips the same way.  And since blue is her favorite color, naturally she wanted bright blue.

I didn't have her favorite Spiderman-blue shade, but I had purchased an extremely vivid violet lipstick full of blue glitter once for fun.  Apparently, she decided that this was an acceptable substitute.  And because it was not something I wore regularly, it was nearly full.  Was.  Preterite tense.  Not only was it now worn down to the nub, she had even gouged out the part that held it in the base.

But she had gotten remarkable mileage out of it.  There were handprints going up the walls as she apparently had climbed to admire her handiwork in the mirror...smears all over random surfaces, the table...more all over the blinds where she must have climbed behind the couch to avoid discovery.  And of course, she had painted herself with it liberally.

I was reeling.  I normally keep all of my make up in the van because I know just how tempting it is to her to leave it in the house.  But I had brought it in since the van was getting some repairs, and despite putting it up high, she had used her monkey superpowers to retrieve it. 

Now, most people would suggest a scolding and perhaps a spanking to fix in her mind that she is not to touch that again, ever.   After all, how will they be sorry if we don't make this a painful experience?  We must make them somehow pay for their mistakes so that they will get how bad it was, right?

I was so overwhelmed at that moment that I went into autopilot mode.  I numbly started cleaning up the mess.  I gently told her that we needed to clean it up, and helped her wipe her face and hands.  I really didn't know what to do next.  I certainly didn't want her to repeat the actions, but I didn't feel right about shaming or punishing her, either.  My mind raced trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation.  Then, as so often happens when we wait, she astounded me.
 
My two year old began doing her best to help me.  She rubbed the carpet and wiped surfaces, and let me wash her off.  She hugged my knees tightly (inadvertently transferring a little more lipstick I had missed to my jeans), and looked up with a troubled face.  "I sorry, mami.  I broked your lipstick.  I gib you one of mine.  Here it is. It's not brokened.  It's nice.  You use it, you keep it now, OK?"  She quickly brought me her favorite flavor.

I began to thank God fervently that I had been too overwhelmed to yell or scream (fear of waking the baby didn't hurt, either).  Somehow, we have been conditioned to believe that we must make our children feel bad in order to make them do good.  We don't.  We don't have to create remorse.  Sometimes, all they need is a little time to realize what has taken place.

She was so anxious to make amends, and so generous to offer her little treasures to replace what she had messed up.  If I had scolded and punished, I would never have seen or recognized the open-heartedness of her gesture.  I would have subconsciously assumed that she was doing it because she had to, not because she wanted to.

I think I have a new tool in my parenting tool box now.  Waiting.  Waiting for them to process what has happened.  That may take a few minutes.  It may take much longer as they reach the maturity necessary to understand.  And of course we will continue to teach during that time.  But I am convinced that if we wait, we will see things that we wouldn't otherwise.  Like the tender heart and generosity of spirit in my little lipstick artist.

La niña de tus ojos

Yo soy tu niña, la niña de tus ojos.  Me amaste a mí.

"Guárdame como a la niña de tus ojos; escóndeme a la sombra de tus alas." ~ Salmo 17:8

I love the play on words from this with Spanish.  "La niña de tus ojos" refers to your pupil--the apple of your eye.  Of course, "niña" is also a little girl.  When I hear this, it reminds me that God sees each of us as His beloved little girl, the apple of His eye.  He has called us by name.  His arms are always holding us close, swinging us through the air as we dance together.   

Nightmare at Walmart

It started as a simple errand.  Innocent enough.  We hadn't realized that we were running low on toilet paper when we did our weekly shopping.  However, with two kidlets who still don't believe that anything less than a softball-sized wad will protect their hands, we go through it more quickly than we should.  We had had a lovely day.  Our adventure at the safari sanctuary seeing lions, tigers, a liger, wolves and bears, and petting donkeys, pythons and an adorable little joey had concluded with ice cream (can I just say that Braum's new Key Lime Pie flavor is delicious?).  Like the naive and over-confident blonde in the horror movies, I blithely assured Carlos that I would be back soon to nurse the baby, and let the other three come with me.

