The weapon of peace

Parenting can feel like a battle. Whether it’s chores, homework, screen time, sibling dynamics, or just ‘the way his face looks’ the potential for conflict seems never ending. It’s so easy to get frustrated and take an adversarial stance against our children. Just a few days ago, I was feeling annoyed that our morning routine was getting derailed. Again. I found myself sighing in exasperation, rolling my eyes, and generally communicating to my child that he was the source of my irritation. My adversary. I managed to get them off to school (just a few minutes late) and I started thinking about what may have caused the rough morning. I remembered that I had spent a good chunk of the previous evening with one of the other kids, which likely left the derailer feeling left out and unloved. I found myself sighing again, in exhaustion this time, wondering how much longer I could continue to do battle against this invisible enemy, these voices in my child’s head whispering lies of unworthiness and impending rejection.

Thinking about our conflict as a spiritual battle got me to thinking about the armour of God Paul talks about in Ephesians 6. “For shoes,” he says, “put on the peace that comes from the Good News…” (v. 15). Hmmm… peace… that’s an interesting thing to take into battle. The more I thought about it though, the more it made perfect sense. When one of my children is feeling overcome by fear and shame, they don’t need me as an adversary, they need me as an ally. They need me to bring peace to help calm the chaos and confusion and pain in their minds.

Thankfully, I had a chance for a redo that afternoon. Conflict broke out over the use of Grandpa’s tools. Child A had had a long turn, and Child B was feeling jealous and left out. Rather than using good words to ask for a turn, unkind words were used and things got physical. Child B, likely ashamed by this point, escalated and had to be removed from the situation. Determined to behave better than I had that morning, I  stayed calm and stuck to a short script. “I’m not mad. You’ll get a turn with the tools. You’re not allowed to hurt people.” It took a few minutes (and a phone chat with Daddy) but we got to the point where an apology was given, respectful words were used to ask for a turn, and we were back on track. Peace won the battle!

Too often I respond to conflict situations with force. My weapons of choice often include sarcasm and shame. Lately, my ‘Voice of Authority’ has been a bit too shrill, and much too loud. So, in this season of ‘Peace on earth and goodwill to all’ I am going to be more intentional about bringing peace. Small adjustments to my body language and tone of voice bring great returns in conflict situations. My little people need to know that I’m there as their ally, not their adversary!

What's the point?

It was a typical morning in our house. I was keeping an anxious eye on the clock as I packed lunches and made sure the kids were getting dressed and eating their breakfast. The clock seemed to be speeding up as it got closer to 8:00, and I quickly realized that I would not have time to finish lunches. I explained to the kids that I would take them to school on time, then come home, finish their lunches, and drop them off at the office. One of the boys looked at me and said, "What's the point?" Not certain what he was getting at, and pretty sure "So you can eat!" was not the answer he was looking for, I asked, "What do you mean?" He replied, "What's the point of dropping off our lunches at the office if you're not even going to stay for a hug when I come to pick it up?" His response floored me. I had dropped off other things at the office in the past, and I had always left right away, partially because I thought it would be easier for them if they didn't see me. (Turns out it was mostly because it was easier for me.) I was glad he said something, as I had no idea he'd been carrying this hurt with him. I quickly assured him that I would wait for him so I could give him a hug, and I did.

His question got me thinking. As a mom, I'm prone to my fair share of "What's the point?!" moments. I grumble easily as I do my daily work - it's easy to wonder what the point of cleaning up is when it's all just going to get dirty again. What is the point of trying so hard to pack a lunch one of my guys will actually eat when most of it comes home untouched? What is the point of doing laundry when the one shirt someone can't go to school without is still dirty?  What's the point of putting in the extra effort to drop off lunches when the fact that I didn't stay for a hug is all that's remembered? What's the point of any of it when no one seems to notice, let alone show any appreciation? What's the point of showing love when the intended recipient doesn't seem to receive it?

I spent the better part of a day mulling over this last question, and I've been thinking about it off and on ever since. One of our kiddos has a difficult time resting securely in the knowledge of our love. And, to be honest, I grow weary of it. I get tired of pouring out, of making the effort to show love every day when I can't be sure if or how it will be received. The realization of my weakness, of my lack of desire to do the hard work of loving can lead to despair; I'm tempted to give up. What's the point?

But in these moments I am reminded of my relationship with my heavenly Father. How often do I forget that I am loved? How often do I not notice the countless ways He shows up for me, and then wonder why I don't feel Him near? And yet, He never stops loving me. He never gives up. He never writes me off as pointless, as not worth the effort. In His eyes, I am precious. Worthy. Worth dying for. As His love fills me up, I realize I can face another day of pouring out. His example teaches me that love is never wasted, and that the value of love is not in whether it is received or reciprocated. Love is not dependent on results, or on the worthiness of the recipient.

I still have many moments of wondering if it's worth it, if I even have what it takes to keep showing love. It's hard to persist when I don't seem to see any results. Perhaps, though, the results I need to concern myself with are in my own heart. Perhaps it is my willingness to persevere even when it's hard that is the result I should focus on. And perhaps it is when love seems least deserved that it's needed most desperately. As Paul reminds us in Romans 5:8, "God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners." Turns out love itself is the point.

