Hands Full of Rocks

Research that rocks: Two different kinds of parents = good

This research is biased toward 'male/female' traditional parenting, but supports other research I've read showing that having two parents who function somewhat differently is ideal for development. (Or at least 'two types of parenting' - single parents play both roles, and often have other caregivers doing both as well.)

Other research has found that the most emotional resilience comes from having parents that are:

a) both warm

b) have different degrees of 'in there' responses to stressful or challenging experiences

Having two parents who leap to help/comfort/encourage/rescue/etc. ends up creating emotionally fragile children - the 'attachment' orientation at that level should be tilted more strongly toward one parent. Kids need both to know they have someone who will back them up promptly, and someone who trusts them to figure it out and carry on. The 'oh-you-poor-thing/let-me-help!' and the 'shake-it-off/you-can-do-it' are both part of what we need.

Just like modern attachment research is showing that the strongest attachment function doesn't have to be the mom - or even female - (can be a sibling, dad, grandparent, other caregiver), I suspect that this 'dad/male=gives space to explore' thing will eventually be shown to not be dad/male dependent. Certainly ep and I trade back and forth on who is in there and who is 'buck-up' on any situation, and for the different kids.

For example, Miss R is a daddy's girl. She usually doesn't even want me to be the in-there parent, comforting and fixing boo-boos. She wants daddy to do that. Which daddy does. So, for her, I'm more the 'rah-rah/good job/try again/you can do it!' parent. But if daddy is not around, then I take both roles.

I wonder also how the Montessori process feeds into this, as it encourages warm and affectionate interactions, but leaves plenty of space for the kids to explore on their own in a way that feeds into both accepting challenges, and understanding the process of overstepping one's skills and reassessing/trying again (American Montessori allows kids to take out work out of sequence, so they discover the concept of assessing where their skill boundaries are, and pushing those appropriately rather than jumping too far ahead - the sequences are built very carefully to support that process). 

I like the balance in the theories. We don't just need one thing. We evolved with different kinds of relationships with different kinds of people caring for us.

Interestingly, in different cultures, the same concepts apply differently - both parents start out much more 'in there' in many Asian cultures, but with age they both step back a little more and then a little more - but also expect to function differently in adulthood, as well, so the pattern 'fits' with the larger relationship pattern over time as well. Where the resilience may be technically lower on the individual scale (by having had two very 'in there' parents), the long-term impact is not necessarily negative, because there is the expectation that of course you don't have to handle life's challenges on your own, that's what family is for! So while this research is valid for American culture, it is likely to not be applicable 'directly' across cultures. Extrapolation, yes, direct application, no.

Random Milling

This is the new nickname for our family.

Mr G came up with it last night, as the title of a tv show about us.

I laughed until I almost peed myself. Because he said it, with dry humor, in the midst of:

a) ep coming home late from work because his train was delayed (he had walked in the door, kids flung themselves at his knees for hugs - yeah, he's tall).

b) kids trying to get their ice cream for dessert (since we're all Montessori-at-home-ish, they each got out a utensil, requested the ice-cream bowls that have not yet made it down to their reach range, got out their own ice cream from the freezer, and were setting up step-stools at the counter/stove area for self-serving in tandem - and have I mentioned that we have one of those narrow shotgun kitchens designed by an architect who clearly had never set foot in a kitchen - even after we gutted it and rearranged it as best we could, it still sucks for more than one person at a time, and there were SIX people in there).

c) me trying to clear up dinner.

d) ep also trying to get to his dinner.

Yeah, Random Milling was about right. Plus the noise... wow.

Making it funny was the best possible thing, since I was about to drown under it all. I went and ate my ice cream on the sofa, by myself, though. Phew. Breathing room.

Funny, how the self-knowledge helps. And funny how the lack of it has hindered me. I had figured I was way more introverted than I used to be - actually, for years, ep has been half-apologizing to me for turning me into an introvert - but I hadn't really accepted it. Accepting it has made a series of lightbulbs go off for me.

This is why I hate being a stay-at-home mom. Kids on me nonstop, all day, no peace, and the only way to get them to stop is to go out - er. Whee?

This is why I go nuts when things get noisy.

This is why I am prone to the sudden outbursts of AAARRRGGGHHH! - okay, being a Thinker instead of a Feeler plays into that (my feelings come out of nowhere all extroverty). I also have sudden outbursts of LOOOOOOVVVVVVVE, too - out of nowhere I have to go hug someone. It probably makes no sense to them at all. Funny, one of the things I hear a lot in response to my affection is 'where did that come from?' (wince)

It has been much easier to be more affectionate openly now that I'm paying attention to how I show my affection, too. I just assumed it showed more, and that my mom's comment that I'm the least demonstrative of her kids (affection-wise) was an anomaly to do with our relationship.

Huh. Maybe not.

I know I am better at affection with my kids (and ep), say it more, touch more, etc., because they've taught me that they need that. But it still had hitches, hiccups, and tight spots. It's easier now that I can see with the perspective inward that I'd been missing. And it's nice, too. I can find ways to make it work better for me, and them, too. Effective starts coming in better on this one, now that I have a little insight into my own function.

Anyway, that's us. Random Milling.

Only, please, no reality shows about our life. :shudder: Even if the title is pretty darn hilarious.

Mr G on himself; Me on not breaking our kids

Mr G had a class exercise that says a lot about who he is. Not shockingly, the exercise was called, 'I am'. But you know, when I was 11, I don't think I had anything like this kind of clue who I was.

Okay, so I knew what I wanted to be, at that age. I wanted to grow up to be a tall Asian woman with long straight black hair. That was pretty much it for dreams, vision of who I would become, what shape I wanted my life to take. I (strangely enough) didn't grow up to be Asian. I did grow up to be tall, and to study Asia, though. So in a strange way, that was my path - my only (very small) (rather odd) dream of who I would be is not all that far off from who I am, if one looks at it from a rather broad angle.

Not sure if that makes up for the lack of straight black hair, though. I so wanted that black-black hair. My hair is just really dark brown. I can blow-dry it totally straight if I want to, but ... eh, I like the slight curl. And I married a guy with black hair. Does that count?

Now, the poem Mr G wrote ... well, it is without doubt an 11-year-old boy speaking. He is full of his grand dreams and visions, churning with hormones, noticing himself and others, making assessments about his place, his identity, his goals, what drives him, and folding those all into the ideal vision of the distant future of adulthood, with one foot (sometimes both) firmly planted in in the magical boundaries of childhood.

He has agreed to let me share it. Because I think it is pretty cool, and also because it says so much about who he is. He wanted me to give him two reasons I wanted to share it, and those two (cool + very HIM) were good enough for him. The students were given the first one or two words of each line, and had to write the rest.

**************************************************

I am

I am the warrior and the wolf
I wonder how birds fly
I hear the whistle of wings
I see an empty battleground below me
I want to have magic

I am the warrior and the wolf
I pretend to have wings and armor
I feel like I am locked in a deadly battle
I touch the fire of imagination
I worry that I may not proceed
I cry when I am hurt

I am the warrior and the wolf
I understand that I am too young for my wants
I say that I will do as I will
I dream that I am a smith
I try to be ready
I hope that I can be what I want

I am the warrior and the wolf

******************************************

You know what I love about this?

I understand that I am too young for my wants
I say that I will do as I will
I try to be ready
I hope that I can be what I want

In the midst of fantasy, reality check.
In the midst of others saying what will be, choosing to choose his own way.
Expending effort to prepare.
Understanding that nothing is preordained - hope, yes, but a sense that time will tell things he can't forsee.

I'd love to say that I formed this, taught that, modeled the certainty, set up the blend of imagination and reality, taught him to strive, created the desire to hope and entrained a flexibility of an open future.

But really? He was born that way. Seriously, he has been like this forever.

All we did was not break that.

