Good job! I Knew We'd Ace That Interview!

In addition to checking my four letter word habit, shutting down the "I get a toy every time we hit Target"expectation, I am supposed to stop praising my daughter.

At least that is the new parenting admonishment.

"Good job" is now a taboo phrase in the world of childrearing.

Apparently "good job!", "way to go!" "I knew you could do it!" and other seemingly innocuous phrases, tend to build expectations of constant commendation when used in excess.

For the toddler and school-age set.

Instead, it is recommended that I, as an astute parent [insert laugh track here], when handed the daily artwork, look my 3 1/2 year old in the eye and say ---

Not - "What a beautiful picture!"

Rather - "I see you used green in the corner. Can you tell me why you did that?"

Hogwash.

Let me tell you from my oh so uninformed point of view that the entitled generation that is taking its first tentative steps in to the real world of jobs and rent and relationships are not hindered by the fact that their parents told them they were fantastic little beings far too regularly.

No, my money is on the fact that the parents went several steps further. Stormed in to parent-teacher conferences demanding their precious biddums get an A rather than the earned B+. That these same parents wrote their kids college application essays, and likely their resumes and cover letters.

I am sadly old enough to have managed a few of these "winners" in my professional life.

And winners they think they are too. Because we have created a culture where every kid must succeed.

Even the losing team gets a trophy.

No. They. Don't.

They lost!!

Life has winners and losers.

That is reality. At least the reality that most of us grew up with and are, frankly, the stronger for it. By denying our kids the ability to experience the natural highs and lows of life, we are creating losers. Because these kids are not going to have the tools and coping mechanisms to weather the inevitable storms that come their way when they step out from the over-extended parental shelter.

When La C makes the soccer or whatever team, I am going to whoop and holler. And when she loses the science fair or spelling bee I will hug her and tell her that's the way the cookie crumbles but she gave it her all (if that is so).

And when she gets ready to apply for college I will support her 100% and give her a nice cushion for the desk chair as she writes her essays.

"Good job" is not the culprit. And engaging in a philosophical discussion with your child about how they feel about their newly minted baseball player status is great. But a hug and a "Way to go kiddo" is also important.

It is when we take away their opportunity to fail that we create the expectation for commendation. Subvert their ability to define themselves. Deny them the rush of overcoming an obstacle.

I tell La C she is beautiful and smart, pretty much every day. I also tell her to pick up her toys, stop slurping, don't interrupt, say pardon and excuse me, far more times during the day.

Because she may be beautiful and smart (a mother's perogative to say that) but she also has to grow up and live responsibly just like everyone else.

A Presidential Evening

Last night, the Love of My Life (LOML) was inducted as President of the St. Andrew's Society of Washington, DC.

The annual Burns Night Dinner provided the occasion for the ceremony.

It was an evening of pipers, haggis, furry knees peeking out from kilts, amazing fiddling by Bonnie Rideout, and odes to Robert Burns.

Several times throughout the evening there was mention of my "new role" as "first lady". Hadn't really gone there. Hadn't really given it much thought - this was LOML's thing in my eyes.

But as they say, beside every great man is his partner. ;)

So as the room rose in unison to clasp hands for Auld Lang Syne and LOML closed the evening with the benediction from our own wedding; it struck me how fortunate we were and how much we could learn from this opportunity.

Both of us.

The presidential "armor".

Congratulatory black Tahitian pearl & handcrafted gold cufflinks gifted to LOML by me.

The presentation of the haggis.

For the occasion.

Happy Moments from My Very Happy Birthday!

Best birthday gifts!

Birthday dinner at Dino's!

Lovelies from my love.

Fettuccine with wild boar's meat & chocolate ice cream make La C a very happy girl!

A very content birthday girl.

My Year of the Dragon

On the eve of my 39th birthday..or…as the love of my life so charmingly put it – ‘the last birthday in my 30’s’…I have a lot to say.