Follow the Script!

I've always had a secret dream to be a famous Hollywood actress. Other than a few brief moments in the spotlight in church plays and a high school production, however, my acting career never really amounted to much! Maybe my love of theatre is part of why I'm drawn to the idea of scripts as a parenting tool... I get to produce, direct and star in my very own show!!

Seriously, though, I first learned about scripts in the parenting context when reading The Connected Child. The book includes a section with a list of 'Life Value Scripts.' These are positive ways to teach skills to our children that focus on practicing and praising the desired behaviour. Scripts such as "Gentle and kind" and "Show respect" encourage our children onto the right path. One of my favourite scripts when the kids were a bit younger was "Stick together" - an essential skill when venturing out in public with little ones. Come to think of it, we still practice this one whenever we cross a road!

One of my recent favourites is "With permission and supervision." I used this script one day with two of my kiddoes, who had been quiet upstairs for quite some time. Spidey senses tingling, I went to check on them, and found little piles of dog hair in their bedroom. As soon as they saw me, they hid their hands behind their backs and claimed they didn't know anything about it! I continued to gently pursue the truth, and they soon confessed to giving the dogs haircuts. Other than looking ridiculous, no harm had been done to the dogs, so I decided to try and keep things positive. (Besides, the fact that they tried to hide what they had done proved that they already knew they shouldn't have done it. No further teaching was required on that point!) I told them that sometimes I do trim the dogs' hair, but that in the future they would need permission and supervision in order to do it. They seemed relieved as they handed over the scissors and helped pick up the dog hair. The script had helped me to stay positive and focused on the desired behaviour, rather than reacting with negative emotions and an unnecessary lecture. And, because this is a script we use in other situations (lighting candles, handling tools, anything they can dream up that might involve hospitalization or an insurance claim...), I'm confident that they won't cut the dogs' hair without permission again!

Scripts are also beneficial in shaping my behaviour as a parent. We deal with our fair share of meltdowns and extreme behaviour, and many times we have come away from one of these episodes with the realization that our words did not help to de-escalate the situation. I was starting to get very frustrated as I found myself saying the wrong thing over and over in the heat of the moment. Try as I might, I couldn't stem the flow of harsh, punitive words. I kept lecturing and threatening consequences, driving my child further into destructive behaviour rather than offering a way out. My husband and I decided to give ourselves a script to use when one of our kids was out of control. We agreed on the following phrases:
I love you.
You're not in trouble.
Let me help you.
We still often say the wrong thing and make the situation worse. But when we focus on our script, things get resolved a lot sooner.

I recently came across a third way to use scripts in parenting. I've been reading Deborah Gray's book Attaching Through Love, Hugs and Play. At one point, she discusses the importance of entering into interactions with our children with a positive mindset rather than a grouchy and overwhelmed mindset. She shared how she would 're-set' her brain when she was driving home from work so that she wasn't bringing the stress of her job home. She would practice some relaxation techniques, then repeat a simple "mission statement" to herself. This statement focused on who she is and what she's about. A mission statement might remind us of how important our families are to us and what a privilege it is to be a parent. She describes them as "'big picture' descriptions [that] help us put things into perspective and to have more balanced brain patterns." (p. 74) I realized that I need a mission statement because I often enter challenging interactions with my kids feeling distracted, grouchy and overwhelmed. My self-talk in those moments is negative; I think about how unfair everything is, and what a failure I am... Our children pick up on our moods very quickly. If I'm being driven by frustration, resentment and shame, that's what I'll elicit in them. After reading this section in Gray's book, I decided to script my self-talk. Multiple times throughout the day, but especially when I'm starting to stress about certain behaviours or situations with the kids, I say this to myself:
I am deeply loved.
I'm a good mom.
Through the power of the Holy Spirit, I have the skills and strength I need to meet every situation with the joyful determination to be emotionally present, and to see the preciousness in my children.
As I speak these truths over myself, I feel fear and shame fade away, and strength and peace return.

Scripts are in no way a quick fix! Rather, they are a long-term discipline. Merriam-Webster's online dictionary offers a few definitions of 'script' but my favourite is "a plan of action." I like that because it acknowledges the link between our words and our behaviour. As we practice speaking words that are positive and focused on the behaviour that we want to see, we will see behaviour changed as a result. So let's be intentional with the words we use with our children (and with ourselves!) because our words have the power to transform our actions.

What do you need?

