dearest daughters & son

Reframing, Optimism, Choosing Happiness

Dearest Daughters,

One of the most helpful concepts I've learned in therapy recently is reframing.

It helps me see my husband, your Daddy, asleep on the couch as a peaceful part of the home I've created, not reaching for a beer or some other vice at the end of his day, but comfortable and at ease falling asleep, his daughters playing nearby. Instead of seeing him as a snoring lump, not helping with dinner or child care and ignoring his daughters.

I can see this horrible event--Danjo's dog bite, getting in a car where I'm not the driver, being stuck in a seemingly endless conversation, my entire psychological life crisis--in a different light, instead of fixating on the negative, the things that can't be changed or the past. Danjo is resilient, I can enjoy the scenery, I can be a supportive listening friend, I can envision a whole new way to live.

The past and the future are concepts, right? There is only now. And how one sees now. And while one may argue that there are certain truths to each version of my husband or the dog bite or a boring conversation, the truths don't matter much when it comes to my choice about how to see these situations and the world.

And it's more than just a question of pessimism versus optimism. And I certainly wouldn't advocate any sort of Disney-esque-Princess-rose-colored-glasses-in-the-face-of-the-Beast kind of enchantment or ignorance.

Though there is evidence that optimists are:

    - More successful in school, at work, and in athletics
    - Healthier and longer lived
    - More satisfied with their marriages
    - Less likely to suffer from depression
    - Less anxious (Carter, 2010, p. 78)

I'll take an order of that.

But further, I'm speaking to my experience of being an extreme perfectionist, an over-thinking, judging and critical person, who clings to past failures and makes "logical" guesswork of a future that doesn't exist yet. I'll tell you, this serves no one.

I'll never fulfill the bubbly positive archetype. But, I'm learning to manufacture my own happiness--this is a concept put forth by (once again) my parenting guru, Christine Carter in Raising Happiness.

This does not mean suppressing negative emotions or feelings, but it means being able to bring up or draw on positive emotions when we need them. And to see negative emotions as an opportunity for growth.

You've heard it all, I'm sure: laughter is the best medicine, the thing about smiling more actually making you happy. And it's all true and scientific and stuff.

In addition, "[p]ositive emotions 'undo' the physiological response of negative ones, calming the heart rate and reducing levels of stress-related hormones in our bodies. They turn off, or tone down, our flight-or-fight response" (p. 96).

I'll take two orders of that.

And there is an actual ratio for this "undoing"--it's 3:1--three positive feelings for every one negative feeling (p. 97).

Both living with gratitude and choosing forgiveness over anger have beneficial psychological and physiological effects (p. 69, p.73).

In short, we can choose to be happy.

This does not mean I won't be a pessimist or I'll never have negative experiences. I do not promise that life will be easy and without obstacles or periods of, in my case, depression.

But, I will promise to model for you girls how to reframe, how to choose happiness, to call on positive emotions, to forgive, to do a happy dance.

To look at a cold, stormy day and to see an opportunity to splash, to hold an umbrella, to feel the rain on your face and the wind in your hair, to watch the worms on the ground, to see the green and growing plants and best of all, to warm up with a mug of hot chocolate and "maatch-mallows."

Love,

How she helped me

Dearest Daughters, 

Lola went in for knee surgery yesterday. She made it out just fine.

But, the day before the surgery, we were at home. I was finishing up making dinner: spaghetti and smoothies. Your Cousin A was over, spending a couple days with us because of the Veteran’s day holiday.

The pasta was boiling, the blender whirring, the timers ringing.

I turned to tell everyone to wash up. And there your cousin sat, at the dining table, tears welling in her eyes.

Knowing her well enough to know that she gets a little bit weepy when she’s tired, I assumed she was missing her mommy and daddy.

I asked her what was wrong and she hysterically sobbed, “I don’t want Lola to get hurt.”

“Oh, honey...” I sighed, moving to her side and enfolding her in my arms. And, I couldn’t help it, I started to cry too.

As usual, I’d involved myself with the logistics of Lola’s procedure, of what needed to be done, rather than what needed to be felt.

My “life crisis” and therapy have made me well aware of how disconnected from my feelings I am and how easily I repress my own emotions. And I’ve talked before about how I see those tendencies in Bel. For her benefit and my own I try to do emotional coaching, to build emotional intelligence and literacy. A big part of this, is modeling how I approach my own emotions.

And so, stopped in my tracks, tears welling in my own eyes, as Bel and Danjo looked on, concerned, your cousin in my arms, I simply told her: “I’m sad too. And afraid.”