Not breaking that has been a great deal of work. But that's the core of how epeepunk and I parent. We don't make them who they are, we only allow them the space, opportunities, and resources to grow into what they already were. We prune a bit, but only within the nature of the growth, and even the skills building is more like watering the tree during drought and understanding when it needs to be fed than it is forcing it to a form. More on supportive measures for times of stress, understanding the nature of the tree (and learning it as it takes shape), less on deciding what shape it should take.

It also means we don't get to take credit for the who-they-are-ness of any of them, only for staying back and accepting who that is, and then making the space fit and the resources feed their who-they-are-ness, so they can become the full and leafy best of themselves. Quirky, sometimes, of course. That's the nature of humans when you don't force them into a form - they have a lot of interesting quirks (Montessori is great at producing kids unafraid of their own quirks).

They came to us this way. Walked into our lives (so to speak) with their DNA already in place. Yes, how they grow depends on environment, but it is the interplay between DNA and environment that makes it work out, not the overlay of environment smack on top of DNA. There is no clarity to any outcome as far as cause or source - skills, modeling, important conversations, they're just part of the tending, but not part of what makes the plant unique.

And I like it that way. 'Cause that's just the way I am.

Achieving cooperation (part 1 of 3)

I'm not perfect and neither are my kids. Just want to say that up front, because I squirm when people think (or think that I think) I'm somehow better than they are. Reality is that I research a lot, read a lot, and over-think a lot, and eventually settle down to a useful pattern. Mostly. It takes me a while sometimes. I also knee-jerk react, then back up and respond, often a bit too late. So, I'm human, even if I'm not typical (I do admit to not being typical).

Back to the topic.

I've always had an issue with Compliance. That is, 'because I told you to' demands. I first noticed this issue when I realized that my kids weren't good at compliance. They just would not jump to it, leap to do my bidding, serve my wishes without complaint (or even respond to my true needs). As I thought about this, I realized that tucked neatly under my frustration and outrage over their noncompliance was the simple fact that I am not a compliant person, either. I sucked at compliance as a child, and I learned early that my greatest power with my parents came from creative non-compliance. They could try to make me, but really - I'd rather take the punishment, including some severe spankings that crossed the technical definition into abuse, than subsume my will. I learned some valuable things from that, but not always in useful ways. This is me, I am my own person. You can hit me but you cannot touch me. Negotiation was a skill I learned later, but I started out solidly on the side of 'try and make me' followed by them taking up the offer. Mainly, they couldn't. It was only after they gave up trying that I became willing. I taught them to stop forcing, for most things. The spankings stopped because they simply didn't work.   

It is funny, given how useless it was to try to bend me to their will, that I have a strong desire to be just like my parents - demanding compliance everywhere. But I guess we repeat what didn't work, in order to resolve the conflict in ourselves.

Toddlers and preschoolers are particularly difficult with this issue, because they do not care that you want them to do something or stop doing something, and they often don't really care why. There is only the Now. There is only Them. Parents are an extension of self, or a barrier to their drives, randomly. Parents are the great No-sayers, the ones who prevent one from learning that we can fly (not 'if' but 'that' - certainly when I was leaping off the sofa it was because it was flying).

Threats do work, at times. But they lose their effectiveness over time, and then we have to figure out a new way, and meanwhile, they have learned how to use them on us (and everyone else). So we end up having handed them a stick they can use on others, and the only way to keep using it on them is to go for bigger and bigger sticks, and eventually theirs are bigger than ours, too, and they have even less compunction about using them.

So, now what? Situation still exists - I have a problem, and I need something from my child to solve the problem (or at least I think I do), and my child just will. not. comply.

I'm a big fan of Maria Montessori because she was a scientist. Formulate and test the hypothesis, using direct observation, relying on both previous (quality) research and one's own critical thinking skills. Revise and repeat.

So, we do the cycle - observe the situation, formulate a hypothesis, test the hypothesis, observe the results, revise the hypothesis. Repeat repeat repeat. We can shortcut this a bit by working from resources that already exist (see the Parenting Bookshelf link at the upper left). But we still have to observe our lives, our selves, and our kids to get it just right. Or mostly right, anyway. And skipping compliance is the first step. It isn't about having them cease interfering in our path, it is about having them join us and help us along the way. Not compliance, but cooperation, teamwork, mutuality, consideration.

Methods that work:

