Things A Photo Cannot Capture

I caught a glimpse of my baby girl as she stood by her favorite spot in our home – a wicker bench near a window which overlooks a ridge of trees. The sun was setting below the tree line on what had been a beautiful early spring day. There was something about the way the dusk light cast a gentle glow around my daughter’s profile that made my heart ache. I reached for my phone in hopes of taking a photo of the moment. After snapping a few shots, my eyes left my daughter to review the pictures.

Dang it, I thought, something is missing. So I adjusted the brightness on my camera settings and took a few more. Still not it, I thought and continued on. Finally, with slight disappointment, I realized the moment wasn’t going to be “captured.” The phone was put down.

My eyes once more looked for the ethereal glow of fresh baby skin only to see that she had scampered away from her spot on to the next attraction.

My heart sank. The moment – so fleeting and beautiful – had been once more interrupted by my desire to capture it with a photo.

How many times in my life has this happened? When would I learn?

I love taking photos. I love surrounding my home with images of the memories my heart holds dear. In laughing with friends, it’s frequently remarked that our photos are our best anti-depressants. When I’m feeling down or had a rough day, a scroll through pictures of my kids usually sets me aboard the happy train.

Our world of parenting is inundated with the availability and convenience of taking pictures. And although it may be met with cynicism at times, I know that we are taking and sharing photos out of love for our children.  We’re proud and in awe of these tiny humans who make us see the world anew every day, and it’s a good thing that we are able to document so much of this time.

But when I’m really honest with myself, my main reason for taking pictures is something a bit more melancholic. I take pictures because I cannot stand the heartbreaking reality that I can never have this moment again with my babies. Our children will always be our babies, but they will only ever be as they are now for the briefest of moments before growth and change carries them forward.

How incredible, bittersweet and at times painful is this?

No picture will ever truly “capture” everything that makes up the moments that matter. And let’s face it, amidst the good, the bad and the ugly, every moment matters. There are not enough Shutterfly products, Instagram filters and photography sessions in this world to change the fact that all we have is this present time.

When I look back at those photos I took of my daughter, I now know that even with a few pictures on my phone, I’ll never see the same light cast a glow on my baby’s cheeks. I’ll never hear the same sweet exhales from her button nose, never feel her soft wisps of hair just as she was on the evening.

On that evening I should have let the phone alone and had the courage to take it all in, realizing that this was it – this was all there was and all I would need as her mother.

If I can just have the courage to embrace this reality more often – the tenderness and the heartache – how much more authentic and powerful would this journey in motherhood be?

Perhaps I can show my daughter that pictures have a time and a place, but life is not meant to be captured, but experienced.

Perhaps I can help her realize long before I did that in both the ordinary and extraordinary moments of life, our best bet is to allow our senses, not a device, to take it all in.

Whether it be a morning walk or a walk down the aisle, a trip to Europe or a trip to the grocery store with her baby, she should take it all in with her senses and trust that it will be enough just to live in that moment.

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It’s so tempting to constantly snap pictures of our children. How do you find a balance between living in the moment and ensuring you have keepsakes for the future?

Embracing The Positivity of Boy Power

 After millennia of grossly preferring sons to daughters, our society seems increasingly ready to commit to the narrative of raising bold, confident and independent girls.  We are passionate about equality and the possibility of an entire sex having the opportunities which have so long been denied. Where can the future take us if we encourage and pride ourselves on having daughters? What injustices can we right as we overturn a culture that has left girls and women vulnerable and disenfranchised for so long?

Girl Power vs. Boy Power

The girl revolution is exhilarating. It’s positive. I am as strong an advocate as any individual can be.

But as human nature so often ensures, one collective action often triggers an unintended and unfortunate reaction. As much as it may make us uncomfortable to contemplate, I believe we may be setting our sons up for disappointment.

From TED talks to the New York Times, from parenting articles and conversations with our play groups­­– we’re left with the gray area of our boys. Whereas “girl power” often evokes feelings of empowerment and positivity, “boy power” is often reserved for describing negative and destructive forces.

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A Mother and Teacher’s Perspective on Supporting Our Schools

Join me in welcoming guest blogger, Molly Doss to Things I Teach My Children! As a public school teacher and mother of two kiddos, Molly offers her perspective on the debate surrounding public education in the United States.
 
