Why It’s Good To Ignore Children (For Real)

Sometimes the best thing we can do for our kids is to ignore them.

Sound harsh?

Maybe, but I mean it.

Recently, my six-year-old son stayed home from school sick. Not a lay on the couch all day sick, but a hang out quietly and relax sick.

It gave me an opportunity to catch up on some work and some writing, which for him meant, Mom is distracted and I’m on my own.

My son knows me well enough to tell when I’m distracted “In a minute,” means another 30-60 minutes from now, so you may want to reconsider your needs.

Continue Reading at Green Eggs and Moms.

My Father, My Lighthouse

People are natural collectors of things.  Some people collect dolls, or baseball cards, or specific animal art.  They decorate their homes with various genres or themes they are drawn to and identify with.  You can tell a lot about a person by what they collect.

My father collects lighthouses.  Prints, paintings, Christmas ornaments…it’s his thing.  When I see a lighthouse, I think of my Dad.  Not only for his natural desire to collect them, but because of what they represent.

Back in the 1980’s when my father became a single parent, his world was shaken quite a bit.  Raising two active teenagers, a boy and a girl and working 60-80 hours a week as a successful executive was not the norm for a typical man.

There were no role models or Mr. Mom movies to normalize a father raising his children, and certainly not on his own.  He paved a path with little assurance that he was doing it “right” and without a gaggle of friends to question how they handled certain situations…he just did it.

I can imagine the learning curve for raising a daughter was enormous for my dad.  And being a manipulative, social and independent teenage girl, I did not make it easy on him.  I recall the books he’d buy me to explain about “girl things” that he simply could not describe or understand.  The talks he had with me had to have been incredibly uncomfortable and when it came to boys, he did his best to listen and nod, never judging, and never quite getting what all the drama was about.

Not fully knowing how to relate to a girl had its advantages too.  My father raised me to believe that there were no differences between men and women.  I was taught that we both have the same opportunities to learn, to grow and to thrive, and if we work hard, we can get what ever we desire.  He never lead me to believe there was any other way of seeing it.  I have so much respect for him for that and it has certainly shaped the way I raise my own daughter.

But the most important skill my father has taught me is how to weather a storm.  Living with a person who is mentally ill creates quite an unsteady weather pattern for everyone around them.  A day can start out bright and sunny and end with a hurricane without warning.  Dopplers and radars are futile when predicting a change in these pressure systems and two storms can collide without ever knowing they existed even moments before.

Growing up in a house with many storms, I watched my father hold his ship steady in rough waters. When things were bad, you’d never know he had an ounce of fear with his consistent stature of strength, dedication and faith.  He was a captain like no other, his demeanor allowing us to feel safe when danger loomed.  He seemed to instinctively know the storms were temporary and that if we held on, they’d pass and calm waters would become part of our lives again.

Because of his top notch captain status, he was promoted to lighthouse keeper during my teenage years.  At a time when storms are often self created and feel like tsunamis in intensity, he was the light that beamed through the darkness to let me know that danger was present, but could be avoided if I steered my ship correctly.  He taught me how to see the signs and what to do when I felt like I was going to go down.  He taught me the value of standing tall and understanding that storms pass through in life, but never do they stay, and how you fare through them is not based on preparation, but on how we regroup and adapt once the damage has been done.  He taught me that living is not an acquired skill, but a state of mind.

I don’t know if my father realizes that he is the lighthouse he collects.  I don’t know if he realizes that his grandchildren watch him as intently as they do and that he is a role model of strength, dedication and faith for us all.

But I do know that on Father’s Day, I honor this great man and the role he has played in my life and the lives of my children.  He is what makes the word “Dad” a special and beautiful name to describe the men in the world who stand by their families, and do their best to support, love and nurture them in the ways they know how.

Happy Father’s Day to all the Dads who do what they do to help make us who we are.

How Newton’s Law of Action-Reaction can Encourage Positive Behavior

This week or maybe it was last week…my head is spinning these days, I guest posted again for Green Eggs and Moms. Have I mentioned how I much I love her site?

Here’s a sneak preview…

Once you have an understanding of why a child is choosing a negative or bad behavior, it is easier to respond and help them to find a different behavior that works better for both of you.