I took the kids camping all by myself this summer. Actually, a friend was there with her kids, and we were at a campsite in a town, but still…! Any time I tackle something like that without Brian, I’m going to consider it a major accomplishment! Anyway, the first night was a little rough. One of the boys was taking a long time to settle down, and I was starting to panic. I still had a bit of unpacking to do and I was already dreading the early wake-up I knew I’d have to face the next morning. In an effort to practice trust-based parenting, I kept asking my son, “What do you need?” Every time I asked, he would reply, “Exercise!” and start bouncing around. At this point, my trust-based parenting skills fell apart, because I would then say, “No, you don’t. You need sleep. Now settle down and close your eyes.” We must have had this exchange half a dozen times, and both of us were getting frustrated. Meanwhile, I was also texting Brian, hoping he would have some wisdom and perspective for me. When I mentioned that our son was claiming to need exercise, he texted back with, “So why don’t you let him go outside for 5 minutes?” Exasperated, but willing to try anything, I asked if he wanted to help me unload the cooler contents into the fridge. He jumped at the chance (literally) and within 10 minutes the work was done. Within another 10 minutes, he was asleep. Why did I argue with him for so long?!

As part of our Empowered to Connect training, we teach the importance of meeting our kids’ needs. We discuss how crucial it is to faithfully meet their needs if we want to build trust, and we encourage parents to give joyful yeses whenever they can. We highlight the fact that “What do you need?” is a much more helpful and productive question than “What’s your problem?” or “What’s wrong with you?” I wonder, though, if we neglect to cultivate an attitude of true curiosity within ourselves. When I’m asking my children to tell me what they need, I’m usually pretty sure I already know the answer. At best, I’ve got a short list of acceptable answers in mind. When their response doesn’t match my preconceived ideas, I feel suspicious of them. I wonder if they’re taking the whole thing seriously, and I may even argue with them. Sometimes, I find myself dismissing their needs because they are actually just wants, and I want to get down to the true underlying need. But what if my child doesn’t even know what he really needs in that moment? What if meeting their expressed needs gives them the freedom and ability to trust me with their actual needs?

I believe that if we want to build trust and effectively meet our kids’ needs, we have to honour what they’re telling us. If we approach the conversation with a dismissive “I know better than you” attitude, they’re not going to believe that their voice matters, and they’re not going to trust us to meet their needs. Meeting their needs teaches them that they have a voice, and that they can trust us.

Jesus models this so well for us! In Luke 18, we read of an encounter he has with a blind man. The man is shouting as Jesus and his entourage go by, trying to get the Lord’s attention. People around Jesus are trying to shush the man, but Jesus insists on speaking with him. When the man is brought to him, Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” (Luke 18:41 NLT) I love how Jesus takes the time to give this blind beggar a voice, approaching his need with gentleness and curiosity. There’s not a hint of arrogance or presumption. How beautiful! Of course, when the man responds with, “I want to see!” he is healed. Jesus could have healed him without that bit of dialogue, but I believe this is an important glimpse into God’s heart – he wants us to know we can trust him with our needs and desires. He invites us into relationship by encouraging us to speak our needs: he gives us voice. And when we do trust him and bring our needs to him, there is no ridicule; we are not dismissed. Instead, we are heard. We are seen. And we learn to trust.

This is the attitude I want to bring to my conversations with my children – a genuine curiosity to hear what they have to say, and a willing heart ready to meet their needs.

"Don't embarrass me..."

My four-year-old and I were visiting my dad at his office the other day. As we were leaving, he walked down the hall with us and started heading towards the bathroom. In a loud, clear voice, my daughter asked, “You going pee, Grandpa?” There were a few other people standing around and they chuckled. My first instinct was to tell her that we shouldn’t point out other people’s bathroom needs in public, but knowing how sensitive she is to being told she’s made a mistake, I stayed quiet and waited to see how Grandpa would handle it. He smiled at her and remained non-committal, neither confirming nor denying his need! Her question didn’t really get answered, but as we walked away she had a bounce in her step and I knew that her heart was okay. I’m confident that she will soon learn not to publicly announce people’s bathroom needs!

I wonder, though, whether I am as confident that I will be able to un-learn those instincts that would shush her and point out her errors in front of other people. It’s something I struggle with, these feelings of embarrassment that drive me to respond in less than desirable ways. Whether it’s a meltdown in the grocery store, a display of defiance at church, or a poorly timed observation, I too often find myself thinking about what other people are thinking instead of what my children need.

If I’m embarrassed, I’m unlikely to recognize their behaviour for what it is: an unmet need. Honestly, I’m more comfortable thinking of meltdowns and defiance as misbehaviour that needs to be disciplined rather than as needs that need to be met with equal parts nurture and structure. The more we learn about our children, though, the more we are realizing that what we used to think of as misbehaviour is actually an opportunity for us to meet a need and connect with them. The correction will come, but often it needs to wait until the need has been met and my child and I are re-connected. Sometimes their needs are physical – hunger, thirst, exhaustion, sensory overload – and other times their needs are emotional – unexpressed sadness, fear, and frustration. Whatever the case, I will not be able to see past the behaviour to the need if I am blinded by my own embarrassment.

So what is at the root of being embarrassed by our children? What is driving this blinding flood of emotions? Embarrassment is all too often a manifestation of shame, and if we can learn to see it for what it is, then we can take steps to own it and deal with it.

