Today I am 6 months alcohol-free. I started cutting back last January as part of a weight-loss goal, but I noticed as I cut back, that the nights that I didn’t have any wine, I slept better. I also felt less anxious the next day. I realized that I had been self-medicating with wine to help calm my anxieties, but in fact, it was making it worse.
At first, cutting back was really hard. Like embarrassingly hard. (2020 was rough y’all and I maybe relied on the wine a bit more than I should have….) I realized that a trigger for me for pouring a glass of wine was coming down the stairs after my kids were tucked into bed. So I stopped coming down the stairs after I tucked them in. I bought a kettle and some chamomile tea and I put it with a mug in my bathroom. Instead of coming down the stairs, pouring a large glass of wine and flopping on the couch to watch tv, I stayed upstairs in my bedroom. I drank sleepytime tea and I read. I cut back drinking gradually – drinking less each week than I had the week before, eventually going several weeks between glasses of wine. And then June 28, 2021 I decided to go a full year without alcohol, just to see how I’d feel. So far, it has been life changing for me. I‘ve never felt healthier or stronger. I don’t know that I’ll ever go back.
I used to say, I’ve had a hard day, I deserve a glass of wine.
Now I say, I’ve had a hard day, I deserve a good night’s sleep and to not feel anxious tomorrow.
Anyways, I share this as hopefully an encouragement for anyone trying to kick any bad habit, but also to explain why I’ve shied away from evening gatherings where there would be an expectation of alcohol. I am finally feeling like I’m getting to a place where I can go out with friends and have a club soda and not feel like a loser or worse, feeling like I’m making other people uncomfortable by not drinking. 6 months in, my mind doesn’t really default to or crave wine very often anymore; but it is funny how old neuro pathways can spring up on you – a couple of months ago, I went through airport security and before my mind thought about finding my gate, it thought about finding the bar.
More than anyone, I need to thank my husband for quiety supporting me on this journey this year. Keeping our home dry, and being my cheerleader in his no-pressure no-big-deal-if-you-fail way.
Below is a picture of the books I read in 2021, while I stayed upstairs and drank tea. I recommend them all, but my favourites were: Secondhand, The TeaGirl of Hummingbird Lane, The Unexpected Joy of Being Sober, and Longitude.
I think what I miss is those moments when we are all working together towards a common goal. I miss the hush that falls right before a bride walks down the aisle. I miss the feeling of unity as perfect strangers come together to celebrate the love of their mutual friends. I miss the pomp and circumstance of a graduation ceremony, the feeling of celebration as parents breathe a collective sigh of relief that they got their kids through their school years. I miss getting dressed up and going to a really fancy restaurant – eating together with others, ordering off the same menu, and navigating all the tiny forks together as one.
I am slowly and tentatively emerging from my pandemic bubble. Omicron is still up in the air, but as Scarlett O’Hara said, “I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow.” As I emerge, I find myself grieving a bit for life pre-Covid and the sense of community we’ve all lost.
By community, I don’t mean crowds. I do not miss the busyness of people. I do not miss Christmas shopping line-ups or even Christmas parties with hours of small talk. I don’t miss the atmosphere of everyone having their own agendas and doing their own things side by side.
I also find myself fortunate to have rich friendships and deep connections with others: my kids, my husband, my neighbours, and – with the help of technology (Marco Polo and FaceTime) my friends and family back home. When I speak about grieving a loss of community, I don’t mean intimate relationships. It’s been hard to put my finger on – what do I mean by loss of community?
I think what I miss is those moments when we are all working together towards a common goal. I miss the hush that falls right before a bride walks down the aisle. I miss the feeling of unity as perfect strangers come together to celebrate the love of their mutual friends. I miss the pomp and circumstance of a graduation ceremony, the feeling of celebration as parents breathe a collective sigh of relief that they got their kids through their school years. I miss getting dressed up and going to a really fancy restaurant – eating together with others, ordering off the same menu, and navigating all the tiny forks together as one.
In chatting with my husband about this, he identifies a similar feeling in loss of community through almost two years of remote work. My husband works for a large company with offices all over the world. Before the pandemic, when everyone was working in-person in their respective offices, there was a fair amount of “tribalism” between sites – different sites would oppose one another in coming up with a solution to a common problem. Yet, after almost two years of working remote, that tribalism has completely disintegrated – which is a good thing. People are collaborating across worksites more harmoniously. However, at the same time, he also feels they have lost a team-wide excitement for working on a problem together and a motivation for achieving a common goal together. As humans we are built to be in community and, at times, in healthy competition with one another. We come up with ingenious solutions to problems when we are supported and challenged by our peers in community.
I miss the rituals of community and the feeling of unity that comes when people participate in a ritual that transcends social structures. Anthropology super-nerds, like myself, will recognize this as what anthropologist Victor Turner called communitas. “During the period of the ritual, rank and status are forgotten as members think of themselves as a community. This helps cement unity among community members.”
In the weeks before Covid shut everything down, we were busy with our weekly nature walk group, our Mothers of Preschoolers Group (MOPS), and having friends over for dinner. And while none of that seems as inherently ritualistic as say, a wedding, there were elements of ritual there. Take for example, my moms group (MOPS) meetings.
Moms Group Meetings
Every second friday, I would drop my kids off at childcare and go into a theatre space next door to enjoy a hot potluck breakfast with 100 other moms seated at tables. We’d listen to a speaker and eat a hot meal with no kids asking us questions or pulling at our clothes. We didn’t have to cut anyone else’s food, or hop up from the table to fetch someone water or grab a cloth to wipe up a spill.
Stay with me while I get into some nerdy anthropology theory over this. One anthropologist, Arnold Van Gennep wrote about rites of passage, defined as “a ceremony or event marking an important stage in someone’s life, especially birth, puberty, marriage, and death” (Oxford Dictionary). Van Gennep argued that all rites of passage had three phases: separation, the liminal phase, and aggregation. One familiar rite of passage is a graduation ceremony, so I’ll use it as an example. In the separation phase, the ritual-participant is separated from their role in the social structure – they sit apart from their families in special gowns. In the liminal phase, ritual-participants are neither here nor there – they are betwixt and between and form a new kind of community with the other ritual-participants. The students sit together as one and wait for their turn to cross the stage and receive their diploma. In the aggregation phase, students are reunited with their families, the tassel has been pulled to the other side of their hats, they have a diploma in-hand, and they are reunited in the social structure with a new status – that of a graduate.
Victor Turner took this further in his book The Ritual Process. He expands the idea of these phases to other rituals, not just rites of passage. Rituals are “a set of fixed actions and sometimes words performed regularly, especially as part of a ceremony” (Cambridge Dictionary). My moms group meetings were rituals, not rites of passage – but I see the same phases present. First, in the separation phase, we dropped our kids off at childcare. Then, in the liminal phase, we sat together, undefined by the number of children with us or our visible parenting style. We ate together and we learned together listening to a speaker brought in especially for us. Turner writes, “What is interesting about liminal phenomena for our present purposes is the blend they offer of low lines and sacredness, of homogeneity and comradeship. We are presented, in such rites, with a “moment in and out of time,” and in and out of secular social structure, which reveals, however fleetingly, some recognition (in symbol, if not always in language) of a generalized social bond that has ceased to be and has simultaneously yet to be fragmented into a multiplicity of structural ties.”(p. 96) In the liminal phase of our weekly ritual, we were women eating together in communitas – we were not only “Mom of multiples”, “Working mom”, “Stepmom”, “SAHM” or any of the other mom-statuses we ascribe to ourselves. In the third phase, we were reunited with our social status of “mother” as we picked up our children from childcare and continued about our days in this role, inspired through our participation in the ritual.
Victor Turner continued, “There is a dialectic here, for the immediacy of communitas gives way to the mediacy of structure, while, in rites de passage [or rituals], men are released from structure into communitas only to return to structure revitalized by their experience of communitas. What is certain is that no society can function adequately without this dialectic.” (p. 129.) Through this ritual, we moms were released from the expectations and constant responsibility of motherhood to eat together in communitas, and then return to pick up the kids and our responsibilities, re-inspired and refueled for the days ahead. Since the pandemic began and many of these sorts of community “rituals” ceased, I’ve noticed how much I miss them.
Recently my husband attended a summit for his work – his first in-person work meetings since the pandemic began. He found the meetings to be incredibly productive. Participants were “released” from the expectations and daily structure of responding to online messages in order to work together on a specific problem in communitas. They left the summit with a clear direction and inspired by a sense of teamwork and accomplishment. When people say they want to continue to work remote even after the pandemic, I don’t know if they realize what they’ll be missing without communitas.
As we’ve moved away from so many in-person rituals in favour of two-dimensional online interactions over zoom and through status updates, comments and hashtags, I also feel a loss of reverence. While this pandemic would have been impossible without all the technologies available to us to interact with one another online, I have yet to experience a moment of reverence through them. I’ve missed the awe and wonder, the anticipation, and the deep respect for the moment, the place, or the person that allows a hush to fall over a crowd. The awkward silence at the beginning of a zoom call is not reverence.
While being at home with two young children through this pandemic was life-giving and purposeful and in many ways it saved my sanity – potty-training, whining, and night terrors are also not reverent.
In an attempt to find what was missing, I decided to attend a nearby Presbyterian church. Previously, this church would not have been my style. I used to feel deeply uncomfortable with liturgy. I’ve always felt awkward with call-and-response prayers and with communion. And I treated hymns with derision. I preferred “cool” churches – with contemporary music, dark concert-like venues, coffee, and denim. And yet, in a moment when the entire congregation recited the Lord’s Prayer together, I felt both communitas and reverence for the first time in years.
