Archive for the ‘parenting’ category

More on Minding

September 17, 2009

At a certain turn in the blogging cycle or maybe it’s the Manic-D cycle, you get to the point where you are willing to be way too honest.  (Perhaps it’s the urge for more views.)  This is not the kind of honesty that writes about obsessions with Robert Pattinson.

It is a particularly dangerous turning point if you have already started telling family and friends your blog address.

This type of brink is a reason why many writers really would rather write fiction and poetry than a daily blog.  Fiction and poetry are both more intimate and more removed;  they are “fiction”, “poetry”;  they are classified as “art” (or at least an attempt at art), rather than “reportage”, something made rather than experienced.

I was brought to this brink by thinking about the New York Times article by Alfie Kohn  (“Mind: When I Love You Means Do What I Say”) discussed in yesterday’s post;  the article talks about the inner compulsiveness that sometimes arises from positive and negative conditioning in children; i.e. blankets of praise and/or punishment.  The neediness seems, according to the studies,  to be particularly strong in the case of so-called positive conditioning, that is, praise (praise applied with an overly thick brush).

Achievers are apparently produced by this praise, but they are compulsive achievers.

Symptoms of this type of internal compulsion seem to me to include the craving many achievers have throughout their lives for continuing pats on the head, even artificial pats.  This craving can in turn lead to a kind of self-deception that feels somehow like success, but is known not to be , or at least probably not to be.  (A good example is the willingness to believe, or to try to believe, in weight loss after an adjustment down of the bathroom scale.)   Ironically, this same willingness to accept what is known to be a dubious milestone is often combined with an absolute skepticism over any genuine achievement, particularly if the acknowledgement of such achievement comes from a loved one.    It’s as if, to the achiever, the opinion of someone loving and beloved has little worth;  only the opinions of one’s enemies, detractors, or ignorers have any validity.

Strange, huh?

Then, in the midst of trying to figure out how to write about this, my mind turned instead to John Keats, about whom there is a new film by Jane Campion.  I decided that as trivial as sonnets may seem in the modern world, I would really rather write about them, and write them, than about neediness.   Although Keats admittedly does seem a bit on the needy side, he was not a blogger.

So, stepping back from any brink, but oddly satisfied to have sketched out a glimpse of it,  I’m starting a new series on the making of a sonnet.   As a separate post.

“Mind” – Parental Love – When “I Love You” Means Doing as Haim Ginott Said

September 16, 2009

The New York Times published an article on September 14 about unconditional love by Alfie Kohn “When a Parent’s ‘I Love You’ Means ‘Do As I Say.’  The article is about the difficulties in sorting through conflicting parenting advice  –  the older advice from Carl Rogers (and also Fred) promoting unconditional love, and the newer advice from people such as talk show host Dr. Phil, and Supernanny, promoting a more manipulative parental approach, one that directly involves the granting of praise and acceptance for good behavior and the withholding of affection for bad.

The article comments on a series of studies done in 2004, and also more recently, by Drs. Avi Assor, Guy Roth, Edward L. Deci, that imply that more manipulative parental love, particularly one that incorporates positive conditioning of praise and approbation, can be effective at promoting academic achievement and achievement of parental goals, but can also carry a price of inner compulsion, lack of long-term satisfaction.  (The conditional love that focused on punishment and withholding of affection seemed mainly to create resentment of parents.)

I have to say that I definitely fall into the unconditional love camp.   (I prefer Mr. Rogers to Dr. Phil.)   First, I can’t really imagine withholding love from my children (even when angry).

However, I also understand that parenting that is overly heavy on the praise can be very burdensome, creating a lifelong need for specific approval and acknowledgement.   In addition to the problems noted by the studies, I believe that this kind of “positive” conditioning (and the resulting need and compulsion) while perhaps helpful in promoting academic performance, can become very problematic outside the academic world where good grades are not awarded for one’s conduct, and where the hurdles for achievement are not clearly delineated.  (In the non-academic world, the hurdles on the road to achievement can often not even be located, much less jumped.)

But if both negative and positive conditioning are problematic, what are parents supposed to do?

