Beeb

My friend Sandi says her little one invented this word for himself, and that it has come to mean something like “someone who is very intense and flails around a lot.” Intense and flailing, eh? I think we have our own beeb.

She’s such a physical kid — not in the sense of climbing everything recklessly; she does climb a lot and seems to wish our couch was playground equipment, but she’s cautious on actual playground equipment. She’s physical in the sense that her intense feelings come out in physical expressions — the flailing — she’s quick to throw, bang, hit, spit, make faces, and otherwise physically lash out, without necessarily thinking about actually hurting or angering someone.

On the other hand, there have been several times that she has said to me, “Mom! I’m TRYING to make you ANGRY!!” So I suppose at least some of the time she is consciously trying to provoke a reaction.

We were at a birthday party today — started at lunchtime, with oh, ten kids, with lots of time playing in other parts of the house while the adults congregated in kitchen and dining area / living room. There was sugar. And there was no nap; Amy doesn’t always fall asleep in quiet time these days, but she still is used to a time alone with quiet reading or drawing after lunch.

I suppose there are more subtle, less-likely-to-disrupt-the-adults ways to get in trouble, but it seemed like ours was the only kid to yell, hit, or kick. She had one second chance, and then we took her home.

She’s not violent or mean intentionally; but when she gets where she can’t manage, she flails, either physically or verbally or both. Someday, oh someday, she’ll be able to use words, take time out, and otherwise manage her intensity. Meanwhile, we need to be more supportive / available / attentive in situations (e.g. sugar + no nap + many children) that are likely to be hard for her to manage.

I don’t think she has EVER yelled, hit, kicked, spit, thrown something, or banged something at school. A great deal of that must be the environment — Montessori puts a lot of energy into a prepared environment — the physical space, the organization and presentation of materials, and such things as grace and courtesy and conflict resolution. Even so, surely Amy has some rudimentary skills for managing her feelings and social interactions — just needs more supervision and guidance, I suppose.

So, next time, she will remain within our sight, and at first sign of trouble we’ll leave; she may insist she wants and should get a second chance, but it’s likely it won’t work well.

I’ll add that I think she knows that it’s wrong to hit, kick, etc. And that’s a good thing; even if she doesn’t always choose to do what’s right, knowing what’s right is a very important part of this battle.

Today at the park

Amy and I met friends at the park today for a couple hours in the morning.

Dear Amy has a tendency to pester her friends when she feels anxious — she doesn’t want them to leave her side, and she wants to command all aspects of play. The more threatened she seems to feel, the more she pesters — “___, come here! Watch me! Play with me! Do this! Let’s [X]!” — repeatedly, without much of a break for the friend to respond, and without really looking to see, hear, understand, and respect the response. (I understand and sympathize.)

A few times I reminded her to sometimes ask what her friend might want to do, to say please, to listen to her friend, and so on.

At one point it was clear that the friend needed some space and was trying to tell Amy so. When the friend was about to give in to Amy’s whining, I encouraged the friend to stick with her “no.” I sat with Amy for a bit, and reminded her that she has also had times when she wants to play by herself or have some space, and that it’s okay to let a friend do the same, and that her friend still likes her and will find her when she’s ready to play again. I told her I understood that she was sad about it.

I’m pretty sure they played separately for a while; not much later we saw them together again, happily absorbed in their play.

When it was time to go, after some advance warning, Amy ran away from the car and I started toward it without looking at her. Pretty soon she did turn and start toward me, so I turned toward her with a smile and waited for her. It still surprises me when this strategy works.

So — even though the time at the park had some distress for Amy, she got through it okay, and maybe made a baby step in social skills, that it’s okay to give a friend space when she needs it. I hope Amy’s friend had a similar blessing, that it’s okay to stand up for herself when a friend is annoying or upsetting or pushing her. I was really pleased to see that the two friends reconnected — reinforcing the idea that friends can disagree, feel hurt, need space, and come together again.

(And by the end of it, Amy apparently still felt enough of a secure connection with me to pretty quickly follow me to the car.)

Difference and inclusion

I want to belong, be accepted, be one of the group. I’m as human as anyone else, with all the commonality that entails. I’m also an individual, different from everyone else who is now, ever has been, or ever will be alive.

