Thirteen

A birthday is always cause for celebration, but some seem so much bigger than others. As we come upon my eldest daughter’s thirteenth birthday, I find myself become extremely emotional, more so than for any other of my children’s birthdays that have passed.

The reflections I have in looking back on her life so far are as much about myself as they are about her. The studies I read about human developmental stage in earning my Psychology degree – especially those of Erik Erikson – make so much more sense now that I have lived through early adulthood and have a child entering adolescence.

To everything there is a time and season. According to Erikson, we must progress through stages successfully in order to go on to the next. It is our job as parents to help that happen, by encouraging them in the right direction. But the individual has to master skills on his or her own – if the parent does too much it stifles development. So parents are constantly weighing what is the right thing to do – or not do – as their children grow.

We see our children as a product of ourselves, so our own self-esteem is wrapped up around how we perceive our children. If we are happy with how they are turning out, we can feel good about that; if not, we are filled with waves of self-doubt. In both cases, we have to offer up our children to God, giving Him credit for who they are and asking for grace to deal with the challenges we face as their parents.

Being a parent has changed my whole perception of reality. I have learned exponentially with each year more about God, life, and myself. I see that I worried unnecessarily about little things years ago that don’t matter now. I see that you can direct your path to a certain degree but some things you can never predict.

I look with wonder and awe at a child who biologically is the product of me and my husband and who has been shaped to a certain degree by us, but who constantly amazes us with qualities that could only have been God-given. I think of all the choices we have made and the results of those and I am happy that God guided us; and that we listened.

I think with hope toward her future and pray God will continue to guide us in the right direction; that she will continue to listen to the Holy Spirit in all she does and constantly grow in her faith and as the person God has meant for her to be.

I pray for all the parents out there in whatever stage they may be, that they can be thankful for whatever it is they have been given, and put themselves and their children in God’s hands, accepting the past and embracing the present, always looking forward.

Pictured above: Audrey reads "The Weight of a Mass" by Josephine Nobisso to the Little Flowers group at Our Lady of the Island.

Fathers and Daughters

Leopold Mozart and Wolfgang Amadeus and Maria Anna

Loren Christie inspired me with her post “Golden Promises”, which was about the innocent promises that children make their parents. It made me think of a conversation I had with my Dad when I was about eight years old.

Dad worked long hours during the week, but he and I used to spend most of the weekend together. It would be several years before I was granted a little brother and sister, so he did all the things with me that dads typically like to do with their sons as well. Together we built things (much to my mother’s chagrin, as he taught me how to use a circular table saw when we built a deck together), painted, went to the hardware store, mowed the lawn (also against mom’s wishes, due to accidents she frequently saw in the ER where she worked as an RN), and cleaned the gutters on the roof (also not mom’s favorite place for me). When he bought his first Radio Shack computer, we read the manual together and learned BASIC programming. To this day I take pleasure in doing these sorts of chores (good thing, as Kevin is not a handyman), with Dad accompanying me in my thoughts. Today I am sure I would not want my kids handling power tools or going on the roof; but I am glad my parents allowed me to master these skills.

Dad also liked to challenge me in every way he could. When we went bike riding, he would often race ahead of me, so I could barely see around what curve he had gone. This is the sort of thing that would never have worked if we didn’t trust each other. He trusted that I would ride safely, and I trusted that he would never go so far ahead that he would lose me.

One day, riding side-by-side, I told him that I loved him.

“But do you like me?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, sometimes when kids get older they don’t like their parents anymore.”

I was shocked.

“That’s terrible! I will always love you, and like you too.”

That was my golden promise, and one that I kept. Sure, there were times when we would get mad at each other, but the love, the friendship, and the mutual trust have always remained.


Me, my sister Joanna, and my Dad Mark Gerold during our recent visit in Tennessee.

The father-daughter relationship is so important to both a man’s integrity and a girl’s self-esteem. Studies show that girls who have a good relationship with their fathers do better in life and keep out of trouble such as drugs and pre-marital sex. Having the approval of their fathers, they do not have a high need to seek it from their peers. Having the love of a man in their life, they do not need to find it in the arms of a young man. Their experience with their own fathers will translate to their view of their Heavenly Father and whether they see the universe as malevolent or benevolent. Finally, they will tend to seek a mate with similar characteristics.

