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The other day, my 8-year-old daughter paused mid-conversation and said “Mummy, I wish we were always on the same map together.”

Clearly, I had been missing something while we were chatting.

We had been casually discussing ideas for her upcoming birthday party, when she mentioned the sorts of things that other parents do for their kids’ birthday celebrations.

Some were too extreme (jelly wrestling, anyone?). Others were a bit too risky for my personal liking (Go Kart racing, just for starters). And others fell firmly into the “Sorry honey, but it just costs too much” basket…aka, backseat limousine parties.

Clearly I missed the memo that we were at the age when the backyard ‘sausage rolls and musical chairs’ parties were being phased out.

But there was something else I clearly missed, too. Because somewhere along the way, the wires between trying to be a communicative, ‘open to suggestions’ parent and a ‘this is how we do it’ parent had got rather tangled.

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In our house, Christmas is a work in progress, as far as gratitude goes.

Last year we celebrated with just our small, immediate family. And thankfully (or maybe not), there were not a ton of presents underneath our tree. Most of them were either for our older son or for the entire family, so we let him have the pleasure of opening them.

Not surprisingly, we found ourselves repeating a refrain familiar to parents everywhere during the holidays and at birthday parties:

Slow down!

Take time to look at it!

This is not a race!

What we really meant, of course, is that we want our kids to actually appreciate the gifts they’re given. Birthdays and holidays should be more than just a flurry of presents and torn wrapping paper. Everyone likes receiving gifts, but it’s important that we take the time to acknowledge them.

And, more important still, to be thankful for them.

Saying “thank you” is a great start. Maybe give a hug, if both parties feel so inclined. At the least, we want time to mentally note who gave what so that cards can be sent later.

Fact is, we know that our children appreciate the gifts they’re given. Just as they appreciate the other important parenting roles we play.

When our kids are babies, of course, we don’t expect gratitude. We’re content to be their whole world—for those first few months, anyway. We don’t expect to be thanked for [Read more…]

I am living with Mount Etna. In tween form.

Any hint of criticism sets off the rumbling. Add an admonishment to the top – BOOM – we have an eruption.

Are you sure you’ve done your homework?

BOOM

You lost your house key?

BOOM

Stop picking on your brother!

BOOM

Are you on your computer? Again?

BOOM

For a while there we were having loud, shouty arguments about everything under the sun. He was prickly and defensive and not a joy to be around.

It would be easy for me to write this off as teenage hormones and tell him he needs to stop being so sensitive. It would be equally easy for me to paint myself as a blameless and suffering supermom, but I know that communication is a two-way street.

But what can I do? I do active listening. I let him fail to develop a growth mindset. I try to back away from the bubbling lava of his hormonal temper. But no matter what I do I seem to trigger more eruptions out of my tween Mt. Etna.

Something was missing. In fact, it was 2 somethings.

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It was a normal evening, full of dinner making and homework and activity. My youngest sat at the table doing a math worksheet, my oldest was practicing her flute, and my son was shooting hoops. I stood at the stove, chopping an onion for the sauce. Normal.

“Mom, what’s Sandy Hook?” my youngest asked.

I stopped chopping, grateful my back was to her and also that I had been chopping an onion. Even five years later the name of that small town in my small state brings tears to my eyes.

I inhaled, and exhaled, perhaps taking a moment too long to answer. She was probably wondering if I heard her. How could I explain this to my little girl? How could I tell her that I still remember exactly where I was sitting and where she was playing as I watched the tragedy unfold on the news? Kids, just like my own, at school, murdered.

I turned to face her, my girl blissfully unaware of the deep heartache those two words held. Sandy Hook was no longer just a small town an hour away; it was forever ingrained as a tragedy. And now my little girl wanted to know about it. Talking to my daughter about handling tragedy was not what I imagined was on our agenda for the evening.

“Where did you hear about Sandy Hook?” I asked sitting next to her.

“Someone said it at school. Something about five years since Sandy Hook.”

I had braced myself for questions about the recent shooting in Florida, but somehow bringing up Sandy Hook caught me off guard. It felt different. Not because it was any more or less tragic, but because [Read more…]