Shocking, I know.

A running theme in my life is my aversion to change. Amusing given that the latter half of my 38th year has seen not only change but down right upheaval.

Friends moved away, La C started school prompting untold lifestyle change including the departure of Marta my parenting rock, there was the untimely loss of someone dear to my heart, a change of address that reconstituted my day to day compass and an uptick in workload amid uncertainty.

And age.

With its slow and almost imperceptible hammering at us, age crafts us into its own puppet.

And we are impervious.

Until one day we move forward and feel the tug of the string.

We are told to eat right, exercise regularly, refrain from this or that and take our daily vitamins. This will keep age at bay.

Or at least minimize its damage.

I agree. But I also believe there is one more piece to the equation.

We must change.

I must change. There, I’ve said it.

Hear that flapping? It is the pigs.

Flying.

And I do not mean change my hair color or change my eating habits.

I am changing my intention to fight age.

Rather, I intend to accommodate it.

Take it in, breathe it out, ask for help, give up the ghost and be satisfied with what level of happiness I manage to achieve.

True, at 39 true aging is on the horizon, but for me a few querulous impacts of a life well lived have made themselves known to me and made me acutely aware of what we all face.

Life is a very long time, if we are so blessed. Why spend the time trying to beat the clock to the finish?

I’m in it for the long haul.

Wrinkles, love handles, arthritis and all.

And completely decked out for the occasion.

La C and the Bad Hat

It has become a rather insidious affair.

In the morning La C tromps off to school the hat jauntily perched on her head.

In the evening after a lengthy search by all hands on deck of the school from top to bottom La C returns home.

Hatless.

First to go was the Old Navy Outlet pink jester hat with white polka dots.

Next went the hand knit white cap with ear flaps.

The hardest loss was the red danish knit hat that was actually mine but we were getting desperate as the hat pile waned.

The kicker here is that every day we lost a hat the set of mittens came home in tact.

How does that happen??

We still have both of the matching pink and polka dot mittens.

And the white hand knit mittens.

And the pink ski mittens that accompanied the danish knit cap.

I am...flummoxed.

It has been a particularly trying couple of weeks for me on all fronts. The situation of the bad hat has allowed me to focus my frustrations.

And highlights the complexity and inanity of child rearing.

This was a week of multiple bathroom timing accidents, a fall during aftercare, and a biting incident (La C was the recipient of the bite).

A week of bureacracy, deadlines, and professional biting.

But what has consumed the household is the situation of the bad hat.

Night to Day

If the view from my office could talk.

So long, farewell...time to clock out for the day...erm, night.

And we're back -- good morning!

Monday of My Dreams

Every Monday should be required to have the following---

Prelude to a Nap

Cleo the Cat

Night cap.

My Day in Snapshots

Rise and shine.

Play date aftermath.

Lunch @ the Star and Shamrock.

Some more work.

Slow Cooker Dinner a la Love of My Life

Saturday

Mom works.

La C plays.

The Elves in God’s Workshop, Parenting Tips from Professor Barbie, and Other Molehills Masquerading as Mountains

In the new year, we focus on what we should care about. What we should improve. What we should be doing.

I believe it is also a time to figure out those things with which we should not be so obsessed to the point of self-righteousness. What things we should not elevate above their worth. What things we should not use to judge others.

I know you know what I mean.

I have judged – other’s decisions, other’s opinions, other’s plans.

And no doubt I have been judged. Such is the nature of humanity.

Where we fall beyond basic temperament is when we give a thing – a belief, a toy, a tradition, a habit, a preference – more power than it should have. Because we don’t agree or don’t like it or are uncomfortable with it. When we do that we shut down dialogue and close our minds.

We hibernate. We atrophy.

And in the worst of cases, we condemn.

This lofty discussion has been percolating in my mind over this holiday season. I have personally encountered and observed examples of judging. And because my world revolves around parenting, the majority of judgment is parent-focused.

