It's Not Just About Spanking

Image credit Ed Yourdon on Flickr

"I just don't know what to do.  I don't want to hit her, but how else can I control her?"

"Well, I have found loss of privilege to be effective.  If she doesn't do what you want, start taking away things that matter to her.  Cut off any spending money, time on the computer, going out with friends.  Or you can always do a time-out."

"I tried that, but she gets so worked up.  You should have seen her tantrum the other day!  She came home from work and had a meltdown for no reason.  She wanted me to help clean the house or something, and when I said no, she flipped."

"Yeah, my wife does that, too.  The important thing is to never give in.  Stay strong and refuse to pay any attention.  Eventually, she'll stop."

"You're right.  I can't let her win, or she will just learn that she can get what she wants any time she cries.  I just feel like she doesn't respect me."

"That is awful.  Do you think her friends are a bad influence?"

"Yeah, I should probably limit her time with them.  Our marriage was so much easier before."

**********************

Even when we choose not to spank, it can be incredibly difficult to get out of the punitive mindset.  I know that a parent-child relationship has some differences from a marriage, but I still think that it is ludicrous to suppose that domineering, adversarial thinking is healthy for *any* relationship.  Looking to other forms of punishment such as time-out, etc., perpetuates the same dynamic as spanking, even if it is physically more gentle.  It is very difficult to change, though.  It is so deeply ingrained in our culture that we rarely notice the contradictions or absurdity of the way we relate to children.

Striking a child is a tangible act.  Emotional punishments are much more subtle.  Yet can we really suppose that deliberately hurting our child emotionally is benign?  How many adults still struggle with the shaming messages that they heard as children?  If we shun and isolate our children for expressing big emotions, can we logically expect them to confide in us as they grow older?  If we are constantly suspicious of negative intentions on their part, when will they realize that we are going to believe the worst anyway and stop trying to please us?  If we treat them as nuisances, how are they to know they are worth any more than that?  If we still try to manipulate them through rewards and punishments, does it erode intrinsic motivation any less simply because the punishment isn't physical?

One of the glaring problems in the dialogue at the beginning of the post was the focus of the relationship: control.  Control should never be the focus of a loving relationship.  "But I am the parent!  I have to control my child!"  Certainly, you have a responsibility to keep your child and others safe.  But if your are trying to control their emotions, thoughts and beliefs, or emphasizing control rather than connection, your attempts are misguided and will ultimately hurt you both, because you are violating healthy boundaries.  Instead, you need to respectfully give them tools which they can use to express themselves in healthy ways, and set your mind and heart on loving them.

But the Bible says that children should obey their parents!  Yes, it does.  That is talking to the children, not to the parents.  It does not say that parents should force children to obey.  In Hebrew, obedience means that one has fully heard, understood from the heart and chosen to obey.  Crystal Lutton has some great resources on this.  True obedience is like respect--something that is freely granted, not demanded or coerced.

I get that there are times (rarely) where we may have to require compliance when obedience isn't granted.  In those cases, we can make it as respectful as possible.  Think of how you would treat an honored guest in that position.  Maintain emotional boundaries--that means control your own emotions, not theirs.  Give them as much dignity as you can.  (You are much more likely to retain your own dignity that way!).

The truth is that every argument against spanking applies just as well to other forms of punishment.  We must renew our minds.  Jesus warned that putting new wine into old wineskins doesn't work out well.  Once we taste the new wine of grace based discipline, if we try to put it into our old paradigms of punishment and control, we are just asking for explosions.

Grace is about a whole new outlook.  It means treating my children the way I would want to be treated if I were them in that situation.  It means forgiveness, compassion and connection.  It means assigning positive intent.  It means that I don't have to be the bad guy, because we are not enemies.  It means finding ways to work together so that everyone's needs are met, and all healthy boundaries are honored.  It isn't just about spanking or not spanking--it is about growing together in respect and love.

Starry Night

Image credit noahg on Flickr

I mentioned at the beginning of the summer that I wanted to be open to new adventures.  I read about Blessed Mama's camping trip with a bit of envy and it sparked the thought that it might be fun for our kidlets to sleep out under the stars.  We don't have a tent, or even sleeping bags, though, so I regretfully tried to squash the impulse.  Until we went outside in the gorgeous twilight, and the kids didn't want to come in.  I told myself that we would probably make it back inside the house before midnight, and to just go with the adventure.

The kids were shocked and delighted when I started grabbing blankets and taking them outside.  We settled into our spots, except for Elena, who kept popping up like a Jack-in-the-box and dancing around.  The second time that she woke the baby I got really grouchy, but eventually recovered and apologized. Before long, both little ones were sleeping and the older two were happily counting stars.

