The Answer Is There

    It's hard to find, that small pink flower, that bright spot amidst all the tangles of tall grass and taller trees, all grown together in a maze of bramble.

     When you're tearing your hair out, or at the bottom of your heart with nothing to draw on, or when you've gone around the same U-Turn 16 times, literally or figuratively, or when your heart is broken, plans gone astray, or when the unimaginable happens.  When you are so far down/in/enmeshed.  When you barely see the road in front of you.

    At those moments, with our heads down, we sometimes say, "Everything happens for a reason," and sort of half heartedly hope that it will be revealed down the road.  We assure ourselves by reminding ourselves of the master plan or the grand scheme of things, convincing ourselves that the suffering is for a purpose and therefore, we can bear it.

     Tonight, I was driving around in circles with 42 kinds of technology failing me, dying to get home to my baby, way behind schedule, tired, hungry - not a big deal, just one of those human condition times but an aggravating one.  I felt old destructive behavior arise.  I felt ragingly angry, my Little Me/Ego just rarin' to go.  Blaming the world, yelling at my GPS (we do actually need to have a talk because that was ridiculously poor performance), becoming angry at other drivers...   Old patterns of feelings and thoughts.
 
    Then the Observer in me, the river of consciousness that is more and more available as the days go on, kindly stepped in and opened a tiny crack of awareness in me.  Through the crack, I was able to peer into the silly tiny mess I'd gotten myself into and take a half a conscious breath.  A word floated to the surface: "Why?"

   And the answer for my silly little situation arose to meet me.

    What would happen if we conjectured more often, in the midst of madness?

Biting, spitting, and hitting

     Don't some things just bring out the Demon Mom in you?  Personally, she can tantrum on the floor of CVS over some hideous unicorn Pillow Pet and I do a-ok, unruffled, picture of serenity.  She can spill oatmeal all over the front of my shirt on the way out to work and I can just sail through the whole part about ironing another shirt and being late for work and school without so much as a hitch or a hiccup.  Even the throwing-food-on-the-floor-when-there-are-starving-kids phase didn't phase me.  Neither did hitting once I figured out a little plan and stuck to it.  I was all, "Oh, this is a natural part of testing boundaries and development, it'll pass".

     Then comes spitting.  Holy Demon Mother.  The child is spitting.  In. My. Face.  On. Purpose.  

     And laughing.

    Nuh-nuh-no.  That sweet little yellow-clad nature child up there, spitting in my face and laughing?  It cannot be.  It doesn't fit into my picture of her, all ringlets and sunlight and sweetness and snuggles.  All tree hugging and co-sleeping and Mommy-is-my-idol.  Spitting? We don't spit on our idols!  Am I falling off the pedastal?  Am I losing rank?  Am I sucking at raising her?  

     Rationally, I am sure I'm doing a fine job.  She's a lovely child.  At 10:30pm at a grownup party when other 2 year olds are having completely reasonable meltdowns, Miss Bink is just sighing on my shoulder as we wrap her up to go home.  "I just want to dance," she breathes.  That's our meltdown.  Amazing.

     What is it about spitting (or fill in the blank with your own behavior of maddening choice) that completely, utterly unravels all the serenity parenting I've developed?  I go straight into crazy mode.  Is it because it's willful?  Because it's germy?  Because I'm afraid she'll spit on another kid at daycare if I don't nip it in its horribly spraying saliva bud?  

     Parents, teachers, people who know a kid... what unravels you and takes you from 0-60 straight out of the I'm-okay-you're-okay parenting zone?  Why?  How do you tackle those moments where a few conscious breaths are out of the question?

     I've been working on a  couple of solutions:

     

     1) Come up with a plan as soon as you cue into one of the things that turns you into the tazmanian devil.  A plan helps you stay calm.  A plan takes the reactionary component out of the picture. 

     2) Just walk away.  At least then my inner manic mama doesn't eat her young.  

     3) Plan a replacement behavior and expect it.  It's part of the plan thing.  Having a replacement behavior you can request - "Give hugs, not hits" or "Make fishy face, not spitty face"gives an alternative for them to learn, and gives you a minute to make silly out of serious.

     4)    Give your perspective.  It's totally fair to tell them how it makes you feel.  "Spitting hurts my feelings/feels icky/makes me mad" gives your child a chance to make it right.  

     5) Wig out an apologize later.

     6) Finally, remember that discipline means "to teach," and in such a framework, our job is to help children navigate these developmental, emotional phases safely.  

     Next time Demon Mom pops out, I'll try to snag a picture.  

     

LOVING SHUT OFF SUNDAY....

Shut off Sunday... Enjoy!

Serenity Parenting

     .....And then they're gone.  All the agonizing! Cry it out or rock to sleep?  Baby sling or too much coddling?  Juice or no juice? Time out for hitting or talk about our feelings?  TV or no TV?  Co-sleeping or to each her own crib?  The list of parenting choices and their infinite varieties goes on... and on... and on...

