And, when you find it, please let me know you did by leaving a comment. As always, I appreciate your support!
😉
Also, if you’ve been so kind as to include me on your blogroll, please add me back as Soapbox Mom (and if I’ve lost your site, just let me know and I’ll be sure to add it right back onto my blogroll)!
As of February 10, 2008,the Being a Mom is Great blog has moved here (www.soapboxmom.com). Please visit Soapbox Mom to read more articles by this author (bmg mom is now Soapboxmom).
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My blogger friend over at Missives from Suburbia recently wrote a terrific post about how feelings originate from either fear or love. She presented a challenge to her readers to watch how we talk to and treat our loved ones and then make rational choices instead of impulsive ones. I took that to mean that I should consciously choose love over fear, kindness over harshness.
So today, the starting point for this challenge, I started my day in a fine way, with a smile on my face, newspaper in front of me, coffee in hand. Then the kids start acting…well…a little revved. Goofy, silly, loud, talking too much about farts and butts, you know, being just a bit overly wild. I chose to ignore it all (well, except when I reminded them of our rule of no potty talk at the table), but as for the other stuff, I just kept telling myself, “Give ’em a little bit of slack today. They’re so happy…they’ll be on their way to school soon enough…” (as I felt the beginning pangs of a headache).
I quietly slipped into my room to get dressed, pulled on one of my favorite sweaters, and got ready for the day, urging myself to believe that there are no bad days, only bad moments. Each moment we make a choice (or many choices), and I was determined to choose to keep moving forward, to keep things in perspective and most of all to just be aware of how my state of mind affected my choices.
Then I noticed a hole in my favorite sweater. When did that get there? Rats. Take that off, put on some other shirt. Whatever. Keep going. It’s just an article of clothing. As my day continued, it just kept getting worse and worse (I won’t bore you with all the details, let’s just say it involved PMS). It reminded me of that picture book I recently reviewed on my radio show, called Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. You know, where everything seems to be going wrong and the bad moments continue throughout the day.
By dinnertime, I was really cranky and couldn’t muster a smile for anything. So I tell the kids to just give me some space. “I just want to check a few things online and then I’ll start making dinner,” I explain. So, I’m at the computer when I hear the first few notes of a song from the movie Alvin and the Chipmunks. I look over to my right and see my son holding a tablespoon like a microphone while he lipsyncs the words (he recently discovered how to do it and is pretty excited to fake sing to all kinds of music in a hammy, performing kind of way). It’s pretty darn cute.
Anyway, so I glance over and notice he’s there, but I keep typing away on my keyboard. Then I glance again and notice that he has no intention of moving. Oh, no. He’s standing there as if it’s the stage in the Kodak Theatre and I’m his audience of thousands. He’s still looking right at me.
I know, sometimes it takes me a while, but I finally realized that this wasn’t just a quick snippet of a song, rather he was trying to pull me out of my funk. So I stop typing and get into the moment…this precious moment that somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind I recognize I really need right about now.
I turn toward him and see his eyes looking at me in a way only your own child can. I can’t help but smile. He’s lipsyncing to the song Bad Day but instead of Daniel Powter singing Bad Day, it’s the one from Alvin and the Chipmunks.
Alvin’s version of the song, Bad Day
It’s working. My cranky-wall cracks ever so slightly and I start to smile, but just a little grin.
Then, at just the right moment, right at this big crescendo, my daughter slides into view (on her knees, doing a sweeping slide that finishes with her left arm swinging up into the air for dramatic effect). She, too, holds a tablespoon mic in her right hand, and joins my son in the lipsyncing extravaganza. Our dog feels the good vibes (or something) and trots over happily, wanting to share in this jubilant affair.
The whole performance is enough to make me stand up at the end, with a huge grin on my face and a really warm feeling inside, wrap my arms around both of my kids and just revel in this amazing moment. The kids are absolutely beaming. They know what works for me, how to make me smile, what can bring a smile to my face (as long as I choose to let it in).
How can all that translate to you? Well, I could say, “You should buy the Alvin & the Chipmunkstune, have your kids learn the words to Bad Day and sing for you.” But that seems like asking a lot and wouldn’t necessarily translate.
