Memos from your Child

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For those of you wondering where The Lucky Mom gained her vast wisdom, I want to reveal one of my best sources, and share with you some of his best advice.

Dr. Don Fontenelle is a family therapist in my home town.  His book, How To Live With Your Children is my parenting Bible.  Below you will find a much-shared bit of his wisdom.  I hope you learn as much from it as I have.  If you share this, please credit Dr. Fontenelle.  

MEMOS FROM YOUR CHILD

  • Don’t spoil me. I know quite well that I ought not to have all I ask for. I’m only testing you.
  • Don’t be afraid to be firm with me. I prefer it; it makes me feel more secure.
  • Don’t let me form bad habits. I have to rely on you to detect them in the early stages.
  • Don’t correct me in front of other people if you can help it. I’ll take more notice if you talk quietly with me in private.
  • Don’t make me feel that my mistakes are sins. I have to learn to make mistakes without feeling that I am no good.
  • Don’t protect me from consequences. I need to learn from experience.
  • Don’t be too upset when I say “I hate you.” I don’t mean it, but I want you to feel sorry for what you have done to me.
  • Don’t take too much notice of my small ailments. I may learn to enjoy poor health if it gets me much attention.
  • Don’t nag. If you do, I shall have to protect myself by appearing deaf.
  • Don’t forget that I cannot explain myself as well as I should like. This is why I’m not always very accurate.
  • Don’t make promises you may not be able to keep. Remember that I feel badly let down when promises are broken and this will discourage my trust in you.
  • Don’t tax my honesty too much. I am easily frightened into telling lies.
  • Don’t be inconsistent. That completely confuses me, makes me not listen, and teaches me to manipulate you.
  • Don’t tell me my fears are silly. They are terribly real and you can do much to reassure me if you try to understand and accept my feelings.
  • Don’t use force with me. It teaches me to be aggressive, hostile, and that power is all that counts.
  • Don’t fall for my provocations when I say and do things just to upset you. Then I’ll try for more such victories.
  • Don’t do things for me that I can do for myself. It makes me dependent, feel like a baby, and I may continue to put you in my service.
  • Don’t let my bad habits get me a lot of attention. It only encourages me to continue them.
  • Don’t try to discuss my behavior in the heat of conflict. For some reason my hearing is not very good at this time and my cooperation is even worse. It is all right to take the action required, but let’s not talk about it until later.
  • Don’t answer silly or meaningless questions. I just want to keep you busy with me.
  • Don’t let my fears arouse your anxiety. Then I will become more afraid. Show me courage.
  • Don’t pay more attention to my mistakes, failures, and misbehaviors than to my successes, accomplishments, and good behaviors. I need lots of understanding, encouragement, and positive attention. I cannot pat myself on the back and rely heavily upon you to do so.

Source: HOW TO LIVE WITH YOUR CHILDREN: A Guide For Parents Using A Positive Approach To Child Behavior.

By Don H. Fontenelle, Ph.D.

For information on this and other books by Dr. Fontenelle (Changing Student Behaviors, The Parent’s Guide to Solving School Problems, Are you Listening?/Attention Deficit Disorders, Purrfect Parenting, and How to be a Good Parent), contact him at 504-834-6411, 517 N. Causeway Blvd., Metairie, LA 70001.

The Strong Smile

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As I stood there watching the photographer set up her equipment, I attempted to give the boys one last round of instructions.  It was important to me, and I wanted to get it right.

It was day three of our beach getaway – our cheeks were rosy, our shoulders tanned. The sun was setting at the perfect angle and the surf was gently lapping at the sand.  The photographer called us to our places.  And I tried not to cry.

The vacation was planned late in the summer to give us one last time to be together.  One last set of memories before my husband left for Iraq.

I was trying to tell myself that this photograph would be a reminder of my happy family.  But inside, I was wrestling with my greatest fear:  that this photograph might be the last image of the five of us together.

© The Lucky Mom

Through it all, I smiled.

We sat on the dune together, and walked at the water’s edge.  The photographer patiently captured the essence of each child, then seated me and my husband together.  With his arm around my shoulder we smiled for the camera, trying to forget why we were there.  She took the final shots of us separately, me last.

When the photos arrived in the mail a few days later, I was quite surprised at what I saw.  The smile on my face was not at all what I expected.  That day I felt afraid and anxious.  But the smile I saw in the photograph was not.

