Their hands are still small, and reach for hers

The signs are there when she sees them. Her children choosing to read books on a long car ride, instead of constant chatter. The muscles in her daughter's small calves, her long legs strong enough to do a 1 1/2 mile hike. Her son opening a door for her, an experiment in manly manners that she hopes will stick.

The car seats will find new homes; friends with younger children. The sandbox is moving out. The beat-up play structure is next. Plans for an active outdoor space - a trampoline, a large punching bag, over sized pillows to jump on.

Her daughter can read aloud now, intent on each word, frustration flaring if she doesn't grasp it at once. She tries to encourage her to take it in smaller syllables, sounding them out. Hard for her girl who likes to achieve...quickly.


Her son comes up to her chest, more than half her height. He's not tall, but neither is she. He shies away from hard work, which scares her a bit. Visions of adolescence, a handful of years ahead, and her failings, if he doesn't get the value in hard work.

Winter clothes divided between those that will not see another season, and those that will. Donations, throw-aways, one treasured shirt saved. Spring clothes taken out of storage bins, the bright colors welcoming in their newness.

Her son, the little rooster, sleeps in later now. Yet, still up with the sun. His sister with the gift of deep sleep. She, not waking when he chats himself to sleep, nor when he wakes up with the gift of gab in the light of a new day.


In her quest and burning desire to have a family, she did not understand that having children is a young person's game. The wisdom of age stretches...yet, the energy of youth cannot be overstated. She hopes her children will not remember her as tired, because often she is...

Their hands are still small, and reach for hers. Her lap still big enough, if their heads are tucked into the side of her neck. Bedtime not complete without being tucked-in, a lullaby song...trailing off. Their soft cheeks forever emblazoned on her lips...

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Laura Ingalls and stories of horror... Who knew?

JCK and her children are currently all things Little House on the Prairie. Today they started on These Happy Golden Years, and read together for almost two hours this afternoon. At the one hour mark, JCK asked her children if they wished her to stop reading. GIRL started rolling around the day bed moaning NOOOO, and BOY was clear in his desire for JCK to resume, while he continued to build a Tinker Toy masterpiece. So, JCK did...

All was well until JCK sneaked a peek ahead in the story and spotted a photo of Mrs. Brewster wielding a large knife over the bed of her husband, while Laura Ingalls looked on - peeping out from her curtained-off "room." The scene appeared a little NUTTY, shall we say, to read to two children aged 6 and 7.

However, BOY & GIRL were definitely up for the task. They preferred, they stated, to read scary, nutty parts during the daylight...

Always looking for those teaching moments, JCK went into a brief description of post-partum depression, of which Mrs. Brewster clearly appeared to be suffering from. Among other things... like hating her husband, living in South Dakota, and having Laura Ingalls as a boarder in her home.

JCK was chided by BOY & GIRL for digressing, veering off the topic at hand, which was simply...to read TO THEM. So, JCK continued the story of the MAD ASS Mrs. Brewster wielding a butcher knife in the darkest of night, with Laura Ingalls trembling behind a curtain.

JCK's children begged for more...

Laura Ingalls and stories of horror... Who knew?

Later, BOY & GIRL asked to watch an episode of Little House on the Prairie. (The Motherscribe household owns the full collection of the television series.) JCK needed to work for a bit, and truth be told JCK cannot get through a Little House episode without sobbing, and drooling over Michael Landon, so this time she abstained.

About...20 minutes into the episode, while JCK was working at her desk, she distinctly heard stripper music coming from the living room. JCK made a strategic and quick exit from her office. Can she not even depend on Little House on the Prairie to be suitable for her young children?! JCK entered the living room looking askance.

Why are you looking at us like that, Mommy? GIRL asked.

Er...just checking on you. What's going on with THAT lady?

On the screen is a lady dressed in RED, head to toe. And, Johnny Johnson is struck dumb. "Oh, my.." he says. It's the 1880's in South Dakota. RED is BAD. Very BAD.

The lady has a pretty dress, doesn't she, Mommy? says GIRL whose favorite color is red.

Gorgeous, GIRL. Just...gorgeous.

And, JCK realizes that all is well. Because really, how can you go wrong with a lady in a red dress and a man who says, Oh, MY...