We choose behaviors for a reason.

We yell to get attention and be heard. We cry to show frustration and disappointment. We push and kick when we don’t have the skills or can’t find the words to express anger and resentment.

We steal when we feel we can’t get what we desire using traditional methods. We use the words “please” and “thank you” when we want to show respect in an effort to get what we want.

We use behaviors to communicate our needs.

Continue Reading… How Newton’s Law of Action-Reaction can Encourage Positive Behavior.

Q&A My Perspective: Is it Ever Too Late to Heal Broken Relationships?

QUESTION

Father’s Day is coming up and I know my husband would love nothing more than to spend the day with all three of his children, but he has not seen his oldest 13 year old son (from a previous marriage) in almost two years after a disagreement with his mother.  I am considering contacting his mother to arrange for him to come for a visit for Father’s Day. They have no relationship right now and I am wondering if it is ever too late to mend a relationship. Would love your thoughts on this.

MY PERSPECTIVE

Two years to grown ups goes by fast, but two years to a child feels like a lifetime.  All the more reason why now is the perfect time to start mending one of the most important relationships this boy will ever have.

Depending on what caused the damage, it is never too late to repair the damage that has been done, especially at the age of 13. Teenage years are a critical time of continuous change and development.  It’s the time when children start looking at themselves as individuals and start separating from their families as they try on new personas and relationships.  They begin to turn to their friends more as a source for connectedness, but they still need and want their parents’ approval, no matter what their actions or words say.

Their vision of self is largely based on how they think others view them. For example, if they are consistently told they are a great athlete, they will see themselves as a great athlete.  If they are told they are terrible at math, they will think they are math skill deficient.  When their parent is involved and shows interest in their life, it increases their sense of self worth. If their parent is absent in their life, it feels like they are being told they are not worthwhile to be around.   They will more likely feel a gap in connectedness and spend time trying to fill the void they can’t understand.  Children crave that bond with their parents. And often when they say they don’t, it’s out of self protection to not let their guard down and show their perceived weakness and vulnerability.  We all want to be loved and cared for, its just how it is.

I, of course, am generalizing, and there are ALWAYS exceptions, but its typical human nature to desire these connections, at any age.

As for your situation, I am excited at the prospect of you re-connecting a father and his son to start filling the void for both of them in the most loving and natural way.  It may not happen in fairy tale fashion, but the attempt is step one in mending the relationship.  It will take time to rebuild what’s been damaged and create a missing trust, but with time, consistency and patience, it will undoubtedly be worthwhile for them both.

Defining “Enough”

One of the biggest struggles I have as a parent is defining “Enough.”

Are my children eating Enough vegetables?

Am I spending Enough time with them?

Are they getting Enough sleep?

Are they getting Enough exercise?

Will there be Enough gas in the car to take them to their next activity?

Do they have Enough free time to play?

Am I reading to them Enough?

Are they learning Enough?

Do we talk Enough?

Are they listening Enough?

Is there Enough of Me to go around?

What is the actual measure of Enough and who measures it? How will I know when my children have had Enough of anything? These are questions that can not be answered without believing in myself and my abilities. When I question if they are getting enough, I am really questioning if I am giving enough.

And that I know the answer to.

I am Enough. I am all that there needs to be. I give them myself and what I can offer.

I do what I can with what I have and that is the most authentic definition of Enough.

Eat your heart out Dictionary.com….

Why Being an Investigator Works When Dealing with Bad Behavior

I am very thankful this month to be guest blogging for my friend Anne of Green Eggs and Mom, which is one of my favorite parenting blogs around.  Anne shares interesting and valuable parenting tips and research and is a must read for all.  If you’re not following already, you’re missing out.

This week’s post is on Understanding Behavior.

“Most often kids are labeled as bad when they consistently choose behaviors that make others uncomfortable. It could be talking back, using inappropriate and crass language, hitting, bullying, lying, stealing, etc., and get away with it enough to continue.

But the question is why are they acting out? How are the negative behaviors benefiting them?” Read Why Being an Investigator Works When Dealing with Bad Behavior

And please pass on any tips that work for you as well.  You people are incredibly smart.