We watched the rabbit in the moon, picked out a couple of constellations, then listened to the buzz and chirp of the local nightlife and scanned the heavens for falling stars.  All the kidlets were sound asleep before ten thirty.  I, on the other hand, found myself wondering if any creepy crawlies might decide to join us in the blankets.  Sleeping right on the ground suddenly seemed like a not so great idea.  I also discovered that despite plenty of natural padding, my bones on the ground were not particularly comfortable.  The neighbor's dog began to bark and a mosquito whined in my ear.  I probably would have gone back inside, but I didn't want to wake the kidlets.

Then I began to notice the sweet smells of the grass.  To really look at the sparkling diamonds strewn across heaven's floor.  The chirp and hum of the insects began to sound relaxing (it helped that the mosquito left without dinner).  I grabbed an extra pillow and positioned it under my hip and fell asleep.

Of course, we woke a few times.  The babies actually slept amazingly well--they didn't wake up any more than usual.  Around 2:00, the dew was noticeable, and I slipped inside for additional blankets.  The kidlets snuggled closer like a pile of little puppies, but we were dry and warm underneath the blankets.

Around 5:30, Ariana woke up and we snuggled and whispered together about dew and falling stars and planets, theology and astronomy and Oz.  It grew light a little after 7:00, and as the sweetlings woke up, I brought them hot chocolate.  The light in their eyes was brighter than the sun as they realized that they had stayed out the whole night.  :)  We cuddled and giggled, and they said it was the best night ever.  <3

I am so glad that I yielded to the impulse and said yes!

Love Songs

"...the morning stars sang together, and all the children of God shouted for joy..." Job 37:8

Do you sing love songs?  I sing over my babies.  Each time I got pregnant, before ever getting a positive test, I woke up in the night singing a praise song for the baby inside of me.  Although I don't consider myself much of a singer (I can usually get about three notes in any given key, and the rest are too high or too low), there is something about a newborn that begs for a tender, joy-filled, love-bursting lullaby.  Each of my babies has a little song that welled up inside me right after they were born.  I still sing them to them, even to my seven year old, and get all teary-eyed listening to my five year old come up with his own little love song to his baby sister (it almost always makes her stop crying).

In my last post, I mentioned that God sings over us.  I still am filled with wonder over that.  I picture Him cradling me in His arms, filled with the same overwhelming love that I have holding my little ones, and it takes my breath away that He could love me like that.  Not resigned tolerance.  Not impatience or disappointment.  Joy.  Delight.  Contentment.

That is what He sings over us.  Promise.  Hope.  Laughter.  Security.  Love.

That is what I want to sing over the people in my life.

Something in our culture seems to encourage us to screech or croak discord.  Shortly after Carlos and I were married, we started hanging out with some other young couples.  We gradually stopped, because I always came away feeling uncomfortable. The wives did nothing but complain and gripe about their husbands.  I have heard a lot of parents do that with their kids. They use words for their families that sound as if they are enemies--war marches instead of love songs.

I get the need to vent at times.  Really.  And I do it--sometimes here, sometimes to my friends, always to God.  Sometimes I struggle with the balance between authenticity and choosing to speak Truth and blessings over others.  But when I dig really deep, I almost always find that the things that I complain about are not the real issue at all.  They are just signals to look beyond the surface, to check my boundaries, and to practice love.  Love does not look like excusing or ignoring boundary violations.  It isn't a sticky, sugary passivity in the face of wrong, even if (especially if) the wrong is being done by someone I love dearly.  Sometimes it means confrontation, and holding tight to boundaries meant to protect myself and others.

Living right in the middle of Name It and Claim It headquarters (or Blab It and Grab It theology), I have heard some ridiculous (not to mention greedy) things.  I don't want to get all weird, yet I also believe very strongly that there is an element of prophecy in what we sing over others.  When Mary sang over Jesus, when Miriam and Deborah sang over God's deliverance of their people, when Hannah sang over Samuel--there was a power singing through them that went beyond nice words and a melody.  We become Namers when we sing over others. 

“The way we talk to our children becomes their inner voice." ~ Peggy O'Mara

I still feel sad when I remember hearing a perfectly nuanced sigh that sounded identical to mine coming from my daughter over a childish mishap.  I don't want the inner voice in my family to be of sighs, exasperation or criticism.  I want them to hear me singing love songs over them, joining in the chorus with the God who sings for joy over us.

Image credit: Image Editor on Flickr

Delight Yourself in the Lord

I love the expression of delight on her face.  :)

"Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." ~ Psalm 37:4 NASB    This is the question my friend challenged me with:  How do you delight in the Lord?  We all know the mind over matter, love is a choice ideas.  But delight?  That comes down to more than just a mental choice for me--there is emotion and a deep down heart response.  Does fake it till you make it cut it here?  I don't know, although I have some doubts.

