SheLoves Magazine

I Like You Just the Way You Are

Tales from the Parenting Trenches

“In modeling compassion towards our children, we may teach them to be kind to themselves. We can help them develop the courage to be imperfect.”

By Sabrina Connell | Twitter: @sabrinaconnell

The past two weeks have been particularly challenging for me as a mother. Recently, my five-year-old son has taken his desire for autonomy to a new level that has reduced me to tears and gripped me with a churning stomach, dripping in sweaty frustration. I have had the overwhelming feeling that while I may love him, I haven’t necessarily liked him.

Downward Spiral

Together, my son and I have been pulling one another into an awful downward spiral of irritability. The more frequently he tantrum-ed, the more quickly I responded in a harsh manner–even when he may not have deserved it, which inevitably left him more likely to tantrum.

On and on the cycle continued.

After a long, drawn out match between us last night, I realized that my efforts to correct him had left him feeling bad, not with regret or remorse–which may have spurred a behaviour change–but with the feeling of being vulnerable, weak and disliked.

I’d failed to make it clear that it was not him, but his behavior that irritated me.

Perspective

Once I had time to step away from the heat of the moment, it occurred to me that his actions may have been the result of his insecurities  over changes in his preschool situation. He’s adjusting to an additional classroom, a different teacher, and a new set of peers. He’s feeling the turbulence that comes with change. Even as an adult, I hate being “new” because of the vulnerability that comes with it. How much worse is that feeling for a child whose identity and sense of self are just beginning to form?

A young child’s sense of self-worth develops slowly over a period of time and is strongly influenced by the behaviors of those individuals who are most important to her. Those who believe they are a source of joy and delight for others are more likely to develop a positive self-concept.

If a parent’s frustration consistently leaves a child feeling incompetent, it is likely that those feelings may become central to that child’s sense of self. Children confirm how they should feel about themselves by absorbing how others feel about them, and how a child feels about himself in his early years can set a pattern for the rest of his life.

School-aged children, in particular, are often consumed by the question: “Do they like me?”

Imperfection allowed

By nature, we are all flawed and vulnerable, yet we are designed to desire the approval of others. It’s important for our children to realize that imperfection is okay, that when they are unpleasant, they are still loveable and likeable.

Dr. Brene Brown, a professor of social work at the University of Houston, says our job is to look to our children and say, “You’re imperfect, and you’re wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging.” In modeling compassion towards our children, we may teach them to be kind to themselves. We can help them develop the courage to be imperfect.

I missed my mothering mark this week and forgot to show compassion. I missed an opportunity to remind my son that I liked him, despite his flaws. Can one lousy week ruin his self-esteem and sense of self? I doubt it, but admittedly I have some damage repair to do. I need to work towards a discipline of maintaining my own composure and enforcing a consistent consequence when he acts out. In my case, this means walking away and allowing myself time to decompress before engaging in negotiations with him. I also have to be conscientious about balancing my critique of his behavior with positive and affirming statements.

Fred Rogers, ended each episode of his television program Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood by saying to his young audience: “You’ve made this day a special day just by being you. There’s no person in the whole world like you and I like you just the way you are.”

These have become my go-to lines with my own kids. Of course they’ll need updating as my children age, but for now they seem to work.

At the end of the day, I am the only mother on the planet that has the pleasure of embracing my kids–no other mother gets to experience them. When I consider that, I feel immeasurably grateful.

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So, my SheLoves sisters, I would love to know:

• What practices or routines do you use to remind your children they are likeable and worthy of love?
• What parenting challenges have you been experiencing?
• Any other thoughts or comments?

____________________________

• View Brene Brown’s TED Talk
• For more Fred-spiration, check out my favourite song of his, “It’s you I like.”

____________________________

About Sabrina:

An artist-turned-academic, Sabrina spends her days navigating between a wide variety of roles including that of mother, wife, graduate student, researcher and daydreamer. She is currently a doctoral student in the Communication Studies program at Northwestern University where she researches the various ways in which children and parents engage media and technology and the potential effects these interactions might have on the development of children. Prior to her time at Northwestern, Sabrina earned a Master’s degree in child development from Tufts University, as well as a Master of Arts in puppetry from the University of Connecticut. She has a passion for all things involving play, whimsy and the art of nurturing.

Tantrum image from thestir.cafemom.com

Imperfection image from flickr.com

TGIF: What My Grandmother Taught Me About The Hero’s Journey

On PDA in a hotel lobby, crying cashews and spooning my grandmother.

by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
____________________________________________________________

“Diet Pepsi at 11pm was a bad idea,” I think to myself, staring at the empty can on the bedside table.

I’m exhausted, but can’t sleep. My restless body curls into the shape of a cashew nut, and then unfurls into a giant flag.

Cashew. Flag. Cashew. Flag. Cashew. Flag.

I look at the digital clock above my head that blinks 3:15am in scarlet red. In my wayward state of insomnia, I decide, “I’ll wear my black skirt that doesn’t need to be ironed,” and jump out of bed. I roll up my pajama pants, shave my legs, slather a generous scoop of cocoa butter on my now shiny smooth limbs and look at the clock again.

3:30am.

In exactly five hours, I’ll be reunited with my 95-year-old grandmother, my Ammachi.

The grandmother who saved my yellow scissors.
The grandmother I hadn’t seen in nine years.
The grandmother I didn’t want to speak to.

I was on a whirlwind work trip that took me to my motherland, Kerala, in beautiful South India. The azure sky bejeweled with lush emerald coconut trees made me sigh deeply. An unexpected trip that facilitated the luxury of being able to visit my beloved grandmother.

PDA and an inappropriate sling bag …

At 6am sharp, I greeted my dad’s oldest sister–my 4′ 6 75-year-old plucky aunt, Sister Vera, in the hotel lobby with an over-exuberant hug. She turned cranberry pink and burst into nervous laughter. Given that South Indians rarely hug, and compounded by the fact that she’d been a nun for almost sixty years, I could see how my overt public display of affection gave my poor aunty a heart attack.