When a child grows up to be happy and well-adjusted, with healthy adult relationships, this helps the parent to progress in a positive way through the adult life stages discussed by psychologist Erik Erikson. In middle adulthood, ages 40-65, the basic conflict to be resolved is generativity vs. stagnation, with much depending on the important event of parenting. One needs to feel he has satisfied and supported the needs of the next generation. If his daughter is not happy, he stagnates. In the stage of maturity, ages 65 and on, the conflict is between integrity and despair. The satisfactory outcome is of a feeling of fulfillment in one’s life in generation.

The Bible has some words specifically addressing fathers and daughters. In the book of Sirach, fathers are charged with the protection of their daughter’s innocence and reputation:

Sirach 42 (NAB)
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A daughter is a treasure that keeps her father wakeful, and worry over her drives away rest: Lest she pass her prime unmarried, or when she is married, lest she be disliked;
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While unmarried, lest she be seduced, or, as a wife, lest she prove unfaithful; Lest she conceive in her father's home, or be sterile in that of her husband.
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Keep a close watch on your daughter, lest she make you the sport of your enemies, A byword in the city, a reproach among the people, an object of derision in public gatherings. See that there is no lattice in her room, no place that overlooks the approaches to the house.
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Let her not parade her charms before men, or spend her time with married women;
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For just as moths come from garments, so harm to women comes from women:
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Better a man's harshness than a woman's indulgence, and a frightened daughter than any disgrace.

And you dads thought it was all in your head. There is a very good reason you feel so protective of your daughters. God has commanded it to be so.

There is definitely something to be envied in the father’s relationship with his daughters. I can see that special indefinable quality between my husband and our daughters. I can’t put my finger on it, but it is very different from what I have with them, just as my relationship with our son has a tenderness that by nature is different from what he has with his dad. My job here is to step back and let what they share grow.

Irrational Fears II: The Yellow Singing Bird

At age two or so, many toddlers start developing irrational fears. For my littlest one, age 2 ½, this started a few weeks ago with her fear of “the bugasy”. Once I had made the cause of her fear disappear, it took about a week for her to forget about it. Then she started to be afraid of an innocent singing canary.

For her first birthday and Christmas, she received two collections of singing birds, created by the National Audubon Society: backyard birds, and water birds. The children love to sit in a pile of birds with her and make them all sing. This is what they were doing the afternoon before she suddenly took a fear to the yellow singing bird.

All of a sudden, I heard her scream, “NOOOO! No bird! Go away!” She could not have made herself more clear.

I made the bird disappear, but my seven-year-old son thought it was fun to get a reaction out of her. He took it out of the drawer where I had hid it, and showed it to her again. She screamed so loud it scared me.

For several days afterward, she would look on the top of the dresser, where I keep the birds in a wicker basket. I knew she was scanning them to make sure the yellow bird was not there. “It’s gone,” she would say, with satisfaction.

What made her suddenly be so scared of something that had formerly given her pleasure? The kids theorized that the yellow bird bore some remote resemblance to a “star monster” that they had seen on a Scooby Doo episode the same afternoon she had attached fear to the bird. Who knows?

I bought her a Winnie the Pooh and Tigger sweatshirt. She loves Pooh Bear and Tigger but refuses to wear it. Why? Good thing it was a larger size – hopefully by next fall she will be willing to wear it.

That reminds me of the purple winter coat my friend bought for my first-born when she was three. I was getting her into her car seat one day, when a spider crawled into the hood of the coat. She screamed until I got the coat off her, and refused to ever wear it again. My friend was not too happy.

Kids need to feel safe, and if they attach fear to an object, I believe the best thing is to remove the object, so that they can again feel secure. After all, they’re just things, right? And after a while, they will see it the same way.

“Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests know to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”
Phillippians 4:6-7

To Go to School, or Not?

Visiting Day at the Hospital 1889

“You’re not lonely today, are you, Mrs. Miller?” asks the school nurse when she calls me today.

No, I’m never lonely, I think, but play along anyway, and laugh, pretending I have a sense of humour.

Lately, I have not had one. It’s been a tough winter, with kids continually out sick with something. Now hit me all at once with all of them sick and me feeling crummy. I try to tell myself it could be worse, they could be in the hospital, we could have the Black Plague, but it doesn’t work. I recognize the cognitive behavioral definition of depression while going through it myself: the cycling of negative thoughts. You know it’s going on but feel helpless to break it. Like a drowning swimmer, you need someone to throw you a lifeline. My online friends do that for me, sending me prayers right when I need it.

