“Kids are too soft these days.”
​
I rolled my eyes and tuned out the parent next to me at the youth baseball game when he started on a tirade about “today’s kids.”

The truth is, I’m tired of hearing people say that we are raising a generation of soft kids.
When did we all agree that we wanted to raise tough kids anyways?

Why should our goal be to raise kids who slough off danger like it’s no big deal?
Why should our goal be to raise kids who tolerate being bullied by their parents?
Why should our goal be to raise kids who don’t know how to express any feelings other than anger?

I know the answer that parents like the one next me will give.

“We can’t raise soft kids because life isn’t fair.”
“People are going to be mean to our children when they are adults.”
“Kids need to develop thick skin to make it in this cruel world.”
I just don’t buy it.

What if we all tried to raise soft kids?


Kids who aren’t afraid to express their feelings and emotions and will likely be better partners and parents for it.
Kids who notice other people hurting in the world and want to help create change, rather than place blame.
Kids who let their heart, rather than their pride or arrogance, guide them in life.

If having soft kids means having kids who know the power behind their words and choose kindness over hate, then let me have soft kids.

If raising soft kids means that they don’t have to listen to me shouting criticisms at them in front of their teammates, coaches, and opponents, then I hope they turn out soft.


If raising soft kids means that I have kids who don’t tolerate racism, prejudice, and hate, then I hope I raise soft kids.


Maybe all these soft kids can help make the world a better place. Isn’t that a better option than throwing our hands up and conceding that the world sucks?


Maybe I’m just too soft myself but I have hope that we can do better.

We have to do better.

Somewhere a long time ago, I began creating color coded school schedules for my children each year.

The truth is, they probably don't need them. They probably don't even look at them after the first day.

I like to say that creating these schedules helps to set my children up for success. But, in reality, I need these schedules more than they do. I love the summer months and extra time with my children but summer’s lack of a schedule leaves me feeling unhinged, off-balance, and scattered.

Comfort is what we crave when we are stressed, anxious, and overwhelmed and for me, comfort has always been found in the beginning of a brand new school year. The structure makes me feel relaxed and in control. The consistency makes me feel calm. The order makes me feel balanced. Memories of 9 solid months every year of being seen, heard, and valued makes me feel safe.

So, as a new school year begins to loom on the horizon, I feel a growing sense of calm. I lean into the task of spreading out backpacks and school supplies on my dining room table. I beam as I type all the important school dates into our shared calendar. I let out a deep sigh of relief as I begin to settle back into a new school year. 

I inhale comfort and exhale chaos.

School is back.

And these pretty color coded schedules with matching color notebooks and folders are a reminder that everything will be ok.

The other day someone asked me if I had ever tried paddle boarding.
 
I laughed to myself as I pictured what it would be like to try to stand my uncoordinated, clumsy self upright on a board while floating on the ocean with only my balance and a paddle to prevent me from being tossed into the water by a large wave.
 
No, I have never tried paddle boarding. Never.
 
But, as I woke the next morning and quickly ran through the ever growing to-do list in my mind, I started to wonder if maybe I have been paddle boarding but just didn't realize it.
 
Perhaps the act of trying to balance parenting, wifeing (let's pretend it's a real word), friending (another real word), working, home owning and all the other responsibilities that come with adulting, is a bit like balancing on a paddle board.
 
Some days I can barely even stand up on my paddle board, no matter how calm or still the water is that day and no matter how strong my paddle is at the time.
 
On those days, days when my 7 year old throws himself to the floor in a full-fledged tantrum because it is time to put his shoes on or days when I get into the car already late for work and realize that my low-tire pressure light is on, all I can do is float and let the waves and ocean guide me. 
 
Some days I find the strength to stand with ease and I am suddenly an expert paddle boarder. 
 
On those days I glide over the ocean's surface, making dinner, folding laundry, paying bills and shuttling my children to and from events on time like a pro. This paddle boarding thing sure feels like second nature on those days.
 
Some days I even find myself sitting comfortably on the board, my legs dangling playfully over the edge without a care. 
 
On those days my children are happy and polite, my work responsibilities are up to date, my house is clean and my financial stress is low. These are the days when I wish I could freeze time and soak up all the laughter, love, light and pure joy I see around me.
 
