Take a Closer Look

I could hear the crying from the girls’ bedroom the second I climbed up the basement stairs. 

What this time? I thought to myself, exasperated.  My 5-year-old is having a hard time these days with her emotions.  Tears seem to be a daily occurrence and the source usually has something to do with her older sister.  They share a room, and while they get along famously and still play together on most days, they also get on each others’ nerves greatly; they both like to be in control.

I climbed the ladder to my daughter’s bunk and found her crumpled in the corner, wailing in misery as big crocodile tears ran down her face. 

“What’s wrong, Sweet Girl?” I inquired at eye level.

Through heaving sobs, she managed to convey to me that her older sister had moved her babies’ crib out of the room and she wanted them to stay because she likes her babies to sleep in her room with her. 

Assessing the situation before I uttered a word, I saw her twin doll babies lying at the foot of her bed, instead of situated in the monstrous double-decker crib, that as of a few moments ago, sat at the entrance of their bedroom, but now was nowhere to be found.  The side-by-side double stroller that she’d been pushing throughout the house for the past few days was nowhere to be seen either.  I questioned my older daughter with my eyes without uttering a word.

“There’s just not room in this small bedroom for all of your baby stuff and for both of us.   I have to move the stroller from in front of my closet just so I can get dressed every day.  And the crib is blocking the door from closing at night.  They just have to go downstairs with the rest of our toys,” her big sister explained too her patiently.

Made sense to me.  I didn’t need to intervene here, I told myself. 

“It’s okay, babe.  There’s no need to be upset.  It’s not a big deal; we just need to move the baby stuff downstairs.”

As new tears rolled down her face,  my baby girl whimpered, “But it’s a big deal to me!”

Stopped in my tracks.  She was right.  It was a big deal to her.  It was my kindergartener’s entire world.  Babies.

Although she has numerous dollies and strollers and play pack n plays and carriers, she’d demonstrated patience and restraint for the past year, saving her weekly family economy money from performing chores and meeting responsibilities, in order to buy twin bitty babies and a twin stroller.  She’s talked about it every single day for the last year:  what she’ll do with them, what she’ll name them, where she’ll take them, and how it will feel to have twins. 

Over the weekend, she was overjoyed to open an early birthday gift of the coveted babies and stroller.  She took no mind of the fact that one of the dolls, baby Elizabeth, was her own 10-year-old hand-me-down from her sister, of whom she’s been playing with for the past few years.  She didn’t mind that the 2nd “twin” was simply bought used to match.  She didn’t notice the wear and tear on the pre-owned stroller t either.  All she cared about was those sweet little baby sisters that needed a Mommy to love them.  She quickly chose the name Eliza for the 2nd doll, and has spent the past 4 days adoringly caring for those dolls.  She’d roped her older sister into the excitement as well.  My 11-year-old has played with my little one and the babies nonstop without complaint, and had even carved out a space for the baby paraphernalia in their tiny shared bedroom.  She even offered to care for the twins while home sick from school earlier in the week, as the twins' mom would have to leave them to attend kindergarten.

As all good things usually come to an end, my pre-teen daughter had finally grown tired of the doting and was ready to move on.  My younger daughter, however, was still madly in love with the idea of caring for those babies.

We eventually came to a solution that worked for both girls, moving the stroller to the basement, and rearranging some furniture to accommodate the crib so Elizabeth and Eliza can sleep in the same room with their mommy. 

But that one sentence keeps ringing through my ears.  It’s a big deal to me.   The idea that something so nominal to one person, could so greatly affect another, is something to pay attention to.  It seems that if we could figure out what matters and what doesn’t to an individual, a group of people, or an entire region, we could solve so many problems before they even arise.  It explains so much about our society:  who we surround ourselves with, what motivates us, when we take action and when we don’t, where we draw a line in the sand, why we make the decisions we do, and how we react to certain situations….all based on what we hold near and dear. 

As a parent, we oftentimes become so accustomed to putting out fires we’ve seen flame before and barking out instructions to solve familiar problems that we forget the most important step in the equation:  assessing the situation.  Sometimes it’s an open and closed case and what you see is what you get, i.e stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.  But the majority of situations require gathering information we cannot see, which often requires listening.  Seems easy enough, but with our buy-in to this fast paced society that surrounds us, we often bypass this step in the name of efficiency or share it with other tasks, thereby diluting its effectiveness. 

There’s not a one amongst us who doesn’t want to really know their child, or their spouse or loved one, for that matter:  who they are and what makes them tick.  We sometimes think, though, that we already know the scoop based on what we see or what we’ve experienced in the past.  Most people change or alter their focal points, though, over time, and in the case of children, it can happen in the blink of an eye.  What was crucial last week can be replaced with a more vital stance by week’s end.  I find that every time I think I know anything, I am quickly reminded that I don’t know squat.  So today I’m pledging to listen, not just hear, but really process, what the people around me say, instead of assuming the situation, tone, or sentiment.  I’m going to view each interaction as an opening into the inner workings of the person, which only enhances my ability to better communicate and care for each.  Want to take a closer look with me?

They Listen All Right!

My eternal complaint with my kids is that they don’t listen to me.  At school, at other’s homes and in the presence of my family, my daughters mostly pay attention, follow instruction, and respond appropriately to requests.  It’s in my presence where they seem to turn their listening ears off.  I am forever badgering my girls to listen to me.

“Please listen to me and do as I ask,” I warn them on a regular basis, in response to an initial request of shutting the door, turning off the light, or bringing the noise level down a notch, being blown off.  While the even yet stern tone of my voice usually grabs their attention, it doesn’t always yield an immediate action.  Sometimes they’re having so much fun doing whatever they’re doing, that they feel it’s just not possible for them to pull away at that moment.

Today’s laundomat excursion followed that line of thinking.  The girls helped separate the clothes, pre-treat the stains, and load the washers.  They sat on a high folding table together, reading Highlights and playing Go Fish.  After spending their quarter rewards on bouncing balls from the toy dispenser, they got a little rambunctious playing hide and seek in the empty Laundromat.

To keep them from getting so wound up that someone gets injured, I asked them to help me with gathering up the clean clothes and getting them to the car.  They took turns filling the big portable carts with baskets of clothes and supplies and wheeling them to the car.  When my eldest came in to snatch the last basket of clothes to put in the cart, so she could do the final trip to the car, I asked her to instead collect the wet clothes that were hanging on the various carts to dry, and take them out to the car.  As I was folding the last of the clean dry clothes, she ran back in to ask me what to do again with the clothes. 

Sometimes I think she hears what I say, but doesn’t always process the words in her head, so I frequently ask her, like I did today, to think back to what I had asked, and then do what I asked, instead of me repeating the request.  She seemed to remember the task about the wet clothes, but still didn’t remember where to put them.

“Just anywhere is fine, honey,” I responded.  “It doesn’t matter.”

When I came out to meet the girls in the parking lot, 5 items of hang-dry-only clothing were draping the outside of the car, drying casually in the sun.  I started to ask what in the Sam Hill is going on but then caught myself as I remembered my own words. 

My daughter was so proud of herself for coming up with the idea of finding a place for the wet clothes where they would also get dry, that I swallowed my laughter, and praised her for the creativity in her solution. 

Never mind that the clean wet clothes were draped over the filthy, dirty car that had just transported us over 2000 miles in the past ten days.  Forget the idea that as recently as last night, the girls were squealing with fear over the hundreds of bugs that were covering the roof and hood of the car after parking in a knat-infested lakefront motel parking lot.  The point is that my girls DO in fact listen to me.  They also do what I freakin’ ask!

Life is a Highway

For the past six weeks, I’ve been absent from my life.  I’ve let the laundry go without washing, allowed the dust to accumulate, and let the dishes stack up.  I haven’t had time to wash the sand out of the kids’ swimsuits or mend the hole in my bra that gives the underwire permission to poke me each day.  I haven’t paid the bills, balanced the checkbook, or planned our road-trip vacation that starts tomorrow.  But worst of all, I’ve plain out ignored my children.  I’ve been here with them, but not so much in a parental role, but in more of a peaceful co-existence.  

My attentive parent hat was replaced with the all-consumed home buyer dunce cap.  Somebody had to take the job, as we need a place to live.  Half of my carefree summer has been eaten up by my full-time house-hunting gig.  Our building owner decided out of the blue to sell the two-flat we live in, and while the sale itself wasn’t a big surprise, the timing of having to move within 60 is stressful, to say the least.

Leisurely walks around the neighborhood pointing out different types of birds and flowers have been substituted with brisk speedwalking down each and every street in the neighborhood, hunting FOR RENT and FOR SALE signs.  Relaxing trips to the beach have been interrupted with quick exits to get to a showing with the real estate agent.  Movie nights with popcorn and M&M’s still happen, but without my presence, as I’m busy negotiating out the terms of the proposed sales contract for our new home.  And finally, early evening bike rides to the DQ have been usurped with harried phone calls to building owners regarding their potential interest to sell their building, when the house deal finally fell through. 

It’s been a necessary step in our journey this summer and I’m guessing I could feel discouraged that we’re back to square one with no apartment to rent and no home to buy.  Ironically, I feel relieved, though.

 I looked at my kids today and listened, for the first time in weeks, to what they were saying.  I hugged them and kissed them, and let them linger in my lap without pushing them away so that I could address a parapet wall repair estimate.  I ate breakfast alongside them without excusing myself before my last bite.  I ran behind them as they rode their bikes as fast as they could, and didn’t even stop to talk to the seller of the building we had been trying to buy, as we ran past her down the block.  I wasn’t even mad at the woman for reneging on the deal that would now take us back to the drawing board in regards to finding a place to live.  She gave me my life back.  

I say to my kids often that it doesn’t matter if we live in a straw hut, so long as we’re all together.  I should amend that last phrase to be ‘so long as we’re all together and present.’  I can’t even begin to justify letting six weeks float by without really having any idea what’s been going on in my kids’ heads.   Throwing caution to the wind by leaving our housing situation up in the air to deal with when we get back, I'm going to follow the "Life is Highway, I'm gonna ride it all night long" chorus and just focus on my family and our fun for the next ten days.  The daily stresses of life will still be there when we get home, but my kids' being receptive to my attention will be gone before I know it.

Listen Up

Photo courtesy of https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/how-listen-better-improve-your-english-soad-louissi

We hear our children every day.  Their words, stories and thoughts revolve around their toys, their friends, their teachers, their jokes, their fears, etc.  We don’t always listen, though, to what they’re actually saying.  You can miss the story of your child’s life if you don’t actively turn your listening ears on.

I had the luxury of spending a few hours alone with my own parents a few weeks ago in Indianapolis.  No kids, no spouse, no friends or extended family.  We went to lunch at a local eatery of my father’s choice, where he knows the owner and many of the servers, hosts, and patrons.  Normally I dig that type of atmosphere, as I’m a huge supporter of local businesses and I too enjoy a familiarity about my surroundings.

The people were nice, the food was good, and the service was top-notch.  It was the perfect atmosphere for us to have an actual conversation, one that is uninterrupted by little hands trying to grab the phone, children trying to compete for the attention of their grandparents, or siblings engaging in sparring that only takes place in front of relatives.   The dogs’ antics aren’t stealing center stage at the restaurant and here the call waiting is obsolete.  Just as my parents and I start in on our first of many unfinished conversations, the server comes to take our order.  We order and my dad tells a funny story of some sort to the waitress.  By the time he’s finished with his joke, he’s forgotten about our half-mast conversation, and sits at the table waiting fodder.  We engage in a second discussion about (insert topic here) which we don’t get to complete because my mom knows the old codger sitting kitty-cornered from our table and needs to say hello.  He doesn’t recognize her and ends the salutation abruptly.  My mom focuses her attention back to us and is about to join in on our talk, when the old man finally recognizes my mom and intercedes to say hello again, this time really meaning it.  A short, yet strained, conversation ensues between the elder and my mom, as he doesn’t hear so well and many words have to be repeated, LOUDLY across the tables. 

 

With everyone’s attention back at their own table with their own company, I start to share yet another story with my parents, in answer to a question my dad has posed earlier.  Before I finish my thought, the host has passed our table on his way to seat another group of patrons, and my dad is loudly teasing him from across the room, about his supposed singing abilities.  I don’t even know the how or the why of the conversation, but I am cognizant at that point that any external small talk would trump anything I had to say.  I’m also painfully aware that when the intrusive small talk stops, my dad will have no idea of the topic we had been previously discussing.  I start to get annoyed and even begin that nasty cauldron-stirring we all do from time to time, where you overdramatize the obvious, thinking, “He’s not listening.  He never listens.  He always pretends to listen, but in actuality is just waiting for a moment to add something of his own.”  

Then I catch the eye of a toddler sitting in a high-chair at the table behind us.  He’s flirting with me, trying to get my attention.  I engage in a full-on game of peek-a-boo with him, as it’s more interactive than anything I have going on at my own booth.  The little boy is like a sponge, just soaking up any bit of attention he can get from me.  I’m a sucker for kids on a good day, but my current state of frustration with my own parents for not allowing a single moment of uninterrupted conversation, allows me to pour it on thick with this tyke.  The kid eats while he’s eyeballing me, just daring me to look away so he can start his hide and seek routine up again.  From time to time I tune into my own table’s conversation, but realize my attention is not really needed there, so my mind starts to wander.

Here I am, at 40 years old, perturbed because my dad doesn’t really listen to me.  In all fairness, we need to call a spade a spade, as I’m a huge motor mouth that talks too much for any innocent bystander in a five-minute time frame.  So just imagine how my parents must feel having raised me, year in and year out!  They’ve probably always been overwhelmed with my chatter and my opinions on EVERYTHING.  They’re probably glad to now have grandkids as a buffer between us!  

I know my mom listened to me, though, for the majority of my childhood.  She heard the things I said.  She caught on to the meaning of my lack of communication.  She knew what to expect from the undertones of my language.  She questioned me on things she didn’t understand, stamped a seal of approval on those things she agreed with, and debated with me (or sometimes nagged or lectured me) about those things she disagreed with.  She’d head off potential disasters, based on what she’d hear me say, and she’d sometimes punish me for those things I didn’t know she overheard!  I knew she was paying attention, even if sometimes she was in auto-pilot as she had so much of her own stuff going on.   

I think about my own kids now.  My girls talk a lot.  Sometimes they talk incessantly.  Sometimes it drives me absolutely batty.  Sometimes I tune them out.  Sometimes I half-listen.  Sometimes the meaning of their expressions registers days after their words have been spoken, often times when it is too late to discuss.  Other times, I turn my mind off of the 75-item-deep chore list constantly looping in my subconscious, and actively engage in listening to my kids.  This is when the magic takes place.  This is when I learn who my kids are becoming, what they are affected by, and why they feel the way they do.  This is when I find out who they admire, what makes them happy, where they want to visit, and when they are most receptive to change.  This is also when I hear what they are struggling with.  I don’t have to ask them the questions to get the answers.  They tell me everything I need to know if I just pay attention.  Sometimes I probe further into their stories for more clarification, other times I just listen and observe.  Many times my first reaction is to correct their grammar or remind them not to talk with their mouths full of food, but always my goal is to pay attention, as I am forever fearful of missing a cue one of them puts out about a situation that’s in the brewing stage or a potential fear that can be squashed.  I don’t want to neglect a cry for help or bypass a latent learning experience.

The engaging part is hard.  Whether you’re out working in Corporate America for ten hours a day, leaving just a few hours a day with your kids, or if you’re home with them all day, the concept is the same:  you need to take advantage of a listening moment when it presents itself.  It’s the quality of the moment, not the quantity of the moments themselves.  Don’t let the beat-down of the work day or the monotony of the household chores be the excuse that robs you from precious quality time with your children.  Draw them in.  Share your day.  Ask about theirs.  Hear them out.  Allow them to open up to you.  Listen attentively.  Show them you care.  Show them you notice.  Show them you’re listening.  Lead by example so they can learn to be good listeners themselves.  Time flies.  Before you know it, your kids will be packed up and heading out the door for preschool, college or their honeymoon.  Don’t let them cross that threshold thinking you don’t care what they say just because you didn’t listen.