After finishing a two-week, multi-age summer class with Teacher Tom, who's an internationally respected teacher and writer, I asked my child what she thought he was really good at. She pondered my question for a moment and thoughtfully replied, "He's really good at sitting."
Well, shoot. At the risk of bragging, I'm a fine sitter, myself. Now that I know it's Teacher Tom's greatest strength (in her mind), I feel compelled to up my sitting game. Would any of you be up for a sitting challenge, or perhaps agree to be my sitting accountability partner?
The thing is, she's right, but in the most complimentary of ways. Case in point: Jimmy, about whom I’ve written before. His name isn't Jimmy, but I'm saying it is to protect his privacy. He's two.
Teacher Tom showed a broken tricycle to Jimmy and a bunch of other kids. Its seat had long since gone missing, leaving nothing but a flat metal bar in its place. The bike had bigger problems, though. The wheels, although still present on the playground, were no longer attached to it. As quickly as you read about the wheels, however, is how quickly another boy absconded with the back ones, using them to drive some invisible vehicle down a long and reasonably steep dirt hill toward parts unknown. By then, some of the children had lost interest in the few pieces of the bike that remained. Jimmy, however, held firm to the one remaining and detached front wheel, and Teacher Tom had an idea.
Despite usually letting kids figure out what loose parts represent, Teacher Tom said, "This is a steering wheel. One of you can use it to drive this wagon." He pointed to a trusty (and rather rusty) metal wagon that he, himself, used as a child. One of the older boys quickly accepted the challenge, but as soon as it started moving downhill, his expression turned to worry and he quickly abandoned the ride. He took the "steering wheel" with him to play elsewhere.
Jimmy, who was by far the youngest and smallest in the class, wasn't giving up on Teacher Tom's plan so easily. Confidently, he walked up to the wagon and said, "I try." It took him a bit of effort to climb in, but he made it. And then, like he did on the tire swing I wrote about in a previous article, he said, "Push."
The wagon wasn't moving on its own, despite pointing downward on the dirt hill. Teacher Tom replied in a respectful tone, "I'm not your Mom. Moms help people. I'm your teacher; teachers will teach you."
Lest I take offense to his comment (hey, I help and teach, don’t I?), his words resonated with Jimmy, and Jimmy started to thrust his body forward, engaging the wheels of the wagon. Holding the steering handle but not turning it, he drove straight into the backpacks that were hanging on the outdoor hooks. Not far. Soft landing.
Teacher Tom straightened the path of Jimmy's wagon and provided him with a brief tutorial about steering. Now, here I am, an adult who knows a thing or two about physics, and a thing or two about two-year-olds. My confidence wasn't great that Jimmy wouldn't end up in a pile of wood chips, or perhaps crash into a gaggle of other little humans. He didn't have a license to drive that thing.
But lo and behold, Jimmy steered correctly, and dang if he didn't make it all the way down the hill without using small bodies as speed bumps or taking out the garden along his way. He drove it...well. Yes, he drove it very well.
Then, looking pleased as a pumpkin, he got out easily and moved on.
So, yeah, Teacher Tom is good at sitting. My daughter is right. But she went on to clarify: "He's good at sitting and waiting to see if kids can figure things out. But if they need him, he helps them."
As parents, our job is to "sit" in a way that allows children to have the time to think critically, to solve problems on their own whenever possible, and to help them finish each day trusting themselves a bit more than they did the day before. They accomplish most of this, of course, through their critical work of play. That's the kind of sitting I want to do.
I’d like to think my mental pace most Decembers has been the serene speed of “O Holy Night,” calm and angelic, rendering me capable of mid-afternoon waltzes around the Christmas tree with my young daughter in my arms. More often than not, though, my brain has buzzed around in a chaotic “Feliz Navidad”-in-warp-speed mode. Less angelic by far, it put me more at risk of tripping over an extension cord and knocking out the lights while toppling the tree, thereby unintentionally teaching my kid a naughty word or two. Thefrenzied mode was neither enjoyable nor festive for either of us; so let me share a few tips that have made our holidays brighter. And brighter, they are!
At the end of the proverbial day, our ornaments have been rearranged several times, but only by little hands. Some of the people we love will get cards from our family; even fewer will get handwritten notes on them. And my gymnast-conductor-decorator child feels happy and connected, and more like she’s the brightest light of all in our house, and less like the caboose she’d be if I were dragging her around to all the “stuff.” And you know what? We actually did waltz around the Christmas tree today, and it may have been the best thing I’ve ever done. May your December be merry and bright!