As a young child, I used to frequently see Dr. Haim Ginott on the Today Show.  (He was a child psychologist who seemed to be a regular guest.)

Now there was a guy who knew about parenting.  I don’t think he had children of his own, so he may not have had the parents’ perspective down pat, but he definitely understood the child’s perspective.   (He happened to be a very short man, who spoke English as a second language.  Somehow all of this made me feel, back then, that he knew just where we stood.)

He also looked to me like a child’s drawing of a psychiatrist, with glasses set low on a slightly intrusive nose; a small goatee bisecting his chin.   But instead of carting around the pomposity of expertise (or a couch), he sported a palpable sense of humor and compassion and an odd childlike simplicity.

He definitely fit into the unconditional love school.  As part of this, he was very specific about not praising; and not blaming.

It is not correct to say that Ginott let everything slide or that he would not condemn;  he believed parents should be quick to make their feelings about bad behavior known and to let that behavior have consequences,  the natural ones, including, for example,  the parents’ irritation; but he (like Christ) condemned the sin, not the sinner.  The method of expressing disapproval was extremely important; it was to be an expression of facts and feelings.

For example, if a child’s room were a mess, the parent was not supposed to say “you are a pig!”  but something like, “it makes me so upset to see a room like this—I think of all the living creatures it could harbor, germs, mice, even pigs!”   Or “someone with a room like this doesn’t have time to go out and play yet.”  Or simply “rooms like this must be cleaned IMMEDIATELY.”

As a child, I would marvel at his approach.   How could he fool any kid, I’d wonder.  Wouldn’t they know he just thought they were piggy?  Or that his folks were keeping him inside?

But I’d also feel, well, that the dirty room better get cleaned up soon.

His approach to praise seemed very severe to me back then, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve recognized its genius.  Telling a child he’s done a great drawing, a masterpiece, can be absolutely paralyzing, he said.  The danger of a fall from grace (a failure to produce another masterpiece) is so immediate the child may not even feel able to continue.

As a result, instead of praise, Ginott advocated actually looking at the child’s work, commenting on specific details, such as “that color blue makes me think of a summer sky.”  Or “I can see that you spent a lot of time working on that airplane.  Look at all the little rockets.”  Or “when I see a drawing of apples like that, it makes me hungry.”  (I’m sorry if I am misrepresenting Ginott’s theories by the way;  I am relying on childhood memories and also books I read years ago as a young parent – his Between Parent and Child, and the books by Elaine Mazlish and Adelle Farber, two of his followers.)

The same theory applied to honoring good conduct:  “when children sit so quietly, the room feels like a beautiful oasis.”   He would not say, for example, “what a good boy,” “what a nice girl.”  (Again, I am making up these examples!)

While Ginott’s techniques allowed for positive and negative reinforcement of types of behavior, the child him or herself was separate from the behavior, deemed capable of exerting some control over it, allowed and expected to exert some control over the behavior, but not defined by it.  As a result, the child and the love of the parent were not caught in the vagaries of behavior and consequences, but could maintain that constancy and unconditionality which seemingly (or at least according to these studies) helps lead to a lasting sense of self-worth.

Mother’s Tea

September 15, 2009

Distance from the manic environs of New York City leaves me so enervated I’m not sure that I can be “daily” any more.

Still the New Yorker in me persists.  (After all, I only left Saturday morning—the New Yorker in me has got to be stronger than half a week!)

Still, it’s amazing to me how quick routine/structure/discipline gives way.  (Though I’m not sure I can really call blogging a discipline!)

What fades I guess are the constructs you have built up as parts of yourself.  I don’t think it is Florida that rubs them away so much as entry into the parental home.

Your parents genuinely don’t notice these constructs.  (My parents, for example, persist on offering me chicken salad, even though I’ve been vegetarian for thirty-five years.  I mention that to them, they say, yes, but that it’s really low-calorie.)

When I used to come home from college, the first thing I would do would be to go to our kitchen counter, pour out a bowl of cereal and stand there eating it.  It seems to me that it was usually Special K, possibly Grapenuts. (Although we did have cereal at college back then, it was always cornflakes, stale, and served in large glass jars.)