The ominous soundtrack should have started shortly after we walked in.  The greeter generously handed out stickers for a free cookie.  I had only a twinge of foreboding about the sugar on top of the previous ice cream, and consented.  Ariana and Joel politely thanked the lady.  Elena, almost three (shrieks and thunder crashing), decided she didn't like it and spit it into the cart.  Then she promptly started climbing out.  I helped her out and reminded her to stay with me.  Then one of the older kids asked a question, and in the fraction of a second I turned my head, she took off running.

She darted between the racks of the womens department, as Joel and Ariana took of in hot pursuit.  I had the cart with a couple of items I had already picked up and lumbered behind, trying to maneuver it through the racks without dislodging anything.  I could her her giggles, and the squeals whenever one of her siblings managed to get close, then all was silent.

She found the perfect hiding place down at the bottom of a circular rack, perfectly obscured by long dresses.  If this really were a horror movie, she would have been safe.  Thankfully, the sales lady had noticed a couple of wriggling dresses and gestured toward it with a wink.  I finally succeeded in getting her and putting her back into the cart, despite her vigorous protests.

I ruthlessly steered over to the make up section to grab some nail polish on our way to the check out.  I was tempted to skip it, but I start a new class tomorrow and wanted to have polished toes.  She saw her favorite color, a Spiderman blue, and begged to get it.  Joel and Ariana had already agreed that they would not ask for anything, but their expressions lit up like hopeful puppy dogs.  Ah, well, it was 92 cents a bottle, and a fun color.  Instead of satisfying her, she began attempting to put it on right then.

She went into full meltdown mode.  As I tried to hold my writhing little Klingon and steer the cart at the same time, Joel dropped a bottle and it broke, splashing his leg, shoes and the aisle.  Ariana's shoe suddenly came apart and fell off her foot.  Silent scream.  I am desperate to get out, and the walls are closing in.  However, she doesn't have other summer shoes right now, and I won't have time to come back, so I grimly set off toward the shoe department.

In the shoe department, Elena actually calms down and begins happily trying on all the boots.  Joel joins her.  Ariana keeps getting distracted by the dress shoes, but finally finds the perfect pair--cute, comfy and only $12.  Perceiving light at the end of the tunnel, I call the kidlets to head towards the check out.  Only to discover that Joel cannot find his shoes.  We spent a good 10 minutes (I lie--there was nothing good about it) searching for his shoes.  Finally, in desperation, I grabbed up another pair.  I was convinced that some sales person saw them and thought they were abandoned.  Suddenly, I spied blue glitter.  Aha!  There on the shelf were his pair, clearly recognizable by the streaks of nail polish.  Well, I guess something good came out of it, right?

In the check out, Elena decides to meltdown once again, and like everything, she puts her entire heart and soul into it.  I'm trying to insure that her contorting, wailing, incredibly powerful body doesn't cause any damage to people or property, and still get our items on the belt, ignoring the bystanders.  I notice that the hotdog buns I put in the cart early on are smashed beyond all recognition, but who cares about hotdog buns after all this?  I am in survival mode now.  The clerk keeps smiling as she wishes that I will have a good day.  To her credit, her voice was carefully free of any trace of sarcasm.

Things seem to have settled down now that we are at home.  The horror is beginning to fade.  But, I would give just about anything to go hide under the covers right now.

Hope Deferred

I remember the sparkle in her eyes the day we told my sister in law we were pregnant.  She confided that they, too, were hoping to get pregnant soon.  We daydreamed of little cousins playing together.  But she didn't get pregnant then.  A couple of years later, when we were pregnant with ourson, her sparkle hadn't dimmed, but I knew there was an ache there, too.  When we became pregnant with our third child, I almost didn't want to tell her.  I told my husband with tears that I felt guilty somehow for all the happiness we were going through and how easy things had been.  They were always so incredibly generous with their joy for us.  They didn't share much of the pain they were going through, but I winced for them at idiotic and insensitive comments, at all the little daily reminders of hope deferred. 