As a mother and a teacher I am scared of where our country’s education system is heading.
 
In truth, I’m terrified.
 
I went to public schools, teach at public schools, and have all intentions, should things not go to hell in a DeVos handbasket, on sending my two children to public schools as well. However, with President Trump’s new policy being discussed, the changes to our system would mean public funding will be pulled from our public schools and given as a sort of “scholarship” for families to send their children to charter, magnet, and private schools, depleting our already neglected public schools further.
 
Regardless of your stance, you must realize that our public schools, whether you plan on backing the national school choice policy or not, are in danger. And let’s be brutally honest—in the wake of standardized tests and curriculum that does not take into account shifts in our society or the evolving job market that will be available to our children after they graduate, the last thing our educational system needs is another detrimental hit.
 
So, having insight on both sides—as a mother and a teacher—here is what I suggest we do to help our public school teachers.
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Everything Starts at Home
First- everything starts at home. Parents need to be involved. Not only with academics, but also in communicating with the teachers and having a firm handle on discipline and behavior of their children at home. I believe some parents see teachers as miracle workers or babysitters, and often a teacher is left to correct and redirect behavioral issues that not only interfere with the specific student’s education but that of the class as well. Before a child begins school, he or she should already have a foundation for behavior expectations that has been set by parents. This foundation should then be built on as the child ages, with the help of parents and teachers alike. There also needs to be a steady stream of communication between a parent and the teacher, especially when that student is struggling academically, emotionally, behaviorally, or otherwise.
 
The Blood, Sweat and Tears of Teaching
Second- teach your children how much energy and emotion their teachers put into their jobs. I have had my son come home from preschool and complain about how mean his teacher is. As a momma bear, I immediately go to blame her. As a teacher, though, I think about how much time this teacher has put into lesson planning; assessing my child’s and twenty other children’s work; cleaning up after crafts, activities, or worse, accidents; juggling twenty wildly different personalities while differentiating her methods to ensure she reaches each child; struggling to find three minutes to use the bathroom for herself; contacting the director and parents for any number of reasons; writing incident reports; observing and making notations of each child’s growth and progress in hitting milestones while planning parent meetings to discuss progress; preparing special gifts for the parents on the children’s behalf; sticking to a structured schedule despite any and every wrench thrown into her plans; and, most importantly, I think about how at the end of her day, she goes home and worries about her students.
 
She thinks about things she could have done better, things she can’t fix and with a broken heart accepts that, she stays up figuring out how she can make her day better, her students happier, herself more efficient, while also trying to maintain a healthy family dynamic of her own.
 
Students and children should be made aware of how much blood, sweat, and tears truly goes into teaching. I have felt, on numerous occasions that teaching is a thankless job. Teachers do not teach simply because it is a means of income. We do it because it is in our hearts. Everything we have goes into this profession because we are highly aware that we are responsible for helping shape the children who are our future. That is not a job that is taken lightly, nor is it a job that is checked at the door when the teacher leaves the school building. We carry that with us, everywhere we go, at all hours of the day.
 
Teachers Are Human Too 
Third- everyone must remember that teachers are human, too. We have bad days. We have cracks that show like everybody else. There is a lot of pressure for a teacher to be continuously and enthusiastically happy, bubbly, punctual, understanding, tolerant, structured, and accommodating. Do not get me wrong—teachers should be these things, and then some. But it’s also important to realize that your History teacher may have just stopped crying on his lunch break because his father is in the hospital or that by 8th period your English teacher might be snappy because she has been battling migraines or didn’t sleep because her baby was sick all night. Sometimes I feel there is no exceptions for teachers to be less than perfect. But we are not, try as we might to appear so.
 
Get Involved!
And lastly – support our public schools. Get involved. Volunteer at your local high school, buy goodies from the neighborhood kid who is doing a fundraiser, save your box tops and give them to a friend who has a child in public schools to bring in. Do you have any spare school supplies, clothing, canned foods, or even extra money? Public schools need these things. We need support from our communities. We need eager students to fill our chairs—students that yearn to learn so they can change our future. I have taught students in the public school system that I know will change this world. Help them. Help the teachers. Help our schools.
 