• Listen. Reflective listening, active listening, call it what you want. It's listening while keeping ourselves out of the mix. Not listen and then answer as if it was a question, lecture based on what we think they don't understand and need to know NOW, explain or logic or analyze back, react emotionally from our own history or wounds, or rationalize our original demand. Just listen, and then prove that I heard by repeating it back in my own words, with no loading, sarcasm, attitude, resentment, or dismay. Listening and reflecting as if our only job is to understand and commiserate, and not to get them to meet some other goal (cough-COMPLIANCE-cough). When the reason for resistance to our request is feelings-based, or if there's an alternate need in there that is competing, listening and reflecting so they know we're listening is a good first step. An astonishing portion of the time, this is all we need to do. Once I know what they feel, and have restated it calmly and compassionately, I'm really on their team again. Even if I'm still trying to meet my needs with what I'm asking of them, there's something about stating their feelings and needs back to them, hearing them in my own words, that makes it easier for me to consider another route that would meet everyone's needs. And there's something about knowing that someone else understands that makes us all feel more like making that person's life easier. Even kids. Try: Respectful Parents, Respectful Kids: 7 Keys to Turn Family Conflict into Cooperation or Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves: Transforming Parent-child Relationships from Reaction And Struggle to Freedom, Power And Joy for techniques for listening effectively.
• Ask. The answer to the resistance can be as simple as asking (calmly), 'why don't you want to?' Yes, sometimes the answer is, 'Because! I don't!' Sometimes, though, the answer is really useful information. More and more often the answer is useful, at least after this skill is practiced on both sides. (I tend to get more 'Because I don't!' answers when I've been modeling useless answers to their questions and requests.) If I have that useful information, I can just sort the things we each need into a new pattern to get cooperation. If the NO POTTY answer is to do with fear, or interruption of the flow of play, or not wanting to be singled out for an activity, or feeling certain that their body says it doesn't NEED to go potty before getting in the car, those can all be addressed. If I didn't ask, I can't answer their need effectively, and so my problem remains unsolved because their problem remains unsolved. Other useful questions: "I don't understand, can you explain?" "How can I help?" "What do you need?" "Can you tell me more?" Combining this with listening (with more on the listening and less on the asking) can be enlightening.
• Establish common ground. Problem on the other side of the line, me and child on this side of the line. We're a team, we can solve it together. Common ground also means showing that we have the same problems, we understand the whole problem, we can relate. I hate doing things just because it's the rules, unless I understand why the rule is there. My kids are split between needing to understand the value of the rule, and knowing it applies equally to everyone. So, yes, we ALL go use the bathroom before we get in the car, and the grownups make it clear they have done so. Then the kids recognize it as a universal rule. Likewise, we put on our seatbelts and note that they're not always comfortable for us, either, but we do it because it is both safe and the law. Etc. We're all in this together makes it harder to set up resistance - what is there to resist?
• Blame inanimate objects. Ah, the timer says. The clock says it is time for bed. The timer says it is time to turn off the computer. The alarm clock says it is time to get up. Not that I want my kids to be utterly ruled by the clock, but there are many aspects of our lives that are ruled by the clock - appointments, classes, weddings, anything you need to be at on time... The clock can't be whined at, it just never changes its mind. Time keeps going, relentless, boring, impersonal. I haven't employed stuffed toys, but I hear that works, too. Dolly is tired and wants you to come sleep next to her...
• Be silly. Playful Parenting is one of the books on my to-read list. I've found just knowing the gist of it has been a help, though. Sometimes the 'kitty' will use the potty or brush her teeth when Miss M will not. A silly voice request will get giggles and compliance. We've stopped complaining about whining so much (mostly) and now complain about mooing, complete with dramatic looking around for cows (not sarcastically - it usually ends up in fits of the giggles, which is the goal). When I'm getting frustrated, I will throw in an unexpected word to break the tension (yeah, Booger again, or anything out of context). If I can change the mood to a positive one, I can change the resistance. Sometimes. 
• Try Silence. Just stopping and not saying anything for a few moments, while I calm myself down and they stare at me stubbornly, can do wonders. More if I toss in just a bit of silly (I sometimes tip my chin down and look at them over my glasses sternly, then wiggle my eyebrows). I can often get more cooperation if I can get them to change their emotional state. Also, some kids hate to be asked how they're feeling or what they need. They want you to observe more and talk less, or to just be with them while they work it out. Silence, in a companionable way, can really help. Practice noticing if you always fill up all gaps with words.
• Offer to help or ask if they need help. A lot of morning resistance is because when they're sleepy, they seem younger (emotionally), and return to needing companionship and assistance with everything. Schedule accordingly. Yes, we're a Montessori-heavy home, but that doesn't mean we are adamant that they always do what they know how to do. We also know how to work as a team, help each other, play the process like a game. CAVEAT: I've learned the hard way to keep any 'doing for/helping' as a teamwork thing, not a 'do-for-me-entirely/mommy-does-while-I-pretend-I'm-inanimate' thing -- when it is teamwork, I can shift it back to you do it yourself more readily. Not so far a leap, that way. When it is me doing it all, even just using the words to indicate that I'm doing it for them (or worse, to them), they resist moving the activity back to their side of the line. So, even if I'm physically putting on their clothes, I tell them I'm only helping them, we're getting them dressed together, and note the things they do that help (down to calling the floppy-arms bit 'relaxed' - parenting spin works!).
• Filter for importance. How important is this thing I'm asking? Because everyone has a certain tolerance limit for cooperation with someone else's agenda, and if we drain it on the unimportant stuff... well, it's a waste. This is really 'pick your battles' - but flip the words to pick your core issues. Battles just suggests that it's us vs. them, and it isn't usually us vs. them. It's effort, yes, but cooperation means working together, rather than just demanding compliance while they stubbornly resist our superior knowledge and power. Safe Respectful Kind, Effective Prudent True, Acceptant Loving Faithful. Those are my filters. If it makes it through, I'm holding to it, but I can hold to it WITH them rather than AGAINST them. I will often come up against resistance in myself when I'm trying to filter. I get stuck, say, on respectful - I don't WANT to check it against respectful... because I really know it isn't respectful, and I fear that my own need won't be met if I'm in tune with respectful (so I have to take a breath and recognize that my need is valid, too, but I might need to find another way to meet that need).
• Problem-solve. I have this problem. You have that problem. We both have a problem, and they're bumping into each other. How can we solve this together? I'd like to do this, you'd like to do that. Hmm. What do you think? How could we solve this so we both get what we need? How do we get to a solution that works for both of us? I'm sure we can do it. Hmm, what about ... Repeat that about 20 times a day. Sometimes 20 times an hour. It takes a while to sink in, but it sinks in. They start using it with you, with their friends, with their siblings. Their solutions are often better than mine. Problem solving techniques are outlined (along with the listening and asking) in Parent Effectiveness Training: The Proven Program for Raising Responsible Children- though it can be hard to extrapolate to younger kids from this book, the method is the same (just harder to picture it).
• Change the schedule. Preschoolers and toddlers have an entirely different sense of time than adults do. Schedule accordingly. Estimate, then triple the estimate. The time crunch is a big issue for conflicts with toddlers and preschoolers, especially transitions like getting out the door in the morning, and getting to bed by a certain time. Padding the time by getting up earlier, prepping the night before, (etc.) can help reduce the problem to start with. Also note that different parents have different time crunch points. Be willing to accept the other person's scheduling for their process when they are in charge - I have to get to the car sooner in the process than epeepunk does, because my time crunch point is at the car, where his is before the car load-up.

So, those are a few to start.

There are a bunch more coming over the next few days, too. 

First day of school, and controlling the mama bear

Mr G's first day of 5th (which is middle school in this school) today.

Mr B's first day of 1st grade, same school.

Both taking the bus. Mr G has the early bus, 7:15, but also the handy bus-stop - right across from the house. For Mr B we have to loop around the block (or three blocks), about an hour later. Just putting B on the bus is making the mama bear in me gnash teeth - though I think if I had the experience before, I'd be far more comfortable. Mr G was in 4th grade when he started taking the bus, so it's just the 'but he's so little' thing that sets the fur growing down my back and kicks off the sudden craving for wild blueberries and salmon... mama bear seems to be a grizzly.

I'm not too nervous about Mr G, other than the fact that he's resisted reviewing any of his math from last year, and forcing him is like beating my head on bricks kind of challenging. He chose to live with feeling stressed over it, rather than doing something about it (directly, intentionally chose). So his first-day quiz is likely to leave him sweating a bit, and it may be a bit more of a 'learning experience' than either of us would wish. But it is just the first-day quiz, and he'll rebound later. He didn't succeed at doing summer bridge work either of the last two years, even with my mom working it. He did fine both times. Both times were not middle school, though. 

Ah, well, he'll roll with it, I suppose. The mama bear me is feeling a bit growly at him, but he's already moved out of range for a paw swipe. Growing up. He'll learn whether to stick his nose too close to a porcupine. And to identify if it is one, first.

Socially, Mr G's a bit intimidated by the 8th graders (they're so tall), but... he'll be mainly with his friends from last year in most of his classes - almost everyone in his class placed into the same levels for the upcoming year. A few went up or down one on one or another subject, but not many. Since I like the kids from last year. I'm particularly glad that he'll be lumped in another year with the two who were his closer friends. Friend C is the single most well-mannered and well-spoken child I have ever met - actually, I think the most well-mannered and well-spoken person, including adults - and Friend B still harbors a terrible crush on Mr G. She shows some persistence on that, which I don't know whether to consider remarkable or normal for her age. When I ran into her earlier in the summer, she practically begged me to tell her that Mr G hadn't cut his hair short this year. Anyway, they're both bright, considerate, thoughtful, creative, kind individuals with that kind of gentleness that makes me think of 'steel-strong inner core'. Not squishy, just no need to lash out or flail about to feel safe in themselves. What my mom used to call that 'well-loved' feeling. Another year spent in their company is not a bad thing at all. On that, mama bear is content to wander off and munch some berries and snooze in the sun.

 

I admit to being more nervous about Mr B, who is doing his first non-Montessori classroom experience. It can take a while to adapt to the at-desk, lecture-based classroom. But, he's excited. He loves the classroom (he clutched his desk and told me he didn't want to leave at the end of the meet-the-teacher time), he loves the library (in the classroom, as well as the one for the school), he knows where everything is from visiting Mr G last year for events, he's confident he knows how to handle it all... it's just me who is not entirely confident.

I worry about the transitions, mostly. He takes a little more time than average to warm up to people and situations. In that time period, a lot can happen that sets expectations. I know he will settle in, on his own schedule. I guess I'm more concerned that things will move on without him while he's doing so. I find myself wanting to stay there with him until he's really set and ready, just to remind people that it is okay for him to take his time with the process. Once he's in and adjusted, transitions aren't such a bother...  so just that first day, or rather, just the morning of the first day.

But I also know doing that would mean he would have to choose between my overprotection support and being a full part of the class. So far, he seems to be comfortable defining 'school time' as his own - that is, in meet-the-teacher events, he clings by my side, but on actual school days, even though he likes a few extra hugs or cuddles, once he's done, he just wants us to leave already.  So, I'll bite my tongue, give him a kiss, and keep the mama bear version of me at home for now. I think she'll be gnawing at my ankle all day, though.

His teacher has some major good points, and the rest is just stuff we'll learn as things go. She is a reading specialist (he has an articulation delay, though it is minimal at this point, he dislikes reading out loud because of the pronunciation fears), and a good third of her class from last year came in to say hello during the meet-and-greet, even though it wasn't in the schedule to do so. Lots of hugs from last year's students. So, she can hardly be a tyrant. She's quite popular with her students, in fact. At least two were literally dragging their parents down the hall to her room to say hi before going off to meet their new teacher.