As I settled into the back of the cab, my eyes slowly wandered and I encountered an unexpected glee-inducing moment. My adorable aunt was carrying a Chivas Regal sling bag. Lawwwd, have murrrrcy! I was so tickled by how incongruous this image was, I almost clapped.

Oh life, and its beautiful ironies!

The Second Half of Life 

I’m not sure what I expected when I walked into my grandmother’s room. I gingerly placed three totes filled with an odd potpourri of gifts on the floor: cereal, towels, Vaseline, chocolate-covered almonds, rice crackers, a coffee mug, Turkish sweets, my sister’s homemade toffee brittle and cleaning wipes.

As I approached her bed, I saw that her breathing had become laboured and heavy. Her eyes were full of tears. I bent down to kiss her cheeks and she “sniff-kissed” me. The customary South Indian grandma kiss. She pressed her cauliflower-shaped nose against my cheek and took a deep audible breath — inhaling the scent of my skin, inhaling my entire almost-thirty-granddaughter-essence with each sniff. She kissed the right cheek and then the left cheek. Switching back to the right cheek and the left again. This went on for what felt like 15 minutes.

Sr. Vera brings me a foldable wooden stool so I can sit beside Ammachi. When I finally pull my face back, I get a proper look at her. She was wearing a loose white cotton dress with cute-as-heck pink polka dots, a white rosary around her neck and a wedding band on her finger. Her hair snowy white, her face gaunt, her tiny-tiny arms and her skin hanging from her bones. She was so much smaller than I remembered. Her forest green metal walker to the left of her bed, an ugly reminder that she would be taken away from me. Worse, she’d been taken away from my dad. I was angry and wanted to burn the stupid walker  in the front yard.

My pyromaniac fantasy was interrupted by her quivering lips which whispered the words, “Devum thanna pilara…” This loosely translates to mean, “The children God blessed me with …”

This was the moment I officially became a wreck. I remembered why I didn’t want to see her or speak to her. It hurts too much. Loving my grandma breaks my heart, and hers.

She cupped my face firmly with her jittery arms and looked at me. I mean, really looked at me. She drank in every detail of my face, committing it to memory: every curve, dimple, bone, bump, eyelash and pore. I was humbled by the silent awe, elation and gratitude etched on her face. She seemed to be looking at a glorious, beautiful, perfect version of me, that I couldn’t see in myself.

“The world is more magical, less predictable, more autonomous, less controllable, more varied, less simple, more infinite, less knowable, more wonderfully troubling than we could have imagined being able to tolerate when we were young.” - James Hollis, “Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life”

A Handkerchief + A Cross + The Great Wounding

My dad has seven sisters. Three of his sisters are nuns. The youngest of the three, Sr. Cecelia (my favourite–she sang) passed away a couple of years ago from cancer. My grandmother asked my aunt Sr. Vera to crochet the cross Sr. Cecelia wore around her neck onto a green and white plaid handkerchief.

In his book “Falling Upward” Father Richard Rohr talks about “The Great Wounding” or “Necessary Suffering” in every hero’s journey. The whole story pivots on the resolution of the trials that result. The great wounding eventually leads to a great epiphany, and the wound becomes a secret (even sacred) key that takes the hero to the next level. The wound breaks the hero before strengthening him. This strange balance between ascent and descent, victory and suffering, is every hero’s journey. Richard Rohr says the hero “floats forward by the quiet movement of grace.”

I thought about my grandmother’s “great wounding.” She lost her husband, her siblings, her parents and eventually her own daughter. I can’t imagine anything more painful than a parent having to bury their child. She had to leave her home, her roots and her legacy in Kerala. She shuttled between her children, all over the world, from the Middle East to Canada and she did it without her husband, sisters and family.

The LORD had said to Abram, “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. - Genesis 12:1

My grandmother is a hero. She is a hero in the classic Greek sense of the word. Unlike the modern definition, where celebrity is equated with heroism, the classic Greek hero was somebody brave enough to leave her home, accomplish a greater task for the greater good, suffer the great wounding, learn to rise above it and come back home to share her wisdom with the next generation. Hello?! That is my grandmother in a nutshell.

“First is the fall, and then we recover from the fall. Both are the mercy of God.” – Lady Julian of Norwich

Spooning  + Like a Child

As Sr. Vera silently crocheted the cross onto the handkerchief, I climbed onto the bed and lay beside my grandmother. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. I just wanted to be close to her.

The moment I climbed on the bed to spoon my grandmother, tears began to run down her cheeks and she said, “You have so much love … like a little child.”

I felt my chest tighten, throat close up and my legs start to tremble. There were tears. Warm, fat, monster tears.

Two [crying] cashews lying on a bed, just taking each other in.

“I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin.” ― Sara Gruen, Water for Elephants

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My dear ones…

I still have tears coming down my cheeks as I write this. I need a minute. *deep breath*

Okay.

I recently read an article in the Guardian about Bronnie Ware, an Australian palliative nurse who recorded her patients’ dying epiphanies in the last twelve weeks of their lives. She wrote a book called The Top Five Regrets of the Dying and here they are in random order:

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.
3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
5. I wish I had let myself be happier.

I would love to hear your thoughts:
- If today were your last day, what would be your biggest regret?
- What do you want to achieve/change before you die?
- Have you experienced “the great wounding”?

Love you more than Salt and Vinegar Kale Chips,(<- Recipe)
xoxo,
Teen

To read more TGIFs from Tina: Click here.

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My name is Tina. Loved ones call me: Teen.

Words are my chocolate. Music, my caramel. Photography, my bread. Girlfriends, my butter.

Confession: Some girls dream about Manolo Blahniks or their next Hermes bag. Not me. I dream of freshly baked bread, perfectly barbecued meat & steaming bowls of Pho. My dream lover *cue Mariah Carey song* is someone who would read out a menu to me in Barry White’s baritone voice.