Molly Education Pic 1
 
The last thing our educational system needs is for money to be taken away to support
political agendas. Regardless of where things are headed, though, we will still have public schools, teachers who put their all into them, and students who are excited to be there. Our educational system is an integral part of our society and we need, for the good of our country and our future, to help support that and the teachers that help make it what it is.
 
Molly ProfileMolly sheds a humorous light on the joys that melt your heart, the dirty mishaps, and the many tears and laughs that motherhood brings on her blog, Tales from the Crib. You can also follow her on Facebook.

How I Wasted My Education When I Became A Mother

I was that young woman who graduated college and had my first baby a year later.

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This meant I spent four years working my way through university, keeping down jobs, interning for no pay, and pushing every limit I had to graduate summa cum laude…

Only to become a stay-at-home mom.

Among all the marks against an educated woman, the choice to seemingly do nothing with one’s education ranks pretty high. In those early years of motherhood, I’d frequently be asked if getting a college degree was worth it, since I was “just” staying at home with kids. Did I really need to attend a university to be a stay-at-home mom?

These inquiries were framed as harmless curiosity. But I knew better. And like so many other women, it was all too easy to feel diminished and insecure. However much I wanted to defend my choice, when I was honest with myself, I didn’t know how to answer.

Being a stay-at-home mom wasn’t the intention of my education. And although I never believed it, motherhood was often presented as a hindrance, even a barrier to advancement in many of my courses. Could all the resources, time and money that went into a college education really be justified when my days consisted of diaper changes and the alphabet song? Or was it actually a waste?

As time passed, however, and more of my friends became mothers, it became obvious that this scrutiny wasn’t exclusive to women who stayed at home with their kids. This same test of worthiness and adequacy was being pitted against every woman who had a child. I’d listen to the frustrations and tears of working moms and stay-at-home moms and hear the same insecurities.

You see, when it comes to women and education, our society loves to put us under a microscope and carry out an inquisition.

Will this woman, by virtue of her ability to be a mother, be productive, profitable, ground-breaking, reliable and ambitious enough to merit her education? Will she put it to good enough use?

Or will it go to waste? Will she just pop out babies?

Our society worries a woman will sacrifice too much for the sake of her children. She may prioritize care-taking over time dedicated to her profession. Her thoughts may be too wrapped up in a teething baby to make the same contributions as man.

And regardless of a women’s childcare choice or commitment to her profession, she spends an insane amount of energy fighting against these insinuations of inadequacy.

As these sweeping pressures became obvious, I realized I was in fact wasting my education.

I was wasting my education by allowing this destructive nonsense to have any hold on me whatsoever. Because it’s this constant testing against women that is the waste. Not our choice to be mothers.

So here’s how women everywhere can ensure that we are putting to good use the education we receive.

We need to redefine exactly what society sees as “waste”. Because caring for children, or any human for that matter, is certainly not waste.

We need to confront false ideas that women only be mothers and pressures that women cannot be mothers if they seek real success. Advocating equality in the office, lab and legislature is half the battle. The other half is elevating the value of care-taking to the same level as salaried pursuits. Young children need educated caretakers, and unless we value that care, we’ll go on committing the same injustices that have been perpetuated upon humans for millennia.

And ultimately, we need to acknowledge that raising children is a task worthy of a woman’s – or man’s education. Not only will our education enhance our ability to nurture and teach children, our experiences as parents furthers our knowledge of the world.

A short while ago, I was contacted by alumni relations of my alma mater. They wanted to know what I was doing five years after graduating.  When I was a new mom, I would have shrank from that question. But in light of my education, I stated without hesitation that I was a stay-at-home mom.

So what are your thoughts? How do you put your education to use as a parent?

Go Ahead and Rebel Against “Success”

Our culture loves a success story. It’s this love of achievement that pushes us to perform well, collect accomplishments, and have results that indicate our efforts have been worthwhile. This pressure to excel doesn’t wait until we’ve reached mature adulthood, but rather begins when we’re kids.  

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Although we’re now grown, it’s not too hard to remember being immersed in our youthful scuffle to achieve acceptance in our academic, social and extra-curricular pursuits. Now that we have little humans of our own to nurture, it can be daunting to discern how best to encourage their success. There seems to be an almost constant call to raise talented, over-achieving success stories. And children at the earliest age can be so critical of their own abilities, quickly feeling frustrated if they’re not preforming as well as they think they should.