When my children are not behaving as I would like them to and I feel embarrassed, I am actually experiencing shame because I am afraid that other people are judging my worth based on my kids’ behaviour. Since I don’t enjoy feeling worthless, I am tempted to transfer my shame to my children by communicating my embarrassment to them and using shame to motivate them to behave more appropriately. Of course, this is a short-term solution at best. I may achieve better behaviour in the moment (or I may not), but am I really okay knowing that I have contributed to my child’s own feelings of shame?

As an adult, I recognize that I have carried a lot of shame around in the form of insecurity and fear; this is not a burden I want to place on my children. Part of my journey in the last while has been learning to rest securely in the fact that my identity is rooted in God’s great love for me. My abilities as a parent do not determine my worth, nor does the behaviour of my children. As I practice resting in this truth, I find that I am better able to focus on my child in those difficult moments and have become less distracted by my own fear and embarrassment.

One of my desires as a parent is that my children will know deep, deep down in their souls that they are precious and loved. It will be difficult for them to believe this if they think they’re an embarrassment to me. So I must continue to work to identify the ways in which I am motivated by shame, and fight against those tendencies with the truth of my identity as a deeply loved child of God. Then I will be free to teach my children about their true identity, their great worth and preciousness, especially in those moments when it would be easy to teach the very opposite.

(This post originally appeared at Empowered to Connect.)

A difficult day

Yesterday was tough. It felt like I was doing battle on multiple fronts - first there was the kid who refused/is unable to keep his seat belt snug. (Public transit seems like a viable option right now.) And then there were the two trouble-makers who conspired to empty a bottle of lotion, smeared it all over themselves and a bathtub, and left a few globs on the carpet, just for good measure. (Did I mention that I discovered the lotion disaster just as I was getting ready to leave to pick up my oldest from school?! I still haven't cleaned out the tub.) The after school/before supper stretch remained bumpy. Bumpy actually doesn't quite describe it - it was more like I was living in a game of Minesweeper, and I kept landing on mines and having to start all over. Thankfully my supper plans consisted of dumping a couple cans of mushroom soup on some chicken and sticking it in the oven, to be served over minute rice. I know, I know, I'm quite the gourmet cook!

As I reflected on my day after the kids were in bed, I realized that there were a number of small (yet huge) victories. Two stand out - first of all, I managed to stay fairly calm while dealing with the lotion incident. This was a tricky one to navigate. Had I vented my anger, one of the culprits would have ended up in his room, curled up in bed. I was able to express my frustration and disappointment without triggering a monster pout or causing them to lash out at me in self-defense. And we made it to school just a few minutes late!

The other victory came as I was trying to halt the downward spiral we found ourselves on after picking up Kolbie from school. I was unsuccessfully avoiding landmines, and wondering how I was going to get that chicken in the oven without facing more overturned toy bins and laundry baskets (or worse, injuries to siblings). At that moment I realized there was an internal battle waging. I knew what I should do - invite him in to the kitchen to open cans for me and help me get supper ready. But this was not what I wanted to do. I wanted to punish him by removing anything that could possibly be enjoyable to him. I wanted him to feel the strength of my disapproval - as if that would somehow get us back on track. I fought with myself - and did what I knew I should do. And we enjoyed a few minutes of peace and connectedness in the midst of an otherwise chaotic mess of an afternoon. I still ended up asking Brian to come home a few minutes early (which he did) and we still ended up dealing with a sizeable meltdown before supper. But we were able to restore our connection, and by the time we tucked the kids in to bed, we were all at peace with each other.

Isn't it funny, though, how so much of our kids' behaviour depends on how we behave? Who knew?! I certainly didn't expect to have to un-learn so much of what I thought I knew, and learn so much new stuff. I definitely wasn't expecting to have to fight my instincts - I figured nurturing my children and helping them grow to be secure beings capable of navigating the world would come a bit more naturally. I did not expect to feel like a failure on such a regular basis. Yet as I look back on days like yesterday, I am so grateful. I'm grateful that it hasn't been as easy as I thought it would be - how else would I learn humility and be able to extend grace to others? I'm grateful for answered prayer - how often have I prayed for patience and self-control and the ability to love others the way God loves me? I was kind of hoping those traits were available in the form of a speedy download, but I'm realizing they grow in me as I depend on God and practice, practice, practice. I'm grateful for the beauty emerging from the mess.

Difficult days are about so much more than survival. They are opportunities to grow and thrive and learn and love. After all, love that disappears on the hard days isn't worth as much on the good days.

Getting Back on Track

Well, that was unexpected. Looking back, it makes perfect sense, but it's taken me a couple weeks to wrap my head around exactly what's been happening. Our summer was going along swimmingly - we've had amazing weather, and the kids are at an age where we can be out and about for longer periods of time. It wasn't exactly monorail smooth, more like a rickety old steam engine on dilapidated tracks, but we were moving forward. Every once in a while we'd back up a ways, repair a stretch of track, and continue on. Then, a few weeks ago, we derailed. Completely came off the tracks. Behaviours that were rare became common again. I felt like I had to be super-vigilant all the time because I never knew when peaceful playing would turn into war. The level of disrespect and defiance sky-rocketed. Any little disappointment could send our oldest into a tailspin, and he was starting to take the whole house with him.