 

Mr B also already has a plan. Other than listening to the teacher and learning the new classroom rules (which we all expect will be very close to his old classroom rules), his plan is to make friends with the kids sitting nearest to him. He keeps fantasizing that he doesn't have to do this, or that it will be easier than ever ("Mom, wouldn't it be funny if the kids sitting next to me I already knew?"), but he's confident that he's likable, and provided he doesn't have any temper tantrums ... Ah, wait, there's a real concern under there - on Friday, he accidentally ate one of his brother's cereal bars instead of the new ones I found for him that were safe for Fructose Malabsorption. Which means that today is day three of fermentation, the cumulative worst day of function, and last night in the bath his belly was blown up like a balloon, which means fermentation was going full-bore. So today he may have a hard time keeping on top of himself, focusing, following rules rather than his 'but I wanna' side, being kind, etc. Kind of a bugger, that. I need to remember to send in a note to the teacher. She's been advised of the issues, anyway. Sigh. Not the first impression I'd want. Still, he does way better at school on those days than he does at home - the School Child version of him (compared to the Home Child) has just a little more skill on self-management, enough that he can usually hold himself in check, even if he has to grit his teeth and close his eyes and clench his fists to do it.

They have my phone number if they need it... I hope they don't need it. They probably won't need it. 90% odds that he'll do fine, even with the fermentation.

I'm working on the Acceptant Loving Faithful issue here - Definitely having to step back and be Acceptant of Mr G's process. Loving enough to keep a watchful eye and point out the potentially ouchy bits - once or twice. But enough Faithful to let him navigate his own path on that. Harder to do that with Mr B, who is still young enough that he's only just starting to transition out into his own space. He's just starting to show the signs of being seven (which he isn't, by birthday, but development doesn't follow the calendar 100%) - the loss of inner organization, the increased social astuteness and empathy, the periodic random obsessions that have nothing to do with what else is going on (which he already had but are getting worse with this transition). As he gets further into it, and probably as he continues to grow and loses more of those baby-cheeks that keep him looking younger than he is, it will be easier to take the mama bear over the next hill and let him forage without an eye on his whereabouts. Working the Acceptant Loving Faithful on him takes a bit more conscious effort, as the Safe Respectful Kind (especially Safe) and Effective Prudent True (especially Prudent) have been so central for the last few years.

Deep breath. Relax. The radar isn't going off - I have no sense of danger from the school or teacher or situation. Only worry about Mr B's own function, which I cannot control for, and which the teacher already knows about. I've advised as much as is reasonable and fair.    

gnaw gnaw gnaw

Pardon me a moment while I bap the mama bear on the nose with a rolled up bus schedule...

Mr B stays strong

Mr B did some good work today.

From the outside, it might not have looked like it. Sequentially, he was bounding around in a classroom, racing up and down a school hallway, whining and yanking on my arm, yanking on his brother, whining at his cousin, charging up and down the hallway again, leaping around in the gym and refusing to come when I called, collapsing in a grumpy lump outside the gym, whining some more, yanking on a door, screaming and yanking on the door, collapsing in the school's garden while we were trying to get to the car, and then finally getting in the car.

Kicking off that series was something rather uncomfortable for him. He saw his favorite old teacher from two years before, from the Montessori school he used to attend in early preschool (he then moved to a different Montessori school). But he wasn't able to warm up past his usual transition time - she was taking her daughter (ACK, when did she have a second baby!?) to the doctor's, so could only say hi briefly on her way out.

Then there was the next uncomfortable part - as much as he likes to be included, needs to be with and together with, having his brother show him off like a pet ('check out my brother's hair!') to his brother's old friends wasn't his plan. He tolerated it with reasonable humor, and then the second he got the chance took out his discomfort back on Mr G. Grouse, leap about in classroom, express discomfort.

And then he realized that he really needed to run off the distress, discomfort... stuff. He asked, begged, yanked on me. And there was no way I could accomplish this - I had only limited time to talk to the teacher, before she had to go. She was catching up on a year's worth of activity, growth, choices, changes. Acknowledge the need, yes, but I hadn't yet clued in on what was going on inside him, so I wasn't able to honor that fully yet, or understand its urgency.

More charging up and down the halls. Not alone in this, the entire crew, cousin included, were expressing their emotions in leaping about. The teacher remembered the cousin from preschool, told the summer-camp class stories about her caring and joyfulness, reminded me (and her, and Mr G) of when she used to tuck in her cousin (Mr G) at nap time, carefully making sure his blanket was placed properly, lovingly, tenderly. Yeah, the ten-year-olds blushed at that one. But the teacher didn't relent, she refused to let them pretend they had never been those kind and loving people to each other. (They still are, but they like to pretend that they're not, sometimes.)

And the talking, reminiscing - who was in whose class? Remember when you came in, I love how your family tells stories, your brother, how is he? And how is Baba? So many memories elevated, refreshed. I felt more than a bit nostalgic, and twice had to suppress getting teary, just standing there looking around.

Then a gap, while the camp students and teacher went down to the lobby for pickup time, and we stayed in the room, and the kids opened up a bit more into the space, and remembered. They pointed to different activities, asked each other if they remembered this, oh, and this one here? That other thing, that's NEW, and look, from here you can see the new playing fields! More yanking on me by Mr B, urgently, desperately. Needing to flee, to escape, to race around and let out the everything that was inside.

I still wasn't getting what was up, though. Why, when we come back to this school, do they insist on acting like monkeys, forget the rules, run in the halls? Safety, please, gentle children!

Finally, the teacher returned, and we proceeded in the wrap-up conversation, the mutual admiration, and the almost-deft expression of depth of feeling from cousin to her old teacher. She remembering her favorite work, the sequence board, all the way back from three years old, being sure to tell her old teacher that she was a favorite, no THE favorite teacher, ever... being told in return that while her academic success was grand, it was being herself that was the most admirable. I watched my niece make the half-uncomfortable choice to stand face to face with the too-difficult-for-age passionate speaking of truth, and make eye-contact, and agree, fight through to the acceptance if not comfort, and reflect back the love coming her way. Lovely cousin of my children, so steadily learning to be courageous in her statement of self. It was nice watching her acceptance of that too-close-in happiness, the intimacy of being genuinely admired by the teacher she admired, and the discomfort of knowing how time has passed.

And meanwhile, Mr B, leaping about, rolling on the floor, whining, nearly thrashing, pulling on me...

Finally, off to the lobby for a moment to talk to the head of school, and then yes, we can go to the gym, stop whining, and DON'T RUN IN ... the halls. Nevermind. I'll catch up in a moment.

Racing around in the gym, then. But ... really, we need to go home, they're locking up the school. Mr B's response: Collapse and grump outside the gym, begging to go back in and play.

Finally, I began to suspect something significant was going on.

"It's hard to come back, and not stay," I suggest.

That's the opening, but I failed to take my time with it. He won't move. We need to go, we do. And he won't move.

"You really like it here. You wish you could stay as long as you want."

Yes, again. Right. Now let me stay... and again, I don't allow it, move him along in his pain, encourage the reluctant child to walk through the depth of his mourning and loss. Right past the library... no, into the library. Yes, okay, go look around the libary.

"I want to stay, mom. I want to stay!"

"You really REALLY loved it here. You miss it." Stating it forcefully, matching my tone to his own.

"YES, can I stay?"

"Sweetheart, gentle B, we cannot. They're closing up, we have to go." I can't stick with his intensity, so I revert to just gentleness. It really isn't enough. He needs me to join him, and I'm not sure quite how. Or maybe I'm afraid that if I do join him, I'll sit on the floor and weep because I feel so much the way he does. I wanted to go to this school, myself - not that it existed when I was a child, but I wished it had. I'm not even admitting that to myself though. I'm just 'not there, not ready'.