But as the framework around parenting continues to center around helping our kids “get ahead” in life, we need to take a step back and consider what exactly is being perpetuated here?

When we hear that children of this age feel more stress than the children of the Great Depression (the Great Depression, my friends), and that more minors are now taking their lives than previous generations, it becomes clear that we desperately need to change some things. We need to let them know that the pressures they feel do not define them.

I am fully prepared to rebel against our culture’s obsession with success and am doing so for the sake of my children’s well-being.

One of the ways I’m battling this is by…playing piano. Let me clarify, by playing the piano badly.

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I have attempted to “play” the piano for over half my life and continue to be terrible at it. You’ve never played piano? It’s still possible you’re better at it than me. I took up piano as a young girl around the same time I fell in love with classical music.  Within a year or two it became obvious that there was no greatness in store for me. Even mediocrity would be a dream unrealized. The years have passed, the playing has continued, but the result remains absolutely dreadful. I was and remain just plain bad at it. There is nothing tangible to “show” for all the time.

Except that I still really love to sit down and play.

The thing is, I believe I’ve loved playing all these years partly because of how poorly I perform at this. As the limits of my musical ability settled in, playing became a glorious relief and a reminder that there was more to life than striving for success.

Playing this instrument would not be a part of any success story, but rather, a love story for simply living. There was nothing that could be derived from this time at the bench and fake-ivory keys, except the joy of living in the moment. There’d be no one to impress. There’d be nothing else to gain. It would heighten an appreciation for those who did possess talent, but would never include my membership in their rank.

As a mother, playing piano has continued to be a tremendous reminder that life is more than being good at things. It is meant for experiencing and relishing the moment at hand. It’s amazing how necessary that reminder is on a day-to-day basis.

My children are growing up hearing some mighty poor performances. Right now they happily kaplunk alongside me, with only a minimal differentiation between adult and child. One day they’ll realize that their mommy ain’t that great.

But hopefully they’ll also learn that sometimes it’s okay to be bad at things. It’s okay to seek out time and activities without thought of productivity or achievement. Amidst the pressures to succeed, we are all entitled to love things intensely and not lose heart if greatness isn’t a part of the story.

And if my children can learn these things, it will help them live more authentically, humbly and joyfully.

Children should be encouraged from time to time to rebel against this notion that they must be a success. Not everything is about achieving excellence or exceptionalism. Life is meant to be experienced not achieved, and often times, the way to true “success” is to love something without fear of failure.

So what’s something you love to do that you’re no good at? Are your children getting in on the fun of this as well?

Mommy Has a Squishy Tummy

A few weeks ago while I was reading with my kids, my five-year-old son scooted close to me and told me I had a very squishy tummy.

I stopped reading.

Okay, I frantically thought, I’m a modern woman. Obviously my tummy is squishy and I should be okay with this. There’s a life-lesson for my son I need to be teaching here. One that conveys healthy body image. Or something. I know I should say something.

But the life-lessons weren’t coming to me. All the articles and talks with friends. All those words of wisdom and desire to raise boys who didn’t objectify women. They went out the window. I felt I needed to say something to him, but all the possible words felt insincere.

What I did feel was my stomach tighten, as if a deep inhale could reduce the squish. And then I kept reading.

Following this squishy tummy episode, I realized it had been a while since I had taken stock of, and perhaps confronted, some realities about my own body image.

I’m at a point in life where pondering my physical appearance ranks about #457 on the list of things to think about. For instance, “can I wear this pair of jeans a fifth day in a row?” and “there’s no milk or bread in the house, can I still go one more day without a grocery run?” rank higher than pondering physical appearance on my list. Most days pass without more than a glance in the mirror.

But this moment with my son confirmed the presence of long-lasting  insecurities. I had tucked away these insecurities when I became a mother. Filed them away somewhere to be sorted out at a later date. It wasn’t that I had been liberated from these negative thoughts, I just put them on hold. And when I unintentionally stumble upon #457, the outcome is rarely positive. It’s one that still evokes feelings of inadequacy, criticism and self-depreciation.   

Perhaps you can relate.

So how am I to teach my children about healthy body image when I still struggle?

The answer was sitting right beside me. I wasn’t going to teach my children. My children were going to teach me.

