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Bound for Independence-Land or “The Plight of Fight or Flight”

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  OK mamas, gather round in a circle and huddle in close.

That’s right- link arms and let’s put our heads together.

What do want?

OUR KIDS TO NEED US!!

How do we want it?

FOR ALL OUR KIDS TO RUN TO US AND HUG US AND ASK US FOR HELP!!!!

Is that too much to ask? No. I do not think it is.

But it doesn’t always work that way. Not with my kids.

Little Joshy was 3.5. My oldest precious baby was not the baby anymore. His brother was 1.5 and I had a 3rd baby on the way. To say I was tired was an understatement. Mommy needed that oldest baby to go to preschool so she wouldn’t lose her mind. Ain’t no shame in my game.

So the first day came and little Joshy had his backpack on with his lunchbox and his little school uniform. I was prepping myself for a hard goodbye. I had Sammy on one hip and I reached out with my other hand for Josh.

Josh shrugged it off and marched right in the door. I bent down to say the affirmations with him that I rehearsed and reached to give him a hug. That little jerk just took off with a quick wave and ran right into his classroom. I stood there, looking like I just got jilted on a first date. Alrighty then. I gathered up Sammy and he and I went back home.

I thought AT LEAST when I return, I’ll have a little boy who is crying and dying to see his mom. Instead I was met with all smiles and another wave. A WAVE and not A HUG. He did throw me a bone in the car and chat me up about his day. Thanks kid. Thanks.

And now that Josh has been with us on the earth almost eight years, this is par for the course. I know he craves the affection, but doesn’t often initiate it out of embarrassment. He’s far too proud.

Turns out, all of my kids are like this to differing degrees. Evidently, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree of either mom or dad.

“But hang on, Lin; wouldn’t kids who strike out on their own be running from something?”

On the contrary. Kids who exhibit *measured* independence (not forced or extreme) know where their home base is. They’ve been given an abundant amount of emotional and physical connection. They feel comfortable trying new things knowing that if and when they fail, they can lick their wounds in a safe spot with safe people.

Failure is a gift. It is the perfect place to be for learning. But it’s hard to watch our kids fail.

It’s a gift we don’t really love to give. I wince when I see my kids fall and my gut instinct is to prevent that pain. But I’d rather wince watching them fail now in the relative safety of our home then have them feel the gut-punch of failure at something later on in life in lessons they should have learned much earlier.

My husband and I are in the business of putting ourselves out of a job. I know, I know… parenting is for life, but I’m talking about downloading the life-skills necessary to be high-functioning members of society when each of them heads out the door to college or whatever path they’ve chosen outside of our family home. The day is coming. And it’s coming fast.

When faced with a level-up situation, kids do one of two things:

  1. Fight: “Head down, I’ll meet the challenge, deep breath, here I go.”
  2. Flight: “NO WAY MOM I AIN’T DOIN IT!!!”

The number two is where so many of us go wonky.

“Oh man, here it comes, the fit. I’m so tired, my head hurts. I don’t want to deal with this. OK. Whatever. Here ya go kid. Just let me have some peace.”

Peace now equals a war later.

Stand and fight the small battle now and it’s less likely there will be a war later.

Number two is natural and normal. We want to move them from number two to number one, but they are, after all, tiny humans. And it is human to buckle under the weight of decision. Adults do it all the time, we’ve just learned to hide the meltdowns in our heads and use excuses to gloss over our inability to own responsibilities.

So how do we do it? How do we move them from the 2 to the 1? I wish we could just box them up, put a stamp on it and ship them off to Indepencence-land on an Amazon truck. Free shipping on Prime.

But it doesn’t work that way. Here’s a better plan:

  • Set appropriate expectations– “I expect you to hang your coat up when you come into the house after school.”
  • Speak life over them- “I know you can do this! I’m cheering for you! God made you to do hard things.”
  • Come alongside and model servant leadership- “Here, I’ll hang my coat up at the same time. Let’s do this together.”
  • When they fail, point them back in the right direction– “We all forget, I forget sometimes. Keep at it and go hang up your coat.”

Keep pointing your child back to the previous points not necessarily in that order. You might get tons of pushback. You might get a giant fit. Be persistent in your timeline and measured in your approach.

