Where My Feet Are

In recovery, I am taught over and over again the importance of keeping things in the moment; to not awfulize or catastrasize about what might happen, to not project too far into the future. One of my favorite expressions is to "keep yourself where your feet are". I use this when I'm overwhelmed, when I feel like I'm not measuring up, not getting to all the things I feel I need to be doing - I look down at my feet and think: I'm right where I'm supposed to be.

The feeling like I'm supposed to be doing more, like I should be doing more things or different things, is particularly hard to resist when it comes to parenting. In this high pressure world, it is difficult to just stop. We are trying to have what I have dubbed "an old fashioned summer"; summers the way I remember them - long, lazy days without the overstuffed schedules of the school year. The kids aren't enrolled in camp, or classes of any kind. We have access to a wonderful family pool center, and a beach cottage we share with another couple. We have friends for playdates, and we have each other. This, I thought at the outset of the summer, should be enough. In any sane world, this should be more than enough.

And, realistically, it is enough. We play board games when it is rainy, or watch a movie together. We run through the sprinkler, we read books. We have the occasional playdate or trip to the beach. We get to the things that get shuffled to the bottom of the pile during the hectic school year.

It is astonishingly difficult to get used to this pace - for the kids and for me. The first couple of weeks were really hard. "What are we going to DO today, Momma? " and "I'm BORED!" were heard over and over again. They would say this in the middle of doing something fun together - like while playing a board game (a bored game?), or building a fort in the back yard. We are all so accustomed to the constant stream of a busy schedule - running from school to girl scouts to soccer to the grocery store to a playdate. During the school year we are hardly ever just home. It got to the point where I would get a panicky feeling on days we didn't have anything planned - I'd rush to the phone to schedule a playdate or look up an activity we could do at the library or the YMCA.

I realized after about a week and a half of the "I'm boreds" why it was so difficult: my kids had forgotten how to amuse themselves. During the school year, when they are shuffled around from one activity to another, they would get up each morning and look at me expectantly - what are we doing today? Where am I going? Who is coming over? I found myself saying those things I remember my Mom saying to me: "A house full of toys and things to do and you're bored? Go find something to do!"

I also realized I felt completely responsible for their contentedness - like I had to save them from boredom. Wow, I thought with some measure of fear, I am over-involved. I can't let them just figure out how to fill a day. I feel that mother-guilt creep up - the thought that other mothers are doing a better job keeping their kids busy. To spare my own feelings of guilt, or unworthiness, I don't let us stop.

It is getting easier as summer marches on. I have forced myself to let the flow of days come - I schedule the odd playdate, visit with family or friends, but I don't over-think our days. This morning they entertained themselves happily for an hour or so while I read a book. It was physically difficult for me to stay focused in the moment - my mind kept thinking about the rest of the day - how I would fill it. Then I looked at my feet. I was right where I was supposed to be.

Twice Monthly Giveaway - New Item!!!

Congratulations to Krystal M who won the "Fly Away Home" necklace in my last giveaway! Thanks to everyone who entered!!

The next item is a fabulous summer ring, and it comes in two styles, The Big Pearl:


and the Midnight Blue Pearl:


Both rings are made with 10mm Swarovski Pearls. The large size of the pearl gives a contemporary flair to a classic style. Click on the picture to see more pictures of the rings (including what they look like on my hand, so you can get a sense of the size of the pearl).

To enter, please fill out the "Contact Me" form on the right hand side of the screen and send me a message that you would like to enter the giveaway and which style ring you would prefer.

The winner will be chosen at random on August 15th!

Thanks so much!

Growing Up Brady

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Finn

Finn is 3. He is a completely different 3 year-old than my daughter was - he's a boy, that is clearly one reason, and he challenges me in ways Greta never did.

This morning, for example, I asked the kids to play together for an hour so I could get some work done. Miraculously, they did. I didn't hear any fighting, and nobody came to ask questions or for a snack. I should have known that it was too easy - when I finished my work and came into the kitchen, Finn was naked and literally covered from head-to-toe in Trix yogurt (you know, the bright pink kind?). It was everywhere - in his hair, his eyes and other unmentionable places. "I'm a Yogurt Monstah!" he cried happily. Greta was standing off to the side, looking bemused. She shrugged and said "boys...."