I knew that I should be handling it with compassion and sensitivity, but I was mad. I was ticked off that we were dealing with all this junk again after all the hard work we had done to move past it. I felt entitled to more, and as long as my focus remained on myself, we remained off track.

Exhausted and desperate, I finally confessed to Brian exactly how I was feeling. As I talked it out with him, I realized just how disconnected Kolbie and I had become. And I remembered an important piece of information from our Empowered to Connect training: positive stress can load in our children's systems in the same way as negative stress. In other words, Kolbie's extreme excitement about our houseboat holiday and the beginning of kindergarten could be turning off the rational, higher-level regions of the brain and sending him straight to the primitive, "fight, flight, or freeze" regions of the brain. Everything began to make sense. He'd been operating in survival mode, and I'd compounded the problem by responding with anger and impatience.

Once we had a diagnosis (or at least a plausible working theory!) I knew what I needed to do. I needed to shift my focus and give my son what he needed, not what I thought he deserved. He needed a "high structure, high nurture" environment. I had to set my anger and self-pity aside (not easy) and look for opportunities to connect - little chunks of time to read a book, play some lego, build a few train tracks. I started a day plan on a little whiteboard and gave him a heads-up every morning so he knew what to expect. I went back to navigating transitions with his needs in mind, and remembering to communicate my expectations clearly in advance. And, slowly but surely, we've seen little improvements. In both of us.

Consequences and Quick Fixes

I've had this post lurking in my brain for a few months now. Hanging out at the edge of consciousness, choosing inopportune moments to attack, guerrilla-style, reminding me that my actions are not reflecting my beliefs. It's a tricky issue, though, so I've been procrastinating. I haven't really wanted to face my own inconsistencies. However, if I'm serious about being intentional with my parenting, and if I believe that our children have unique needs and require a well researched and well thought out approach, then I think it's time to try to unravel it all and see if I can unify some of the voices in my head!

First, allow me to set the scene (one of many I could share):
Everyone is dressed, hair combed, and out the door with a minimal amount of stress (YAY!) but then they get in the van and chaos ensues. They're playing with the lights, and fighting over the remote for the garage door opener, and climbing everywhere but where they're supposed to climb. My default reaction is impatient and irritated, so I pull out the bribes and threats. (I'm such a slow learner sometimes - this never works when they're in fully monkey mode.) I start saying things like, "Hey, let's get into our seats so we can watch a movie!" and "Whoever gets into their seat first gets to close the garage door!" Now I'm 1/3 of the way there... I start to get more annoyed - "I'm going to count to 5 and if everyone's not in their seats there will be NO movie!" This just results in 2 of them ganging up on the lone remaining rebel. Great, even more discord. By the time we finally get going (with no movie) we're all annoyed and upset.

As part of our Empowered to Connect training, we have been challenged to re-think our use of consequences as a discipline strategy with children from hard places. The idea being that it puts us in an adversarial stance against our children, when what we really want is a sense of being on the same team, of advocating for them. When we enforce consequences too readily, particularly those that affect the future in some way, we run the risk of damaging our connection with our child and losing the joy in our relationship. Rather, we are encouraged to pursue an approach that brings full resolution to each situation, then moves on. (Watch Michael Monroe explain this more fully.)

Well. I have no problem agreeing to this concept in theory. But this is not an easy principle to apply. We've been practicing connecting while correcting for quite a few months now, and it is transforming us as parents. But there's still a part of me that wants a quick fix. And when I'm faced with stubborn disobedience, I still find myself resorting to bribes and threats in the hope that using some sort of leverage will get speedier results. And even when the situation is moving toward resolution, I am often tempted to enforce a consequence as a way to punish. I feel an unholy urge to vent my frustration by taking something they value away from them just so I can make my point. I am fighting my way through it all - striving to find a way to love my children unconditionally and sacrificially while correcting, guiding, and teaching them so they can grow to be the people God designed them to be.

So where does this leave me? Should I never use incentives or rewards? Must I abandon all consequences? How on earth am I ever going to get my kids to listen to me?! As always, I must come back to the truth that parenting is a relationship. With any strategy that I use, I must ask myself if it builds trust. Does it result in deeper connection, contentment, and changed behaviour?

Of course, part of guiding, teaching, and correcting will involve recognition and use of consequences. But it must be because that is what's best for my child, not what's easiest for me. It must help us solve the problem both now and in the future. And it must not be motivated by spite or a desire to punish on my part. It should be something that will truly help my child be more successful in the future. Far too often the kids and I arrive at a place where I feel that the only way out is to enforce a consequence - in reality, it is my own impatience and lack of connection with them that has driven us there. I am finding that when I am intentional about engaging playfully, am making an effort to stay connected and attuned to their feelings, and am honestly looking for resolution, I am no longer resorting to consequences out of desperation.