I offer ice cream. Bribery, I know, but I'm hoping to transition his focus (or so I tell myself, but I kind of suspect I'm lying even to me). All the other kids cheer for ice cream, jump up, ready themselves to go.

B won't move. He tries to go out the side door, the one they use for special events. It is locked. He slams on it, shaking it hard enough to make me worry that he really will manage to pop the lock. He's screaming, now, GO OUT THIS WAY!

I'm now clear on what is happening. Making contact, I stroke his hair, let my voice fill up with my own nostalgia, regrets, and loss, and struggle again to keep down tears.

"It's so hard to go, you loved the events, you loved when you got to go out this door, you loved being here on special nights."

He lets go of the door, stops screaming, leans just a little towards me.

"I did. (pause) Mom, it's hard to leave when you are back in a place you love."

"I know, it's really hard. You loved it so much here."

"Yes." Grabs the door again, leans hard.

"I'm worried you'll actually break the door, and it will set off the alarm." He lets go of the door, but turns away from me.

"You loved going out this door, it was special." I run my hand over his hair again, and he leans into the caress just a bit.

I guide his body gently into facing toward the exit we can use. He turns, silently (but not defiant or resistant) and walks with me back to the lobby, out the doors with everyone else (them still leaping about and squealing ICE-CREAM!)

We don't make it past the garden, though. He sees the Lambs Ears, remembers that the ones in our garden are dying, having been accidentally ripped up while weeding. But this time, instead of screaming, he sits down, looks up at me, and says, "Mom, can you stop?"

"You want to look at them? You can look at them."

"Ours are all dead."

"Some of them, the others will be okay."

"Mom, it's hard to leave. I miss it."

"I know."

He pets the plants for a moment, but only a few seconds, then gets up, and we all climb back in the car. He looks better, though his eyes are red-rimmed. But he's not quite done.

"Mom, it's really hard to go back to a place I love. I want to stay all day, and not just for a little bit."

"You want to come to camp here?"

"No. I just want to stay."

"You love it, you miss it. You want to stay all day."

"Yes. Next time let's come in the morning, so we can stay. What kind of ice cream are you getting us? Can I have an ice cream sandwich? Oh, darn, they have wheat. I hate that."

"We'll look to see what they've got, okay?"

"Okay. Can we go now?"

Okay, I'll call that done, then.

Despite the miserable wailing and the rolling about on the floor and the whining and the yanking on everyone, I was definitely proud of Mr B.

Mr G, perhaps just because he'd been older when he left, has processed his going, has come back to visit before, and left again. He got his loss out in a strong burst, two weeks into the school year last year, mourned the change fully. Mr B, in contrast, loved his new school, leapt into it without dismay, and never really wept for where he was not. He never let the loss in, he treated it as a separation from his brother, nothing more. It wasn't about the school, the sense of place, the memories. There were hints of deeper processing now and then, but not this entangled mass of emotion. Coming back now, as his brain has developed to the level where he can see the connections, understand the emotional importance of place, feel the friendship he had with everything there, including the garden... now he feels the loss with all the power of his intense passion, that incredible depth of feeling that is so essentially him.

And so it hurt. It hurt a lot, he didn't know what to do with it, he tried to find a way to release it, and I kept saying No.

Oy.

Not that I could entirely say yes, I know - as a non-student, he needed an adult escort around the school, I could not send them off to the gym by themselves. And the teacher was not going to be there for a while, she's going back to her country of birth to visit a sick relative, so I cannot continue this conversation tomorrow or next week. Life isn't simple, and answers aren't always immediate, and even when we know ourselves what we need, the answer isn't always at hand. Sometimes we have to ride it out, and find the solution later.

He didn't bury the emotion, which was pretty darn impressive. Just held onto it, rode the wave, followed it. Let it carry him, was strong enough to carry it.

And yes, fortunately I finally noticed what was going on, found the spillway, opened it up for him, let it be okay to let it out. There were quite some lumps in there, some logjams, emotional debris. But out it came. Not every quake lake is immense, I suppose, but the force built up can still be powerful. This one was small on the surface, narrow and hard to find until I saw the flash of it, but deep. Like a fjord.

As much as I'm pleased with how well Mr G handles his feelings most of the time, at times like this it is clear that Mr B deserves a lot of credit. It was hard work, staying with that, not really taking it out on anyone else, just needing to let it come out, somehow. And then staying with it as it drained. It would have been easy to pretend it was something else bothering him, be angry at the vulnerability, be angry at me for choosing to change schools, be hurt or resentful or blaming. It would have been easy to misdirect the pain in order to not face it, to route it on a  secondary path and try to ignore the deeper pain at the middle of his experience. It might have been simple to not come back to the painful truth, that this place he loved was no longer his on a daily basis.

I don't think he feels any sense that the second school is less - he loves it there, too, very much. And I suspect he will also love where he's going next year (and where he'll stay for eight years (presumably) - a steady home for his education, one place in which to root himself). But .. well, there's something to be said for remembering that first beloved school, and missing it, and knowing that one is missing it, and letting that flow, and honoring it by being fully immersed in it, without denying the hurt. Hard to do, but honorable, true, and worthy.

Good work, Mr B.

Separating the twins

I tend to think of Miss M and Miss R as sisters first, twins second.

Certainly there are times that the twin issue comes up, but it is usually in one of two categories: social context, and developmental behavior.

Social context is usually just, 'are they twins?,' asked by a stranger. I'm used to that, and we actually get it much less often than many twins, since they are different heights and builds. I've had people look at them, glance away, frown in puzzlement, look again, look at me, look at them, and then ask, oh-so-carefully, 'how far apart are they?'

I can see them thinking - wow, they look close together, but maybe too close in age, they act like the same age, but they look different ages, that one is big, the other one is petite... aaaahhhhh!

I don't mind saying they're twins, in the social context. It solves the other person's puzzlement when I say, 'five minutes apart.' AH, twins. Not identical, then? (That's usually asked as a question, which is fine with me, because I'd rather people ask than make assumptions.) Not genetically identical, no.

They do look like sisters, at least. And act like sisters. Unfortunately, that's where the developmental level of twins comes in. They're both at the same stage, which means they can escalate each-other's issues quite quickly. Bonus, neither of them can wait longer than the other, or understand even a little more what it means to wait while I handle the other's problem. I can't sequence the handling of issues - ever - on their developmental level. It's the same. Developmentally, they're twins, more than sisters. Some twins are different developmentally, mine have different personalities, but are at the same level despite that.

We don't much talk with them about being twins, either. We don't say 'get your twin' or 'share that with your twin'. The label we use is usually just their name, not even sister. If we group them verbally, we tend toward 'the girls' and 'the boys.' We usually clumping by age-level activities, and that's the split we have - older boys, younger girls. "Are you taking the boys with you to the store?" "Are you willing to start up a movie for the girls?"

For individuals, it is always the name - we don't even use 'son' or 'daughter' much - it isn't, "son, can you bring that over here a sec?" it is "G" or, yes, Mr G - literally "Mr G" sometimes, and not Mr His-full-name, that being something we started as a nickname by accident (perhaps in response to the serious nature of Mr G). It stuck, and rolled downhill to the other kids.

Anyway, labels and nicknames aside, Miss M and Miss R are still twins in there somewhere. This means that inevitably, there will arise the question of 'together or apart at school?'

So far, they have been together. The schools (both the current one and the one they will attend for elementary) allow parents to choose whether to place twins in the same classroom or separate. Sometimes the choice is obvious, as it was when I was taking Mr B in for his pre-1st-grade assessment, and a set of twins came in... one was answering questions for the other, and each time she did, her brother would leap at her and try to hit her, but he also refused to speak for himself. The assistant principle laughingly asked, "so, you want them in the same classroom?" General hilarity ensued, along with a pained expression from their mom.  Sometimes it is obvious to all (and in this case the children in question were equally horrified that they might be stuck with each other) that together doesn't serve either party.