To me, there was something so moving about a whole group of people reciting the same thing together. It reminded me of going to a Taylor Swift concert with my brother when she stopped singing and fifty thousand fans filled in the gap with a resounding chorus of her lyrics. Except instead of a song that has been around for a few years, we were reciting a prayer that has been prayed by millions of people over thousands of years and translated into hundreds of languages. A prayer people have recited together in community, and in the stillness of the night kneeling alone by their beds. I can’t think of any other collection of words that has connected humanity across time and space as the Lord’s Prayer. Can you?
Right Brain Left Brain
I don’t think reverence has to be religious. A great many secular moments from graduations to Taylor Swift concerts to the carving of the Christmas roast can be reverent too.
Recently, I read My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor. The author was a neuroscientist who had a stroke and remembered the experience of having her left brain completely destroyed by the hemorrhage. Several years later, when she had regained her ability to speak and write, she wrote about the experience of living in her right brain – a place where she felt no judgment or self-criticism – she just felt at peace and one with the world. Dr. Bolte Taylor describes the differences between the right brain and the left brain as this – imagine you hike to the top of a mountain. You get to the peak powered solely by your own body and you are surrounded by a beautiful view of a cascade of mountains and a crystal clear sky. Your right brain is in awe of the beauty that surrounds you. Your right brain perceives the majesty and makes you feel like you are one with the universe, whilst at the same time a tiny speck on the enormous planet. Meanwhile, your left brain is assessing whether or not you need to put on a sweater, if you’re hungry, what you should eat, and which angle to take the selfie.
It made me think, maybe reverence, is just something that exercises our right brain, just as talking exercises our left brain. Maybe it’s something our brains need. Maybe there is one true religion or God. Or maybe humanity has sought out God and the supernatural because it’s what our right-brain is wired to do – to perceive the incredible and feel at one with the whole.
However you experience communitas and reverence, whether in a sacred or secular way, I think it’s a fundamental part of the human experience.
I know I’m in a rut because of the pandemic. I could go out and socialize, but I’m happy in my house and it’s so much energy to get back out there again. But I know I need to. I know my kids need to be in community again. My husband is still enjoying remote work, but he knows he needs to get back to the office so he can feel part of something important again, rather than just another cog in the machine.
Community gives us a sense of purpose, belonging and significance. And the love, beauty, and harmony that comes with feeling part of a community is fuel for our right-brains. I have lived much of this pandemic in my left brain – analyzing COVID stats, deciding whether I should wear a mask in this particular case or not, questioning whether I have a tickle in my throat or COVID. I am ready to re-engage with my right-brain. What about you?
Last week we celebrated my daughter’s second birthday. As a pandemic toddler – she really doesn’t have any friends, so we decided to celebrate with two of our vaccinated neighbors who have been surrogate grandmas to her during all these months of Shelter-in-Place. One of these neighbors has a dog who lounges out on his front lawn most mornings and we stop in to see him whenever he is outside. He came to her party dressed in his fancy Hawaiian shirt and V fed him a plateful of milkbone cookies.
Now that the two year old milestone has come and gone, I’m now turning my eyes to that big, scary, horrible, messy parenting task of potty training. She’s very ready, and has already used the potty a few times. It’s more me holding her back, not committing the time and the energy to the training. And so, I’m gearing up and giving myself a pep talk to get it done.
And it needs to be a pretty big pep talk.
With my son, potty training was awful. I decided to wait until after V was born to start because I knew that many kids have regressions after the birth of a new sibling. DK was 2 years, 9 months when V was born, so I figured – what’s a few more months? It would be a good time to train him with a newborn around, right? Newborns sleep so much of the day and we are going to be home so much – potty training will just fit right in there.
Boy was that ever a dumb plan.
Fast forward to 6 weeks after V was born, I decided out of the blue to begin potty training. Remember, I was sleep deprived, I had never potty trained anyone before, or really seen any child be potty trained, and I had half-skimmed “Oh Crap Potty Training”. I had not taught DK how to pull down or pull up his own pants, I had not taught him how to rip toilet paper (and he may have been the first two-year old in the history of toddlers who never tried to unravel the toilet paper), he never played around the house naked, and he was scared of the sound of the toilet flushing, It went as well as you would expect it to go considering these limitations.
I started off trying to follow the advice of the Oh Crap Potty Training lady – just do completely naked potty training, watch your child very closely and try to catch him right before he pees and get him on the potty. Well, with a newborn who also needed near constant attention, that translated to – clean a bunch of pee off the floor and feel like a failure.
Around day 3 of naked potty training, DK had to have a bowel movement. He was crying and pleading with me to give him a diaper and I refused, all in the name of a greater good. He was agitated and running around, clearly uncomfortable. I tried to get him to sit down on the potty but he refused. I put V down safely in her crib, where she began to scream, and I tried to hold DK down on the potty. That did not work. He ran away and as he ran, he pooped – a stream of shit spraying on the floor behind him. Everyone was screaming, including me, and then DK ran back around through the mess and tracked poop all over the house at a gallop.
To be honest, I’m not sure how I got us out of that mess. I somehow cleaned everything up on my hands and knees, tears trickling down my face to a soundtrack of V screaming in the background and DK dancing around me with a contented gut.
It was a serious low point for me in parenting and I gave up potty training for several months after that.
I felt like I committed a human rights violation – forcing him to poop in a way he didn’t feel comfortable. There are a lot of reasons why I don’t want to go to jail – but among the top reasons is having to use the toilet in an open room with other people watching. Being forced to soil oneself is one of the most degrading things that could happen to a person. Wasn’t I asking him to do the same thing, but in reverse? He was comfortable in diapers, and here I was demanding he do it differently, against his will.
He wasn’t ready, I wasn’t ready. The whole experience for me was so stressful, I had to have my mom come out 6 months later and help me. She had a bit more experience with potty training a toddler (my brother and I are, after all, potty-trained) and she also was able to be a bit calmer and matter-of-fact about it. Whereas for me, I felt like I had earned a great big F on my parenting report card in the subject “Potty Training”. It was hard to stay relaxed when I felt so much pressure to get it done and get it done right.
When my mom came to visit, we threw out the guidance of the Oh Crap Potty Training lady who said to not use rewards and to not use training underwear. We let DK wear training undies and when he sat still on the potty for 30 seconds on the phone timer, he got a chocolate chip. Over the span of a couple of weeks he earned two chocolate chips for peeing on the potty, three for pooping in the potty – and much later I upped the ante and gave him four chocolate chips if he would poop in the big toilet (so that I didn’t have to clean the potty every time).
The trend these days in my parenting circles is to focus on intrinsic rewards – not extrinsic rewards for motivation. After all, you don’t want your child to only do things for the extrinsic reward (a chocolate chip), you want them to want to do things because of the personal satisfaction it brings (bathroom self-sufficiency and privacy). I do believe in the importance of intrinsic motivation – but when it comes to doing hard things that are out of our comfort zones, or things that we don’t really want to do, extrinsic rewards work very well. This is why we get paid at our jobs. Very few people show up to work every day and give it their all because they are personally satisfied to do it. Maybe there are some children out there who genuinely want to change up the way they’ve had bowel movements their entire lives – but my child was not one of them. At three and a half years old, he was firmly in the “why fix what ain’t broken” camp and needed the promise of a chocolate chip reward to see the “why”.
Another idea my mom brought with her was after every try or potty-related-anything, she would get DK to choose a sticker, have him stick it to a blank piece of paper and then above it she would write what he got the sticker for. It wasn’t a fancy potty training chart, it was just a piece of paper with stickers and writing – but over the course of the day, the paper would get filled with all of his tries – big and little, successful and unsuccessful. At the end of every day when we were reading him his bedtime stories, we would read back over his potty experiences of the day, reminding him of and praising him for all of his efforts.
By the time my mom left, we (she) had mostly potty trained him. When we left the house to go to the playground though, I still felt insecure, so I’d put a diaper on him. This was another one of my mistakes because old habits die hard and as soon as that diaper was on him, his body would relax and release and he’d have a bowel movement – every single time. So after a week of that, I strengthened my resolve and got rid of the diapers once and for all. Surprisingly to me, we didn’t have many accidents.
I learned a lot from potty training DK that I am carrying forward with me as I begin potty training V:
I threw him off the deep end. I didn’t teach him some of the basic things first – like undressing and dressing himself. I didn’t normalize the toilet flushing or let him play with rolls of toilet paper. With V, we switched her to Pampers 360 Fit diapers just after she was a year old. These diapers pull up and down like underwear instead of securing them with the side tabs. We’ve worked with her on dressing herself and pulling up and pulling down her own pants. We’ve taught her to wash her own hands at the sink and how to dry them with the towel. We’ve taught her how to rip toilet paper and flush it down the toilet.
I gave her access to potties earlier than I did with DK. She also had more access to seeing other people use the toilet than he did.
It’s okay to use extrinsic rewards for hard habit changes
When mom is flailing, it’s okay for grandma to step in.
Overly enthusiastic praise is not for every child. DK hates overly enthusiastic praise. He actually preferred to keep potty training a secret. He did not want to tell Daddy, he wanted everyone detached and unconcerned about his progress. It’s amusing now that he ever wanted complete secrecy because nowadays he announces to the entire house that he’s going to the bathroom and precisely what he plans to do in there.
So now it’s time to start potty training V. I’m determined not to completely fuck it up this time. I’m taking the best of the advice from my mom, from Oh Crap Potty Training, and from another book that my cousin mailed to me around the time I was potty training DK called “Toilet Training in Less Than a Day” by Nathan H. Azrin and Richard M. Foxx.
But first, A History of Potty-Training
Back before we had washing machines or disposable diapers – babies wore cloth diapers and mothers had to wash them by hand. I get annoyed when I have to carry a dirty diaper down the stairs and put it outside in the garbage – so I can only imagine how much mothers hated the job of hand-washing a poopy piece of cloth. Mothers were motivated to potty train their babies as early as possible to eliminate this extra work and used extreme and harsher methods of potty-training to achieve success.
