Category Archives: Raising Children

You Don’t Love Me

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My son and I did some growing this past week. He did something I didn’t approve of and I could only get him to stop by threatening to take away a privilege if he didn’t. He got very upset, which caught me a little off-guard. It didn’t begin as a contentious conversation: I had spoken calmly and explained why we were having the conversation, what had happened, what needed to change going forward and why. He looked at with tears brimming at the edges of his eyes and said, “Mom, I feel like when you correct me you are saying you don’t love me.” Whoa, I thought, I did not see that coming. I could understand him getting upset that he might lose his toys or, getting upset that we were having a tense discussion but  thinking I didn’t love him? What was that about?

I took a deep breath.  I was suddenly reminded of something that had happened when I was eight years old. I had done something wrong and my punishment was to be spanked (spanking was commonplace when I was growing up) by my father. I recall getting called into my parents’ bedroom after my mom had debriefed my father on the situation. I reluctantly walked into their room and my dad was sitting in a chair by the side table. He looked like he was exhausted from work and disappointed that he now had to deal with an unruly child instead of getting to relax. I was normally a very timid child but something came over me that day and I told my father I hated him before he could even saying a word or lay a hand on me. He was shocked. “Why would you say that?” he asked to which I replied, “I know you enjoy spanking us.” Honestly, I’m not sure I even believed what I was saying, but since it was my parents’ choice to spank my sisters and I, I figured they must get some joy out of it. My father took me on his lap and said, “I don’t take any joy at all in spanking you. Do you know why your Mother and I do this?” I shook my head. He went on to explain, “We do this because we are trying to teach you a lesson. You broke a rule today, right?” I nodded my head. “And you know that if you do that it’s not acceptable, right?” I nodded my head again. “Well, your Mother and I have to do something about it, otherwise, what’s to stop you from doing it again?” This made the light bulb go on for me.  It was the first time I really understood why spankings in our house took place. It was a seminal conversation between my father and I and it changed our relationship going forward. I still ended up getting a spanking, but it was only a light tap on the behind. Honestly, that was the last time I can remember my dad spanking me. Maybe it’s simply my retroactive interpretation, but I think he knew the importance of making sure I understood what was expected of me and what would happen if I didn’t meet those expectations, it was clear we needed to communicate about what was happening and why.

Coming out of my reverie, I took another breath and told my son, “Honey, one of my jobs is to teach you things. I do this because I do care. I love you and I want you to be the best person you can be. If I didn’t care, I would let you do whatever you want whenever you wanted.” He got a big grin on his face similar to the look I must have had when the light bulb came on for me with my father. “Mom,” he said, “I love you.” “I love you too,” I said.

In the end I felt lucky to have had the opportunity for my son and I to better understand each other.

Happy Mother’s Day!

What Did You Say?

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I am constantly struck by the things my six-year-old son says. It started with sayings that just seemed a little old for him to be using like an indignant What the heck? or Come on! said in the tone of an athlete being wrongly accused of a foul.  My reaction is always the same:  “What did you say?” I ask, thinking where did he learn this? Of course, I do have some idea. The next most likely explanation is that our son’s new phrases are things he’s overheard either from my husband and I or from the older children he spends time with since he started elementary school. His new sayings are harmless for the most part and provide an opportunity for my husband and me to ensure that he actually understands the meaning of the words he says. We also work to explain how others may interpret what he’s saying. Honestly, we’re never sure how much is sinking in but we figure he’ll better understand what we’re teaching him over time (and repeating ourselves more than we’d like).

The other day my son and I were walking together and he suddenly said crap. I just about fell over. Crap was considered a bad word when I was growing up. If I had said it as a child, a good soaping of the mouth, a spanking or some other form of punishment would have ensued. It was considered foul language. Funny, when we think of what acceptable language is now versus back then.  After I collected myself (which probably took a good five seconds or so) I said, “What did you say?” My son looked at me with a quizzical expression and repeated “Crap?” We talked about why this wasn’t okay to say from a parent’s prospective. I told him that his father and I want people to take him seriously when he has something to say and not to dismiss his words, and that if he used bad words like crap, people were likely to do just that. Truthfully I don’t know that I’ll ever think its okay for a six-year-old to use this kind of language, no matter what society thinks is acceptable. It might be old-fashioned, but I really want my children to understand the power of their words, how they influence the way people see them and determine whether or not people will take them seriously.

