February, 2010-- What I think you mean to say is....

One of the problems with children is they say exactly what they’re thinking. Early in parenting, this is delightful. We’ve been waiting two years for our kids to talk, and their ability to string words together at all is somewhat of a miracle. We eagerly affirm even the most mundane content, creating entire conversations out of obvious statements.

            “Bird go!”

            “Yes, the bird did leave the fence and fly away. I wonder where it’s going? Maybe to feed the baby birds!”

            As time moves on, though, innocuous statements about birds, trucks and bodily functions are replaced by opinions. The child who used to point out, “Peas green,” now needs to tell us exactly why she doesn’t like peas. The triumphant exclamation of, “Boots! Jacket! Mittens!” is replaced by, “Don’t wanna wear boots!”

            Before I became a parent, I was a middle school teacher. At the time, I was struck by how easily I could divide the class into the complainers and the non-complainers. For the complainers, everything was a trial. The homework load was too heavy; the gym teams were unfair; it was too cold at recess. I watched, amazed, as many of these kids even complained about special treats and privileges— they didn’t get a second brownie; the upcoming field trip wouldn’t be fun; the movie chosen wasn’t what they wanted. And yet, in the same classroom would be other kids who rarely, if ever, complained. They approached homework matter-of-factly; they were grateful for treats; they took disappointment in stride.

            While my job as a teacher was to make sure all the children in my class received an education, looking back, I can say that some kids were a pleasure to teach, while others were a pain. Perhaps more importantly, though, I noticed that the kids who didn’t complain weren’t just holding back their negative comments; these kids were truly more content and more optimistic. They tended to be more focused and more successful. And as a young middle school teacher, I decided that if I would ever be fortunate enough to be a mother some day, I would want my children to be non-complainers.

            I have come to believe that gratefulness and non-complaining must be taught by parents, just as surely as potty training and the alphabet must be taught. While some children might be naturally grateful and non-complaining, they are rare—as rare as kids who teach themselves to read and potty train themselves in a day or two.

            While this might sound discouraging, really it’s not, because just as most kids can learn to read or use the bathroom, so they can learn gratefulness. But it takes some work.

            One of the best phrases I stumbled upon a few years ago is, “What I think you mean to say is…”  I’m not sure which child of mine rolled his eyes upon seeing the bowl of green beans on the dinner table, and had a disparaging remark about them. Annoyed with his lack of gratitude, I spoke without thinking.

            “What I think you mean to say, is ‘Thanks, Mom for making dinner,’” I said to him. He looked at me quizzically, but didn’t say anything more.

            From that dinner on, “What I think you mean to say…”  has occupied a regular place in our family lexicon. While Bill and I don’t use it as a response to questions and complaints that have some legitimacy, it’s the perfect response to sassing back, whining and general complaining when there’s nothing to complain about. And overall, it works. The phrase has the ability to stop the complaint, while reframing the situation within the context of respect or gratefulness.

            “I wanna watch another show!”

            “What I think you mean to say is, ‘Thanks, Mom for letting me watch TV.’”

            “I didn’t mess up the basement.” 

            “I think what you mean to say is, ‘Okay, Dad, I’ll clean up the basement.’”

            What I notice, having used the phrase for a number of years, is that often the kids actually repeat what I say, even though I don’t necessarily tell them they have to. It’s almost like they’re glad someone told them the words; glad someone gave them the script. Whether they can articulate it or not, they’re relieved to have a positive alternative for the negative comment that they automatically reached for. Slowly, I have seen gratefulness become more of a habit for each of my children. As they have learned the words to say, they have started to say them more on their own, without reminders from me.

            “Thanks, Mom, for making dinner,” Jacob said gamely to me the other night, when he noticed his not-so-favorite dish on the table. I raised my eyebrows and we both smiled.

            And the lesson is not just for the children. After coming home from book club one evening, I commented to my husband on the few still unwashed dishes remaining on the kitchen counter.

            “I think what you mean to say,” Bill said to me, “ is, ‘Thanks for cleaning so much of the kitchen and putting the kids to bed so I could go to book club.’”

            Ouch. Thanks indeed. We all need reminders every so often.