I celebrate food, ask for help, interrupt conversations, laugh and cry hard, acknowledge the elephant in most rooms, fight for the underdog and believe in the power of storytelling.

My word for the year is “leap.” If something scares me, I do it.

I was born and raised in Dubai and currently live in the beautiful city of Vancouver, known for some of the best sushi in the world.

When Grace Trumps Perfection

Confessions of a Far-From-Perfect Wife and Mom

By Angela Doell | Twitter: @adoell

It’s early morning and I’m curled up like a cat in my favourite place by the window, watching the sky crack open. I sip the first of my coffee, feeling grateful once again for the newness of the day. Heaven’s permission to start over. Fresh mercy. The Bible in my lap waits, open to Proverbs, but my eyes are drawn to the sky with expectancy. The shifting, fractured clouds promise light.

There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in. -Leonard Cohen

I’m relieved this morning to leave yesterday behind. It wasn’t my finest. The short story: I’d come home a little late from work, wearing the day like a tight girdle. I quickly shifted into Mom mode, pulled together a passable dinner, and gathered my favourites to eat. Sadly … within three minutes of sitting down something set me off and I fully and pitifully lost the cool I’d been trying to maintain all day. I’d interpreted a comment about the meal as criticism.

Tears came so fast I could only attempt damage control. I wasn’t precious about the food or especially offended by what was said–my emotions just hijacked the moment. Our dinnertime consisted of me pushing my food around on the plate and trying to sneak quick sleeve-wipes of my eyes and dripping nose while my family ate in silence and snuck sidewise glances, wondering if Mom was losing it. (I was, for the record. I was losing it.)

The rest of the night wasn’t much better.

I’m imperfect. My marriage needs attention. My parenting could use some work. Part of me really hates it when my husband and kids witness my frail, brittle, tired bits. I feel better about presenting them with my best performance. I dream of being unquestionably strong and capable, always fully present.

I could probably fake perfect for a while if I really tried, but my kids are so wise to me. I can’t hide much from my husband. What’s real, and what the morning sunrise reminds me of, is that the broken me is enough.

I’m a wife and mom in need of grace, just as they are. 

I’m sure today will hold conversations. Opportunity for redemption. My prayer is that my family will know my weaknesses as well as God’s mercy as we walk this thing out. I pray that as our children grow and inevitably experience insecurity and weakness themselves, they’ll know from experience that Grace makes a way.

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
   his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
   How great your faithfulness!

Lamentations 3:22-23 MSG

Photo: Creative Commons

About Angela:

Angela and her husband Rod have been married for 18 years and they have two children, Madison (15) and Miller (12). Angela works at Relate Church in Surrey, BC. She loves finding beauty in everyday life and is passionate about communicating the grace, hope and reality of a living Jesus.

On An Honest Friday: Mustard Seed

“From me, he asks for a getting up. An invitation for the thaw. A lifting of this mustard seed faith of mine.”

By Laura Parker | Twitter: @LauraParkerblog

If my spiritual life were a dashboard in a flight cockpit, I’m pretty sure the red lights screaming, Danger! Crash-and-burn-imminent! would be angrily blinking.

Because my faith has taken a beating this year; a battering.

There’s been disappointments in ministry and a confusion of jobs. There’s been several house moves and enough goodbyes said that would make a grown man cry. There’s been money struggles and kid struggles and a community that seems awfully elusive. And then, there’s been this discussion of new theology that has rocked me to my core, driving me to ask questions and seek answers.

Which I haven’t really found.

And the result is that my faith finds itself laid-out on the mat of some cosmic boxing ring.

Battered, down, and staying that way, I’m afraid.

The past months have seen a slow chill creep in to my heart, and the voice of God has become a whisper that I haven’t taken time to strain an ear for. My cynicism–my “intelligent” wanderings–have ushered in more head than soul, and down on the mat I have wallowed.

And, this, I have discovered, is not a good thing. Especially as a homeschooling mom to three small children. Especially as a wife to a man, overwhelmed. Especially as a {gulp} Christian missionary.

But, here’s the thing I am {re}learning about this God I started following 25 years ago: He doesn’t ask for mountainous faith; doesn’t demand on-fire-perfection.

Instead, he asks for mustard seeds. And five loaves. And water in jugs where the wine’s already run out.

And from me? From me, he asks for a getting up. An invitation for the thaw. A lifting of this mustard seed faith of mine.

Case in point. My husband needed to travel to Bangkok from our home in Thailand in January. He had lined up several meetings that were crucial to our work here in Asia, and he felt like it was a trip God was asking him to step out in faith for–even though we didn’t have the money to buy the plane tickets or the funds for a hotel or a traveling partner to go with him.

But, he made calls and scheduled meetings, anyway. And then, over the next few weeks, I saw the mustard seed grow:

1. His plane ticket was paid for by another family here who heard about his meetings and wanted to encourage us.

2. Another friend has a brother who redeemed hotel points to get him to stay at a four-star hotel in Bangkok. He was planning on staying in hostels, but now will be spending the weekend in one of the nicest hotels in the entire city.

3. A friend from another city in Thailand has agreed to travel with him, attend meetings and be another ear to process with.

4. He has been able to schedule meetings with some key leaders which, honestly, were a long shot at even getting to the table with.

5. My heart is in a fresh place– expectant for the trip, hopeful for the outcomes. And ready to manage the kids as a solo-parent for the next several days, sans the typical woe-is-me syndrome I typically spout when he travels.

And, this, friends, for me is God in Action, God in the Boxing Ring who ushers me again to wobbly feet. And this Friday, as we celebrate things to be grateful for here at SheLoves, my husband works and dreams and prays, from a cushy hotel in Bangkok.

And his wife, at home with the three kids, finds her heart a little less cold, her faith a little made stronger, the red indicator lights not blinking with quite such panic as before.