No, I just offer you this: when you’re having a really lousy day (like Alexander’s or like mine or whatever kind of day is your kind of bad day), dig way down to get to that place where you can throw off the mask that we often hide behind as adults and then look at your kids. You know, really look at your kids. If they’re not singing, then try to imagine them singing. Or pick up a picture of them when they’re asleep or when they’re being their most adorable.* It will melt you and get you back to a place where you can more easily choose love, compassion and kindness. The place where your heart wants to be. It’s a glorious place. Really. And it’s the key to getting past those bad days moments.
Love’s hard to beat.
It’s moments like those that make being a mom really, really great.
*This reference is to a post from another one of my blogger friend’s blogs, The Busy Dad Blog within which he shows a great picture of his son, affectionately referred to as Fury, at one of his most adorable moments. See what I mean?Makes you melt…and hopefully will do so even more when it’s your own.
As of February 10, 2008,the Being a Mom is Great blog has moved here (www.soapboxmom.com). Please visit Soapbox Mom to read more articles by this author (bmg mom is now Soapboxmom).
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My daughter has been playing basketball half her life. She plays well and has a good time doing it. She opted not to play travel ball so she could just have fun playing it without the intensity and competitiveness of travel teams.
Recently, however, we experienced something that may have changed her approach and overall state of mind with respect to the sport. The crux of the problem? A parent.
In this particular game, she was playing really well. In fact, I was amazed by a few of her shots. It looked like she was being moved by some greater force or something. I mean, she floated down the court and, in one case, hit a shot from the three point line, using only her right arm, flinging it in with nothin’ but net.
It was beautiful.
She was having so much fun.
Until a dad from the other team apparently decided that the three high school girls coaching his daughter’s team weren’t doing their jobs coaching his daughter. He stepped in and took over, intimidating the girls and getting his face right in all of their faces. I couldn’t hear what he said to them, but my daughter’s teammates overheard him say to his daughter, “You see that #23? Whatever you do, don’t let her take a shot!”
He barked his orders and sent out his attack dog.
We’re talking fifth and sixth grade girls, here, people.
I was keeping the clock for the game, which meant I was sitting next to a dad from the other team, who was keeping the stats and the score in the official game book. He and I had been engaging in friendly chatter for the duration of the game. When Attack Dad turned his daughter into Attack Girl even scorekeeper dad noticed. He said, “Wow, she’s being pretty nasty.” He told me about how he believes that a lot of parents try to live through their kids and work out whatever they were unable to accomplish in their own childhoods. Sure, I’ve heard that and believe it. But, geesh!
At one point, when the girl had excessively elbowed my daughter (and had the bruises and cuts to show for it afterward), she asked Attack Girl, “What are you doing?” Attack Girl responded harshly, “It’s called playing a sport.”
Well, that’s not the way I’ve been taught to play sports. Or the way my kids have been taught to play sports. Certainly not girls’ basketball, anyway. And certainly not in elementary school.
After four fouls called on his daughter, my daughter went to the drinking fountain, shaken, crying and battered. Scorekeeper dad nudged me and said softly, “Er, I think your daughter’s crying.” Sure enough, he’d pushed her to the point of tears. She walked over to me. I hugged her and could feel her shaking. She showed me her cuts and said, “Mom, I’ve never played with someone so mean.”
The coaches took my daughter out for the rest of the game.
I didn’t know how to handle this situation. Attack Dad stands at about 6’3″ and fiercely glares at people. I don’t think it’s my imagination. During that game he looked fierce. Should I have gone over to the guy and said something? If so, what? Would that have really solved anything? The coaches were apologizing, the referees were apologizing, even scorekeeper dad apologized. He told me that his dad coached his basketball team when he was a boy and that, in his opinion, that girl was way over the top. There were definitely moments when it was all I could do to hold myself back from running out there and getting between them.
It was just awful.
I know I’m a bit of a lightweight and hate conflict, but I’m also a sports lover and appreciate the pleasure one can get from playing a good competitive game. But this? This incident was not sport.
I looked over at the guy and scowled in my own kind of glaring way, but then I remembered the hockey player’s dad who killed a guy. So, I decided to walk away. It’s what my daughter wanted to do, too. She said, “Mom, I just want to leave. Please.” So I wrapped my arm around her, held her close and walked out the door.