Eating the Special K, or possibly Grapenuts, was a way of transitioning back to childhood.  I’d usually have at least a bowl and a half.

I don’t do that now.  But then, the main cereal my parents have here are laden with fiber and artificial sugar.

Also, when I come to my parents’ house now, it is important that I remain an adult.  There are things to be done, helped with, organized.  (No counter bowls of cereal for you!)

They are certainly still as caring, still as parental.  As I type this blog, my mom ghosts out in nightdress, to ask me whether I wouldn’t like some decaf tea.

I don’t particularly want any decaf tea.  ( I actually kind of dislike decaf tea;  it usually tastes just one remove from dishwater to me.)  So, I say, well, thanks, but you don’t need to bother, but she says she already has the bag—she is of the generation that reuses tea bags.   I say well, fine then.

She gently brings over the cup of tea in a nice cup, nice saucer, holding a small carton of milk from their Meals on Wheels delivery earlier in the day.  She does not use milk, but she remembers that  I usually do.

“Would you like milk?”

“Sure.”

She pours it in.

And then, feeling truly sad that I am leaving, I think, she says I can just put it down on the freshly varnished coffee table next to me.

Whoa, I think to myself, knowing how she feels about freshly varnished tables.  So, despite what she says,  I  look for something I could put the saucer on, something to serve as coaster.  Unfortunately all the books on the coffee table seem to be photo albums.

“Oh here’s something,” she says suddenly, picking up a placemat from another table.  “They did just redo that table,” she goes on, as she puts the placemat down on my coffee table, “so I guess it’s just as well to take care of it.”

She steps gently back to the kitchen where I hear her moving about.  Then, after a moment, there is a sudden beep, which I realize is the microwave announcing the water she has heated for her own cup, the cup she is making after mine, the cup which in fact will be the second use of the tea bag.

I take a quick sip of the tea which for decaf really tastes quite good, the microwaved water almost scaldingly hot.   I do not use a microwave at all, and certainly not for heating water;   still, that hot hot tea tastes really very good just now.

But I remember how, as a child, anything from my mother’s hands tasted good.

Parents Being Parents

September 13, 2009

A parent is always a parent.

I am visiting mine at the moment.

I tell my Dad late in the afternoon that I’m going for a walk on the beach.  ( It is approximately two blocks away from my parents’ house.)   His eyes widen in alarm.

“I’m just going for a little bit,” I say.

He looks panicked.

“I need some air,” I protest.  “Some exercise.”

“Wouldn’t you rather stay here?” he pleads.

“It’s perfectly light out.  No one’s going to attack me.”

He shudders at the voicing of his fears.

This is a quiet prosperous beach town.  On a barrier island.  There are only two bridges.  A difficult place for violent crime.

“How about if you take Mama with you?”

She’s in her late eighties, and never leaves his side.   He really is not well enough to be left for very long.

“You think she’d be able to protect me?” I ask.

He scowls.  “But at least there’d be two of you.”

“It’s not like she’s going into the ocean,” my mom adds in support of my expedition.

He scowls more.

I don’t say anything further, since I sometimes do (heaven forbid) go in the ocean.   (Though nearsightedness and a kind of fear that has eventually rubbed off on me keeps me from going out far.)

Finally, with the promise that I will walk on the beach but only as far as a nearby restaurant he likes to get a special dish he likes, I go.

I move with some speed.  Still, by the time I get back to their block, I see my mom out on the front lawn looking for me; my father, with his walker, his face pained, in the doorway.

Agh.

“I made it,” I say softly.

Single Parenting – A Bit Of A Lump

August 20, 2009

What do you do when you turn around and realize that your truly wonderful, generous,  sweet child has become a bit of a, you know, lump?

I’m not talking about weight gain.

I’m talking about sitting there.  Or lying there.  Curled around a laptop computer.  Or cell phone.  Surrounded by dirty dishes.  A half-full cup of juice or tea balancing.   A peach pit to the side.

Wait a second.  Make that a laptop computer only.  Because at about 1 a.m. the child realizes he or she has lost their cell phone.

