natural parenting center

compassion, in spite of...

::everything you've been taught about how to treat children

::the anger you feel

::what others might think

::fear

::judgments

I heard this story about Mother Theresa. She was being interviewed by someone when these two very rich people came in and started demanding a photo with her, tilting her head and acting brusquely. She complied, unaffected, then continued with the interview. The interviewer was furious. Mother Theresa said that these people needed compassion just as the sickly babies did.

What is compassion if we aren't willing to bring it out of ourselves in the hardest moments? It's easy to feel compassion for the cute harp seals when they are being clubbed. What does it take for us to open ourselves more deeply? The Dalai Lama feels compassion for the Chinese who have decimated his land and people.

We have been taught that to be effective as parents, we must reward and punish behaviour otherwise our children will manipulate us and turn into raving unsocialized monsters. This is a lie. It is based on a dark and negative view of humanity. Alfie Kohn has research to back this up. Yet, even if we manage to overcome this deep and prevailing conditioning, what about our own anger which flares, standing in the way of loving our children regardless of how they behave?

When Elliott hits Saschy, I feel a rage inside of me. But they both need my empathy. The "victim" and the "aggressor" are feeling pain. It is so easy to hold her and turn my back on him, seething about his act of violence. But any reaction to that feeling in me is compounding the violence and modelling the very thing that I am asking him to change.

When I refuse to allow anger as an option, when I take a breath and keep my mouth shut for even a few seconds, I relax. It is in that space that I find a different response, one that feels so much better to me. It is one that we are creating out of nothing because we see it so rarely in our world. We invoke our imaginations here and paint the scene differently.

You must have been so angry to have hurt her like that. Can I hold you? I want to help you both. I love you.

How else are we going to change our world? Ourselves? We can drop all of those ridiculous ideas about needing to "teach" our kids a "lesson" or whatever. All of that is total bullshit. Let yourself love them, all of them, no matter what. And when you don't, when that anger takes over, then shower yourself with tenderness, take a breath, and begin again.

is your house messy too?

Today, I found myself amidst yet another group of lovely mamas. We belong to a buying club and we gather on Wednesdays at the home of our food goddess. It seems innocent enough, picking up dried cherries, salmon, cheese. In actuality, though, many would consider this group to be subversive, radical, even worthy of home raiding by the Feds because we are managing to buy food directly from the farmers, food that is unavailable commercially in many cases.

This adds a tingle to the tango since we are, in fact, part of a Revolution. There were quick lessons given on raising kombucha babies ("don't separate the mothers from the babies before they are ready"-hmmm, sounds familiar), tips on fermenting kefir, rapid browsing through this book, discussion of where to find crocks large enough for a massive batch of sauerkraut, and of course, deep and personal sharing about the shadow side of these lives at home.

"The other day, I wanted to run out and ask the other neighbourhood mothers, is your house messy too? Because mine is about to send me over the edge!"

There were furious nods and reassurances that all those blogs are just organizing that one, glorious corner in the house, that the rest of the house couldn't possibly be that clean and beautiful.

"I was so mad at my husband this morning, I mean how can he just sit down and read when there is so much that I'm doing around the house?"

Oh yes. Hello martyr. We decided that this was the safe place to let that side of ourselves rant a little. But as soon as those words spilled out, we spiraled back to looking at ourselves, the role we play in all these dramas that we feel alone with. Why not sit down and read if I want to? Because I'd rather have a clean house and I'd rather have strongly attached babes pulling for my attention.

Radical homemaking. Radical food choices. Radical parenting. Radical responsibility.

There is a theme here. As we grow and nurture all these cultures in our kitchens, creating units of production rather than consumption out of our homes (a point that Shannon Hayes makes so beautifully in her book), and as we grow and nurture these little beings pulling at our legs and helping stir the dough, so too we must grow and nurture our whole, mature, conscious selves.

There is no time off from consciously creating every aspect of our lives.

"The world has nothing to give us. It can only show us what we're giving ourselves" Phillip Golabuk

The martyr may be part of who we are and resisting that part of ourselves is of no use. (What we resist persists). Today, as we stood up against the establishment in one small way, we also gave voice to what often goes unsaid and that needs so badly to be heard. Mamas shared and laughed and nothing on the outside changed, though the inner experience was altered, lightened. 

Glad. I left these women smiling and utterly grateful for my whole life.

little mama

She does practically everything wearing her baby. Swinging with the Ergo on, patting that baby's back, swaying her hips, shushshushing in her ear, rocking, cooing, in the sling, wrapped in her arms. Everything.

She studies the mamas around her. Watching intently every move they make. Then she incorporates any new tilt of the head, rhythm of the rocking, pattern of the patting.