My son had tried to teach me something that day while we were reading. And I missed it. The negative connotation I have with “squish” had resonated so strongly with me that the manner in which it was uttered by my boy was utterly lost.

So let me retell this story, completely this time. Let me put aside any insecurities and knee-jerk reactions. Let me share this as my son intended it.

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A few weeks ago, I was reading with my kids. My three kids, five-years and younger. The children I have born and given so much of my body and soul to care for. As a page turned of a much-loved story, my oldest son nestled close to me, and with a contented sigh, as if almost unconsciously done, said I had a very squishy tummy.

That moment was not a criticism or tease. That moment for him meant comfort and security. It meant contentment and rest. It meant mother and home. As he felt his little body enveloped by the body that had loved him into existence, he felt happy. He liked the way he could so comfortably nestle into his mommy and he spoke that feeling into existence.

Children do not need lessons from adults on healthy body image. There was nothing he needed to learn from me.  Adults need to learn from their children.

Ask children about our bodies and what will we learn?

Children will tell us that bodies are for play, and love and exploration.

They will tell us skin is sticky and soft, occasionally boo-booed and in need of a kiss.

Fingers and toes are for feeling cool mud and warm sand.

Legs are to carry us to where we wish to go.

Arms are for reaching, even if what we desire seems beyond our grasp.

Faces are to be used in reckless expression.

And tummies are for food and belly laughs. They are often best squishy, especially when belonging to their mommies.

Having kids can teach us so much about our bodies. What have you learned about your body after having children?

The Art of Raising Thoughtful Conversationalists

First, let me clarify what this post is not about. It’s not a hankering that we raise our children to speak as characters in a Jane Austen novel.

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Though that’d be awesome

It’s about something more fundamental: raising humans who can talk and listen to one another in meaningful ways.

We have all experienced unbalanced conversations. Perhaps we did too much of the talking. Perhaps we had a genuine desire to share our thoughts, but were not given the space and time by others. When unbalanced conversations become a habit, opportunities to connect are lost.

Among the hierarchy of life skills, the ability to carry on a balanced, thoughtful conversation ranks high. It gives us the ability to connect, forge relationships, delve deeper into those relationships, learn, grow and be inspired.

Conversations do not have to be long. They do not require talkative people. But they do require people who genuinely wish to exchange thoughts and ideas with another.

Our children so clearly wish to be conversationalists. From infancy they babble to us and we inherently invite them to continue with our overjoyed responses. Kids possess the same desire as adults to be included, and to be heard. So much of what they learn is via discussions they forge with the adults who love them.

Children are taking every word in, and replicating many of our habits. It’s in everyone’s best interest to model thoughtful ways of communication. Though we often reflect on the topics that can make up good conversation (past experiences, politics, reality TV), the raw ingredients necessary for meaningful conversations are rarely emphasized. And it’s the ability to appreciate those ingredients that embody the art of thoughtful conversations. So what can we emphasize?


The Invitation

We are not reporters, and we aren’t conducting an interrogation. But the point of conversing with someone is to share thoughts, and in order to share thoughts…we’ve got to invite another person to share! Often times the most genuine way to carry on a conversation is to ask thoughtful questions of another – of their life, ideas, experiences – and mean it when we initiate the question.

It’s very easy, but it’s amazing how rarely that simple act is given to another. When we’re with someone who genuinely wishes to hear our views/perspectives, it is a deeply moving and gratifying experience. We feel included. It opens the door to trust, and confidence.

Listen…and Listen Some More

The greatest gift we have in our trove is to genuinely listen to a person when she or he is talking. Often our minds quickly rush to what we could say next or how the topic at hand relates to our own life. But that’s not what we should be doing. We should be immersed in listening.

Perhaps we have a million things we need to say. We need to listen anyways. Perhaps we don’t agree with what the person is saying. We need to listen anyway. Perhaps we feel our concerns are SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT than what another is speaking of, but we should listen anyways. Honestly, it’s amazing how a crisis or misunderstanding can be so quickly remedied when we give the gift of listening.

Respecting Our Differences

We’re all different. How wonderful and confusing is that?! Some love to talk, others do not. Some love to project, others to soak in. Some have no problem telling the world how they feel, and others need reassurance before they open up (hello, that’s me!). We still seek interconnectedness, despite our vast differences.

