While thousands of people were reveling at the state fair or 10,000 Lakes Festival last weekend, I was solo-parenting at a very different festival: Bickerfest 2009. This included refereeing the ever-popular sideshows Whine-o-rama, Wrestlemania and Squabblejam.
For kids, summer means freedom, fun and a lot more togetherness with siblings. As August approaches, most parents I know are growing weary of the battles.
The scenarios that trigger sibling scraps are usually too-ridiculous to repeat. My favorite exchange this weekend found my son yelling down the steps, “Quit talking to me!” To which his younger brother responded in his loudest possible voice, “No!!! You quit talking to me first.”
In the peak of frustration with Bickerfest, I retreated briefly to my computer and hastily composed an email to my family chronicling the events of my aggravating morning and my not-so-graceful ways of handling it.
Later that day, when the kids and I arrived home from some errands, a beautiful vase of miniature roses greeted me at the door. A note in my mom’s script advised, “Spread happiness in a troubled world.”
My mom was famous for keeping her cool. When my siblings were young, we lived just one block from school, so they always came home for lunch. My mom set out the food family style and left them unsupervised to serve and eat lunch while she retreated to the piano.
Chaos usually ensued, as you would expect. But my mom was in her own happy place drowning out the noise with songs and scales. To this day, she insists she was trying to teach them to share.
For me, and I believe most parents, listening to my kids fight is difficult for reasons beyond just the noise or the inherent danger of two boys in a real brawl with light sabers. Remember Madlyn Primoff, the 45-year-old Park Avenue lawyer who became a nationwide news story this spring for kicking her 12 and 10-year-old quarreling daughters out of the car and driving away?
Their bickering was annoying I’m sure, but I doubt that’s what prompted her to make good on the most widely used threat of all time. “Stop fighting or I’ll stop the car.”
Ultimately, what eats away at parents like Primoff – and me -- is the fear that we are the cause of the sibling quarrels. That our combative kids are proof that we are failing as parents. What am I doing wrong and how can I fix this, we wonder?
Parenting experts offer a wide variety of tips and tricks. We’ve heard them before, but perhaps a few are worth repeating.
• Negotiate in advance solutions and penalties for common daily battles.
• Set ground rules for fair fighting, like teaching them to fight with words, not fists.
• Use natural consequences. For example, those who demand to get the first or the most, get the last and the least.
The one point on which all the experts agree is that fighting is both normal and essential for growing up. Somehow squabbling with siblings teaches kids how to solve problems and handle conflicts as adults.
To this end, my most trusted advisor (my mom) and the books, too, strongly advise that parents let kids work out their battles themselves.
So, I guess I can retire my whistle and striped shirt. Next time my kids are fighting, you can find me at the piano.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Life Runs Like a River
It’s summer and that means one thing: family road trips
This weekend, we walked across the Mississippi River. Not on a bridge, but directly through the river from one side to the other. We accomplished this impressive feat at the river’s headwaters in Itasca State Park, of course, where the water is warm and clear and about 8 inches deep.
As we wandered down the infant stream I was able to stretch out my arms and touch the long grass on both banks of this famous river. Amazing!
Dozens of children played in the water. It’s a real-life “lazy river,” and they floated down the shallow, narrow stream beaming with the pure joy of childhood and summer.
As we walked back upstream, I was amazed by the force of the current. I thought it might be gentler at the beginning. That it would take some time to build momentum and force. Apparently not. Even at the onset, you can tell by the pull of this river that it is destined for greatness.
Walking through the headwaters of the Mississippi was oddly appropriate. I’ve been reflecting on the parallels between rivers and life this week, triggered by my dad’s 80th birthday and the celebration of my 10th wedding anniversary.
It’s hard to believe a decade has passed since my husband Mike and I got married. Despite a bunch of major life changes, we feel much the same.
On our anniversary day, we exchanged a couple off-key voicemail serenades. The chorus of one of them, an old Loggins and Messina song, rings through my head as I’m walking up the Mississippi. “And we go on and on, watching the river run. Further and further from things that we’ve done, leaving them one by one.”
I think of the last two decades. High school and college are ancient history. My years of being independent and single are long past. Our kids’ baby and toddler stages, too, are already over. This fall all of them will be in school.
And my dad’s 80th is a stark reminder that my parents are in the twilight of life – every day with them is precious.