Back on the farm when Ma was delivering babies while milking the cow and shucking the corn (we've always been multi-taskers), she certainly wasn't reading up on what the type of birth the (then-nonexistent) Internet was telling her she should have. Instead, she relied on what worked for others for thousands upon thousands of years before her: trusting the innate wisdom of her body and following its lead. Although I don't know if you have a cow handy, much less whether you milk it, I do know there was a lot of wisdom to Ma's natural approach. When the time comes, you can trust your body, too.
What happens, though, when your body just isn't ready to have your baby, and (shuck that corn!), it's time, already? When labor just isn't coming despite the calendar saying it's time, your body is giving all the signs that baby is ready, and your doctor is getting "uncomfortable" waiting any longer (oh, the irony), there are natural ways to induce labor if you'd prefer to avoid being medically induced.
Here are a few of the popular, time-tested and natural ways that "Ma's" around the world have tried to induce labor. I tried these methods, too, when I was closing in on eight (8!) days past my due date. These might help your body andyour baby agree that YES, it's time to deliver!
After those didn't work for me (but have for many mommies!), I tried more desperate measures:
STILL a no-go for me. What the what? Although those things may have helped to some degree because I did manage to have contractions for two fun-filled weeks, here's what ultimately did work:
Finally, my healthy and happy baby came, and so commenced my journey into gentle parenting. Needless to say, always consult your healthcare provider for medical guidance (I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on T.V.). When the time is right, however, know that your baby will, indeed, come out. Let your baby “cook” as long as you safely can, and then your body will know just what to do. It was made for this!
A couple of weeks ago, my four-year-old child was looking admiringly at the cover of a Cinderella coloring book. She's had it for half her life. Until now, she'd always been more interested in the scenes overall than in the individual princesses. And she's certainly never addressed anything about her body image. This time, however, she matter-of-factly announced, "Mommy, this girl is the most beautiful girl in the world. I'm not that beautiful."
I paused, with a sinking feeling in my gut, to absorb the news that the inevitable had happened. My child was comparing her looks to others'--even if the "other" was Cinderella--and finding hers inferior. Her tone was one of factual observation more than one of self-deprecation. However, I knew it was the precursor to what women everywhere are up against: the pressure to look whatever way society thinks is beautiful. People judge us on our appearances alone; people who don’t even know us, much less love us.
This mama's wish--and the wish of nearly every other mama I know--is that our children would live in a world that rises above that mentality. With my heart in my stomach, I took a breath before responding. Doing my best to summon everything I've studied about respectful parenting as it relates to body image, I neutrally responded, "Baby girl, that's interesting. Tell me more."
She proceeded to tell me everything she found lovely about Cinderella. When she finished, I acknowledged her closing statement with "Yes, I like the color of her dress, too." I continued, "Do you know what I really like, that you can’t see in any picture? In fact, I think it's what makes someone truly beautiful, more than anything else could."
"What is that, Mommy?"
"Kindness. Some people say it's nice to look a certain way on the outside, but kindness is the greatest kind of beauty. It has nothing to do with what someone looks like. Unlike appearance, which changes over time, kindness can last someone's entire life."
"Oh."
I could tell she was processing thoughtfully. We lingered on the topic for only a few moments more. I was careful to avoid giving the topic of external body image too much attention, lest it become a priority in her mind. As a mom, positive body image is one of the issues that I really need to own and model, and that I really want to get right for my child. It's a tough one for many of us.
After that, weeks passed without another mention of beauty. Yesterday, however, she approached me, holding the brooch of one of her dress-up gowns. On the brooch was a picture of Cinderella. I wondered what was coming.
My heart swelled with joy. Indeed, physical beauty and body image will be on my daughter's radar if she's anything like most of the women in generations before her. And she may or may not grow up looking anything like a princess, but that's not important to me.
Hard as it had been not to tell her how beautiful I think she is, I knew the importance of acknowledging what she said without negating it.
As a woman and particularly as a mother, this has been a tough lesson to learn. I have, however, learned that when I actively listen, be it about princesses or anything that's important to her, it helps foster our connection and build her confidence that she can trust me with her innermost thoughts.
So, I listened to her and added to her understanding, helping her unwrap her feelings. I wanted the opportunity to make a positive impression on her value system. The most effective way to do that is by listening to her with an open mind and guiding her appropriately. Loving and intentional guidance works so much better than telling her she's wrong.
We really can influence children’s thought processes and body image respectfully while still supporting their inner princesses—or superheroes—whoever they may be. We can help them absorb what really matters. And that, my friends, is beautiful.
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