I think feeling accepted, included, belonging, requires an acknowledgment of difference as well as an acknowledgment of commonality. If commonality trumps difference, I end up feeling like bits of my real true self are expected to be cut off so that I can be made to fit the commonality box. If difference is acknowledged, I can feel that the box has room for me as I really and truly am.

That said, sometimes having that sense of expected conformity and concomitant attenuation makes me defensive about my differences; I suppose sometimes I sound like I’m trying to exclude myself, trying to make it difficult for others to include me. (Which makes me think of Amy the other day saying, in one of her fussy fits, “I’m TRYING to make you ANGRY, Mom!” Or all the times she says “But I keep arguing with you…” or “But I’m never going to stay in my room” or other things that seem calculated to make it as difficult as possible for me to like her. If we can find someone who can tolerate even our most hideous attempts to show our evil side, then we can KNOW we’re loved. Is that it? And / or, knowing that if people don’t get my differences now, but think they do, things could blow up in a nasty way later in the relationship — I want it on the table, plain to see, so that doesn’t happen.)

The kids’ book version:

Me: I’m different!
Others: No, you’re the same.
Me: No, I’m REALLY different.
Others: No, you’re the same.
Me: No, look, see how BIG this difference is!
Others: Okay, yes, you’re different.
Me: That’s right, I’m the same.

The semi-related witty facebook-status-worthy aphorism:

There’s not enough room outside this box for both of us.

How to be intense

How difficult it is to be close to intense people, and why?

I think intensity can be threatening all by itself — subconsciously — we seem to prefer to have an equilibrium of energy, perhaps. Exuberance, passion, fierceness, depth… can rock the boat without meaning to.

But I think the bigger problem with intensity is its tendency to be sharp-edged and hard. An intense person who is unrealistic, or demanding, or spilling out of boundaries, is uncomfortable to be with.

Hence I was thinking about a phrase, “well-oiled intensity,” which sounds a bit like something you’d see in an ad, which got me thinking about “Smoothing Lotion (for well-oiled intensity),” and then about “Friend Repellant,” and how using the one could eliminate the need for the other…

Perhaps it is possible to be intense without bowling other people over with it — not that intense people do that on purpose. Perhaps with practice of such things as mindfulness, radical acceptance, and faith, we can smooth the rough pointy edges and be felt as peaceful and peace-giving.

The “quiet and gentle spirit” urged for women in one of the New Testament letters doesn’t equate to lack of feeling, blandness, composure, having one’s act together, never having anything to say, or even never being boisterous. I think it’s much more getting at this idea of being well-oiled and smoothed.

I want to be smoothed in such a way — not to have all my intensity erased into oblivion, but to have that intensity well-oiled, the rough sharpness smoothed, soothed, shined.

my lovely narrow way

It’s hard being the only one who’s right. I’m the only moderate where moderation is truly appropriate, the only one who stands on principles that actually matter, and the only one who is flexible about the real gray areas.

You folks who make your kids cry-it-out, you’re monsters. You other folks who still bedshare with teenagers, you’re freaks. My parenting choices are the only sensible ones. And it’s so obvious!

You folks who use cloth toilet paper and make your own hemp underwear are extremists. You other folks who buy individually wrapped bananas and never wear the same outfit more than once are ridiculous. My level of greenness is clearly the right level — not too much, not too little. Self-evident.

I could, but won’t, go on — about food and diet and exercise, about spiritual things, about relationships, about vocation and hobbies and work and leisure…

Theoretically, I understand how ridiculous this sense of rightness can be, and how no one and no organization will exactly match my principles and preferences… and it would be nice if some day I reacted a little less to disappointing differences. If I felt comfortable enough with my own ideas to be less defensive and less aggressive about them. To know when a principle matters enough to take a stand even in casual conversation with a stranger, or when not taking a stand isn’t tantamount to denying the truth.

Today, it was lovely to run into someone I haven’t seen in a long time, and to talk about church and parenting and stuff. Two things she talked about made me cringe; who knows to what extent what I said made her cringe.

But I’m right.

———

It is hard to have the courage of conviction at any moment, knowing that you used to think differently, and could possibly think differently in the future.

And yet, sometimes you DO feel strongly about a conviction — you DO think it’s right, and not just for yourself but universally.

It is hard to act wisely when interacting with others who don’t share your current conviction. You don’t want to express your position weakly as if you really don’t feel sure it is true. But you don’t want to browbeat anyone either.

———

I think cry-it-out is wrong.

I think talking to children about sin is fraught with danger and must be handled very carefully.

I think individually wrapped bananas ARE ridiculous.

I think kids need to have open-ended, unstructured fun and play without reliance on gimmicks and packaged entertainment AND without reliance on strict rote learning and physical constraints.

I think the Food Pyramid is wrong.

I think children are neither miniature adults nor incapable stupid fools.

I think expressing things in terms of obviously distasteful extremes is an ineffective and unfair approach to promoting my lovely narrow middle way.

I think it’s time to start making dinner.

Interdependent

I keep trying to write about dealing with other people’s feelings, and it gets pretty tangled pretty quickly!

Let’s see if I can give a nutshell version.

If someone is anxious (or depressed or angry or whatever) it’s not helpful to pour all your energy into stopping their anxiety. Exhorting them to snap out of it or grow up on the one hand, or bending over backwards (or hovering, or tiptoeing) to remove or fix their anxiety on the other hand. You’ll make them feel more freakish than they already do, and you’ll actually increase their anxiety. You might even make them feel responsible for solving your upset about their anxiety.

To whatever extent you can, stay calm and unperturbed, accepting the reality of their current feelings even if you don’t like it. Express compassion, acknowledge the feelings, without judging or demanding.

The tangles?

Well, the anxious (or depressed, angry, etc) person could be told to respond to the other person’s upset the same way.

You could say “But the anxiety makes it really difficult for them to do that.”

But we could also say that about the other person — their upset makes it really difficult to stay calm about the first person’s anxiety.

The truth is both that we are in fact affected by other people’s feelings, AND that we are not responsible for changing other people’s feelings.

Radical acceptance can fit at all the levels. The anxious person can work to accept their anxiety (and the other person’s upset) without judging it or demanding that it stop, and then their actions to help themselves will be more effective. The person upset about the other’s anxiety can work to accept both their own upset and the other’s anxiety, and then their efforts to help and to show compassion will be more effective. Everyone can work on communicating information, without judgment or demands — about their feelings, about their responses to each other’s feelings, about compassion, etc.

Let me reiterate two things: 1) Radical acceptance does not mean you have to like whatever’s going on — it just means you have to accept that it is in fact going on. And 2) This post is about feelings, not behavior. Feelings have no moral content — they’re not right or wrong.

The sky through the pines

If your friend told you he was recording an album called “The sky through the pines,” what would you imagine?

When my former dulcimer teacher Tim Seaman told me he was thinking of using such a title for one of his CDs, I could picture a tranquil cover photo of the sky through the pines from the eyes of someone lying on the forest floor, and how the music would be relaxing, peaceful, replenishing.

He was somewhat exasperated to hear that yet another person didn’t hear or see what he meant by the title — to him it conveyed Exhilaration! Excitement! Thrill! Very different image.

And so my little experiment with venting frustration about social cue interpretation (while allowing for — NOT demanding — actual anonymous answering) also has provoked some widely disparate responses.

There have been some voters in the poll (which I appreciate), at least two, perhaps more. One has no human children. One doesn’t think they have things Amy would enjoy playing with. There were two votes for just being busy and please keep inviting us, and three who don’t invite anyone for playdates.

Among those who didn’t vote in the poll but responded to me personally, one found it an amusing curiosity; three didn’t bat an eyelash; one thought it rude, insulting, obsessive, and like wearing a loud “I’m insecure!” sign; and one was worried any answers might hurl me into another depressive episode and was concerned about how much anguish I might be feeling.

Widely, widely different perceptions.

My own reactions to these varying responses have likewise been pretty varied. It’s long been another concern (reason for thought, reflection, prayer, wonderment — not debilitating angst) of mine that I seem to rely more heavily than I should on other people’s opinions and perceptions of me.

Especially interesting to me was the perception that my post is rude, insulting, and obsessive. This person does tend to get irritated with me when I get upset about anything, so I suppose their response makes sense for the way they think. I wonder though, to what extent other people would share that perception. It was most definitely not my intent to send any of those messages, and to me it seems that anyone who actually reads the post (rather than just glancing at it) would understand that. But maybe this person is right and I’m wrong. Interesting.

If I could ask

I know that in normal social interaction people don’t ask each other these kinds of questions. Most people rely on other folks reading social cues accurately instead. Not all of us are that great at reading social cues — and sometimes I wish I could just ask, and trust the answers, so that I could just know, and base my decisions and actions on real knowledge instead of fuzzy guesswork.

Here’s a question I would ask if it were permissible. If you feel okay about answering honestly, without being offended, it would be useful information for me. I’m looking for useful information, not fishing for reassurance. You can select as many answers as apply.

Edited to add: I didn’t really post this looking for people to reply (But don’t let that stop you if you want to reply!). It’s more about being honest about my difficulty with social cues and wishing I could magically know how things are without having to rely on social cues. I don’t want to burn bridges by interpreting simple busyness or whatever as dislike, but I also don’t want to bother people by continuing to pursue them when they wish I would stop.

Being supportive

What exactly does being supportive mean?

If you’ve never read the original Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, check it out at your library or buy a copy. It’s much more interesting than the cartoon versions you’re more familiar with.

The narrator is a friend of Dr. Jekyll’s. Utterson says his usual philosophy is to “let each man go to the devil in his own way.” And so he doesn’t intervene when his friend begins behaving strangely…

Perhaps there are some people who are judgmental and who give unsolicited advice because they are just mean and hateful. But chances are, your friends and family judge and give advice because they honestly think they can help you. They honestly think what they believe and what they advise is the best way to do things.

Sure, they could likely be more gracious about it… be more careful to know your side of things better before speaking their side…

Just the other day I was part of a discussion in which, first, we were clicking our tongues at one behavior, and, second, wishing other people could just be supportive instead of judging. In the first case, of course, we were right and helpful to click our tongues. But in the second case, of course, those other tongue-clickers were wrong.

People talk about Christianity this way a lot — they would like Christians better if we didn’t go around telling people to believe Christianity. They don’t see that we do that out of conviction — out of a belief that Christianity happens to be true, even in its claims of exclusivity. If we ARE right, then of course we would be mean and cold not to tell others about it.

Utterson might have saved his friend’s life if he’d been willing to judge and give advice.

When I did this book with a class of seniors during my student-teaching, we were comparing the story to a drug abuse situation. If your friend is using drugs, is it more loving to let them continue on that crash course, or is it more loving to intervene?

The problem, most of the time, is that we’re more often talking about rather gray areas. It’s obvious — mostly — that we should intervene when we suspect drug abuse, or child abuse, or anything else that extreme and dangerous.

But how to interact around gray areas? Especially the topics on the edges, between child abuse and choice of breakfast food? Take breastfeeding, for example. Clearly, it’s the healthiest route for mothers and babies alike if it works. But is there ever a case when formula is the right choice? I had no physical problems with nursing, but the nature of my postpartum depression and anxiety meant I had to give it up for psychological reasons. I grew up on formula and am a fairly decent and reasonably intelligent person. And how much better today’s formula is!

What about thumb-sucking, pacifiers, blankets and other comfort objects? What about spanking, time-outs, or other forms of discipline? What about Bible study, prayer, Communion, and other spiritual activities? Insert your own edge-of-gray areas here.

I continue to find it challenging to hold my own convictions on such marginally gray areas in a gracious way. If it’s really right, as I believe it is, then shouldn’t I try to persuade others? Or if I believe I should let others make their own choice in the matter apart from my feedback, then does that mean my position is not clearly right?

Like most folks, I tend to jump in with my opinions, judgments, and advice before I know the whole story. I usually think I’m being helpful. And even if I judge something you’re doing, I usually still love and respect you, and feel compassion for the extenuating circumstances. I try, anyway. I suppose the same is true when you jump in with your judgments and advice towards me.

I hope to continue to grow in grace — that I’ll keep learning and practicing how to hold my convictions but speak [what seems to be] the truth with love. How to be slower to speak and quicker to listen. How to pray more and advise less.

O the various things that float by

1. Dance

This fall’s Dancevision concert at Culver Academies was on Amy’s birthday weekend. What a lovely treat for her last night.

The concert featured student dancers in various large and small ensembles, solos and duets, ballet and modern styles, recordings and the school’s jazz band and a few student vocalists, too.

One student — Asia — choreographed a stunning solo that actually choked me up. She has amazing technique, and expression as well.

I loved the first piece, ballet in several movements — ballet is just as beautiful, just as witty and clever, just as humorous, just as moving, as more modern styles, and it annoys me when people malign it. If you don’t care for it, fine — but it’s not because there’s anything wrong or outdated about it.

That said, I loved the more modern things, too.

