Tales from the Playground: the Fine Line of Parenting Teenagers

This summer I nannied a three-year-old in New England while I worked on my Beyond Mama Bear book. As always, hanging out with a toddler reminded me of hanging out with a teenager; they are so similar in so many ways. It was an excellent meditation on the delicate balance parents must strike. Every day, it's a fine line between supporting our children and letting go when they are ready. 

One day I took my little charge to the park. On the longish stroll to the playground, she asked me to walk behind her instead of holding her hand. As she approached the tallest slide, she soberly handed me her stuffed dog and began to climb. She shunned my attempts to help her—I can do it myself!—and carefully negotiated her way up the ladder. I nervously protected her from falling as well as I could without her knowing; soon she climbed quite beyond my reach. As she clambered high above my head I was struck by how apt a metaphor the moment was for the whole parenting enchilada. If she tumbled from her happy perch—so high above me—I would be hard-pressed to help her. I knew it and perhaps she knew it, too. If I had stopped her from climbing too high, however, it would have been like clipping her wings (and thwarting her independence).

Instead of fretting or telegraphing my un-ease, I tried to shout encouraging things to her. I asked if she was proud of herself. She was! Very! I asked if she wanted to come down soon. She did not! I offered to join her if she wanted company. No, thank you! She sat at the tippy-top of the playground climber, gazing out at the world, narrating her own little reverie, calling down to me occasionally just to be sure I was still paying attention. At one point she sang the entire Lollipop Guild song from The Wizard of Oz at the top of her lungs. Eventually, she came barreling down the corkscrew slide, laughing and breathless from her adventure. As we left, she paused to look back at the mountain of her accomplishment. “I climbed to the top. All by myself!” she confirmed. “Mommy will be so excited!” And she let me hold her hand part of the way home.

That moment at the playground when toddlers climb out of our grasp is a premonition of the teenaged years. As they climb beyond our reach we are scared but we know we have to let them do it. The sense of accomplishment they earn is worth the risk. Why is climbing to the top of the slide so important? Why is anything worth the risk of bodily harm? Because it is their job to develop coping skills. To learn resilience and self-regulation. To push themselves to the limit, to be frightened, to conquer their own fear and thrive. 

And it’s our job as parents to facilitate the whole amazing (frustrating, scary, mind-numbing) process. I promise, when they grow up to be people we actually like, who do well and do good in the world, Mommy will be so excited. Indeed! Shine on, parents of teenagers -- together, we can find the balance to takes to help our kids grow up, away from us, right into the best version of themselves.

[To read more, check out Fish, Tears, Prayers: Lessons in Letting Teenagers Go. For more on how much teens are like toddlers, see Handle with Care. And for inspiration on walking that fine line, please read Rock + Hard Place = Parenting. ]

Oh, Heeeey, Everybody! (Checking in from New England)

How I have missed you, Dear Reader!

Greetings from my self-exile in western Massachusetts, where I am working on the first Beyond Mama Bear book with minimal distractions.

It has been raining here, which is conducive to brooding and--one hopes--to writing. It's more frustrating than I imagined, having all this freedom and time to myself and lack of excuses for not producing brilliance. I'm digging deep and facing personal stuff, I suppose, and also I've been knee-deep in research so my brain feels kind of sleepy. I've also been walking to clear the cobwebs, exploring the nooks and crannies of this unfamiliar town. Although my writing is not humming along smoothly as I'd hoped, I think I'll get plenty of work done in the next month or so.

Meanwhile, I just posted anew on my other blog (and full-time experiment) www.skort365.com. Many of you may already know about it, and many others may not be interested. But it seems to me there may be an overlap in my audience, and I want to make sure you know about it in case it strikes your fancy! If you are struggling with teenagers of your own, chances are you (or someone you love) also faces some of the middle-aged-lady stuff I deal with on the skort blog. Today's post, for example: For Menopausal Women Only--Why a Black Golf Skort is My New Best Friend. I hope you'll check it out, and I hope you enjoy it.

And now it's back to work . . . back to my little desk, walls of sticky-notes, inspiring background music and fretful walks around the neighborhood. Wish me well, keep in touch and take of yourselves and your families. (And enjoy these shots of my time so far in The Berkshires.)