They don’t know how it could have happened.

It being 1 a.m. you don’t feel like starting a lengthy discourse on the demerits of a bag (used as purse or messenger bag) that doesn’t close and from which you, as parent, have repeatedly witnessed things fall.

But seriously, how did it happen?

I’m not talking about the loss of the cell phone.

It’s possible that some single parents are stern taskmasters.  They know they can’t do everything and make that clear to their children at an early age.  They inculcate chores.

But some single parents (ahem) find it easier to just do the chores themselves.  They hate to cajole, nag, fight.  Such single parents value the household harmony achieved from separation from a mate; they can’t bear to disturb that peace with harsh words about undone dishes, unclean rooms, untaken-out garbage.  “You’ve got to choose your battles,” such parents insist.

And then these parents are surprised by the sudden realization that there is a bit of a lump sitting on the couch.  Texting or IMing into the night.  Surrounded by food-smudged dishware.  Who’s just misplaced something.

Boot camp is difficult to carry out.  A maiden aunt may be useful in this area.  Or a martial arts instructor.

Or maybe you yourself can muster the requisite sternness.  Consistency can be hard to maintain for a single parent who has, historically, hated confrontation, but it’s worth a try.

Because here’s the point: one some level, the missing cell phone is actually the byproduct of the sofa’s dirty dishes.  An extension of parentally-enabled inattention.

But how to impress that fact on a child, a truly wonderful child, who’s somehow gotten, well, just a little bit lumpy?

You may have to get really quite mad.

(At a certain point, this can generally be arranged.)

FINAL NOTE – Many single parents (i.e. people like me)  have repeatedly through their lives lost cell phones, keys, wallets, keys, glasses, credit cards, keys, clothing, dog leashes, keys, important documents, credit cards, glasses, keys, etc., even when they pride themselves on their dish-doing, and would hate for people to characterize them as in any way lumpy.    So all tongue in cheek, please.

Check out 1 Mississippi at link above.

Parenting – Second Tweenage – Kidults

August 13, 2009

A few years ago, a new age category came into common parlance – “tweens” – kids phasing from childhood to teenagerdom.   I think the category was partly invented as a marketing tool, like a Hallmark card holiday (see e.g. Office Assistant’s Day.)   Tweens seemed to need special merchandise, their own stores, their own books, their own clothes sizes.

I never was conscious of my own children being tweens.  But lately, I’ve been thinking about another transitional age period, which,  for now, I  call “kidulthood.”

Kidulthood extends from age seventeen or eighteen until some time in the mid-twenties.  (Not, let’s hope, beyond that.)

Your children will always be your children.  Even now, my 84 year old mother worries frequently that I get overly tired, and should get that checked out.

Kidults are people whose parents worry that they need a lot of things checked out:  like their teeth or their tickbites, their summer job prospects, or the status of their college applications.

My mother and I differ from kidults and their parents in that the question of who will actually get all these things checked, and who will do the nagging about the checking, has been settled a long time ago.

Kidults and their parents have not quite resolved these issues.  (Well, the nagging part is pretty much settled—that falls on the parent.)

Probably the first experience parents have of kidulthood is the college application process.  Some (possibly mythical) kids take care of the whole college application process completely on their own.   Some (certainly mythical) kids even do all their own financial aid applications.

But some kids need, well, encouragement.

The issues between kidults and their folks usually become somewhat easier once college has been entered, but they can linger.  In fact, once a kid has been more autonomous (or at least been away from home for long periods), and has independently arranged some doctor’s appointments (at least those required for the Pill), the parent can find themselves getting really frustrated.   Because at this point, the kidult oresents the parent’s intervention; while the parent resents the kidult’s passivity, certain that if they don’t do something parental (at least nag), then other doctor’s appointments (e.g. the ones for that strange mole or that tooth that’s gone awry) just won’t get made.

And what about health insurance?

And the lube job on the car?

And that jury notice?   And tax returns?

Even the most responsible kidult usually doesn’t find this kind of thing nearly important as most parents.