She is already a baby-wearing, attachment mama.  Of course, no one taught her any of this. She absorbs everything from what she is around. They all do. We all do. 

I see it again with Elliott as he struts about, wields an axe, or mutters shit under his breath in a perfectly appropriate moment. Hmmm. Where does he get all that from?

Sometimes I feel more than a little freaked out by the responsibility of this powerful childhood learning by osmosis. There is NO time off from who I am with them. And I can't ever erase anything with words after-the-fact. The words are weak and dilute in comparison to the impact of the modeling they witness.

Who I am is what they absorb. Every minute of every day. Good grief, that's a lot to think about. Yet, it is exactly what I need to be thinking about because the exact same principle applies to how my whole life unfolds.

There is no time off from creating. Everything. It's more than Law of Attraction, but that is certainly a beginning point. And there seems to be so much letting go involved, too. Letting go of Everything we currently have has come about because of an idea we created long ago, probably without even knowing it. If it's something that we don't like, then we have probably outgrown that idea, but the belief is so much a part of how we think that we can't even separate ourselves enough to see it as a belief. We think it's "just the way things are". 

Even the past can be totally changed in a second. Imagine someone telling you that you were adopted and you didn't know it. So nothing is fixed.

I'm not sure where I'm going with all this. No tidy ending to this post, just rambling thoughts on the subject of consciousness-as-cause. Care to chip in to the discussion? What does all this mean for day-to-day parenting?

parenting demands superhuman self awareness

This morning I was hard edged, crabby, quick to prickle. I kept squirming around to find a comfortable spot within my own skin. My mind scrolled through the list...yoga? food? getting outside? picking up the phone? All those options were possibilities and none of them soothed my jaggedness. I searched about for a reason...tired, period, sore foot? What is it? How do I fix it?

Nothing doing. Everything that Elliott and Saschy did seemed frustrating to me. What? You want some breakfast? You want to take the covers off the bed? You need to poop? Are you kidding me?

Oh boy. Then, Saschy hit me and I started to cry. That hit was the release I needed. The anger and rage softened and I could finally lift it up to take a look inside.

I realized that what I was dishing out to them was a fraction of what I was dishing out to myself. It's like being in an abusive relationship, only the abuser is a version of myself who lives inside my skin. She is harsh, cutting, relentless. She lays into me about everything, screaming vicious remarks..."You are fat, ugly, old. You are insecure, annoying, self absorbed! You are a lousy mama! You can't do anything right! You suck!!!"

Several things occurred to me about this:

1. How sad. I would NEVER tolerate this treatment from anyone else, yet it's ok to do this to myself? Sheesh.

2. Consciously creating. Every moment, every thought, every feeling is creating our outer reality. There is no time off. With this kind of thinking I created a corresponding reality: Saschy got gum in her hair, disconnected from my babes, isolating myself from friends, tripping and stubbing and bumping my body into things, hacked at hair with dull scissors and ended up hating result.

3. Letting tears come allows me to soften the angry reactivity and be with what's actually going on and that feels so sweet and gentle.

4. Whenever I get edgy or angry with my children it is because of something I am thinking, usually about myself, or a fear that has crept it. It is rarely about what they are actually doing in that moment.

5. Thank you thank you thank you, Universe, for giving me the power of self awareness so that I can move through this instead of bumbling through life angry and unconscious and taking it out on my children. Please help everyone find that grace.

6. Being with whatever feelings come up within ourselves and within our children may be the MOST important ability for living well. Without fixing or numbing.

7. Internalizing. How I speak to my children creates their INNER VOICE. This sets the model for how they will speak to themselves. Let me be kind and loving.

8. Being still is essential. It is also hard because whatever is going on in there is going to come out.

every day is earth day

the story of stuff

Raising children with consistent, loving and compassionate connection with you creates unwavering fulfillment within them and within you. It is transforming our society and healing the planet. Over consumption ceases. We no longer need stuff to fill the hole inside.

recalibrating

The last couple of days including and not limited to:

::conversations with potential to alter lifelong dynamics

::making no knead sourdough bread

::making fresh cream cheese from raw cow milk

::pruning raspberries

::playing at the river edge (with one bare bottomed girl falling in)

::bare feet and bare arms (spring is officially here)

::deep appreciation for girlfriends

::knitting a hat for my boy

::letting go

::making yogurt

::planting spinach

::realizing I do want skinny jeans

::knowing I do not want to leave my children to go to work...ever (hence skinny jeans will have to wait)

::reading Simplicity Parenting (more on this soon)

::still adoring snuggling into bed at night with my two littles more than words can explain

::reveling in your comments...such goodies for me. Thank you.

today's laugh

If you need a giggle that is uplifting, check this out. Thanks for the link that led to this link, Gen!

the village

We hosted playgroup at our house, today. Every Thursday has a different rhythm, flow, dynamic both with our children (four of them played downstairs together for at least TWO hours insisting no adults join in-unHEARD of!) and with us. That little peanut you see snuggling her mama's shoulder had the sniffles today and so there was more energy focusing on her (a newborn with a cold is just so troubling as she snarffles and chokes and wimpers). More quiet spells and gentle being-together-ness.