And maybe both are more a miracle than I usually give credit for.

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• What mustard seed have you seen growing in your life more recently?
• If your spiritual life were a dashboard in a cockpit, what would yours say today?
• Any other thoughts?

__________

About Laura:

Laura Parker is a freelance writer and homeschooling mom who currently lives in Thailand with her family. She and her husband run a travel ministry which seeks to mentor young adults and provide a greater awareness of human trafficking. She blogs honestly about a life in Asia, squatty-potties and all, at http://www.aLifeOverseas.com . She is also the founding editor for an inspirational website for educators, InspiredTeacher.net . She tweets from @LauraParkerBlog .

Tales from the Parenting Trenches: Navigating Life with “Spirited” Children

“Our son had so many tantrums as an infant and toddler that every family picture his older sister drew, depicted him with a purple face.” 

By Sabrina Connell | Twitter: @sabrinaconnell

I often tease that my kids are like Gremlins. Remember those little creatures? Feed them after midnight or expose them to water and you create a monster. Only in the case of my children, rather than food or water, the impetus for their transformation into tiny, unmanageable little creatures might be exposure to particular textures; or the word “no.”

I’m convinced children should come with warning labels. If they did, our son’s most likely would have said something like, “Prepare for disagreement. Tantrums resulting in head-banging and loss of breath. Fainting may occur.”

Our daughter’s would have read: “Avoid contact with moderate light or noise, clothing tags and seams.”

The early years of parenting are particularly challenging as the time is so often spent managing the intensity of our children’s most exhausting characteristics. We could always count on our daughter to become over-stimulated, overwhelmed and victim to her powerful imagination. Likewise, we could expect our son to collapse into a raging fit at least once during every outing. As I tried to maintain my composure and sanity, both compromised by sleepless nights and the constant soothing and attention the kids required through the day, I read every popular parenting book I could find that addressed “high needs” children.

In the book Your Fussy Baby, I came across a chart that the author, Dr. William Sears, had compiled, listing descriptive words parents use to label their young children during those more challenging years of nurture and reframing them as descriptive words for similar traits as teenagers and adults. I printed the chart and put it on our refrigerator, stealing away glances as I grabbed the milk, gently reminding myself to keep some perspective.

The Changing Personality Profile of the High Need Child 

The words you use to describe your high-need child will change over the years, as the traits that so exhausted you during infancy are channeled into qualities that will make your child an interesting, dynamic adult. Try to think of your child’s personality in a positive light and look ahead. Labels that seem like negatives will be positive traits in your child’s future personality.

[Download as PDF:  THE CHANGING PERSONALITY PROFILE OF THE HIGH NEED CHILD.]  Source: www.askdrsears.com

Of course, it all makes sense when we think about it. The traits that drive us most crazy about our children now, are often exactly the types of traits we’d like them to have as adults. Our son had so many tantrums as an infant and toddler that every family picture his older sister drew, depicted him with a purple face. Five years later, has he become less persistent? No. But he manifests that same persistence and passion now as an intense commitment to tasks, taking on challenging puzzles and working through problems rather than giving up.

Does his unwavering desire for debate drive me crazy? Absolutely. I would love it if, just once in a while when I ask him to do something, he’d respond with a “yes” the first time. However, I like to hope that the go-against-the-flow attitude he so willingly practices with me will one day translate into an ability to question the judgment and requests of his friends and avoid peer pressure. Recent research suggests it may.

When our daughter was in kindergarten, she came home quite disturbed after she witnessed a friend shove a raisin up his nose far enough to warrant a trip to the school nurse. Afterwards, our daughter avoided solid food for four days, subsisting on yogurt she would lick, before she came to us in a desperate panic asking to go to the emergency room. She was convinced a raisin was lodged in her own nose, accidentally shoved up there at some point when she may have missed her mouth while eating. I found myself sobbing with laughter before I could muster the seriousness I needed to calm her down and remind her that the raisin episode was something she had seen at school and not something she had done herself.

The sensitivity and imagination that overpowered her then, has since allowed her to be acutely aware of what others around her may be feeling. She demonstrates empathy beyond her years. Similarly, whatever internal mechanism caused her to respond so severely to clothing tags, seams and loud noises has opened her senses and allowed her to be moved deeply by music, poetry and beauty. I’ve come to think of her sensitivity as her own personal superpower.

When my children behave in such a way that leaves me counting down the minutes or hours until bedtime, I try to pause and consider how their behavior might benefit them when they are mature, self-controlled adults. It’s not an easy process. In the heat of the moment, when I’m frustrated by the fact that I’ve just spent the past 15 minutes arguing over which shoes my son will wear to school, I need to be careful that I don’t assert parental control in a manner that runs the risk of breaking his spirit just “because I said so.” Finding the balance between establishing boundaries and encouraging our children’s development of “self” takes practice and is something that none of us manages to perfect, but we can take comfort in knowing that the return on our investment is immeasurable.

For more advice on parenting spirited children, check out:

• Living with Intensity by Susan Daniels and Michael Piechowski
• Raising Your Spirited Child by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka

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Dear SheLoves readers, I would love to hear:

• Which of your children’s behaviors test your patience?
• Can you think of how their behavior might benefit them if channeled appropriately?
• What are some strategies you use to avoid being overwhelmed by those more challenging moments of parenting?

_________________________________

About Sabrina:

An artist-turned-academic, Sabrina spends her days navigating between a wide variety of roles including that of mother, wife, graduate student, researcher and daydreamer. She is currently a doctoral student in the Communication Studies program at Northwestern University where she researches the various ways in which children and parents engage media and technology and the potential effects these interactions might have on the development of children. Prior to her time at Northwestern, Sabrina earned a Master’s degree in child development from Tufts University, as well as a Master of Arts in puppetry from the University of Connecticut. She has a passion for all things involving play, whimsy and the art of nurturing.