Yes, kids have to learn to act on their own.  And most seem to eventually.  But sometimes kidults, just like older adults, can use a little help.  Concrete help, i.e. not nagging.

The simple act of offering to keep a kidult company while important actions are taken can be very useful.  (Often the offer alone will trigger the kid do the thing themselves just so you don’t keep them company, but sometimes they do appreciate it moral support.)

Offering to help out with pertinent phone calls can also be a way of getting unattractive tasks done.  (Strangely, a lot of modern kidults seem a bit stymied by dealing with bureaucracy over the phone.  Until doctors make appointments by email, this can be a bit of a handicap.)

But it’s important, parent, to always doublecheck how much the kidult really needs your help, and how much of the perceived need is simply the result of you insisting your child do things your way.

You need to be aware too of how much you simply miss your kid in that new adult.

For me, the most effective guard against over-intervention has been my own aging processs, i.e. early senility.  (See e.g. previous posts re Robert Pattinson.)  I’m someone who could easily get caught in oversolicitous parenting.  Fortunately, for my kids, however, I have enough trouble keeping track of my own life these days.

If you have younger kids or even kidults (who like watercolors and elephants), check out my counting book 1 Mississippi at link above or on Amazon.

Blocking Writer’s Block – Part V – No Permission Needed

August 4, 2009

Rule No. 7  – You don’t need permission to do your work

Sometimes if you are a parent, a partner, or even just someone living with others in this world, your writing, painting, music-playing, yoga – whatever it is that you aspire to keep doing in your private life, whatever it is you do to feel fully you—gets overlooked because you’re convinced you don’t have the time.

Rather, you’re convinced that you don’t have the “right” time.

You wait for the opportune moment; those precious minutes in which there’s nothing else you think you need to do, nothing that you think others need you to do.

Then, even when there really isn’t anything, or not very much—dinner is done, kids and partner are, sort of, settled in–you wait a bit longer.  Partly because you’re tired, and partly because the moment still doesn’t feel right.  You don’t feel free enough to begin.  Something is still missing.

Often what you are truly waiting for is to be given permission, permission to turn to your private work, permission to take time to be solely yourself. Sometimes, especially if you are on the insecure side, you are even waiting to be urged, encouraged, exhorted.   You want someone to give you a cue, to tell you that the moment you have been waiting for has arrived, to get you going.

Don’t do this.   It will not get you to your work nor will it endear you to your loved ones.  (Or at least, it won’t endear them to you!)

Because even the most enlightened children are not going to turn to you and say, “hey mom, don’t bother to make those cupcakes, why don’t you just go write for a while?”

Your loving partner is unlikely to volunteer: “I’ll just turn off the t.v. dear, so you’ll have peace to work by.”

Unless you work in a zoo, your employer will not come out with “we’ve noticed you like drawing elephants.  Why don’t you just stay home and practice Fridays?”

Not even the dishes soaking in the sink will quietly give you the freedom to go and write that sonnet.

Don’t get mad at them.  (Especially not the dishes or the children.  The partner maybe.)

Because this is a battle you have to take on yourself.  If you want to do your work, you have to allow yourself to do it.  (More than allow, you have to make.)

This means accepting that no permission is necessary; that there is no “right” moment, just this moment.

If you succeed in seizing the moment, accept in advance that you are unlikely to win any kudos.  The children, husband, dishes, may listen to your sonnet; but they probably won’t congratulate you on it.  Not enough to make you feel completely justified anyway, to give you retroactive permission.

At least not at the beginning.

Hopefully, as everyone ages, they may be happy that you were able to be fully yourself.  They may recognize that you were giving them permission to be fully themselves too.  Even though no permission is necessary.

And even at the cost of those cupcakes.

Check out my counting book with beautiful paintings of elephants (no permission was necessary) on Amazon.  See link to 1 Mississippi.

last post re parenting – apologies for typo

August 4, 2009

Apologies for text that was mistakenly plopped in the middle of my last post re single parents putting on their shoes.  This (a plug for my counting book 1 Mississippi) was added at the last minute and  somehow landed in the wrong place.