It reminds me that even as an adult I need to be mindful of my words and recognize their power and influence, not only with my children, but with my spouse, friends and co-workers.  It’s sometimes easy to forget or think that whatever we want to say is acceptable because we’re adults but really it comes down to respect, respect for others and for yourself.

It occurred to me just how true this is when I was talking to a woman whose son is in the same soccer class as mine last week. She noticed that my son was upset over losing the game (her son was on the winning team) “It looks like the coach is having a sportsmanship talk with him,” she said. “He’s used to winning, he still struggles with losing,” I said, putting my foot in it before I could even think about how that sounded. What did I just say? I thought. This woman must think I’m the braggart parent of the year—my son is used to winning, who says that? How embarrassing!  Of course, we’re all guilty of saying things we regret. Upon reflection I should have just said, “he doesn’t like to lose.” Most people don’t—it’s not that big a deal.  It reminded me to think before I speak. I sometimes say things I didn’t mean or intend, but if I can think about my words before I say them, I’ll probably get them right the first time.

Miscommunication

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Our oldest son came home from school this past week with a copy of the beloved children’s book Where the Wild Things Are in tow. There was a sticky note attached to the book that let us know that our son needed to practice reading it because he would be doing a reading for citizens of a nursing home the following week.  My husband and I assumed that this meant he would be reading to an individual. We only found out afterwards that he had in fact read it to the larger group.  By wrongly assuming we had all the facts, we had missed out on our child doing his first solo performance. We felt awful! Though admittedly, I was far more disappointed in missing out on seeing how my son did than our son was.

The incident made me think about how I communicate, not only with the teacher at the school, but also with my children and my spouse. I learned an insightful lesson early in my career from my then boss who told me: when you assume you make an *ss out of u (you) and me. It’s all right there in the word itself, making the very concept of assumptions a tricky business. If I’d kept my boss’ golden rule in mind, maybe I would have asked my son the right questions and not missed his performance.

The incident got me thinking about other times I’ve wrongly assumed things. When our children were young for example, I assumed my husband and I would always magically be on the same page, that he would read my mind and automatically know the help I needed. He isn’t a mind reader though and he in turn assumed that if I need help, I would just ask. I also assumed that my efforts to be super-woman: perfect mother, working professional, housecleaner, cook, coordinator, etc—I was making everyone happy. In truth, I was taking too much on and no one was benefitting. When I finally took a closer look at how out of balance everything was, I saw the danger of this assumption.

My husband and I assumed we knew the whole story with the book reading. We should have spoken with the teacher and clarified what our son was participating in. It would have ensured that we didn’t miss out on this special event. I have to admit that it’s disappointing to know I’m still capable of these seemingly obvious mistakes as a mom, but I also realize I’m human, and that there is always the opportunity to grow.  I know I’m getting better at avoiding these situations, but realize situations like this will still come up from time to time. It would be wrong to assume anything else.

Hope Springs Eternal

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Spring in the Northwest is something special. The brilliant colors from blooms and blossoms are everywhere and everything else is lush and green. When the sun comes out for more than a few days in a row and the temperatures start to get into the 60s, you just can’t help but hope with all of your heart that it’s here to stay, that we won’t return to 50 degrees and raining again before summer arrives.

As a parent, I’ve noticed that I’ve become much more aware of the power of hope than I was before I had children. Now, hope seems central to my life: hope for my children, who they will become and my role in this. Hope for my husband and myself that we will do right by our children, right by ourselves and right by our relationship. Hope that I’ll continue to connect with other parents, learn from them and share what I’ve learned. Hope that I’ll continue to enjoy this journey I am on as much as I am enjoying it now.

And while all of this hoping keeps me optimistic about the future, I have to remind myself that many things are out of my control. I can’t control everything that happens to my children 24 hours a day—they go to school and daycare, and I work so it isn’t possible to be with them every minute. But I can control whose care I put them in when I can’t be there. Similarly I can’t control who my children will become as adults but I can teach, guide, protect, support and encourage them while they are under my husband’s and my care. I can’t control other people’s actions (as much as I wish I could sometimes), I can only control my own. And I certainly can’t control the weather, despite how much I want it to be warm and sunny.