When Having It All Means Letting Go of Something

“What if I were to fill my day only with things I’ll remember for years to come?”

By Claire De Boer | Twitter: @Britchic19

Lately I’ve been living the crazy life.The “let-me-squish-everything-I-possibly-can-into-my-day” kind of life. Why do I feel the need to do this? I think it’s because I don’t want to miss out. I kind of want to dip my toes into every pool of opportunity that exists out there.

I also feel under pressure to live up to some intangible expectation.

For me “having it all” means being a great mother, an attentive wife, the most successful writer I can be, a great friend, a work-out queen, a fashionista and a readaholic. And I want to achieve it all under the approving eyes of my greatest adjudicator: God.

Of course, the reality of “having it all” on a day-to-day basis actually consists of taking my children to their activities, school drop-off and pick-up, working on my book, marketing myself through social media (yes, necessary time on Facebook and Twitter), trying to sell my work, maintaining a blog, attending classes downtown, reading, hanging out with my kids, cooking meals, housework, working out, and, finally, spending time with my poor husband who seems to draw the short straw. And this is coming from a woman who doesn’t have to add a nine-to five job into the mix. I don’t know how those who do actually manage it. It’s exhausting. I think “having it all” is a pretty tough load to handle.

Out of Balance

I had a conversation with my mother-in-law a while back that stayed with me. She asked me why mothers nowadays never seem to have any time. She reflected on her younger days as a mother of three and remembered staying home in pj’s baking with the kids, dropping in on her friends (who were also home baking with their kids) and taking the time to see what the day would bring to her, instead of controlling every minute of it. Now, I’m not saying that my mother-in-law spent her days in her pj’s doing nothing, but the only time I have days like that, is when I’m sick. Something about that shouts ding-a-ling in my head.

How did this happen?

No one is standing over me, telling me to be all and do all; no one makes me take my children to several activities per week; no one makes me work out just about every day, and no one makes me connect with my friends via social media instead of in person.

And it doesn’t seem to just be me; I look at my friends, other mothers in the same season of life, and everyone is so busy. But do we really need to be that busy? My life is often so hectic I don’t have time for the people who matter the most to me.

I think the difference between my life now and my mother-in-law’s life thirty years ago is opportunity. I have so much more available to me and I am blessed because of it, as are my children. But I think if I don’t slow down and look up every once in a while, I’m going to miss the view.

Letting Go

I put so much pressure on myself to live a full and perfect life, but I’m beginning to realize that having it all really means letting go of something, or perhaps several things. Will my children be better off going to another after-school activity or staying home in their pjs and baking with mummy once in a while?

More than half my day is occupied with doing things that don’t matter, that won’t be important a year from now or even a week from now. What if I were to fill my day only with things I will remember for years to come? That’s the kind of life I want. There are only a few things that really matter to me: My family, my relationship with God, friendships and writing. Perhaps it may be naive to think I can live a life where I shut out everything except these important things, but I think that being cognisant of the value of each day and how I am spending my time, may just be enough.

As for my Adjudicator, as any parent knows, we want our children to be happy, not perfect. I know that when I stop to listen to God’s voice, he is asking me to slow down, let go and enjoy the beauty of a single moment.

___________________________________________

My dear SheLoves friends:

• What does “having it all”mean to you?
• How do you make sure you don’t miss the view?
• Any other thoughts or comments?

About Claire:

Born and raised in the UK, Claire De Boer is a writer, woman of God, mother and wife. She is currently working on her first women’s fiction novel and a collection of short stories. Claire is also a student of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University.

Image credit: Secret to Having it All quote, from MoneySavingMom.com via Pinterest

Creating Meaningful Traditions and a Family Manifesto

RELATE with Helen: “Fiddler on the Roof,” belonging and memories that last down the generations.

By Helen Burns | Twitter: @helenburns

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Those who really, really know me, know that my favourite movie of all time is “Fiddler on the Roof.” I first saw it when I was 16 years old and I managed to drag my then-boyfriend, now-husband John to watch it at the theatre with me three times in a matter of weeks. It was pure sacrifice on John’s part as he was definitely not a fan of musicals, but desperate to spend time with me.

I, however, was desperate to connect with something the story was telling me. Everything about the story resonated with my young heart, and it still speaks to me today.

It’s a story that parallels some of my childhood experiences and family history.

In this movie, the lead character is Tevye–a husband, father and devout Jew. Things in his small rural community are changing and he is grappling with God, life and imminent change.

Tevye opens the movie with these words: “A fiddler on the roof? Sounds crazy, no? But in our little village of Anatevka, you may say everyone of us is a fiddler on the roof, trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn’t easy, you know. You may ask, ‘Why do you stay up there if it is so dangerous? We stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word! TRADITION! Because of our traditions, we’ve kept our balance for many, many years. Because of our traditions, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do.”

I, too, strongly value the beauty of meaningful traditions. To me they are like the unwritten history of a family and they give us a way to define ourselves. Most families have some traditions, though many wouldn’t even be aware of them.

The dictionary defines “traditions” as:

- An inherited, established or customary pattern of thought, action or behavior

- A belief or story relating to the past that are commonly accepted as historical though not verifiable

- A time-honored practice or set of such practices.

I believe in conscientiously developing meaningful traditions in life … in family, marriage and friendships. I have discovered that through these traditions our values and “heart-culture” are passed on from generation to generation.

Why Traditions?

- Traditions provide stability – In a world of constant upheaval and chaos, we desperately need some constants in our life. Things that we can count on and things that can be an anchor that holds us no matter what storms may come.

- Traditions help us preserve strong values - Research has shown that if you grow up as a child with strong rituals, you will experience much more resiliency as an adult.

- Traditions provide identity – One of the most essential needs for every human being is the need to belong. Being a part of a family, a company, a tribe that has traditions gives you a true sense of ‘I belong here’.

- Traditions create safety and trust – they open up avenues of communication – they build foundations and confidence because of the past investments of time over and over again.