January, 2010 Catholic schools

Dominican High School gave me just the nudge I needed this past fall. Actually, it was a little more like a kick in the pants. I went to the parent association meeting in November and one of the topics to be covered was Dominican’s responsibility to make and serve the food at the St. Ben’s meal program the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Our family was going to be spending Thanksgiving at my sister’s in Cincinnati and I knew we wouldn’t be arriving home until Sunday, so I mentally excused us from helping out at St. Ben’s.  As the campus minister, Henry Reyes, got up to speak, I had already crossed St. Ben’s off in my mind with a “too busy” notation.

             “Dominican always has the fifth Sunday of the month at St. Ben’s,” Henry said as I scanned the agenda for what was coming next. “And this often coincides with a holiday. Some people think this is too bad, because it makes it inconvenient for families to help out-- we’re all so busy at the holidays. But I welcome the fifth Sunday because it forces us to rearrange our schedule and reorganize our priorities. Service isn’t something we do if we have the time for it. Service is what we make time for.”

            I snapped to attention. Henry was right, of course. We weren’t the only family with a good excuse not to serve. Every family had one.

            Thanks to Henry, we left Cincinnati on Saturday evening instead of Sunday morning as we had planned. The kids were so good in the car that we drove straight through with only a bathroom stop. We had a full day in Milwaukee to unpack from the trip and a meaningful Sunday night serving at St. Ben’s with the kids. It was actually a less-hectic way to return home than we had planned.

            One of the most surprising gifts of choosing Catholic education for our children has been that education’s effect on Bill and me. When we chose a Catholic grade school for four-year-old Jacob, 11 years ago, we did so with the understanding that it would help form Jacob’s faith experience; we didn’t understand that it would deepen our own faith as well.

            But just as practicing geography with Jacob has made me better able to remember the countries in South America, so has coming in contact with the kids’ religion lessons and prayer experiences reacquainted me with aspects of my faith that might have otherwise faded.

            The other day in the van on the way to school, Liam was listing the Ten Commandments out loud to prepare for a religion test. I listened, trying occasionally to beat him to the punch. It occurred to me, as Liam intoned, “You shall not covet your neighbor’s goods,” that if we had not chosen a Catholic school for our kids, no one would be reminding me not to covet on this random Tuesday. And considering that a few minutes after dropping off the kids, I’d be in a work meeting with my co-worker with the fabulous boots and handbag, I could definitely use that tenth commandment reminder.

            The faith that permeates my children in their Catholic Schools seeps into their skin and souls and fills our home. It joins with what Bill and I are teaching them; it enhances what they take from church. And then it spills over to challenge me.

            Once, when Teenasia misbehaved and was sent to her room as a consequence, Liam came down and quietly told me she was up there saying the Rosary out loud. Do I say the Rosary when I’m angry or troubled? Not usually, so she didn’t get the idea from me. Saying the Rosary in school moved Teenasia to take action at home; and that in turn, was witnessed by Liam, who reported it to me. My second-grader was evangelizing within her own family, just by her example.

            Perhaps more than specific prayers or religion units, what both St. Monica and Dominican have given Bill and me is a culture of approaching life always through the lens of faith. Because we both work in secular settings, discussion of faith is not part of our day-to-day work lives. Belonging to school communities where every meeting begins with prayer, where every handout has some reference to an aspect of church or faith, where the very mission and reason for existence of the institution is based on Christ, helps us orientate ourselves. The world swirls around us with promises, values and reasons for living that are often at odds with what we know to be true. Catholic schools  have helped us, as a couple, to better hold onto that truth—and to pass that truth on to our children.

            This Catholic Schools Week, I give thanks not only for what Catholic Schools have taught my children, but for what they have given to Bill and me. A whisper. A nudge.  A kick in the pants. I am so grateful.

December, 2009 Christmas traditions

Keeping Christ in Christmas doesn’t need to be one more “to-do” on your already packed December calendar. Jesus was born to bring peace, not to stress you out. Try inviting him to be a part of some of your existing holiday traditions—doing so can help both parents and kids to remember the deeper meaning of the season. 

Christmas cards: Turn this chore into a time of Advent reflection for parents. Wait until the kids are tucked in, then put on some quiet Christmas music, pour yourselves some eggnog (or hot buttered rum), and light a candle. Approach your stack of cards with a spirit of thankfulness for the family and friends God has given you. Talk about who has stood out this year—maybe a family struggling with a difficulty or one who has become closer to your own family.  Even if you’re normally not one to write personal notes, pick a handful of people you are especially thankful for and tell them why you appreciate them. Don’t worry that you’re not being “fair” by not writing such notes to everyone—maybe someone else will receive a note from you another year.

