parenting

The Art of Encouragement

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Day 19: April 4, 2014

{I broke my stride on my way to 40 blogs for Lent. Here is #19, 7 days late}

I find myself, once again, being humbled by circumstance. This time I see a mirror reflection of myself in my son.

Is it just me, or does it sometimes feel like our children grabbed hold of our worst qualities and make them their own? Why does my son have to be excellent at arguing? And fibbing (lying). Why can he morph himself to almost any situation? Why can he make that horrifically mean face so well? Why does his attitude change like the wind? And why can I not, for the life if me, figure out how to relate to my mirror image self?

I’ve come to the conclusion that, if presented with the opportunity, I would be my own worst enemy.

This helps me understand, perhaps, why I am not doing the best job motivating my son to make doing well in school a priority. I am an annoyance. My ways of encouragement are irritating at best. My controlling approach is a buzz kill.  My presence is loathsome.

Fact:
I hate, more than anything, for someone to tell me that their way is better than mine.

Fact:
I don’t like anyone, ever, pointing out obvious things to me, (like I should be exercising if I want to get in shape.)

Fact:
I am, at all times, fully aware of my shortcomings and lack of effort and do not care for others telling me I am not working hard enough.

Fact:
I get bored easily and do not like working much at improving my skills at anything. If I don’t know how to do it, I probably won’t make the effort to learn.

Fact:
I’m pretty sure my son shares all of the same traits above and I’m pretty sure I have done all of the above to him.

So, let’s turn the tables while I work to encourage myself to blog. I love writing. Probably more than anything. But it takes time, effort, and hard work. It takes practice, it takes focus. And I truly want to write for a living someday. But I am afraid. I am afraid of the hard work and the focus and that I’m just not good enough. And when people encourage me to write, I sometimes shut down. And I make up excuses that I don’t have time or anything to share. Total lies. (fibs).

I proved to myself, by writing 18 blog posts in (about) 20 or so days, that I could do this. It was hard. I stayed up late because that’s when I had free time. I pushed myself to work up to my potential. And then I fell. And crumpled into a ball. I let life get in the way and I realized I was not going to reach my goal. So I kept putting it off. And the days kept stacking up. And I was aware, the whole time, that I had failed.

Overwhelmed and uninspired, I have re-encouraged myself to move forward. I made up the 40 day challenge, and I will keep going until I finish, no matter how long that takes.

Seeing the same patterns in my son gives me both worry and hope. I worry he will never live up to the potential we all see simply because he doesn’t want to do the work to get there. I worry the piles of work will look too daunting and he will never believe he can jump back in.

But I have hope that he WILL learn to encourage himself the way he needs it, and that I will learn the same.

In the meantime, I’ve offered him one dollar for every assignment he finishes.

It’s a start. And, so far, it’s working.

this post  is part of a series called ’40 Days of Blogging’. Click the links to find other posts! Thanks for reading!

 

Don’t Mess With Perfect

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Day 12: March 20, 2014

I’m sitting here watching my 14 year old, and only, son work on a documentary for a national history day competition. He is an aspiring filmmaker and a lover of history. I am in awe of his ability to pull the info together and create such an interesting work.

I was the worst at history. Memorizing facts is like shoving toothpicks in my eyes. It’s torture. And I’m awful at it. My memory, in general, is quite selective.

Thankfully, he got the love of history and ability to retain (what I call useless) facts from my husband. And the imagination and strong will from me. From us both, he got the love of art and all things visual.

He’s incredible. And I’m really just now figuring that out and letting it sink in.

We created him. GOD created him.

And honestly, at 9:00 at night, as he CRAMS to get this done for tomorrow (a quality gleaned from both his parents), I kind of want to scream at him and remind him of how he should have been working on this weeks ago. And I just want to go to sleep, but know that I need to check his spelling.

And as I really begin to understand who he is and who God created him to be, I realize that this last minute work represents who he truly is. He’s creative. He’s full of life. He lets the wind take him to his next destination. He lives in the now instead of the past or the future.

He’s brilliant. He has it figured out. And the world and rules and other people’s opinions are not going to change him.

And I am so very thankful and also jealous.

You can’t mold a creative genius. You can’t ever tell him the way it ‘should’ be. But he will listen and absorb what you say to him. And he will process it. And he will make improvements in his own time.

And really, he’s no different than me. But I’ve somehow let the world change some of my free spirit and creative ways. And I hope I can look to my son to show me a glimpse of that peaceful place. That joyful place. The place where we aren’t inhibited by the view of the world and the box it wants to put us in.

That place where we live out who God created us perfectly to be.

this post is part of a series called ’40 Days of Blogging’. Click the links to find other posts! Thanks for reading!

Teen Mom: 13 Years in the Making

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SI am a mom. I am a wife. I am a blogger. I have multiple random jobs. And now, I have a son who is 13.

People say that, ‘time flies!’ and, “kids grow up so fast!” But, honestly, I think it has felt like exactly 13 years since he came into my life. Not a minute longer. Not a minute shorter. I feel like I’ve seen him grow and change in the perfect timing. And, even though I told him he’s not technically a year older until 10:50 tonight, I’m totally okay with the fact that he’s now 13.

I have, hands down, the most incredible son. God gave us just one child, and he outdid himself with this one. Sometimes I think we were only given just one because THIS one is enough. He’s like several people in one. And the perfect fit for our family. We were chosen to raise this amazing creature. And we’ve taken on the task in all seriousness.

My son is generous, compassionate, creative, driven, confident, talented, non-stop, and an old soul. With all that, he’s also just a normal 13 year old kid. He still fights with me. He still thinks he’s right all the time. He still needs reminding to brush his teeth and put his name on his math homework. And he still hugs me good night. Every night.

Many people compliment my husband and I on what a great job we’ve done raising him. And, you know what? I would agree with that. And I’ll take it. WE will take the compliment. Because he IS an incredible human being. However, we won’t take ALL the credit for who he is today. Our son’s life has been filled with so many people that have helped him along his way. That have loved on him, encouraged him, disciplined him, taught him, and prayed for him. We could never have raised such an outstanding person without a lot of help and influence from all of the pastors, teachers, caretakers, family, and friends in our lives. It takes a village.

So, today, on his 13th birthday, we celebrate the person he has become, and the person he is destined to be. And we thank each and every person who has touched his life in some way. But, most of all, we thank God for chosing us and others in his life to care for him. In His perfect timing, our son came into our lives, and the perfect people surrounded us and have brought our son to where he is today.

For his 13th birthday, our son has given up presents to help provide clean water to people around the world. Just a piece of evidence of his caring heart. Please visit his Charity:Water campaign page and consider donating in honor of him today. http://mycharitywater.org/noahs13thbirthdayforcleanwater

Middle School Brain

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I’ve reached the point of parenthood where I struggle to understand my child. I know I was once a 6th grader, but I was a whole lot different than my son, and well, I was (am) a girl. If I could get inside of his head for a moment, I wonder what I might learn?

Never hang up your towel. It’s more convenient to run naked across the hall after showering to dry off in the bedroom.
Dirty clothes should go directly NEXT to the clothes hamper on the floor.
Brush your teeth as little as possible.
Saying that you brushed your teeth is the same as actually doing it.
Flat surfaces are for placing all kinds of interesting objects that you might want to keep.
Moms don’t understand why these objects are important.
Eating in front of the tv is necessary and productive, like multi-tasking.
No matter what Mom says, always freak out about it.
Telling your parents they stress you out will always get them off your back.
I am smarter than my parents and I always will be.
Note to self: when I am a grown up, I will have a garage full of Arizona Iced Tea and drink it whenever I want.
A schedule is just a rough idea of what I might feel like doing.
Cramming papers into your binder is an acceptable way to transport them to and from school.
All school work is stupid and a waste of time. Except science, which is cool.
Anything your parents suggest doing will always be boring.
Be somewhat rude to your parents most of the time. Keep kindness for when you want something.
Use phrases like, “you don’t understand!” and “it’s not a big deal!” in most communication with your parents.

I may never know what goes on in his head, and I may never quite be the Mom he thinks I should, but I’ll keep doing my best with what I know and keep loving him for who he is on the outside. And, yes, he will read this because he follows me on Twitter. I hope he gets a laugh, or maybe can let me know if my list is anywhere near accurate.

I survived my first middle school band concert

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I wrote most of this a year ago and never finished. Since then I’ve survived 2 (or 3) more of these events, including the holiday concert just last week. I consider myself a professional band parent by now.

Yes, it’s true. I survived my first middle school band concert. As a parent, that is. I survived several on my own as a student and nowhere near accomplished clarinet player. On that note, I’d like to give a shout out to my mom, who spent countless hours at these events, driving me to private lessons, and listening to me practice in my bedroom. I don’t know how she did it, but she certainly showed me that moms will do almost anything for their kids.

As the day grew near for the SMS Holiday Concert, I felt anxiety and uncertainty. I was anxious for my son (who clearly wasn’t himself), and uncertain of whether I could make it through the entire 90 minute ‘show’. I have an attention span of about 8 minutes, and issues with being in large chaotic groups of parents and students. This challenge before me felt daunting to say the least.

The morning of the concert, I wrote BAND CONCERT on our kitchen chalkboard, because, by this point, I had subconciously forgot about the event, I’m sure as a means to protect myself from more anxiety. It was not unlikely that, without a reminder, I would completely forget to drive him there and realize it half way through another episode of “Good Luck Charlie” on Disney channel. We did drop him off on schedule, and even had time for my husband and I to pick up lattes as our replacement dinner.

Flash forward. After navigating our way to the gym (following other people), arriving in chaos (see above), and chatting with a few other parents, we found open seats in the last row of the ‘floor seating’. This left for a view of nothing but ski caps, climbing children, and other random adult heads. Of course, if we’d been in the front row, we would have only seen music stands, as every kid hid behind theirs. A couple of times I caught a glimpse of my son in between a bald guy and a teenage kid who was obviously serving out some sort of punishment by being there.

We chatted with our friends in front and to the side of us. All making the same cliche comments about ‘why does this have to be 90 minutes’, and ‘can we get this show on the road already?’. We were all clearly sharing the same lack of patience and desire to be home having a glass of wine rather than sitting in plastic stacking chairs.

At some point, probably 8 minutes in to the show, I moved quickly into my ‘I’ve lost interest’ mode, so I started visually scanning the room to find something else to have my attention. Here’s what I saw: A grown man playing Angry Birds on his iPad. More than one adult sleeping. Several kids on handheld games and reading. A mom reading a book on her phone. LOTS of parents reading whatever on their phones. And a kid sitting on the floor drawing.

With not much left to look at, I moved into ‘space out’ mode, otherwise known as, ‘deep thoughts’. Here’s what went through my head, “why is that guy wearing sweatpants to a music concert? I wish I was in sweatpants. I wish I was at home on the couch and this latte was a hamburger. I really need to take action on my snack cart idea. I think selling food at school events would be genius. What time is it? The clock is like 7 hours off. Why don’t they use the stage? Could this seat be more uncomfortable? These events truly are one big germfest. I’m taking Airborne the SECOND I get home. ‘ “What? Oh!” (clap clap clap clap clap clap clap)

The clapping woke me from my ADD coma long enough to watch and listen to the band play. I’m sure I heard my son rocking it on the flute, never missing a note. Or maybe I just imagined it. After they finished, I continued my cycle of spacing out until, finally, it was time to go home. I was pleasantly surprised to have made it through, and had less anxiety about the next one in the spring.

Oh, middle school band concert, how I loathe the. Please be kind the next time around.