Killing the Blues

Some days are just born bad. A night of hot still air and fitful sleep led to a morning that broke far too soon. I could hear Adele calling from her crib but didn’t want rise and face the day. I felt too fragile, too close to cracking. Why? I don’t know. I just know that mixture of sadness and fear always ends with an explosion. Or tears. Or both. I managed to get the coffee going before it hit. Lucas misbehaving with no sign of remorse, me trying desperately to keep calm. I managed not to scream, to stay firm and in control, but it took all I had. By the time Philip got up I was close to a breaking point. Why? What makes me feel like this, like I can’t even move across the room without losing it altogether? And why today?

Philip tried to help, and did help, though it made me feel worse somehow. Pushed me from that boiling anger into all-consuming sadness. But I didn’t give in. I picked myself up and went on with my day. My goal this morning had been to work out while Lucas was at preschool and then run errands in town. Already it was an hour later than I had hoped, but no matter. I put on my running clothes, buckled Adele into the car seat and hit the road. I still felt weak, but also proud of myself for shaking off the mean reds and plunging ahead. It wasn’t until I pulled up at the trail head that I realize I didn’t have the stroller. Here I was facing my fear and desperation, all geared up to run, and it wasn’t going to happen. I tried to console myself. Really, was it that bad? I have a great life. The fortune of having free time to go running, to have beautiful happy children, to even own a stroller to begin with. That only made me sink lower, reminding me how I had no right to feel the way I did. And yet I did feel that way. And it’s painful.

I didn’t break down though. Philip helped again, responding to my woe-is-me text by advising I let it go and get coffee and a pastry. I went on with my errands, giving myself credit for trying to go ahead with the day when all I wanted to do was crawl back under the covers and stay there. Adele was a bubbly antidote to a heavy heart as we stood in the returns line at Home Depot and shopped for baby wipes at the drug store. Without much to show for the day besides good intentions we fought nasty beach traffic up the mountain, fetched Lucas from preschool, and came home.

The afternoon is nearly over. It’s 97 outside but breezy. When Adele wakes up we’ll head to the pool. My life is good. Very good. No worries. No outside demands.  A loving and understanding husband. Kids that, while demanding, are really very well behaved and good-natured. A wonderful new house that is in fine shaped to be ignored for a while. So I guess that just leaves me. Some days are fine. And some are just born bad.

When Blankets Just Won't Do

Like all women everywhere suddenly, I am constantly on Pinterest. I mainly pin cool DIY things to keep kids entertained, although the end result is always so much more work and less excitement than anticipated.  I'm starting to discover the dark side of pinning. Beside the time sink, it gives you this hope of having a neat, beautiful home, stylish clothes, delicious and beautiful things to eat, and lively and creative children. In reality you get messy projects with lousy instructions, kids who are unimpressed with the craft you spent all afternoon setting up, bland food served in the same cluttered old house by a frazzled mom in jeans and a t-shirt, and dashed hopes.


But the Pinterest dream life is a gorgeous one, and occasionally something pans out. As part of my no-shopping streak I decided to make instead of buy gifts for some upcoming kiddie parties. I loved all the DIY Fort Kits and decided it would be easy enough to whip a few up. Of course I had to buy various supplies to pull them together, but it seemed more heartfelt than another store-bought toy.


Naturally I underestimated the time it would take to do the only crafty bit, getting the ribbon ties onto the sheets. Or rather I overestimated both my sewing skills and level of patience.  Despite a good bit of screaming and lots of wasted thread, they turned out pretty spiffy. We also kept a set for our own living-room for adventures, though the ribbon ties may never make it on to those. Sorry kids!


My current vow is to lay off the insane super-mom ideas for a bit. But I plan to go right on pinning and pining. It's too tempting not to dream.

I *heart* Breakfast

Holidays are so exciting for kids, but it's hard to get into it without going overboard on the stuff. To keep it simple but still special, I snagged a great idea from The Happiness Project Blog: Holiday breakfasts. The night before a holiday I decorate the kitchen table using whatever I have around the house. I've gotten a lot of mileage incorporating Lucas' preschool artwork in the  decor. The next morning I cook up a theme breakfast with little festive touches. Nothing crazy here. Heart-shaped toast, red and green sprinkles on the pancakes, that sort of thing.

Lucas seems to like it, though I'll admit I'm way more excited than he is at this point. Still, it's a nice tradition I hope to continue. And not just for the major holidays. I fully intend to throw some curveballs in now and then. A Groundhog's Day feast?  Arbor Day brunch?  I could go crazy over here.

Here's this morning's Valentine breakfast. The flicker stream also has a few shots from to Halloween and Christmas morning.

Holiday Breakfast Set on Flickr.

Practicing Failure

A twelve-year-old aspiring scientist watches his latest invention go awry, covering his host family in peanut butter & jelly. The boy hangs his head and mutters that he can't do anything right. Before he can continue the family enthusiastically congratulates him on his spectacular failure. Failures teach us much more than successes, they explain. If you never fail you'll never truly achieve great things. Inspired, the young boy is determined to improve rather than abandon his invention.

It's a scene from the animated film Meet the Robinsons, a movie with flying cars, talking robots and time travel. And yet the above scene is probably the most unrealistic part of the story. What parent celebrates failure? Even when we remain positive about our children's missteps we usually do so by encouraging them to keep reaching for success. "You'll get it right eventually," we tell them, or "Almost! Keep trying." When they finally succeed our enthusiastic praise drowns out this weak encouragement. Kids know the score. Failures are mistakes, and doing it right is what matters.

How we praise our kids makes a real difference in how they learn and act. Too much praise can distort a child's motivation. Instead of trying to complete a task or find an answer they angle for our approval. Often they aren't even sure what right is. They simply look to a parent or a teacher to tell them if they've succeeded. That becomes all that matters. Their understanding of what they are doing is secondary, or may not matter at all, as long as they manage to keep doing things right in our eyes. Failing in this case is not a learning opportunity but a tragedy to be avoided at all costs. Though they are capable of much more, they play it safe and stick to the easy, the known rather than take on a challenge.

So what's a parent to do? I've found plenty of resources that shed light on the problem (most notably How Children Fail by John Holt) but it's less clear what the solution is. I almost typed "what the right thing to do is" there. Here I am writing about celebrating failures and I end up seeking that perfect answer! Leading by example may be the best we can do. Parents are going to make some spectacular failures. If we can think of messing up as a good thing, a chance to improve, maybe our kids will too.

To start, I need to hover less as they develop basic skills so they can explore on their own. The coolest things my son did as a baby came from him alone, like strumming a guitar, twirling a bamboo pole like a ninja, and winning a dance contest he didn't know he was in. Had I been too eager to jump in I'd probably have derailed the activity and prevented the breakthrough. A baby doesn't need me to get excited when he strums the guitar for the first time. The sound is the reward, and he should get to revel in that for himself.

When I play with the kids I need to just enjoy it and lay off on the constant words of encouragement. If they start to show interest in something I should let the accomplishment - or failure - stand for itself. So maybe instead of being taught how to do everything, they'll invent their own ways of exploring the world.

And if I fail? That's me learning how to be a better parent.