Two inventions came along that shrunk this housekeeping burden; Disposable diapers and electric washing machines both began making their way into American homes in the 1940s. In 1946, Dr. Benjamin Spock changed the popular narrative on potty-training and encouraged parents to wait to train until the child showed interest and was psychologically ready – an average age of about 18 months old at the time.
As disposable diapers became more accessible, more parents delayed potty-training – waiting for “readiness”. The American Academy of Pediatrics advocated a child-led approach. Pediatrician Dr. T. Berry Brazelton helped popularize this trend to wait for child readiness. However Brazelton held a financial relationship with disposable diaper company Pampers – a company absolutely interested in keeping children in diapers as long as possible. Over the years, disposable diaper companies made their diapers more absorbent, more comfortable, and for bigger bodies. By 2001 the average age for potty training was 35 months for girls and 39 months for boys.
I can’t help but wonder why children in the 1950s were psychologically and physiologically ready at 18 months old and yet children today are not psychologically or physiologically ready until 3 years old (on average).
The parenting trend in 2021 is to wait for “readiness” but I think with DK I honestly missed the signs and procrastinated way too long. By the time I got around to it with him – he had entered the stage of toddlerhood (30 months+) where he realized he is his own person and wanted to exert his will to see what it would take to break me. It made the whole “you will use a potty from now on” thing a real battle of wills. I am determined to potty train V before she stops wanting to please me.
Toilet Training in Less Than a Day
Toilet Training in Less Than a Day was published in 1974. Azrin and Foxx developed and tested the method with 200 children of different sexes, backgrounds, abilities and ages. It is a bit old-school – but we’ve been teaching children how to relieve themselves in a culturally appropriate way for thousands of years, so I don’t see why we need to re-invent the wheel with every generation. It is a kind and firm approach that teaches the potty routine.
While I’m not sure that I will be successful at training V in less than a day (that seems like a really high bar), I am going to try the method in this book. I’ve already laid out the groundwork that they specifically mention as the pre-training steps:
1) Learn to dress and undress herself
2) Allow her to watch you (and others) use the toilet
3) Teach her the words associated with potty-training (e.g. wet, dry, stand up, sit down, potty, toilet etc).
4) Teach her “to cooperate in following your instructions” (“V, can you go get me a club soda please?” is one of our favourite games).
Okay, check, check, check and check. V can do all of that.
I am setting aside Sunday May 30 as the day to begin. My husband is going to take DK out of the house for much of the day. I am going to be prepared with a brand new potty training doll, a selection of toddler-friendly juice boxes and some salty snacks. I am going to put my phone on airplane mode and give her my undivided attention and go through this training program.
Then when it’s all done, I’ll be able to tell you, dear reader, if it worked. Are you ready? Is the anticipation of my success or failure killing you? Well without further ado…
Diary of a Mom, Day 1 of Potty Training the Azrin/Foxx method, Sunday May 30, evening
Well, it actually went pretty well! I had everything prepared the night before – training underwear in a size 4T so that the waist and thighs are quite loose, salty snacks, a selection of toddler juice-boxes, water bottles, M&Ms and Raisinettes. The raisinettes (chocolate covered raisins) were a particularly excellent choice because V loves them so they were highly motivating for her, but also because raisins will help with bowel movements over the next few days. I also purchased a doll that wets (This one, expensive – yes, but cheaper than 3 months worth of diapers) and I wrapped it up for her as a present. This morning I sent my husband and son out for the day to go on train adventures together and with the house quiet and me able to give V my undivided attention, I gave her the present and we began.
The doll was a huge hit! She loved teaching the doll how to go potty, rewarding the doll for a successful pee, and emptying the potty. I followed the advice in the book and we played with the doll for quite a while, filling the doll and V up with liquids as we played. “Baby drinks! V drinks! Mommy drinks!” “Cheers!” Practicing with the doll helped her enormously and within the first two hours she peed on the potty twice of her own initiative and she also pooped (PRAISE THE TOILETING GODS). We had one accident right before nap time, so I decided to power through and do underwear at nap time. She stayed dry through her nap, but despite our best efforts she had two accidents after her nap. But then, with prompting she used the potty successfully three more times before bed! So all in all a very successful first day. She’s wearing a diaper to bed tonight.
Diary of a Mom, Day 2 of Potty-Training, Monday, May 31
Yesterday was new and exciting. Today V was not as into the potty-training experience. She seemed unsure if she wanted this new way to be her life now. She wasn’t completely opposed, just uncertain and uncommitted. We had a few accidents, but she helped clean herself up and then we did a few practice runs from the spot where the accident happened to the potty as per the Azrin/Foxx method. She LOVED doing these practice runs – running quickly to the potty, quickly pulling down her pants and sitting down. We did it over and over again after an accident and she squealed with delight. DK joined in and we were all running around the house in glee. Since she was in the middle of playing but was far away from the potty when the accident happened, I think the running-to-the-potty practice helped her with some confidence of what she can do differently next time to not have wet pants. Tomorrow I think we will try some running to the potty practice when she still has dry pants.
One part of this method that I like is the use of the question “do you have dry pants?” as opposed to “did you pee your pants?”. The first question just asks the child to reflect on the facts – the pants are wet or they are dry; whereas the second question assigns blame.
Diary of a Mom, Day 3 of Potty Training, Tuesday, June 1st
I decided to cancel our weekly nature walk with friends today in favor of staying home and continuing to practice with the potty. This was a good decision. V was excited to keep potty training and she had many successes and only one accident. She was keen to try and eager to eat chocolate-covered raisins as her reward. I actually had to go to Target to buy more chocolate-covered raisins as now she wants DK to have chocolate-covered raisins with her to celebrate a potty success (which is so sweet I could cry). I am tired but optimistic.
Diary of a Mom, Day 4 of Potty Training, Wednesday, June 2nd
Today was a long day. We had many accidents in the morning. A friend came over to play in the afternoon, which was a fun and much-needed playdate for the kids, but V was pretty distracted with playing and didn’t want to stop to use the potty. I am starting to doubt that this was a good idea and whether I misread the readiness signs.
Diary of a Mom, Day 5 of Potty Training, Thursday, June 3rd
Okay, as a mom, I am the one who struggled with potty training today. We made progress and I know I must focus on the success we had. But it’s taking so long! It’s hard not to feel like with every accident or emotional outburst that it’s a sign that I misjudged her readiness. I think that’s the greatest lie we Millennial parents tell ourselves. I know my child is far more capable than I give her credit for. It’s my own laziness, insecurity, and desire for instant gratification that is holding her back. Personally, I want to give up today. Go back to diapers because it’s easier. Admit defeat.
But to do that would be to tell her that I don’t believe in her, that I don’t believe she can do it. And sometimes believing in your kid is what they need to get themselves across big hurdles.
Tomorrow is a new day.
Diary of a Mom, Day 6 of Potty Training, Friday June 4th
On Fridays I take the kids to the playground and they both needed to get out of the house and climb and swing and slide. I was feeling down about the day before and I was prepared to put V back in a diaper for this excursion. To my surprise when she woke up this morning, she was all about using the potty. She had a potty success and then wanted to wear her undies to the park. I packed our travel potty and showed her how it would work before we left. At the playground she came and asked me for the potty a few times, wanting to try it but wasn’t successful. Yes, I was THAT MOTHER who brought a potty to the playground and had her kid pull down her pants and use it next to the stroller.
Despite our best efforts and V communicating her need for the potty and trying her best, we had an accident. I forgot to pack a spare change of socks, so we had to go home. I thought of spare undies and shorts – but I forgot that when pee dribbles down your leg, it makes your socks wet. Whoops, #momfail. This afternoon we had more success with V initiating using the potty of her own accord while wearing undies. I’m feeling optimistic that we are halfway there.
Update: Of course literally AS I TYPED that last sentence on my laptop at the kitchen counter V pooped in her undies. So getting overly confident is a bad idea.
Further update (end of day): She’s getting it! She’s getting it! We’ve now had three successes where she initiates a bathroom break all by herself, gets herself on the potty and does her business. Hurrah!!! I see a light at the end of this tunnel. I am not giving up.
Diary of a Mom, Day 9 of Potty Training, Monday.
I am now saying “this girl is potty trained”. She has used the potty numerous times of her own initiation over the last couple of days. The final two pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place today. First, she woke up with a dry diaper and got herself on the potty on her own. Second, she initiated bowel movements on the potty. So I think we are trained and I’m personally impressed with the Azrin/Foxx method. It’s possible it was the girl, possible it was the readiness, but I also think their method was clear and made sense to her and to me. It helped me be consistent in training which I think helped complete the training quickly.
To any mom endeavouring to potty train soon – I do recommend checking out this book. While some of the method I adapted to 2021 sensibilities (I didn’t like the phrasing they used for expressing disapproval at having wet pants), I think on the whole, parents in 2021 should not be skeptical of a potty training method used in the 1970s. It is kind and straightforward. It is not child-led, but it is respectful of the child and it gives the child the undivided attention they need from adults when learning something new and challenging.
I’d love to hear from you if you try this method! Did it work? Did it not work? Can I bring you chocolate? If any of my local friends are interested in borrowing my copy of this book and the doll that wets – let me know! I’m happy to lend it out.
*To my children: I realize I am posting about your potty training experiences on the internet, and you may be absolutely horrified of this when you are in jr. high. I promise I will take the post down before you turn 9 years old, unless this post goes viral and becomes the post that launches me into professional writing and pays for your college tuition. In that unlikely event, I promise to pay for your therapy.
Azrin, Nathan H., Foxx, Richard M. 1974. Potty Training in Less Than a Day. Pocket Books.
