Welcome to the Jungle...

I have always wondered what walking into a rain forest would feel like, and I have even gone as far as comparing that type of excitement to the adrenaline shot of venturing into a strange city. Yesterday, I entertained yet another thought: how has my daughter’s room come to resemble both of those places? After postponing cleaning out her bedroom and play area for a while – I think that’s part of the survival instinct to avoid something that can mean sure loss into the impenetrable – I woke up yesterday morning determined to organize those rooms. Pretty sure I was going to need a gun or a machete to make my way through, but not wanting to scare the kids on my way up, I instead grabbed a handful (a big one!) of large garbage bags and headed toward her room.

I entered Morgan’s room with a slightly elevated heartbeat, my body already knowing I was going to need extra coffee to undertake this task. The scene unfolding in front of my eyes was the mother of all jungles and could put the Big Apple to shame: toys were staring at me from every inch of the floor, as if daring me to come in; her bed was covered in little scraps of drawing paper she had shredded an hour before for a project, and her desk was covered by so many knick-knacks that I couldn’t tell the color of the plastic underneath. I took a deep breath and walked in, ignoring the evil stare of toys stubbornly guarding the entrance to the area under her bed. That was another reality altogether, which I wasn’t all too eager to enter yet.

I made my way to the bed and sat down, trying to figure out where I was going to start. I got rid of the scraps of paper, and put her unworn clothes back into the closet, barely making a dent. A decision had to be made and I needed to figure out something fast before she got back. I tried to think about what she would not miss, what she no longer used, and I continued coming up with a blank. All those toys, once I picked them up, brought something nice back to mind, and I had a hard time throwing them out; even giving them to charity, I felt like I was discarding memories. This approach wasn’t working, until I thought of a different way to tackle the problem…

What if, rather than selecting things she no longer needed, I focused on deciding which things she actually had a use for? Were there a few toys she absolutely couldn’t do without, that she played with every day? Were there any knick-knacks that were particularly dear to her heart or mine?

Feeling a solution was finally dawning, I looked around the room to collect the irreplaceable – a stuffed tiger she had since babyhood, a few board games she loves to play on rainy days, her art supplies, Hello Kitty and her clothes, and a few other pieces of memorabilia. After setting those objects to the side, I looked again, to make sure I hadn’t missed anything important; then, I opened the bags and, one at a time, I filled them without even looking. Very soon, the impenetrable jungle looked like a manicured garden.

I left the room completely satisfied, and Morgan never even missed the things I took out. In fact, she walked into her room and clapped her little hands, saying that everything looked great. Never once did her thoughts wander to the myriad of happy meal toys in a basket under her bed, or to the dress-up set she HAD to have last year and had quickly outgrown. She didn’t miss those things because she never really cared for them; they were just there, an unseen part of her room décor or lack of.

Cleaning Morgan’s room made me think of how many times we focus our energy on deciding what we need to remove from our lives to make them work, when instead it would be so much easier to think of what we need in them and rid ourselves of the rest that no longer serves us. Humans are hoarders by nature, regardless if the loot is toys, clothes or merely emotions and past experiences. Surely we can approach a cleansing by picking up each individual thing and looking at it again, but most likely, we will only pick it up, find a reason to keep it, and end up just as cluttered as we were in the first place. Sometimes, spring cleaning starts with a simple assessment of what we can’t do without; the rest we can always send to Goodwill.

The Dreaded Toy

‘Then it shall come to pass, that the sword, which ye feared, shall overtake you there in the land of Egypt, and the famine, whereof ye were afraid, shall follow close after you there in Egypt; and there ye shall die.” ~ Jeremiah 42:16


Every so often, my daughter falls in love with a new film. The latest choice is the ever popular ET, the film that conquered the hearts of young and old over two decades ago. The other day, since it was very hot outside, she asked if we could just get some popcorn and watch ET together, so we settled in and got the movie started.

It was really interesting to watch her reaction when Elliott and his brother first run into ET – she laughed and thought ET was hilarious when he got scared and screamed. Her response set my thoughts off down a path that led to the day my eldest son watched the same movie for the first time. When ET screamed, he jumped out of his skin! After that, he was afraid of ET for years, and could not even look at pictures of it.