When we got married, our dog Bogart was a spry young pup with gleaming chocolate-colored fur. Today, Bogart’s muzzle is completely white, his fur is faded and clumpy, and he struggles to sit, climb or stand up. A decade is forever for a dog.
I watch the waters of the Mississippi racing over my feet at the beginning of a 2,500 mile journey to the ocean, and I’m stuck by how fast my own river is racing. It can be sad to think about all the life stages already left behind.
But the chorus of the song continues. “We have just begun, watching the river run. Listening and learning and yearning, run river run.”
We are powerless to slow the rivers of life. We can’t build a dam to stop them. Which leaves us only to live in and appreciate the present -- to listen, learn, yearn and embrace our river’s flow.
So today, there are fish to catch, cards to play, and meals to share with our family and dear friends. Run river run.
This weekend, we walked across the Mississippi River. Not on a bridge, but directly through the river from one side to the other. We accomplished this impressive feat at the river’s headwaters in Itasca State Park, of course, where the water is warm and clear and about 8 inches deep.
As we wandered down the infant stream I was able to stretch out my arms and touch the long grass on both banks of this famous river. Amazing!
Dozens of children played in the water. It’s a real-life “lazy river,” and they floated down the shallow, narrow stream beaming with the pure joy of childhood and summer.
As we walked back upstream, I was amazed by the force of the current. I thought it might be gentler at the beginning. That it would take some time to build momentum and force. Apparently not. Even at the onset, you can tell by the pull of this river that it is destined for greatness.
Walking through the headwaters of the Mississippi was oddly appropriate. I’ve been reflecting on the parallels between rivers and life this week, triggered by my dad’s 80th birthday and the celebration of my 10th wedding anniversary.
It’s hard to believe a decade has passed since my husband Mike and I got married. Despite a bunch of major life changes, we feel much the same.
On our anniversary day, we exchanged a couple off-key voicemail serenades. The chorus of one of them, an old Loggins and Messina song, rings through my head as I’m walking up the Mississippi. “And we go on and on, watching the river run. Further and further from things that we’ve done, leaving them one by one.”
I think of the last two decades. High school and college are ancient history. My years of being independent and single are long past. Our kids’ baby and toddler stages, too, are already over. This fall all of them will be in school.
And my dad’s 80th is a stark reminder that my parents are in the twilight of life – every day with them is precious.
When we got married, our dog Bogart was a spry young pup with gleaming chocolate-colored fur. Today, Bogart’s muzzle is completely white, his fur is faded and clumpy, and he struggles to sit, climb or stand up. A decade is forever for a dog.
I watch the waters of the Mississippi racing over my feet at the beginning of a 2,500 mile journey to the ocean, and I’m stuck by how fast my own river is racing. It can be sad to think about all the life stages already left behind.
But the chorus of the song continues. “We have just begun, watching the river run. Listening and learning and yearning, run river run.”
We are powerless to slow the rivers of life. We can’t build a dam to stop them. Which leaves us only to live in and appreciate the present -- to listen, learn, yearn and embrace our river’s flow.
So today, there are fish to catch, cards to play, and meals to share with our family and dear friends. Run river run.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Money Machines Save the Day
My five year old was sitting at the table, counting his jar of money for about the 19th time in two days.
“Mom, I’m saving my money and you know what I’m gonna buy?” he said.
“A Bionicle?” I guessed.
“Nope,” he replied. “A money machine. You buy it for 40 dollars and then after that you can make your own money -- as much money as you want. I’ll give you and daddy some.”
Hmm, I said under my breath, sounds like the government.
We’ve enjoyed some chuckles at my child’s innocence and naivety. But sadly, his scheme isn’t all that different than the economic solutions being implemented by our leaders in Washington.
In the last year, the Federal Reserve has pumped more than $800 billion dollars of new money into our economy. Apparently, when people aren’t spending money because they don’t have any money, the U.S. government can just turn on the money machines and print some more.
It’s just one of the many puzzling solutions coming out our capitol almost daily.
• Health care plans created to protect the uninsured that will unravel the nation’s entire healthcare payment system.
• Cap-and-trade policies that will paralyze key industries like manufacturing and transportation at a time when they are already having heart failure.
• Huge government takeovers of banking, finance, auto and soon healthcare industries.
• And a $787 billion federal stimulus package that includes nearly $1 billion for North Dakota who enjoys a $1.2 billion budget surplus.