Then there are our conversations - Finn is nothing if not tenacious, and once an idea is in his head, there is no shaking it out. The other night he put his feet up on the table during dinner - he knows he isn't supposed to do this - and the conversation went something like this:

"Take your feet off the table, Finn."

He puts just his toes on the table, grinning. "My feet aren't on the table now, Momma."

"Take your toes off the table, Finn."

"They aren't on the table, Momma, I'm seewious."

"Finn, take them off now, or you will go to your room."

"Its just a dweam, Momma, you're dweaming. You only think you see my toes on the table."

"Go to your room, NOW."

"YOU ARE JUST DWEAMING!" he yells "Wake up and you'll see!!!"

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The other day in the car, he asked, "What does A-B spell?"

"Ab", I said. "Its not actually a word."

"NO!" he says, "it doesn't spell Ab. What does it spell?"

"I don't know what else to tell you, hon, it spells 'Ab'."

"IT DOESN'T SPELL AB! Don't you know anything? What does it spell?"

So I try a new tactic: "Well, what do you think it spells?"

"Dat's why I asked you - I need to know - what does it spell?"

We can on like this for a good half an hour.

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For all his tenacity, he is also very reasonable at times... patient, even.

Two weeks ago my father-in-law and husband gave Finn a "tickle cut" - what they call a homemade buzz cut with the electric hair clippers. Finn does not like to have his hair cut, but he finally let them do it.

He was gazing in the mirror later that day, and said "Momma, my head looks weird."

"Your hair is shorter, hon, that's all." I said.

"I don't like it - it looks like a big weird ball."

"Sorry you don't like it, I think it looks nice."

"It growses back, right? Someday? All by itself?"

"Yes, it does."

"Okay then," he said. "I just wait."

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And sometimes he is just plain cute. We got him those "Bendaroos" - little bendy rods of different colors you can mold into shapes and stick on the wall and they don't leave a mark. Finn fashioned a little shape out of a few of them, and stuck them to the wall.

"Look!" he cried. "No mess, no stain, no fuss!"

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I marvel at his boy-ness, and how he is starting to lose all traces of toddler, and become a little man. He is so open, so loving. Greta is too, just differently. Finn will crawl into my lap, curl up to snuggle and say, "I just love you, Momma." He always wants to be touching me somehow - holding my hand, leaning on my leg, sitting in my lap. It can drive me nuts, for sure, but I try to remember this won't last forever, and cherish his sweetness. A few days ago, after one of our frustrating conversations that make no sense, I lost my patience.

"I. Just. Don't. Know," I said. "You keep asking me and I don't understand what you're asking and I'm getting really frustrated."

He looked at me with his big, smiling eyes and said, "Its okay, Momma. Just be happy!"

It Is Hard To Hide A Giraffe

Pride is largely considered negative - after all it is one of the seven deadly sins, if you subscribe to such notions. As a parent, however, I spend the better part of my day helping my kids feel proud of themselves. When they draw a picture and come running up to show me, their eyes shining. When they play sports -whether their team wins or not. When they do something big for the first time, or even something small. My son yelled "Momma! Come look at me!" the other day, and I came into his room to find him balancing on one leg. "Look!" he shouted, "I can DO it!" During the course of an average day, I have countless opportunities to help them feel proud. One of the things I marvel at the most about my kids, because they are still young, is that shame is largely still absent in their lives.

The delicate balancing act of helping my kids build pride and navigate shame can feel rather precarious at times. Finn, at 3, is boundary testing. He will do something he knows is wrong, hang his head dramatically, and say "I sorry, Momma" - all with a huge smile on his face. He is curious -if he is repentant enough will I still get mad? The difference in his demeanor when he does something wrong accidentally is startling. The other day he was running through the house and he bumped a table and knocked over a lamp, breaking it. His eyes widened in horror, he burst into tears, and ran away covering his face with his hands. When I came after him to talk, through his tears he said, "Let's don't talk about it". I tried as best I could to explain the difference between wrong and bad. That he can do things that are wrong - as in Against the Rules - but that doesn't make him a bad kid. That mistakes are a part of life, and that "I'm sorry" goes a long way.