Let me pause by saying: keep your thermometer handy at all times. Dave and I are constantly taking the temperature of the household. Each of our children are wildly different and we have different expectations for each one based on who they are and where they are in their development. Then you throw in the temperature. Are they tired, sick, hungry? Have they had a bad day at school? Has daily conflict worn down the relationship?

We’re spreading grace on thick like creamy peanut butter over here. If one of my kids had a terrible day at school and drops their coat on the floor (and it isn’t a pattern), I *may* just quietly pick it up and call it a day. We all need someone to carry our burdens for us when we’re weak.

It’s spring time here in Arizona. All of us long-time desert dwellers are simultaneously enjoying the orange blossoms and gorgeous weather and also prepping ourselves for the summer inferno. The cool is behind us and we’re only getting warmer from here.

The birds are bustling with their nests. This morning, after I dropped the kids off at school, I came back home and Dave and I stood in our driveway basking in the glorious day. We looked over on the east side of the driveway and saw two bird families hard at work building nests in the cactus. I laughed because I saw a super long string that used to be in our garage now wrapped around the cactus. One of the parents tried unsuccessfully to add that to the collection.

I feel you parents… I feel you. In a few weeks, those little eggs are going to pop open and our front yard will tell the tale. Those little baby birds are SO LOUD. I bet your heads hurt at the end of the day. You bird parents will then do something in the next couple of weeks that looks to the rest of the world like cruelty. You will kick those baby birds out of the nest. Some will just jump out on their own volition (because they’re crazy little ‘hold-my-beer’ daredevils) or they’ll have to get kicked out because you know that the best teacher for this situation is experience.

I’ve seen babies get kicked out of the nest. I hurt just watching it. I see you and I’m praying for you little bird family. May all your chickadees survive the crash and may you dry their tears and smooth their feathers. May you cheer for them and be in their corner and help them fetch string for their own nests some day.

All of creation is in this together and the MOST gracious and loving Father is cheering for all His little chickadees.

#raisingindependentkids #parentsunite #creativewritersofinstagram #workingmyselfoutofajob #independentkids #servantleadership #comealongside #latenightwriting

hands_on_bible

Thank You For Your Service

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Please Welcome Guest Contributor (and my husband) David Lin

 
“Thank you for your service. God bless.”
 
These were the words that greeted me as I walked towards the hospital main entrance when I came to work early this morning. A lone man, standing outside in a sea of empty parking spaces, called out those words to me. He was far enough for social distancing purposes, but he said those words loud enough for me to hear. “Who me?” I thought in my head, as I looked around and realized that I was the only other person in said parking lot. And my scrub uniform gave me away.
 
“Thank you sir,” I replied, not thinking that this day was any different than all the others.
 
Then it hit me all at once, the reality of this battle – no, rather this war – that humanity is fighting. Against this coronavirus. Against fear. Against uncertainty.
 
Crises like these bring out the best in people, but it also inevitably brings out the worst as well. But I have been humbled to work alongside those who exemplify the former. The nurses. The respiratory techs. The EMT’s and first responders. The doctors. Every time I see one of them don an N95 mask, I fear for their safety. I fear for our safety. And the safety of our patients.
 
And then I realized that what we needed more than any cure, more than any vaccine, was prayer.
 
Prayer for those afflicted and for their recovery.
Prayer for those lost and their loved ones.
Prayer for the nurses, the doctors, and all those in the “front lines” all over the world who are fighting against an invisible enemy.
Prayer for our leaders, that they would make wise decisions.
Prayer for provision of all the tools needed (N95 masks, ventilators, etc.) to fight this war.
And most of all, prayer for our hearts to turn towards God in this time of need, to see us through this storm.
 
Now looking back, I realized that I did not truly understand the importance of that chance encounter this morning. But to the man standing outside the hospital entrance this morning at 7:30 AM, I want to say “thank you, God bless you too.”
 
You made my day.
village

No Shame in the Village

When we think of a “village,” here in America, it conjures up a vast array of far away places. Maybe a tiny town in Europe. Maybe in Africa. Maybe in China. Where all roads are dirt and all neighbors live within a few steps of each other in tiny, humble houses. They borrow dinner ingredients from each other and spend time talking about life and watching each others’ kids play.