Watch the calendar:

“My kids and I make a point of never walking down a Christmas aisle before December,” said Carol, mother of four school-aged kids. “Doing this makes the kids feel ‘in the know’ about when our church seasons actually are. It also gives us the chance to talk about Advent and separate ourselves from what’s being done commercially for Christmas.”

Decorating the tree: Before you start untangling the lights, gather around your bare tree and read a story from Scripture— the John the Baptist story; the annunciation; an infancy narrative. Have each family member pick out one ornament and pray for the something that ornament brings to mind.

Light the Advent wreath: Even if you can’t commit to lighting the candles every night of Advent, do so whenever you can. Keep a Bible on the kitchen counter with a bookmark in one of your favorite passages. As you light the candle, have one of your kids read just a couple verses of the passage.

Pay attention to your nativity set: If your Christmas decorations include a crèche, use it as a change of pace for your before-bed prayers. Rather than praying with kids in their rooms, take them down to the crèche to pray. Whether you say the Hail Mary or Our Father, read Scripture, or have the kids pray spontaneously, you will be reminding your children that there is something different and holy about the time before Christmas.

            “During Advent, I put out our unbreakable crêch and let the kids play with it,” said Denise, mother of three kids under nine. “They have the angels babysit the animals and Jesus while Mary and Joseph go out. I have resisted bringing more structure or meaning to their play in fear it would kill the joy of their imagination.  But it secretly focuses me on the preparation of all those people who were brought to the manger.”

And on Christmas morning:

“We put a small, empty bassinet under our Christmas tree, next to the presents,” said Regina, mother of five. “On Christmas, before we open the presents, we place a baby doll in it. The empty bassinet reminds the kids what we are waiting for.”

November, 2009 Abortion, foster care and adoption

Pro-life bumper stickers make me uncomfortable. So do pro-life t-shirts with their large pictures unborn babies.

            They don’t make me uncomfortable because I’m pro-abortion. I agree with the Church’s teachings on the sanctity of life at every stage. I do not believe in the death penalty; don’t believe in euthanasia and rarely think that war is the only answer to an international problem.  Rather, my discomfort with some aspects of the pro-life movement in general, and the Catholic piece of it in particular, arises from my perspective as a foster and adoptive parent. I see too little of a connection between the pro-life movement and the foster and adoptive community.

            As of December of 2008, there were 2,638 children in Milwaukee County who needed placement outside of their homes because of allegations of neglect or abuse by their parents. That year, there were just 857 active, licensed foster homes able to receive those children. The rest of the children had to be placed with unlicensed relatives or in group homes. In Milwaukee, as well as in other cities its size or larger, the families who do step forward to foster are too often marginal themselves. Recent tragedies highlighted in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel’s series on the ills of the Milwaukee foster care system illustrate just how dire the situation is.

            While I understand that not every Catholic family is called to foster or adopt, a Catholic pro-life identity must include a highly visible commitment to those children who were not initially aborted, but whose current life of neglect and abuse leaves them vulnerable and at risk.

            Our Catholic pro-life voice is well-known. But what if we could become equally well-known for our commitment to providing safe families for foster children? If alongside their work to change legislation regarding abortion, pro-life groups would work within the foster care arena, the movement would gain necessary credibility. A commitment to foster care, when put next to a commitment to end abortion, demonstrates an understanding of the complexity of the abortion question. It underlines our Catholic teaching of the sanctity of life— life threatened within the womb, but also facing just as serious danger outside the mother’s body. At a recent Catholic conference I attended in Chicago, there were four booths dedicated to the anti-abortion aspect of the pro-life movement. Yet, I didn’t see even one booth—or even one small part of a pro-life booth— dedicated to recruiting new foster parents.

            Although Adoption, not abortion! makes a catchy bumper sticker slogan, the issue of adopting would-be aborted children is not as simple as it might appear. Of the more than a hundred thousand children currently awaiting adoption in the U.S., almost half are African American, according to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. Of this group, severely disabled children and black boys must wait the longest for adoption. At the same time, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention’s statistics show that more than a third of the U.S. women each year who choose abortion are black. When we, as church, tell these women to put their children up for adoption, do we back up our words by pointing to families open to adopting black children? Right now, the answer is no — there is a shortage of parents willing to adopt black children, and our words are hollow. 

