Control

Reblogged from shrubinator:

Heyo! Tis Shrubio. I’m am gonna talk about control. If you ever make a model for school or for some graded assignment else where, then you get the chance to make something. YOU. Not your parent, not your sibling but YOU. I don’t know if you have gone through this, but I sure have. You get the assignment directions from your teacher and you bring them home.

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My daughter Ellen has her own blog now. She gave me permission to reblog this post about parental help gone awry and how it feels to lose ownership of your work. In her own words...

Mother’s Day Gift

A memorable Mother’s Day gift this year was this affirmation from Ellen as we were bouncing together on our backyard trampoline:

Ellen: “That was funny what my friend said … that what she likes about our family is that all the kids talk to the grown-ups like kids and all the grown-ups talk to the kids like kids.”

Me: “That’s in a good way?”

Ellen: “Yes!”

Me: “What, other families aren’t like that?”

Ellen: “No! In other families the grown-ups are like, ‘Do the dishes! Do your homework! Bedtime. Bedtime! BEDTIME!!’ And the kids just look at them and say, ‘Ok.’” [Then she did a robotic-zombie walk across the trampoline.]

Me: “Oh, they act like robots? … Yeah, I’m not interested in raising robots.”

And we bounced together some more.

Meanwhile, I joined a book club (another perk of this parenting approach is that I now have time for such things). We’re reading Anna Quindlen’s latest which offers this perspective:

“If your mother has been micromanaging your homework since you were six, it’s hard to feel any pride of ownership when you do well. You can’t learn from mistakes and disappointments if your childhood is engineered so there aren’t any. … How could they be excited about their jobs, their opinions, their lives, if they felt that they were secondhand, jerry-built, not truly their own, if they weren’t discovering the world anew? … It is the ultimate pay-it-forward endeavor: we are good parents not so they will be loving enough to stay with us but so they will be strong enough to leave us.”

The long-term benefits for the kids is clear. And for the parents? …

“I asked him once about his memories of my mothering … ‘You sorta freaked out during the college application process,’ he noted accurately. But then he wrote, ‘What I remember most: having a good time.’

There’s the problem with turning motherhood into martyrdom. There’s no way to do it and have a good time.”

Let the good times roll.

Best of intentions

Most teachers have the best of intentions, and deep down they want the same things I do: children who are independent, confident, and resilient. But, like many parents, they don’t always see where they’re interfering with those goals. And besides that, fostering independence is often simply not convenient.

So when the desire for things to go smoothly in the classroom starts to obscure those shared goals of independence, confidence, and resilience … I push back:

Teacher email: “Charlotte had stated she left a pile of homework papers at home on a table. I’m hoping she can bring them in on Monday for review during French time. Any assist with reminders Sunday evening or Monday morning is welcome.”

My response: “I know your intentions are good and you’re trying to help Charlotte, but reminders from Mom only serve to interfere with her growing independence. I trust she’ll figure out a way to remember on her own (maybe not right away, but soon enough).”

I happened to have another discussion about reminders with a different teacher shortly after. Here’s how it went:

Teacher: “Charlotte does well when she’s reminded of what she needs to do.”

Me: “Hmm. I know it seems like a reminder would help her to remember next time, but it actually has the opposite effect.”

Teacher: “Well, she doesn’t seem to be making those connections on her own.”

Me: “I know you’re trying to keep on a schedule so I’m guessing she doesn’t have many chances to practice.”

Teacher: “Yes, I can see that maybe the problem is I’m expecting change to happen too quickly.”

This was a highly constructive conversation with a teacher who was open to considering another point of view. These conversations don’t always go so well. Here’s one more I’ve had:

Me: “One thing you should know about me. I’m not willing to be the homework police. My job is to notice progress and effort when it happens, and make sure she knows I love her no matter what.”

Teacher: “So let me get this straight. You expect us to keep her on track in school, but you’re not willing to do the same at home?”

Me: “No, actually. If you want to let her get off track and stay there and allow some natural consequence to result, that’s fine with me.”

Teacher: Long, incredulous stare.

So, ok, they don’t always go well, these conversations. But either way they are well worth having.

Take a load off

“See, when you mess something up,” I muse, “you learn for the next time. It’s when people compliment you that you’re in trouble. That means they expect you to keep it up.” — from the novel, It’s Kind of a Funny Story, by Ned Vizzini

I found this quote to be a helpful reminder about the hidden consequences of praise—that it actually morphs into pressure for our kids. I know it seems like they love it and they want it, so how bad could it be? Trust me. It’s bad.

Ellen's cool outfit

It might help to know that when you cut off their supply, it’s not as though they’ll never get to hear it again. Give them space and time and they’ll start to receive praise from someone much more important: themselves.