Almost every year my hopes are dashed as soon as I convince myself that this spring might be different—full of sun and warm temperatures. Inevitably the sun goes back behind the clouds, the rain begins and the weather cools. I know that despite my hopes, the reality is that spring in the Northwest is a mixture of all these things: sun, overcast skies, rain and weather that is cooler than I’d like, but also beautiful flowers and blooming trees. And even if the change isn’t permanent—the joy that I experience when the tulips, daffodils, and trees start to blossom is worth it. It gives me hope.  So even though I know this spring will probably be like the rest, I’m reminded I ultimately don’t have control and need to just enjoy it.  Much like being a parent, plenty of things are outside of my control but that doesn’t stop me from hoping for the best and enjoying the journey along the way.

Is The Hunger Games a book for all ages?

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It’s times like this that I think my parents had it so much easier. There was no Internet, no cellphones or texting when I was a child, and the most controversial book of the day was Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret—which covers such scandalous ground as a girl getting her first bra and having her period for the first time—pretty innocent compared to what’s available to young people today, right?  I was prepared for the dangers of the Internet and texting, bracing myself for all the trappings of social media; do I have to worry about books now too?

The movie The Hunger Games, based on the book by Suzanne Collins will open this upcoming weekend.  Let me start by saying that I’m a huge fan of the book. Though it’s considered young adult in genre, its appeal goes far beyond that, much like that of Harry Potter and the Twilight series. As you may have heard, there has been great controversy surrounding the franchise as the books are centered on children killing each other to stay alive in a sadistic adult game. While the premise sounds like something no young person should read, the Hunger Games is ultimately a story of youth, finding yourself, staying true to who you are, being brave, resourceful, even compassionate and using smarts to win an unthinkable game. The book’s heroine Katniss Everdeen is arguably an excellent role model in many ways. The question many parents may be asking is: how old should our children be before we let them read books with such a dark subject matter?

A girlfriend recently called me and asked for my opinion on this very thing. She was concerned because a local elementary school teacher had recommended the books for one of the class’ book clubs. While my friend’s children were not in the class in question, they easily could have been. She was concerned after having heard what the books were about and knew I’d read them so was calling to get my take.

Her inquiry forced me to think about when I would let my own children read it. I shared my recollections of the novel with her and encouraged her to read the book so she could make the most informed decision when her kids showed interest in them.  I was struck by the fact that when I think back on my own childhood, I can’t recall wanting to read any books outside of what was required by my teachers.  Times have changed and the young adult book market is hot so many of us with young children should probably start catching up on our reading before our kids start asking us about Panem.

My personal preference is to read or watch things before I let my kids do so. This is great in theory but with parents’ busy lives, it’s difficult to vet everything our children want to read or see. I think books like The Hunger Games give us a great opportunity as parents to talk to one another and share our thoughts. It also allows you and your spouse or partner to discuss and prepare for how you’ll handle controversial material your child shows an interest in. Plus it might get you to read some great books you might have otherwise ignored (though ignoring this juggernaut seems pretty impossible just now). I secretly love that I now have an excuse to read a tween/young adult book without being judged.

I’m grateful that so many parents are cognizant about what they’re exposing their children to, and grateful for people willing to share their perspectives including other blogs that are tackling this same topic. It gives parents a variety of inputs and helps us make better decisions.

Being a parent to young children today isn’t any easier or harder than it was in the past, it’s just different. I really enjoyed The Hunger Games and look forward to the day my children can read the books—many years from now.

Raising Baby / Bebe / Baobei – One American Parent’s Perspective

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America loves its reality TV. This phenomenon is something I’ve never quite understood though I’ve lived in the States my entire life. Since becoming a parent my TV watching has dropped dramatically, so the fact that I’ve even heard of the popular singing show The Voice is something of an anomaly, but I think its premise makes an interesting case for parents to consider.

For those who haven’t tuned in,  The Voice is a television show that has contestants come up on stage and sing a song in front of four judges. The catch is that all of the judges have their backs turned to the singer and can only be influenced by what they hear, not what they see. If a judge believes the singer is talented enough to want to take them on as a protégé, they hit a button that turns their chair around. If multiple judges pick the same person, the judges try to convince the contestant why they should take them on as a coach in order to improve their singing and possibly win the contest.

When you become a parent for the first time you are struck by three things:

  1. How much you don’t know and need to learn quickly
  2. The art of second-guessing oneself
  3. How afraid you are of making mistakes

The practical measures that you need to figure out become apparent quickly: how to diaper and dress the baby, feed the baby, how to soothe the baby, and possibly the most important, how to get him or her to sleep.

You then start to figure out that you’ll have to try and take care of yourself as well and have to figure out when you’ll find time to shower, sleep, not to mention keep yourself sane.

You become a quick study in the art of second-guessing.