Ronald Reagan, speaking at a different moment in history, described today’s government well. “Government’s view of the economy can be summed up in a few short phrases,” he said. “If it moves, tax it. If it keeps moving, regulate it. And if it stops moving, subsidize it.”
As I watch my son count his coins, I’m searching for an answer to one basic question. How do all of these sweeping new policies and spending programs add up to a better America? Where is the common sense, the reality that says one plus one equals two? The change we can believe in?
A group of North Dakotans are asking these same questions in a more public way. For the second time in two months they are gathering to protest the expansion of government with a Rally on the Capitol Mall this Thursday at 6.
They’re planning speakers, music, food and vendors – a 4th of July celebration of individual liberty and freedom from overreaching government that our founding fathers envisioned.
I think I’ll join them, and bring my son. Who knows, maybe someone will be selling a money machine.
“Mom, I’m saving my money and you know what I’m gonna buy?” he said.
“A Bionicle?” I guessed.
“Nope,” he replied. “A money machine. You buy it for 40 dollars and then after that you can make your own money -- as much money as you want. I’ll give you and daddy some.”
Hmm, I said under my breath, sounds like the government.
We’ve enjoyed some chuckles at my child’s innocence and naivety. But sadly, his scheme isn’t all that different than the economic solutions being implemented by our leaders in Washington.
In the last year, the Federal Reserve has pumped more than $800 billion dollars of new money into our economy. Apparently, when people aren’t spending money because they don’t have any money, the U.S. government can just turn on the money machines and print some more.
It’s just one of the many puzzling solutions coming out our capitol almost daily.
• Health care plans created to protect the uninsured that will unravel the nation’s entire healthcare payment system.
• Cap-and-trade policies that will paralyze key industries like manufacturing and transportation at a time when they are already having heart failure.
• Huge government takeovers of banking, finance, auto and soon healthcare industries.
• And a $787 billion federal stimulus package that includes nearly $1 billion for North Dakota who enjoys a $1.2 billion budget surplus.
Ronald Reagan, speaking at a different moment in history, described today’s government well. “Government’s view of the economy can be summed up in a few short phrases,” he said. “If it moves, tax it. If it keeps moving, regulate it. And if it stops moving, subsidize it.”
As I watch my son count his coins, I’m searching for an answer to one basic question. How do all of these sweeping new policies and spending programs add up to a better America? Where is the common sense, the reality that says one plus one equals two? The change we can believe in?
A group of North Dakotans are asking these same questions in a more public way. For the second time in two months they are gathering to protest the expansion of government with a Rally on the Capitol Mall this Thursday at 6.
They’re planning speakers, music, food and vendors – a 4th of July celebration of individual liberty and freedom from overreaching government that our founding fathers envisioned.
I think I’ll join them, and bring my son. Who knows, maybe someone will be selling a money machine.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Why do dads matter?
When I was nine, my dad rescued a pile of bricks from a historic building that was being demolished in downtown Fargo. He dumped them on our driveway, and these bricks became a summer project for my family and all the neighborhood kids.
Our job was to chip the old mortar off the bricks. The pile was enormous and, for those who have never done it, whittling old mortar off bricks is about as much fun as removing stubborn wallpaper. With hours of free child labor, we eventually transformed the useless pile of rubble into the makings of a beautiful floor-to-ceiling fireplace.
This project is just one of my dad’s many creative teaching tools. Through it, I learned the value of helping others with crummy jobs, saw trash transformed into treasure, and gutted through hours of mundane work to experience the satisfaction of a stunning final product.
I have an amazing father, and so do my kids. Our bedroom is littered with love notes for my husband from our daughter. As soon as she could scrawl together words, she began tucking notes under his pillow that were signed, “scrit admrir.”
Every good dad brings his own unique gifts to his children. But universally, dads fill a number of roles that are vital to our kids and communities.
Dads are a child’s first supreme authority figure. They provide motivation to behave and perform. Growing up, I respected my mom and tried hard to treat her kindly. But my dad, I did not cross. He had very low tolerance for bad attitudes, shoddy work, or disrespect. We all wanted to please him and still do, even as adults.
My kids, like most others today, have a more informal relationship with their dad. But they know he is the leader of our family and rarely challenge his authority. They like him, want to be like him and treasure his approval.
Dads provide protection and security -- financial and physical. My dad, at nearly 80 years old, still works every day to secure a better future for everyone in my family. He has devoted his whole life to us, without complaint.
