playful parenting, shoot-em-up games, & blonde hair envy

I am only 1/3 through a new parenting book, so I am still starry-eyed. "This approach will solve EVERYthing!" Bear with it. I reserve the right to change my opinion by the time I get to the end of the book, or if it turns Zoralee into a hooligan. Also, I wish to clarify up front that, despite the name, this book is not about being a full time goof ball, nor does it promote, as my husband feared, distracting your bratty children with silliness rather than having clear cut rules and consequences.

So, the book is called Playful Parenting, and it's written by Lawrence Cowen, a psychologist who specializes in parenting and play therapy. Per his website, it's "an award winning book about nurturing close connections, solving behavior problems, and encouraging children’s confidence." Shoot. I already have another disclaimer. The book's cover and the website call Cowen's approach "new," but some people, myself included, are put off by apparent trendiness, especially when it comes to a basic (though not simple) endeavor like raising children. Sure, playful parenting differs from a very serious, tow-the-line approach. But it's all about connecting with kids through their primary language - play - and that's not new a'tall!

Why, what's the first thing adults do when they see a child not their own (assuming they're comfortable around them)? They somehow play. They engage in peek-a-boo with a baby, or they take an interest in a toy the toddler is toting around, or they agree to build a sheet fort in the living room. But don't a lot of parents, even fun-loving, hilarious people, feel that playing with their kids is a luxury, something to do with spare time? We're "beyond" that and more concerned with the REAL LIFE chores of getting teeth brushed, manners rehearsed, etc. Cowen proposes that play is absolutely essential for good connection with your kids - whether their emotional cups are empty or full - but I'm thinking the main mental hurdle for many of us is to use play when our children are distressed, because that's when we want to do everything but play.

Children ride a roller coaster of emotions just like adults do, but they're not adults. They haven't learned (and in some ways aren't yet capable) of clear communication and appropriate coping mechanisms. Thus, we see tantrums and whining, sibling rivalry, lashing out, bullying, etc. Our usual response is chastisement, punishment, or reasoning with them, rather than wondering about the roots of their distress. Look. I expect a lot out of kids, because I believe they're capable of a lot. But come on, the last time you were in a high state of agitation as a full grown adult, did punishment or reasoning work for you? Likely not. We long to be understood and then, if needed, helped, often with a good dose of humor.

Enter playful parenting.

Per Cowen, children have two basic twin towers they'll retreat into if distressed: powerlessness and isolation. They act from those places, often in ironic ways. He says, "...it is especially useful to translate whatever you hear or see into the language of closeness and isolation, confidence and powerlessness." Bullies often show their power over younger or weaker kids, precisely because they lack confidence. They might feel powerless about situations at home or abuse they've endured. For only $14.95, you too can enter a bully's world through age-appropriate play and help them to feel powerful and confident in good ways! But in truth, those parts don't stick with me much, because I have a toddler. So, for tips on older kids, you'll have to get the book yourself. Free at the library, and if you think it's all hogwash, no money wasted.

I thought I'd share a few concrete examples of the scenarios I've been experimenting with in our household:

• Zoralee first wakes up from her naps as a cranky little bear. One of my usual approaches is to hold her gently. For some kids this might work, but it makes Z flail around and sort of reject me. It's like I've come in too close, too soon. The connection isn't right. The other approach is reasoning. "If you're fussy, you're still tired. You need to go back to sleep." Outcome: more fussing. Nowadays, though, I'm thinking along the lines of connection. When I walk into the room, I don't go straight to her. I play. I "look" for her under the dresser, or among her toys, making a big show of not knowing where she is. Then I say I can't find her, but I'm tired and better lay down on the bed for a nap. I lay down and use her for a pillow, by which point she is giggling and totally over being fussy. And I am serious - she is ready to get up from her nap and do the next thing HAPPILY. Yes, it seems like a distraction, but it's connecting with her through play, and that connection pulls her from the seriousness of needless fuss.