Well it’s officially been a year of mostly staying home in a worldwide pandemic. The vaccine is being rolled out to older folks and to those with health issues that might make the virus particularly challenging for their immune system. And it’s hopefully only a few weeks away for me!
I feel like I’m sitting at an airport with a delayed flight – watching everyone else get on their flights to get to where they are going and I am just sitting here, waiting.
For me, this year of the pandemic has been divided into different phases or “chapters”:
Covid – Table of Contents
March 2020-May 2020….Total nightly anxiety but peace-filled days with my kids playing in the backyard. We had teddy bear picnics, made long chalk train tracks, celebrated V’s first birthday, and didn’t get takeout at all. I drank a lot in the evenings and ate a lot of bags of chips. I gained weight.
May 2020-June 2020….Optimism and our first Covid bubble family with our neighbors across the street. That was a great time.
June 2020- August 2020….Construction. A pipe cracked in our bathroom and was leaking down two stories into the basement. We had many contractors in and out of the house at that time and I was very nervous about getting covid.
September 2020 – November 2020…. A second wave of optimism and our second covid bubble family with DK’s best friend’s family. Another great period of time in 2020.
November 2020 – January 2021…. Total reclusiveness. Relishing the coziness of home through the season and enjoying the simplicity of the holidays with our children.
End of January 2021 – February 2021…. My panties were in a twist, y’all. Frustration, impatience, exhaustion were the emotions on the tip of my covid emotional iceberg.
March 2021….A third and hopefully last wave of optimism and planning for the future. Sitting in the airport gate excited to get on my “flight” to an amazing vacation (aka waiting for the vaccine so I can see people again).
What has your year looked like? Have you also had very distinctive “chapters”?
A Year of Personal Growth
Despite all these separate chapters, one thing that remained consistent throughout is my determination to make this period of our lives focused inward on personal growth.
It was during this year that I worked to establish some good home routines for our family. Bedtime routines, a daily family clean up, and meal plans.
It was also during this time that I took on some personal goals. I got back into my habit of reading, which had dropped off my radar with V’s birth and buying and renovating our house. I started taking weekly Spanish lessons online with a one-on-one tutor in Vera Cruz, Mexico through Verbling.com. I joined Noom and began prioritizing my own nutritional health in a quest to lose the baby/pandemic weight. I quit drinking wine every night as a way to wind down from the day and dull the pandemic anxiety. And most recently I started running using the Couch to 5k app. I’ve been going out nearly every morning (mostly to get away from my family for 30 minutes, I’m not a saint), and I’m up to running for 8 minutes straight. People no longer look at me as I wobble past them in the plaza and wonder if I’m okay and if I need an ambulance.
And yet despite all that I have accomplished for myself, I still found myself feeling down that I hadn’t found time to write on my blog. I love writing. I love the creative outlet. I have tons of ideas bouncing around in my head for posts I want to write. But it’s just so time intensive and requiring deep focus! Who has time for that right now?!
I found myself resenting that I didn’t get time to write. That much of the time I got to myself was three minutes here to log my food with Noom, thirty minutes there to go for a run, an hour a week to learn Spanish. What I wanted was several hours of peace and quiet to deep dive into my thoughts and research and just write. At the same time, I felt guilty for taking the time I did take for myself. I felt guilty for using my phone at the dinner table to log my food with Noom. I felt guilty for not taking my thrill-seeking daughter in the jogging stroller when I run. I felt guilty for my Spanish class starting at 8 pm and rushing through the kids’ bedtime routines once a week so that I could attend on time.
Thank goodness my husband is free of the pathology of mom-guilt and has been able to tell me many times: don’t feel guilty about that. He has encouraged me to get out of the chaos of the house and write, to take a break from the kids. But do I listen to him? No. I let the mom-guilt continue its cascade.
One morning on my run, I was listening to a podcast and I heard another mother talking about the subject of personal growth.
She said that the truth was that we can’t have it all all of the time. We can have some things sometimes and other things at other times.
Right now we are in a global pandemic and reliable childcare isn’t really a possible option for us at the moment. And that’s okay. This is a season. Reframing my “I have to be with my kids again today” to “I get to be with my kids today” is a good reminder to me that this is a season, I won’t always get to be with my kids. And when I’m in that future season, maybe that’s when I will write more.
Maybe right now is when I do the living that I will later write about.
In this podcast interview, this woman had written a book and she was telling us about the process of writing it and publishing it as a mother of four kids under the age of ten. I’m inspired by her, but I also hate her just a little bit (hey, I already told you – I’m not a saint).
That is my dream, to someday write a book. But maybe I don’t write my book until I’m 50 years old. Or maybe I write my book when I’m 75 years old. I’ll definitely have more wisdom to put in its pages at 75 than I would at 33.
However this doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t try to make time to practice the craft of writing, because it is a creative outlet I enjoy, and practice will make me a better writer. So I’m writing this post on my phone while I snuggle my daughter to sleep.
Bringing My Kids Alongside
In her book, The Brave Learner, Julie Bogart encourages each individual in the family to have a Big Hairy Audacious Goal (commonly known as BHAGs in the business world) and for the family to work together to help each other achieve their personal goals. For my husband, he wants to work extra hours on a side project that is needed at work and might be the kind of thing that lands him a promotion. So I get up early with the kids so he can work late into the night on his professional goals. DK wants to build a railroad in the backyard. So we bought him a set of books about a boy and his grandpa who built a model railway on their farm so that he could “do research”. I’m not sure what V’s BHAG is, as she’s 2 years old, but she loves to help me cook, so I stand patiently by while she makes a huge mess with the flour and stirs in too many raisins. Someday perhaps she will cook a meal for us. And for me, my kids and husband say “have a good run!” when I trot out the door every morning on my quest to run 5k.
Bringing my kids alongside me in my goals shows them through osmosis how to work towards goals – The hard work, the time investment, and the importance of practice towards progress. When I was in 9th grade, my mom went back to school. Seeing her study and write papers gave me a great perspective of what kind of work ethic would be required when I too went to university. Realizing this has helped me let go of the mom-guilt. My children want a mother who is healthy and intellectually fulfilled. They are learning how to pursue their own passions by seeing me pursue mine. It is good for my children to see me struggle and get frustrated with something I am learning how to do – and how I keep at it until I can do it. I am a better mother when I’m not resentful and despondent at the groundhog nature of my days.
A good friend of mine recently started a custom cookie business. She had it in her mind that she’d like to learn how to bake and decorate sugar cookies, and so after years of wishing, she bought some tools and got started. And here’s the truly amazing thing – she’s incredibly talented at it. Like seriously, check out some of these pictures of her cookies. You can follow her on instagram @humbleandkindcustomcookies.
In a few short months she has built a beautiful brand and sells stunning cookies. All of this success is hard to balance though with a busy life with two kids, but she can let go of the mom-guilt knowing that while she builds this business, her boys are seeing what it takes to be an entrepreneur. They are seeing attention to detail and brand management. They are seeing design and creativity. They are seeing accounting and time management. They are seeing their mom as a woman with passions and talents outside of her identity as their mother and they are seeing their father support her in her goals. And someday they will understand and support their spouses in the same way.
Charlotte Mason said “Education is an atmosphere, a discipline, and a life” and my friend’s sons are getting a great home education as they bear witness to work.
I wonder if bringing our kids alongside us in our dreams of pursuing our careers and achieving our own big, hairy, audacious goals is the antidote to the mom-guilt that plagues so many moms who work outside and inside the home.
Pockets of Time in Imperfect Places
When I was single, I had this little one-bedroom apartment on the fourth and top floor. Outside my windows was the foliage of a big birch trees and my home felt a little like a nest in its branches. I would spend Friday nights cleaning so that Saturday morning I could wake up to a quiet, clean, and peace-filled apartment, make a cup of tea, and sit down and write. The sun trickled in through the tree leaves and bounced off the warm, cream-coloured walls. It was my dream writing environment: quiet, clean, organized, sunny, warm, and with a view of nature.
I continue to tell myself that I can’t possibly write anything decent without the perfect writing environment at home. But my home is so rarely quiet or clean. Trying to prepare the perfect writing environment takes time away from when I could actually be writing.
When I was doing my Master’s degree, I was trying to get through a ton of readings. I would print journal articles and read through them while I waited in line at the campus coffee shop, while I waited at stop lights, or while I waited for class to start. I do know from experience that pockets of time can yield great efforts towards a goal. And yet I need to remind myself daily not to expect the perfect moment – but to do it in the here and now, a little at a time in an imperfect moment.
In this season of my life, I need to accept the time given to me in the imperfect spaces of my day: waiting for the shower water to heat up, waiting for the lunch noodles to cook, the three minutes per day that my children actually play nicely together, or sitting in the dark with my daughter while she falls asleep as I type slyly on my phone.
What about you? Do you have any Big Hairy Audacious Goals you have been putting off because you “just don’t have time”? How could you bring your family alongside to work on goals together? Where do you have pockets of time?
Coronavirus continues its slow burn through my county in California like the longest slow dance of my high school tenure. With summer coming to a close, kids back in zoom school, and wildfires surrounding us, I need something to look forward to. I turn my sights to Halloween and my stomach drops. What if there is no Halloween this year?! As of this writing, they’ve cancelled trick or treating in LA county, and I’m just waiting for our county to do the same.
I’ve had to disappoint my kids over and over again throughout this pandemic; Barking at them to stay away from other kids, getting them outside only to see the playgrounds covered with tape, and saying no to seeing friends. I’ve played by the rules our health department laid out for us, and we celebrated three birthdays in a very low-key way, but cancelling my kid’s favorite holiday is just too mean.