In any threat -- be it a bad blizzard, a bad recession or bad person -- we turn to our dads to pull us through safely. They can also be counted on for rowdy wrestling matches, piggy-backs to bed and occasional suspension of rules regarding bedtime, snacks, or destructive indoor games.
Finally, dads are a steady source of unconditional love. This isn’t unique to dads, of course, but as a whole, I think dads come very close to perfecting the art of loving without conditions.
They typically don’t need much recognition, encouragement or material gifts. But offer your dad respect and he will do or give you anything you need, including, if necessary, his life.
Dads are precious. If all fathers were dads to their children, our world would be a much better place. To appreciate what they do, look at the poverty, crime and hopelessness that dominate cultures where dads are largely absent.
Dads are like the bricks I cleaned as a kid. They provide a fortress of authority, protection and love that our children and communities need to grow and be healthy.
May God abundantly bless our dads.
Our job was to chip the old mortar off the bricks. The pile was enormous and, for those who have never done it, whittling old mortar off bricks is about as much fun as removing stubborn wallpaper. With hours of free child labor, we eventually transformed the useless pile of rubble into the makings of a beautiful floor-to-ceiling fireplace.
This project is just one of my dad’s many creative teaching tools. Through it, I learned the value of helping others with crummy jobs, saw trash transformed into treasure, and gutted through hours of mundane work to experience the satisfaction of a stunning final product.
I have an amazing father, and so do my kids. Our bedroom is littered with love notes for my husband from our daughter. As soon as she could scrawl together words, she began tucking notes under his pillow that were signed, “scrit admrir.”
Every good dad brings his own unique gifts to his children. But universally, dads fill a number of roles that are vital to our kids and communities.
Dads are a child’s first supreme authority figure. They provide motivation to behave and perform. Growing up, I respected my mom and tried hard to treat her kindly. But my dad, I did not cross. He had very low tolerance for bad attitudes, shoddy work, or disrespect. We all wanted to please him and still do, even as adults.
My kids, like most others today, have a more informal relationship with their dad. But they know he is the leader of our family and rarely challenge his authority. They like him, want to be like him and treasure his approval.
Dads provide protection and security -- financial and physical. My dad, at nearly 80 years old, still works every day to secure a better future for everyone in my family. He has devoted his whole life to us, without complaint.
In any threat -- be it a bad blizzard, a bad recession or bad person -- we turn to our dads to pull us through safely. They can also be counted on for rowdy wrestling matches, piggy-backs to bed and occasional suspension of rules regarding bedtime, snacks, or destructive indoor games.
Finally, dads are a steady source of unconditional love. This isn’t unique to dads, of course, but as a whole, I think dads come very close to perfecting the art of loving without conditions.
They typically don’t need much recognition, encouragement or material gifts. But offer your dad respect and he will do or give you anything you need, including, if necessary, his life.
Dads are precious. If all fathers were dads to their children, our world would be a much better place. To appreciate what they do, look at the poverty, crime and hopelessness that dominate cultures where dads are largely absent.
Dads are like the bricks I cleaned as a kid. They provide a fortress of authority, protection and love that our children and communities need to grow and be healthy.
May God abundantly bless our dads.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Unlimited Minutes and Other Technology Tricks
Last week, a colleague entered my office at about 2:30 with a request. He needed 160 copies of a document that didn’t exactly exist by noon the next day. I mentally scanned all the other items on my plate and realized this was now the largest pile of potatoes. So I jumped in, serving “drop-everything” requests to at least three others in the process.
One of them was a co-worker who I needed to confirm some facts. He called several of his sources, but none answered their cell phones. We impatiently searched the web for information. No luck.
He placed more calls and text messages. Skunked again. “Hmm,” he said in disbelief. “This is the first time I’ve ever called Lynn when he didn’t answer his cell.”
The first time? Ever? Despite my desire to complete the project, I secretly applauded Lynn for being temporarily unreachable. Clearly, he’s way too accessible.
Not so many years ago, this request would have been impossible. Producing and printing 160 color copies of a four-page document laden with facts and statistics would have taken weeks or even months. Today, not only is it possible, it’s fairly reasonable.
I wish I had been involved in the business world before the Internet, email, cell phones, fax machines or even Fed Ex. I want just one memory of a conversation that ended with, “OK, I’ll get it in the mail today,” and the recipient had to wait days or maybe weeks for the item to show up in a mailbox.