The smile in that photograph became part of me, and I wore it for the better part of the next year.  That smile kept from crying many times.  That smile meant everything would be alright.  That smile meant that I was, indeed, strong enough.

I’m guest posting today at The Everyday Warrior

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Surviving a Deployment

{ The public sees the beginning and the end.

At the beginning, the TV cameras are scattered among teary families.  Husbands patting pregnant bellies and wives clinging to the necks of their mates.  Nervous mothers and fathers proudly holding posters of their sons and daughters in uniform.  Marching bands and dignitaries are there to send the unit off with a patriotic bang.  For the families, there is a conflicting swell of pride, fear, and apprehension.  For the soldier, there’s a clash of duty, responsibility and anxiety…   }

© The Lucky Mom

To read the post in its entirety, hop on over to TheEverydayWarrior.com.

http://theeverydaywarrior.com/2011/11/26/soldier-story-saturday-surviving-a-deployment/

My Happy Place

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There is a stillness and calm in my house right now that I don’t get to enjoy very often.

Slick and Mr. Wonderful have already departed for school and work, and The Caboose is still snoozing on the couch.  He’s off this week for Thanksgiving break, so last night he enjoyed one of his favorite indulgences: sleeping on the couch downstairs with the dog.  I sit here in my chair watching him sleep, with his best friend Perro snuggled beside him.  The tapping sound of the keyboard is the only thing breaking the silence.

In a home with three boys and a dog, stillness is an elusive condition.  Our normal state is kinetic, even frenetic.  We never stop.

To get away from our usual hustle, we often vacation in the mountains of North Carolina, in a cabin tucked high in the mountains.  I’m the lone early bird in the group, and I make it my daily habit to awaken before everyone else to take advantage of the stillness and quiet.  It charges my batteries.  It fuels my soul.  It gives me a place to retreat to (if only in my mind) when the chaos of life overwhelms.

I keep a photo of this Happy Place in my kitchen.  And even though my view right now is of a treehouse instead of these magnificent mountains, my batteries are charging in this stillness of my home.

The Lucky Mom's Happy Place. - Highland Lake, NC

Lovin’

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Here are a few of the things I’m Lovin’ today:

  • My new volunteer gig
  • Seeing maturity in my kids
  • Anticipation of Thanksgiving and Christmas
  • Handmade gifts
  • Fuzzy blankets
  • Honesty
  • The end of allergy season
  • My Blog and Facebook community

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What are you Lovin’ today?

Chasing squirrels — or How I Learned Persistence from my Dog.

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Every day my dog wakes up with a mission: to catch a squirrel.

Day after day, he sits at the back window watching them.  They dart around the yard, up the trunk of the big oak tree, into the treehouse.  They leap from rooftop to treetop to trampoline like little stunt men practicing parkour moves for an action film.  Their newest habit is to jump on – and swing from – the climbing rope in the oak tree.

And all this drives my dog crazy.

"I know you're up there, squirrel. Just wait til next time."

He scratches at the window pane, whimpers at the back door, and begs to be let out.  Because he wants to catch that squirrel.

This drill has gone on for years, ever since the oak tree matured enough to make acorns.  The squirrels, with their sharp senses, are alerted to his presence immediately.  They know just how high to ascend to be out of his reach, and from that height they usually sit and taunt him.

But he chases them anyway.  Every day.

I’ll never know if he doesn’t realize that he can’t outrun a squirrel, or if he’s forgotten that this effort has been a failure every other day he’s tried it.  Or if it matters.

What I do know is that every day he believes that today will be the day.  Every time I open that door he bolts into the yard with a conviction that can only come from knowing his mission will be successful.  Every day.

I want to face my days with conviction like that.  I want to wake up every day thinking – no, believing – that today is the day I’m going to get it all done.

  • Today is the day I’m going to wake up early enough have uniforms laid out and breakfast on the table when the boys come downstairs.
  • Today I’m going to fold all the baskets of laundry in my bedroom.
  • Today I’m going to give my work my undivided attention.
  • Today all the emails will get replies, the pile of papers on the kitchen counter will get sorted, and the bags of old clothes brought to Goodwill.
  • Today I’m going to have a snack and drink in the car when I pick the kids up, and I won’t get on Facebook until all the homework’s done.
  • Today I’ll cook a healthy dinner, and won’t start doing the dishes until everyone’s finished.
  • Today the evening will be pleasant, there will be no yelling about showers, and all school bags will be packed the night before and waiting at that back door.