I ask around in a few online mom’s groups and neighborhood forums – and the overwhelming opinion is, “no, we will not be participating in trick-or-treating this year”. What? Even outdoors and with masks, people are hesitant to have kids come close enough to pass them candy, and many parents aren’t willing to risk the high-touch load of a crowd-sourced candy stash. My heart sank. You can’t trick-or-treat alone. It’s a community-lead thing. The only thing worse than cancelling Halloween would be to get our hopes up and our costumes on, and go out trick-or-treating only to have no one answer the door.
Rite of Reversal
Aside from Halloween being my four-year-old’s favourite holiday, it’s one that I know carries a lot of ritual importance in our society. It is what anthropologists have termed a rite of reversal.
A rite of reversal is a ritual in which the social order is reversed; the world devolves into chaos and then reverts back to order. These rites are important in human culture because they remind us why we have social conventions and rules in the first place. Sure, chaos is fun for an evening, but at the end of the day, when you crawl into bed, you’re happy that when you wake up in the morning, things will go back to the way they were. Trick-or-treating on Halloween night is an example of a rite of reversal.
Children, who are usually only in public spaces in the daytime, get to run through the streets after dark, often without their parents.
Children get to go to stranger’s homes and rather rudely, threateningly demand candy (Trick or Treat!).
Children get to dress in costume.
Spooky and scary replaces light-hearted and predictable.
Children get to eat lots of junk food/candy.
Everyday I try to teach my children to be polite (say please and thank you and not be demanding or threatening), to dress appropriately (not go out in public in costume), to eat healthily (celery sticks not chocolate bars), and to not ever take candy from strangers. Yet, on Halloween, the opposite of these behaviours is allowed and encouraged. We literally send our kids out at night in a costume to threaten strangers to give them candy or they will play a trick on them.
Halloween is special. On Halloween you can break the rules. In doing so, it releases tension between child and parent and reinforces why we have rules at all. While Halloween is a fun night and some kids might wish it were Halloween every day, the fact that it isn’t every day is what makes it so fun and so special.
I care about Halloween for my kids for a bigger reason than their smiling faces covered in chocolate at 9 o’clock at night…I believe it is an important cultural rite that helps balance the adult-child or rule-maker/rule-follower relationship. So I’ve been wracking my brain trying to find other ways that we can celebrate Halloween in a way that fits in with the uncertainty of a pandemic, while upholding the spirit of the rite of reversal that it is. Ways that still reverse the order of things to blow off some of that pent-up steam. I know I need a release from our new-normal even more now in the midst of this will-it-ever-end can-I-hire-a-babysitter-yet pandemic.
I have wanted to host a Ghoul’s dinner for a while – a special dinner where for one night only, my family subverts the normal and throws out all the table manners that my husband and I have been trying to instill. Parents and children get to be excessively rude, having fun and doing all the things we aren’t supposed to do at the table: belching, reaching, gagging, eating with our hands, wiping our faces on our shirts, blowing bubbles in our milk, building castles with our potatoes, banging cutlery on the table, and throwing food on the floor. This night of chaos (and subsequent family clean up) reinforces why we have table manners all other nights of the year. People, and especially our children, are creatures of habit. We like to know what to expect. We certainly wouldn’t want a chaotic meal with spaghetti in our hair every day, so when you do a ritual of reversal for fun on a set day of the year, it reinforces why we care about correct behaviour. Life generally is more pleasant when we follow social conventions and we don’t have to clean globs of food off the floor – but once a year, it’s nice to let loose and remind ourselves of that.
If you’re not keen on the mess and rudeness of a Ghoul’s dinner, you can still subvert the normative meal-time framework by serving a desserts-only or desserts-first meal for supper on Halloween night. I can imagine the look on my four-year old son’s face when he comes down the stairs to the dinner table and sees a table set with a huge cake, sides of ice cream sundaes, pie, brownies AND cookies. A Candyland dream come true! We might even play Candyland while we eat.
Trick or Treat
There’s something so exciting about walking around the neighbourhood after dark. Everything is quiet and still and there’s a small thrill that you shouldn’t really be out. Halloween night is even more thrilling with permission to leave the public space (the sidewalk) and go up to people’s front doors (a public-private space) and shout “Trick or Treat!”. In usual years, neighbors give our kids treats because they don’t want a trick played on them. But what if we went back to the original intent behind that phrase and played “tricks” on neighbors who aren’t handing out candy? Now I don’t mean mean-spirited, illegal or dangerous pranks – but perhaps we could leave some cards with tricky riddles or tongue twisters on them as “tricks” instead of receiving “treats”. I think that would capture the ritualized subversion of order as well, but from the opposite angle.
Halloween Treasure Hunt
One thing that I love about Halloween night is how well my kids sleep afterwards. Even if they’ve had 15 mini chocolate bars, they crash hard onto the pillow from the excitement of running around the neighborhood for three hours before bed time. By the time trick-or-treating is over, my kids have earned their candy stash. They worked hard for it, going door to door schlepping a heavy bag around while wearing an awkward costume in the dark. Part of truly enjoying anything is the hard work associated with getting it. How good does a cold beer taste after an afternoon of digging holes for fence posts? So good.
How could I make sure that candy, which is usually restricted in our home, is part of our celebration this year, but in a way that my kids still have to work hard to earn it (instead of just buying some and throwing it in a bowl on the counter)?
I thought we could order some halloween-themed plastic eggs (or we could put halloween-themed stickers or draw silly faces on our leftover plastic easter eggs) and hide them around the house and our yard, filled with candy. I mentioned the plan to our immediate neighbours on our block with kids and we decided to collectively make it an event for our street at dusk on Halloween night. A Halloween treasure hunt is possible to remain distant from others – after all, if you’re searching where someone else is searching, you will have to share the booty, so it’s in the kid’s best interest to search an area on his/her own.
While the Centre for Disease Control guidelines indicate that there is not much evidence that coronavirus transmits particularly well on surfaces, it is easy to wipe down a plastic egg with an alcohol wipe before opening. And if multiple homes are packing the eggs, they can put the candies in the eggs a full three days before Halloween to give any potential virus particles on the candy wrappers time to die before the eggs are hidden, found and opened.
2020 has been an unbelievable and unforgettable year. I want our Halloween night to be unbelievable and unforgettable too, in a good way. A way that doesn’t stand out in our memories as the worst Halloween ever, but as one of the best in spite of everything else going on around us. Throughout so much of this pandemic, my kids have had to adjust and go along for the ride. I want to put them and other kids at the forefront this Halloween and make sure they know that their childhoods are still important, even in the midst of all this scary grown-up stuff happening. Maybe you will join me.
As many of you know, I have been fascinated by the writings of a Victorian woman, Charlotte Mason, for about two years now. I am inspired by passages like:
“Our aim in education is to give a full life. We owe it to them to initiate an immense number of interests. Life should be all living, and not merely a tedious passing of time; not all doing or all feeling or all thinking – the strain would be too great – but, all living; that is to say, we should be in touch wherever we go, whatever we hear, whatever we see, with some manner of vital interest.”
Some of it, on the other hand, I chuckle….ahhh to travel back to Victorian times…Scientific advice about feeding your child a variety of bland foods, airing out beds every day or dressing only in wool – while well-intentioned and researched for the time period – is dated in 2020. There are some wonderful words of wisdom in her writings, but you also have to read between the lines with a discerning eye and your critical thinking cap on.
One piece of advice that I initially scoffed at, though upon further reflection, she is absolutely right, is her obsession with air. She spends a full six pages in her first volume, “Home Education” talking about the air we breathe, and it is definitely something I took for granted before 2020.
“You can’t live upon air!” we say to the invalid who can’t eat. No, we cannot live upon air; but if we must choose among the three sustainers of life, air will support us the longest. We know all about it; we are deadly wearing of the subject; let but the tail of your eye catch ‘oxygenation’ on a page, and the well-trained organ skips that paragraph of its own accord….Oxygen, his name; and the marvel that he effects within us some fifteen times in the course of a minute is possibly without parrallel in the whole array of marvels which we ‘tot up’ with easy familiarity…” (p. 30, Volume 1)
Breathing is a pretty phenomenal activity – that we do it without thinking every few seconds, reassures me that even in a world teeming with busyness, chaos and uncertainty, some things go on as before. Here is a video, if you’re interested, about the mechanics of breathing.
Considering how important oxygen is for human existence, oxygen puzzled scientists for centuries. The prevailing theory in the 17th century was that all combustible matter contained a substance called phlogiston that was released during combustion. Air was so ubiquitous that we didn’t even realize we lived in it. Another element must be responsible for why things stopped burning under a glass dome – the item had run out of phlogiston, not that the oxygen in the dome was gone.
“Phlogiston theory states that phlogisticated substances are substances that contain phlogiston and dephlogisticate when burned. Dephlogisticating is the process of releasing stored phlogiston, which is absorbed by the air. Growing plants then absorb this phlogiston, which is why air does not spontaneously combust and also why plant matter burns as well as it does.”(Wikipedia)
Scientists at the time believed that when something burned, it was because it contained this mysterious fire-element, called phlogiston. These ideas built upon the Ancient Greek, Empedocles’ theory of the four elements: earth, water, air and fire. Phologiston was considered the element of fire. It wasn’t until scientists were trying to trap phlogiston that they discovered oxygen and hydrogen. However, ironically, they didn’t even realize what they had found – they believed they had found dephlogisticated air (air with the phlogiston taken out of it). (The Mystery of the Periodic Table, Benjamin Wiker, 2003)
As a fish moves about in an ocean of water, we live in an ocean of air – and yet it is something we think so little about and took us so long to even realize. So often the things that are most prevalent and unquestionable are overlooked. I rarely think about the process of breathing. I rarely think about the air I am breathing in and what it is made of or contains. I take such a fundamental thing to my continued existence completely for granted.