Getting in the van to go somewhere has begun to take a different turn lately. I've been trying out a new strategy or two. As I mentioned in my last post, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, and talking through my expectations before we get in the van helps immensely. Since I am forgetful (and often running late) and still find myself trying to coax wild monkeys into carseats at times, I've started saying something along these lines: "I don't want to get stressed with you guys. What can I do to help you get in to your seats more quickly?" The responses have been most interesting. The first time I tried this, Logan said, "Sing a song." Too frustrated to feel like being creative, I asked him what song I should sing. He made up a silly song on the spot, which I repeated, and he promptly hopped into his seat. I know many people would view this interaction as inappropriately democratic - I can almost hear the critique, and I imagine much of it would be related to issues of power, control, and manipulation. In response I can only say that many of my default strategies are manipulative, and I am trying to weed out those tendencies in myself that are less than ideal. I am striving to build a relationship with my children that reflects how God parents us: one in which they trust me to meet their needs, they know that I want what's best for them, and they believe that I am on their side. I am finding that as I more consistently practice staying attuned and connected while correcting, we are all getting better at doing things a little differently. It's certainly no quick fix, but I think it's going to be worth it in the long run.

Stopping to Smell the Flowers

"Her name must be everything she is," said her mother.
"Her name must be absolutely perfect," said her father.
And it was.
Chrysanthemum. Her parents named her Chrysanthemum.
Chrysanthemum grew and grew and grew.
And when she was old enough to appreciate it,
Chrysanthemum loved her name.
She loved the way it sounded when her mother woke her up.
She loved the way it sounded when her father called her for dinner.
And she loved the way it sounded when she whispered it to herself in the bathroom mirror.
Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum, Chrysanthemum.

Chrysanthemum is one of my favourite Kevin Henkes books! I love the way he captures the perspective of a little child - the simplicity, the charming self-centeredness, and most of all, the overwhelming need for love and security. Before I became a parent, I'd read passages like the one I quoted above and think, "I'm going to be that kind of parent. The one whose kids know she loves them just by the way she says their names." After I became a parent, reality hit. Believe me, I still want to be that kind of parent. I'm just finding out that wanting it and being it are two different things. Especially when I'm tired and stressed and frustrated. Too often I hear myself saying their names impatiently. Sometimes my voice is dripping with sarcasm. Or disappointment. No matter how much I say "I love you" I know that those other, life-sucking moments are speaking loudly.

We've been busy lately. Busy with lots of good things, but busy nonetheless. The last few days I've hit the "crying-over-spilt-milk" stage of tiredness! Quivering lip because I couldn't light the barbecue. Struggling to keep my composure when the ground beef got a little too crisp. Clear signs that it's time to recharge! So I was incredibly encouraged when I sat down for a little facebook/catching up on blog reading time last night, and read Jen Hatmaker's latest post - On Empty. She wrote so eloquently about exactly how I was feeling. Spooky. And so wise. In her words -

The night is upon us; our hands are spent from work. The only sane thing to do is rest. God sometimes does His best work while we entrust ourselves to his overnight keeping. Our responsibility is laying down the tasks, setting aside the duties, which is much harder than it sounds. There is never an end to the work; just an end to the day. Sometimes the very hardest obedience involves stopping for the night.

I read this while fretting about all the stuff I still needed to do before I went to bed. Good timing! Then, this morning, when I woke up still tense and tired, I read Ann Voskamp's blog entry - The 1 Reason Why You Have to Slow Down. I'm starting to think God's trying to tell me something! Okay, I know He is. If I want to recover my joy and peace, and be able to be fully present for my family, I'm going to have to slow down. I'm going to have to take a few minutes to count gifts. I'm going to have to cross a few non-essentials off my to-do list. And focus on the really important stuff, like making sure my children know how precious they are, and how much I love spending time with them. And I will make sure they know this not just by my words, but by how I say all my words. By the delight on my face when I look at them. By showing them the joy I feel in their presence.

As I write these words, Logan walks into the kitchen and says, "Mom! I made an amazing surprise for you! Come see!" Not sure what to expect, I walk into the dining room with him. All proud, he shows me where he coloured with marker on the hardwood. In what universe is that an amazing surprise?! Actually, in his. So, I take a calming breath, smile at him, and say, "That is certainly a surprise! You know you're not supposed to draw on the floor, though. Here's some paper. Can you draw another surprise on the paper for me?" I walk back into the kitchen. He draws on the paper, happy. I slow down and give thanks for him. And for the wisdom of the words I read in the last 2 days, encouraging me to slow down and re-focus. Marker wipes off the floor; harsh, unloving words leave harder-to-clean messes. I also give thanks for Rylie's cold - not for the fact that she's feeling yucky, but for the fact that we've been forced to slow down and stay home more the past few days.

The words of Ephesians 6:4 have been rattling around in my head: "Don't exasperate your children by coming down hard on them. Take them by the hand and lead them in the way of the Master." (MSG) Who is the Master? Jesus. And what is His way? Love. A love that pursues, restores, redeems, makes whole. I will strive to love my children in a way that brings wholeness today. In order to do that, I'll have to slow down and play. Looking forward to it.

A little creativity goes a long way...