None of my kids went to school today. It feels like that was the right decision, when I find out the flu is going around. The kids all received the flu shot this year, but this is a different strain.

My oldest one was out for three days last week, due to a fever. She never fully recovered and now has sinus pain, the reason for her absence today. My littlest one had a fever for three days over the weekend, followed by a constantly running nose that turned into a bloody nose after all the constant wiping. Perhaps my judgment was a little off, due to lack of sleep, when I followed through on my promise to distribute snacks at the school yesterday.

The second grade teacher complained about my son’s coughing, more than hinting that perhaps he shouldn’t return to school the next day. And my fifth grader came home hacking something scary. When I told them they weren’t going to school the next day, they complained. My fifth grader had a science bee she was looking forward to. My second grader just loves school – imagine that!

My seventh grader attempted to reason with them: "If you're sick your immunity is lowered and you are less resistant to catching the stomach virus. And if you get it we all get it. And I REALLY want to see the cousins!!!" We missed seeing them over Christmas break due to a stomach virus, and are looking forward to making up the visit next week.

They continued to insist they wanted to go to school. I said they could if they didn't cough once all night. But my eldest and I secretly plotted to not set the alarms so no one could wake them up on time.

It wound up being a balmy day, and after lunch we were all out in the backyard. Jacketless, I propped myself up on two chairs and picked up on my reading of Les Miserables. They played baseball, after finding a place that was not too muddy. My littlest one hates to get dirty, but she eventually let me put her down on the soggy ground in snow boots.

From our time in the sun, I had a good dose of natural melatonin to boost my mood. The kids can go back to school tomorrow; I’ll cross my fingers so they don’t pick up something else. I finally break my cycle of negative thoughts by repeating to myself, “I’m never alone, never alone, never alone, never alone.”

Irrational Fears: The Bugasy

I was changing my toddler, when what appeared to be a bug came flying over the changing table and landed on her chest.

“Aaah! A bug!” I cried.

My daughter flinched and screamed as well. I swatted at it, caught it, and realized it was a hairball, which had clung to Night Night the White Blankie.

My living room carpet gets vacuumed almost daily. Not only does she get cereal all over it on a regular basis. If there is anything resembling a bug, she will point it out and refuse to move until I have picked it up, identified it, and properly disposed of it.

Someone gave my kids this interesting little flashlight-light device. It projects a “galaxy” onto any surface you point it at. If the surface is far away, such as a ceiling, the galaxy is large. If it is close, it is miniscule.

The kids were fooling around with it and decided to point it at the baby’s stomach.

“Aaah! A bug!” she cried, clutching her stomach.

“It’s not a bug,” we explained, “It’s a galaxy.”

“A bugasy! No bugasy!”

I took away the toy, but she continued to hold her stomach throughout dinner, chanting, “No bug. No bugasy.”

This episode made me flash back to when my eldest was her age. She was afraid of animated dolls. Children at this stage of development are working hard at making sense of their world. My little one knew foreign objects didn’t belong on her stomach; my eldest knew that nonliving things should not roller skate or talk. Our job is to reconcile these inconsistencies with the scientific rules they have figured out on their own, so they can be at peace with the world and themselves.

The Bugasy Episode went on for a week, the kids occasionally teasing her with the galaxy light just to get a reaction from her.

The following week would be a new thing – but I’ll save that for another post.

Picture above: Bear has no fears as she makes herself at home in front of our new Amish electric fireplace.

What is Your Brain's Pattern?

Your Brain's Pattern

Structured and organized, you have a knack for thinking clearly. You are very logical - and you don't let your thoughts get polluted with emotions. And while your thoughts are pretty serious, they're anything from boring. It's minds like yours that have built the great cities of the world!

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

Mental Clutter

Sherlock Holmes, the character created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, expressed an interesting view of the memory. Dr. Watson wanted to know how the detective could remember such peculiar details and make the intricate connections among them. He explained that the brain was like an attic. It only has so much room to store things. If any bit of information had nothing to do with his work, he would not let it in. If a bit turned out to be “clutter”, he had to throw it out to make room for new information.