Mason lived between 1842 and 1923 – the crux of the industrial revolution in Britain. This was a time when coal and oil were burned for lighting, when every home had a fireplace for heat and cooking, and when the main means of transportation used horses (and in cities like London or New York, there were 50,000-100,000 horses working daily in the city, each horse producing 35 pounds of manure and two pints of urine per day.) Basically the air was putrid in dense cities like London. So her emphasis on fresh air for children was very relevant from a public health perspective.
Now, 100 years later, we are in the midst of a pandemic where the virus spreads chiefly through the air we breathe and as we sicken with it, our lungs fill with fluid, making it harder to breathe. Time I spend outside my home, I spend wearing a mask to protect myself and others from the virus, and in California as I type this it is literally raining ash on my car from surrounding wildfires. The air quality is poor here right now and we’ve been cooped up in our home for days.
For me, fresh air has never felt so precious. I don’t think I’ll ever take the ability to breathe freely for granted again.
One of my favourite spoken word poems is “If I Should Have a Daughter” by Sarah Kay. One portion of the poem comes to mind now.
“She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.” – Sarah Kay, If I Should Have a Daughter [emphasis, mine]
These last few weeks, it has really felt that California’s lungs are just getting slammed from all sides.
Before covid, I would get outside with my kids every day. It was part of our daily routine, our habits. I could palpably feel a need for fresh air, my body craved it. We were outside every day rain or shine.
When the pandemic hit and everything shut down and we were instructed to not leave our homes for anything but essentials, we locked down and barely left our property for anything. Sure we could go out into nature, but I felt too afraid to in this new world order. We spent a lot of time in our backyard, still spending lots of time outdoors every day – but I missed the smell of trees and I missed the smell of the sea. And I missed the smell of sweet grasses blowing in the warm breeze.
Charlotte Mason wrote, “There is some circulation of air even in the slums of the city, and the child who spends its days in the streets is better supplied with oxygen than he who spends most of his hours in the unchanged air of a spacious apartment. But it is not the air of the streets children want. It is the delicious life-giving air of the country.” (p.32, Home Education)
The first day that we went to the beach after they reopened, I cried. Being back and being able to take in a great big breath of fresh air off of the expanse of the sea was life-giving. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed it until that moment.
Charlotte Mason saw the importance of getting out of the city as much as possible to breathe fresh air. She also emphasized the importance of airing out the home. As mentioned above, homes in Victorian England were heated and lit by burning different fuels, which suck oxygen out of the air. She wrote,
“Put two or three breathing bodies, as well as fire and gas, into a room, and it is incredible how soon the air becomes vitiated. We know what it is to come in out of the fresh air and complain that a room feels stuffy; but sit in the room a few minutes, and you get accustomed to its stuffiness; the senses are no longer a safe guide.”
In spite of all the technology advances we have made in heating/cooling/air filtration, my home still gets stuffy. And if the air outside wasn’t unhealthy to breathe from all the plumes of smoke settling into our valley, I would open the windows and take a deep breath.
What have you been taking for granted lately? What advice have you scoffed at? Whose friendship have you assumed would be there when you finally got around to responding to that text? Who have you disagreed with without hearing their side of the story? Maybe a moment to open the windows and let in some fresh air.
A few weeks ago, I found myself alone, with my two children, at Alum Rock park in San Jose without cell coverage. I had been having an off day with my kids – and because of that, we ended up separating from the group we were with and just doing our own thing. My husband had no idea we were there, and, as we were having an off day, my friends probably assumed we had just left and gone home.
We walked toward these really pretty mineral springs. It was nice to get some mental space after the tantrums and whining of the day. Breathe in, breathe out. Rock cliffs rose up on the one side, and the sulfur-scented water was blue-green and crystal clear as it babbled along underneath low-hanging trees. It was hot and dry and we saw a couple small snakes. Before becoming a mom, seeing a snake would have put me in cardiac arrest – but now, some kind of mom-instinct kicks in and I’m able to stay unruffled while I manage a possibly-threatening situation. I calmly picked DK up and we continued on pushing V in the stroller past the snakes. DK wanted to go down to the springs to throw rocks in, but at this point, I felt uneasy at being all alone out there without even cell coverage to call for help (there are rattlesnakes at Alum Rock!), so I trusted another important mom instinct and we got out of there to rejoin civilization.
We are meant to raise our children in community. This is how humans have been raising their children for thousands of years. The saying “it takes a village” is cliché for a reason. I think that’s part of why my instinct to “get back to where there are people and we are safe” kicked in when we were out there, just the three of us. Hunter-gatherers 5000 years ago didn’t have cell coverage either, but they also probably didn’t peel off the group with their kids into an unfamiliar territory.
And yet, it seems incredibly hard to find a true village to raise your family with. We live in an age with nuclear families, private homes divided by yards and roads and driveways and dual-paned windows. We live in an age when you go to the park with your children and the other parents aren’t looking around for someone to talk to, they are looking down at a 3×5 inch screen and talking to someone across the globe. And, we live in a very transient time – people chase dreams and jobs across state-lines, across the country and across the world. This trend is especially obvious in Silicon Valley where people come, make their money, and move back to a place with a lower cost of living. Eight of my friends moved away in 2018. In 2019, three of my friends have left. So far in 2020, I’ve said goodbye to 4 dear friends. It feels like a never-ending cycle of meeting people, getting to know them, welcoming them to my inner circle, and then saying goodbye.
So how do I find my tribe? How do I make mom-friends again and again? What’s the secret?
The secret, actually is quite simple: Join an online local moms group (Facebook or Meetup.com are good places to find one), put yourself out there and host events at times and locations that are convenient to you. When you do this, you might be surprised who will show up AND the best part is they will show up because it is a time and location convenient for them too. So you can do it again. And again. And again. And slowly, through the repeated events, you will get to know each other, your kids will learn to play together, and you will have built your tribe.
Once, I organized a playground play date in a local moms group at 7:30 in the morning. I thought no one would show up. But a girl with a baby the same age as mine and who lived nearby came. That day I met my friend Pav, because she too was up with a baby at 5:30 am and by 7:30 was ready to get out of the house. Because I said “Hey, does anyone want to join me?”, she is still my good friend. Don’t just wait until someone else hosts an event and try to fit it into your schedule. Host it yourself. Do things you want to do, that you are prepared for, and you will meet other moms who want to do the same things and who’s kids have the same nap schedules.
I wanted to meet other moms who were interested in getting outside with their kids. So I started hosting weekly nature walks at times and locations convenient to me and my kids. It started by connecting with a couple of moms through a local moms group about Charlotte Mason, and over the year, we have gathered quite a large group of like-minded mamas through word of mouth and friends inviting friends.
Over the past year of doing these nature walks, I have discovered another important secret: doing things that scare you is always better with a community. Take going to the beach for example. The beach isn’t that scary normally. But it is terrifying to a mom with more than one young child to keep track of. Honestly, it’s kind of out-of-the-question to go to the beach with my kids alone. How could I keep both kids safe from waves and eating sand and drowning? I need my mom tribe. Together, we approach parenting as if we are playing zone defence. I liken it to being a Canada goose. If you’ve ever seen a bunch of goslings and geese, you’ll notice that the geese stand in a circle, facing outward, surrounding the goslings. Going to the beach with my mom tribe seems a lot like that. We have some moms standing near the stuff and the sand toys, we have some moms standing near the water. We have some moms standing near the cliffs that are oh-so-fun to climb. In basketball terms, we are playing zone defence. Man to man is impossible anyways when you have more children than arms.
I am beyond grateful for my mom tribe. Together we have caught frogs, scared away snakes and backed away really quickly from a mysterious growl in the bushes that one five-year old said was “a bear” (we actually think it was a mountain lion). Doing things together has taught me a lot about parenting, about patience, about how to pack a lunch, when to put bug spray on, and what poison oak looks like.
So much of motherhood feels like I’m just fumbling along. But with my tribe, at least we are all kind of fumbling through it together and carrying one another through moments of doubt.
How can you start your own mom tribe today? What kinds of things do you like to do with your kids? Which times and locations could be convenient for you to invite others to join you in that activity?
I love telling stories. I’m actually pretty good at it…get a glass or two of wine in me at a party and I’ll tell you about the time a seeing-eye-dog-in-training licked poop off DK in an airport bathroom with more colour and enthusiasm than Stuart McLean.
In this, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree because my dad is also a great story teller. I remember when I was a kid asking my dad to tell me a story and he’d make one up on the spot (or at least I thought he did). One particularly memorable one involved baby Heather with the hiccoughs and everytime she hiccoughed, she’d float little by little towards the ceiling. Her family members and neighbours all tried to pull her down until everyone she knew was hanging on for dear life, down in one long line from her shoe. Just when they thought all hope was lost, little baby Heather farted and everyone came tumbling down to earth. Everyone laughed and laughed and laughed at the fart and lived happily ever after. Now I’m not sure if this is a Jim Dunphy original (it definitely has elements of a scene from Charlie and the Chocolate factory), but that’s not important – I thought it was hilarious and I loved hearing this story. Thinking about that now has made me reflect on doing the same thing for DK and baby V.
I honestly haven’t really tried coming up with anything decent yet – it’s hard to come up with a story on the fly that a kid will like that has a beginning, a middle and an end. I can’t just tell him about that time I accidentally shaved off my eyebrows. A few days ago, in a desperate bid to get him to agree to take a bath, I said “Let’s play the three billy cars!
“Once upon a time, there were three billy cars. And the name of all three billy cars was?…”, I began.
“Gruff!”, exclaimed DK excitedly, plunking his butt down in the bath water that two seconds before was “too hot! Too cold! Too wet!” He gathered three cars up quickly and I grabbed his tow truck.
“The three billy cars were on their way to the gas station where they could eat and eat and eat and get fat. But on their way to the gas station there was a bridge over a rushing river,”
“Under the bridge lived a troll who was as mean as he was ugly!” DK continued, quoting our version of The Three Billy Goats Gruff by Paul Galdone word-for-word.