But when I consider what I do delight in--my baby laughing, my husband giving me that look, hugs from the kidlets, savoring a perfect glass of creamy, rich iced coffee, the satisfaction of a perfectly written line of dialogue by one of my favorite authors, a glorious sky painted in vivid colors, my favorite song coming on Pandora exactly when I am in the mood for it--it all comes back to a common denominator.  Awareness.  Focused attention.  Because if I am preoccupied with other things, I can miss the joy of all of those.  It takes a moment of concentration and letting go of everything else to fully experience delight.

"Nothing is as important as wasting time with God." ~ Jamie Buckingham.  In Spanish, verse 4 says to enjoy the presence of the Lord. "Disfruta de la presencia del Señor." (RVC)  To me, the delight of wasting time with someone I love is the way that the underlying awareness of their presence imbues mundane activities with joy.

God also delights in us, you know.  Zeph. 3:17 has always been one of my favorite verses.  The NIV says, "He will take great delight in you."  There are a lot of variations in the middle of the verse depending on translation, but they all begin by saying that the Lord is with us.  It always seems to come back to being together before we experience delight.

So today I want to intentionally sniff around for His fragrance in my day.  To look for the sparkle in His eyes peering through my children.  To listen for His heartbeat in the arms of my husband.  For His whisper amid the cacophony of everyday activities with four rambunctious energetic kidlets.  To spend time gazing into His eyes by myself, regardless of the demands of all the "things that must be done today".  To waste some time with the Lover of my soul.  To really, truly delight in Him.

Myth Busters, Relationships Edition: Humility and Sacrifice

So often the clichés that are a standard feature of Churchianity are based on a misunderstanding of Scripture, and are actually dangerous doctrines made of men.  I recently read a post on Gentle Christian Mothers by Crystal Lutton that exposed a couple of lies that many of us who grew up in the church bought into.  She graciously granted me permission to repost it here.  I know that my family has benefited in many ways thanks to Crystal's writings.  Please check out her site--she has so much more to share on grace based living!  <3

*****

Two doctrines that were utterly toxic to me, especially when I was younger.

1) It has to be less of you and more than God

and

2) Love is a choice and involves sacrifice.

Are these two statements true? Yes. BUT . . . the first statement is NOT something we can DO, and the second statement requires a very clear view of the situation in order to understand what "Love" is and what the necessary sacrifice must be. It's not what *you* consider to be sacrifice--it's what lines up with God's Word (even if it costs you).

But these things were taught without healthy explanation or interpretation--and without healthy modeling of what it looks like.

I am an ENFP, sanguine, Type 3 (get it done) woman--and what the above played out as in my life looked something like this:

I meet a guy--he doesn't know or really love the Lord. That's okay--I love God and I can share God's love with him. (It's important to know this was NOT "missionary dating". I was "loving" them as they were and sacrificially willing to be with them even if they weren't able (due to whatever pain was in their life) to know and love God. I figured if they experienced unconditional love they would be able to receive it from Him.

We start dating and my feelings are strong and we get close really quickly--emotionally and physically--but obviously not spiritually because he doesn't love God.

So now we're involved and I'm invested and I'm realizing it's vital for this relationship to be healthy for them to treat me well but I can't argue for what I need and expect based on God's Word (which he doesn't respect), so I sacrifice and try to deal with what is coming my way and remind myself that love requires sacrifice.

When things aren't working out in the relationship I remind myself that it always has to be less of me and more of God so I try to make myself smaller. I try to not react with emotion (more of me) and instead turn more to prayer and other spiritual pursuits.

This cycle continues until I have no boundaries left in tact, there is none of me in the relationship and, because the other person doesn't love God with all their heart, soul, mind and strength or love me as themselevs, there is also no God there anymore (I've stopped anything overtly Christian if it makes them upset).

In truth, no one can *make* there be less of them and more of God. Not only does God create us in our own unique way and ask us to BE who we are (albeit a holy version of ourselves if we are saved ) but it is most often that being who we are is what is needed in a situation we are in--that's why we're there and not someone else.

And, sacrifice means putting God's Word (not another person) ahead of everyone and everything. The key is not how well we can love another person--but how much we love God first so that our love of the other person is an overflow of the love we have with God. When all 3 parties in a relationship are in unity of purpose and vision we all move together in an ever increasing love

I think the last thought I'm having as I write this is what has most changed my life recently. I've learned that "humility" is understood by the Jewish mind as meaning this:

you take up exactly the amount of space in the world that you need. No more, no less.

and "as you need" does NOT mean "as you can get by with--and if you're someone who can sacrifice a lot you will require less space so do that."

God created you to occupy a certain amount of space in this world. You are rightfully to have all of that space. You don't have to feel guilty for it--or bemoan it.