From what I learned about the brain in my psychology classes, it seems to have an endless capacity for storing information. However, I have always thought this comparison of the brain to an attic space to be quite useful. If I can find a use for some new information, I invite it in. Otherwise, I block it out.

Friends are continually amazed that I could have passed the same stores hundreds of times without noticing them. Why would I? There are only several stores on the main route through town that have any use for me: the food store, Wal-mart, the library, Home Depot, the chocolate store, the post office, and the gas station. If I need a specialty store, I will look in the yellow pages to locate it. This enables me to go on my way without the distractions of extraneous buildings that are not on my list of errands.

I had been in one particular friend’s house a dozen times before I noticed the huge widescreen television that occupied a large portion of the den. I had to see it because we were watching a movie on it! “Wow, that’s some big TV you have here,” I commented. “How could you miss this monstrosity?” she questioned. I was there to see her, not her t.v.; therefore it didn’t register.

I picked up a copy of the classic "On Writing Well" by William Zinsser and have been happily devouring its advice. There is a whole chapter devoted to "clutter"! What he means by that is verbal clutter - extra words that don't add any meaning to one’s writing. But he also, in his 30-year anniversary edition, adds the idea of psychological clutter, stressing the burden of extraneous thoughts on trying to get clean ideas out on paper.

This suddenly put in perspective something a writing friend had said about her clutter preventing her from being creative. As simple as I have tried to keep my mental processes, my physical attic is full. So are all my closets and drawers. I am one of those who “boxes” her clutter and puts it on a top shelf of a closet, under the bed, or in the attic.

As I open up a box, a flood of memories comes pouring out, as a droplet of gas enclosed in a small space will spread out to fill a whole room. Like the physical box of stuff, the memories associated with them have been compartmentalized into a small portion of my brain. I might think my brain is de-cluttered, but really I just have put the clutter away to be dealt with later. As I deal with each thing, I can process the idea that goes with it. My daily de-cluttering time thus has become part of my mental writing time, because it helps de-clutter me spiritually.

I have been imagining my house completely streamlined, with only a few beautiful things in sight, fitting the form and function of each room. Would such a house be boring? Would such a person be boring?

For Sherlock Holmes Fans:

48 of the 60 stories in The Canon of stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle are out of copyright and can be downloaded in text format at 221 Baker Street.org

Sherlock Holmes, the movie, will be released in 2009.

The Man Who Was Used Up

While my sister was visiting, we stumbled upon my library’s monthly used book sale. For $1.00, I was able to pick up a 753-page hardcover, library edition of “Sixty-Seven Tales” by Edgar Allan Poe. Then I put it on my bookshelf and forgot all about it.

My legs were tired and I needed something to read while I took a short break yesterday. Remembering the volume of short stories, I removed it from its resting place. Reading the description of one as a “brilliant story of humor and satire” and finding that it was only 7 pages in length, I put my feet up for a short interlude and enjoyed this story. (You can read it here.)

“The Man That Was Used Up: A Tale of the Late Bugaboo and Kickapoo Campaign” opens up with a detailed description of the fascinating and handsome Brevet Brigadier General John A.B.C. Smith. The narrator is intrigued by some mysterious quality of his new acquaintance and seeks to find out more about him. His social spies repeat generalities about the courageous and remarkable man, his fight with the Bugaboo and Kickapoo Indians, and what a wonderful age of invention we are living in! Not to be put off any further, he ends up at Smith’s house while he is still dressing. He finds that the General has to be put together, from his legs to his palate, and every single physical attribute about him is artificial. Mystery solved: he was “the man that was used up”.

A good story will resonate within a good reader’s mind for some time and bring out all kinds of new thoughts. Most of these are unintended by the writer. He just wanted to tell a good story.

I have always wondered about the increasing artificiality of many people as they get older. When I attend a social function, sometimes the most sing-songy hello-how-are-you’s ring as the most non-genuine and leave me with a sour taste. I wonder:

How many us have left a good portion of ourselves behind as we lose ourselves in the messy details of life?

How many of us hide behind a veneer as a protective mechanism so long that we forget who was there?

How many of us can’t remember who we were before we got married and had children?

How many of us, by middle age, are women who are all used up?