I took modern dance in college all four years — I think I only had to miss one semester. Oh how I loved it! Not that I was particularly good at it, and I had no delusions of dancerly grandeur — but it was still wonderful to do. It’s great exercise, reaching every part of the body, in stretching, slow and quick movements, movement in a small space, movement across a large space, movement standing, movement on the floor. Unlike most exercise, to me anyway, it’s also beautiful and meaningful movement that nourishes the soul. Other forms of exercise nourish my soul a little bit, in that exercise does work on brain chemistry, and a body that feels good helps a soul feel good — but dance does it better.

Plus, we were blessed to have a pianist to accompany our classes, and he was very, very good. He always matched the music to the movement so deftly.

I don’t think there are any dance studios in Plymouth, and even if there are I don’t think we could afford for me to take classes “just” for the sake of having a form of exercise I enjoy, and yet — how lovely that would be.

2. Shopping with a conscience

One of my facebook friends posted the 2010 Sweatshop Hall of Shame, which I reposted, and another friend reposted after me.

I think I might have been in college before it even occurred to me to think about who was involved in making the things I had. One of my friends was in a production of the musical Working, based on Studs Terkel’s book of the same title. It’s a series of interviews with workers in various fields.

Starting to think about how one’s activities as a consumer affect other people can get overwhelming fast. It’s not obvious anymore — one store might have who knows how many suppliers in how many countries, shifting however often, and it’s not always easy to find out whether the suppliers are adequately paid, working in safe environments, and protected in various human rights. Some of the countries have good laws, some don’t, and not all supplier companies obey the laws. Some companies have inspections. Some suppliers lie and coach their workers to lie.

Looking at the labor rights organizations’ recommended shopping list is also a bit disheartening — there’s no well-known companies listed, and nothing local. Do you order something bland, boring, and expensive online that involves extensive transportation, for the sake of ethical treatment of workers, or do you buy at the local Wal-mart because it’s the only local supplier of what you need, and you want to avoid the transportation costs and keep at least some of your money in your own community?

Then there’s the issue of relationships — you don’t want to get so caught up in this or any other issue that your relationships suffer unduly. You still want your family to have a pleasant, joyful, peaceful home with things they can enjoy. You still want your friends to enjoy being with you. There’s more to life than any cause, and when every activity is tagged with conscience-raising, life gets exhausting and frustrating and dull quite quickly.

And yet — as soon as you see a face associated with that thing you’re coveting, it’s a lot harder to just buy it uncritically.

3. Sugar, sugar — and other abundances

Let me just say that it is interesting how an abundance of sugar — or any other food — can be distressing.

I don’t really think of myself as a Causie with a Vengeance — someone who’s out to sell the Simple Life to the universe — although I suspect some folks see me that way.

But, well, just four days of birthday cake has me stressed. Really, three days of it, with one day in between.

I love birthday cake. But I like it better when I have one really nice piece and then go back to regular life for a while.

I also like my refrigerator and pantry to be full of spaces — when they’re packed I get nervous. Will I eat the fresh stuff before it goes bad… I like to have enough things on hand to have choices, but I don’t like it when the sense of obligation rises above a certain threshold.

We’re on the holiday season now. Kick-started with little girl’s birthday, heading into Thanksgiving, with Christmas around the corner. Not to mention little girl still has Halloween candy she’s working on.

Again, I’m all for a splurge on tasty nothings once in a while — it’s just the overabundance of them, without much rest in between, that gets to me.

4. Thoughts on three

I forgot to make or buy a birthday card for Amy. And I haven’t written down any thoughts on her turning three. And I don’t have any right now.

Um…

Yeah. Maybe later.

5. Emotional peacekeeping

I think I’ve often taken on the role of emotional peacekeeper. I don’t like to see people being upset. I don’t like seeing conflict. I especially don’t like it when I’m involved, but it’s distressing even when I’m not. I often find myself trying to soothe all the wild beasts — either by the unproductive method of minimizing myself and my intrusion in the world, or by remaining calm and speaking calmly and offering calm advice, or by stepping in and separating people (like Amy and me).

I’ve made some progress on being able to tolerate my and other people’s distress — sometimes people just need to be distressed for a while and get through it on their own time. Sometimes I misjudge those cases, and don’t step in when Amy really needs me. Sometimes I think other people are surprised and disapprove even when I think I’m right to give her the space to cry and face her situation independently. Some people seem to get it.