• She hits me. My gut reaction is anger and punishment. Mind you, Zoralee is not on a serious, dangerous tirade (that's different, and Cowen addresses it). She just hits me once, usually when we're already playing, and waits to see what I'll do. It's totally the whole, "I want to be close, but I don't know how, so I'll do the opposite." Today I instinctively reprimanded her and told her to say she was sorry. Well, she wouldn't. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt if I would've forced it, there would've been lots of aggravation on both of our parts and very little resolution. So, I bit my tongue of chastisement and instead said tenderly, "That's not okay. Let's cuddle." Within literally three seconds of cuddling, she looked at me and said, "I'm sorry," and was good to go!! Also, I've tried this other idea of Cowen's. If Z hits me, I say, "Oh, you want to dance, do you?" and off we go dancing. It's immediate connection - on both of our parts.

Side note: Does this rail against the stern parent in you? I admit that it does me, and I still believe there are times for serious laying down of the law, especially in situations of danger for the child or anyone else. But you know what? Zoralee's little attention-getting hits have lessened. Hitting is not okay in our house, and she still knows that after these encounters, but now it seems she needs it less often. This mightn't work for every age, but it worked for her.

• Random acts of playfulness. I have found that if, throughout the day, I take a few minutes to connect with Zoralee in play, it makes a world of difference in her neediness/whininess levels. I am already doing things with her all day long, so the play thing didn't really strike me as a need. She "helps" me clean, helps me cook by pouring ingredients and stirring, we read books, etc. etc. But there is something different about entering her world of play, whether it's dancing or wrestling, or obliging her by conversing with her doll, or making her doll dance around to the music.

Last concept I wish to share (for now):

Kids like to shoot each other with toy guns or make believe weapons, and this makes some adults nervous. The reasoning is that if children are allowed to act something out in play, they'll do it in real life. And maybe there are times this is true. However, in this application, Cowen says differently. Kids need a way to express aggression, to emulate what they've witnessed in the media (or, sadly, real life), and to try on roles - even if, in adult world, it's evil to shoot other people. Play is a child's primary language for working through thoughts and emotions. So, though Cowen tends toward pacifism, he will readily jump into a shoot 'em up game (usually with boys), because that's where they are. That's where he can CONNECT with them. Stopping their play (unless it's actually violent) is not only ineffective, but it's often harmful, because that aggression needs to be expressed somewhere.

When a kid shoots him with a toy gun, Cowen either dies a long, laborious, silly death, or else he says, "You've just shot me with the love gun!" and runs after them to give them hugs. And in this way, he lets them experiment with their own thoughts about death and enemies and dark things (as they were doing anyway), but he can introduce a lightness if it's too serious and he can direct traffic if it turns toward actual danger. Fun, huh???? Makes me want to run out and play guns with a band of little boys. That's pretty much all I want to say so far about the book. However, yesterday I mentioned drawing a line between the two very different dots. Stick with me.


If playing war games with children is one dot, and touching Zoralee's hair is another dot, the line between the two is as follows.

Humans tend to avoid, dodge, or somehow ignore bad emotions, right? But it's just not helpful. At least, it's not helpful to me. So, rather than chastising the kids about shooting (since it's off limits in the real world), Cowen plays along, steering things in a healthier direction if needed. Within the subculture around here, if you envy something, you should touch it, bless it, so that you're not overcome with that envy (i.e. cursed). The Hispanic people do this with Zoralee's blonde hair and blue eyes. It's the opposite of disconnection. It's like the biblical injunction to pray for your enemies and do good to them that do evil to you. A face your fears kind of thing. Otherwise, we're overcome by our own yucky feelings - fear, envy, desire for revenge, or downright hate. It's like Jesus leaving heaven and putting on people skin to show us HOW to love our neighbor, HOW to give selflessly.

It's about being together, rather than chastising or ignoring.

It's about connection.

If you read this whole thing, I thank ye wholeheartedly. It was long.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, parenting experiences,

or other connection stories...

bugs

"Crickets play basketball..."
- my brother, Luke, age three, singing to himself in bed, witnessed by a giggling Rachel and me

When Jason was driving south a few months back, he kept seeing little black creatures dart across the highway. What are those? he thought. But they'd get to the other side and disappear into the brush before he could tell. Finally he saw one stop on the road, so he came to a screeching halt over the length of a football field, the best he could do with a loaded down pickup going 80 mph. Anyway, he backed up and got out. It was a tarantula the size of your palm. No kidding. There had been heavy rains for several days, so the tarantulas had been washed out of their holes in the ground. The proper reaction to this would have been, naturally, to turn that pickup around and head back to the northwest U.S.