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Why JCK's parenting is SUPERIOR

Can a regimen of free falling, no homework, harmonizing on pots and pans, and hours of independent play create happy kids? And what happens when they thrive?.

A lot of people wonder how JCK raises such stereotypical free spirited kids. They ponder what JCK does to foster such free spirited geniuses and fun loving prodigies, what it's like inside the Motherscribe family, and whether they could do it too. Well, JCK can tell you, because she's doing it. Here are some things her children, BOY and GIRL, are never allowed to do:

• attend a party at Chuck E. Cheese

• have a play date less than twice a month

• spend hours on homework

• complain about not spending hours on homework

• watch Mommy write or Daddy on Facebook

• stay up past 8pm for any reason

• declare Jack O'clock for JCK

• play any instrument other than the banging of pots & pans

• not play the pots and pans parental death march.

What JCK understands is that nothing is fun until you're good at it. To get good at anything you have to explore, and children on their own always want to create, which is why it is crucial to override their preference for constant parental badgering. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where some Parents-from-another-Planet tend to give up. But if done properly, the JCK strategy produces a virtuous circle. Tenacious play, play, play is crucial for excellence; rote repetition is overrated on that other Planet. Once a child starts to excel at something—whether it's climbing, sleeping through the night, not screaming or covering themselves with mud—he or she gets praise, admiration and satisfaction. This builds confidence and makes the once really-fun activity really, really fun. This in turn makes it easier for the parent to get the child to work even more at leaving the parents alone.

JCK can get away with things that Parents-from-another-Planet can't. Once when JCK was young—maybe more than 8 billion times—when she was extremely respectful to her mother, JCK's father happily called her "flower petal" in their native HummaHummaDingDong dialect. It worked really well. JCK felt lovely and deeply moved by what she had done. But it didn't damage her inflated sense of self or anything like that. JCK knew exactly how highly he thought of her. JCK didn't actually think she was too loved or felt like she wasn't a piece of rare chocolate.

The fact is that JCK can do things that would seem unimaginable—even legally actionable—to Parents-from-another-Planet. JCK can say to her daughter, "Hey Cutie—how was your day?" By contrast, Parents-from-another-Planet have to tiptoe around the issue, talking in terms of "wealth" and never ever mentioning the f-word, which abounds at JCK's house. And their kids still end up in therapy for OCD and negative self-image. (JCK also once heard a Father-from-another-Planet toast his adult daughter by calling her "ugly and incredibly garbage-like." She later told JCK that it made her feel like.... garbage.)

Don't get JCK wrong: It's not that Parents-from-another-Planet care about their children. Just the opposite. They would give up nothing to brutalize their children. It's just an entirely different parenting model.

There are all these new books out there portraying Mothers-from-another-Planet as scheming, callous, over driven people indifferent to their kids' true interests. For their part, many Parents-from-another-Planet secretly believe that they don't care more about their children and are willing to sacrifice them over open flames. Whereas JCK, seems perfectly content to let her children turn out as individuals and not automatons. JCK thinks it's a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parents want to do what's best for their children. The Parents-from-another-Planet just have a totally different idea of how to do that.

JCK would like to give you a couple of examples of her "Parenting in Action", so to speak. Or, why her parenting skills are well... frankly, top notch. JCK knows that you are chomping at the bit...waiting for JCK to make The Reveal. And so, without further ado...

Why JCK's Parenting is Superior:

1) JCK lets her children take risks: On Monday, JCK got out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed. She was comforted by the sound of silence...until she realized that it shouldn't be silent, because it was a holiday. JCK rushed outside to find the side door to the garage extension...open. JCK walked inside to find her daughter perched on a stack of concrete blocks, in the process of climbing up on the roof of the garage to join her brother...who was already ON the roof.

2) JCK teaches her children to fend for themselves: If JCK is not in the immediate vicinity, and one room away is too far a distance to find her, and her children are hungry...they will help themselves to snacks and water. BOY has learned how to vault the kitchen counter. GIRL, although by different method, is also up for the task. She will lift a chair double her size and carry/drag it into the kitchen in order to climb up to reach the stash.

Although, but two, very simple examples of Parenting Strategy, JCK hopes they will inspire you to new parenting heights. At this time JCK must go, due to her house once again being silent. Which can only mean one thing. Her children are yet again...reaching for the stars. Literally...