Fenner (after building a fire in the fireplace): “My fire is good!”

Ellen: “Mom, my outfit is so cool, I love it!”

Charlotte (about her own paintings): “That was a fail, but this one is awesome!”

Praise coming out of their owns mouths is better than anything I could ever say.

And don’t forget about the old standby: I’m proud of you. That’s a lot of pressure too. I like to remind our girls, “It’s not your job to make me proud. I love you no matter what.”

So kick the praise habit and take a load off … off your kid’s shoulders, that is.

Masters of the morning

Remember that first week when Charlotte threatened to punch me in the nose because her lunch wasn’t made? I do. But it seems almost like a dream now. Because now is so radically different.

Now she makes her own lunch, every day. Now she keeps track of her own stuff. Now she decides when to go to bed and when to get up and how often to shower and what to wear and what and how much to eat for breakfast. Now she chooses to take the bus to school with Ellen instead of getting a ride with me.

Now, in the morning, I don’t even see her …

… except if I listen for the sound of the door and then look out my window, then I might catch a glimpse:

So I don’t see Ellen in the morning either. To catch the bus, they have to leave the house at 6:50am. At 6:50am, I’m still upstairs getting dressed for work. Sometimes I’ll call down, “Bye! Have a good day!” And that’s it. End of morning routine.

This has been going on for over a month. They have a whole system worked out that I don’t know the half of. Ellen sets up her iHome in the bathroom to play a certain song so she can make sure she’s out of the shower by the time the song ends. If one of them oversleeps, the other one wakes her up. They’ve discovered they both like to get up extra early to have time to eat, finish homework, or just “chillax.”

Their sense of accomplishment is palpable. I’m guessing it’s part of what has lead Charlotte lately to say this for her self-appreciation at family meeting:

Space to think

What’s the long-term effect of quieting down, backing off, and getting out of the way of your child’s growing independence? The effect is enormous and multifaceted. I know because almost three years ago I started doing just that. Charlotte, then six, showed me I was on the wrong path. She pushed for change without even knowing it and I found a way to listen.

So after six years of squelching her independence, rescuing her from all things unpleasant, and barking out orders day after day, I finally stepped back and gave her some space to think.

The change has been like a low, slow, powerful rumble — sometimes loud, sometimes soft, sometimes barely audible. But after almost three years to practice thinking for herself, here’s what I heard last night:

Me: “Fenner, would you be willing to empty the dishwasher in the next 5 minutes?”

Charlotte: “I’ll do it!!! … Fenner, the only reason I’m doing this is to give you an appreciation for me at the next family meeting. So you’d better write it on the board!…Oh, my gosh, tomorrow’s a school day! I need to shower! What time is it? Ok, I have to shower after this and then I’m going right upstairs to bed. But first I’m going to make my lunch to save time in the morning because when I get up I’m usually tired and I like to lie down again for thirty minutes…Mom, I think I need to start going to bed earlier…also, I’ve decided to do my laundry every ten days…”

And this morning:

“I don’t feel like going to school, but the problem is, if you skip, they still make you do the work, so it feels like extra … which I think is not fair if you’re sick because it’s not your fault, but then when you finally get better, you have all this extra work to do. [pause] Anyway, bye mom!”

And she hopped out of the car. Her thoughts. Her choice. Her life.

Example to follow

I work at a college, and not too long ago one of our faculty received a “Professor of the Year” award—and deservedly so. He is one of our most loved and respected teachers, and when I read about the award, a couple of the student testimonials jumped out at me:

“As I discussed the difficulties I was having with my project, he never once supplied a solution. Instead, he provided points to consider, and questioned me until I figured out the next steps in the process for myself. Although I was only just beginning my training, I felt respected for my talents and ideas.”

And this one:

“He realized the team had the potential to take on the larger challenge. Unfortunately, many of us were initially stubborn and somewhat lazy about following his insightful guidance. He reacted with an innovative leadership style. Rather than imposing a greater level of control over the team, he took a step back and simply waited to see how we would respond to his challenge. By doing this, he empowered us to think through each of these challenges and struggle to solve the problems in front of us. He basically forced us to step up to the plate, think critically, and become independent thinkers, all while providing us with a supportive environment. He did this by asking critical questions, framing the key issues in a provocative way and requiring us to work through them. Having been in this situation with him, I was able to grow in my confidence, tackle great obstacles, and push the boundaries of my knowledge.”

Respected, empowered, independent, supportive, confidence—when my girls talk about me ten years from now, I hope they use even one of these words.

Don’t make them wait for college. Start now. Be your child’s teacher-of-the-year.

Hair’em scare’em

A month ago Charlotte stopped brushing her hair. She stopped washing it too. She’s done this before, but it had been a long time and I wasn’t expecting it to happen again. I didn’t mention anything. I dropped that battle long ago.