The American equivalent is the small town. There is a small town in south central Louisiana called “Evergreen.” My mother grew up there. My grandparents lived on the same small farmstead there for fifty plus years. Everyone knew everyone. Sometimes that was good and sometimes that was bad. For better or worse, there was accountability. My grandfather was the high school principal at the small high school in the neighboring town  (Evergreen was too small for it’s own school).

We would visit as often as we could and I knew all of Granny’s neighbors by name. Rosadee, Emmadee…. they all ended with “dee” it seemed. There would always be people over for Sunday lunch. Half the time I didn’t know who they were, but my grandparents did and that meant they were good people.

That small town was a village. People knew each other personally and I’m sure Granny trusted quite a few of them to watch out for her six kids and let her know if any of them were doing anything questionable.

On the other hand, I live in suburbia. I have my whole life in some form or other. I guess in Arizona we live in mud huts. Stucco is practically a mud hut. Miles and miles of stucco neighborhoods that wind together to make one big, sprawling Phoenix Metropolis of about five million people. That’s a lot of people. And they are not all in our village.

We have to be more intentional about creating a “village,” but I am convinced that to raise successful adults, we desperately need that village. They are our inner circle. They are the ones whose opinion we entertain. They are the ones who we will totally trust to call our kids out on things that we would address. We trust them to tell us the truth. And our kids will listen to them because we’ve shown they are people worthy of trust, both ours and our kids’.

All of my village knows me and my intentions. The preschool teacher gently helps TJ turn his shoes around. Josh’s baseball coaches teach him the mechanics of baseball, perseverance, excellence, hard work. The boys’ grandparents teach them other things in ways I can’t SIMPLY BECAUSE I AM THE PARENT.

They are going to reject some of the things we try to actively teach them. They will. I can keep knocking my head against the wall and take the rejection personally or recognize the things I can strategically allow others to teach. They never stop learning from my husband and I: our character, our life goals, our relationship… our hugs, kisses and words of encouragement.

As you now probably know, I give my kids quite a bit of rope in their everyday life experiences. That’s partly just who I am, but also, I’m tired. And I can’t possibly see and know everything those kids are doing every second of every day. They’ve been known to run around without shoes on. TJ routinely wears his clothes backward and his shoes on the wrong feet. I ask him if he wants to correct it, but he says “no” and that’s a battle I don’t want to fight.

Because of that, I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of the “Shamers.” You know who I’m talking about. The people who don’t know us, but who think it is their business to insert themselves into our parenting and our kids’ lives at any given moment. Usually when we’re the most tired and the most stressed, of course.

It has gotten easier to address the more children we’ve had. I’m practically the captain of an army now. “Do not mess with me or I will send in the infantry.” I know who I am. I am the leader of this unit. I come alongside my children to model humble leadership. I motivate, encourage, correct and discipline on a minute-by-minute basis times four. I know my mission: raise kids for true greatness. Adults who know their worth, know they are loved by an Almighty God and know their security is not in money or this world, but in transformative grace of Christ Jesus.

So how do I deal with people whose intent it is to shame me out in public? It’s important that my kids see that I don’t entertain it. I don’t need to blow up or shame in return. That isn’t how God wants us to respond. Instead, truth and grace.

Truth and grace.

“Hey, you should go grab your baby! Your baby is going to get hurt! Why are you letting your baby crawl so far away from you??”

I get that one a lot.

“Thank you. I see my baby. My baby is safe.”

Short, simple and hopefully they back down. If not, time to step it up:

“Hey, our babysitting list has a lot of open spots. You look eager to raise them for a day. When can I pencil you in?”

And finally, if they continue to be aggressive:

“You may have good intentions, but I will not allow you to speak fear into my life or my kids’ lives. You are not a part of my village. Have a great day.”

Spending time and energy defending my actions to someone I don’t know gives them power and reveals my need to prove myself. Which I don’t need to do if 1) I know who I am and 2) I know who my village is.