But, nooooo. Jason found a long wrench in the cab, so that he could approach to see how it would react but feel protected. What the?! He approached to within a few feet of the spider and tapped the wrench on the ground. Guess what that sucker did. He reared up on his back legs, like a crab, and started running toward the wrench. At that point, I would've fainted and been eaten alive, for sure. But Jason thought it was cool and crazy.

Other than that, there have been shockingly few bugs and nasty critters around here. We get big black crickets in the house sometimes, and I'll be honest. It takes me several minutes of pumping myself up to get them with a Kleenex for the toilet. I feel bad. I do, but they are too big and leggy and antenaeey to carry all the way outside for release. I tried it the first time. Took me 10 minutes of tossing a towel onto it, trying to gingerly gather it into the towel, recoiling back with a squeal, picking up the towel, and starting over. I finally did it, and calmly talked myself all the way downstairs and out the door. But when I shook the towel out onto the grass, no cricket.

No cricket, y'all.

That's a waste of my life, energy, and precious adrenaline.

I don't want Zoralee to see me being a weenie, because no use in instilling into her my fears. So the other day, she says to me, "Who's that? Who's that? Who's that?," which she does when there's a bug. Sure enough, a cricket on the floor. I tried to be cool. I approached it with a half a roll of wadded up toilet paper. Backed off with a screech. So she, my brave little Super Zor, took the Kleenex from me and said "I do it!" Can you believe that sauce? She approached - - - and then backed away with a yelp exactly like I had done. Ai-yai-yai.

The only other cricket tale of note is from a few nights ago. There was one in the bathroom, but Jason was asleep. Long story short, I tried the Kleenex to toilet trick, but this cricket was waaaaay too energetic. Too quick. He lurched under the toilet bowl brush like lightening. The others had been sluggish, so this was a surprise, and not in a good way. Thankfully, Jason was so gone that he didn't hear my squeals. I closed the door and stuffed a towel under it so he couldn't escape, and then made Jason get him the next morning before work.

You know what? If these crickets would chirp, I would try a lot harder to get them back outside, because cricket chirping is the best. But they won't. They are dark, silent omens of all things pretty bad.

vida en el sur

(life in the south)

Welp, saludos! We're in southern Texas for a season, and woooooo boy about that. It's a total change of absolutely everything. By season, I mean, first, a metaphorical one. This is a stint at a lifestyle we never imagined for ourselves, one in which we're diving whole bodied into aspects of humanity that are much easier to ignore. We're the farthest we've ever been from family and close friends, a certain blustery loneliness that has us watching hesitantly for sproutings of new friendships. Shopping at totally different stores, learning new traffic patterns and subculture nuances, not quite fitting in, analyzing some of our nation's most complex dilemmas - you know how it goes.

Most importantly, our days of easy, carefree living - leaving doors unlocked and hearts wide open - are on pause. The reality is that outsiders are actually not very safe here, not because of the common townspeople, but because of gang and drug activity. This will change us, but to what degree? It's a season alright, but I don't yet know if it's summer, winter, spring, or fall. Sometimes you can't tell about these things until the season is over.

But we are sure digging being a family again! Here we are in an elevator on a recent visit to San Antonio.

part of the Alamo

Second, though we'll be here less than a year, it'll always be hot. To a northlander like me, having daytime temperatures only vary by 20 or 30 degrees over months and months counts as a single season.

Third, I have looked forward to new foods, new inspiration for cooking - new seasoning, if you will. And we have hit upon some already! I must find a good recipe for poblanas with mole sauce. That "e" should have an accent over it, so it rhymes with holy. The sauce has actual chocolate in it, you guys. It reminds me of a hot beef chocolate gravy. Also, fried bananas. And fresh salsa all the live long day. Mmmm.
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stirring a basting barbecue sauce

We are very far south. I pictured a lot of cowpokes - men, women, and children - bantering in a thick drawl while they rode their horses to and fro, but such is not the scene in our town. I haven't heard a single, "y'all" or "come back now, ya hear?" There are a few white folk around, and I've seen a handful of blacks; otherwise, the population is nearly all Hispanic, so we hear lots of Spanish and English blended. Like at restaurants, they ask, "Quieres un high chair?" We are the blazingly obvious minority, especially Zoralee, with her white blonde hair. All of this is fine by me; it's just not what I pictured for living in Texas. I thought for sure I could find Z some killer cowgirl boots at the thrift store, but not so much.