She really hasn’t played the same way since that game. I can’t help but wonder if she subconsciously fears more attacks, so she’s pulling back a bit on her level of play. Better to fit in than to be attacked (?!). I hope not. I hope the Attack Family did not win by intimidation. But, on the other hand, maybe my daughter has a point when she says we should start thinking about tennis.
As of February 10, 2008,the Being a Mom is Great blog has moved here (www.soapboxmom.com). Please visit Soapbox Mom to read more articles by this author (bmg mom is now Soapboxmom).
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I’m not a big fan of chewing gum.
When I was a kid, the only time I ever served detention was in eighth grade. Standing in the cafeteria, right next to the assistant principal, I cracked my gum…several times. It was a bad habit.
I stopped chewing gum after that and I’ve tried to avoid buying it for my kids. I blame it on the aspartame. “Oh, sorry, can’t buy that. Has aspartame.” Then my kids found this great gum at Trader Joe’s called Glee Gum.
The gum pieces are small squares, so it’s much better than chewing those huge clumps of bubble gum and it’s not filled with all kinds of weird chemicals. I’m not crazy about Tic Tacs (the flavors seem a little…off to me and I always feel like I need to eat a handful to really satisfy the mint craving), so I thought this would be a good way to deal with coffee breath. I grab the little box whenever I need a little breath freshening. Harmless so far, right?
Well, the other night, the kids and I were driving back from my daughter’s chorus practice. The car was filled with music, chatter, and laughter when suddenly “Crack, pop, crack!” everyone froze. My daughter looked at me and softly asked, “What was that?” We don’t chew much gum in our house. I looked over at her like I was a teenager caught with a beer in her hand. “Uh…well…that? Yeah, well…it must have been part of the song.” She kept looking at me then slowly started grinning — you know, that slow “gotcha” grin. “Noooo, I don’t think so.” Grinning a little more. Then, “Are you chewing gum?” Brief pause. “No, wait, did you just crack your gum?”
They know all about the eighth grade experience. That’s partly why they were surprised I was even chewing it, but cracking it? That was the dirty deed. The black mark. The cause of my detention.
My daughter’s right at that age when she watches everything I do, analyzes it and records it in her “notes of mom” mental diary. I felt as if I could see the little teeny pencil in her head furiously scribbling an addendum.
“Isn’t that what you got detention for? Back in eighth grade?” My daughter is in middle school right now. She can relate.
“Um, well, yes.” It’s funny how memories take us back so much that we almost feel like that little kid all over again. Embarrassed. Humiliated.
Somebody somewhere (I hope!) is probably saying, “What the heck? You just popped chewing gum? What’s the big deal?” It’s all relative, I guess, so just insert your own transgression.
Anyway, so there I am, trapped in a car, in a very awkward moment with the kids wondering what I would say next. Would I spit out the gum and say, “Yeah, boy, I should have learned my lesson back then. It’s just plain rude to the people around me to pop gum. Sorry. Bad example.” and move on? Would I say, “That’s right, kiddo. Never mind! I’m the mom so I can! But you…don’t even think about doing it…ever!”
Nah, I took the middle road.
“Why, yes, I did,” I calmly replied.
Then my son chimes in, “How did you do that??”
So that’s all this is about. They’re fascinated at a new trick they want to learn. Hmm…okay. Different dilemma now. Do I say, “Never mind. You shouldn’t do that, so you don’t need to know.” Or should I teach them how?
I took a deep breath and told myself, “This is where you need to let go. I mean, you work for years and years with your kids to try and instill a sense of good judgment so that one day, when they’re chewing gum, standing next to their assistant principal, they’ll know what to do. They’ll make the right choice. They will have learned from you. Er, well, from your mistake. Even if they’re chewing the forbidden gum and they know how to crack it.”
So, I said, “It’s simple. It’s like blowing a bubble, just backwards. Flatten out the gum with your tongue and your teeth…”
As of February 10, 2008,the Being a Mom is Great blog has moved here (www.soapboxmom.com). Please visit Soapbox Mom to read more articles by this author (bmg mom is now Soapboxmom).