As a child, I watched my mother go through miscarriage after miscarriage.  At the time, I couldn't come close to grasping the physical and emotional toll it was taking.  Still, I knew that these lost little ones, so tiny, fragile and barely formed, were real, and that though she had never held them in her arms, she had held them in her heart.

I have had friends go through secondary infertility.  Although they are grateful beyond measure for the child or children they have, the desperate desire for another is coupled with pain from the callous disregard of others.  "After all, you have a child already.  You should just be thankful."  Muzzled by lack of understanding or compassion from those around them, they may not ever express the pain and disappointment of broken dreams.

Infertility is cruel.  The emotional exhaustion and pain of having your hopes rise persistently only to get washed away with blood and tears a few weeks later is unspeakable.  You may try so hard *not* to hope, not to set yourself up for the crash, and yet, however well you prepare yourself mentally, there is still that bitter aftertaste of swallowed grief.

And my own blood has boiled while listening to unthinking comments and platitudes that negate any right to mourn.  Doubtless, most people mean well, but please, for the love of decency, don't say this stuff to anyone, ever.

The story of my wonderful SIL has a happy ending.  My precious nephew is here, running around and playing with his cousins like we had dreamed.  But I know that for many, those dreams don't come true.  I don't know why, and it seems very unfair.

I hesitated to write this post.  I feel in a way that I have no right, because I haven't experienced the pain that you have gone through.  But I think that is why I *must* say something.  Because silent grief is the hardest of all, and you are not forgotten, "less than" or unimportant.

To all my dear friends who have longed for babies that you haven't been able to hold except in your heart, I ache for you.  I am sorry.  It is not your fault, there are no "shoulds" that I can give you.  But I can give you my ears, my tears, my prayers and my shoulders.  Whether we have ever met or not, your stories matter to me, and if you would like to honor us by sharing them in the comments, they will be welcome. 

Son Rise

I awoke this morning, bleary eyed, for the fifth or sixth time as the baby started frantically suckling.  She is teething and it has really messed with her sleep patterns.  I am also sore, thanks to her apparent misapprehension that I am a teething ring.  As I squint at the blinds, I can tell that it is nearly dawn.  I stubbornly squeeze my eyes shut, not yet ready for it to be daytime.  I breathe in peace, and I hear the echo of the verse that has been whispering in my soul for the last few days.

"But for you who revere My name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in His wings." ~ Malachi 4:2

There is incredible power and beauty in those living words that I haven't fully grasped yet, but my spirit recognizes that this verse has come to me for this particular time.  A kaleidoscope of images and verses twirls through my heart.

"If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there Your hand will guide me; Your right hand will hold me fast." ~ Psalm 139:9-10

"Before the dawn-wind rises, Before the shadows flee, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, to the hill of frankincense.  For me the reward of virtue is to see your face, and, on waking, to gaze my fill on your likeness." ~ Song of Songs 4:6, Psalm 17:15  The Jerusalem Bible

 ¹ Dios mío, ¡tú eres mi Dios!
Yo te buscaré de madrugada.
Mi alma desfallece de sed por ti;
mi ser entero te busca con ansias,
en terrenos secos e inhóspitos, sin agua,
² con deseos de ver tu poder y tu gloria,
como los he mirado en el santuario.
³ Tu misericordia es mejor que la vida;
por eso mis labios te alaban.
⁴ ¡Yo te bendeciré mientras tenga vida,
y en tu nombre levantaré mis manos!

 ⁵ Mi alma quedará del todo satisfecha,
como si comiera los mejores platillos,
y mis labios te aclamarán jubilosos
⁶ al pensar en ti recostado en mi lecho,
al meditar en ti durante mis desvelos.
⁷ Porque tú has sido mi socorro,
alegré viviré bajo la sombra de tus alas.
⁸ Mi alma está apegada a ti;
tu mano derecha me brinda apoyo.