But then, inevitably, the water changes, as it always does, without warning. Some days there is just too much weight on my shoulders. Flat tires. Sick children. Work emergencies. Sick pets. Health concerns. Broken washing machines. Suddenly I am seasick and just want to angrily cast aside my stupid paddle and board and give up. It's too much. It's too hard. I'm not built for paddle boarding.
 
The negative self talk gets louder. What was I thinking? Why is everyone else out there balancing so beautifully on their boards today? What is wrong with me?
 
On those days, all I can do is plunk myself down on my board, legs criss-crossed-applesauce and sit there, holding on to the board for dear life, hoping that tomorrow will be a better day. 
 
But no matter what kind of day I’m having, the truth is that I’m not the only one out here paddle boarding my way through adulthood. 
 
When I pick my eyes up and really look around me, I can see that I am surrounded by a sea of other paddle boarders. While some may be struggling, some may be making it look effortless, and some may be navigating treacherous waters, all of us can benefit from remembering that we are not completely alone. 
 
Maybe today is a good day to reach out to some of your fellow paddle boarders - because it turns out there are a lot of us out here in the ocean of adulthood - just trying our best to balance and not fall off our boards.

​

Yesterday I got to relearn slopes and angles so I could effectively support my 9th grader in geometry. Then I got to develop a tracking system that would work for my 6th grader to help him better manage the sometimes too subtle details of his class assignments. Later I got to help with a story map and reviewing point of view vs. perspective. 


It is a luxury, for sure, to be able to spend this time with my children without having to worry about working at the exact same moment. In my younger days, I actually taught 6th grade math and study skills for middle schoolers. I loved my time as a teacher so this should be my jam. It’s not.

I love being their mom but I hate being their teacher.

​Originally published on Her View From Home. Click HERE to read full article.

Last week my family of 4 snuck away with my sister’s family of 6. We decided to continue our pandemic social distancing but do it from a different place. We piled into two cars and made the trip to a beauitful house in the mountains. All 10 of us in a house together, on vacation, for the first time ever.


It took a pandemic to make it happen.

No travel sports for the children has opened up our schedules. Pre-pandemic, we had to struggle to find a few hours each month where all of us were free. But now, we get to spend one full weekend day together each week and easily found a way to get away for a vacation.

It took a pandemic to make it happen.

As the 10 of us floated down a river in our teethered together inflatable tubes for a full 7 hours, we laughed, we talked, we swam, we stood up and dragged our tubes when the water got too low or the current got too slow, we wondered if the little rapids would kill us when the water was higher and moved more quickly, we relaxed when the current and depth was just right, and we pointed out how lucky we were to be able to have this time together. We made incredible memories with each other.

It took a pandemic to make it happen.

Later that week, as we sat around the dining room table playing game after game after game and belly laughing until it hurt, I breathed it all in and hoped that the future would be kind to this family. I hoped that these days we have been given together would keep the 6 cousins tethered together — just like those tubes on the river — long after the grown ups are gone.

It took a pandemic to make it happen.

While I wish we could go back in time and avoid so much that this year has brought to us, I am also grateful for the forced slow down these difficult times have provided us. Life seems to have more sweet spots now as I decide more deliberately how and with whom I spend my time.

It took a pandemic to make it happen.

Although things often feel wildly out of control in the midst of the current events, my life feels wholly more mine than it did before. Life used to feel like those areas of the river where the water was high and the current was fast — things often felt out of my control and like they were moving too quickly. Other days used to feel like those parts of the river where the currents meet and we had to work hard to get our tubes back on track.

But now, despite all of the stress and uncertainty in life, my life feels like those sweet spots in the river. There is peace, happiness, laughter, and love. Things somehow feel just right.

​It took a pandemic to make it happen.

Before I became a parent, I had some basic parenting expectations for myself. For example, I was quite positive that my children:

• would be potty trained before age 3;
• would never sleep in my bed;
• would never own toy guns;
• would never play video games;
• would never play a contact sport before high school;
• would never be one of those over-scheduled children with multiple sports and extra-curricular activities.