“A tow troll!” I said, shaking the little blue tow truck and giving an evil laugh.
DK drove a yellow car along the bath tub’s edge.
“The first billy car came to cross the bridge,” I continued. “Trip trap trip trap trip trap, went the bridge.”
“WHO’S THAT TRIPPING OVER MY BRIDGE?!” DK screeched in his raspy “troll” voice, bouncing and smiling in the tub in excitement.
“It’s only I, the first billy car and I’m going to the gas station to make myself fat!” I said.
DK mumbled and looked at me, not quite sure what the “tow troll” should say next. So I prompted him,
“No you’re not! For I’m coming to tow you away!”
The tow troll chased the little yellow car around the tub and then finally gave up, very tired. DK, shrieked with delight the entire time.
And so we continued through the rest of the tale of the Three Billy Goats Gruff. And then we did it again, because, 2 year olds.
I had stumbled upon a way to play with my kid that doesn’t make me want to scratch out my eyeballs, at least the first time through the fairytale skit, because I’m not grasping at straws coming up with things for my character to say. Don’t get me wrong, role playing banal conversational exchanges like, “how are you today?” “I’m good how are you?” “Do you want to play with me?”, are important role-playing exchanges for developing conversational skills with a preschooler…but I can only take so much of that. Re-enacting our favourite stories in play is something I do find enjoyable and I don’t think I am alone here.
Telling tales orally is a rich human tradition. We have been passing down stories orally to one another for thousands of years. Before the inventions of the written word and printing presses, we had no other choice, bedtime stories were oral narrations. The fairytales and nursery rhymes we recite to our children today are the same ones parents on the English Isles and Northern Europe told their kids over centuries. Around the world, different cultures have their own rhymes and oral tales that they have been telling children over generations. Telling stories to our children seems to be an intrinsic part of parenthood.
Charlotte Mason recognized that oral tales were one way humans had been learning for millennia and a core part of her educational philosophy is “narration” wherein a child explains in his own words what he just read, either orally (grades 1-3) or written (4+6). Mason writes,
“Education…demands a conscious mental effort…the mental effort of telling again that which has been read or heard. That is how we all learn, we tell again, to ourselves if need be, the matter we wish to retain, the sermon, the lecture, the conversation. The method is as old as the mind of man, the distressful fact is that it has been made so little use of in general education.” (Vol. 6, pp. 159-60)
Telling back in your own words what you just read or had read to you requires active listening/reading, focus and attention. It requires comprehension of the text. Along with printing, narration is the first step to learning how to write and compose. We know from modern educational research that we remember hardly anything of what we read or hear, but we remember a lot more of what we teach to others. Storytelling (the art of telling a story from memory) is one form of narration.
Not only does telling a story from memory help cement it in the storyteller’s mind, the personal interaction with your child is memorable for them.
DK and I had already been reading a couple of books of nursery rhymes (I like Mary Englebright’s versions because I love her illustrations) and age-appropriate fairytales (I really like Paul Galdone’s fairytale book series), but I wanted to try just telling them orally without the book or props in front of me, to see how DK reacted. I re-read a few of our fairytales by myself one night and practiced the structure of the story in my head. Often fairytales have lots of repetition, which is loved and needed for preschoolers. So I figured out what I needed to repeat to make sure I had the basic structure right. He loved hearing me tell a story he was already familiar with in my own words and it was fun because I could add my own spice to the story – changing the name Goldilocks to DKeylocks, for example. He listened with rapt attention and an energetic thrill to be a character in the story. I won’t know for a few more years, but I also hypothesize that hearing me retell familiar stories will also help him in his storytelling abilities when he is 5.
Telling tales is also an easy way to distract from frustrations at having to wait for things. I can tell him a tale while I nurse his baby sister. I can tell him a tale while waiting in line at the grocery store. I can tell him a tale while he sits on the potty. It captures his attention, entertains and also creates a social bonding moment between us, storyteller and listener.
So now I have to practice some more tales and expand my roster!
What about you, dear reader? Do you have some favourite stories you like to tell your kids? How do you incorporate tales from your childhood into your child’s life?
Many toddlers are picky eaters. We know that. Biologically it does make sense to be choosey about what you put in your mouth when you are still learning about the world, lest you eat something poisonous, so I do get why my son flat out refuses to eat all fruit. Well I don’t actually get it, fruit is delicious but whatever, I can respect his distrust of all fruit for now.
I have struggled to feed DK ever since he was 6 months old and I was told by my pediatrician to start introducing cereals etc to him. I found it stressful to introduce new foods to him. I didn’t know what to feed him, he didn’t want to eat it, and he made a big mess. I don’t know that I “tried” a specific method – baby-led weaning or whatever the opposite of that is, I just tried to get him to eat food. He was much better at eating if he could put whatever it was in his own mouth, so baby-led weaning kind of took over. But still, he barely ate anything but breastmilk. After one particularly difficult trip home to Canada, he actually lost 3 pounds and I freaked out, basically force feeding him peanut butter and ice cream. It was a low point for me.
Things did not get better as he entered toddlerhood. There were very few foods that I would introduce that he had any interest in or would try at all. And what was worse, he started gagging just looking at certain foods or at the suggestion that he try something. Seriously, he would gag anytime he saw a strawberry or an apple. In desperation, and in preparation for my next pediatrician visit and wanting it to look like I was at least trying to get my kid to stick to a growth chart, I took a course offered through my doctor’s office called “Feeding Your Toddler”.
The course was taught by a pediatric nutritionist and her goal was to teach us how to get our children to eat – but not overeat. She based her talk on the work of Dr. Ellyn Sater who wrote many books on feeding children in the 1980s and 1990s, among them, “How to get your kid to eat, but not too much.” (1987). And frankly the info in this course BLEW my mind and also completely freaked me out. It was so different…could it possibly work?
The basic premise is that you want your child to see all food (healthy & unhealthy) as neutraland to eat just the right amount so that we feel full, but not too full. Treating all food as neutral means that chocolate ice cream has the same value as raw broccoli (I know, crazy right?). But the goal here is to not develop cravings for those unhealthy forbidden foods. As soon as we put dessert on a pedestal or use it as a reward for eating the healthier foods, we develop an unhealthy relationship with that unhealthy food and it makes us crave it that much more. The second concept, to eat just the right amount, breaks down into letting your child choose how much, or if, they eat at all. Unfortunately, the side effect of requiring that children finish all of the food on their plates makes them lose their natural ability to tell when they are full and begin to associate the feeling of being over-full with satisfaction and reward. Down the road, this can cause weight issues such as obesity. Now, this isn’t my current problem with DK – but with the obesity epidemic predicting that we are now entering generations who won’t live as long as their parents – I want to make sure that anything I do do to get DK to put food in his mouth will not be counter-productive to his relationship with food in the long-term.
The instructor broke meal time down into parent versus child roles.
The parent’s role is to decide: what we eat, when we eat, where we eat.
But the child’s role is to decide: how much to eat or whether to eat at all.
I’ll admit, I had a really hard time with this. Following this advice to fulfill my role and to let DK fulfill his role meant that I had to give up control completely about how much he ate and I was already freaking out that he was underweight. Could I really just put a communal bowl of pasta on the table and let him serve himself what he wanted? What if he didn’t like what I made? I brought my concerns up with his pediatrician, who I saw a few days later and he said to follow the advice of the pediatric nutritionist and just see what happens.
And so we tried the method to see.
We let DK choose how much of anything he wanted to eat and trusted that over the course of a few days, he would get a balanced selection for a healthy diet.
We served a selection of fruits, vegetables, grains, meats and dairy with every meal – letting him decide how much he wanted (if any). We didn’t try to push one food over another, but offered them all equally and without pressure or guilt (or at least tried to).
And, the hardest thing, when we served dessert (and the nutritionist’s advice is you should serve dessert at least once per week), we served it in equal portions (everyone at the table gets one cookie) but we served it at the same time as the rest of the meal.
This advice seems SO WRONG and against everything our moms and grandmas taught us. You earn dessert because you ate enough of your peas. You don’t just get dessert.
We were very skeptical. If we served a treat with the rest of the meal, DK would fill up on his dessert first and eat less of the healthy stuff, right? The concept is, if the child feels that all food is of equal value and that the dessert is not conditional on any other eating – they are happy to eat the dessert when they are ready, and not in a “I have to eat this right away before I lose it” binge-eating-attitude. And the long-term goal is to develop healthy eating habits, not binge-eating-junk-food -when-no-one-is-looking-habits
But yes, at first, that is what happened. He ate the cookie first. And would ask for another one. But we said, “We each get one.” and then he’d try to eat ours. But we re-affirmed, “we each get only one” and we would eat ours so that the temptation was gone. But we kept trusting in the method and a few times per week, we continued to serve a single cookie each for dessert, at the same time as the rest of the meal.
And now, I am amazed that what they said would happen, is happening. DK will take a nibble of his cookie and then eat his chicken, or spinach or rice, and then take another nibble of his cookie. Often he doesn’t even finish his cookie before he declares he is “all done” and gets down from the table.
He has become more adventurous for eating more foods and when he tries it of his own accord, he often likes it. Whereas if I encourage/pressure him to try it (which pediatric nutritionist said not to do…I know, I’m not perfect), he almost always spits it out and says “I don’t like it” and won’t try it again. Case in point, he now eats raw spinach and raw broccoli very happily. I didn’t even bother to offer it to him with any suggestive influence because most kids don’t like those things, so I assumed it would be a flat refusal and didn’t bother even asking, but it turns out when he wants to try it, he will, and he’s more likely to like it without the power struggle.