As we get to know another, and understand one another through conversation, we can speak with sincerity while also respecting these differences in needs. A little give and take is often a good thing.

It’s impossible to make everyone 100% satisfied, but respecting the person by our side can play a huge role in our ability to communicate to those who are different than us. Even if we miss the mark, our striving for it will often be appreciated. Ultimately, it’s this respect that separates meaningful discussion from superficial exchange.


Raising Thoughtful Conversationalists

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“Tell me your thoughts on Heidegger, brother.”

So how does all this translate when it comes to our kids? I think it’s actually pretty simple.

Actually Converse With Them – Notice how easy it is to half heartily listen to what our kids say? I often use my fatigue as an excuse to “tune the kids out”, but am amazed at how my attentive listening and willingness to converse soothes the source of my exhaustion.  When a child feels respected and valued, it’s a joy to see them relish in a “talk” with their parent. We both walk away having learned something.

Provide Opportunity for Varied Discussion – Building a community of people who respect our children and wish to include them is invaluable. Providing a diversity of opportunities for our children to be a part of conversations gives them positive experiences and confidence they can carry with them into adulthood.

Reflect On Past Conversations With Them – Whether it’s grandma, a preschool friend or a co-workers, if a child has had a conversation (however simple), it can help for us to recount elements of these discussions with our kids.

“Isn’t it nice that Ms. B is going on a vacation?”

“Daddy said he had a lot going on at work today. Wonder how that’s going?”

Remembering aloud these conversations teaches our kids a few things: what we say to one another has meaning and what we share with one another is often worth remembering.

This might sound silly, but among the list of proud parenting moments , hearing (of their own fruition) my two-year-old ask his Daddy how work was or my five-year-old ask his teacher about her vacation is pretty high up there. My hope is that as they mature, their respect and appreciation for communicating with others will be an art form they cultivate.

So what do you think? Are there other qualities of a good conversationalist that should be added to the list? What are ways you help your kids become thoughtful in how they communicate with others?

I’m listening 🙂

 

 

What We Have Is Ours To Share

Join me in welcoming guest contributor, Lauren Hidalgo Gassman to Things I Teach My Children for today’s post!

“This ain’t no one’s house but God’s.” These words have stuck with me since I went to Lynchburg, VA for a Workcamp service trip years ago. Our project was to scrape and paint the siding of an older couple’s home. Unfortunately, the backyard was too steep and our ladders were too short to complete the job. They welcomed us into their home all the same. They knew of the work our group was doing around their community and were thankful for our efforts. When I reflect on the homeowner’s words, I am humbled. His simple greeting reminds me that nothing is really mine because it has been entrusted to me by God.

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While raising a toddler, the word “mine” is said, whined, and cried several times throughout the day. This bottle? Mine. This toy? Mine. This other kid’s toy? Mine. It is a difficult thing to teach a child what mine is: what is his, what is his to share, and what is someone else’s not meant for him. As he gets older, my hope is to teach him that most of his things are his to share.

My husband and I daily reflect on the life we have. This often includes our most valued things: our house, our jobs, our dog, Harley, and our garden. But we love these things not just because they’re ours but because they’re ours to share. I want my son to remember that nothing we have is really ours. The house we live in is a place where friends find comfort and companionship. It’s a place others can call home. Our jobs supply an income but also allow us to do what we love, to share our time and talents to make a positive change in the world. Our dog is not just ours to own. She constantly teaches us to greet others joyfully, to forgive quickly, to observe carefully, and to cuddle tenderly. Our garden is not just to feed our family. The plants sustain the bees and other pollinators. The produce we yield are made into acts of love we give to family, neighbors, and coworkers for nourishment. The scraps are given back to the earth to repeat the cycle.

None of these things were acquired in a vacuum. A realtor (and my talented mother-in-law) helped us find our house. Our parents, teachers, and mentors gave us the tools to earn our positions. Harley was rescued by a caring foster agency. Our garden was built by the previous owners and the soil, seeds, water, and sunlight are not ours to claim. God gave us each other to appreciate, recognize, and better ourselves to continue His good work.

So yes, while we bought that bottle or he was given that toy, its existence is defined beyond our ownership. Many people had a hand in their creation and many hands will benefit after us. As my son grows older, I want him to remember that toys are meant for sharing. Knowledge is meant for teaching. The gifts and talents he develops are not for his amusement. They are meant to serve others. We are meant to serve others.