“How Do You Bury A Body In Two Places?” and Other Thought Provoking Questions

“Healthy children will not fear life if their elders have integrity enough not to fear death.” –Erik H. Erikson

This past week, my good friend sent me the following conversation she had with her children in the car on the way to school:

Girl Child: How was GG (great grandmother) buried in two places?

Boy Child: Did they cut her body in half?

Girl Child: Did they bury her in one place for a little while, then dig her body up and move it?

This was a day after her daughter was questioning how to buy a headstone and asking her mother what kind she would want.  If only all children were so considerate. Don’t worry, she was just being her sweet self…I hope.

Incidentally, she told me this story the day after my own children had their first experience trolling a cemetery with a bazillion questions of their own.

As I watched my children run freely with their closest friends through the cemetery, checking out the various tombstones and monuments, intrigued by the names and relationships, I realized that their experience at that moment was very different than my own.  Although we were there for the same reason, to commemorate an anniversary of my best friend’s husband’s death, we all had our own perspectives of our surroundings.

For my friend, it was an experience to support her children and honor their father who left too soon, and yet see how much their lives had changed since his passing. For her children, it was a time to “visit” and think about their dad and the family buried around him, yet a time to explore with their friends and investigate the relationships of people they’ve never met. For me, it brought back memories of pain of watching my closest friend bury her husband and yet, a time to enjoy the new memories being created with our children.  And for my children, it was an experience of wonder and gaining an understanding of the cultural rituals of death and seeing where some people’s bodies go when they die.

Each of our perspectives is created by our experiences and the feelings that we attach to them.  I began our visit to the cemetery with a heaviness.  I felt sad for the loss of life that touched so many, but especially for the children.  Yet, after watching the children enjoy themselves so much and having to coerce them to leave, my perspective shifted into one of content, knowing that life moves on and joy can rise through pain, and new experiences can overshadow the ones we’d rather leave behind.

So when the questions came on how can you be buried in two places at once (kids are so smart), it didn’t feel so heavy to address cremation.  I’ve always explained to my children that cremation is the burning of the body (which of course freaked them out a bit) but since our spirit has left the body, we feel no pain and we become ashes like the natural dirt of the Earth. Some people prefer the idea of cremation and others would rather their body be buried in the ground. It’s all part of the cycle and the cultural process of the beginning of Walking Through Grief for many.  But more so, it’s a basic reality to the question of what happens to a body when it dies?

We tend to view the finality of life with our own perception of death.  For so many, that view is filled with fear, trepidation, or impending grief.  Yet children are just learning this reality through our eyes. The more we push our negative perspectives of the pain of our losses on to our children, the more they will view death and loss as a negative. It’s all in how we present it to them and how we show the impact on us.

Remembering that they rely on us to model how to feel and act is a hefty responsibility.  When left with task of answering sensitive questions and feeling like our answers will shape the way they view the world, it’s understandable when our hesitation rises and we want to take our time to answer in a way that benefits them.  It’s okay to baby step and choose our words with care.  And it’s more than okay (in my opinion) to use humor whenever possible to keep the lightness in tact.

I will never forget scattering my grandfather’s ashes and realizing I had dropped some on my foot.  I shared with my grandmother that I had Grandpop on my shoe and she responded, “Oh, that will make him very happy! He loves to travel.”

And that my friends, is how it’s done.

Packing for Survival- Don’t Forget the Cheese Stick

Sometimes the finer parenting moments are delivered in a pretty package with a perfectly tied bow and sometimes they come in a beat up Barbie suitcase.

Mine came this week unexpectedly.  When the delivery was made, I was tired, irritated and markedly bored with the drama that came with it.  I have been in preparation mode for the frustrations of adolescence since my children’s birth, but the tween years I am thoroughly unprepared for.

One minute, I am the” Best Mommy in the World.”  The next I “Just Don’t Understand” in an octave high enough for the neighborhood dogs to feel compelled to join in.  And no, I don’t understand how my sweet cherub can give me the best love hugs and in the same embrace squeeze hard enough so my organs are coming out of my nose.  What is that??