Let me be clear: a “Shamer” is different than someone you don’t know who legitimately tries to help. I have had moms at the playground grab my child before they ran into the path of a swing, or tell me another is about to step off a platform. Absolutely legitimate. They are not stirring up fear or shame in a public manner, just helping another mom out. I high-five those people and thank them for their help.

On the other end of Shamers, there are angels. Who have been there and showed up when I needed it. Who didn’t expect anything in return. Who used their experience to help a sister out.

Back where there were two tiny Lins:  I was loading my two boys in the car from the grocery store. I strapped in the little one and a lady tapped me on the shoulder with her eyes wide. “I just caught your shopping cart… it was attempting to roll away with your first boy.” I expected the furrowed brow.- the judgement I was just going to have to blow off.

Instead, her look softened and she smiled. “I’m a mom and a nanny. It’s the hardest job in the world. Can I give you a quick tip?” She had my attention. “Take the youngest one, put him in his seat unbuckled and shut the door. You can buckle him later. Then turn back quickly to the other one.”

That’s all she said. And it was so simple. And as a mom of two little ones, I should have figured that out already- I felt a flush start creeping up my cheeks. But I told my insecurities to be quiet and accept this kind lady’s non-judgemental help.

I smiled warmly. “Thank you. That actually is a great tip and I’m going to try that.” “You are doing a great job,” she said. And with that, we got in our cars to go about our day. Thank you dear lady for offering help to a very tired and scattered mother. For looking out for the safety of my little one. For helping me not repeat a mistake. For being sensitive and measured with your words. May I be humble enough to pass on the kindness and help in the future.

We only had a brief exchange and likely we’ll never see each other again, but I might as well have swept my floors, put a snack on the table and waved on the front porch, because that lady just became a part of my village.

#noshamehere #noshameinmygame #momshaming #myvillage #ittakesavillagetoraiseachild #momshelpingmoms

baseball_jersey

Building Confidence One Uniform at a Time

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I am convinced that sports uniforms suddenly jump through the Darwin hoops and sprout legs, crawl through the jungles of unfolded laundry, hide in the dank recesses underneath mattresses and marinate in the swamp bottoms of athletic bags. At least, this is the story that my oldest gives me whenever we start getting ready for a game or practice.

He’s been on this earth 7.5 years and by now, we know that he *actually* believes he’s looked everywhere. When clearly he hasn’t. Because when you legitimately look *everywhere*… you will find what you’re looking for.

To build a foundation for this story, I first must give you a snapshot of Josh:

He is highly sensitive and feels deeply. He cares what others think and he tries his very best at everything. His expectations of himself are extremely high, which is why he is crushed when he comes up against something that he struggles with. He tends to keep things inside and only mentions something when he’s held it close for far too long and it eats him up inside.

Out of all the children, so far, I feel the least capable of being his parent. When I look at Josh, I am confronted by the same weaknesses I’ve struggled with my whole life. I’ve only had mild success in “fixing” myself, per se. It is only the transformative grace of God that those demons haven’t destroyed me. Instead, I can live in the reality of being loved and accepted as a whole person by an infinitely Loving God– warts and all.

I get it. I find myself wanting to be the hardest on him… for the same reasons I’m hard on myself. So with Josh, it takes the *most* restraint and the *most* effort of stepping outside myself in the parenting journey. Doing the delicate dance of guiding him through this life with one hand and constantly taking the temperature of our relationship with the other hand.

Back to the problem… at hand. We need that uniform, Josh- your game is in a few hours. What? No, you can’t just go to the game naked. I don’t know where your belt is… I have three more kids and eleventy billion uniforms. You can’t find it? It’s the last place you left it… no…. no wait…. you don’t have time to mope and be sad. That won’t help you find the uniform.

Sometimes I remember to prompt them to lay their uniform out at night, but we all know my brain has usually ended up in the trash can by 8:30.

So this is how Josh ended up lying on the couch, melted in a puddle of dejection and sadness and no uniform. I wanted to tear my hair. I wanted to yell in frustration, “YOU’RE OLD ENOUGH TO FIND YOUR OWN STUFF!!!!” But just as God quietly comes to my side and whispers love and peace, I took a deep breath. And I stepped aside for a few minutes to ask for grace, mercy and humility. You know. The things I’m terrible at.

