Uncomfortable Honesty Redux

Just as I was congratulating myself for having recently helped to usher my daughter through a relational challenge with sensitivity and grace, basking in a sublime parenting moment, my son knocked the wind right out of my sails. Seems that he is not as impressed with my interpersonal skills as I am.

He returned home from an overnight at a friend’s house a little clipped, something I chalked up to his newfound conversational minimalism. But being the tuned-in, empathetic parent that I am I decided to ask if everything was okay. I waited for the affirmative grunt, but instead I got a “not really”. And then he launched into the why behind it. From sublime to humbled in about a minute and a half.

He started talking about his friend’s mom who is “so cool”. “I wish that we got along the way that they do.” He said. “She really gets him…” And then he trailed off. Ack! What? My son does not think I “get” him? No one tries harder to get their kids than me. He has no idea how lucky he is. My defensiveness mounted as swiftly as the sense of inadequacy welling up inside of me.

It didn’t surprise me that this newly touchy kid was irritated by somebody’s behavior around here, but I certainly didn’t expect it to be mine. Me? The tuned in, sensitive-to-your-every-mood mother? I resisted the urge to obsess about the unfairness of this and instead asked him to go on. And he did.

His friend’s mom knows that he’s a regular kid. His friend is allowed to have a Facebook page. He’s able to text, and his mom thinks it is just fine that he likes to go to parties. “Sometimes I don’t think you get that I’m not perfect. And I’m not just like her.” my son said, casting a glance at his sister, the one who wrote the manual on being a dutiful and high achieving firstborn. “I think that you expect me to be just like her.” He finished, offering me a window into his reality that both surprised and saddened me.

It is not true that I expect him to be like his sister. I don’t expect him to be like anybody. I have no problem with his more social nature. He’s a great kid. He has nice friends. He makes good choices. Why was he railing against concerns I didn’t even have.

He wants a Facebook page? He wants expanded texting privileges? He knows where we stand on those issues, but I’m willing to hear what he has to say. I always reserve the parental right to change my mind if the situation warrants it. But the problem did not seem to be as much one of substance as it was of perception. What we had here, to paraphrase Cool Hand Luke, was a failure to communicate. I wanted to blame my son, but in my heart I know that it takes two to tango. If only one of us thinks that we are communicating effectively then that one is wrong.

But at least we were talking. Talking about perceptions and misperceptions. Signals that I had been sending and signals that my son thought I was sending, though they bore no resemblance to anything I felt.

I reassured him that his father and I only want him to be himself, the best version of himself to be sure, but not some watered down facsimile of anybody else, not even his super achieving sister. Our family can barely handle one of her anyway. And while my son and I will never be just like his friend and his mother (great kid and great parent, respectively), or like any other two people for that matter, we could carve out our own best relationship. One based on honestly and trust and the willingness to really see and seek to understand each other.

I was rewarded at the end of the night with a big gruff hug and a whispered, “Love you, Mom”. So in the end I decided that while my bubble was burst along with any illusion of being the nearly perfect mom, the mere fact that we were able to have that discussion and use it as a springboard to move us to a better place told me that things were probably not so bad around here.

My hope is that the way we handled this uncomfortable honestly has set the stage for more uncomfortable conversations down the line. Conversations that will bless us both when we need to share or hear things that may be challenging, or maybe when we just need a reninder that somebody gets us.

Stuff I Like: Cliff Notes for Cooking

My husband grew up in a home where meatloaf was on Monday night, fried chicken was Tuesday night and so on. This certainly simplifies things, but I prefer a little more variation. I generally enjoy cooking and have shelves full of cookbooks and recipes torn from magazines at the ready to give a try.

Preparing a wide range of dishes has produced a family of adventurous and game eaters. But in deviating from the safety of a recurring weekly menu I have had to come up with a couple of rules to guide the selection process so that I don’t start to hate making dinner.

My first rule is ironclad. If a recipe isn’t a homerun it gets trashed. I have made some real miscalculations. Like the time I served seviche, when no one was ready for raw fish. Or the marinated chicken that sounded delicious but was impossibly bland. I have made many dishes that only I love. Which is fine, but until the day comes that I am cooking for one, it is much easier to shoot for something with wider appeal.

Another thing I do that has come in remarkably handy is to jot down notes on the recipe as I am cooking. As silly as it sounds, I have found it extremely helpful to spy in the margin, “super easy. everyone loves. add more veggies” or “double the marinade. best with brown rice”.

I have these little notes on many of the recipes torn from the pages of Cooking Light or yanked from the newspaper. But it took me a lot longer to actually write in my cookbooks. It felt as if I was defacing them, perhaps a holdover from school days when it was big trouble to write in textbooks.

But little reminders here are probably the most helpful because it is hard to remember just which chicken dish it was that we all liked among a sea of choices in The Joy of Cooking. I have even taken to writing down the name and page number of the ones I love on that blank page at the end of the book. My own index of family hits. Super nerdy, I know. But super helpful, too.

It is stuff like this that I should probably never admit to doing. Really, what could be less cool. But it is the little things that really expedite the making of a satisfying meal and help keep cooking healthy, interesting dishes more of a pleasure than a chore, which works for me.  Even if I am a world class nerd.

Elements of Risk

While riding a chairlift you can often spot placards affixed to the poles of the lift. They offer advice such as “Skiers are encouraged to wear sunscreen at high altitudes”, “Prepare to unload with ski tips up”, or “This lift closes at 4 pm”.

On a ride up the chair during our recent ski trip I spied this one, “There are elements of risk in skiing that common sense and personal awareness can help reduce.” I would like to take that sign, replace the word “skiing” with “life” and hang it prominently in our kitchen so that my kids could read it before heading out the door.

I do not know that skiing is necessarily a metaphor for life, but that sign sure tells it like it is. I love its message and the wisdom it imparts. It is a reminder to me to be more intentional as a parent in helping my kids identify and take responsibility for elements of risk they encounter in their daily lives.

We all know that life can be risky, and it certainly is unpredictable. Acknowledging this seems like a great first step in addressing risks. And while common sense seems to be an attribute that comes more naturally to some than to others, I cannot imagine an adult, looking back on his or her own youth, who will not agree that common sense is largely an acquired skill. It can be instilled. It can be learned. I heard a great definition once that states “Common sense means paying attention to the obvious.” This entails slowing down, thinking things through, and having the confidence to trust your instincts. These are great skills that it is possible to hone at any age.

And they seem to go hand in hand with the second protective factor identified on that chairlift sign, personal awareness. While personal awareness, by definition, focuses on the self, it is really the opposite of self-absorption. Personal awareness implies awareness on one’s self in relation to others, whether circumstances or individuals. It suggests an ability to appreciate a situation in the context of all that is going on around oneself. It has been my observation that such awareness does not necessarily come easily to teenagers. Thus, the learning opportunity.

Common sense and personal awareness can keep you out of trouble as you go careening down a mountain, and I think they are equally effective in life beyond skis. Helping our kids become more adept at “paying attention to the obvious” may sound so obvious as to be unnecessary. But it is a part of helping them connect the dots in their lives. And that is a worthwhile endeavor.

Stuff I Like: Aquafor

I love the healing ointment Aquafor, especially in the winter.

It is the best thing I know for seriously chapped hands. It is also great for chapped lips, as I learned when mine blistered and cracked after a long day of spring skiing without SPF anything on my lips.

But my favorite Aquafor discovery is how well it works as an eye balm. In a vain attempt to eradicate my ever deepening “laugh lines” (better known as crow’s feet) I have spent ridiculous sums of money for any eye cream that comes with even the vague promise of rejuvenation .

At the dermatologist’s once for a routine skin check my doctor asked about the dry and irritated skin at the corners of my eyes. Seasonal allergies had rendered them raw and uncomfortable. “Try a little Aquafor”, she suggested. “That should do the trick.”

And it did. As well as any overpriced cosmetic counter product I had ever tried. It soaks in overnight, leaving the eye area soft and supple in the morning.

I love that stuff. Here are a few other great uses for Aquafor:

To heal dry, cracked heels
Soothe minor cuts and burns
Eliminate irritations from laser treatments or radiation therapy
As a great diaper cream
Softens dry elbows and knees
And I hear that it is great for healing tattoos...

Have I missed anything?

They Will Find Their Truth in Your Eyes

We just returned from a family ski trip where each year we commemorate a particular bend in a tree lined trail that we call “Annie’s Corner”. It is located at the crux of a tight turn alongside a deep ravine. The ravine that our youngest daughter Annie pitched headlong into at the age of five.

On that fateful day my husband led the way down the trail we refer to as Le Mans, for its ability to make us feel like Formula One race car drivers. I was pulling up the rear with the three kids between us, but with the twisting and turning of the trail I did not notice that anything, or anyone, was amiss until I saw the look of bewilderment and panic in my husband’s eyes as I arrived at the end with no Annie in sight.

Luckily, a member of the ski patrol stood mere feet away.  He was a tall, confidence inspiring, Native American gentleman with a long glossy braid that whipped in the wind as he and my husband raced back uphill on his snowmobile. In my heart I knew the turn that Annie did not make. I knew the steep drop and the rocky bottom of that ravine. I imagined my sweet girl skiing headlong into it. And I pictured the worst.

My job was to stay put at the base of the trail with the other two kids, but I could not stand the uncertainty.  So I sprinted uphill in my clunky ski boots at a pace so surreal I arrived just moments behind the snowmobile. Not bad for an undistinguished runner.