I believe LOML was truly frightened about my mothering style pre-La C. Obsessive, control freak is a mild description of me. But I must admit I have surprised myself at my level of zen. Now. Three years in and I realize that I am not bad mommy because La C can quote her favorite episode of Wallace & Gromit. Clearly she watches videos. Enough to quote them. Whatever.

I am not gonna sweat the small stuff. I can’t.

As the daughter of a single mom I saw extreme parenting first-hand –
job, bills, sit down meals, vacations, illness, homework, college
tuition, etc. – all on the shoulders of one parent.

If dinner was an ice cream sundae once in a while so be it – my sis
and I both became school athletes with an understanding of nutrition and exercise. If we worshipped at the Presbyterian church for a few years because it was close to the house rather than the more distant Episcopalian church, so be it – we still are staunch Episcopalians today. If Christmas sometimes came with a beautifully wrapped IOU so be it – we were taught the reason for the season and truly appreciated the importance of being together through times of IOUs and actual gifts.

It is with this background that I find myself as a parent rather
flummoxed by the import placed on things we give our children.

La C’s first articulated Christmas present wish was for a Barbie. No problem.

She’s three. It is a doll.

For me to make it more than that introduces an issue that is not even on her radar screen yet.

And no, I am not afraid that Barbie, with her seductive curves, will permanently tattoo on my daughter’s impressionable psyche that this is the ideal body to have.

My only comment to my child as I try to shimmy Barbie’s skirt over her hips is that it kind of reminds me of trying to shimmy my own skirts over my own rather generous hips. Cause guess what? Real women have curves. They may sag a bit more than Barbie’s sure, but seriously, Barbie looks more like Mom than Tinkerbell does.

And yes, the elf on the shelf worked overtime to ensure good behavior in exchange for Barbie. Well, why not? As far as Christmas decorations go it is a cool concept. No not as poignant as the Christmas miracle but then that is not the elf’s point. The point of the Advent wreath and Advent services is to help celebrate the Christmas miracle. The elf is, well, it’s the other part of the holiday season – the one that has very little to do with the birth of Christ.

The issue is not that the elf and the birth of Christ exist in the same timeframe. The issue is conflating the two sides of the holiday. To pick and choose those non-denominational things that are okay to stand alongside the symbols of the advent and Epiphany is to run the risk of hypocrisy. They are two sides of a coin that can coexist.

When you are young, that Christmas miracle is a difficult concept – seriously, a creche is not often in the 5 year old’s go to suite of terms. So we as parents do what we can to teach them this cornerstone of our faith – and if that means we mingle setting up and explaining the nativity with stockings filled with presents with midnight church services with decorating a Christmas tree so be it.

As my mother would say - It’s not your driving I worry about dear; it is all the other drivers out there. I am not worried that La C’s obsession with Barbie, princesses, tiaras and Disney or the fact that she puts the elf on the shelf in the nativity scene, is going to stunt her transition to an opinionated, compassionate, outspoken young woman of faith.

No, rather I am worried about all the other kids and adults that tell her she cannot be who she wants to be.

Or tell her how to be. How to play. How to worship. How to be a woman. How to think. How to view the world.

You see, I know that she loves her Barbies and playing with them makes her very happy. But I also know that what I say to her means more. The words I choose, my tone of voice, my instructions, accolades, and discipline have a far greater impact on her than both her princess Barbie and elf on the shelf combined.

At least right now.

But don’t think I won’t continue to use the power of my voice, my
example of how I live my life, my values and my faith for the rest of
my life to help guide her.

In the meantime, I am going to continue not to sweat the small stuff
and fix the lights on the Jacuzzi in Barbie’s RV – ballerina Barbie
likes to read while she soaks.

I am Back

Temporary hiatus while I set up my new fashion blog (see www.styledbykdg.com) and moved to a new house.

Looking forward to interesting conversations with you all!