And sometimes it is clear that together is not a problem, or solves problems. If they provide a layer of security for each other in the tender emotional years (which is what, through college? 75? 90?), this isn't wrong, any more than placing a child in a class with their best friend is wrong. It is only a problem if it creates a problem, and research shows that when there's a problem, separating the twins tends to just shift the problem onto a peer relationship - it is an internal skill that is lacking, not the fact that they are twins. They can learn the skill with their twin as well as with their peers.

So. Separate Miss M and Miss R? Or not?

The answer usually lies with asking the twins what they want, and asking the parents what they see as the typical function together versus apart. Still, somehow most people assume that the twins in question will both want to be together, or will both want to be apart. People tended to raise their eyebrows in alarm when I said (over the last two years) that Miss M wanted to be apart, and Miss R wanted to be together.

Now what? To separate violates one's need, to stay together violates another's. And again, we can't choose based on developmental capacity - we can't say, 'this one will understand this better and has greater developmental ability to cope with not having needs met, so she will be the one whose needs aren't met.'

Up to now, we opted to leave them together, and the teachers said they would keep them separate within the classroom as much as possible. It really wasn't too hard, and it happens all the time with friends who are having a problem with each other, so the skills are built in. Together but maintained separately worked out well enough.

And yet.

By the end of the year, the strong need to be with her sister had eased for Miss R, and the strong need to be apart had eased for Miss M, but they still tended to interfere with one-another whenever they had an unresolved upset carried into school. They know each-other's buttons, and push them at will. The teachers handle it well. But ... Something in me suspected more and more strongly that apart would serve them better, even if it would be really inconvenient for us (two sets of classroom activities to attend, for example).

Conversations with the school ensued - what did they think? What did they observe? Combined with our observations, it came down to: try separate classrooms for a few weeks, and see. They regularly have to move a child from one room to another early in the year due to personality, style, or social fit, so this is really no different.

This morning I got the email with the classroom assignments, asking me if I wanted to change my mind and place them together instead of apart. Gulp. Quick, do a mental double-check!

I do think it will work just fine. I've asked the girls, and they've leapt about and been excited over it, singing and dancing. I'm not sure they understand all that means, though. Nor do I know exactly how to respond - just highlighting the upside may leave them unprepared for the downside. Spending more time than they need on the downside preparation may leave them overly concerned with that. Just dumping them in with minimal preparation and letting them feel their way through seems unkind. And, what if, and maybe, and do I know for sure, and what if the other...

AHHHH!

I'll follow their lead, I know. But I always start out with the ruminating. Which isn't wrong, but can quite easily lead into 'over-thinking' instead of problem-solving. One hour of ruminating is about as much as I can do before I start stressing myself out. (see 'AHHHH!' above!)

So, now, let that go, and problem-solve.

What is the problem? Hmm. The problem is that I am worried that they will struggle with this choice. The problem is not that they are struggling with this choice. So the problem is my own worry, not their problem, which so far doesn't exist outside my own mind.

I do have a valid concern that they need to be prepared for the change - both of them function better with advance warning, which is handy (oh, it would so suck if one stressed out with advance warning and the other thrived with it...). So, I can provide them with the information they need. Just information, though. Not my emotional load, no carry-forward of my early memories of standing in a strange classroom feeling too alone. This is their beloved school, with the teachers they adore, where they'll be in the classrooms they've been sneaking into for a year-plus, ready in mind even if not in learning skills to be there, be big, be one of the older kids they already admire.

Problem-solve, not over-think. Right. The anxious knot in the belly is untying. The emotional load is back to my own processing of my own childhood, empathy for the child-I-was standing alone and scared in a strange room with strange kids. That is me, not them. Miss M and Miss R know most of the kids who will be in their classes, from last year. They know the classrooms. They know the teachers. This school is theirs in a way my kindergarten wasn't mine (though in elementary school, I owned the place - the teacher's lounge, the library, the office, they were all my stomping ground, even if I was too shy with the other kids to have more than one friend at a time... that helps, remembering that sense of ease. I can apply that here.).

Better.

Deal with present time, not past, and not too much into the future. Sketch the future out only in pencil, and lightly, with concept bubbles and not linear tracks. Meta-parenting only enough to find the need in me, find the need in them, separate the issues, and problem-solve.

Deep breath. Exhale.

Separating the twins isn't so scary. Okay, it is, but it is my own issue, not theirs. For them, it is only another adventure.

Been thinkin...

The last couple of days, I've been thinking about identity and labels.

Actually, the thoughts started a couple weeks ago, when my oldest-best friend came to visit, and we ended up discussing the label of 'attachment parenting' and how the methods and techniques didn't all fit her parenting choices, but the underlying goals and philosophy did. And in fact, since she was also using active listening (and had been for years and I didn't even notice, GAH!) and respectful problem-solving and reasonable limits applied with individuality and respect to her kids, um... well, she probably ends up being more in line with the philosophy of AP than some of the people she knew who coslept were (that being the main thing she did not ever do - she would sleep in their room if they were sick, but they never got to sleep in hers. And they're not even ax murderers! Oy.).

Anyway, she's fond of labels for others, at least for adults, but she doesn't apply them nearly as rigidly to herself if she thought them up herself (this is not the same as the ones our parents gave us, which we then have to accept or reject later). I think that's true for most people - we label others rather more rigidly, because we can see the exterior checklist, but we don't label ourselves quite as much because we can see where we have range and variation and isn't it just being ME and not being 'a typical anything'?

And then more layers added on to the thinking. At Ask Moxie, we discussed disability and labels, the fear of and the utility of knowing a diagnosis - the fear of being defined by the label, and the reality that the label represents core information that may be valuable. So, label but with lower-case letters?

Following that was a discussion of race and raising White Males in America - what is our responsibility for how we raise them, to be sensitive to race and gender, neither ignoring issues as if they do not exist (quick, glance away!) nor clumping people entirely by outward features, nor again assuming meaning, function, culture, class, status, interests, abilities (etc.) because of those features or because of even a stated and known and self-chosen (by the other) identity. I agree that where you start is here: "The first part of this is raising kids who are happy with who they are, who know what makes them special, and who are willing to work hard but also know their own areas of competence. If you really know who you are, then you don't need to think less of anyone else."

And then I ended up at one of the blogs Moxie linked, thinking about what regions of the world feel like home (for me they're not related to ethnicity at all), and about what we call children whose parents are of different heritage from each other, and making myself uncomfortable a bit because I'm quite multi-ethnic but it is so long ago in my heritage that it is more my great-grandparents' struggle than mine - who am I to speak for them? And yet I connect with that, too, as the family historian, their stories and questions and struggles are part of my life. And is it even necessary to specify the reason, in the form of my role? Is it just okay to feel their distress because they were family, or even just because they were human? Will others think I am working off White Middle-Class Guilt if I'm overly empathetic or trying to understand? But as Moxie noted, making oneself a little uncomfortable is a good thing - a sign of learning, being uncomfortable. I'd rather that than blind comfort with no growth.

All of these resources and ideas and questions are layering together, but I'm not sure where they end up. I read (and now can't find the dang study) that the more kids are exposed in early childhood to ethnic diversity, the less biased their assumptions about others. So, our choice initially with the first Montessori school was good - White Middle America was the minority. There were plenty of white kids, but many of them were French or German or English or Dutch or otherwise of a specific ethnicity or national origin within Europe (or were bi-cultural/bi-racial with clear, recent national origins). It made for some interesting understandings, including that one can look quite similar but be quite different - the girl who spoke nearly no English and didn't understand cultural references at the beginning of the year was Swedish, the boy who looked the most different from everyone else in facial characteristics, hair, and eyes was middle-American in accent and social expectations and culture. So I guess I'm glad we made a good choice on that, a useful choice.

Hmm. All those issues intersect into a question - where and when should we use labels, and where and when should we avoid them?