Several years after this particularly traumatizing episode, I took him and his brother to browse ‘Toys ’r Us’ before Christmas, with the intent of gathering ideas for Santa’s list. We walked around different aisles, and looked at different toys. Suddenly, one toy fell from a top shelf and landed directly on Stephen; when I looked at the toy I held my breath…it was a stuffed ET! Michael saw it, too, and instantly glanced at his brother who, in that moment, was still trying to absorb the terrifying reality of it and had automatically turned pale as a ghost. He was frozen in panic; so much in fact, that his mouth opened and closed, and then opened again without even uttering a single word.

A teenager now, Stephen is obviously no longer afraid of a fictional character, but throughout the years I have always found it fascinating how of all the toys that could have fallen, ET had to be the one. What he was most afraid of had found a way to haunt him in the craziest of ways.

After the “ET accident” I started paying attention to the fear patterns of people I knew, including myself. It never failed – the more one was afraid of something, the more the object of their fear would materialize in their lives. I’ve known some whose biggest fear was to be penniless, and most of them struggled with money the majority of their time; I’ve met people who were afraid to be abandoned or not be loved, and somehow, they found themselves walking the very same path they dreaded. I was afraid of spiders and, somehow, there used to always be one in close proximity every time I turned around. When I got over that fear, spiders suddenly migrated away from me.

Thoughts void of emotions flow through our minds constantly, but if not paid much attention, they just become reabsorbed by the collective consciousness; however, when thoughts are fueled by a powerful emotional charge such as fear, they suddenly vibrate at a higher level, strong enough to manifest into one’s reality.

I believe that Stephen learned a hard lesson that day, one I think he will never forget. To date, he smiles whenever he sees an image of ET. His own little personal demon had come to get him, but once he was able to breathe again, he realized it was nothing he couldn’t put back on a shelf.

Heaven on Earth

“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” ~ Henry D. Thoreau


Although I’ve heard the expression ‘Heaven on earth’ many times, it was only yesterday that I realized how easily we misinterpret its meaning.

While I buy into the concept that to get to the light at the end of the tunnel one must first go through the tunnel, the cold tunnel we have gone through this year has felt endless – with sub-freezing temperatures almost everyday, and a pale sun too timid to overpower the icy grip of Old Man Winter, spring has felt like a fleeting dream which would never manifest. And instead, yesterday we finally poked our heads out to emerge into a meteorological paradise, one of those days one wants to mark on the calendar with a pink crayon. It was an amazing day – temperatures in the high sixties and bright sunshine to magically erase the gloom of the cold days gone by.

When my children got home from school, we decided to go to the park for a couple of hours. We packed a quick picnic and hopped in the car. When we pulled into the parking lot, I couldn’t believe the number of cars already there; the scene reminded me somehow of a Disney film – when Bambi was born in the spring, all the animals in the forest came out to see the new prince; Raleigh residents all came out to see if anything was new at the playground.

The kids ate and then ran off to play, while I sat on one of the benches and fished a book out of my purse. My phone rang a short while later, it was my husband calling to see what we were doing; my reply was a simple one: “We are in Heaven,” I said, “it’s amazing out here.”

After I hung up, I thought of what I said and what made me say it. Was it just the beautiful weather that had affected my perception of an ordinary day, or could it be that gradually I have come to a place in my life where I have learned to appreciate the small joys of a day playing in the sunshine? I looked around – everywhere were beautiful, smiling children and relaxed mothers, squirrels were scurrying about, and birds were making the most of a warm day in late winter. I felt like I was one with all the energy around, and the joy of it wasn’t really coming from the outside as much as it was originating within.