Unphased after the chase.

And when it doesn’t turn out the way I expect, I want to keep my cool like Perro* does, and wait for the next day, when I get another chance to get it right.  I want to wake up eager to catch that squirrel.

Inspiration is everywhere.  You just have to be open to recognizing it when you see it.

*Yes, my dog’s name is Perro (Spanish for “dog.”  My kids thought that was clever.)

Advice from the rear-view mirror

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Every day I hear young moms beating themselves up because they have a hard time living up to expectations – both their own and those of others.  I want so badly to hug every one of them, and assure them that it’s going to be alright, that they’re going through the hardest part of motherhood, and that this, too, will pass.

I refrain from offering too much advice in person (usually out of fear of being hit with a sippy cup), but since that part of my life is behind me and I now have the clarity of hindsight, I want to share some hard-earned wisdom with all of you “younger versions” of me.

1.  Cut yourself some slack.  We all yell.  Our houses aren’t as clean as we’d like them to be.  We occasionally send our kids to bed without a bath . The list goes on.  You don’t have to be a perfect mom to raise good kids.  Last week I posted a photo on Facebook about positive parenting, and I was surprised at some of the reactions.  A few readers interpreted it to mean we have to do awesome things every minute of the day.  But that’s not the reality of parenting – every day is not a good day, full of rainbows and glitter.  Try to find moments of joy amid the chaos, but don’t expect to be able to maintain storybook standards all the time.  Work hard for your kids, but don’t expect Utopia.  It doesn’t exist.

2.  Your kids aren’t perfect.  They don’t always clean their rooms when you ask.  They tell lies to get out of trouble.  They hit each other.  Expect them to test their boundaries, because that’s part of growing up.  It isn’t a failure on your part.  It means they’re normal.

3.  Teach them right from wrong.  In our culture of acceptance and political correctness, we’ve gotten away from using terms like right and wrong. But we need to bring them back.  Children need to know that everything is not OK.

4.  Explain why.  I’m not a big fan of the phrase “because I said so.”  While its use is sometimes necessary, it shouldn’t be a standard response.  Take the time to explain the “why.”  You have to teach them the reason behind decisions, because someday they’ll be making them on their own.

5.  Let them fail.  We knew a family from school whose son was “over-praised.”  His baseball skills were fussed over like he was A-Rod, and if he made a bad grade, his mother would march in and demand that the teacher let him re-take the test.  The Trailblazer once said about his friend, “One day he’s going to realize that he’s not the best at everything. And he’s going to freak out.”  The best character-building lessons in life are learned through failure.

6.  Look forward, not back.  When mistakes are made (by you and them), don’t dwell on it.  Extract the lesson, throw out the pain, and move forward.  Nothing is gained by rehashing the sins of the past once the lesson has been learned.  This becomes more important in the teenage years than you can ever imagine.

7. Take care of yourself.  Get enough sleep.  Eat right.   Exercise.  As we all know from airplane safety drills, our own oxygen masks must be fastened securely before we can help them.   But be realistic about it.  (See item #1.)  It’s easy for that to become another place where feel inadequate.

One day, you’ll wake up and your baby will be 11 years old.  You’ll be able to actually enjoy quiet, instead of fearing it.  You’ll be able to go to the grocery store alone.  You’ll know that all the very hard work you put in while they were little is paying off.

When that day comes, go find a young mommy and give her a hug, and tell her everything’s gonna be alright.

Keepsake Handprints

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I’ve had several people ask about the handprints on my blog and Facebook page.  These are among my most prized possessions, and I’m happy to share with you the “instructions” to make your own!

  • Find a plastic lid a little larger than your child’s hand.  I wanted three different sizes, one unique size for each of my kids.
  • Place plastic wrap over the cupped inside of the lid.
  • Press air-dry clay into each lid, using the lip of the lid as the mold for the circle.

I used Crayola Air-Dry Clay, but there are other brands available.