Some days, DK only eats carrots. And some days, he only eats chicken. And some days, the only food worthy to cross his lips is yogurt. But over the span of a few days, he does get a balanced diet.
Now, to be real, I still wouldn’t say my child (or my husband for that matter) is an adventurous eater – but his palette has expanded and his curiosity about what is on the table is widening. I try not to be a short-order cook, so if I know there’s no way he (or my husband) is going to eat the soup I really felt like cooking and eating – I try to make sure our table is set with communal dishes of things he will eat: fresh cut veggies, bread with butter, a bowl of nuts, etc. And he can always ask for a peanut butter sandwich or toast, which I will short-order cook for him.
All in all, I was very skeptical of the philosophy, but right now it seems to be working for us. Every so often DK will add a new ingredient to his “approved” list. Still no fruit, unless contained in yogurt, but I am very happy to report that he no longer gags at the sight of a strawberry and will touch it and allow it on his plate (although he hasn’t tried it yet).
I think the hardest thing when I become a mom was taking care of myself. And not just my physical and psychological needs like showering wearing clean clothes, or spending quality time with my husband, but also taking care of my intellectual needs.
Before I became a stay-at-home-mom, I took courses, I volunteered, and (when I lived in Canada and was legally allowed to) I worked. My day was filled with interesting conversations with intelligent and fascinating people. When my son was born and I was home with a baby who barely even opened his eyes, I became very lonely and isolated with no one to talk to or learn from. My need for an intellectual outlet was still there but I channeled it into over-thinking and over-researching things to do with caring for my kid. I would get stuck in these endless loops debating sleep training or baby-led weaning or how often to give my kid a bath…and the judgment would set in towards those who did things differently from me. ‘Cause I mean, clearly, they didn’t think it through as I had. *Let me roll my eyes at my past self*.
Now, I’m trying to be better. I still like to do research and learn about things to do with childcare and educational philosophies and share all that I’ve learned with people (Hello all my posts on Charlotte Mason!), but I try to not let the judgment police come to dinner anymore. One of the gifts Miss Mason has given me is an even bigger intellectual outlet so that I can do my research and share it and apply it to my life but then take the piece of my brain that was analyzing what other people were doing and give it something else to think about: Mother Culture.
What is Mother Culture?
Mother Culture is just learning new things for the sake of learning new things. Keeping our minds sharp so that when our kids ask “Why is the sky blue?” we could actually have an answer (not that you always want to have an answer, there is value in long-term pondering for children…but more on that later).
I have found wisdom in much of Charlotte Mason’s writings, but I’m going to share one of my favourite passages with you:
“Is there not some need for ‘mother culture’? But how is the state of things to be altered? So many mothers say, ‘I simply have no time for myself!’ ‘I never read a book!’ Or else, ‘I don’t think it is right to think of myself!’ They not only starve their minds, but they do it deliberately, and with a sense of self-sacrifice which seems to supply ample justification. Mother must have time to herself. And we must not say ‘I cannot.’ Can any of us say till we have tried, not for one week, but for one whole year, day after day, that we ‘cannot’ get one half-hour out of the twenty-four for ‘Mother Culture?’–one half-hour in which we can read, think, or ‘remember.’ The habit of reading is so easily lost; not so much, perhaps, the power of enjoying books as the actual power of reading at all. It is incredible how, after not being able to use the eyes for a time, the habit of reading fast has to be painfully regained… The wisest woman I ever knew–the best wife, the best mother, the best mistress, the best friend–told me once, when I asked her how, with her weak health and many calls upon her time, she managed to read so much, ‘I always keep three books going–a stiff book, a moderately easy book, and a novel, and I always take up the one I feel fit for!’ That is the secret; always have something ‘going’ to grow by. If we mothers were all ‘growing’ there would be less going astray among our boys, less separation in mind from our girls… A brisk walk will help. But, if we would do our best for our children, grow we must; and on our power of growth surely depends, not only our future happiness, but our future usefulness. Is there, then, not need for more ‘Mother Culture’?” Volume III, no. 2 The Parents’ Review
This idea captivated me. Could I find 30 minutes per day to dedicate to “Mother Culture”? I certainly found enough time to watch Gilmore Girls reruns. Surely I could find time to challenge myself. I wasn’t exactly sure what to even start with. A craft? A book? A walk in the woods? In the end, I turned off the TV and hid my phone away and I started with the thing I’ve loved most: I picked up a book.
I started reading again. Not blogs or Facebook status updates or news articles, but actual books. I took Charlotte Mason’s words to heart, “The wisest woman I ever knew…told me once… ‘I always keep three books going–a stiff book, a moderately easy book, and a novel, and I always take up the one I feel fit for!’”
I resolved to start limiting myself to 3 books at a time (I am notorious for starting many many many books and never finishing one but saying that I am “reading” it, when I’m really not) and to really try to find “living books” as my choices.
A stiff book. Right now I am reading “For the Love of Physics” by Walter Lewin, a physics professor at MIT who is passionate about physics and has won many awards for his teaching. It is not written “stiffly”, his writing style is actually very engaging, but it is difficult for me because my knowledge of physics is very poor (electricity works by magic, right?) so it requires all of my focus and concentration.
2) A moderately easy book. Right now I am reading Charlotte Mason’s 6 volumes. When I first started reading them, I would consider her writing style to be “stiff”, but it’s amazing how much your reading skills improve as you get more familiar with the writing style. After reading 3 volumes, I’m finding her writing much easier to get through.
3) A novel. I resolved to read one novel from every majorly famous/renowned author. I want to be familiar with the stories that pop up in pop-culture but I don’t really know much about the original. For example, I know the quote, “Elementary, my dear Watson”, is from Sherlock Holmes, but I have never read anything by Arthur Conan Doyle. So I brainstormed a list and strive to read one book by:
Arthur Conan Doyle
So far in 2019, I have tackled Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie, the Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck (OMG LOVED THIS BOOK), the Plague by Albert Camus (OMG I HATED THIS BOOK. I actually quit ⅔ of the way in because it was just the most boring possible book I could imagine being written about a bubonic plague quarantining an entire city post-WWII. Apparently French writers who wax poetic about life and death are not for me), and I’m now reading David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. At this rate, it will take me about 3 years to read a novel from each of these authors, so this list is long enough for me!
Getting Focused Enough to Read
When I first started on this resolution in April 2018, I found it really hard to concentrate and focus even for 10 minutes on what I was reading. After years of reading tweets and status updates and endlessly scrolling, my eyes flitting down the page, my attention span was abysmal. So I downloaded an app (yes, kind of an oxymoron to use technology to curtail my technology addiction, but whatever) called Forest.
With Forest, you set a timer (for say, 30 minutes) and the goal is to not touch your phone and to focus on what you’re supposed to focus on for the entire time. If you focus for the time you set out, you grow a tree to add to your forest. If you touch your phone and close out of the app during that time, your tree DIES and you have this little dead tree in your forest. Sad little dead tree. As you can see, in 2018, I was not perfect and killed many trees responding to texts.
This screen shot of my forest isn’t comprehensive of every time I sat down to read because I didn’t need to use the app every time to divert my attention away from my phone. Like a muscle, focus and attention strengthen over time.
Additionally, I’m the kind of person who loves checklists. It helps keep me accountable as I love checking things off. Not everyone is a list person, but I am. So I started a Mother Culture Log Book to check off every day when I did my reading. It is a daytimer where I write in a corner of my calendar 10 minutes on each of the three books I am reading. I also challenged myself to read one poem (I forgot I loved poetry) and one entry from an encyclopedia about nature. Having this daily checklist helped me keep up with my Mother Culture goals even when I didn’t feel like it, because I do always feel like checking something off a list, especially when it only takes ~35 minutes to complete the entire list. I recognize this is next-level nerd, but hey, I say, embrace whatever nerdy system works for you to accomplish your goals. So now, on to explain my other nerdy system, my Book of Books.
My Book of Books
To document my reading and to help me finish what I start (with the exception of the Plague because seriously, I can’t complain enough about this book), I also started a Book of Books. It is a simple notebook, and when I finish a book, I write it in at the top of the fresh page and then I write my personal review of the book and give it a rating out of 5. It’s just for me. A personal diary. But it’s fun to look back on all the books I’ve read this year and remember what I read. And yes, I did write an entry about the Plague so I could forever remember how awful it is, even though I consciously gave up on Camus.
My Book of Books tells me that since April 1, 2018, I have read 20 books totaling 4792 pages. I know, I’m shocked too. And before you think “I don’t have time to read this much”, let me repeat – my goal was to read 30 minutes per day. 10 minutes from each of 3 books. Sometimes I got really into reading and read for longer than 30 minutes after DK went to sleep. But many days I didn’t manage to read at all because I had to binge watch Silicon Valley, The Crown, Escape to the Country, or the Good Place. I am very surprised to see those numbers reflected in nearly one year of reading for 30 minutes per day and I am inspired to see what I can accomplish in 2019.
So what about you? What’s something you could do for 30 minutes per day that would help you grow and develop as a person and as a parent? It doesn’t have to be reading like me. Maybe you really loved painting in high school and you haven’t picked it up in 15 years. Maybe you loved math but never went any further than what you were forced to do in school. You could pick up where you left off and teach yourself, 30 minutes per day. Maybe you want to learn a second language. Or perhaps you’re craving something tactile and want to learn how to knit. I’m here to tell you you CAN do it. You DO have time. 30 minutes per day over 1 year is almost 200 hours towards learning a new skill or getting back in touch with an old passion. You will be astounded at what you can accomplish a little at a time.
Thanks to the internet, which is both a blessing and a curse – there are limitless resources on learning all of those things with help from experts, guided tutorials, samples, patterns, and step-by-step instructions. And if you do not know where to start, ask me, and I would happily help you find some resources to get you on your own Mother Culture path.