Once I became a parent, however, that list quickly got tossed into the garbage. Parenting, it turns out, is something that you can never fully prepare for or predict. I am often making things up as I go along, course correcting and adjusting as I evaluate how I am handling the monumental task of parenting. Most days I feel like a total failure but sometimes, every once in a while, everything falls into place and often, when it does, it's because I listened to that little feeling in my gut - my intuition.

Two nights ago, after a weekend full of sports game, field clean up, work, errands and kitchen painting, my 8 year old laid in his bed and sobbed in my arms about how all he wants is "one day to just do nothing." He was tired of school, tired of sports, tired of running errands, tired of having to clean his room. He was tired. His gas tank was empty. 

I talk about this concept a lot with my patients - the notion that we are like cars (crude comparison, I know) and if we don't take care of our cars and fill them with fuel, eventually they will sputter and leave us stranded on the side of the road. My little guy was very quickly running out of fuel and was close to breaking down on the side of the road. With my patients, we brainstorm ways to refuel ourselves. For some of us, it's exercise, for others it's time with friends, for others it's time alone. For my insightful 8 year old, he had identified that what would refuel him was a day to just be a kid.

My initial reaction was to validate his feelings and commit to finding a time to take a day off together but as we talked, I felt that feeling. You know the one: that intuitive, instinctive feeling in our bellies or our chests that is left over from evolution. Usually it tells us what we need to know in critical moments - like when we are in danger. But, if we listen, it can also help guide us in our decision making process and let us know which decision is the "right" one. My gut was telling me that I needed to make time now. 

I tucked him in to bed and then set to work rearranging my schedule so I could be home the next day. When he woke in the morning, I invited him to stay home with me and have his day off. He smiled bigger than I had seen in a few weeks, hugged me and ran into the living room. I also invited his older brother, who had been fighting off a virus, to stay home as well. It took him a good 30 minutes to make his decision but he also ultimately decided that he could use a day off too. 

You read that right. I let my children miss school and neither of them were physically sick. But, I would argue, both of them were mentally and emotionally running out of fuel and needed some time off. After all, mental health and emotional health are just as important as physical health. In fact, they could be MORE important than physical health as it has often been suggested that when we are emotionally and mentally run down, we are more susceptible to illness.

The rules of the day off were quite simple - there were no rules. Also, there had to be fresh baked banana bread (per my 8 year's old request.) We stayed in our pajamas and sweat pants for the day, ate fresh banana bread and just "were." The boys played games, watched tv, played video games, drew, colored and played outside. It was like a snow day, the blizzard kind, where the roads get closed down and everything pauses. Except there was no snow and no need to shovel. 

As dinner time rolled around, I found myself reflecting a lot on the day.  My boys were smiling and their fuel tanks were refilled. I also noticed that my fuel tank was much more full. Hearing my children just be children and do the work of children - play - was a beautiful thing. If we, as adults, can take a breath and really evaluate our lives, we probably will find that we could benefit from more snow days, minus the snow, in our lives.

No matter how busy our lives are, I strongly believe we all can find a way to fit some snow days into our schedule. Sometimes the laundry, dishes, phone calls, bills, errands and work can wait. Sometimes it is ok to ask others for help. None of my hospice patients have ever looked at me while approaching their final days on Earth and admitted that they wished they had worked more, kept a cleaner house or spent less time with their loved ones. No. It's the opposite. Almost everyone I have been with at the end of their lives shares the same sentiments - it's the small things that matter in the end - time with children doing nothing, time with friends over coffee, tea or wine, lazy mornings with their partner. It turns out that often the things that refuel us are also the things that we treasure and need the most.

So, my challenge to all of you is to tune everything out for 5 minutes. Really. Do it. Let the dishes pile up. Leave the stack of bills on the counter. Leave the laundry in the baskets. Let those calls you need to return wait a few moments. Look around at your life. What is truly most important? What fills your tank? How can you make room in your schedule this week to fit in some of these activities?

I suspect that for many of you, you are running on fumes now. You are flying down the highway at 90 miles an hour, seeing your gas needle nearing closer and closer to "E." Yet, you are ignoring it, hoping that you can run on fumes, "just" a bit longer. Pull over now and fill that tank. Stop putting you and your own needs last. Make your own snow day! ​