  • To make the impression, you’ll need to press the child’s fingers and palm firmly with your hand to get them to sink in deep enough to make a visible impression.  Press each finger evenly, so you don’t get a deeper impression on one than the others.  If you aren’t happy with the impression, knead the clay and start over until you get a nice, even impression.
  • Pinch or press the edges to give it a hand-made look.  Be careful not to wrap the clay around the edge of the lid, or you won’t be able to lift it out.
  • When it’s just right, carve the child’s initials or name and date into the clay.
  • Carefully remove the clay from the lid.  If it gets out of shape, lay it flat and gently press it using something smooth. (If you use your fingers you’ll leave prints in the clay.)
  • Let the clay dry according to the package instructions.
  • For a dimensional, distressed look, paint a base coat in a dark, flat color.  (I used navy blue and hunter green.  Black would look great, too.)  When the paint is dry, use Rub n Buff for the metallic finish.  Rub n Buff is a metallic wax product that gives a beautiful, hand rubbed finish that you can’t get from paint.  It’s available in about a dozen different shades. Protect your work surface, as Rub n Buff is tough to get off.  I usually wear disposable gloves  for easy cleanup.

Rub n Buff comes in many different metallic shades. I blended different shades of gold to get a patina finish.

  • Let the Rub n Buff dry for a couple of days before handling the piece.
  • Display on an easel or hang on the wall with a plate hanger.  Cherish them forever, for their handprints will never be that size again!

Blazing a New Trail… or How I got philosophical over my son quitting the lacrosse team

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Slick dropped a bombshell on me the other day: he doesn’t want to play lacrosse this year.

Waiting for the shot.

He had a list of very good reasons for his decision; all driven by his desire to make good grades and have choices when he has to pick a college next year.  And while I was really proud of him for having such clarity and perspective at 16-years old, I was very disappointed.  For me.

Lacrosse has been our family’s social hub for a long time now. The Trailblazer started playing at age 10, then Slick joined in middle school, and we’ve had at least one kid playing every season for the last 9 years.  These families have become some of our closest friends.  We travel with them, cheer during games with them, and collectively hold our breath when our boys take a knee for an injured teammate.

How can I NOT be a part of it?

How could he ask me to break up with MY friends.

And what would I do with myself every weekend from January to April???

I paused for a moment, and then (of course) gave him the supportive answer he was looking for.  I told him I was very proud of him for having the courage to realize he was ready for a change, and to chart a new course for himself.  I told him redirecting one’s future is a skill many adults don’t have, because they fear change more than they fear continuing down the wrong path.  I hugged him and sent him off.

Then I went in the back yard and tried not to cry.

He's so adorable. Don't tell him I said that.

Because when you leave a circle of friends, they move on without you.  I know I’ll still see them, but when they start sharing the funny story about what happened at the tournament in Mississippi, I won’t be a part of it.  And because my feelings are so damn sensitive, I’ll pull away to avoid feeling left out.  And I’ll miss my friends.

I’m so proud of Slick.  He amazes me with his maturity and vision.  I had neither at 16.  (Or 26 for that matter.)  And I know that he is on a path that will lead him to great places, so if studying harder is the ticket there, then I’m on board with that.

I wonder if the Mathletes have a parents’ club?

The Years are Short

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Originally posted October 7, 2010

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My fifth-grader came home this week with instructions for his first research project.  A research project.  My baby.  The youngest of my three kids.  The one who’s never supposed to grow up.  I remember like it was yesterday sitting at the kiddie table in my den with a bucket of crayons, and the lesson of the day was “staying in the lines.”  It really can’t be that long ago…  Now we have to do a research project.

He chose Marco Polo as his subject.  In the coming days we’ll be learning about Marco’s life and adventures, and I’ll be trying to get a 10-yr old boy in modern America to relate to the concept of an “undiscovered” world.  I’m not looking forward to that.  But what I am looking forward to is sitting at the table with him, having his undivided attention, and holding on to him for a moment.

As any mom will tell you (especially one with at least as many kids as I have) is that days are long.  We rise early, ready ourselves, wake the family, make sure everyone’s fed, wearing the right uniforms, delivered to the right schools at the right time, then start our day.  As soon as we get a little momentum, it’s almost time for the school bell to ring — and then the real chaos begins.  Carpool, after-school activities, homework, dinner, showers and bedtime.  Just getting it all done takes drill-sergeant-like qualities, which don’t necessarily bring out the best in a mom.  I know from my frequent chats with other moms that I’m not the only one who collapses as soon as the last kid hits his pillow.  We’re wiped out long before then.

Each day seems like a long journey.  But then they run together, and the time compresses, and before you know it one is in college, one is in high school, and one has to do a research project.

The days are long.  But the years are short.