Salmo 63:1-8 Reina-Valera Contemporánea (Note: in Spanish, the first verse of Psalm 63 talks about seeking God in the time just before dawn.  I am not sure why the English version doesn't.)

So often the imagery of daybreak is connected with wings.  I wonder why?  I admit that there is a sense of much that is elusive to me in these verses, like hearing a beautiful song with lyrics in a language I don't quite grasp, even though I am humming along to the melody.  

What I do understand from it is light, beauty, healing, comfort, joy and intimacy. His wings wrapped around us, His breath on our foreheads.  His light shining on us ever-brighter.  So, despite cranky babies and lack of sleep, I will continue to breathe in peace and healing.  Despite the cacophony of too many things going on around me, I will listen. I will keep my sleepy eyes open for a glimpse of His wings brushing past, and let my spirit sing along with the song of the Son of God, rising.

A love note to my Warrior Princess

Hey, Elebelle.  Do you have any idea how special you are to me, little sweetie?  Long before you were ever born, God spoke to us that you would be a warrior.  And your birth will always and forever bring tears to my eyes for God's mercy and the lesson in listening to His voice. 

Your birthstone describes you as "tender passion" and that it so perfectly true.  Your heart is so loving and tender, so sensitive to others.  Your passion to nurture and protect others is so strong that you would attack a giant without blinking to defend someone else.  Once Joel pretended to poke your stuffed animal when you were a little over a year old.  Your ferocious glare and snarls at him, alternated with tender comfort and gentleness for your toys had us cracking up, and that still is a great picture of your heart. You are fiercely independent, but want so much to take care of others.  Yesterday your daddy noted that you won't do things if we just flat tell you to, but if we ask for help in any way, you don't hesitate for a moment. 

Your older siblings are in awe of your bravery.  At just two years old, you will nonchalantly get up in the middle of the night and go by yourself all the way through a very dark house to get a drink of water and bring it back.  Your independence often makes you seem older than you are--you were walking easily at ten months, you fully potty-trained yourself several months before you turned two, and your ability to climb and jump combined with your fearlessness makes you seem years older than you are.  You are our little tornado--spinning, running, jumping, climbing, crashing, always doing. 

Right now, your favorite thing to do is to go shopping with just the two of us.  You want something blue, purses "for here and here and here and here on [your] whole arm," and lipstick every time.  You love to snuggle, and it melts my heart every time you smile in your sleep if I adjust your blanket, caress your hair or kiss your cheek.  You delight in giving gifts, and will make me perfect blueberry cupcakes a hundred times in a row on your computer game. 

My heart breaks right along with yours anytime you feel unable to keep up with your older siblings.  I see you striving to do and be more, and I want you to know deep down in your soul that the person you are already is enough.  Your will always grow, of course, but your worth is already perfect to me, regardless of your accomplishments.

I am so incredibly grateful to be your mami.  You will always hold your own place in my heart and arms, and I thank God every day for bringing you into our family.  You are precious, my little warrior, and I have no doubt that you will be victorious in your battles to come.  I pray that you always find refuge in Jesus' love for you and His arms holding you close, and know that you will forever be His treasured princess, and ours.

Fear, Boundaries and Pleasers

I write a lot about punitive parenting, and why I believe that it is wrong for parents to try to control their children through fear of punishments.  It goes against my core beliefs about theology (I follow Christ because I love Him, not because I am afraid of Hell), as well as my beliefs on parenting (which, as you have probably noticed, are very much enmeshed in my faith--all of life is spiritual).  I rarely write about the flip side of that, but I believe that it is just as damaging for parents to try to please their children out of fear.

One of my favorite sayings from Crystal Lutton is that "Happiness is not the only acceptable emotion".  Yet so many of us have grown up with a fear of any emotion that isn't happy that we don't quite know what to do when our children express anger, frustration and sadness.  I think that is part of the reason that temper tantrums are such a big deal for parents.  We just want them to go away because of our own discomfort with such an intense expression of feeling.  Instead, what we need to do is learn healthy ways to express (not squash) our big emotions and teach them to our children.