This, of course, didn’t stop the water works for either of us, but I told her it’s okay to cry, to feel sad and afraid. And I don’t know about your cousin, but that alone made me feel a little better, a little less engrossed by making dinner, by planning the next day, by communicating the hospital logistics to my siblings, by the things I busy my mind with, keeping it detached and neutral, neither hopeful nor fatalistic, pushing down the low humming feeling, the anxiety, the worry and fear.

We try to be strong for our children or maybe for ourselves. We don’t want them to see us cry. Or we don’t want to cry. But, children are born wired to us, sensing and empathetic. They may not know what’s wrong, but they are affected by their parents’ emotional and psychological states. Trust me, we know.

My preoccupation and carelessness show, as I break a vase, burn myself with sloshing pasta water, am impatient and quick to shout.

These are times for mindfulness, certainly.

A time of stress, time to return to the basics, to what I know, to where I am:

“You might be tempted to avoid the messiness of daily living for the tranquility of stillness and peacefulness. This of course would be an attachment to stillness, and like any strong attachment, it leads to delusion. It arrests development and short-circuits the cultivation of wisdom.” ― Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are

“The little things? The little moments? They aren't little.”
― Jon Kabat-Zinn

“You can't stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.”
― Jon Kabat-Zinn

And your cousin helped redirect me back to that space, to the space where I am. We acknowledged our fear and worry together.

I explained, as the better-informed adult, that going to the hospital will actually make Lola better. That the doctor will fix her knee.

And that instead of worrying, maybe we could do something else for Lola?

“Like make her a card!” your cousin declared.

“Good idea,” I said, truly, a good idea.

And the three of you set forth, eager, determined. Not enough paper in the world to contain all the love you hold for your Lola.

Opening her many cards.

 

Not sure about seeing Lola this way. Me neither, girls, me neither.

Love,

 

Sometimes I Wonder

Dearest Daughters,

I embrace your creativity, perhaps more than the average parent. You've taken over the kitchen table with your scratch paper and markers, pipe cleaners and stamp pads, glue sticks and stickers.

Fifty percent of the freedom I give you is a conscious effort to not helicopter, to not step in when you can do for yourself, to let you gain confidence in your problem solving abilities, to not give you any preconceived notions or to shape your idea of what something should be.

I won't lie; the other 50% of the reason I don't intervene in your creative endeavors, whether at what we now call the "Art Table" or whether playing "dress up, pack your bags and fly to Hawaii"--is because I'm just not paying attention.

No one's losing an eye. And whatever you mess you make just doesn't bother me THAT much. What's more scraps of paper on the ground? And red hand prints on the white cabinets? Nothing a vacuum and Magic Eraser (tee emm) can't fix!

I don't think my parents let me "get away" with this kind of stuff. With making messes, however creative. I don't remember having any dress-up clothes. (But, Lola did sew some bomb-diggity Halloween costumes in her day. That, I will not deny.)

Your Auntie Ningang KT just told me that she uses you as a little anecdote to others about how you're not overly into Disney Princesses. That is to say, you like them, we watch them, I'm not anti-Disney Princess of anti-frill, but at the end of the day you were Buzz and Jessie for Halloween. You are equally excited about pretending you're a robot ballerina or a pirate princess.

I like your creativity and freedom of expression.

But, sometimes I wonder...

While working on a sewing project the other day, I handed over the scraps to you girls. And this is what you came up with, whilst my sewing machine was whirring away:

Bel made Buzz a pair of undies with a heart sticker on the crotch--a little Magic Mike-esque if I must say--Intergalactic Space Ranger by day and, well, you know, by night. I'm sure it was nothing like that; in your current potty-training reversion, I'm certain you just wanted to hook your buddy up with a little extra however-be-it-stickered, night time protection. You're quite considerate like that. And fancy too.

And in a fitting comparison of personalities, Danjo just horded the fabric I handed to her, threw in some torn paper scraps and made her mini-Buzz a little nest next to the wine rack. It's gonna be a long night.

Love,

The season of "I wants"

Dearest Daughters,

The chorus of "I wants" has begun.

And it's publicly known that I'm a mean mom. That is, what you want is probably not what you'll get.

You'll get something made of wood. Something practical. Maybe a hammer. Or a rubber mallet, to be on the safe side. And extremely helpful in assembling IKEA furniture.

I might be a practical gift-giver, but I'm no dream crusher. I let you circle toy Slurpee Machines and Barbie Mansions in the Sunday ad.