Should I swaddle or not? Does that comfort the baby or will they resent me for it later?

Should I breastfeed, bottle-feed or both? If I’m unable or don’t want to breastfeed will I be negatively judged by others?

Do I put my baby in an activity class? Am I limiting their capacity to learn later if I don’t?

The list of questions we ask ourselves is almost limitless.

Then, just as we start to get comfortable and think hey, maybe I can do this we get hit by a line of questioning from well-meaning friends and family members that goes something like:

“Are you going to do that?”

“That’s not how I did it” or “That’s not how I would do it”

They almost can’t help themselves.  They don’t want to see you make the same mistakes they did. They want to share their insights, or should I say strong suggestions, so that you won’t struggle the way they did.

But what message do these questions send?  They reinforce our temptation to second-guess our every move. If the ones who love us most are second-guessing our decisions , then they must be onto something, right?

There are many books that provide culturally specific ways for people to parent that have generated quite a bit of controversy, including the recent tomes Tiger Mom and Bringing Up Bebe Undoubtedly both books have some helpful ideas that one might want to incorporate into their own parenting journey but I suspect they also feed  that nagging internal voice that says are you going to parent like that? The French/ Chinese/ Whomever are really doing a much better job.

We always fear that despite our best efforts, we still aren’t going to get things right. We fear we won’t be good enough for our friends, for our spouse or partner, for our children, but most importantly for ourselves. We set an unattainable measuring stick in an attempt to get parenting ‘right’.

I’d argue that the fear and doubt associated with parenting aren’t specifically American experiences but human experiences that know no cultural boundaries.

What all parents need is to be supported, not judged or made to feel like they are under constant scrutiny.

What if we took a cue from The Voice and instead of getting distracted by all the surface qualities of what our parenting journey looks like, we just listened for that one clear note of truth to guide us?

Are you ready for some football?

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When you were a kid what did you love?  Was it a pet or a toy? Or did you have a favorite activity you just couldn’t get enough of?

Our oldest son has recently become very interested in football. Any football. College, professional, high school, it doesn’t matter.  He asks his father if they can go outside and play football every day regardless of the weather and regardless of the amount of daylight left—there have been many twilight games.  He loves the game.

It’s always a joy for me to watch them play together and hear their conversations during the game. Our son loves to tackle and be tackled. He loves to wear clothes that make him look like a real football player, and he loves to kick the ball. Above all else, he likes to make up new rules. The rules for any game change with almost every play and almost always lean in our son’s favor.  As I mentioned in my post a couple of weeks ago, winning has become increasingly important to my sons as of late.

While watching my husband and son, a number of questions have crossed my mind:

  • Where did his drive for winning come from?  My husband and I have worked hard to not place a high value on winning.
  • How do you explain rules, what they are and why they’re import?
  • Why must he want to play football?  It’s so dangerous!  While I’ve always loved watching college football, I hoped our children would love watching it with me, not actually want to play it.

It occurred to me that all three of these questions brought to mind a different parenting conundrum.

Where did his drive for winning come from? I don’t think our son is any different than his peers. Winning is going to be important, regardless of our efforts to downplay it. What we are trying to teach our boys is that of course everyone wants to win, and that while winning may feel good, you often learn more from losing. When we win we’ll often attribute it to our hard work, practice or execution of the game on a given day. Those things may be true, but what if the team that lost worked and practiced just as hard? We talk to our boys about how temping it is to become complacent and stop pushing ourselves when winning comes too easily, and that losing can be an opportunity to learn something about ourselves and allow us to improve. Talking about sports is great opportunity to discuss with the boys the merits of learning to win and lose with grace.

How do you explain the rules, what they are and their importance? Football has a lot of rules. While I’ve always felt I had a good understanding of the game, I didn’t appreciate the complexity of the rules in football until I listened to my husband and my father educating my son on the game.  Most of these rules make a lot of sense. They are needed to keep order and ensure that the game is played fairly by both teams. Rules ensure a level playing field where one team doesn’t have an advantage over the other. However, sometimes the rules don’t make much sense and seem to only create obstacles for playing the game. There is as true in life as it is in football. Some rules make a lot of sense and are clearly in place to protect us and keep us safe. Some rules are not as clear-cut; I’m not sure I’ll ever understand our tax codes, but I’m grateful for accountants who can make sure I comply with them.