A few Burns family traditions include:

• Family Nights

Ever since our girls were young, we made “family night” a part of our lives … one night a week with no phone, no interruptions. Just us committed and invested into each other. We made them fun and memorable. We are still committed to this as a family, even though it may be every few weeks, instead of weekly. I know everyone really looks forward to being together, especially the grandies.

• Date Nights

When our three daughters were young, John began “dating” them individually once a month. It was one of the most foundational parts of their developing lives which I believe still carries them with strength in their lives as adults and mothers. He still takes them on dates, as well as the grandchildren now. The connection that began so long ago is still so vital and beautiful.

• Toasts

This began on a Christmas Eve a number of years ago. After we had dinner and opened the traditional matching pajamas gift (and then put them on), we gathered and filled up our glasses and began to share from the heart. It surprised us how tender and yet powerful the words were that flowed, often accompanied by many tears. This is a time when we deliberately choose to invest words of honour and gratitude into the lives of those we so dearly love. This tradition is still one of my faves.

Many more traditions have developed over time. They are precious and mean the world to us.

Family Manifesto

Recently I wrote a note to each of my daughters and told them there was something I wanted from them. You see every year at Christmas and birthdays they ask me what I want as a gift and they know the answer is usually the same : “I don’t need or want anything … let’s have a date, instead.” So that has become my birthday tradition with my girls–a really fun time out together to celebrate me ageing!

But this year for Christmas I asked for something. I asked for a Family Manifesto–one that would uniquely describe “us” as a family. So, on Christmas morning I was presented with an awesome piece of wall art that is the first thing you see when you enter my home and upon it is written our story, our traditions, our values and our love.

As they presented it to me, my six-year-old granddaughter, Shalom, read it out proudly as the tears streamed down my face. Here are the words:

FAMILY GATHERS HERE
WE VALUE ONE ANOTHER
WE CRAVE TOGETHERNESS
We exhale in each other’s presence
We are fiercely protective of each other
We’re about being real, not perfect
WE ARE RIDICULOUSLY LOUD
We laugh until it hurts
We give without expectation
WE ARE GRATEFUL
We say “I love you” without special occasion
We break dance to polka classics
We wear matching PJ’s
We’re forever loyal to the accordian
We serve astounding portions of dessert
We have notoriously clean floors
We feed the birds, share licks of ice cream, and treasure hunt on the beach
We do art, we hot tub, we play bingo
We love fluffies and floats and espresso
WE PRAY TOGETHER
AND WE PLAY TOGETHER.

I want to strongly encourage you to be deliberate about creating valuable and lasting traditions within your core relationships. As I’ve discovered, traditions bring clarity, strength, value and hope to your life and the lives of those you love.

Proverbs 4:18: The ways of right-living people glow with light; the longer they live, the brighter they shine.

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My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• What traditions have you created with family and friends?
• If you were to write one sentence of your Family Manifesto, what would it be?
• Any other thoughts or comments?

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About Helen:

Helen Burns and her husband, John, speak around the world on the topic of relationships. They host the popular TV show “Relate with John and Helen.”

When Presents Don’t Look Like Gifts

For me? Really? You shouldn’t have!

By Ashley Mandanici | Twitter: @ashleymandanici
Illustrations by Katelyn Szekeres
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“This is a joke, right?”

I shuffled around the bottom of the box, attempting to find the “real” gift.

“What are you talking about, sweetie?” my mom responded. She said it with so much sincerity, I realized it was no joke. This was actually what she and her husband had got me for Christmas.

I could feel all the manners my mother had spent years instilling in me, slipping from me, replaced by my shock, disgust and the fact that I was a hormonal 16-year-old girl.

“What inspired this purchase? Seriously? What made you both walk into a store, look at this and think, ‘Yes, Ashley would love this’?”

Now, I know that this sounds bad, but you need to understand my confusion. For all the Christmases of my life, my Mom and extended family had been great gift givers.

Every year my Auntie would get me a pretty new Christmas dress–each year a prettier one than the last!
Then of course there was the year of the colourful, light-up microphone. That microphone was treasured and loved until it could not take anymore treasuring–or loving. From then on, I would not say or sing anything unless my voice was somehow amplified.

After all those years of Christmas gift joy, imagine my astonishment when I opened my gift that year.

Yes, that is correct. This slightly emo teenager who only wore black received this beautiful tie-dyed shirt. But it was not just tie-dyed, oh no.

“This shirt looks like it was made for a five-year-old!” I cried.

“No, no! It is supposed to look like that,” my mom attempted to explain.

“It looks like egg cartons tied to each other. Tell me why it looks like a science project?”

“Well, you see, it starts out small and then when you put it on, it stretches to fit your body perfectly. Go try it on! It will fit, and it will be cute.”

It neither fit, nor was it cute. I stood in front of my full-length mirror in tears as my belly protruded between my new shirt and my pajama pants.

At this point, not only was I mad about my dumb gift, but I also felt bad about being a jerk. I placed the shirt back into the box, thanked my mom and her husband and spent the rest of Christmas locked in my room, listening to the Backstreet Boys.

After that year, I am unsure exactly how it happened, but things just went downhill.

- There was the bedazzled-light-up-jean-jacket year.

- The cat-kettle-and-matching-lightswitch-cover year.

- And I am on my third consecutive wrinkle-cream-year.

“I want a refund.”

I saw this video–I Gave My Kids a Terrible Present–floating around the other day and it’s what got me thinking about this whole “gifts” thing. Jimmy Kimmel (one of those late night show guys) put out a challenge to parents to let their kids open one present before Christmas, but to give them a terrible present and film their responses.

[*Disclaimer: There is one child at the very end of the video that has a much- less-than-polite response to his gift. Don't watch if you get offended easily.]

Some things don’t look like gifts.