To take up more is arrogance; to take up less is self-abasement. Both are insults to someone created in the image of God. Neither is something we should require or enable of someone else.

When we give our space to someone we encourage the sin of arrogance; when we try to take more space for ourselves from others we are encouraging the sin of self-abasement.

Are you taking up the amount of space God created you to fill in this world? And in your marriage?

__________________

An Idealistic Control Freak Considers Unschooling

Image credit bjmcdonald on Flickr

I have always thought that those personality quizzes from magazines and Facebook are fun.  I've always considered myself to be a self-absorbed, navel-gazing perfectionist who takes herself far too seriously um, self-aware.  The results for me seem to fluctuate a bit depending on the test/my mood, but there are a couple of constants: I am an extreme introvert, and an idealist.  When I was younger, the introvert part caused some anguish, but I have pretty much made peace with that.  Now it is the idealist part that I struggle with.  It is extremely important to me to be authentic and consistent, and it really bothers me when my life and my beliefs don't mesh as well as I would like.

Like Jacob, I wrestle and wrestle and refuse to let go of it, even when I don't seem to be getting anywhere.  This school year is resurrecting all my issues regarding unschooling, and I have been a total grouch.  Not only have the kids been responding to my lack of peace, but also to my lack of boundaries.  When I am uncertain about where I stand, they have a knack for pushing on that very spot until I come to clarity.  In other words, we have been butting heads a lot over school work.

I am really drawn in my heart to unschooling.  Deep down, it is what I believe.  Or at least, what I want to believe. We pretty much have done that up until now.  But now I am homeschooling two kids, and the oldest is in second grade.  We should be taking this seriously! (said in my sternest voice).  I am a college instructor, and spent five years teaching K-12.  Even though my experience lines up with unschooling, my programming doesn't.  I am afraid.

I have always thought that fear was a terrible reason to homeschool.  I pitied the children whose parents homeschooled them out of fear of contamination by the big, bad evil world.  But now my choices regarding their education seem to be just as fear-based (and just as inaccurate).  On days when they happily dive into new material, I rejoice.  Yesterday, I read two chapters of a fabulous thriller written by my seven year old.  Her story was remarkable.  Visions of a future where she was being published danced in my head.  I listened to my five year old happily count by odd then even numbers, fives, tens and hundreds, and smiled smugly to myself.  It was working!  Then, today, when they wanted to spend all day playing computer games, I felt like a failure.

My children taught me to trust their bodies and mine with breastfeeding.  They taught me to trust the process of birth.  They have been teaching me to trust their hearts and desire to grow and treat others well as I discipline them.  And, slowly but surely, they are teaching me to trust their desire to learn.  But I am not quite there yet.  I freak out inwardly.  I feel inadequate to provide the kind of environment and support that will really allow them to excel.  And, I'll be honest--my pride trembles and quakes lest they seem to be lacking in things that other kids their age are being taught, even if the actual content is irrelevant. 

So, what is an idealistic control freak to do? 

I don't know yet.  But I am slowly realizing that it doesn't have to be an all-or-nothing approach.  Kids in public school are not motivated to study academics all day every day.  Expecting it from my own children seems a tad unreasonable.  But, they are far more motivated than many of us have been trained to believe.  

It is easy for me to shake my head at the one-size-fits-all mentality in obstetrics, in vaccinations, in sleep issues and breastfeeding, and even education, as long as it is abstract.  But in real life?  With a toddler and three year old who make any kind of schoolwork with the older two a challenge?

I am trying to find the balance between backing off and supporting them, and nudging and leading them into things that they might enjoy and profit from tremendously, if they only had more exposure to them.  Maybe one day I will wake up and realize that there really isn't a conflict at all.  Maybe I will grow in trust.  Maybe I will see that it isn't working and that we need something far more structured.  I don't know yet.  I just know that I am learning and stretching and growing right along with them, and that this whole parenting gig is really tough, as well as full of unspeakable joy.

I will keep you updated as I process through this, and I welcome your input!  Now, I am off to examine my belly-button lint in microscopic detail...

I Spanked My Dog and He Turned Out Fine

Image credit litlnemo on Flickr

I have to laugh at people who are against hitting your animals to train them.  I whipped my dog like there was no tomorrow...he didn't hate me...he didn't have trust issues with me because of it...he didn't fear me...but he darn sure respected me!  And he learned what his boundaries were and knew what would happen if he broke them...he wasn't abused...he was disciplined...*Repost if your dog got smacked and survived it...God put us over animals for a reason!*

Somehow, I doubt that many of my animal loving friends would repost this, or that there would be a ton of likes every time someone did.  I suspect that there might even be some dissenting voices saying that there are better ways to treat our pets.