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I confided in someone (whom I considered to be a wise elder) that mothering was exhausting and all consuming. I wondered aloud whether I could make some time to do some things for myself without feeling guilty. I mentioned that I had read some articles about how it was important for parents to take care of themselves and that doing so would actually help the whole family because the happiness of the parents directly related to the well being of the kids. This well intentioned friend said, “Well, look at Mother Teresa! She does everything selflessly. Why can’t you?”
That conversation kept me down for about a week.
Then it hit me (thank God!). I am not Mother Teresa, I’ve never held myself out as anything close to Mother Teresa, and I don’t even want to be Mother Teresa!
My bottom line is this: I am convinced that parents need to take care of themselves and continue to develop themselves fully as human beings in order to be the best parents they can be. This means that we need to nourish ourselves physically, emotionally and spiritually.
I heard Oprah’s doc, Mehmet Oz say that we need a balance of good nutrition, happy mental states (meaning finding whatever makes us feel joy and allowing ourselves to engage in it regularly), and healthy sex lives. I completely agree. My hubby often reminds me of that spiel the flight attendants give on the planes — if the plane’s going down, you need to give the oxygen to yourself first and then give it to the children. Well, this is the same kind of thing. We need to take care of ourselves first (to a reasonable degree) and then our fulfilled, nurtured selves can be more fully present for our kids.
So go out and do something for yourself today (without harboring an ounce of guilt). See what happens. Maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Maybe it can be the start of a whole new attitude toward parenting. Or maybe you’ll just have something to look back on to help you through a trying day.
As for me, I just know this: I’m going to keep telling myself that no one expects me to be a saint (well maybe that one old friend) but I’m lowering my standards and I’m okay with it. Actually, I’m more than okay with it. I’m happy about it.
Have the courage to be imperfect and the wisdom to not even attempt to be saintly.
You might want to preview the video below when no kids are around. My blog is generally family friendly, so I wouldn’t normally post something like this, but I was so impressed by the video, I wanted to share it. I love pretty things and beauty as much as the next person, but I think marketing types are exploiting women’s desires to be attractive. I wish we could be more accepting and less judgmental. I wish we could celebrate aging gracefully and be beautiful by eating healthy food and engaging in whatever forms of exercise we enjoy (e.g., playing tennis, walking the dog, taking long walks with loved ones, etc.). Instead, we’re bombarded with falsified images which we’re supposed to strive to emulate.
As always, it’s up to you whether or not you click “play.”
Fairly intense and dramatic, but really, what are some of these companies doing to our girls? Heck, to us?!
As of February 10, 2008,the Being a Mom is Great blog has moved here (www.soapboxmom.com). Please visit Soapbox Mom to read more articles by this author (bmg mom is now Soapboxmom).
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My relationship with my kids is at a milestone. I can sense it.
I used to control everything the kids did. I scheduled their days, arranged their playdates, transported them everywhere and made sure they were fed. As they get older, they, understandably, want more control. They want to interject their opinions and vast (from their perspectives) knowledge and wisdom. It’s tempting to be offended by their assertions, but I’ve come up with a way to handle it that averts any insult to my ego.
When they were younger, their mindset originated from an insecure, fear based perspective. In other words, when they made a mistake, they’d be quick to think, “Oh my gosh, is Mommy mad? Did I disappoint her?” The focus was on me. But as time passes, it simply can’t be about me anymore. There must come a point in time where they begin to work on themselves, where the focus is on becoming a better person to be able to function out there in the real world.
The focus must shift to the child. My goal is to get my kids to ask themselves something like this, “Hmm. That didn’t work out so well. Okay, next time I’ll try something different. So, what did I learn from that experience? How did it help me grow?” We believe that mistakes are a good thing. They function as a tool to help us improve ourselves. Try something. If it doesn’t work, try something else. Learn from the mistake and move on. Let it go. Chalk it up to a life lesson. Acknowledge the improvement in your self.
It’s sort of like focusing on the solution rather than the problem.
When they’re all caught up in wondering whether they disappointed me or their dad, I see them slouch and look devastated, their confidence goes down (along with their self esteem) and they can often spiral downward into a sort of “I’m such a bad kid” kind of mentality. Well, gosh, who wants that??