    Beyond the list of parenting possibilities are the Advocates.  You have to let them cry it out or you're creating a life long insomniac.  If you don't nurse, you're ruining your child's changes of good health and secure relationship with you.  If you let them sleep in your bed, they'll be there until they're 48 years old.  I'm finding as I navigate the minefield of parenting possibilities that the possibilities are polarizing.  

     I'm wondering how I know that rocking my child to sleep is the right choice for every child, or every family.  I'm wondering how that mama knows that cry it out is right for my child and my family.  In fact, I'm wondering how I'll even know if rocking my child to sleep is right for my figurative second child, even if it was right for the first one.

     Serenity parenting, folks.  I haven't looked it up, but it's the phrase that floats to mind when I hear parents ripping each other to shreds over one another's choices.  Within limits of humane treatment, the rightt parenting choices feel right.  They feel right to you, your partner, and your child.  They do not cause you additional stress.  They give you a sense of inner calm, they give you what you need and what your child needs.  

     Let's do this - a serenity parenting village.  A village that says, "That choice sounds just right for you! How did you do it?" and "I love that idea, I'll add to my tips and tricks when we get to that bridge".  How about a village of parents supporting one another's unique lives and environments, offering love and guidance drawn from the pages of all our parenting dogma books?

Serenity parenting.  Parenting that feels right to adults and children.  

End-Of-Week-Encouragement

"If we do not want to change and develop, then we might as well remain in a deathlike sleep." 

-Bruno Bettelheim

“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.” - Henry David Thoreau

   

    Next thing that happens to that plant up there?  IT EXPLODES.  I mean, it doesn't just shyly unfurl like a fern, and it doesn't seductively open its sweet bud to gradually reveal a full bloomed and fragrant rose... it just EXPLODES into a hundred thousand lilac-purple flowers, like magnificent purple suns on earth.  Like, WA-POW, in-your-face, I ain't got time for messing around, I-AM-HERE explosion of Being.

     Once upon a time, I had a bedroom of my own, before I was married, my early-20's, chandelier dripping, fuscia-accented, deliciously-linen-ed bedroom.  One wall was an alarming but at the same time soothing "hot lips" pink.  People felt strongly about it - loved it or hated it - but after 3 tenants (all male!), that Hot Lips Pink still stood.  And though I've moved on from that bedroom and that stage of life, I've always looked for a window into which to sneak that Hot Lips pink.  Even just a tissue box!

     Today in my new job, I finalized the details of the furniture for my shared office.  I waltzed into IKEA, only to find the darling desks I'd picked out for us in one of those amazing IKEA inspiration displays... with HOT LIPS PINK  as the accent wall!  I danced inside, texted a pic to my boss/officemate, and rejoiced at even the little possibility that I could be living the hot lips life again soon.

     I got back to the office and once again, that color elicits strong opinions.  Too unprofessional.  Too girly.  I could see my boss/officemate longing for it but hesitating to speak up.  So, I exploded into a hundred thousand hot lips flowers.  Like, I-AM-HERE exploded, made an executive decision, and tomorrow morning at 9am, I will start slapping the dark primer all over those walls in a glorious expression of femininity AND professionalism.

     Instant uplift: Ask for what you want.  Demand it.  We have rich people problems - celebrate them!!! "LIVE, LOVE, LAUGH AND BE HAPPY!!"

Drugs and Reality

     Can we talk?  The original goal of this blog was to paint a realistic portrait of how spirituality can fit into the ordinary lunatic life we all live today, and how a normal, messy, flawed, not quite enlightened person can really draw the marrow from life even while juggling all the hats we wear, and all those cliches.

     Lately I am feeling awesome, more divinely and calmly in touch with consciousness, spirit, God, however you call it.  Lately, I have also been on anti-depressants for the first time in my life consistently.  I have no doubt that that tiny alteration to my sort of messy brain chemistry has lifted the fog I typically live under - not a depressed fog... a "I take in too much stimulation at one time" fog.  Sort of.  

     If you have experience with anti-depressants or related medications, have you also had experience weaning off once a crisis is over, or once you feel confident and more secure?  I'm curious to know if the analogy of the diabetic is a true one: If you have an imbalance, there's no problem in regulating it medically.  I have no doubt whatever is going on in my grey matter is real; I've experienced it since I can remember, before I had a "story".  I do however doubt that medication is the only real way to "workaround".  I truly believe there could be a way of living, and deeper practice, that could manage this beast.  Medicating it does not align with my values and doesn't feel right to me when I can almost visualize another way.

     So I'm curious to know - since we're talking about real life and I don't live on a mountain top (I do live at the bottom of the mountain, if that counts for anything):  If you have experienced the effects of some kind of imbalance, have you medicated them so you can move forward out of that mental state?  Have you found other workarounds?  Have you accepted it? Moved through it?  

Teeny Tiny Freebie

     Happy Hump Day!  Click for a downloadable Marrow 'Minders (that's short for re'Minder, I am admittedly grabbing at alliterative straws here).  You can throw it in your car, tape it to your front door or nightstand, cut them out and put them in your coat pockets for unexpected little marrow treats.... go forth and breathe!

    Meanwhile, I am happily drowning in my new job and spending a little more time doing what this lady, the Simple Living Lady, tells me to do!


Blessings,
JJ