Of course, Dobson describes in horrific detail beating his tiny dog with a belt to establish his dominance, and the Pearl's view of animal training is similar.  They also compare children to wild animals often, so at least they are consistent in their desire to beat anything smaller or more helpless.

Yet this Facebook status is making the rounds: "I have to laugh at people who are against spanking... My parents whipped my butt like there was no tomorrow... I didn't hate them... I didn't have trust issues with them because of it... I didn't fear them... But I darn sure respected them! And I learned what my boundaries were and knew what would happen if I broke them... I wasn't abused... I was disciplined... *Re-post if you got your butt smacked and survived it... God put extra padding back there for a reason!*"

Each time I have read it, I have started and deleted responses.  For one thing, I get emotional and it is hard to type an articulate response when your hands are shaking. I know that most people who post this have no idea how this could affect others. 


What bothers me so much?  For starters, the mocking tone.  I have known far too many people who have lasting damage from spanking (including spanking "the right way") to consider it a laughing matter.  I have shared letters from a couple of people who described their experiences.  Their utter contempt for the real abuse suffered by many flies directly in the face of the compassion shown by Christ.


Whether or not they are accurate in their assessment of the impact of spanking in their own family is impossible to say, but from what I have seen there is often a lot of denial.  The pervasive shame and self-worth issues, the anger and lack of ability to create and maintain healthy boundaries are all part of the rotten fruit of spanking that many struggle with as adults.  But, like with smoking, there are some who may not be harmed to the same extent as others.  


The problem is, even if they don't see any harm from spanking in their own lives, they are perpetuating it as something beneficial and even Godly in families that are clearly abusing their children.  Each time they like or repost or make joking comments about kids needing a good whipping, they are reinforcing the idea that it is good and that children deserve to be hit.  And the abusers nod and smile, and their children hear from yet another source that this is right, it is what they deserve and that God wants them to be hit by their parents.  


"Oh, but of course I don't condone abuse!"  "Spanking in anger is always wrong."  "It has to be done the right way."  Cop outs.  Abuse is surprisingly subjective, and the people who do it rarely believe that they are.  They are often doing less to their children than was done to them, so that makes it OK in their eyes.  Anger and depression are insidious, and it often isn't until they stop spanking that they realize how often, how hard or how angrily they were actually hitting their children.


You don't know what is going on in families that look good on the surface.  Families where you are sure that the parents would never be abusive.  Please read Avoiding Millstones.  


Hitting pets is wrong.  Hitting children is wrong.  There are far better ways to teach both. The truth is that both pets and children want to love those who take care of them, even if they are mistreated at times.  That doesn't make hitting them right.  Just because we can be forgiven is not license to be a bully.  If you are against violence towards animals and children both, like or repost.  ;)

Breastfeeding and Food Allergies

Image credit chrisinplymouth on Flickr

After more than seven and a half years of nursing, it is like wearing a comfy pair of shoes.  It is just what I do.  And although I love all of the amazing changes and stages, we have had some rough spots.  Nursing through pregnancy.  Nursing aversion.  Mastitis.  Cracked and bleeding nipples that lasted well over a month.  One of the most overwhelming was dealing with my children's food allergies while nursing.  But after more than five and a half years of it, I am surprised by how easy it has become.  

When Ariana was a baby, I noticed that sometimes she would get tiny little bumps on her cheekbones after nursing.  She seemed gassy and fussy fairly often (we used Mylicon on a regular basis), and sometimes when changing her diaper, she had a red, bull's-eye ring around her anus.  I didn't realize that these were all signs of possible food allergies.  We started solids at 6 months, and she was eating eggs, wheat, dairy, etc. by or before she was a year old. 

When she was two and Joel was almost a month old, he began screaming with every nursing session.  He would arch his back and twist his head as far as he could.  It was heartbreaking.  I shared with some other moms on my breastfeeding board and the nearly unanimous response was to try eliminating dairy.  I was desperate, and even though I am addicted to cheese, I began ruthlessly cutting out every trace of dairy from my diet.  Within two days, I could see a dramatic difference.  It took several more days for the dairy to completely leave his system, but he went back to the happy baby he had been as a newborn.

It was more than worth it to have him stop screaming, but it was incredibly daunting.  Every bite of food became an ordeal.  Grocery shopping took forever the first few weeks as I pored over labels.  This was before they were required to list the top 8 allergens, and I was looking suspiciously at things like caramel coloring and wondering if they contained dairy.  I can still remember the screaming and pain after I ate some clear broth soup that I was sure would be dairy-free, only to find out that it contained bouillon, which has dairy.