Gassman Photo.jpgLauren is a wife, mother of one, and Fitness Specialist. Perpetually in gym clothes, you can find her teaching group exercise classes, training clients, gardening, baking or running her online health coaching and personal training business at www.LGFIT.co. She enjoys game nights, road trips where she can sing loudly, and every kind of cereal.

 

You Are Worth More Than Your Busy Schedule

I made a resolution a few years back to not be “busy”. I decided I wasn’t going to use the word and I wasn’t going to seek out the security that came with it.

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When You’re Left Feeling Unworthy

When I first made this resolution, I was coming out of a period of my life that was utterly unbusy. There’s no need to go into details; suffice it say, I was a first-time mom in the midst of frequent moves, a tight budget and an unreliable car often out of service. I was at home. A lot. Like, almost all of the time.

Along with those homebound days came feelings I couldn’t seem to shake. I felt lonely and isolated. I loved my baby and knew taking care of him was important, but I struggled with feeling inadequate in a world that idolizes productivity and busyness. My worries or my desire to find friendship were difficult to express. Who had time to make for me, and why should someone like me ask for it?

There are specific circumstances that make up my personal story. But when we’re honest with one another, most of us face these same fears of inadequacy. We live in a society that equates busyness with value. Who we are is often synonymous with how much we do.

When we’re asked how we are doing, or what we do “for a living”, there’s that lingering pressure to prove our worth to others – to spout off a long list of responsibilities or achievements. We worry that if we don’t appear to be adequately performing in life we may be judged as unworthy.

Our children often have this same weight on their shoulders. They’re told to be “over-achievers” (whatever that means). Those who are recognized as “good” students must perform well at school, seek out extra-curricular activities, and promote how much they volunteer (which, let’s face it, sends conflicting messages on why we should be helping others).

In the pressure to achieve, it’s no wonder that in almost every basic interaction we have the following exchange:

“How have you been?”

“Oh, busy.”

It’s a reply that is almost as safe to say as that other go-to response, “fine”. Fine and busy make up our safety net. They are socially acceptable. They also do not reveal how we’re actually doing. It is an odd kind of game, where we all must be busy to be fine and fine if we’re feeling busy.

Saying No To the Busy Game

After a few years, circumstances made it possible for me to have a fuller schedule. I relished the activity and the ability to form community. But I found my heart still ached over those dark insecurities. And there was a growing awareness that others around me were going unnoticed in their struggle to feel worthwhile.

I also started wondering how to best help my children form healthy self-images. Was there something I could do to relay to them that they should be seeking an authentic life, not necessarily a busy one? Could they value what they did as an extension of who they were, but not let it define them?

I made a resolution to just say no to being “busy”. And it’s one I renew each year. Life certainly gets chaotic, messy and overwhelming, but the “b” word is not a part of my family’s culture. Here are some things we’ve learned along the way:

You Realize That Being Busy Doesn’t Add Value to Your Life

When you opt-out of the busy game, quantity doesn’t determine quality of life. You’re not trying to be the busiest or most important person in the room. Your kids do not have to be the busiest kids in the room. Your family’s activities are extensions of the people who make it up, but you value those around you for being who they are more than what they do. And you become proud of the time you’ve carved out to not be busy. It’s liberating and gratifying to reinforce a mentality that values people both big and small as human beings, not human doers.

You Become a Better Listener

I learned first-hand that when you don’t have a lot to say about your life, you use your time to better listen to others. That’s not something that has to stop with having a full schedule. When you take the pressure to appear busy or impressive off the table, you can be more present to others. The word “busy” can at times come across as too busy to be present. But there’s a way to merge the relaying of your life with others in compassionate listening.

We Are All Worthy

Let’s face it, most of our lives are made up with the things that just need to get done. We do our best to pay the bills and put food on the table. We all have hopes and dreams and are doing what we can to make our lives happy and meaningful.

We’re also all different. We have different things that make us stressed or proud, excited or overwhelmed. Our differences make comparisons or the need to out-busy or out-perform one another futile. I want my children to pursue their interests and work hard in life. But it would break my heart to hear they are doing things to escape feelings of insecurity.  I want them to know that no matter what they do, they always have value. It doesn’t matter how much they achieve – they will always be worthwhile people.