            I recognize that some pro-life activists might bristle at the idea that they are not doing enough for children. Many of these people give tremendous amounts of time and energy trying to prevent the tragedy of abortion and the emotional fallout it causes for women. I am not suggesting that they stop. But I am suggesting that we, as Catholics, begin to look at the issue of abortion in a less simplistic way. I’m suggesting that we open our arms even wider—that we challenge each other to create a line of households ready and waiting to accept unwanted, abused or neglected children. And when we do this, when the word “Catholic” is linked with foster care just as surely as it is with “pro-life,” then we will be able to hold our heads high when we tell others to “Choose life.” Because others will have our assurance that life will be protected, once it is chosen. 

           

           

           

            

October, 2009 Marshmallows and self-control

Marshmallows are on my mind. We’re at the tail end of campfire s’mores season and have not yet moved into the hot-chocolate-and-marshmallow season, so I have a large untouched bag of marshmallows in my cupboard. Perhaps I’ll make Rice Krispie treats. But that’s not the reason I’m thinking of marshmallows. Marshmallows were brought to my attention when I recently re-read the results of the famous Stanford University Marshmallow study.

            In a longitudinal study that began in the late 1960s, psychology researcher Michael Mischel used marshmallows and four-year-olds to demonstrate just how important the concept of delayed gratification was to lifelong success.

            In his experiment, he offered hungry four-year-olds a marshmallow, but told them that if they could wait for the experimenter to return after an errand, they could have two marshmallows. Those who could wait for the experimenter to return would be showing that they could control their impulse and delay gratification. About a third of the children gobbled the marshmallow right away; another third waited a bit, but then ate the marshmallow; and the final third waited until the experimenter returned and were rewarded with the coveted two marshmallows.

            Fourteen years later, when the children graduated from high school, the differences between the marshmallow-eaters and the marshmallow-waiters were dramatic. Those who waited for their marshmallow at four were more persistent and motivated as high school graduates. They were able to delay gratification to reach their goals. The marshmallow eaters, on the other hand, were more likely to be troubled, mistrustful and indecisive. They had difficulty holding down their impulses on the way to reach long-term goals, such as studying for a test was still weeks away. The results carried on after high school as well, with the marshmallow resisters reporting better marriages, landing better-paying jobs, and having higher levels of career satisfaction. Marshmallow eaters, on the other hand, were more likely to have unsuccessful marriages and be unhappy in their jobs.

            Delaying gratification isn’t a value held dear by society as a whole. From soda and candy placed right next to the checkout counter to auto dealers who allow us to buy a car (a car!) with no money down, much of our economy is built on our refusal to delay our gratification.

            In the entertainment sector, punch lines come fast and furious in most sit-coms, and over-the-top action is the rule in thrillers. There’s little need to wait for the funny or exciting part, or to work a bit to understand subtle or dry humor. Barry, a friend of mine who took his fifth grade boy to see the Blue Angels said his son and his friends were unimpressed with the show.

            “I think they are used to seeing such amazing stunts and graphics up close in the movies and video games that they can’t even recognize something remarkable in real life,” he said.

            Instant messaging, texting and an always-on cell phone mean that we rarely have to wait to get in contact with friends and family. And even the way we package food shows how little tolerance we have for waiting — instant rice; ready-made dinners; just-add-water. 

            But in our world of instant communication and fast food, we can’t ignore the marshmallow study’s startling results, because they say something important about how our children are going to turn out if we don’t teach them self-discipline and waiting. The study reminds us that even with all the technology around us, there is value in telling kids they will need to wait for the weekend to play video games; that they can’t go online until after they practice piano; that they won’t get a cell phone until high school. The marshmallow study reminds us that having a small child wait to ask a question until adults have finished talking is about more than politeness—it may be a survival skill. As we as parents learn to say “no” or “wait” to our children’s demands to purchase the newest jeans or the newest gadget; to be the first to see a movie or download a song, we are ensuring that they will better be able to wait (and work for) the important things in adult life.

            As ironic as it may seem, our children’s future happiness is dependent not on us making them happy right now, but in our ability to help them learn to wait a bit to be happy. And we can’t delay in teaching them this. Because there was nothing fluffy about this marshmallow study.