I really struggled with resentment when my husband was oblivious to the effort and frustration of every single bite.  It was hard enough at home, but when we would eat out or with family and friends it was a million times worse.  I hated having to grill them over every possible ingredient, but bringing my own food felt rude, too.  One year at Thanksgiving, some family told me that they had made mashed potatoes without milk so that I could have some.  Just as I was about to eat a bite, I noticed how creamy they looked and asked if there was any butter.  "Oh, yes.  We always put in lots of butter."  I tried to smile as I explained that I couldn't eat them, but inwardly I was so disappointed, for both of us.

There is a lot of confusion about allergies, intolerances and preferences.  I feared that a lot of people considered our dairy elimination as merely a preference and didn't take it seriously.  At one restaurant, I ordered the meal without cheese.  When it arrived with melted cheese all over, I politely explained that we were allergic to dairy, and sent it back.  It came back with most of the cheese scraped off.  :head desk.  (For the record, even if that was merely a preference, I would find that terrible service from a restaurant).

It took weeks before I began to find my footing.  Gradually, I built up a list of generally safe foods/brands.  I still had to think about every bite, but it didn't take nearly as long.  I missed my favorite foods a lot, especially cheese.  I could adjust to rice milk, Smart Balance light, and coconut milk ice cream.  I learned to adapt recipes, and thanked God daily for Oreos.  But I never found an acceptable cheese substitute.

I had been eliminating dairy for several months when Ariana started showing more symptoms.  Eczema breakouts, then hives.  The hives only happened a couple of times, but I pushed hard for allergy testing.  I wondered if I was making too big of a deal about it, if it was all in my head.  Then the results came back.  She was allergic to dairy, wheat, eggs, corn, peanuts, olives and green beans.  While a tiny part of me felt relief that it wasn't just my imagination, that was drowned by the sheer terror.  WHAT was left to eat that didn't contain any of those ingredients?!

Once again, we went through the weeks of poring over labels, looking up ingredients from restaurants on the Internet, and trying to adapt.  This time it was harder because I had to explain to a three year old over and over why she could no longer have any of her favorite foods.  She was a trooper, but it made me sad to deny her or see her left out at birthday parties or other places.  She even reacted to the wheat in Play-Dough.

Her eczema cleared up, though.  She was diaper-free at night as soon as we eliminated the wheat and she actually began sleeping all night.  Her behavior changed noticeably, she was less irritable and aggressive with her little brother.  We began eating more healthfully as a family (sometimes.  We also indulged in junk food that was free of our allergens, just because we could).  I also became a very inventive cook, because I was determined to say yes to my children's food preferences as much as possible, and also because I had to make food that was safe for the whole family that we actually wanted to eat.

Joel started breaking out in hives and having tummy issues just before he turned two.  He seemed fine with dairy, and tests came back negative, but with incredibly high positives to corn, and lower reactions to black beans and pork. Before Elena was a year old, she was showing signs of allergies, too, including a trip to the ER after breaking our in hives the size of my fist from head to toe.  All her tests came back negative, but she showed clear reactions to eggs and berries.  When Amaya was a few months old she started reacting to corn and chocolate (woe is me!) and possibly to pork. 

What I have learned from all this is that it gets easier.  It is possible to breastfeed multiple kids while eliminating multiple allergens.  The learning curve at the beginning is really tough, but once you adjust it becomes like any other discipline.

The allergy part is still confusing to me because of all the contradictory information out there.  I won't tell you when to start solids and which ones, whether or not small amounts through breastmilk that don't provoke a noticeable reaction are good for desensitizing or if they increase the chances for the child to remain allergic, what role vaccines might play, whether or not alternative treatments are effective, or any medical advice, because I just don't know.

What I DO know is that after five and a half years of breastfeeding fool-allergic kiddos, I am happy with that choice.  It isn't nearly as difficult now as it was even three or four years ago.  (Thankfully, the kidlets have outgrown some of the allergies.  I can have cheese now.  But I think I would rather have chocolate.  Sigh.)  I am still more grateful than I can say to all the friends who patiently answered questions, encouraged me, commiserated with me, and helped us to be successful with breastfeeding through the challenge of so many food allergies.

Do you suspect food issues with any of your nurslings?  Are you trying to navigate dietary challenges?  Do you need a hug or an ear from other moms who have been through this?  Your comments and questions are welcome!  <3

***

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*Sensitive* Another Anonymous Post on Spanking and Siblings

The following is a post from someone who has asked to remain anonymous.  As with previous posts of this nature, any comments will be strictly moderated. *NOTE:  I added the *Sensitive* warning to the title after hearing from several readers that it triggered strong memories for them.  Just as I was stunned and heartbroken by the responses from so many to the letter to the pastor dealing with the sexual side effects of spanking, I have been deeply saddened to read from so many who still experiences nightmares of their siblings being spanked.  :(

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I have started and deleted this several times already, and am choosing to share this anonymously through a blogger who has spoken out against spanking.  I feel compelled to share this, but I am scared.  Secrecy was ingrained for too many years.  And I am scared that some people will read this limited, partial account and not see the full picture (can anyone ever really see the full picture?) and see my dad as a monster.  He is not, and he was not.  In many ways, he was a wonderful father.  And it has been many years since these events, and he and my brother have both changed dramatically and so has their relationship.  But I still have nightmares sometimes.