Eating supper as a family has not always been the most peaceful time of day in our home. You know that "Whack-a-Mole" game? The one where little mole heads keep popping up and you have to try and thump as many of them with a club as you can? That's kind of what our supper table has been like in the past - minus the head-thumping, of course. As soon as everyone would finally be seated, and Brian and I were attempting to enjoy our meals, a little body would come popping up out of its seat and start running across the house on some crazy mission. This kind of thing is contagious, of course, so before long there would be three little bodies running around, giggling hysterically. Brian and I tried a little bit of everything. We started off with a playful approach, using reverse psychology -
"Don't eat your supper!"
"You won't like this, it's disgusting!"
"Mmmm, I hope ______ doesn't want his/her food because I want to eat it..."

When we didn't see results we quickly moved on to more desperate tactics: bribes and threats -
"If you take 3 bites then you can have_______!"
"If you don't eat your supper then you'll have to eat it for snack before bed."
"Nobody gets to play with toys until they eat their supper!"
But this didn't get us very far either, and left a bad aftertaste that the most delicious meal couldn't take away.

I even tried following them around the house with their food, abandoning all efforts to keep them seated at the table. I figured my main goal was feeding them, so did it really matter where they were eating?! This led to a slight difference of opinion with my husband, who was feeling more than a little frustrated by how things were going and was starting to wonder if we'd ever be able to take our kids out in public again.

I remember one night in particular. None of the kids had napped, so I knew that they would be especially wiggly at supper. I made spaghetti and meat sauce, one of our favourites, with the hope that full tummies would increase our chances of a good night's sleep. As we sat down and said grace, things didn't look good. One of the boys fell off his chair while we were praying, so the giggling started before anyone had even taken a bite. In a moment of desperation/inspiration I said, "Hey, I'm going to tell a story while we're eating!" Encouraged by the fact that all three of them were sitting still in their chairs and looking at me expectantly, I ignored Brian's rolling eyes and continued. "One day, three kids named Kolbie, Logan and Rylie went to their Grandma and Grandpa's house..." Every few sentences I'd stop and say, "Okay, let's all take a bite!" Completely distracted from their usual disruptive urges, they kept shovelling food in their mouths as I told the riveting tale of how they got to ride their bikes at my parents' house today. Then, to my utter astonishment, my wiggliest child looked up from his nearly empty bowl and said, "Thank-you-for-the-supper-I-please-leave-the-table?" He sat in his chair, ate his supper, AND remembered his manners. Victory!

I stumbled upon something very valuable that night - while I was telling the story, we were connecting. They kept chiming in and adding little details about our day. We got to laugh together about all the goofy things that happened. We took the focus off whether or not they were eating, and the eating happened. A few years have passed since that night, but we still use stories to help keep us all at the table at suppertime. We don't need it every night, and I'm not energetic enough to make up stories, but many evenings will still find me with a fork in one hand and a book in the other. And I love it!

What are some strategies you've found successful in your attempts to have a somewhat peaceful family meal?

A Re-do in the Real World

One of the things I love about the Empowered to Connect approach to parenting is the practice of giving my children the opportunity to "re-do" whatever it is they've done wrong. Rather than punish the wrong behaviour, we try to give the kids a chance to do it right so we can reinforce the correct behaviour and build muscle memory for that behaviour. It's a great strategy for ending discipline on a positive note, and for staying connected with my child throughout the correction. Or that's how it's supposed to work...

Truthfully? It's exhausting. It takes forever, and requires significantly more patience and perseverance than I possess. In a house with 3 pre-schoolers, most misbehaviour involves more than one child, so in addition to dealing with at least 1 perpetrator, I also need to soothe at least 1 victim. By the time everyone is calm (including me) and the various tales of woe have been heard, we then have to reconstruct the scene of the crime and walk everyone through a re-do. For the most part, they've all been willing participants! I generally give them their scripts and we perform our re-do and everyone goes back to playing and getting along. (For the moment.) The biggest deterrent to a successful re-do is me. I start out with good intentions, and the first few hours of the day go so smoothly I'm ready to call Michael and Amy Monroe and tell them to get a camera crew up here - surely they could use my example in their next teaching dvd! Then, sometime after the 3rd or 4th nuclear meltdown of the morning, and after I've unsuccessfully attempted to tidy up the toy room, wash some dishes, and do a load of laundry, I lose my motivation. I start to get frustrated because my day is not proceeding as I had expected. I am not crossing tasks off my to-do list. Brian is going to come home and there will be no discernible improvement to the chaotic condition of our home. And could we please go fifteen minutes without someone crying?!?!

Well, despite my frustration, the re-do routine is making baby steps towards becoming established. I'm becoming more accepting of unproductive days, reminding myself that the kids will suffer more from chronic anger and frustration than they will from chronic messiness. And I know that an intentional focus on maintaining a strong connection with my children will pay off in the long run.