My daughter, who is almost 7, is hardwired differently than Finn. She was never big on testing boundaries - for as long as I can remember she has been hugely fearful of being In Trouble. I can count on one hand the number of times I have witnessed her do something purposefully wrong (like the time she wrote "GRETA", in perfect penmanship, on the wall and tried valiantly to convince me that her one year old brother had done it). For the most part, she is so fearful of shame - a word she doesn't know, but a concept she clearly grasps - that she over-tries to do the right thing. She takes emotional ownership of nearly everything and everyone around her. She is just like me. One of my greatest challenges in being her Mom is not to over-identify - to help her find her own path, and not superimpose my own fears onto her.

Helping my kids find a sense of well being inside themselves, not from external influences, is difficult, especially when it is something I struggle with myself. I want so badly for my children to understand that the good stuff - accomplishment, pride, self-confidence, happiness - is often achieved through navigating the tough stuff. But in order to achieve that, there has to be some tough stuff. They have to make their own mistakes and learn from them. I have to resist the urge to gloss over things they do wrong, things they are afraid of, or ways they feel badly about themselves.

In my adult world, I have had my share of shame, of course. On a grander scale, as it relates to my recovery from alcoholism, I have learned that shame can be a great Teacher. I learned to face up to things that made me shameful, own up to my part, and let them go. I had to re-learn pride, understand that feeling proud of myself wasn't inherently bad. I discovered the difference between guilt and shame: guilt is feeling badly about something you did, and shame is feeling badly for who you are.

Pride, as it relates to a sense of accomplishment, is essential to well being. Not pride as a feeling of being better than someone else, of having more - it is a sense of balance within myself. If I don't pay attention to my small daily victories, the scales easily tip towards Shame. It is much easier for me to see my failings than my accomplishments. In the world of parenting, there are ample opportunities to feel shame - mothers in particular are hard on themselves. It is easy to get tangled in the web of comparison - to look at other mothers and see if, or how, I measure up. After all, there aren't many times when anyone stops and says "Great job handling that one, Mom." But I can't be a good parent if I don't feel good about myself. If I don't forgive my mistakes, try my best, and remember that I learn through trial and tribulation - I'm not going to get everything right the first time. I need to treat myself the way I treat my kids - I need to listen to the lessons I try to give them. Or, perhaps more accurately, the lessons they give me.

Last year Greta had an idea for a book, it was called "It Is Hard To Hide A Giraffe". She wrote and illustrated the whole thing herself. Each page says something you can't do with a giraffe, with an accompanying picture: you can't take a giraffe to the library, you can't take a giraffe to the pool, you can't take a giraffe to school. The last page says: but you can love him and hug him and call him yours.

It is hard to hide shame, it is hard to feel accomplishment and pride. And there are lots of things you can't do in this world. But, if at the end of the day you feel love for your family, yourself - even if it is the only thing you can do - it is a good day, and you should feel proud.

HALT

Most of you probably remember that book that came out in the mid-90s "Don't Sweat The Small Stuff -- and Its All Small Stuff". I was thinking about Small Stuff today. How sometimes Small Stuff is just small, and it is okay to leave it at that. But sometimes what seems Small isn't small - because in aggregate little stuff piles up and can get Big rather quickly.

Sometimes getting back to basics is essential. There is an expression in recovery called "HALT". It stands for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired. As in: look out for these things, because they may seem fairly basic, but they can trip you up Big.

I see this loud and clear in my kids; even just one of these can lead to problems. If they get off their regular eating and sleeping schedule, if they spend too much time cooped up without playdates, things go badly.

The same trends apply to me, too. I am not nearly as patient with my kids when I'm tired. When I haven't connected with friends and have been isolated in the house for too long, when I feel like I'm about to climb the walls, I get resentful of the kids, my life. The only thing that has changed is that I have failed to pay attention to some fairly basic human needs: companionship, food and sleep.