These things happen.   It’s fixed now.  If you tried to read that post already, and were discouraged by weird text in the middle, please check out the post  again.    Sorry.

For Single Parents About to Explode – Put On Some Shoes

August 3, 2009

There’s a Buddhist teaching about the most skillful way to protect one’s feet from all the sharp stones that litter one’s path.

The question is whether you should wait to walk until the path, the whole earth, is covered with soft leather so that your feet will be protected from the sharp stones.   Should you yourself try to cover the earth with this soft leather?

The answer is no, silly.  (Although Buddhists don’t usually add that last part.)

Still, the answer is no.  You can’t coat the earth with soft leather, you should put the soft leather on your feet.  You should put on shoes if you want to mitigate all that sharpness.

I’m probably misphrasing this teaching.  (Sorry!)  But even my garbled version offers good advice, especially for single parents.

What are some of the main characteristics of single parents?

  1. The single parent is generally exhausted.
  2. On the good side, the single parent is usually less likely than the paired parent to be having daily arguments with another adult (except on the phone or through attorneys.)  On the bad side, the single parent is less likely  to have the daily succor (sorry) of another adult.
  3. Because of the lack of adult company, the single parent tends to want their kids to be their friends.  (As much as they try to resist this.)
  4. The single parent has to be the heavy.  Because of the child’s dependence, the single parent also has to be the softie.   Agh.

What does all this mean?

That, for single parents, it can be very hard to say no.  Even when we really really want to.

“No, we can’t go to the toy store right now, I’m exhausted.”  “No, you can’t stay out till 1: 30.  That’s too late and besides, I’ll be exhausted waiting up.”  “No, your boyfriend can’t stay over again.  The whole situation is still a bit strange to me and I’m already exhausted by it.”

Now keep in mind, I’m not advocating any particular limitations here (though I do believe in limitations.)  The important point are the words:  “even when we really really want to.”

Also, before going further, maybe I should broaden my audience.  This advice may not just be geared to single parents but to boomer and post boomer parents.  People who are constantly explaining things to their children; people who want to be understood by their children;  people who believe that if they only explain the reasoning behind their decisions (ad nauseum), the children (rational beings) will simply have to see agree.

But the children don’t always agree.  Often, no matter how much the parent explains, the children continue to want, to wheedle, to wish for.

So what?

But the guilty single or boomer or post-boomer parent can’t stand discontent in their children.  They want everyone to be in agreement.   So they frequently say yes, reluctantly, even though they really want to say no.  Even though they may believe no is the correct answer.

Sometimes, this is no big deal.  Sometimes it works out just fine.  Sometimes, yes may have been the right answer.

But when the parent really really wants to say no, saying yes is a bad idea.   Because, in that case, the parent’s patience grows thin.   That parent already feels compromised, put upon, and she/he is not in the mood for more.  So one wrong move on the part of the child, sometimes even a move that is not truly horrible–such as a polite request for a really cheap toy, an arrival at 1:43 due to the unavailability of taxis, or the child (not such a child) and boyfriend leaving shoes straddling the living room floor, can set that parent up for a major snap.

And once the single parent, the boomer or post-boomer parent, snaps, she or he feels bad.    (What happened to rationality?  How could I have said that?)

The problem is that you simply let yourself get pushed beyond your limit.  You were trying so hard to be your biggest, most p.c. self, that you snapped into your angry, most intolerant self.

In other words, you thought that your feet were tough enough to take sharp stones without any leather.

The overworked single parent can even begin to blame their explosion on the child.  Why did they ask you for something they must have known you were against?  They know how you hate to disappoint them?  Why didn’t they protect you?

In other words, why didn’t they coat the path with soft leather for you? 

But they’re the children.  They want.  You’re the parent.  You decide.

So put on some shoes.

And just say no.

(And if you have snapped, remember that life is long; and both children, and parents, forgiving.)

P.S. If you are a parent (or know a parent), check out 1 Mississippi, counting book on amazon for little children:  http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Karin+Gustafson&x=12&y=14

Also, my series on Blocking Writing Block will definitely be continued soon.   Thanks for comments.