On the other hand, if, when they make a mistake, they stand back, look at what happened and fix it, they can focus on their accomplishments and their successes. Then they’ll stand taller with heightened self esteem and more confidence.
And, eventually, when it’s time for them to step out into the world on their own, they’ll be much better able to handle all the trials and tribulations that come their way.
I remember when I was in third grade walking to my gym class asking my teacher, Mr. Szymanski, the most perplexing question of my life, “Why are people mean?” He had no answer. I’ve been searching for it ever since.
Maybe, just maybe, I’m getting closer to understanding how to answer it.
Kids will do that for you – help you answer questions that you couldn’t answer before you were a mom. When questions arise in your children and they look at you with those love-filled, innocent eyes, you feel obligated to provide some kind of an answer.
So once again I ponder the questions I asked long ago. This time with much more experience, much more knowledge and maturity.
What have I come up with?
Well…with respect to today’s question…here’s what I said to the kids:
“People are often mean when bad things have happened to them. If people don’t address whatever hurt they feel right when it happens, it sits inside them and festers. It stays inside if they don’t deal with it and begins to slightly change,” I explained. “And then?” they asked. “Well, then they turn that hurt into anger and they lash out at other people–people who probably had nothing to do with what hurt them. But what we have to understand is that it has nothing to do with us. Okay, sometimes we might provoke it, but the intensity, the whole of their anger, really is not about us.”
“So what can we do?” they wondered.
“You can be compassionate and feel sad for them, maybe say a prayer if that’s your kind of thing, but just listen, hear them and then walk away. If nothing else, you can learn how you do not want to be. You can use it as an example of what not to do in your life. Don’t try to change them, don’t judge them. Just accept them as they are and move on. Focus on your own life and what you’re learning in your life. How you’re growing and changing and improving yourself,” I added.
“Every encounter provides an opportunity to learn. So learn something if you can and let it go.”
I continued, “We will probably never really know why certain people are mean. But it’s not for us to know or for us to understand. It’s just important that we tolerate them and feel compassion for them. And don’t let it change who we are. We can’t let it pull us into a negative place where we return the meanness with our own jabs of anger. Let’s keep our intentions pure.”
“Grandma always said, ‘If you can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say anything.’ Let’s live by that and focus on what’s good in our lives,” I urged.
“It might be tempting to wish that all difficult people would just disappear down some dark bottomless pit, but that’s no solution. There will always be difficult people in our lives. Always. We can’t run away from them. We can’t change them,” I continued. “But when we encounter them, we can choose to go deeper into our selves and find the soft spot within ourselves. Not to make ourselves more vulnerable, rather to remember who we are and feel the compassion in our hearts. Let their rage pass by us like a hot wind. Observe it as it flies past, but just let it fly. It will pass. Just give it time.”
Then I reminded them, “Every night we say, ‘I forgive myself for any mistakes I made today, I correct them, learn from them and then I let them go.’ The letting go part is especially important. When we choose to hang onto anger or turn it into resentment or bitterness, we start walking down the darker path. We, too, then have unresolved feelings festering inside us. So let go. Trust that it’s not up to us to deal with all the injustices in the world. But it is up to you to be the best YOU you can be. For today, choose to not be a difficult person.”
You know, being a mom actually helps you figure out life.
As of February 10, 2008,the Being a Mom is Great blog has moved here (www.soapboxmom.com). Please visit Soapbox Mom to read more articles by this author (bmg mom is now Soapboxmom).
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Okay, so last night DH and I watched the HBO show “Entourage” which (usually) we really enjoy for its sophisticated humor. It’s like a male version of “Sex and the City,” because it provides a little insight into the male mind via male friendships and does it in a humorous, entertaining way. Lately, I’m sorry to say, it’s been downright annoying. But the inconsistency of Entourage is not what today’s post is about. It’s about pushy, over the top parents.