(My Little Consumer: So Cute! from Lauren Gibbs-Beadle on Vimeo. Last year, Bel perusing the Toys 'R Us ad.)

I ask you what you what you like about the helium-filled remote control shark. And what you imagine you'd do with that talking fur ball toy.

And, I'll admit, sometimes I get a little sassy. Like: why do you think you need that play kitchen when you already have a perfectly good one?

Mostly, I say: put it on your list. Then, we don't have to discuss it any further.

And as long as you're looking, I suggest that you look less for things you want and more for things that you think your family and friends would want. And I try not to say anything when you propose that your Baby Cousin wants a Power Wheels Hummer.

It seems like a little bit of a parenting set-up to expect us to teach you about gratitude and thankfulness in November with Christmas taunting, bejeweled and flashing, around every corner.

I know the right answer is that it's that much more important to teach you about gratitude when Christmas is around the corner. And when Advent comes, it'll be a whole 'nother round of moral messaging, waiting for baby Jesus to get here.

There are lots of things that I've tried to do to teach you to be thankful for what you have, not only during the holiday season, but every day. Only a few have really stuck.

The first one I learned about from Bel's Ninong because he does it with his girls--but Dr. Christine Carter talks about it in her book, my parenting bible, Raising Happiness: 10 Simple Steps for More Joyful Kids and Happier Parents. That's where I got the other ideas, below, too.

Talk about kindness. Every night at dinner (okay, almost every night) I ask you what kind thing you did today and if there was a kind thing someone did for you. Usually, the answer for both is "playing nicely."

It's also a time for me to think about my day. If I was thankful enough for the kind things others did for me--if I was even aware of the kind things.

In our society, especially, where we pay for goods and services, we tend to think that we are entitled to things; that we deserve to be treated a certain way, as we order our non-fat lattes and such. Simultaneously, all civility has been thrown out the window, such that when a stranger holds a door for you or smiles, it seems the exception to the rule.

Sometimes, it's difficult for me to identify any kindness in my day.

Talk explicitly about those who have less than us.  And not just in a vague, threatening I'm-going-to-give-your-toys-to-other-children way (though that does happen out of I-stepped-on-another-abandoned-toy frustration.) But, when teachable moments arise, we talk about suffering, pain, poverty, homelessness, hunger and, even, death.

We want to protect our children, to shield them, to hurry past the panhandlers and the people whose demons cry out to us on the street. As adults, it's easy to ignore these things. But, my children see them anyway.

So, we talk about them. And I don't always have the words or answers. And I rarely have a solution or any idea of what to say or do next. But, for now, the important thing is that you girls know that many folks don't have what we have and to develop your empathy, to teach you to be considerate of others (at all times), and to provide you with opportunities to feel compassion.

Source: kwavs.blogspot.com via Lauren on Pinterest

(blessing bags from Pinterest, something we've done before)

Flip your assumptions on their head. The other thing I've done in the past that helps to teach you gratitude is to address your ingratitude, your assumptions, the things you take for granted.

When you start acting sassy, entitled, demanding--spoiled--I try not to indulge you.

I'll give you the three-year-old occasional mis- and over-usage of absolutes, like always and never. But, when you say, "Mommy you always make dinner" or "I always get a sweet snack after dinner" or "I never have to do garbage chores because Daddy does them" or you just aren't saying please and thank you--that's exactly the moment where I don't make dinner, you don't get a sweet snack, you put the recylcing out, or you don't get what you want.

It sounds harsh, not making you dinner, but it gives you the opportunity to do something kind for me, making peanut butter sandwiches or tortilla pizzas for dinner. And you're much more appreciative the next day.

 

There's not much that I want, I'm not from a family that made Christmas lists or wrote to Santa. That's mostly because I wanted for nothing.

As a child (and even today), whenever I asked Lola what she wanted for her birthday or Christmas, she always replied that she wanted "happy children." I suppose she means not only a child who is joyful, who is fulfilled by what she does, but also a child who has no reason to be discontented, who appreciates, with wonder and thankfulness all that she has.

On my list this year is: happy children, kind and compassionate children, considerate and grateful children.

Doesn't seem like much, and yet it does.

To quote your Uncle Bruce's benediction that he has used over the past couple decades of his ministry:

"Go forth into the world
With compassion and justice in your heart
Give strength to the weak
Give voice to the silent
See one another
Hear one another
Care for one another
And love one another
It’s all that easy
And it’s all that hard"

Love,