I know that Christmas is not about presents, but about the presence of our Saviour Jesus coming to this earth to give us new life. I also know that when a gift is given, it is about the heart of the one who gave it. But let’s face it, whenever anyone opens a gift (Christmas, birthday or otherwise), we hope it’s something good!

“I appreciate her getting us a present, but I didn’t know it would be like this.”

That’s a true statement beyond just the little girl’s terrible Christmas gift, isn’t it? Some things in life just don’t look like gifts.

If I were to have a sitdown with God and discuss the past couple of years, I can imagine my response being similar to that of the little girl’s in the video:

“God, I appreciate that you’ve given me these presents, but I didn’t know it would be like this.”

James 1:2-4 “Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing.

Some of the things that happened to me over the past two years have not looked like gifts–the two primary events being losing my dad and the ending of a serious relationship which didn’t leave me high-fiving my friends about what I got that year. It left me frustrated, sad, and confused; probably the same way the kid who got the onion for Christmas felt.

Katelyn (the wonderful illustrator of all the pictures) sent me one last picture (that I hadn’t really asked for) along with the others. She kindly said, “I added one I thought you could add to the end of your article.” Unbeknownst to her, it actually wrapped up what I want to say quite beautifully.

Just as I have had to learn about accepting gifts–the good and the bad–graciously, I need to do the same with all that life gives me. As Sarah Kay articulates so beautifully in her “If I Should Have a Daughter” TED Talk, I want to:

” … walk through life with my hands open. Which means catching every misery and hurt but it also means when beautiful, amazing things just fall out of the sky, I’m ready to catch them.”

I need to learn how to embrace the troubles that come and consider them a great joy—seeing beyond the trouble to the endurance and faith these produce.

My dear SheLoves sistas, in the spirit of great Gratitude, but honesty:

• What are some of the more “special” presents you’ve received?
• What have you learned about receiving and giving gifts?]
• Any other thoughts?

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About Ashley:

My name is Ashley and I am the Children’s Ministry Coordinator at Relate Church in Surrey, B.C. My mission is to develop the God-given potential in every child who crosses my path *Insert Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All” here*. I love all things jazzy, particularly music, and I tend to break into song throughout the day for no apparent reason. I blog here and tweet @AshleyMandanici

About Katelyn:

Katelyn Szekeres is the writer of the blog, oddbutnice.com where she details her neurotic childhood, marriage and sometimes-evil cat, Gizmo. When she’s not doing that, she works as a Mental Health Worker, makes weird crafts, takes lots of photos and plans where she will be traveling next!

Tales from the Parenting Trenches: On Teaching Children to Hold Out for a Second Marshmallow

Delaying gratification and other benefits of waiting for Christmas.

By Sabrina Connell | Twitter: @sabrinaconnell
My husband and are at odds when it comes to our desires for celebrating Christmas in a way we each find meaningful. The sight of presents spilling out from under a tree is enough to nauseate him. He’d rather celebrate in as austere a manner as possible–reverently, of course–echoing the simplicity that surrounded the birth of Jesus.

I, on the other hand, find deep meaning in the presents. Not necessarily in the giving and receiving of presents, but, rather, in the waiting and anticipation of giving and receiving them. I love watching our children pace anxiously around the tree each morning, silently taking inventory of the treasures they eagerly wait to claim. I love listening to them strategize the order in which they’ll open them. Our daughter, nearly eight years old, describes the anticipation as an ache that fills her chest.

“Hold on to that feeling, sweetie. Embrace the wait. That anticipation is what you’re supposed to feel. It’s the same feeling the wise men felt as they followed the star. You’re in good company.”

Advent is a season of anticipation. Learning to wait and sit with anticipation are important skills for children to develop. Such skills are central to the discipline of self control.

Self-control

Throughout childhood and adolescence, temperament and parenting work together to jointly influence the extent to which self-control develops. Granted, some children are biologically more impulsive than others, but regardless of temperament, children who experience parental warmth and gentle encouragement are more likely to develop self-control, because such parenting models patient, non-impulsive behavior. When parents are highly power-assertive and exercise inconsistent discipline or structure, children’s abilities to manage their impulses develops poorly or may even fail to function. The more opportunities children have to wait with anticipation and the more their parents provide gentle coaching and strategies for managing the wait, the more likely they are to develop self-regulatory skills that can lead them successfully in the future.

Studies

Researchers who study the development of self-control typically create laboratory situations in which children are offered a treat of some kind and are given two options: 1. Eat the marshmallow when the researcher leaves the room or 2. Leave the marshmallow uneaten until the researcher returns and then earn an additional marshmallow for waiting. For a peek at how different children behave in this type of experiment, check out this adorable video:

Researchers found that preschoolers who were better able to delay gratification (wait for the second marshmallow rather than gobbling up the one) matured into adolescents that were more responsive to reason, better at concentrating and planning ahead, better at managing stress, and even scored higher on their SATs than their less-impulsive counterparts.

Pacing around a Christmas tree for 25 days and living with that chest-about-to-burst-with-excitement feeling for so long, helps to develop some measure of discipline. I’d like to think it helps exercise the mental and emotional muscles our kids would need to hold out for that second marshmallow. I love to think of our kids on Christmas morning, restless hearts pounding as they bound out of bed and race to our room, eager to enjoy the spoils of the holiday. I love to think how those same emotions can transfer to their own understanding of what it means to wait for and celebrate the arrival of Jesus. I love to think of how I can find more meaningful moments for them to experience a similar joyful anticipation beyond the holiday season.

I often look to Fred Rogers (beloved host of the show Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood) for parenting (or really just living) wisdom and came across this gem of a quote this week:

“I like to compare the holiday season with the way a child listens to a favorite story. The pleasure is in the familiar way the story begins, the anticipation of familiar turns it takes, the familiar moments of suspense, and the familiar climax and ending.” ― Fred Rogers

So, my SheLoves sisters, I’d love to hear:
- How do you rekindle that feeling of waiting and anticipation for your children throughout the year?
- What types of strategies to you use to help your children endure moments of waiting?
- How have you helped them delay their own gratification?