And then, of course, we have Anger. Sometimes anger is very straightforward - a kid breaks something valuable to me and I get angry. Simple. Sometimes, for me at least, anger is harder to pinpoint. A sense of imbalance, or unease. I realize I've been walking around with a furrowed brow all day and I have a headache.

In recovery, I have learned to pay more attention to little alarm bells. I have a deeper appreciation for the importance of trying to figure out why I'm off. Sometimes it is simple: I skipped a meal, stayed up too late or haven't been exercising. But sometimes it isn't simple. It may be a resentment I have over something someone said or did. It is in my nature to overlook these negative things - I would rather gloss them over, minimize them or avoid them all together. It may require some internal detective work to figure out where the Anger (or Sadness, or Resentment) is coming from.

Then I need to do something about it. Sometimes quiet meditation or reflection works. Sometimes a good cathartic cry. Sometimes it is large enough that I have to put my Big Girl pants on and clear the air with someone. These are not things I like to do. I'd rather shuffle my own emotions to the bottom of the deck and hope anything uncomfortable or negative will quietly go away. I have learned it doesn't go away, though, it just goes Someplace Else. It will return later in the form of being short with my kids, or corking off about some inconsequential thing, or trouble sleeping. As Buddha said: "Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned."

It is one of the pain-in-the-ass gifts of recovery - I can't afford to ignore or overlook something just because it is uncomfortable. I have learned that when things get hard, I'm about to have a breakthrough of some sort. That growth, spirituality and freedom are not usually found when things are sailing along smoothly.

As the Dalai Lama says: "We can never obtain peace in the outer world until we make peace with ourselves."

Delicious Candy

The past few days have been unusually busy. I'm catching up on orders from when we were away, unpacking, doing laundry and generally catching up on daily chores. It hasn't been much fun for the kids, or for me for that matter. It has been raining for two days and we've got cabin fever to boot. This morning I woke up stressed and more than a little grouchy. I was up late working on orders, and only got through about half of what I needed to do. So this morning, once again, I sat and talked with the kids about our day.

"It won't always be this busy," I explained. "We just need to get through today and then things will be more normal around here."

They look at me skeptically, and wander off to play for a bit together. I sit down in my studio to make some orders, with a little pit in my stomach about the whole balance of working with the kids around. I feel that old mother-guilt creeping up on me. I try to focus on the positive, think about how good working is for me, how I need to keep myself occupied and happy for everyone's sake. How the little extra money is important. But it is hard.

Finn wanders in, and leans on my arm while I'm working. "Momma?" he says, "when you are done working, will you push me on the swings?"

"Of course I will, hon. Thanks for asking so nicely." But I feel that little sting of guilt again.

He is quiet for another minute or two, and then says, "Momma? When I grow up, can I be an artist like you?"

My heart swells. "If that is what you want, of course you can. I think you'd be a great artist."

"YAY!" He throws his little arms up in the air. "I CAN BE AN ARTIST! Sissy guess what? I can be an artist!"

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About an hour goes by, and Greta shuffles in, looking sad. "What's up?" I ask.

"Do you ever wish you weren't so famous?" she asks.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to chuckle, or make a sarcastic remark. OH, yes. This FAME is just UNBEARABLE.

"Do you mean that you wish I wasn't so busy? Is that what you mean?"

"Well, yes. If you weren't a famous beader, then you would have more time to play."

"That is true. But its my job, and it is something I like to do, too."

"I know," she says. "And jobs make money. And money means more toys for me and Finn. And toys make us happy, so it all works out."

Yes, yes it does, I think. Sometimes it all works out.

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When Greta was about 4, my husband was leaving in the morning to go to work, and she was crying because she didn't want him to leave. He picked her up, hugged her and said, "I miss you too, when I'm at work. But I have to go to work to make money."

"Money?" she sniffed.

"Yes, to buy things like food, and to pay for the house we live in."

"Oh," she said. "And to buy delicious candy???"

Now, when he leaves for work and they feel sad, he says "I'm off to make money to buy delicious candy!!" and we all laugh.

So it really is all about toys and delicious candy in the end. And what could be better than that?