And there, at the top of the ravine, shaken but standing, was Annie. She had climbed up the steep bank as far as she could and planted her skis to draw attention, then walked upstream until she found a place flat enough to scramble out. She was making her way back to her skis.

As I rushed toward her, filled with panic and tears of relief, our ski patrol friend stopped me in my tracks. “Be strong, Mother”, he told me. “Be strong, because your child is strong, and she will find her truth in your eyes. Show her who she is today.”

And so, instead of dissolving into a puddle of tears I ran up to Annie, uncertain but grinning, and gave her a big hug. “You are such a resourceful girl!” I told her. “You knew just what to do. I am so glad to see you!” And I watched her think this through, eyeing me as if deciding how to process this greeting. And then she returned my grin and said, “I didn’t know just what to do, but I knew that I could figure it out.”

I felt the truth in our exchange. Because if it my words had not rung true they would only have heightened Annie’s discomfort. I imagine that we have all experienced this, a time when someone dismissed a hurt or negated a genuine emotion. There is nothing empowering about that.

But without the admonishment I was given before greeting Annie, I am sure that I would not have had the presence of mind to take a deep breathe, get beyond my own emotions, and truly see my child in this situation.

It was a precious gift and a priceless lesson that I have carried with me ever since. I cannot count the number of times in the intervening years that I have recalled this wisdom, taken a deep breathe, and recognized the power that I have to play a fundamental role in shaping my children’s experience. What a privilege, and a responsibility, to be able to help them connect with the truth that they can find in my eyes.

Stuff I Like: Empty Spaces

“A vacuum begs to be filled.”


Campi Catalaunici, Gaul a.d .451



Story of my life. Maybe the story of yours? I would like to think so, as it removes some of the self-recrimination I feel when asking myself where another day has gone. It comforts me that loads of really smart, competent people I know experience this same time sucking phenomenon.

The best antidote I have found for that treadmill sensation of working up a proverbial sweat while running in place, is to build some empty space into my day. Taking a few minutes to simply breathe and be present not only has a calming effect, but it has an energizing one, as well. And somehow, on the days that I manage to take my own advice and allow for a little empty space, I get more things done, and I usually get them done better.

Establishing a practice of meditation is a wonderful way to create and honor this space. But simply stopping for a few minutes and breathing deeply qualifies. This, in fact, is a form of meditation, and it works wonders.

The way in which I make sense of how slowing down often helps me to be more effective, more creative, and get to where I want to go more easily, is to picture a small child working feverishly on a project without adequate instructions our guidance. Lots of motion, and usually mounting frustration, but often a fair amount of wheel spinning, as well.

Well, I am that small child who often mistakes action for effectiveness, plowing headlong into my day without benefit of the kind of thoughtfulness by which synergy is possible. Slowing down, breathing deeply, and allowing my mind to be open and receptive can stop wheel spinning in its tracks, providing the space to make connections and reenter the fray with a sense of groundedness and calm that always serves me well.

As vacuums always beg to be filled I have come to realize that I will never stumble upon a nice ripe empty space. It must be planned for, protected, and honored. So why don’t you try making a date with yourself sometime soon and see how it works for you. I’d love to hear.

April Fool

With two teenagers in the house and another one close on their heels, emotions around here run the gamut and often run rampant, as well. I notice that when I respond to someone’s bad behavior or foul mood with a knee jerk response, emphasis may rightly be placed on the word jerk. Because I act just like one. It is as though the irrational, immature and utterly unreasonable behavior of my child is a direct affront to my very existence. It brings out a righteousness in me that would be laughable if it wasn’t kind of pathetic.

But I am learning the fine art if letting it go. I am learning not to take myself so seriously, which has nothing to do with not taking them seriously. In fact, by getting past the adolescent indignation their maddening behavior often elicits in me, I find that I am much better able to see what is really going on with them.

Kids need to take ownership of their bad behavior so that they can move on to the next step of dealing with it. But by matching them and call them one as they descend into the depths of immaturity I not only rob them of this opportunity, but I model the very behavior I find so deplorable, thus perpetuating the babyishness I can’t stand.

My kids can be maddening. No doubt about that. Deciding that I will lighten up once they model only lovely behavior will ensure a very protracted sour season for all of us. But when I unilaterally let go of my need to prevail in inane arguments the turn around is just shy of miraculous.

So I am trying not to take myself so seriously. I am trying to remind myself that their bad mood rarely has anything to do with me. And I repeat to myself that I always have a choice about how their behavior will affect me. I do not need to go down with the ship. I am free to have a lovely day even in the midst of their adolescent angst. After all, I already endured my own. Certainly I am smart enough not to sign up for a double dose.

I can be an uptight fool or I can resist taking the bait, recognizing the transience of foolish adolescent behavior.  The choice is all mine.