Today, most documents arrive electronically often bearing a red exclamation point. It’s the perfect symbol for our culture today. The faster technology delivers, the more we cram into our lives. We can fish and work, drive and text, all at the same. Unlimited minutes, always available like Lynn to confirm facts.
This pace has a lot of us frazzled. Monday, within one hour, I heard, “June is awful for us,” “Today has been just unbelievably crazy,” “I’m so tired of being busy,” and “What do I want? To rest.”
But as much as we complain about the busy state of our lives, how many of us are willing to change it? To ask, “What’s most important to me?” and to make the tough decisions that will turn those priorities into reality.
At a graduation this weekend, a speaker talked about the importance of standing aside in life for things that are important to us rather than following everyone else’s priorities or complacency.
I thought about this advice recently when a dear friend complained to me about being so busy that she doesn’t even have time to enjoy simple things with her kids, like taking them to the park.
“Why not?” I asked. She offered a litany of reasons about how the tasks consuming her time were contributing to an important professional goal. “What other goals do you have?” I asked. “Well, the kids of course, those are our most important goal,” she said.
We left the conversation at that. Four hours later, she called me back. “Guess where I am?” she said before even saying hello. “Having a picnic with the kids at the park!” And then she added triumphantly, “I’m leaving my cell phone in the car.”
One of them was a co-worker who I needed to confirm some facts. He called several of his sources, but none answered their cell phones. We impatiently searched the web for information. No luck.
He placed more calls and text messages. Skunked again. “Hmm,” he said in disbelief. “This is the first time I’ve ever called Lynn when he didn’t answer his cell.”
The first time? Ever? Despite my desire to complete the project, I secretly applauded Lynn for being temporarily unreachable. Clearly, he’s way too accessible.
Not so many years ago, this request would have been impossible. Producing and printing 160 color copies of a four-page document laden with facts and statistics would have taken weeks or even months. Today, not only is it possible, it’s fairly reasonable.
I wish I had been involved in the business world before the Internet, email, cell phones, fax machines or even Fed Ex. I want just one memory of a conversation that ended with, “OK, I’ll get it in the mail today,” and the recipient had to wait days or maybe weeks for the item to show up in a mailbox.
Today, most documents arrive electronically often bearing a red exclamation point. It’s the perfect symbol for our culture today. The faster technology delivers, the more we cram into our lives. We can fish and work, drive and text, all at the same. Unlimited minutes, always available like Lynn to confirm facts.
This pace has a lot of us frazzled. Monday, within one hour, I heard, “June is awful for us,” “Today has been just unbelievably crazy,” “I’m so tired of being busy,” and “What do I want? To rest.”
But as much as we complain about the busy state of our lives, how many of us are willing to change it? To ask, “What’s most important to me?” and to make the tough decisions that will turn those priorities into reality.
At a graduation this weekend, a speaker talked about the importance of standing aside in life for things that are important to us rather than following everyone else’s priorities or complacency.
I thought about this advice recently when a dear friend complained to me about being so busy that she doesn’t even have time to enjoy simple things with her kids, like taking them to the park.
“Why not?” I asked. She offered a litany of reasons about how the tasks consuming her time were contributing to an important professional goal. “What other goals do you have?” I asked. “Well, the kids of course, those are our most important goal,” she said.
We left the conversation at that. Four hours later, she called me back. “Guess where I am?” she said before even saying hello. “Having a picnic with the kids at the park!” And then she added triumphantly, “I’m leaving my cell phone in the car.”
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The Value of Wave Breakers
I almost drowned last month …OK, not really, but I swallowed enough water during a recent swim that I entertained the possibility I might drown.
I’m not a great swimmer, but it’s been my exercise of choice for nearly 10 years. The waves in the pool on this recent evening were terrible. I bobbed and weaved all over my lane, gulping water and getting dizzy and disoriented.
In the middle of my second lap I felt myself starting to panic. After just three lengths, I stopped at the wall, exhausted. What on earth was going on?
I felt like I was swimming in the ocean. As I looked around the pool, I counted only six people. Two teenage boys were attempting to swim the butterfly in the lanes right next to me. They weren’t very good at it, or very smooth.
Assuming they were the source of the waves, I stared at them a couple times hoping they would move over, give up or switch to an easier stroke. In true teenage form, they completely ignored me. Clearly, they couldn’t see the intensity of the glares behind my swim goggles.
I continued on. After a few more laps I was clinging to the edge again, trying to recover. I saw a guy four lanes over doing the same thing. “Why is it so wavy in here?” I yelled over at him.
“No lane ropes,” he said. I’m sure he felt like saying, “Duh, lady – didn’t you notice that?”
I had noticed, of course, but never imagined they were so important. I thought the ropes just organized the swimmers, and never realized they organized the waves too.
I wanted to quit and go home, but I had worked too hard to arrange this time at the pool and really wanted a swim. So, I told myself to stop being such a wimp and pushed away from the wall.
For the rest of that swim, when I wasn’t worrying about being swamped by a wave or passing out from dizziness, I thought about how valuable lane ropes are in the pool and in life.
Everyone needs the protection of lane ropes -- family, friends, mentors -- people who stand near, help keep us on course, break the waves, and strengthen us to stay afloat among the challenges that inevitably penetrate their barrier.
I’ve been blessed with a steady line of lane ropes, and hate to imagine how I would be today if I had lived fully exposed without the strong presence and love from family and friends who have been at my side breaking the waves.
A lot of people aren’t nearly as fortunate. Many, even in our own community, could use some extra wave breakers. A 30-minute swim was a good reminder to jump in the water more often for my neighbors to make their swimming a little bit smoother. Some money, a ride, a helping hand, even just a smile.
You never know when you might save someone from drowning.
I’m not a great swimmer, but it’s been my exercise of choice for nearly 10 years. The waves in the pool on this recent evening were terrible. I bobbed and weaved all over my lane, gulping water and getting dizzy and disoriented.
In the middle of my second lap I felt myself starting to panic. After just three lengths, I stopped at the wall, exhausted. What on earth was going on?
I felt like I was swimming in the ocean. As I looked around the pool, I counted only six people. Two teenage boys were attempting to swim the butterfly in the lanes right next to me. They weren’t very good at it, or very smooth.
Assuming they were the source of the waves, I stared at them a couple times hoping they would move over, give up or switch to an easier stroke. In true teenage form, they completely ignored me. Clearly, they couldn’t see the intensity of the glares behind my swim goggles.
I continued on. After a few more laps I was clinging to the edge again, trying to recover. I saw a guy four lanes over doing the same thing. “Why is it so wavy in here?” I yelled over at him.
“No lane ropes,” he said. I’m sure he felt like saying, “Duh, lady – didn’t you notice that?”
I had noticed, of course, but never imagined they were so important. I thought the ropes just organized the swimmers, and never realized they organized the waves too.
I wanted to quit and go home, but I had worked too hard to arrange this time at the pool and really wanted a swim. So, I told myself to stop being such a wimp and pushed away from the wall.
For the rest of that swim, when I wasn’t worrying about being swamped by a wave or passing out from dizziness, I thought about how valuable lane ropes are in the pool and in life.
Everyone needs the protection of lane ropes -- family, friends, mentors -- people who stand near, help keep us on course, break the waves, and strengthen us to stay afloat among the challenges that inevitably penetrate their barrier.
I’ve been blessed with a steady line of lane ropes, and hate to imagine how I would be today if I had lived fully exposed without the strong presence and love from family and friends who have been at my side breaking the waves.
A lot of people aren’t nearly as fortunate. Many, even in our own community, could use some extra wave breakers. A 30-minute swim was a good reminder to jump in the water more often for my neighbors to make their swimming a little bit smoother. Some money, a ride, a helping hand, even just a smile.
You never know when you might save someone from drowning.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Spring: Time to shed some weight
For the last two weeks I’ve been apologizing to everyone who enters my house. Just inside the front door, I have transformed our dusty and useless dining room into a staging area for my latest project.
Stacked chest high are boxes of maternity clothes, piles of toys, collections of glassware, half used bottles of hair tonics and anything else that has no overriding functional or emotional purpose in our lives.
I started 2009 seeking to be lean. Now, with the green grass of spring I’m trying again to lighten the load. I recently watched my neighbor downsize her family of six into a smaller house. Now I want to do almost the same thing: downsize the stuff, keep the house.
My friend Sandy calls this a pretend move. I love this idea.
The process of packing, hauling, unpacking and relocating every single item you possess quickly clarifies the wisdom of saving a half-used bottle of four-year-old sunscreen or Grandma Olga’s nightgowns accepted while grieving after her funeral.
To provide a deadline for this project, I volunteered to host a multi-family rummage sale. This is actually more motivating than a closing date with a banker – rummage salers case your joint the night before a sale and begin collecting their purchases at the slightest sign of daylight.
My kids are absorbed in the project too. On the sales block are some precious toys they know will fetch a good price. The two oldest are laying claim to baby things they are convinced were theirs. Our youngest, on the other hand, is suddenly attached to toys he lasted touched when he was toothless.
My daughter even asked this weekend if she could sell a large chunk of bark she found. “Sure,” I said mindlessly. “How much do you think someone will pay for it mom? Three dollars?”
Money is certainly their motivation, but mine is altogether different.
My oldest sister gave me the book “Gift from the Sea” for my 40th birthday. First written and published in 1955 by Ann Morrow Lindbergh (the wife of Charles Lindbergh), “Gift from the Sea” offers Lindbergh’s thoughts on balancing life, work and relationships.
The mother of five lived in a different era, yet her struggle to find balance in life parallels that of women today. The book is the product of Lindbergh’s hiatus by the sea away from her family.
At the sea, she discovered and began to shed what was unnecessary to her. Clothes first – she needed only a few light pieces. This spread into the shedding of vanity. She simplified her shelter, needing no heat, no telephone, very little furniture or decorations. This spread into the shedding of pride and material possessions.
She also shed hypocrisy in relationships and her mask of insincerity. She didn’t need these when she was with her best, most trustworthy friends.
In the end her challenge was not how much, but how little she could get along with.
I remember standing in my friend’s garage before she moved. One-third of it was full of items she planned to shed. Another third were things for indefinite storage. And the final pile, probably the smallest, contained their necessities for daily living.
It’s amazing what we collect, even more amazing why. Standing in my dining room the stuff surrounding me feels heavy and rather suffocating. I’m excited to shed some of it and to be more disciplined in the future to ask, as Lindbergh did, before accumulating more things to manage, “Is it necessary?”
Stacked chest high are boxes of maternity clothes, piles of toys, collections of glassware, half used bottles of hair tonics and anything else that has no overriding functional or emotional purpose in our lives.
I started 2009 seeking to be lean. Now, with the green grass of spring I’m trying again to lighten the load. I recently watched my neighbor downsize her family of six into a smaller house. Now I want to do almost the same thing: downsize the stuff, keep the house.
My friend Sandy calls this a pretend move. I love this idea.
The process of packing, hauling, unpacking and relocating every single item you possess quickly clarifies the wisdom of saving a half-used bottle of four-year-old sunscreen or Grandma Olga’s nightgowns accepted while grieving after her funeral.
To provide a deadline for this project, I volunteered to host a multi-family rummage sale. This is actually more motivating than a closing date with a banker – rummage salers case your joint the night before a sale and begin collecting their purchases at the slightest sign of daylight.
My kids are absorbed in the project too. On the sales block are some precious toys they know will fetch a good price. The two oldest are laying claim to baby things they are convinced were theirs. Our youngest, on the other hand, is suddenly attached to toys he lasted touched when he was toothless.
My daughter even asked this weekend if she could sell a large chunk of bark she found. “Sure,” I said mindlessly. “How much do you think someone will pay for it mom? Three dollars?”
Money is certainly their motivation, but mine is altogether different.
My oldest sister gave me the book “Gift from the Sea” for my 40th birthday. First written and published in 1955 by Ann Morrow Lindbergh (the wife of Charles Lindbergh), “Gift from the Sea” offers Lindbergh’s thoughts on balancing life, work and relationships.
The mother of five lived in a different era, yet her struggle to find balance in life parallels that of women today. The book is the product of Lindbergh’s hiatus by the sea away from her family.
At the sea, she discovered and began to shed what was unnecessary to her. Clothes first – she needed only a few light pieces. This spread into the shedding of vanity. She simplified her shelter, needing no heat, no telephone, very little furniture or decorations. This spread into the shedding of pride and material possessions.
She also shed hypocrisy in relationships and her mask of insincerity. She didn’t need these when she was with her best, most trustworthy friends.
In the end her challenge was not how much, but how little she could get along with.
I remember standing in my friend’s garage before she moved. One-third of it was full of items she planned to shed. Another third were things for indefinite storage. And the final pile, probably the smallest, contained their necessities for daily living.
It’s amazing what we collect, even more amazing why. Standing in my dining room the stuff surrounding me feels heavy and rather suffocating. I’m excited to shed some of it and to be more disciplined in the future to ask, as Lindbergh did, before accumulating more things to manage, “Is it necessary?”
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