We can’t have a spring-like day in the winter all the time for, as my mother always said, it can’t be Christmas every day; but, maybe, we can “bottle-up” the joy of those moments and use it as a blueprint to create a slice of our own heaven on earth every day, the way children do. As I watched my kids squeal with joy on the way down the slide, drunk from a potion of youth and timeless oneness with their world in that moment, I understood the true meaning of Heaven on heart. A verse in the Bible perfectly reflects this powerful message: “Anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”

Granted, it’s much easier to feel good on a beautiful day when everything seems to go the right way, but if we can appreciate being in the present moment, the light at the end of the tunnel instantly becomes closer and easier to reach, whether the sun is shining or a powerful storm is raging over us.

While happiness sometimes comes with a price tag, joy is a free ride we can get on over and over, if we just allow ourselves to see with our hearts and read between the lines of our daily chapters.

Mirrors

“Maturity is that time when mirrors in our minds turn to windows, and instead of seeing the reflection of ourselves we see others.” ~ Author Unknown


If my middle son and my daughter were closer in age, people would think they are twins; not only because they look so alike physically, but mostly because of their identical characters. You see, in my life I was blessed with a royal pair, the king and queen of stage drama.

Naturally one would think the two are peas in a pod, since they are so like-minded, but I can assure you they are quite the opposite. With skin as thin as air and an everlasting primadonna attitude, both could be cast in an Othello performance. And of course, as all artists worth their salt, they nearly drive everyone else to the bottle.

The most maddening and equally hilarious side of their performance is the way they complain about each other’s behaviors when they know perfectly well they both behave exactly alike and have been guilty of the same action in the past. I found it quite entertaining when my son came up to me the other day and informed me that his sister was chasing the cat; the moment I chastised her about leaving the poor soul alone, I turned around and saw Michael chasing the cat himself! When I asked him what he was doing he simply answered that he only wanted to pet him. Never mind the fact that the cat was trying his best to blend in with the furniture to escape both of them. The same happens with anything else – Morgan will say something about her brother misbehaving at the table, without even realizing that she is doing the very same thing at the moment she turns him in. Or, Michael makes fun of her for losing an item and then will raise Cain because he can’t find something “he is absolutely certain” he brought home from school which miraculously materializes in his desk the next day.

They are just kids - and siblings at that - and it is normal for them to lash out at times since they are still trying to work out better ways to handle conflicts. By criticizing their own actions reflected in others, they are able to assess reactions and determine necessary adjustments to their own behaviors.

Many of us, however, don’t outgrow this stage of learning, and even in our adult years, we continue the pattern of only seeing our own flaws reflected in others, although we quite rarely recognize we are judging ourselves. It happens often that someone obsessed with control criticizes someone else with the same problem; or that someone who feels insecure about their appearance or intelligence lashes out at another person they perceive lacking those attributes.

Assessing and criticizing our flaws in others allows us two different opportunities – for one, we are able to openly talk of what bothers us about ourselves without standing under the spotlight, and for second we usually annoy others enough that they will lash out in return; being the object of someone’s anger validates the flawed image we have of ourselves, and fills our need to self-punish.

As Ken Keys wrote: “A loving person lives in a loving world. A hostile person lives in a hostile world. Everyone you meet is your mirror.”

A Door Never Considered

“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.” ~ Flora Whittemore

My daughter is not a morning person. Each day, getting her out of bed classifies as a struggle in itself, but getting her ready to get out the door on time to get to school is nothing short than a Herculean task.

Getting dressed is the big challenge – since the time she turned one – and could barely walk – Morgan decided glamour was the name of her game. Before making her appearance, the diva has to select her costume, which involves laying out five different outfits on her bed and making sure they are all color-coordinated and matching her mood of the day; accessories are the next step and their selection takes just as long as choosing the clothes. An hour after getting up, she finally comes downstairs (no rush there either) and takes fifteen minutes to brush her hair.

Daily routine: Morgan gets up around eight and we rush out of the house at 9:15, often eating breakfast in the car because we are running out of time. Rare is the morning when I don’t ponder on the fact that patience must be the lesson I came to learn in this lifetime.