Growing up, there were a lot of misconceptions about my family.  In many ways, we were the perfect Christian fairy-tale.  My parents divorced when I was small.  Like most little kids, I was heartbroken and desperate for our family to be restored.  I heard the Bible verses about asking something in Jesus name, and that if two or more would agree on it, that it would be done.  I took that literally and never doubted that if I could find two or three people to agree with me in Jesus name, my parents would get back together.  I would even go up to random people in the grocery store while my mom was busy shopping and ask them to agree with me.  Two and a half years after the divorce was finalized, they remarried.

My parents returned to pastoring, and began closely following the teachings of Bill Gothard, which had been instrumental in my dad's change of heart.  One of the tenets of Gothardism is not limiting the number of children you will have.  After many, many miscarriages, my mother carried a miracle baby to term, and my little brother was born.

I only received a handful of spanking growing up.  A few from my mom for fighting with my sister or talking back, mostly when she was at the end of her rope.  They hurt, but they were never the kind that would be considered abusive by most people.  5 or 6 swats, usually with a belt or the cardboard rod from a clothes hanger.  Any red marks were gone within minutes.  I don't believe they ever resulted in any good, but not in terrible harm, either.  I probably got even fewer from my dad, partly because the time when they were divorced was when I would have been most likely to be spanked, and partly because I was a girl, and partly because he was in a healthier state of mind then.  The few I got were with a belt, and he always somehow managed to make it hit in the exact same spot each time, even with my limited attempts at wiggling.  I felt a lot more resentment about these, mainly because I felt that they were not fully deserved.  But if it had ended there, it might not have been that big a deal.

When my brother was born, a perfect storm hit.  He was a boy with very high needs (and almost certainly special needs, although my dad was adamant against ever having him tested).  He was the poster child for a strong will.  And my dad was in a very, very dark place.  He was abused.  He was spanked with a belt for wriggling during diaper changes by the time he could crawl.  Church services, evenings, any time my dad was around were punctuated by marathon spanking sessions, where my dad would insist on compliance that my brother refused to give and became an outlet for my father's depression.  Sometimes he would be hit well over 50 times in one session.  There were welts that would last a day or two.

But no one spoke up.  No one said that this was abuse.  After all, it was just spanking a strong willed little boy.  There were never any broken bones.  He was never hit with anything other than a belt or hand.  He didn't get cut with the buckle.  He was only beaten on the bottom and legs.  Once, and only once, did my dad hit him in the face.  It took us all by surprised because we were in a restaurant, and the only offense was that he didn't want to go to the restroom with my dad.  My brother immediately bit him back enough to draw blood. 

My brother was never one to give up, and he developed a hatred for my dad.  The older he got, the more he began to fight back.  Eventually, my dad was spanking less and less and my brother was attacking him more and more.   When my brother was so little, we watched their confrontations in mostly silent disapproval, but couldn't help but feel that at least sometimes my brother was able to even the score a little bit.  My mom believed that she had to submit to my dad's authority, even when she thought he was being too harsh.  She was too beaten down emotionally and verbally to do much else, although I don't think my dad ever hurt her physically.  I was confused.  Initially, I squashed any doubts by reading all that the religious spanking gurus said, which pretty much said that my brother deserved it.  One of my lifelong regrets is that I participated in it.  The stance then was that anyone taking care of him had the authority to hit him, and I spanked him several times myself, thinking that it would change his behavior if we were consistent.

I felt increasingly guilty, and stopped.  I was more and more scared by how much my dad was hitting him.  Later, I tried to intervene more by heading off tense situations and even speaking up from time to time.  The day that my dad hit him in the face, I said the most calculatingly hurtful thing that I could, and told him that I was sorry that he was our dad.  I could tell that it hit home, because we had always been so close.  He responded with a choked voice that God heard me say that.  I shot back, "And God saw what you did."

There were times, especially if the welts lasted more than a few hours, where I wanted to call the authorities.  But it was ingrained into us to not dishonor God and our father by cracking the facade.  I believed they would split up our family, and that my siblings and I would be separated.  Would that really be better than what we had now?  It couldn't really be abuse--my dad was just following what Gothard and all the other Christians taught about spanking.  The doubts would chase each other until I was exhausted.