I walked up to Josh and patted his back and looked him in the eye. “Josh, I know you aren’t great at finding things. I see you. You’re good at a million other things. And it’s ok. However, it’s not ok to throw up your hands and say, ‘well, I’m just terrible at that, so I’m going to give up.’ It’s still your responsibility to keep track of your things, but it may be a little harder for you.”

“You know, I’m bad at some things. Like, really bad. And you know it. What kinds of things have you seen that mommy’s really bad at?”

Josh looked me level in the eye and said, “Cleaning. Mom, you are not good at cleaning.”

“Well, Josh… you are right. I really can’t stand it. I’d much rather write stuff or create stuff or play the piano or play with you guys… a million other things. Your dad is far better at the cleaning game. Let me ask you a question, just because I’m not good at cleaning, does that mean I can just stop doing it?”

“No.”

“That’s right. It’s still my job to keep at it and keep after it even though I’m slower and not as efficient as your dad. Why? Because it’s my responsibility. I help dad care for you guys and care for this house. But it’s not as easy for me, so I put in a system to help me get things at least ‘livable’ in the house… not perfect, but livable.”

Then we talked about what a system was and how it could help us achieve our goals.

So we went from room to room together and turned each room upside down and then checked that room off of our list. After we had exhausted all spaces I looked at Josh.

“There is only one place left to look.”

He looked at me and nodded.

We said it together: “The dryer.”

The last stronghold of the clothing fortress. We both opened the dryer and half expected a wild animal to jump out at us. We held our breath knowing there just wasn’t any other option. We dug for a few seconds and emerged victorious with pants and a shirt.

We could never find the belt, but I let that go. His pants might fall down but at least he wouldn’t show up in his birthday suit.

Confidence. We can’t build it by fighting their battles. Doing so steals the confidence because we are taking an opportunity they have to wrestle with the problem. It is in the struggle that we either decide to fight or run. What we can do is walk through it with them. To say, “I see you and I see your weaknesses. I love you. I’m with you in this fight. You are safe in this space as we walk together and learn how to handle our responsibilities.” Together… because parents struggle too.

Lately, Josh has been having to learn a lot of tough lessons at school and at home. And we’ve had to call him out quite a bit. He’ll hold on to it and brood about it, taking it as a personal failure each time. I recognize that it’s his personality and journey he struggles with. But on the extra hard days, I whisper to him “Hey, stay down here awhile after we put your brothers to bed.”

He and I will snuggle up on the couch and watch a movie or show, just the two of us. We laugh and talk a little… not erasing the things of the day, but putting some ointment on the relationship that life had burned that day.

We decided to watch “Beat Bobby Flay,” that night. He and I are Food Network junkies and we yell at the television and guess who will win. I wanted a snack so of course, I asked, “Hey Josh, you want a snack?”

“Sure mom.”

We are watching “The Food Network,” after all. I went upstairs to make us some hot chocolate but when I got up there, I realized I couldn’t see the TV. I must have put my glasses somewhere.

“Josh… have you seen my glasses? I cannot for the life of me remember where I put them.”

He pointed above the TV. “Right there mom.”

I smiled. My eldest and I. We are good at finding each others’ stuff.

 

#charactermatters #buildingcharacter #authorsofinstagram📚  #raisingboys #raisingboystomen

grace

The Insanity of Grace

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Teaching our boys about Jesus and sharing our experience is the number one greatest privilege of mine and Dave’s lives. We have just read through the story of David… the murderer who was also “The Man After God’s Own Heart.” We’re learning about repentance… “Making a U-turn” from sin and what it means to reconcile… “agree with” God. God never leaves us. He doesn’t leave us as we make our wrong choices a million times a day. When we turn and repent, He is standing right there with open arms. I see the light dancing in Josh and Sammy’s eyes as they start to put the pieces together about the greatest (true) story every told. About the insanity of grace. Hope in the middle of pain. That Hope, the assurance of being in the very presence of God yesterday, today and tomorrow and whatever that might bring, leads our family as we walk forward through a daily altered life. We don’t know quite what the next day (hour and minute) will look like, but what we do know is He is for us. And loves us every step of the way.

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