A few weeks ago, however, my resolve was tested. Connecting while correcting is one thing at home; being out in public takes things to a whole new level! It was a Tuesday afternoon, and we had been at church for the whole morning. I had attended the ladies' Bible study while the kids were in their classes, and we were doing our usual walkabout after lunch. Being at church gives us lots of practice at "Sticking Together" - it's a great big, wide open space that practically begs kids to explore at high speed. Logan had already received a few reminders to stay close when he suddenly took off (followed by his sister, of course!). He wasn't exactly running away, he was just enjoying the freedom of running as far and as fast as he could. I knew I'd have to deal with him, but I wasn't too concerned - I figured he'd turn around eventually and I knew that he's familiar enough with the building to not get himself lost. Kolbie, however, was not as confident. He started wailing - a loud, frightened wail that bounced around that great big, wide open space... I grabbed his hand and started to move as quickly as I could without running myself. (I didn't want to spook Logan or give him the impression that it was a game of chase!) When they finally stopped and I caught up to them, I was annoyed, embarrassed, and generally frazzled. My first instinct was to scoop everyone up while speaking tensely at them through clenched teeth and get in the van and go home. Then it popped into my head that I should probably stay calm and do a re-do. I found myself at a fork in the road: follow my instincts and deal with the guilt and regret I'd feel for taking my embarrassment out on my kids, or do the right thing and forget about what other people might be thinking and walk the kids through a re-do?

Thankfully, I chose the re-do! I explained that running that far ahead was not okay, and that we were going to go back to where they'd started to take off and practice sticking together. They all agreed, Kolbie calmed down, and the re-do was fairly successful. From an outside perspective, it probably looked like Logan got away with misbehaving. From my perspective, it was a win-win. The behaviour was corrected, our connection was maintained, and we all got into the van content and at peace with each other. Experiences like this encourage me to keep going. On days when it seems like it would be so much easier if I could just inflict a prompt, painful punishment I remember that we all do better when I can stay calm and give them a second chance (or a 52nd chance, depending on the day!).

My resolve is also strengthened by the example of Jesus in John 21, where He leads Simon Peter through a re-do of sorts. On the night Jesus was crucified, Peter had denied his relationship with Jesus three times while standing beside a charcoal fire (John 18:17-18, 25-27). After His resurrection, Jesus appears to Peter and some of the other disciples. They are out fishing and Jesus builds a charcoal fire on the beach so they can have a fish fry.

     After breakfast Jesus asked Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?"
     "Yes, Lord," Peter replied, "you know I love you."
     "Then feed my lambs," Jesus told him.
     Jesus repeated the question: "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
     "Yes, Lord," Peter said, "you know I love you."
     "Then take care of my sheep," Jesus said.
     A third time he asked him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
     Peter was hurt that Jesus asked the question a third time. He said, "Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you."
     Jesus said, "Then feed my sheep."

~John 21:15-17 (NLT)

I love this! I love that Jesus restores Peter to relationship with Himself by giving him a chance to acknowledge his love for Jesus three times - one for every denial. I love that Jesus doesn't shame or belittle him for his weakness. And I love the trust that Peter demonstrates when he says, "You know that I love you." Clearly, he felt fully known and fully loved by Jesus. (Dr. Karyn Purvis, 2010, p. 42)

So I will persevere. I will remember that I have been given many second chances. And I will let the love of Jesus shine through me to my kids.

*For more information on the IDEAL response to misbehaviour, check out http://empoweredtoconnect.org/the-ideal-response-for-parents.

Works Cited

Dr. Karyn Purvis, with Michael & Amy Monroe (2010). Created to Connect. Empowered to Connect.

My "To Do" List, revised

I truly enjoy the feeling of accomplishment when I get to cross things off my "To Do" list. Sometimes I'm even tempted to put stuff like "shower" and "drink coffee" on it just so I can experience the thrill of achievement again!

As Brian and I have been preparing for our Empowered to Connect training, we've been enthusiastically trying out new strategies with the kids, and striving to be more consistent with all the stuff we already knew we should be doing but had gotten a little lazy with. The more I learn about the Empowered to Connect model, the more I realize how much I need to step up my game as a mom. And the more I wonder how I'm ever going to get the stuff on my "To Do" list done... So, I decided to re-think my list. Here's what I came up with.

1. Vacuum the house. Make eye contact and keep my facial expression soft and warm when my vacuuming is interrupted for the umpteenth time.
2. Grocery shopping. Keep my voice gentle and playful, especially when Logan is busy adding random items to the cart.
3. Do the dishes. Take advantage of all offers of "help" to have a little sensory fun with the kids and build relationships through teamwork and affectionate physical contact.
4. Play with the kids. When confronted with perceived misbehaviour, ask myself, "What need or want is driving this behaviour? How can I help my child practice the right behaviour?"
5. Remember to cut myself some slack, lean on God, make time to laugh, and celebrate my successes. None of this really comes naturally to me, so any and all improvements need a little pat on the back!

For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.                   ~Ephesians 2:10

As I learn and grow and practice, practice, practice, I am being transformed. And I am overwhelmed with gratitude and joy for all the good things He has planned for me to do.

(For more info on what we're learning, visit http://empoweredtoconnect.org/)