Why must he want to play football?  It’s so dangerous! As an avid fan, I suppose I have no one to blame but myself on this one, but I honestly hoped he would just enjoy watching the game with me. I should have known that if he enjoyed watching football, he was likely to want to play.  I have conflicting feelings about  this. On one hand, I want to encourage his passion and football is his passion, at least for now. On the other, I’ve always believed that one of my main jobs as his parent is to keep him safe. In light of all the reports in recent years that show the long-term damage caused by the head traumas so common in sports like football, it’s hard not to want to keep your child away from the game (or any game where the risk of head trauma runs high). My husband and I haven’t had to make a final decision on this yet, as our son hasn’t asked to play on a team. For now he’s okay with just playing in the backyard or on the playground. But we suspect his interest will only increase as his friends get more serious about the sport and at some point, we’ll have a difficult decision to make.

This coming Sunday we will celebrate one of the most watched games in televised sports.  Most of us aren’t as concerned about who wins the game as we are with the ritual of watching the game. We watch because it’s an opportunity to get together with friends, we like to watch the commercials, or we just hope to see a good game. My son will be watching too, but for one reason only—because he loves it.

Game on!

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I love receiving holiday cards, especially the ones that contain letters telling me what my friends and their family members have been up to. Reading these helps me feel connected to people I don’t get to see often. We recently received a card from some friends who live overseas; it was wonderful to see the pictures of all the interesting things they had been up to and I enjoyed reading all about their adventures. My husband had read the card before I did and when I was finished reading it he said, “Did you see what their kids can do? They can read and write in a foreign language, and ski!” This chaffed a bit considering that the children in question are a little younger than our own.

I admit that for a brief moment, there was some jealousy on my part. Our oldest is in kindergarten just starting to learn to read and while he’s had some exposure to Spanish, I wouldn’t claim he’s anywhere near fluent. We did take our children for ski lessons last year, but they’re nowhere near as accomplished as our friends’ children in this regard.

I told my husband, “If we lived overseas as our friends do, our children would probably know how to speak, and possibly read and write in a foreign language. And if we skied all the time like our friends do, our kids would probably be pretty good skiers as well.” He agreed and we moved past this fleeting moment of parental envy.

Later as I was reflecting on our discussion, I was reminded of a key point in my book, Ten Simple Tools for No Regrets Parenting, namely that parenting is not a competition.

Our boys are at the age where winning suddenly becomes very important and everything is a competition: who can get make their bed first, who gets their shoes on first, who gets dressed first. What they win in these little contests is arbitrary; the winning itself is what’s important. My husband and I discourage this ceaseless competition and are working hard to change their thinking and help them find healthy outlets for the impulse. We remind our kids that they shouldn’t feel constantly pitted against each other as brothers; that they should be cheering each other on. I think that’s a good lesson for us as parents as well.  So next year when the holiday cards start arriving, I look forward to hearing all of the wonderful things my friends are up to and cheering them on.

The Truth About Santa

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When I was seven years old, I found out the truth about Santa. My Mom sat me down at the dinner table and read an article to me that revealed that Santa–the one I had believed in, got so excited for, and couldn’t wait until Christmas Eve to see–wasn’t real. I can remember crying at the table for a long time afterwards. At first, I was very disappointed to learn the truth. Santa had been a magical part of the holiday; I believed that he loved all children and delivered presents to everyone. Santa made me feel special: he knew who I was, he made sure I behaved and rewarded me with toys picked out or made especially for me. After realizing that Santa and several other mythical characters I’d grown to love (the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy) didn’t exist, I started to get mad! My parents had lied to me. And though they’d done it with good intentions–perhaps to let me believe in magic or something special–I felt like a fool. Who else knew that Santa wasn’t real? My older sister must have known the truth. I felt like everyone in the world must have thought that I was a stupid kid for walking around getting all excited about Santa and believing he was real. I felt very betrayed. The kicker came when my parents asked me to keep the secret from my younger sister so that she could enjoy the magic of Santa for another year or two before learning the truth. My first reaction was ‘you’ve got to be kidding me, I’ve just discovered the truth and you want me to keep it a secret–it’s a BIG secret!’ It was a pretty tall order for a seven year old, especially one that was still sad, disappointed and angry with her parents.