So when I first read her “I’m moving out” note earlier this week, I was a little annoyed.  Well, actually, she was annoyed, so said the note (which she did not give me permission to use- which is too bad because she had nice penmanship and it was well worded).  But of course, I did take a picture to capture the moment and sent it to my friends to show the prison of emotional turmoil I was living in. And to laugh, of course, at the claim of moving out, along with a detailed description of where she’d be in case I wanted to find her.  And then signed it with XOXO.  Really?

I decided it was best to let her sit for a while.  After all, I could see her from the window.  My only hesitation was wondering what the neighbors would think as they drove by this young girl, bags packed, sitting on the street corner…In Front Of Her House.  But I decided to let it go and let her ponder how long it would take me to “Just understand” her.  Plus I was in the middle of making her favorite dinner while getting ready to go to her Spring concert at school.  Clearly, my neglect of her needs was over the top.

Time ticked away and I finally had to go get her when I saw a bicyclist stop to talk to her and I imagined all the things she would say when she called the Department of Child and Family Services. Turns out, it was my good friend riding through our neighborhood and she had already offered my daughter a place to stay by the time I had got out there.  And that’s when it happened….

In an instant,  a spot light beamed out of nowhere down to her now open, beat up Barbie suitcase.  Invisible harps started playing beautiful music and the world slowed down as I gazed into her bags.  She had packed a week’s worth of clothing, neatly folded and ready to be put away.  Three full bottles of water to keep herself hydrated, and plenty of snacks including granola bars, fruit and a cheese stick to keep her sustained.  And to top it off, she had a plastic grocery bag filled with all of her change so she could buy whatever she missed.   And that is when I knew I had arrived to my new parental status.  I had successfully prepared my daughter to stand on her own two feet and live without me…at least for a few hours.

I have always prided myself on being prepared for my children’s wants and needs while on vacation, or on the road going anywhere.  Our summers are spent out of the house at the park or lake every day requiring days’ worth of supplies to be readily available, so forethought is always needed.  Gradually, they have become much more involved in the planning and packing process and now they pack for their own overnight stays at their friends’ or grandparents’ houses figuring out what they missed each time.

So to see this planning and preparation in action, knowing she could be out on her own for an undetermined amount of time (or at least until she had to come in and eat dinner) gave me an enormous sense of pride and satisfaction that they DO listen and watch and learn.  She could go live in a tent or on a park bench for at least a day or two on her own, honoring the allotted time to make a missing person’s report after 24 hours.  This feat of independence warms my heart and gives me the encouragement to push on, even on the days I “just don’t understand” if what I’m doing is making any impact at all.

As their parent, I want to guide them and hold their hand, but I want to know that when I let go of it, they will use it to wave goodbye independently and build their life the way that works for them.  Personally, I would not have used a plastic shopping bag for all my change, but that’s me.  I would however, have used the same PBA free water bottles and filled them to the top…and I definitely would have packed a cheese stick.  I was comforted to see the choices that she made and can make some casual, unsolicited suggestions for future run away packing when the time is right.

And during these tween years, it is helpful for me to know that she can make it on her own, especially for the days she is asked to leave my presence and sit in quiet mediation as she finds a way to alter her tone of voice and adjust her attitude.   At least I know she’ll be just fine.

What do you think your child would pack in their getaway bag? Every parent needs to know.

Suicide Prevention: Awareness is Key

After sharing The Story of My Perspective of my childhood and my mother’s suicide, I was in contact with Dr. Nancy Rappaport, child psychiatrist and author of  In Her Wake: A Child Psychiatrist Explores the Mystery of Her Mother’s Suicide. Dr. Rappaport graciously offered  to pass on her most recent article on the importance of suicide prevention to you.  I greatly applaud and appreciate her efforts to bring awareness to this sensitive topic and 100% preventable cause of death.

Some 34,000 people die by suicide every year in the United States, which means that every 15 minutes, there is another devastated family faced with the challenge of how to make sense of a tragic loss.