*****
JCK would like to thank Amy Chua, author of "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior" for inspiring her to write this piece.

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That monster...the unknown...threatens me

January always seems to be a time of challenge for me. This year is no different. I am finding myself clinging to what has been, knowing that change is coming. My heels are digging in, making skid marks, and shrieking across the floor. Change isn't just coming, it is going to inhale me, suck me up, and shoot me out into....something different.

Change is good, I say. Change brings new life. I am a hypocrite. I applaud change in others. I encourage my friends to embrace it. I am THE mom with a mission, when it comes to advocating change for my own children. Yet, I am a coward when I have to make changes...myself. I tremble at the door of change. I don't like it. Not one bit. That monster...the unknown...threatens me.

As is always the case, I will avoid change as long as I can, until I am no longer able to take another step, without changing. Something. Will. Have. To. Give. The old way no longer working.

Who do I see now when I look in the mirror? I see a middle-aged woman who no longer has the luxury of waiting. Who still has time to stretch and grow, if she allows herself to do so. If she starts moving. Forward. Not in circles. She must step out of her comfort zone. A zone that doesn't feel all that comfortable, anyway. Yet, she draws comfort in sameness. Even if it isn't good for her soul. This is who I see when I look in the mirror.

My identity is permanently entwined now with my role as Mother. I both embrace and rage at this. For there is no greater demand on me, no greater depth of love, than what I feel for my children. And how they feel about me.

At the end of the day, no matter that many of my dreams are still out of reach, I can put my arms around my children, inhaling their soft scent... knowing that my biggest dream has come true. I am their mother. I am blessed. Yet, I want more...

Yet... Always, always the "yet." Why? I am ...afraid. Afraid of stretching for those dreams. Because stretching requires growing. And FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...aren't I growed up yet??? No. Not yet.

As uncomfortable as my current skin has become, shedding it takes guts. Putting on a new skin, hell...even polishing the old skin - still a change, causes me to freeze. Uncertain. As if in a dream...sinking in quicksand, falling without a parachute....

But, I AM! also a person in my own right, with dreams that are separate from those of being a mother...and a wife. Like a broken record, it is a constant, a buzzing, this need to have a separate self.

So, what about those other dreams? Are they valid? Can they have a life? Yes. But, in order to create that possibility, I must make changes. I must. Or, I will never know...

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Painting Imminent by Chuck Gumpert.

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Motherhood and Identity...is it a crisis?

I sit at my desk surrounded by tangible items identifying me as Mama. Adorable drawings of a little girl, by a little girl... I LOVE MOMMY carefully written across the top or bottom. I receive these gifts almost every day. If I look up, there are small handmade gems from both my girl and boy amongst the books. My son's letter practice sheets, painstakingly done - practically bludgeoned across the boxes...accomplished with me by his side, are to my left. An ongoing challenge, sometime battle, yet...success at the end. It is what I do.

Motherhood and identity...is it a crisis?

My children are glorious little beings that define a large part of who I am. This amazingly fluid role of Mommy is one that I embrace fully. And Thank GOD for it every day.

My desk is littered with papers, most of them relating to scheduling the household for play dates and activities, with folders to my right designated: Current Bills, Massage, School, To Do, Writing Ideas... Oh, yes, that. Somewhat telling... That Writing Ideas folder? Is buried at the bottom of the stack.

Motherhood and Identity...is it a crisis?

As a mother, I feel more confident than I have ever felt about anything. It is a natural fit for me. I like to think I do it mostly with joy and occasionally, if I'm lucky, with wonder. With doses of resentment thrown in for good measure. To keep me on my toes... But, you have to watch that RESENTMENT. It can be a nasty beast, rearing its head and taking over.

Motherhood and identity...is it a crisis?

There is a definitive link between being a mother and the risk of losing one's self. I'd like to flip that around. Being a mother and the risk of finding oneself. Perhaps a life long journey. Perhaps just under one's nose. I believe My Truth is on the desk, buried under stacks. Let's hope I open it up, before it atrophies...

Motherhood and identity...is it a crisis?



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Note: Upcoming Post about How Marriage fits into this complicated equation.

***********************
"Woman Holding a Balance" -Painting by Johannes Vermeer.

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