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Rock and stone, morning walk . .  

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Nerd-thrill.

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There is a distinctly GREY GARDENS vibe around here . . . 

Fish, Tears, Prayers: Lessons in Letting Teenagers Go

One year ago our 15-year-old son disappeared into the airport-security crowd. I watched him walk--backpack over his shoulder, confident-but-frightened, excited-but-scared--in the direction of his dreams. We knew we wouldn't see him for six weeks. (We didn't know how rarely we would hear from him.) We knew he longed for this adventure and we knew it was best to let him go. But I am his mother, and as he walked out of my sight at the airport, I cried.

In just a few days, he leaves again for Alaska. He spent last summer learning the trade (gill-net salmon fishing) and this year he'll join a new crew on a bigger boat in a different part of the ocean. He may be more experienced, but once again he's setting off into so much unknown it's hard to believe. I'm already crying again.

I will miss him and I'm anxious, but as he slipped into the sea of airport-humanity last summer, my tears fell for another reason altogether.

I knew he was going to be okay. I knew in my gut as he left: he's got what it takes. He is strong and resilient and smart. He's gutsy and intrepid and most of the time he makes really, really good choices. I am still amazed by his willingness to face--to fly right into--the unknown. I am overcome equally with pride and humility; despite our parental mistakes and weaknesses, our child has got his own.

For me, those six weeks were a season of waiting, of trusting, of not-knowing, of missing my boy. A season of thinking good thoughts and hoping for no news (because it always means good news).

And then our boy came home. Bearded and filthy and happy. Different. Grown-up. Many times this year we've seen evidence of the perspective he gained, being lonely and working hard and living among strangers. He is a man of few words and we saw only a few photographs of his entire experience, which means most of it belongs only to him. 

It is a beautiful mystery, watching our children do things completely unknown to us. Only when we let them go (sometimes miles and time-zones away, into the literal wilderness) do we give them the space and the freedom to become themselves.

God bless my child, who's got his own. Keep him safe; bless the adults who will guide him; bless his work and his journey. Bless the harvest; keep his waters calm; make him a fisher of men. St. Andrew, protect him. Bring our baby back home.

God Bless the Child by Blood, Sweat and Tears

Your Family is Probably Better than Mine. Here's Photographic Proof.

Because everybody likes a good dose of schadenfreude, I give you these snapshots of myself and my teenagers. And for this generous gift of catharsis, you're welcome. Here, but by the grace of God, go you. (The Filholms never really mind being a source of relief for others; we know our family is pretty odd and usually we're okay with it.) 

Yesterday, we engineered a day of Forced Family Fun (in this post, I wrote about why we do so, even though it can be rough). Younger brother will be shipping off soon for his summer of big adventure (and hard work) in Alaska, so yesterday was a chance to be together before he departs.

It went pretty well, all things considered. We laughed and got along and mostly, everyone was kind to one another. But then I tried to get a quick snapshot of my boys and me. You know, because I love them? No matching outfits, no pinterest-worthy clever pose: I just wanted a casual, simple iPhone pic outside the danged restaurant.

But the minute we have the parental audacity to try for a family photo, our teenagers start mugging and fronting and flipping the bird. They take actual delight in preventing a good shot. Look at them, enjoying the heck out of themselves and ruining every single picture. It's how they do.

So next time you're feeling fed up with your own brood, just look here and remember: it could be worse. If you have kids who willingly pose with you, go ahead. Compare your family portraits to ours and enjoy the deep, human feeling of relief: your parenting may not be perfect, but there's always someone worse off than you. :-)

I'm Baaaaack . . . Shine On!

Several weeks ago I took a hiatus from writing about parenting. My own family life was challenging me so much I found it hard to make sense of anything. I thought it would be best to take a break from giving anything like advice to other parents.

Just a couple of weeks later, as we were maybe beginning to find a tiny bit of family balance--or at least a way to get through our days without being cruel to one another--something terrible happened. Something unbelievably sad and confusing. Something that took the winds right out of our sails. All of us: me, my husband, and our two teenaged sons. 