God turns Pharaoh’s heart to stone to enable him to repeatedly refuse the Hebrews their independence. But through the prophet Ezekiel he offers something different for his people…

“A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 36:26

In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, by C.S. Lewis (from The Chronicles of Narnia series; the movie is in pre-production for May 2010 ), Eustace turns into a dragon and can only be saved by Aslan. The Great Lion gives him a bath that one-by-one removes each layer of scales. Painfully they come off, and Eustace is relieved and born again when he finds himself naked, in his boy skin.

At our conception we were given a soul, and noone can kill that soul – not even ourselves. We can try to bury it under layers of protective mechanisms, but God can strip away these veneers.

Separation Anxiety and Naptime Refusal – Part I

I know there will be a Part II to this, at the very least, as this has been the major ongoing issue ruling my life over the past month.

My youngest baby never suffered from stranger or separation anxiety at nine months, the typical first peak. I thought myself lucky. I thought perhaps her being constantly around older siblings had effectively immunized her against the fear of strangers, much as breast milk immunized her against most of the germs the kids brought home.

But at the eighteenth month, the second average peak of separation anxiety, which just never occurred with my first three, hit us like a hurricane without warning. One day she was this happy-go-lucky toddler, happy to finally be up and about on two legs, refusing to say “mama”; and the next she was clinging to “nigh-night”, her favorite white blanket with tassles, and whining to be picked up by “mama” whenever she was in sight.

This started when we were in Florida for Christmas. I am sure the change of atmosphere brought it on. Then we left her for a full day while we went to Disney World. She reportedly was good for my grandparents, but the next day she apparently was quite afraid that I was going to pull another disappearing act. This is also when she started to be attached to the white blanket and calling it “nigh-night” (which is what we say when we put her to bed).

Now I must say I have been quite a stickler about naptime ever since she was born. She would never take a long nap as a newborn, so we settled into a one-time nap of two hours, from noon to two in the afternoon, pretty early on. I stubbornly refused to make plans during these hours, and even managed to maintain that time during our vacation.

As soon as I nursed her, I would carry her into her bed, say “nigh-night”, and kiss her. As recently as last week, she would say “nigh-night” back, wave, and sometimes even blow me a kiss. Then she would fall asleep within a minute or two. So it came rather as a shock to have her refuse her nap.

The naptime refusal started after I left her for several hours with my husband this past Saturday, to attend a baby shower. That night she gave me some trouble going to bed. The next night was worse – and I made the mistake of picking her up and bringing her downstairs for a while – quite rewarding. Monday she hollered when I put her down for a nap.

Finally, I brought her into my bed, where I nap-nursed her and she slept next to me for an hour. I put her to bed a half hour early that night and she whimpered for a few minutes, but then fell asleep okay.

Tuesday, she again refused to nap. I let her holler for a while, then brought her to my bed. She snuggled in for a while but stubbornly refused to sleep. I was pretty upset at this, having a list of things to do during her naptime. All these things would have to go undone. She and I were quite exhausted early in the evening. I put her to bed a full hour early – myself as well.

Today, Wednesday, was a repeat of Monday. She hollered for an hour – this was unavoidable, as I had to clean up a broken dish in the kitchen and scrupulously clean the entire floor to make sure there were no broken pieces anywhere. I brought her to my bed, nap-nursed her, and again she slept for an hour. She was cheery after that, and we stuck to our usual bedtime of 7:00. There were no problems here.

Having received my degree in psychology, I think back laughingly to my reading of case studies as a student. I can imagine myself reading mine and thinking critically about the “conditioning” that must be going on between this mother and this child. It was so easy in those days, with no children, to think theoretically about the best way to modify a child’s behavior!

How different when this real, living, breathing creature takes over your own life and you have that sometimes illogical feeling of parental love. The Cognitive Psychologists might call it the “Organism” factor that the Behaviorists had ignored between the Condition and the Response. I think of the scripture that asks what a father would do if his child asks for an egg – would he give him a scorpion instead? When a baby is asking for her mama, should she be ignored? Would that not be incorporated into her psyche, leading her to suppress her feelings because they were not responded to?

I welcome your thoughts on this as I continue my attempts to break this cycle. As my husband once commented, it is not just the baby that needs the nap. It’s Mom too.

To be continued. . .

Mother and Child by Mary Cassatt
1888 (40 Kb); pastel on paper; Art Institute of Chicago