Another dear friend joined us for the second week ever after her call of desperation to Natalie a couple of weeks ago. She was feeling lonely and isolated, not just geographically, but also because of her parenting choices. Being around others who question whether she is "spoiling" her child because she holds him all day and sleeps with him was starting to wear her down. Understandably.

This week when we asked how she was doing, she said "just fine now that I've connected with all of you". She isn't lonely or scared about listening to her intuition about loving her child and striving to really be there for him anymore, it seems. She got the boost she needed and it wasn't anything we said or did, necessarily. It was just being with kindred ones.

The village. We all need it. We all need a circle of support. I think it was Robin Grille who said something like your depth of support determines your ability to parent the way you want. Without support, you just cannot be the nurturing force that you long to be, no matter how much you want to.

It has sure been my experience. After my recent post about visiting family who think differently than me, I am still haunted by that voice in my head and I can't stand it. When Elliott is crying or what you might call "whining", I can hear that smidgeon of a doubt that got planted....is he too self-centered? Is he incapable of compassion? Am I saying yes when I "should" be saying no?

I feel furious when I pay any attention whatsoever to that voice. If I could perform an excorsism on it, I would. It leads me to be more controlling and less empathic. It gets me to angry faster. It entices me to ignore my OWN VOICE which says he is a child and everything about every moment is exactly EXACTLY right. Loving him and reaching beyond my own limits of compassion to offer up more is all that is ever needed. I can relax and relax and relax again, just let it be.

The work is on me. When those extreme emotions start snowballing, I can feel the tension grip me and then anger comes barrelling in, uninvited. THAT is MY work, not his.

But for me to have ANY chance of practicing this, of being this, I need to be with others who want the same thing. And I have this.

The other day, Natalie was here with Echo who was already going in the "Look Out" mode (Natalie posted about this) and I got to witness empathy and understanding and calm acceptance at its best. The kind that is SO rare you just want to bottle it up and save it forever.

Echo sat up in the chair and started crying over the stool under her. It wasn't in the right position. Then the stroller wasn't in the right position. Do you want it under here? NO. Do you want it on top of the stool? NO. Nothing was right. Intense crying, sobbing. Nothing is right for you. NO. You are feeling so sad because everything seems wrong. Yeah. You are trying to tell me how you want things but even when we try that it doesn't seem right to you. Yeah. Can I hold you? Yeah. 

Echo's emotions can escalate and Natalie stays right there with her, seeking to understand, wanting to know her point of view, willing to help and also willing to just be with her through it all.

Compassionate presence.

I'm telling you, this is potent stuff. And Natalie is not the only one. Everyone in this village that I am part of is like this. I get to witness this stuff regularly. 

If you are striving for this, if you know in your heart that you want to be this way with your child, listen to me: that intention is everything. Do not waver. You may not execute it as perfectly as you want, but that does not matter. Hold onto that intention with all of your will. Then watch and listen because the village will hear that call and come to you.

food is personal

This post has nothing to do with parenting. Well, at least not obviously.

When Tim and I landed back in Missoula after a brief and tumultuous attempt at Vancouver, BC, we bought a teeny house in town. We actually bought it when I was very overdue with Elliott, moved in and two days later gave birth (I think he was waiting for us to get our shit together and put a roof over his head).

The universe is always smiling on us, whether we know it or not. Our next door neighbour turned out to be none other than Ari LeVaux. He is a foody, writer, garlic grower, hunter, wild food harverster and all around fascinating human. Most definitely a Radical Homemaker. He now mostly lives in Santa Fe, but his house is, thankfully, full of other fascinating and fun people in his absence. Every once in awhile he turns up and we snatch a few minutes over the fence with me grilling him about his latest adventures.

Here is a recent column he wrote that I want to share with you. I like it because he pokes holes in all the "labels" about how one eats and it's a helpful way of looking at more than just food. Personal. Pick and choose what works for you and live in a way that creates a good story.

Flash in the Pan By Ari LeVaux   © 2010 all rights reserved.  No reprints without permission from the author (I got his permission, btw!)

It's Personal

Local Food. Organic Food. Natural Food. Fair-Trade Food. To me, these loosely competing paradigms are useful guideposts when I'm shopping to fill the holes in a meal I'm preparing, but they don't describe my preferred diet. If I had to describe my food in a single word, I would say "personal."

Some people say love is the most important ingredient in cooking. With personal food, the love goes without saying. Personal food is a love story that begins long before the meal is prepared, and the consummation, while hopefully climactic, is the final chapter.

What distinguishes food as personal is the role I play in the creation or acquisition of its ingredients. It's food with which I have a measure of involvement, beyond just having bought it. A meal won't be disqualified for containing store-bought ingredients, but it's the hard-won ingredients that determine how personal it really is. If a home-cooked meal doesn't have at least one ingredient that I grew, swapped for, preserved, hunted, gathered, bought directly from a farmer, brought home from a faraway land, or otherwise made some special effort to acquire, then it isn't personal.

The biggest sex organ in your body, according to sex therapist Dr. Ruth, is the mind. And for similar reasons I believe the mind is one of the body's biggest taste buds as well. The more a meal's story is known, the more meaning it has, and being able to mentally picture where something came from adds to the experience of eating it. But personal food isn't all head games. I'm positive that even in a blind taste test, personal food will win.

Many a dinner guest has suggested to me, "You should open a restaurant." While I appreciate the compliment, it's rather like a satisfied lover suggesting, "You should be a hooker." My food is good because I obsess about my ingredients. Good broccoli, lightly blanched and quickly frozen at the peak of freshness last summer, will be more alive and flavorful than fresh broccoli shipped in from somewhere and purchased at the store. I treasure such ingredients for their quality and the work I put into them, and I make sure they are prepared to look and taste their best.

This isn't to say that purchased food can't be personal, but it must have a story that you are privy to, that you can play a role in. There's nothing compelling about purchasing grass-fed organic beef at the store. But if you buy the same thing at the farmers market, directly from the producer, that's beginning to get personal. You have a relationship, however fleeting, with the rancher who had a relationship with the animal. If you and the farmer become friendly, things can become much more personal. Maybe you buy a quarter of beef for the freezer.

Having a stash of food put up, like some cut and wrapped chunks of personal beef in the freezer, changes things. Your meal planning begins to shift from "what do we need to pick up at the store" to "what do we need to thaw out." If your steak is cooked with homegrown garlic, that further personalizes the meal. If that package of ground beef is used for burgers you serve with homemade catsup made from homegrown tomatoes and mustard ground from the mustard seeds at the bottom of a jar of pickled peppers you made, the story gets even better. If you want a cheeseburger, but don't have your own cheese-making operation, buy some cheese from the lady at the farmers market, and don't forget to ask how her goats are doing.

Personal foodies tend to stick together, trading their canned goods, going mushroom hunting, sharing gardening tips and seedlings and having each other over for dinner. In this way, the pursuit of personal food can bring you closer to a likeminded community.

Because long-distance relationships with ingredients are usually tricky, personal foods tend to be local, but there are exceptions. Returning from a recent trip to France, I brought home some Turkish figs and dates, five pounds of Breton sea salt, some French filet bean seeds (seized at the border, dammit), a few pounds of amazing cheese, a salami (also confiscated), some chocolate, chestnut paste, a few cartons of Crème Anglaise (kind of like eggnog), and two baguettes, which were crushed in my luggage. If I shave some of my stinky French cheese onto a fried egg from my backyard hens, that's deeply personal, even though the cheese came from far away. My bags of sea salt, meanwhile, will allow me to sprinkle that personal touch onto hundreds of meals.

Eating my brutalized baguettes became a race against the clock as they quickly hardened. I ate them with cheese, with breakfast, with salad, wishing I still had that salami. And then I had an inspiration that will change my personal meal plan forever.

It started with a flashback of the North African grocers in Paris who sold a rainbow of olives, stuffed peppers, feta cheese, pickles and many other goodies, including marinated sun-dried tomatoes.

Last summer we preserved our tomatoes as catsup, salsa, ratatouille and pasta sauce-the usual suspects. We also experimented with sun-dried tomatoes, which turned out to be the easiest and most efficient way to process them. But we hadn't really mastered the art of eating sun-dried tomatoes. They made great snacks, but hadn't evolved into ingredients.

I put a handful of sun-dried tomatoes in a bowl and poured balsamic and wine vinegar on them. I added a sprinkle of Breton sea salt, let them soak in the vinegar for a few minutes, poured olive oil into the bowl, mixed it up, and viola: a very nice condiment to eat with my baguette.

Since then I've tried adding slivers of homegrown garlic to this marinade, as well as chunks of local feta and dried homegrown basil.

When the baguette became dangerously hard, I froze the remains. Maybe it will end up in stuffing. Maybe bread pudding. Maybe as seasoned crumbs on a piece of fried fish. Whatever ends up becoming of that half-stale baguette I bought on the way to the airport, it will be personal.