A young man for whom we cared died. He was a former student--one of those rare kids who keeps in touch with his high-school English teacher and finds a way into the hearts of her family and friends. Our boys called him the big brother they wish they had. I spent a good twelve hours thinking perhaps I could avoid telling my kids the unhappy truth, because forming the words seemed utterly impossible.

Of course we told them, and the complicated process of grieving a senseless death began. We know (intellectually) how valuable difficult times can be. We know this is an opportunity to learn lessons, to change our lives, to help our children face adversity and overcome. But it feels just awful.

On one hand, I know it's a chance to teach my children how to grieve--grace under pressure and all that. On the other hand, I'm a bloody mess. Trying to mitigate the extremes of my own emotions, while guiding my family through theirs, leaves me flat-out exhausted.

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There have been moments of grace, of course. The crazy world works like that, and I believe above all in the importance of finding silver linings in every cloud. But my God, it's hard to keep going. It's hard to put one foot in front of the other. It's impossible to understand. I keep thinking we must be talking about someone else, even though I attended the funeral and watched his casket sink into the earth.

I will write more about this child we have lost, because in many ways my time with him and his parents was the seed--six years ago--that blossomed into the Beyond Mama Bear project. For now, I shall again attempt to write about parenting. It will come in fits and starts (and I will devote July to getting the book to print), for which I hope you will forgive me. 

My message has been altered--in ways I will struggle with, I'm sure--but one thing is clear to me now more than ever: we need each other. Raising our children takes a village, all right, and it takes super-human strength and grit and tenacity. It takes forgiveness--of our children but most of all, of ourselves--and it will challenge everything we believe.

I hope you will join me. I'm asking everyone I know to subscribe to my email list, in the hopes of gathering some collective wisdom. This parenting-of-adolescents thing is a burden too great to shoulder alone. Together, we can find ways to really connect with our teenagers. We can share stories and insights, and I promise you, we can make a difference.

As always--in spite of things, in a broken world, in the valley of tears, against all odds, full of hope--we all shine on.

Song : Instant Karma! (We All Shine On) Album : Singles (Remastered 2010) John Lennon

Why My Children's Book is Really for Parents (Also, please buy it!)

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For purchase now at www.amazon.com and in the iBooks store!

I’m thrilled to announce the eBook edition of Bella Bug Says, ‘Let Me See!’ 

It’s a children’s book. I wrote it for children. I created characters and painted pictures with children in mind.

And yet time and again, day after day, I find my adult self thinking about Bella Bug.

As I struggle with my teenagers on their journey toward adulthood, I am reminded often of our plucky little heroine, Bella, who finds herself literally stuck in a rut. Only a new perspective—looking at things in new ways—frees her from her predicament. 

Bella Bug is stubborn, at first, and resistant to change, and maybe her feelings are hurt a little because she doesn’t know what to do. She looks a lot like me on my worst days of parenting.

Thanks to a little help (from friends and elders with different points-of-view), Bella sees a way out. She finds solutions instead of excuses. She chooses to see good; she chooses hope; she laughs at herself. Her journey looks a lot like the best parts of parenting teenagers. 

As it turns out, I really wrote this book for grown-ups. Most of all, me.

My friend Rita entrusted me with her vision: a picture book to help children understand the importance of a positive world-view. As usual, the collaboration with Rita brought many things into focus, including the urgency of this message for adults--and especially for parents of teenagers. As Rita and I tossed around idioms (seeing eye-to-eye, tunnel vision, rose-colored glasses) Bella Bug and her companions taught us a lot of grown-up things about sight, vision, and how we see the world. Making sense of things for children (as usual) helps us make sense of things for ourselves.

This eBook is a joyful thing. The vivid illustrations come to life in tablet format. It includes even more skills-based, cross-curricular, multi-generational lesson plans, activities, discussion starters and writing prompts. Teachers, parents and book clubs alike will enjoy the opportunities there for extending learning about the theme of the story!

I hope you will gift it to the young children you know—they love Bella, and I love seeing them enjoy her without fear of ripping paper pages! I also hope you will consider reading it yourself, and discussing it as a family. 

With teenagers around, conversation comes in fits and starts. Short-hand phrases, such as, “How you see can set you free,” or “What would Bella Bug do about that?” can be helpful when it’s time to make our point efficiently. Maybe sneak the book onto their tablets, too . .  perhaps they’ll look at it in moments of pure desperation or boredom. You never know with teenagers!