I think about this childhood revelation each year as we get closer to Christmas, and I’ve come to better understand the struggle my parents faced. While you want your child to experience the magic of Santa when they’re young, you know there will be the great disappointment of learning the truth down the road. I know we have precious few years left before my children start to question the existence of Santa so my husband and I try not to make too big a deal about the whole thing. When our kids ask questions like ‘Where does Santa get all the toys?’ or ‘How does Santa know where we live?’ We simply turn the question back to them: ‘Where do you think Santa gets all his toys?’, ‘How do you think he knows where we live?’ They come up with some pretty clever answers: ‘He probably get his toys from the store’, ‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ we reply. ‘He must have a phone book so he knows where we live’, ‘That could be,’ we answer. I feel like I’m constantly walking a very thin line by trying to maintain a thread of truth in how I respond. It is so important for my husband and me to be truthful with our kids, and sometimes the line between lying and storytelling is a precarious one. I want the foundation we are building with our children to be one of trust and sometimes I feel the Santa story could put that in jeopardy if they discover the truth in the wrong way.

I want my children to know they can trust me and that I won’t ever deliberately cause them any pain or deceive them. But at the same time, I think there is great benefit in children believing that someone completely outside of their family believes in them and loves them for exactly who they are, be it Santa or some other higher power. I am bracing myself for the day they ask me to come clean about Santa, but I’m also preparing myself for it too. I’ll tell them the truth, share what we struggled with in deciding whether or not to tell them and let them feel whatever they need to feel, be it understanding, anger, disappointment, sadness or anything else.

I never did tell my younger sister about Santa. If I remember correctly, she learned the truth from some neighborhood kids not too long after the Christmas I found out. She was spared the ‘story at the table’ and while she might not appreciate that, knowing that she didn’t connect the experience with the let down of the news coming from my parents, I do. While the experience that I had in being read the story was painful, my mom had told me the truth and believed I was at an age where I could handle it–she thought she was doing me a favor by telling me before the neighborhood kids had a chance to. Upon reflection, I wish she had just acknowledged why she allowed me to believe in Santa in the first place, what she hoped I would gain from believing and why she told me the truth when she did; I wish she had acknowledged that this was hard news to accept and that it was okay to be upset.

How do you talk to your child about Santa? Have you discussed a plan to reveal the truth when you feel they’re ready to hear it? While I still haven’t figured out all of the details of this yet, I know that I want to make sure my children understand that while there might not be a Santa, the love and magic of Christmas still exists in the friends and family who love them just the way they are.

 

Pictures with Santa

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The holiday season brings with it the annual tradition of taking the kids to get pictures with Santa. This activity can elicit a range of emotions for you and your child, from joy and excitement to fear and dread.

When my boys reached their toddler years, I couldn’t wait for them to get their pictures taken with Santa. In advance of the outing each year, I would envision my desired end result: a festive picture of them smiling from ear-to-ear. But it became clear in the early years that achieving my vision wouldn’t be as easy as I’d hoped. Instead of my children cheerfully embracing the stranger in red and white, they were terrified (in retrospect, perhaps understandably) and didn’t want to be anywhere near Santa. This happened multiple years in a row. One year, one of my children didn’t want to sit with Santa and could only be comforted by being held. I was so committed to getting a picture of the kids with Santa that my husband and I ended up in the picture with him. After the photographer took the picture, I thought ‘what am I doing? This is not what I wanted!’ While my husband had tolerated my quest to get the picture over the years, he gently reminded me of something valuable that day by asking me why I needed a picture of the kids with Santa so badly. Was it for me or for the kids? No one wants to be forced to do something, let alone fake enjoying it, if it’s not really what they want to do.

Upon reflection, I realized that I really just wanted them to have the experience of meeting Santa and thought the photo would be a good memento of it. I decided going forward that I wouldn’t subject my husband or children to pictures with Santa again, unless everyone involved was excited about it.

The Santa debacle prompted me to examine whether or not there are other areas in which I might be trying to force my hopes and desires on my children. I’ve sometimes wondered if putting them in various activities, soccer, swimming, gym, etc, is more for their benefit or mine. I want our children to have experiences that allow them to reach their full potential, but I need to not to let my desire to see them succeed get the best of me. What if my child excels at soccer, but doesn’t enjoy it or want to play on the team anymore? Then who is he doing it for? I believe that following my husband’s advice and asking who an activity really benefits is a good way to keep myself in check.

This year, we took the children to see Santa again. Our youngest wasn’t so sure about the whole thing and kept his distance. Our oldest, however, was eager to talk to and sit with Santa. We got the picture we wanted, albeit only with the one child. And even though our youngest didn’t want to be in the picture, he did warm up at the end of our time there and gave Santa a high five on the way out. It was a good experience and a memory we’ll all be able to cherish.