While there is so much that we have come to understand about suicide and how to protect people from self-destructive impulses, last week’s sad news about the suicide of Junior Seau reinforces the complexity of every suicide death and illustrates the heartbreak and trauma that results. Initial news coverage suggested that Seau’s final act may have been influenced by the ravages of playing in the NFL for so many years. The problem goes deeper than that; in most cases, there are multiple causes that drive a young man like Seau to shoot himself tragically in the chest.

I write this as a mother of three healthy children who can understand the unbearable anguish at the thought of something harming one of them. I lost my mother to suicide when I was just four years old. I can imagine the sorrow and the bewilderment of Seau’s three children, because I felt it myself so many years ago. I am also a child psychiatrist who knows that mental illness is the underlying cause of the majority of suicides.

I have devoted my professional life to preventing this devastating outcome, so that families will not wrestle with the exhausting, haunting impenetrable question of why. My hope is that those who are suffering with suicidal thoughts or mental illness don’t worry alone. Call someone.

The early recognition and treatment of depression and other psychiatric illness is one of the best ways to prevent suicide. If someone can get the appropriate treatment –including psychotherapy, medication, or a combination of both — and stay with it, the prognosis is actually quite good; over eighty percent of people feel better with combined treatment. It’s true that some antidepressants can slightly raise the risk of suicidal thoughts and behaviors in adolescents and young adults, but suicide is far more common in people whose depression goes untreated.

If a family member is increasingly isolated, crying, irritable, and giving away prized belongings or engaging in high risk behavior (like increased alcohol and drug use or seeking access to pills), don’t be afraid to ask directly if he is suicidal. Try to break the isolation and let him know that you are on his side and willing to help and encourage them to allow himself to have a chance to get help. If you have a family member — particularly a teenager — in the house who is angry and impulsive, remove guns from your home. Guns are involved with one percent of suicide attempts, yet they are the cause of 50 percent of deaths by suicide.

Families often struggle with how to carry on following a suicide loss and are tortured by feelings of guilt and shame. Silent grief can be overwhelming, and blaming can occur as a way to avoid sadness. It is pivotal to communicate constructively and find comforting rituals to share, such as participating in religious observations, lighting candles, or creating and keeping a memory box. When there’s been a suicide in the family, parents often think it’s best to hide that knowledge from their children. But studies have shown that being direct is the better approach. Avoid euphemisms, which can be confusing to children. Often families need to revisit the conversation many times as the child grows up and his level of understanding and ability to ask questions grows.

This year, I ran the Boston Marathon to raise money for the Samaritans, a suicide prevention organization that offers education and outreach, including help lines and programs for those impacted by the tragedy of suicide. A fellow Samaritan runner reminded me that the physical challenge of Heartbreak Hill – the long uphill climb that comes in the final stage of the 26-mile trek – is nothing compared with the unbearable pain that her brother must have been in when he hanged himself.

As a professional who works with depressed patients every day and as a daughter who knows the grief and the energy it took to heal after my own mother’s death, I ask that anyone who is feeling desperate hold on in the darkness. Get help. Remember the words of Emily Dickinson: “Not knowing when dawn will come, I open every door.”

Nancy Rappaport is the author of In Her Wake: A Child Psychiatrist Explores the Mystery of Her Mother’s Suicide (2009), an attending child and adolescent psychiatrist at Cambridge Health Alliance, and an assistant professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School.

The Story Of My Perspective

Nine year’s ago, I celebrated my first Mother’s Day as a true mother.  I will never forget that day and the feelings that went with it. A day to recognize the hard work, loyalty and devotion of women everywhere who make the most difficult job in the world look easy.  I was honored to become a member of the tribe.

It’s also a day for me to remember the role my own mother played in my life and still plays, and seems like a perfect time to share with you where my personal perspective comes from. We all have a story that lines the path we walk through in life and mine began with my mother.

My mother was a beautiful young mom, naturally light blonde hair, slim, and beamed an easy, radiant smile that lit up the room.  Her laugh was infectious and warm and our goal was to hear it as often as possible as small children.  But for my mother, life did not breed an infinite number of moments where laughter was easily found.  Her brain was not designed to hold them the way it was for others.