In all sincerity, I’m not trying to make anyone feel guilty for being “busy”. It’s often our reality. But for anyone struggling with “keeping up” with it all, and especially for those who are feeling less than adequate, this is a reminder that you are worth more than a busy schedule.

Why My Kids Won’t Hear Me Knock The Baby Boomers

When it comes to the Baby Boomer vs. Millennial drama, it seems every week brings with it another act of intergenerational indignation.

It happens on Twitter and it happens in the conference room. Here is the familiar script: one generation is blamed for economic destruction and thwarted hopes, while the other is accused of unmitigated entitlement and laziness. Any commentaries that encourage generational cooperation often do so through the use of condescending “coping” techniques, as though one group or the other is just too much to bear.

We can go back and forth pointing fingers at which generation is responsible for this spectacle. We can even use what we hear from others to excuse our own participation. But is there anything that we’re actually gaining from a conflict that choses to ignore context or understanding?

As young parents, this scenario holds another layer of meaning. Sandwiched inbetween our parents’ and our children’s generations, we are modeling ways to treat people of different ages.  In our discussions, in the things we now write that will one day be read by our children, are we assuming roles we want them to mirror? Will our attitudes about this conflict help our kids make their productive and hopeful way in the world?

An obvious way of quelling the Boomer vs. Millennial conflict is recognizing that there is nothing particularly new about intergenerational disputes. Our newfound platforms on social media may lead us to believe that this is a uniquely hostile situation, but when all is said and done, social media’s tendency to highlight extremes makes the antagonism seem more prevalent than it actually is.

What we know deep down is that every generation has played out this same tired drama.

A generation is simply human DNA dressed up and thrust onto the stage of a particular era. Every generation has been brought into a world set in frantic motion by the previous one. While contending with the challenges they inherit, people raise a new cohort group who eventually grow up to discover that grave mistakes have been committed, and things ought to be done differently.

But is there a way for generations to reflect and confront mistakes without making sweeping generalizations? In wanting change, can we also see another generation with understanding for what they’ve experienced?

I’d argue that there is no better way to dispel the myths about millennial entitlement and laziness than to work hard toward fixing the unique challenges of our age without seeking special status for our predicaments. And even when we’re presented with unfair characterizations, the ability to rise above them shows maturity that is a force to be reckoned with.

Millennials are contending with great conflicts and challenges. Many of the institutions in which we were taught to place hope have turned out to be disappointments. Other institutions which should have been better preserved and nurtured in recent decades have deteriorated and negatively impacted our lives. We can and should articulate our current situation and work toward reform.

But Baby Boomers can claim a similar narrative. Although their generation came of age in different circumstances, those circumstances were not any easier. They grew up under the perceived constant threat of a nuclear holocaust. They endured the bitter conflict in Vietnam. They had to advocate for basic civil rights for huge portions of the population, all the while contending with economic recessions. These circumstances shaped both their positive and negative legacies and can leave us feeling a sense of compassion, which would make an important lesson for our children.

As millennial parents, perhaps the most meaningful result of this historical narrative is the awareness that our generation will also leave both positive and negative legacies. We don’t know exactly which legacies will be for better or worse, but it’s a humbling thing to keep in mind. Our political, economic and social trends, even our screen time, may one day be as strongly criticized by our children as we have at times criticized our parents.

With that being acknowledged, I don’t want to teach my children to model bitter frustration at older generations. I’d rather my children try to understand them. Through intentional actions, we can teach them to analyze, criticize and commend.  We can show them how to seek intelligible change and reform, even in the face of resistance. All this can be achieved without being embroiled in back-and-forth drama with another cohort group. I’m not going to make sweeping negative generalizations about my parent’s generation and I hope my kids avoid one day make sweeping generalizations about mine.

Ultimately, what I want for my children is the ability to confront inherited societal flaws as well as things within themselves that need changing.

When the finger pointing stops, our time here becomes a story of parents and children sharing a world they both inherited. Our thoughts, ideals and pursuits are so intermingled with the other that even the very barriers that separate one generation from another are blurred and eroded.  We are here because our parents brought us into this world, and our children are here because we chose to join this fabric of old and new human experience. It can be both beautiful and tragic to behold.

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