In general, in parenting it is assumed that using labels is limiting for our kids (see Siblings Without Rivalry: How to Help Your Children Live Together So You Can Live Too for a discussion of labels and siblings, for example). So, labels - The Smart One, Mr Sporto, Clumsy, even simple labels like 'the Eldest' -  can all create expectations of limitation. This one is, 'George, who is good at math'. Label. That one is, 'Katie, the artist of the family'.

The labels not only limit and define what is expected of that child, but exclude the other child(ren). If Katie is THE artistic one, then what are the allowed expressions of the other children? My little brother (whom I've called 'the Golden Child' - and I use the label knowing that it is a label) assumed for most of his childhood and into his late adolescence that he was Not Good At Art - because, well, all the GIRLS were introduced as 'Good At Art'. Him? He was just the littlest, the last, the youngest son, the cub. It wasn't until he was in high school that he began to wonder if maybe he was good at art, too, but just wonder. And it wasn't until college - a solid year in - that he discovered that he was not only good at art, he was quite talented at art. All us 'good at art' girls are now doing other things, and he has a degree in fine arts and a glass studio (where he makes the most gorgeous icicles for Christmas decorations, plus jewelry). Yeah, he has another job, too, but he's the only one making the art pay at all. He resents (or did, long ago) that the label excluded him. Everyone else was good at art. He was... well, the other.

I made the same assumption about brains. My elder sisters and brother were SMART. They were the geniuses of the family. I was, um, not. I was the stupid one, because DUH, if they were the smart ones, there was only stupid left! (Oy, but hey, trust a 7 year old to make an assessment, and they'll make a seven-year-old's assessment!) My mom, in that case, did not apply the label (though she is rather too fond of them), but it was present in the air, and we all knew that the IQ tended to leak out with additional kids (two points lower per child in sequence, I was told by my older siblings, which means WE are smarter than YOU). And yeah, so they are smarter. It took me ages to realize that didn't mean I was therefore non-smart.

Not all that useful to me, the labels. The good child, the bad child, the musician, the artist, they're all un-useful.

And yet, humans naturally divide and separate, categorize, sort, and assess in order to survive. Selective attention is the basis of neuro-typical function, it is how we recognize what is important - and what is important is identified by how we were raised, what we were taught, the things to which we were exposed. Stereotypes have a function in our brains, and it is fighting upstream to eliminate them entirely, yes? But refining them ends up feeling like profiling, too - Is the nervous person of central-Asian descent a terrorist, or just a guy afraid of flying? How refined does one have to get? And is doing so even useful?

I don't have answers. I know that for my kids, using labels only works if there are so many labels that they lose weight and become just part of the litany. If I remember to weight not by talent or beauty but by work, intention, and enjoyment, the letters get smaller. Instead of Mr B Who Rides And Does Art, it is Mr B (who loves riding, has enthusiasm for all visual arts, deconstructs and rebuilds structures, lights up in museums, can spend hours without tiring in gardens of all sorts, enjoys working together with his brother on stories, delights in visual and tactile puzzles, enjoys melting his icecream before he eats it...). I am okay with his name being the label.

It is in immersion that we change our attitudes, in part. Just like the kindergarteners who change their function based on what is familiar, becoming familiar is part of becoming more human. Even what we consider attractive changes, and changes again, based on what we're exposed to (poor study subjects, one study exposed people to computer-warped images of people's faces, and then tested various samples for attractiveness measures and found that people exposed to the warped images began to select more warping as attractive than those who had not been exposed to the warped images... you can really mess with 'that which I find appealing' by just changing 'that to which I am exposed'.)

For the learning, there are a few rules. It helps not to be prurient - to not answer the itch to know things that one would find odd to be asked oneself. Is it genuinely useful to know whether someone is Eurasian (or Chinese, or Ugandan, or Equadorian), compared to, say, knowing if they like the same tv show you like? We ask similarly stupid questions of our kids (meaningless questions like 'how was school today?' that turn them off just as quickly - compared to 'What do you think of the Math teacher?' or 'I'm curious about the sports program, what do you think of it?'). Learning to ask meaningful questions should just be part of our social education. And when we can't think of a meaningful question, perhaps not even asking the nosy questions that come to mind (oh, GOD, the questions that are asked). Better to get to know by just being, being with, being around.

And being Acceptant, being willing to be open to the truth that what is for the other person just is, and is not for us to measure or judge or evaluate, just for us to allow in. Being Loving, in action, by patience, by willfully choosing to step past the question of whether there IS love present, and simply act WITH love, because that honors who we are far more clearly than waiting on love before acting can ever do. And being Faithful, to ourselves and to others, assuming that their choices are valid and meet a real need, even if they are confusing to us. Choosing not to wonder if the action is intentionally meant to harm and instead choosing to wonder what need is left unfulfilled, what true and valuable and urgent necessity of life is hungering inside. Choosing to see them as fully human, in good faith.

It takes effort. Discipline, self-awareness, a willingness to look with a jaundiced eye at our own motivations and our own skills. It's not comfortable, most of the time. But I think that both Miss Manners and my children would agree, the effort is worth the struggle against our baser instincts.

More architectural solutions ...

So, where were we?

Right, architectural solutions, by sense.

Taste and Smell.

I'll start with Smell. It's funny that we tend to ignore this one, when it is so profoundly cross-wired into our psyches. I just read an article by a woman who lost her sense of smell, and ... well, it's a huge loss. It affects all sorts of layers of joy and happiness. Depression is a huge problem. Memory, nostalgia, our sense of place all tie into the sense of smell. Enrichment is not, however, the same as putting up candles and incense and airwick all over the place. The point of enrichment is meaningful scent. One aspect of this is cooking - not just heating up, but cooking, which fills the entire enclosed area with the aroma of the meal to come.

Another aspect of this is open windows, when this is at all possible, or otherwise experiencing the scent of the earth. Dirt, gardening, walks in parks, growing an herb garden on the windowsill or in window boxes, flowers, trees, water (fountains, pools, oceans, creeks, even marshland)... the experience of nature is embedded with scent. Enrichment with scent also includes learning to identify the herbs and spices of our foods by scent, and to find and use scents for comfort (lavender under the pillow, say). Identifying flowers in bloom by scent is a joyful game for many small children. What is it? Close your eyes, smell, and guess.

And then there's impoverishment, again. This is found perhaps in the reduction in the constant barrage of scents. Urban living is full of odors, often changing rapidly as we move along (granted, we're small-town-ish, not urban, but it still happens). Slowing down and noting the transitions of the smells, both good and bad, is one way to control and contain the information flow. Finding a place that has one strong steady smell, like a beach, can also be useful. The scents tend to drop to the background when they're constant. But the information is still there.

And now taste. Taste has some complex issues when it comes to toddlers. They're not really interested in exploring flavor once they hit about 2, at least where it comes to food. A few will remain interested in variety, but more will want to have the same same same all the time. This is genetic, and it probably relates to survival - toddlers and preschoolers able to leave mom's side would be more at risk if they ate everything they touched. So fearing new foods is a very helpful adaptation. The tastes will come back, in time, for most of them. Trying to force foods is just going to cause fights, though.

Instead, it may make more sense to explore taste without food. Herb gardens are one way. There's way less social/emotional/family pressure around, say, tasting a plant, than tasting grandma's cooked carrots. Growing a vegetable garden is another way for the kids to explore taste - trying, seeing if it is good, is far more fun if you grew it. It still might not be good, but it may be interesting.

And while it might not be the ideal approach, things like pet feed and bird seed can be fascinating explorations of taste. For the most part, cat and dog food (dry, presumably) won't cause any harm if nibbled (watch for choking hazards). Making food for the birds, and seeing if we like it, too, is another thing to explore (use appropriate caution with peanut butter). Other ideas: Making home-made play-do, that can be tasted, good. Tasting snow (fresh caught, LOL!), making ice cream, asking your child for advice on what else to put into the sauce ('can you sniff these herbs, and taste this sauce and tell me what you think I should add?' - my mom played that with me quite often, and I loved it as a game.)