When my mother started to notice and complain about it, I said to Charlotte, “Would you be willing to take a shower today?” She responded with a flat, “No.” Nothing more. Hmm, I thought. Interesting.

The last time this happened she at least tried to hide it in a tight ponytail. This time her ponytail was half falling out and she left it that way, day after day.

Also about a month ago she started showing signs of frustration with the increased homework expectations of fourth grade. It took me a while to make the connection. Power, I suddenly thought, she’s grasping for power!

I wrote to her teacher: “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Charlotte’s on a hair-care strike. I’m guessing she’s been feeling a bit powerless around the homework situation and this is one way she tries to get some of that power back in her life. Just guessing, but she’s done this before with other situations.”

I refrained from adding that this could well be Charlotte’s way of subconsciously flipping the bird at her and her endless stream of worksheets. Or perhaps just an outward expression of utter discouragement. Or both.

Her teacher and I met and she agreed to make some changes and provide Charlotte with the support she needs to get more of her work done at school.

All the while I resisted making any comment to Charlotte about the state of her hair.

What happened next, although really not surprising, still amazed me: After just one week of reduced homework stress, Charlotte announced from the back of the car, “I’m going to brush my hair…when we get home I want you to tell me no TV until I do my shower…oh my gosh, it’s hard to even get the brush through. Well, at least I learned my lesson!”

Back at home she looked me in the eyes, “Mom, I’m ready for my shower.” “Ok,” I said, “You can start and get the temperature the way you want and I’ll be right up.” For the last few years, I’ve been ever so slowly extracting myself from her shower routine. Lathering up her head was the only task she still expected me to do (that and wrapping her wet hair in a towel afterwards). I’d loiter outside the bathroom door until she called for me then I’d lather her up and leave—with the plan to hand this last task over to her when she turns ten next year.

I loitered as usual, reading a magazine in the hallway. Then I heard, “Mom! Which one’s the shampoo?” “The orange bottle!” I hollered back. I waited but the call never came. After several minutes I heard the water shut off and the next thing I knew she opened the door and strutted past me, hair washed and towel twisted up on her head.

“Hi mom,” she said as she went by. And that was it. Nine years of my washing her hair for her came to end on a Friday afternoon.

Whether they know it or not, kids send us powerful signals. But often we’re too distracted by our own buttons and hang-ups to get the message.

The next time trouble comes, stay quiet. Stop, look, and listen. Most likely you’ll discover there’s something else going on underneath.

Mum’s the word

It’s worth repeating again and again to yourself: When in doubt, say nothing and do nothing.

I’ve been in doubt a lot lately about this set your own bedtime thing. They’ve been staying up late a lot. Charlotte’s been skipping her homework. My biggest worry is that they’re not getting enough sleep … and it’s all my fault!

Shhhhhh. I consciously told myself. They’re learning. They can do this. Don’t ruin it now.

After several weeks of this, tonight Charlotte suddenly changed her tune:

“Mom. I’m going up at 8:00 because I want to get up early to catch the bus so I need to get to bed early. Right now I’m going to make my lunch. Then I’ll do my homework. I just feel like taking the bus.”

“I want to do that too!” said Ellen.

After Charlotte made her lunch, they both cleaned up their dinner with no reminders and marched upstairs. By 9:00 it was quiet.

Wow. Give them enough time and mum is definitely the word.

Continued tradition

…our first-day-of-school tradition, that is, where I tape my mouth shut to keep from bossing our girls around. Except this year, today, I discovered I no longer need the tape. And the girls don’t need it anymore either as a reminder to figure it out—whatever it may be—on their own. We all just did it naturally.

We were calm. We were early. All three remembered to set their alarms. All three had their stuff together. Charlotte’s only complaint was that she was too early: “The bell won’t ring for 10 minutes? Darn, I like when I get here right when everyone’s going inside. Oh well.”

Then she added, “You know, Mom, at some point I’ll probably forget my backpack…and I’ll probably forget my lunch…and I’ll probably forget to set my alarm.” I smiled and listened quietly for her next thought, but none came. She stared into space for a few seconds and then jumped out of the car. “Bye!”

Those things have happened before and, yes, they might happen again. But no worries. She knows first hand that she can handle it.

Later I felt almost guilty when a colleague asked me how the morning went. He had that let’s-trade-horror-stories look on his face. “Um… it actually went really well, but there’s a whole story behind that.” “Really? What?” I thought, ok, you asked. “Well, I started wearing tape on my mouth for the first day of school a couple of years ago as a way to, you know, foster independence.” He raised his eyebrows and stared at me. “Huh. That’s different.” “Yeah, if you can force yourself to do it, it works pretty well.”

Works like a charm, in fact. Like…a…charm.