Giving Up.

The sound of silence. It can be a beautiful thing and this morning, because I had the gift of sending five, healthy and alive children off to a school with caring, committed teachers who will instruct them how to add, subtract, multiply and read, I am positively relishing in it. I am working at adding all the teachers into our will. They are beautiful people who have dedicated their lives to enriching young lives...and in the case of my children, perhaps sparing them as I cannot imagine (in our scenario), how we would all come out alive if I were their sole educator. Best case scenario, one of us would be rendered in the fetal position in the corner of the house sucking her thumb, and that person would likely be me. Thus, the will is slated to include a bevy of teachers.

I love my children. Deeply. Of course I do. They somehow continue to love me even though I've failed to locate the handbook on how to raise them. Before having children, it did not occur to me such a book would be needed. I thought I had a home team advantage, being as though my childhood home was a happy, peace-filled (my mother always had Dino and CDs with nature sounds playing in the background) and ordered one. Having children didn't terrify me. I wasn't nervous I would break the baby or worry that if I didn't play enough with my small children they would grow up hating me. I thought if I did it just like my mom did with me, I would have a good shot at making it as a mom.

However, God gave me my own family. I don't know why, but He did.

The home I now run looks very different then that of my mother's. She had her own challenges, but as a child, I mostly remembered the good (may it be so with alllll of my children as well, dear Jesus, amen.) and it was my intent to select all the healthy ways I had been raised to copy and paste into my own parenthood experience.  It appeared initially that I could get away with this simple transfer approach. And then they started to grow up.

All things considered, we've got five interesting, healthy and happy children. What a GIFT. And yet,  these gifts are five flawed human begins who clash frequently and also come together as a posse against their authority when they find a shared cause. Each has their own set of virtues and their own bag of vices, always looking to use either to get their parent's attention. Since I am the parent who is most often physically present, I get to be the one who is pulled at the most. They do not intend to wear me down, they are simply little humans developing their wills and testing the limits. They're smart...they know I'm more apt to cave then not. It feels I am constantly running behind a fast moving train, desperately trying to keep control of all the cargo (some of which can be explosive at times), trying to mask my ineptness at keeping up and doing a miserable job of it. I've huffing and puffing my way through their childhood, rarely enjoying, mostly exhausted as I check off another day. This hasn't felt right.

And so...

I am giving up.

I giving up trying to parent the ONLY way I know how. I have put down the clip board and acknowledged that while many the underlying principles I grew up and have parented on are still absolutely foundational to our family structure, the way I have been operating is not an adequate fit for the task in front of me. My "task" looks different from my mom's and yours looks different than mine. I cannot go on playing it by ear...or they will end up whittled down so far they won't be able to hear the sound of their laughter, their ideas and all the amazing things their energies can produce.

When I felt one of our children was dealing with anxiety in a way in which I was unable to find ways to effectively help them with, we employed a highly recommended play therapist to assist. From those sessions, it was suggested we do one family play therapy session, to better understand our "dynamic".  I never envisioned doing this because I assumed I could handle it {insert long, drawn out, slightly jaded laughter}. While it felt a bit intrusive, I was at the place where all the help was welcomed.  It was every mom's nightmare (sans Michelle Duggar):  Being taken into a small room with 8 gazillion miniature characters of every conceivable notion, being instructed to work together as a family to first construct a house made of blocks and then to furnish it and then to add a few characters from the 500 shelves around us. ALL WHILE BEING VIDEO-TAPED. Lord have mercy. I still shudder at the memory.

As one member (me) built the house, the rest threw in some furniture and ALL of them nearly wiped the shelves clean of all 8 gazillion characters as their father (fantasizing about a glass of Jack Daniels) supervised the chaotic, recorded scene. It was so noisy. So full of stuff. The children loved it. It was so much fun (for them). What was even more delightful, was when the therapist (still recording) asked me how I felt our family play time. Knowing she is trained to tell a lie, I hesitated for just a second then gently answered, "Well, it was interesting keeping everyone focused...I can't say I enjoyed per se, but it's always good to see everyone work together as a team---"

"MOM. Why are you talking like that? You're just talking nicely because you know she's recording you! You should use your normal voice.", loudly interjected my pubescent son, right into the camera.

I cannot write what I was fantasizing about as i heard him saying these words as the red light of the camcorder blinked in my face. It's possible I would be arrested. I was just thankful my daughter didn't suggest the wicked witch she had perched on top of a firey volcano was her mother. Of course, professionals read into these things on their own. Whatever.

Thus, the therapist had PUL-EN-TY to note as she observed our filmed family chaos play time.

Curt and I met with her last week to discuss our "dynamic". She was kind. Very kind. She told us, given the birth order and concentrated ages of our children, we are normal. Normal! I grabbed the arm of my husband. WE ARE NORMAL!!!! Glory be. Whodda thunk it? However, we---particularly the mother--seems a bit, um, TENSE. Possibly unhinged, although that wasn't the exact verbage she used. She kindly suggested I might consider adding a few tools to my proverbial belt to help ease the friction, which will also ease the tension I've been transferring to my dear children. Children are receptors of our emotions. This was not news to me, but when you're so busy just trying to keep up, you forget the importance of what you are projecting.

Yes, I told her. Yes. Give me tools. Give me all the tools.

Thus, tonight begins a two month, once-a-week parenting class with other parents. This is not so much for my husband (he truly is the better parent) as it is for the one of us who is at home with the children the most (yours truly) and for "us" as a team. For as much as I thought we approached parenting similarly, as we reach various ages and stages the differences show up and can create tension there too. My parents, the ones who raised me so well, are supporting us by watching our children on these evenings as we go and get more tools. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it.

The practice we've been going to uses the Love and Logic approach. I am not hinging all my hopes on it, or any "method" (although this seems to employ a good bit of old fashioned common sense). Taking this course will not a superior parent make, nor will it eliminate the inconveniences of being human. It will likely not take away my "normal voice" and my children will still have to deal with an occasional appearance by a tense Cruella. Such is life. Still, I can't wait to learn. Even Mrs. DeVille can learn new tricks.

It is such a privilege to be a mother. It is a gift to be a sister, a wife, a friend...any of the relationships we hold dear. None is more noble then the other, all are worth our best try. What a gift it is to find new ways, new tools, new boundaries, new whatever it is we need to navigate through these beautiful, complicated relationships in our pursuit to be wholehearted, just as God intends us to be. And sometimes it starts in "giving up" to get where we need to go.