When I was 9 months old, my mother had her first mental breakdown or “episode” as my father would refer to them.  Shortly after hearing her first set of voices telling her that my brother and I would be poisoned if we ate food, she was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia.  Many episodes and therapy sessions later, her diagnosis changed to Manic Depression, where she would trial through various pharmaceutical treatments trying to find the one that made her feel whole again.  My brother and I spent many afternoons running around playing hide and go seek outside of the psychiatrists’ offices while my mother would sit inside trying to “fix” herself.  She desperately wanted to be “normal.” But to us, she was “normal.” She was the only “normal” we had.

I have many memories of my mother’s dark days where she would lie in her room alone crying.  I recall the few attempts and numerous expressed desires to end her own life.  The times I sat trying to plead with her to not leave us and that we needed her were the hardest days.  She nicknamed me her “little psychiatrist” as I would spend countless hours listening to her hardships and heavy feelings of depression, trying to sort them out for her and make it better.  Early training for a girl who just wanted to fix the world.

On the days she was stable and content; my mother was my closest friend.  I spent many days away from school faking illness so I could be home with her and keep her close.  Although she was fractured in more places than she could mend, she was my mother and she did her best to love me in the ways she knew how.

My parents separated when I was 12 years old and my mother chose to leave.  She could not offer her pre adolescent children the stability and care we needed.  I wonder what it was like for her to walk away from us, her children.  I wonder if she felt fear, or regret or confidence that this was the best decision for everyone.

My mother greatly struggled on her own, mostly because she chose to stop taking her medication.  She moved into an apartment in town with a man who rivaled her in emotional dysfunction.  She visited us as often as she could, but her behaviors became stranger and stranger.  A year after living with her boyfriend, he died unexpectedly.  The rumor was that he took his life.  My mother was later arrested for playing her music too loud in mourning after his death.  She was involuntarily placed in a mental institution to help her recover.  Once she was stable, she moved to Maine to be with her parents, my beloved grandparents.  She called me shortly after Christmas that year to tell me how sad she was.  It was the record I’d heard all my life.  Five days before my 15th birthday, my mother put an end to her chaotic life by her own hand.

Throughout my high school experience and adolescence, I struggled to keep my mask on so no one would know how hard it was to walk in my shoes.  I was a sneaker loving chick balancing in 8 inch stilettos.  One day feeling regret and sorrow, the next day feeling relief that I could move on, and the next trying to feel nothing at all.  But, I knew I had a choice…to let my own pain and experiences take me down or to take that pain and experience and use it for good. There were moments where going down would have been easy.  To sit in a puddle of myself and wallow in what could have been.  But I was impatient with those moments of discomfort, they would not get me where I wanted to go. Instead, I found myself drawn to anyone who had personal difficulties and wanted to help them in any way I knew how.  To be the support for others felt natural and was a great relief in my healing process.  I knew my path would lead to me a place where I could use my passion to heal and to help.  I was thrilled to learn that reading people was a skill because it was truly the only one I had.

Living with my mother was the first experience I had with real, raw pain.  It became the building block of overcoming the many more experiences of adversity I’d encounter in my life. This, in turn, made it one of the most beneficial gifts I’ve been given.  Without watching the pain of my mother, I’d never understand mental anguish in its greatest form.  Without feeling the loss of her presence, I’d never understand grief and the depth of mourning for what was lost and what could have been. Without growing in the love of the shadow of my mother, I would not know how to touch the part of my heart that adores the children who I call my own.  All of these experiences have made me who I am and give me the skills and strength to help others in the capacity I do.  For this, I could not be more grateful.

I have made many mistakes in my life and anticipate that I will make many more.  Each of them has taught me a lesson about myself and my place in the world.  And each of them has come with the sweet reward of knowledge that I would have never learned in a classroom or reading a book.  I am an imperfect mother, but I am a mother who is here and who loves her children and is doing the best she can.  So, I will take my much deserved hand written Mother’s Day cards and picked flowers from the yard and savor every bit of them, keeping them stored away in a safe place to revisit when the old pains resurface reminding me of my roots.  They are what keep my perspective what it is. Full of hope, life and re-framing the challenges to what is good and true in the world.  And I have never felt more thankful than when I have the opportunity to pass it on to you.