One of Jason's co-workers, a woman of Hispanic descent, told him to not be surprised if strangers want to approach Zoralee and touch her eyes and hair. I am very thankful for the forewarning, because she gets comments and stares everywhere we go, and has been touched and kissed a few times. Reason is, fair hair and blue eyes are to be envied, and if a person thinks something is beautiful, they must touch it so as to not be cursed or overcome by that envy.
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Hm. I am just connecting two very different dots right now, even as I typed that last paragraph. It's a big rabbit trail about this book I'm reading called Playful Parenting, by Lawrence Cowen, so I better save it for another post. But this paragraph will remind me to tell you. It's about avoidance and curses. Later.

Back to the regularly scheduled post about Texas:
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So, like I said about the weather, it's utterly hot all the time, with a downpour of afternoon rain (yay!) once every two or three weeks. When I first got here, I listened to the weather man stretch for something to say about the fact that it would be, simply, another hot day. He rambled on and on about how that week's average lows (80 degrees) were slightly lower (or higher - it was practically irrelevant) than the same week's average lows from 1956, or something. Riveting stuff. We wear more layers here than you would think, because indoor and outdoor temperatures are so different.
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And finally, though there is a lot of sunshine, there is a lot of darkness too - by choice. Everybody has heavily tinted car windows, and people rarely open their house shades or sit around on their porches or verandas. They just stay inside where it's air conditioned and cavey. Such aesthetics create a certain unwelcoming, hard to penetrate environment, if you ask me. Forget making eye contact with other drivers at a four-way stop. But there is a swimming pool where we live, and some friendly folks who keep up the grounds. Zoralee is learning to exchange, "Hola," and "Como estas?" and "Bien" and "Adios" with them. That always gets her an extra grin and hair tousle.
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Next post: bugs

f is for horse and hoo (and other speech phenomena of Zoralee)

Zoralee starts some h words with the letter f. The rest of us see horses; she sees forses. We understand the owls in storybooks to say, "hoo;" until yesterday she was pretty sure they said, "foo." And for the longest time, she wanted to "fold you," which meant hold you. Yet for house, hurt, help, happy, and hand, we've always been in agreement. She's starting to outgrow this, and it makes me pretty sad. But it would be wrong to encourage her to say h words with an f just to be cute, wouldn't it?

She calls Papa, Papa. Grandma, Grandma. And Grandpa Gene, Grandpa Gene. No problem. But to her, Grandpa Larry is, randomly, Grandpie. It reminds me of this Fuzzy Memory of Jack Handy:

For a while there, instead of calling Grandpa "Grandpa," I started calling him "Grandpappy." But he didn't like that, and asked me to go back to Grandpa. So I did, but I changed it a little. I put an "e" in instead of an "a," so it became "Grendpa." At first he didn't notice, but then he said, "What did you call me?" "Grandpa," I said. But then I went back to calling him Grendpa. Finally he just said to go ahead and call him Grandpappy, which I did, only I changed it a little bit to "Grendpeppy."

Uncle Dave and Luke are Unkin Dave and Unkin Uke. We hear it most when she's being allowed to play around with the cell phone. She pushes buttons and says, "Send message Unkin Dave."

And were you aware that bugs are female? Yes. As Zoralee watched two bugs outside recently, one climbing a wall and the other exploring a pile of popcorn seeds I'd made her spit out after discovering them squirreled away in her cheeks, she exclaimed about the bugs, "She's going bye bye!" and "She's coming!" I responded some with, "Yes, he is," to see what Zoralee'd do, and she kept them female.

Some of my favorite, regular Zoralee phrases:

• Oh, honey! [directed at me when she spills something or needs help or feels there's a crisis]
• Who's that? Who's that? Who's that? [asked about any person or thing she doesn't know or understand, until we satisfactorily respond - it's in the vein of how some kids ask, "why? why? why?"]
• Good job, Mama! and Good job, Papa! [if we eat a bite she feeds us, or if we help her with something, or if we're doing a chore, like sweeping the floor]