About Sabrina:

An artist-turned-academic, Sabrina spends her days navigating between a wide variety of roles including that of mother, wife, graduate student, researcher and daydreamer. She is currently a doctoral student in the Communication Studies program at Northwestern University where she researches the various ways in which children and parents engage media and technology and the potential effects these interactions might have on the development of children. Prior to her time at Northwestern, Sabrina earned a Master’s degree in child development from Tufts University, as well as a Master of Arts in puppetry from the University of Connecticut. She has a passion for all things involving play, whimsy and the art of nurturing.

A Mixed-Culture Girl Goes “Home” This Christmas

“Seeing our families this Christmas involves crossing one ocean and two borders. It involves exchanging currency, bottling toiletries in travel-size vials, applying for a visa and buying gifts from Duty Free.”

By Winnie Lui | Twitter: @INTELsashimi

A meal with noodles, meat, veggies and a drink costs less than CDN$3.

Fresh fish costs about the same price, and you can choose a live one and watch it being halved, squirming for the last seconds of its life, right before your eyes.

Drivers stick to the left side of the road. Pedestrians pause before they cross because here, people yield to cars instead of the other way around.

Returning

It’s winter 2011 and I’m back in the place of my birth–Hong Kong.

When I was born, the area in Hong Kong in which I lived was a center of light industry, booming with textile factories–the kind in which my grandmother worked the night shift. Today, the same area is a forest of shopping malls and office and residential towers.

As a young child, I followed my grandmother to the fresh markets to find just-cut vegetables and choose our pick of chicken or fish to be butchered alive. This winter, I have the joy of reliving those moments as I mince around the wet market floor in my Converse sneakers, experiencing the same sights and sounds from childhood, but from a slightly taller viewpoint.

My husband is with me on this trip. After the visit to the market in the morning, we tunneled through the crowded halls of shopping centres.

Fitting in

My husband and I are both ethnically Chinese and fit in well in the sea of dark-haired heads. He, however, is from mainland China and speaks Mandarin instead of the Hong Kong dialect, Cantonese. I, on the other hand, am raised in Canada by Hong Kong parents; so I speak Cantonese but, culturally, I am still half a foreigner in Hong Kong.

In most of the stores we enter, we are approached by eager sales persons.

“有D乜嘢可以幫您呀?” (“Can I help you with anything?”)

“Sorry, I don’t do Cantonese,” replies my husband. The clerk quickly switches to English, and later changes to Mandarin, which is closer to Cantonese and more comfortable for her.

At a store selling suits, the clerk, my husband and I share a mixed dialogue of two languages and one dialect. That multi-lingual conversation reflects the city of Hong Kong and its mixed heritage of British and Chinese rule. That dialogue also reflects something about me.

Hong Kong and I

Hong Kong was a British colony from the mid-1800s until 1997 when it was ceded back to China. In its politics, economy and lifestyle, Hong Kong has been heavily shaped by the West. You can see this, for example, in its food culture: a typical Hong Kong-style breakfast can include toast, fried eggs and ham with milk tea. In its heritage, Hong Kong is a part of China; however, having been outside of Chinese rule for the better half of the past century, Hong Kong was excluded from the revolutionary cultural and political changes that re-shaped China, resulting in a distinct Hong Kong identity that sets it apart from its native China.

Raised by the British yet not British; from China yet not Chinese. Hong Kong is its own cultural species, as am I.

My own upbringing is a mixed conversation. I was born in Hong Kong and grew up in Canada, but frequently returned to Hong Kong throughout my childhood. After I entered university in Canada, my parents permanently relocated back to Hong Kong, while I later graduated and settled in Vancouver. My family and I cross oceans yearly to see one another.

I also dated and eventually married my now husband, who is from mainland China, bringing yet a third culture into the family.

Christmas across cultures

For my husband and I, seeing our families this Christmas involves crossing one ocean and two borders. It involves exchanging currency, bottling toiletries in travel-size vials, applying for a visa, and buying gifts from Duty Free. It involves changing worlds in less than 24 hours.

On Monday morning of this week, I left Canada. Seven back-to-back movies and three box-tray meals later, I arrived in Hong Kong. Upon landing, my iPhone greeted me with a series of commercial text messages. “Welcome!” my iPhone told me me. “You are now roaming.”

Over the next few weeks, I will be in at least three more Chinese cities. I will be roaming in stores and restaurants where people will assume I am local and then feel confused when I respond slowly or miss the standard protocols.

Someone from a mid-sized city will ask me, “Are you Korean?”

“I’m from Canada,” I’ll say.

“No, you’re not!” she’ll say, squinting at my skin colour.

“I’m from Hong Kong,” I’ll say, trying again.

She will look at me more believably, and politely lie, “Your Mandarin is good.”

This Christmas, I will re-learn the culture of my heritage: practicing Chinese dialogue with those who don’t speak enough English for me to get lazy and stop trying; making dumplings from scratch when the only things I’ve ever done with flour is bake cupcakes and cookies; waking up early to follow the ladies of the house to the markets when normally at that hour I would be checking email while drinking coffee.

I am looking forward to developing my Chinese side and carving yet another face to my mixed-culture identity.

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How about you?

• Do have a mixed-culture experience?
• How have your cultural experiences shaped your identity?
• What are your dreams about crossing or integrating cultures?

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About Winnie:

The wave of Asian immigration in the 1990s brought Winnie to Canada on a little red-mast junk. To fulfill her family’s dream of running a business in Hong Kong and giving the children a Western education, Winnie’s father commuted home to Canada during Christmas and Chinese New Year, and Winnie herself spent her childhood between the two continents and among many different schools and neighbourhoods. Her growing up experience has become a mosaic of cultures, languages, and perspectives. Winnie blogs at intellectualsashimi.com and tweets @intelSASHIMI

Photo credit: ixtlan, Esther Weng