Many people my age were raised with a horror of eating things that might be dirty - the extremes of sterilize/clean were impressed on us. But the hygiene hypothesis suggests that there's such a thing as too clean, too sterile, and it isn't good for us. Tasting a rock to see if they taste like anything maybe isn't a bad idea. Maybe not one from the sludge, though. Apply reason, not horror.

So, that's the major senses, other than sense of self.

What, though, if your child resists any attempt to prune or enhance? How do you deal with the concept of ownership of toys or books, at the same time as dealing with impoverishing the environment? How does one get past the natural tendency of the 2 1/2 - 4 1/2 (er, 6 1/2?) year old to HOARD ALL CHERISHED THINGS?

What we did was to give total power to return the item to circulation. At first, when we instituted the toy library, there was a lot of stressful running up and down, bringing items back out. We did the one-for-one trade option (though there was always creep anyway). We gradually moved toys into the 'to go down' box, and they fished through those as we picked it up to take it away to be sorted back into the bins. But as we kept allowing them to go get that one thing, they eased up. The toy library became their space, not 'invisible space'. They still tend to tear through it like a tornado, but if I say to them, 'I'm going to clear things down to the library - what two classifications of item do you want to keep?' they will think quite clearly about what it is they're playing with most, and wave a hand as they turn back to their work, and say, 'the rest can go down' with nary a blink.

It becomes a matter of choice. But it has to be brought in gently, unless you've started with it from the beginning, because it can easily smell a lot like parental control. I know people who use the library concept, but have the shelves nearer the play area. Some kids find that too distracting, though, and cannot enjoy the space and the play without wondering what's in THAT box, and the other, and what about this one? A separate room, accessible, is good. Harder in apartments, I know. Our house is tiny, but not quite apartment size.

Limiting what comes in to only that which is loved, beautiful, and quality is another way to go. But working that from the gift angle is hard, and so much cheap plastic crap (CPC, I think that term is from Moxie) leaks in around the edges. Add in loving grandparents, and the tide of even quality items can overwhelm. And if we had any issues of deprivation or want or envy that weren't handled well by our parents or peers ourselves, it becomes even harder to stem the tide - we don't really want to stop it, or are conflicted. Certainly I'm guilty of this with books. I could never have enough books as a kid. Now, my kids have effectively, too many. We could fill a small-town school library, with everything from science to literature, fiction, poetry... books. Love books. Too many books and one can't take care of them. More than 75% of the shelf jammed with books and to a child it looks like there's no place to put any more back.

And ownership - Since I had items taken away and sold without my permission as a child (and I remember it), I'm touchy about giving a child a gift and then treating the item as if it did not belong to the child at all, but to the adults. If you give it to the child, it belongs to the child. The toy library shouldn't be a taking away so much as a home for things not being used right this moment.

There are sensitive periods for the concept of organization and order. Preschool is one of them, but the earlier, the better. Once you get toward 4 or so, order itself transitions to organizing/categorizing (at least in my kids), and the emotional hoarding is a big deal, so having many places to put things (safely, in special places) is more important than having few or many items to start with. The next sensitive period seems to be the highly DISorganized 7-year-old stage, when their minds are transitioning from logic to social processing again, and they can again be coached and guided through the problem-solving, gently but frequently, with an assumption that it will take a good solid year for any of it to really develop as a strength of skill (remembering that one is dealing with a brain that is in flux in major ways). It is much easier to get them to choose what to keep out or put away when they get closer to 7. This doesn't mean don't try between now and then, but don't panic and tread gently when/if they resist. It's normal for them to cling to things at that age. And instead, find other impoverished spaces for them to inhabit - something as simple as a basketball court can be a blessing.

A lot of the process of architectural solutions is found in the intersection of their developmental level (as Cathy noted earlier) - the same issues of boundary and exploration will come up again, with a new spin and flavor depending on the age, over and over. That's why I often talk about parenting as a garden, with seasons, and years and years of season after season in which to work. Toddlerhood is just one of the seasons. 

Architectural solutions (toddlers and everyone)

Back to talking about toddlers, again. Though this subject applies to all ages, really.

I've mentioned the 'architectural solutions to social problems' concept.

In simplest form, it is just that for many problems, the problem goes away if you alter the environment. Add a gate, and the fights over climbing the stairs go away (though I recommend putting the gate 2 stair steps UP, so the child still gets to explore 'up and down' without having far to fall - yes, gate, but not DENY... the skills will still demand to be explored, so provide a way to do so safely).

But there's really a lot of depth and texture to the idea of modifying the environment.

There are boundary and limits issues: gates, latches, outlet covers, drawer locks, toilet locks.

There are also issues of enrichment: if the child climbs compulsively, enrichment is providing a climbing outlet; if the child cuts up your mail, having mail 'for them' is enrichment, and so is having their own scissors. If they use your tools, enrichment is their own tools (play or real, depending on their age and what it is).

And there is impoverishment. Yep, impoverishment - intentionally culling the environment to remove a problem. This is where we apply the toy library concept. Retain ownership of toys, retain access, limit what's 'out'. Cycling toys is the same concept - the problem of random scatter of toys and 'overstimulation boredom' is reduced by reducing the amount available. More space and fewer things allows greater focus and less distraction. We struggle with this regularly - there's a conflict between 'having enough' and 'having few enough to really focus and enjoy'. Especially with books and lego. (darn lego, such a creative outlet for so many skills that we cherish, but so hard to control!) And books... why does it feel so wrong to put books 'away' even for a while? Sigh. I do it anyway, and it still works - trim them back, and they focus more on what is there. So, impoverish.

Enrichment and impoverishment  apply to all the senses - sound, sight, touch, taste, smell.

For sound, enrichment isn't just 'play classical music' but also 'play whatever is good, no matter the style' - it is quality, not cultural elitism (which some of the 'play classical music' spin sounds like), that counts. GOOD blues, GOOD jazz, GOOD country, GOOD rock, GOOD alternative, GOOD folk, GOOD world music. Find the best, play that.

For sound, impoverishment means allowing silence. And allowing a lack of background music (and no background tv), so that other sounds filter in. Rain. Dogs barking. Crickets or cicadas. Train in the distance. Car going by. Listening for what is otherwise 'too small to notice' is important. And being able to be comfortable in silence - not talking, not singing, not humming, just silence - is a gift worth giving ourselves and our kids.

For sight, enrichment is fine art, even for kids. Why should they submit only animation to their eyes? Why not Degas? Putting art down at their level, even just sticking museum greeting cards to the wall in their play space (framed is better - gives it respect), is a kindness to their eyes and minds. Having a garden or a set of indoor plants (herbs are good because there's no worry on eating them) to look at is also a kindness to their eyes.

And impoverishment, again - simplicity, clarity, order. There's a joy in a simple space, in clean lines, in an expanse of floor.  Allowing both complexity and simplicity stimulates their brains, and provides a place for that energy to go, instead of having it demand they create it out of your things, or theirs, in ways that might not be so useful to the adults.

Touch - materials are important. So many problems with toddlers come from 'do not touch'. Yes, take the breakables away out of reach and sight. But no, don't prevent them from experiencing the feel of crystal, or the texture of a shell. Supervise the exploration, select a few items for them to touch. But find a way to allow. And speaking of touch, quality materials, with different weights and textures, are worth the price. A good set of unit blocks is worth the expense. Our kids still play with them, all the kids - I'll still find the 10 year old building a city from the unit blocks. (As for crystal, my mom invested in a set of 'training crystal' - inexpensive, relatively sturdy, glass-rather-than-true-crystal stemware, for the kids to practice on at the big formal family meals - three times a year or so, they get to try out the nice stuff, without anyone fretting over the risk of breakage. She picked the prettiest kind she could find, since she wanted it to be aesthetically pleasing, that being the main point of crystal.)

Sigh. Out of time. I'll cover Taste and Smell next time. There's a lot on taste that's important, so that maybe needs more room anyway.