Most of all, I hope my adult friends will be encouraged by Bella. I hope we'll think of her when we are stuck in adult ruts, and when we have very adult decisions to make. When our teenagers are lost or in trouble, when they are challenging us, defying us, and making decisions we cannot stand, may we all take a deep breath and ask, along with Bella, for a new way to see. I hope this little picture book will find a place in your heart.

How we see can set us free!

(Check it out - $9.99 on amazon.com and on iBooks! Search my name or the book title, and there she is!)

Look Closely: See the Beauty in Everything (Even Teenagers)!

In this month of May-hem, it is important to focus on small miracles. When we are so busy we lose our centers, it's easy to forget the pockets of calm and comfort in our midst. The endless pageantry of end-of-school can distract us from the beauty of the ordinary.

A soggy walk through my grey, ugly neighborhood this morning reminded me. Here in Denver, we feel entitled to our sunshine. Nearly six weeks of daily rain and cold has us feeling rather out-of-sorts. My morning puddle-walk began as one more frustrating reminder of all the outdoor fun we should be having during the month of May. Once again, when I changed my perspective, I changed my mood. When I focused on the beauty--the good, the surprising, the wonderful--my urban neighborhood looked as enchanted as a fairy garden:

images from a rainy walk

May we do the same with our frustrating, hormonal, emotional, exhausted, end-of-the-school-year sons and daughters. Let's try to change our focus and see the beauty in their ordinary. Of course we should celebrate achievements, awards, rites-of-passage. But let's not get overwhelmed by the inflated language of the season. Let us remember to see our teenagers as the struggling, freaked-out-about-the-future, stressed-out-about-finals, enchanted young souls they are. What small, miraculous things they do! 

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Happy Mother's Day.

Anne Lamott says the only two prayers we need are these: Help me, help me, help me and Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Indeed.

Every single day.

My sons Augustus Lane and George Talwin have for 17 and 16 years, respectively, honored, blessed, challenged and created me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Help me, help me, help me.

And God bless Marcia Stephan Lane for being my mother, which could not have have been an easy job. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Happy (Imperfect) Mother's Day! [6 Cards My Teens Would Give Me If They Could]

This Sunday, my family will try. We're planning a "nice day" together, but the resentment, sulkiness and "why-can't-I-just-be-with-my-friends" sentiments are palpable already. At the moment, my family is awfully far away from a greeting-card, Pinterest-worthy Mother's Day celebration. 

Listen. My oldest child is 17 and in the throes of his adolescent "identity crisis" (Erickson, 1968). I am 46; the evidence of aging in my body and in my parents--all of whom I expected to stay young and healthy forever--hits me daily like so many unexpected and violent slaps to my wrinkled face.

Lately, our little family has struggled with death and disillusionment; some of my core beliefs have been shaken as if by hurricane winds; we've been battening down hatches and trying to get some footing in the storm. Even the dog is going senile, doing his personal best to unravel my sanity with his barking (at everything, at nothing, all the livelong day).

A Mother's Day full of appreciation and warm feelings and "I love you, Mommy" breakfast-in-bed is deeply unlikely. The children who honored me by making me a mother? Well, they resent my very existence, and most especially the mother-y things I do. It's confusing. We'll spend part of the day celebrating my mom, of course--which is right and good--but even that is confounding. I don't know about you, but patterns of misery with my adolescent children tend to agitate miserable memories from my own mis-spent youth.

I know this much: expecting an imperfect Mother's Day celebration is the only way to guarantee a good time. Sunday will be special because my husband and I will do our best to remain present and open--even in the midst of adolescent grumbling--to the spontaneous joy of being together. The more I let go of commercialized visions of My Perfect Mother's Day, the better my day is bound to be.

In the meanwhile, here are a few authentic Mother's Day sentiments my teenagers might express if they thought they could get away with it. Because sometimes, keepin' it real is the best way to face the hype of the holidays. 

You don’t even have sense enough to drink when somebody brings you a cup of consecrated chicken soup — which is the only kind of chicken soup Bessie ever brings to anybody around this madhouse. - J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey