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July 10, 2007

Stay at home traits?

I was discussing my list of traits that make staying at home with kids easier with some friends. I asked each one what they thought was a useful trait. The one who is way laid back, a dancer and choreographer, always three steps ahead of me at playing it by ear, said something like, "Being very controlling." Meaning of the food, the behavior, that sort of thing. Our friend who runs a very tight ship, always tidy, reasonable schedule, immense knowledge of where to buy which supplies and how much they should cost, said something like, "You have to jettison your type A personality."

I had to agree with both of them, and yet I was struck that each person identified a trait that is opposite to their natural tendencies as a key useful trait. I think this underlines why parenting is such a powerful way to burst through perceived limitations. Whatever you think of as "yourself," you soon are willing to jettison. The work is so totally demanding, and the stakes the highest you've played for, that if you are a go with the flow person and you see the need for more order, you'll come up with more order. If you are a type-A person and you see the need for more laxness, you'll go with that flow. And in either case, one finds vistas opening up, and enhanced experience of freedom---the old ideas of what kind of person you are just don't really matter. They don't help get things done, and when burst through, whatever fears the limiting ideas covered up aren't substantial compared to getting dinner on the table, playing games, soothing hurt people, or whatever the task is.

You are killing birds

Montgomery County is famous for being a fairly conscious-of-the-environment sort of place. It's the sort of place where when I first met my local county councilmember he had biked to my house, and where you run into some elected officials at the healthy food coop, and even more at the Whole Paycheck Healthy Food store. So, unlike when I was a child, we try to justify not wasting so much not with an appeal to "hungry people in China" but with "God wants us to save the beautiful things that have evolved in this lovely planet." Sometimes the phrases aren't phrased so well.

First of all, environmental consequences are fairly complex chains of cause and effect and trade-offs. We have run-off, toxicity in plastics, human health effects, nutrients in the spawning waters of imperiled oceanic fish populations, deforestation, and so on. So while being as aware as one's own scientific ability allows, one has to simplify things a bit for the younger audience.

"If you waste the toilet paper, they will have to cut down more trees, and the birds will die."

Never mind, that I buy toilet paper out of recycled paper, it seems to me that if we play fun but silly games with the toilet paper, some how that's putting upward pressure on the price of lumber, and more clear cutting will happen, and more diverse forests will be destroyed for tree mono-crops. (Note for the horrified parents out there, this phrase wasn't spoken as part of a toilet related action, but as a part of a much more frivolous game in which toilet paper was being wasted; my standard approach on excessive toilet paper usage for toileting purposes is "use as much as you want to feel comfortable, just flush every so often." Not so environmental, but better than stopped up toilets, and I figure that when people have the autonomy to solve problems, the solutions end up being not so wasteful as an imposed efficiency.)

I never did really find a better way to explain why not to waste toilet paper.

The sublime pleasure of reading

When my eldest child was just a few months old, I went to the Library with her, for the excellent Tuesday morning room, and there they gave us a little packet of stuff they have for new parents, which included Rosemary Wells' book "Read to your Bunny." This lovely book (Rosemary Wells is a great writer and painter of children's books, I've never regretted reading or getting any of them) begins with the injunction "Read to your bunny" and ends with the prediction "and one day your bunny will read to you."

This prediction is being fulfilled in our life this summer. Sitting and listening to my daughter read is alternately dull, as the part of me that wants to do everything myself (the part that would grab your keyboard if I were watching you do something on a computer) is twitching, and amazing, as she turns the last page and has read another book. At that time, a burning flush runs through me and I smile with such pride. The journey from tiny pumpkin curled up in a swaddled ball that fit in the top left quarter of my chest as she slept her first days in the outer world to this lanky reader, showing shy pride at her increasingly useful skill and clever commentary at the somewhat straight-laced books they write for beginning readers, just seems too short a journey to have allowed such changes.

That lovely summer when walking around the city with my tiny pumpkin, on hearing the infinite stream of "it goes so quickly" from kindly parents, my back would stiffen with irritation at being told this obvious trite phrase, and now here I am wallowing in sentimentality. If someone walked in front of my window with a baby now, I'd be tempted to run out and tell them how quickly and amazingly it goes. (It's so much easier to wax poetical about kids when one is taking a no-longer inevitable long nap and the other is off at a play-date.)

July 08, 2007

Qualities that are useful to stay at home with kids

I don't think staying at home with your kids is necessary, although I personally have trouble understanding people that make other choices :) However, if you are considering taking on the SAHP task/lifestyle, it is probably useful to know that it is a rather specialized sort of work environment.

First off, you have to be a person that gets enough fulfillment from looking alone at what you've done and being satisfied with it. If you need a lot of external validation, you'll be disappointed. Not only is the work undervalued by "society" (which abstraction turns out to be your family, acquaintances and friends), the days are so full of amazing moments that no one will ever know how smart you were, as there just isn't time to communicate the richness of a day. Notice that clever placement of a new toy near the front seat, so that it wasn't discussed during the car ride, and was then useful for distracting the toddler during the removal from the car? A totally smooth and on-time delivery of two kids for another event. The brief glow of pleasure from seeing the cleverness here is about all the positive feedback you get (aside of course from the smoothness and on-timeness). Also, it's the nature of the job that you really never finish anything, and there's often much unfinished work (piles of things sitting around, dishes that weren't able to be cleaned before dinner, dirty clothes, art projects that ended up with the walls being painted, broken artifacts that need mending). So someone evaluating you (that could be others or your own critical voices) would tend to miss the fun had, miss the conversations about how one can try even though they are afraid, and that that is what bravery is. They can even miss the fact of several hours being spent on cleaning because the abstract ideal of a clean house is not what springs to mind on looking around. So if you like results or like people noticing your results, it can be a long wait for either. You can only smile and move on to the next thing (or you know, grimace and try to see what happened and move on).

Secondly, a mother's work is never done. We've all heard this before, but consider this: you woke up with the kids in another lifetime; you've been tiring them out with nature and interesting stuff and cleaning up after ourselves and practicing writing by writing about the day; you've listened to insanely tedious squabbles about whose turn for what with this toy; you got a dinner that was eaten (lunch and breakfast while tiring don't even merit mention), criticized or not even noticed; you cleaned up while your help-meet "puts the kids to bed" (which may involve you stepping in at strategic times to ensure that teeth are brushed or other vital steps occur). Then as your partner mentions their terribly taxing day, the big deadline tomorrow, they drop off to sleep. Though you'd be interested in sleep, your knowledge of the effects of actions means you find yourself folding the latest load of laundry first. One bends into the task, knowing the long days are why the doubts as to whether you are making a difference with your life have gone, are why you sleep so soundly, having thoroughly used your allotment of energy for the day, and are why you just smile when you hear people talk about wishing they felt more fulfilled or connected to life.

Third, you are basically pooping on your paying career. As Anne Crittendon revealed, if your income is median, it's costing you a million dollars or so of lifetime earnings to pause for kids (if you were the "responsible" parent that missed work or left early when the kids had a pressing need, the loss of income for becoming totally at home is less, since you've been farting on your career all along). You don't even get Social Security credit for your labor, which is probably more intense and more effective than it's ever been before, albeit not as impressive to certain people.

Fourth, you don't get sick leave. So you have to have a constitution that allows the New England attitude of just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Because you will get sick with sick kids and things you can't miss. And you won't like it.

Fifth, you have to deal with a lot of poop - both actual and as a topic of conversation. My kids have this performance-art-esque dance "I'm pooping, I'm pooping, I'm pooping while I'm walking." (Quoted with permission of the author.) It can be very funny but you know after a day of leaked diapers and general disobedience, sometimes it's less funny. And really, is reviewing that "Daddy poops, Mommy poops, [sister] poops, [self] poops, [neighbor A] poops, [neighbor B] poops," etc., needed one more time? But as far as I can tell, it is needed one more time. Perhaps this talk means that potty training should take a turn for the more serious, perhaps it means time should be allocated in the schedule for changing a poopy diaper? These questions cannot be avoided. But they aren't glamorous.

Sixth, you do well if you are the sort of person that prefers to do stuff yourself. When I was a computer programmer, I was a low-level c programmer; I didn't want to use some poorly designed toolkit that would "make my life easier." I wanted to make my own perfectly suited toolkit from scratch. When I am responsible for a yard, I don't want some professionally manicured beautiful yard, I want to push my own heavy but low emissions reel mower and watch the clover fight the grass and the strawberries. With my children, I don't really have any reason to feel I'm doing a better job than the professionals would, but I am doing the work myself. I know what their childhood is like, and I'm passing on what I find is important or useful in living. And, I make the damn cakes from scratch.

Paradoxically, you also do well if you are the sort of person that immediately and graciously accepts help. All sorts of people will offer help, from clean shirts in the park when yours are all poopy or peachy, to watching kids so you can do various urgent tasks, to taking the kids out for ice cream while you bathe for the first time in days. There is always this temptation to turn down this help - not strictly needed, I want to save help for later, I've made by bed by leaving those peaches in the bag so long, let me lie in it; it's too late for a treat, we had treats today already, etc. You must be able to habitually resist that temptation, and accept the help without looking back.

Finally, the work can only really be enjoyed when you don't mind doing the unglamorous bits. In my professional life, I worked both in larger corporations where jobs are so specialized that I never even knew the people that touched the computers and also in small offices where I would do fancy programming, and as well would get out my screw driver and fix a loose cable. I always enjoyed knowing how the entire thing actually worked, from the most complex software process to the physical level of cables and electricity. With parenting at home, you are one moment attempting to explain death and why God doesn't really want us to worry about death so much as being kind to each other right now (in words that don't bore the question askers) and the next moment you are just wiping the butt cheeks. Even more grating to your ego will be when the whole family is going out together, and it hits you that your task to unobtrusively provide the "infrastructure for happiness." Your partner is regaling the kids with glamorous treats, while you silently hand over the wipes at the appropriate time. Your partner is expressively reading your toddler's favorite book, which you told her about and then went and got. You are at a restaurant to celebrate some job success, and you with no fuss bring out a little toy every 5 minutes or so to keep at bay the child-like behavior which our society frowns on. Again, you get to enjoy knowing that it could have been worse had you not been so cleverly prepared, as you flee from the restaurant, your partner's success not adequately celebrated, but celebrated as much as the universe allows today.

All this being said, I have never had more interesting work, nor work that so clearly gives me the chance to see my self and to master my self. Children grow up like their parents, and they mostly copy your values rather than do what you tell them, so the only way to parent is to be good, to be brave and kind and respectful and creative, even while you are tired and resentful and full of your own woe. Again and again, you have the chance, sitting there tired, to stand up and make reality better. It is leadership by example, and your kids will give you the chance to see how powerful that sort of leadership is.

Good blogs

Here's a beautifully written local blog: Momma Dharma

Here's a funny but slightly practical blog of parenting tips: Parent Hacks

Here's a very funny blog by an attachment parenting writer: Catherine Newman

July 03, 2007

What is Zen

Sorry this is a bit off topic, but it turns out that there is an interesting online community of people writing about the intersection of Zen and parenting. As I've posted on the takomapakk list, I have been receiving training in Zen for a while, and I do find it helpful as a parent. But I'm really posting this because I have a chance to win a free book by my favorite current author, Karen Maezen Miller. (There is a contest here about defining what Zen is, implicitly in a parenting context). So if this hasn't convinced you to check out the latest Hathor comic, read on....

To me,

Zen is the name of the formal meditation practice I started after quitting my job to stay home (so to speak) with my kids after reading a book about Buddhism and realizing I needed to attend to right occupation (Buddhist speak for "have a good job") first and most urgently. I figured if I were committed enough to Buddhism to quit my job, I ought to meditate in some organized fashion.

Zen is not wanting to calm a head-banging toddler down and clean up the spilt milk and hurled oatmeal on the floor myself, without assistance from said toddler; realizing I am wasting energy by looking for some good other than the good that is offered; feeling a bit of a laugh; and cleaning that milk and oatmeal up (perhaps before or perhaps after giving the toddler words for his renewed discovery that the head hurts after banging).

Zen is sitting on a zafu as two sleepy (I wrote "too sleepy" at first) children drift off. Remembering my teacher's admonition that zazen cannot be interrupted, I offer the odd minimal comforting response ("Yes, it's dark." "Mmmm." "We'll talk more tomorrow, sleep well."). As they take longer to fall asleep, I am able to enjoy the extra time sitting. As they fall asleep faster, I am able to enjoy the sound of their breathing mixed in with the rhythm of my own breath.

Zen is not being the most patient person, but knowing a source of patience.

Zen is seeing that I'm not very good at arranging flowers, and yet plunging into arranging today's flowers. I am constantly doing jobs that my education and experience have left me terribly unprepared for, and I am so often amazed to discover that doing these jobs badly but with attention is indeed just perfect.

Zen is getting irritated at the outrageous, performance artist like act of my daughter, seeing that irritation, seeing that act, and then seeing the irritation fade as my body flushes with pride at her cleverness, her fearless taunting of power, and her love of a good joke. And then letting some right speech (Buddhist speak for words that don't have any negative effects and must be spoken) be spoken about how that is funny, but we still need to finish setting the table for dinner.

Zen is running to school with a still sleepy 35 pound 2 year old kid in the stroller, feeling the wind blow, seeing the lines in the sidewalk slip by, as my feet lift up and down as my breath gets hot and quick, and watching all this with stillness and amazement. A stillness that doesn't mind the final uphill stretch, doesn't expect the criticizing parents, the mean kids, or the fighting that will ensue when the nap-shorted two year old starts interacting with the exhausted from a day of regimental public school six year old.

For me, above all, Zen is, in the words of C.S. Lewis, not holding onto the image of the good that was expected in the face of the good that is offered. It is plunging into the good that is offered, plunging into the work that needs doing, which are the same. It is living with the experience that each moment is of the utmost importance, a matter of life and death, and isn't that just so funny? This very blog is of the utmost importance, how silly is that! Our children show us how brief and how interesting this fortunate existence is. I have a seven year old now, and I clearly remember being seven. The limitations of thoughts to capture reality are obvious in the face of such a fact, in the face of a seven year old.