Figuring out boundaries is a tough job for little people--and often, for big ones!  It is OK for your toddler to cry because she wants a toy that another child is playing with--she is not "bad" for being upset at having to wait.  Of course, the answer is not snatching the toy away from the other child, either.  Instead, it is an opportunity to give her words she can use to ask for a turn, or perhaps to offer another toy to trade or a way to play together.  If the owner prefers to continue playing, then you can help her find acceptable ways to express her feelings about that.

Boundaries are not always fun, even when they are healthy.  We can be firm without blaming, shaming or dramatizing.  We do not need to add to an already painful situation by blaming our children or other people, pointing out "shoulds", or scolding.  We also need to be careful not to make it into a bigger deal than it really is.  I once saw a mother scream at and scold a tree when her preschooler bumped into it.  It was kind of funny, but also kind of sad.  The tree did not jump out and attack the kiddo.  A simple kiss and hug without framing her child as a victim would have made a lot more sense to me.

Another important point is that we cannot always "fix" things, and we should not always try.  A broken toy may need to be mourned.  Instantly jumping in with promises to replace it may not be what our child needs.  Perhaps they just want to express their feelings about it and move on.  I am not saying that we should refuse to help our children when they have a problem, by any means, but I am suggesting that we carefully ascertain whether our children need listening and validation, coaching on how to deal with it or simply the freedom to cope and problem-solve themselves. Most of us need a case-by-case and even moment-by-moment approach.

I have found that one of the most important tools for me is Naomi Aldort's SALVE formula.  It is amazing at helping me manage my own feelings and helping my children process theirs.  I don't link videos often, because I greatly prefer text links, but this one is worth watching, really.  It is just over 5 minutes, and it is just her speaking, but it has been incredibly helpful for me.  Becky Bailey and Aletha Solter have some helpful resources, as well.

I have made it clear that I believe we should always respond with compassion to our children's distress.  But compassion can also be a kind embrace and empathy while still holding firm to boundaries.  We cannot make other people happy, and it is not healthy to try.  If we are operating out of fear of their displeasure, we are not modeling a healthy relationship.   Do you want your children to learn that love means a constant effort to placate someone else's whims?   That is a set up for abuse.

Whether it is teaching them to fear our displeasure, or acting out of fear of their unhappiness, both are really two sides of the same coin.  It is modeling to them that love means taking responsibility for another person's feelings.  That is not healthy.  Yes, we are to be kind, compassionate and sympathetic to others.  However, their emotions belong to them, and ultimately their happiness cannot rest entirely on our efforts.  They are strong enough and powerful enough to cope with disappointment, anger and sadness, especially if someone they love is with them to comfort along the way. 

Fear is not a good place to parent from, either our fear or our children's. I don't want my children to learn from my example that they must strive to please others, even when it is not healthy.  I want them to walk in the love and freedom of good boundaries, and to be able to be authentic and compassionate without crippling themselves and others by a compulsion to please.

"...Perfect love casts out fear." ~ I John 4:18

A Love Note to My Little Night Rain

The memory still takes my breath away.  I was the first one to touch you.  Not the doctor.  Not even my dear midwife.  The very first hands to greet you as you came into this world were mine.  The feel of your silky, damp curls made every moment of pain worthwhile.  And I still haven't lost the wonder of your perfect little body.  The dimples at the base of each finger.  The way you hold on to one foot every time you nurse.  Your delicate eyebrows.  The adorable caterpillar rolls on your legs.  The scent of your hair.  The light in your eyes.  Your chubby cheeks (jowls, really).  The joy in your grin.  I still find myself gazing at you in pure delight.  Stroking your soft skin.  Rejoicing as you melt into cuddles (I have never known a baby to just seem to go boneless while snuggling like you).  Smiling at your giggles as you start to nurse.  Smooching that spot right under your ear that always makes you laugh.  You are perfect contentment, my little one.