Gothard talks a lot about taking up offenses.  He insists that only the individual who is directly wronged received grace to handle the situation.  I don't know.  Over the years, things gradually began to improve between my dad and brother.  As my dad came out of his depression, he was less angry and began to try to repair the relationship.  If anything, he wound up going to the opposite extreme in an effort to deflect the rage that had built up inside of my brother.  My brother is an adult now, and while the relationship between him and my dad has its scars, things are actually pretty good between them. 

But even years after the last time there was any physical violence towards him, I still have nightmares of my dad hitting my brother.  In some of them, I am the one hitting him.  I wake up in a cold sweat, stomach churning and acid rising up.  I choke back the sick feeling and remind myself that it was a long time ago and that things are better now.

All along, I heard lies and misconceptions.  So many people thought we were the perfect family.  I never heard any Christian speak out against what was happening to my brother when he was tiny.  All I head was the constant repetition of pro-spanking dogma.  Don't hit in anger (which my dad claimed he was following.  His underlying anger was obvious to me and others, but I don't think my dad really saw it in himself then.  Most of the time, he was cool, in control and sometimes even lightly joking about it.)   He was only hitting in approved places, with approved instruments, and he wasn't doing things that are obvious abuse like broken bones. He followed the right formulas.  But it hurt our family far beyond the physical pain that my brother endured.

I decided to share this because I desperately wish that someone had spoken up for my little brother years ago.  Instead, all we heard was encouragement to spank more until his will was broken.  Would it have made a difference to my dad if someone had spoken up?  Probably not.  But it would have made a difference to me.  It might have made a difference to my mom or my brother.  Please, speak up if you know of someone who is spanking too much, too hard, or too often.  And even if you agree with spanking, please, please don't encourage others to do it.  No matter how well you think you know the family, you don't really know what is going on. 

7 Steps for Getting Back on Track

In my post on taking a wrong turn with discipline, I promised to share some of the ways we course correct.  I also had some beautiful, wise comments from some of you on the original post and my Facebook page that helped so much.  Here are a few of the things that I am learning.

Image credit greengardenvienna on Flickr

1.  Think longterm.  Invariably, when I slip into this it is because I want short term results regardless of the cost.  Like eating junk food when pressed for time, I internally justify it because of extenuating circumstances.  The truth is, though, that there will always be extenuating circumstances.  If this is truly a priority for me--and it is--then I have to push past excuses.

2.   Take a break.  When it has already become a pattern that is spiraling out of control, taking a day or two to drastically break the cycle helps tremendously.  If I have been yelling, being quiet until I am filtering more easily helps.  If I have been rushed or stressed by outside things, taking a day to just focus on togetherness and connection and fun is crucial.

3.  Confess.  I need to tell my children that what I have been doing is wrong and apologize.  I also need to tell my husband to help both of us be more aware of it.  Very young children don't always realize that we can make mistakes.  They internalize that however they are treated by us is what they deserve.  I need to explicitly tell them that it isn't OK for anyone to treat them that way. 

4.  Make amends.  Restoring connection is a process.  It won't be a one-time action or apology.  I have found that one of the best things is to individually tailor it according to my children's love languages.  Ariana needs quality time, like a Starbucks date.  Joel needs lots of physical interaction.  Elena needs a gift (which does not have to be purchased). 

5.  Enlist their help.  Ask them to please tell me if I start to slip up.  Authentic Parenting had a great post on the power of having our children tell us when we are doing wrong.  This is such a valuable tool, not just for parenting, but for our children to practice regularly.  I didn't grow up with healthy boundaries modeled.  It is still easier for me to "be nice" until I reach the breaking point and then explode.  This is a great way to actively help my children to learn healthy patterns of interaction so that they will be comfortable with it as adults.  Encouraging my husband to speak up if he sees me acting hurtfully is important, too.  We are not a united front *against*our kids.

6.  Revisit my own GD toolbox. Sometimes, even when we have the tools we need, it seems easier in the moment to just rely on what is handy instead of what is actually best for the job.  I need to surround myself with a graceful community to help keep my mind where it needs to be, and go back through my toolboxes (for myself and for my kids) on a regular basis.  The more consciously I use all my tools, the happier I am with the results. 

7.  Remember that grace is for mamas, too.  If I start to shame myself (something I still fall into pretty easily) it sabotages my energy and my efforts to change.  I have to let go of the shame for past mistakes, and accept love and forgiveness.  This one is hard, but essential. 

We all make wrong turns sometimes.  It is part of being human, and part of growing.  The important thing is learning to recognize when we get off track and getting on the right road once more.  I am so grateful to all of you for your help as I navigate this journey!  <3  A special thanks to Toddler in Tow, The New Mommy Files: Memories, Milestones and Missteps, The Black Sheep Princess,  Momma in Progress, Hybrid Rasta Mama, and all of you who commented and shared some of your tips!  <3