So here’s how one part of last night’s episode of Entourage is relevant to this blog. Ari Gold, one of my favorite characters on Entourage, is a high energy, aggressive, cocky, sarcastic, insecure but somehow still charming talent agent. He is also a father. He and his wife get word that their son will most likely not be admitted to the private school their daughter has been attending for many years. The couple go ballistic, anxiously trying to figure out why he would be rejected and Ari attempts to prevent the seemingly imminent diss. After he unsuccessfully confronts some of the administrative types (including a board member/pal) he goes right to the headmaster of the school, lobbies for his son’s acceptance, reminds him of the tens of thousands of dollars the family has donated to the school as well as the many hours his wife has volunteered and then he even throws in a bribe of $20K. Out of sheer frustration, the headmaster admits that his rejection has nothing to do with the boy, rather, it’s all about Ari. The school community has had to put up with Ari’s brash, obnoxious attitude for so many years that it can’t stand the thought of another decade with him, walking around the halls yakking on his cell phone, screaming at sports events and generally annoying everyone. Ari, stunned and furious, immediately removes his daughter from her classroom and storms out of the school.
As I’ve said in earlier posts, kids are wonderful. They’re amazing, wonderful little people who soak up information the way sponges drink in water. Parents, however, can be annoying, pushy, domineering, obnoxious and unreasonable. More often than not, it’s the ones like Ari who are completely clueless about their impact on the world around them.
I’m beginning to realize that I’m not the only person who dislikes pushy parents.
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As of February 10, 2008,the Being a Mom is Great blog has moved here (www.soapboxmom.com). Please visit Soapbox Mom to read more articles by this author (bmg mom is now Soapboxmom).
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What a great game!
Today, my son learned how good it feels to work hard and stay focused.
For the past several years (yes, it’s really been going on for years!) he has been trudging through baseball seasons, moaning & complaining about nearly every practice and game. He would say something like, “It looks like it’s going to rain, Mom. Are you sure we should go?” when there were maybe two clouds in the sky.
It seemed to me like he could actually play the game if he just put a little bit of effort into it. And I kept wondering whether that effort would ever present itself. Then I started wondering…was my lil’ guy a slacker? Was he spoiled? Or was he just plain bored?
I lectured him way too much year after year about the importance of practice and hard work. None of my words ever seemed to sink in. Until today.
Woo-hoo!
On the way to the game, I stated unequivocally that he is going to play baseball again this spring and he has some choices. He can whine, complain, and agonize for the next few months and make the season feel like it’s half a lifetime or he can find some way of coping with whatever bugs him about the game. “Let’s say, for example,” I said, “you hate being in the outfield. Well, if that’s because it’s really boring in the outfield, then think about something while you’re out there. Think about your favorite song and sing it in your head. Practice your times tables in your head while you wait for the batter to hit the ball. Say the alphabet backwards. Think about what you want for dinner Saturday night. Just make the best of it.”
I was on a roll, so I added, “You might try feeling a little empathy for your coaches, too. They’re people, too, you know. So when you guys are out in the outfield making jokes, giggling and playing with the grass, the coaches probably feel disrespected. When you’re not paying any attention to the game or when you’re not trying your best or not learning what they’re trying to teach you, they’re probably wondering why the heck they’re doing what they’re doing.”
“It’s all about the right time and the right place. You can make jokes and mess around during recess or after the game or at a playdate – not at baseball practice and certainly not at a game. Practice is the time to learn and improve your skills and the game is the time to put those things to the test — for yourself. If you don’t improve your skills, then you’re not trying. And if you’re not trying, how can you honestly know whether you like this sport?”
He looked a little stunned.
Then, for the first time, we both really enjoyed the game.
Night after night, year after year, I used to sit in the bleachers, tense and in full control-freak mode, motioning to him to pay attention so he didn’t get walloped in the back of the head by a speeding baseball. Or I would shout silly commands like, “Look alive out there!” which, when he first heard it, seemed a bit odd. “Of course, I look alive, Mom! How could I look dead when I’m standing up making jokes with Bobby?” he would respond.
This night was different. This night I actually had a great time — and so did he!! Tonight I cheered for him when he got on base (three times!) and when he crossed home plate (three times!). I told him I noticed how hard he tried when he had to play catcher (his least favorite position), when he played second base and even when he played right field. Tonight, he walked away from that field beaming and skipping and declared, “Mom, I think baseball is my favorite sport now!”
You know, maybe they really do listen to what we say…
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Being a Mom is Great! 