Yesterday morning she surprised me by getting up on her own and sporting a great mood. She tiptoed downstairs and pick-a-booed me in the kitchen, her little cherub eyes sparkling with an unknown glee for that time of day. My first thought was that she was either coming down with a strange virus, or this happy-so-early-in-the-morning attitude was the result of a strange planetary alignment I wasn’t aware of. Regardless, I wasn’t going to look into a gifted horse’s mouth; I smiled brightly and swept her up in my arms. Then, reluctant to let go of the moment, and aware of Morgan’s competitive nature, a sudden thought pierced the fiber of my thoughts and sparked an idea. “Let’s see who can dress first. I bet that I can get dressed faster than you can.” Magic words – Morgan ran up the stairs ahead of me and flew to her bedroom to get dressed. In two minutes she was out of the room with clothes on! I wasn’t about to waste a perfect chance to succeed, so I milked the situation for all it was worth. “I bet I can brush my teeth before you!” I said running to the bathroom. She ran to her own bathroom and brushed her teeth. We repeated the same routine for other tasks and, as if by miracle, we were washed, clothed, fed and ready to go at 9:05.

In the car I couldn’t help wondering why I never thought of appealing to this side of her personality before. We got to school before they even opened the doors, nobody got angry or stressed, and Morgan gave me a huge hug before getting out of the car. Was this the secret I had been searching for? Suddenly, the words “I bet I can do this faster than you” sounded awfully similar to “Open Sesame.”

On the way back home I thought of how many times we continue knocking on doors that refuse to open, and we become frustrated when we get little or no response; we waste our energies and become annoyed, and never once do we think that knocking harder will not make much of a difference; sometimes, we just have to try a different door.

Certainly, this could be just a momentary lapse of drama for her, but looking at it from a different point of perspective, it’s also possible that stifling the original conflict using a game was all that was needed.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that things will continue the same way. Meanwhile, I will take what I can, and I will be thankful for blessing hidden around every corner. Sometimes a different approach is all we need to open new doors leading us to our preferred destination.

A Delightful Captivity

The past few days I’ve been in captivity. Being the hybrid product of a Mediterranean upbringing and southern life, I can’t drive on snow or ice; even if the main roads are by now fairly passable, my subdivision is still frozen stiff, and the kids and I are stuck at home until the big thaw.

When I first looked at the weather forecast a couple of days ago, the outlook was a dark shade of gray graduating to pitch black – temperatures rising barely above freezing during the day, and down in the teens at night were going to ensure snow on the ground for a while. For once in my life I thought that hibernation sounded mighty good.

Today is day five of my captivity in the prison I share with a few other inmates – my kids and my pets – and I can only say one thing about it all…I’ve had a blast! When I thought about it last night, I feared that cabin fever had fatally led to sheer madness, but when I reflected a little more, I understood the reason why I felt so elated.

Although I can hardly get anything done, and I spend the days either playing Candyland or reading, I can’t be expected to go anywhere, and my load of social demands has been dramatically cut in half. When we ran out of juice yesterday morning, my sons’ typical mantra would have been “Mom, are you going to the store today?” Knowing that I can’t drive anywhere, nobody even asked the question and they happily settled for water to drink. Same with driving kids around all over town; I’m sure that all mothers of teenagers can relate – we spend a great portion of our days running from place to place, from one activity to the next, until the car can almost drive itself if only given a hint of where we are going. But not the past few days…everyone was content just with sitting at home and playing in the snow. What a foreign feeling it has been to face four whole days with no schedule! And what a pleasant one, I might add.

Just the other day I was reading a discussion a few people on a different site were having about freedom. When we speak of freedom, we often focus on the restrictions experienced by individuals and countries alike. We criticize communist countries for the lack of freedom their citizens have to endure; we condemn the oppression some individuals have experienced in the past, and we constantly hear about American freedom versus the sense of freedom which exists in other societies. We can speak our minds, and we can choose our beliefs; we are free to go to school and we are encouraged to protect our civil liberties, but in the greater scheme of things, are we really free?

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the following are two definitions of freedom: a : the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action. b : the quality or state of being exempt or released from something onerous.

Certainly, we have the choice of being free at all times, but if one looks closely at the tenets of our western societies, we will realize we are not free at all. We might not have a sword or a gun pointed at us, but more times than none we run around in circles to meet all the demands of our daily lives. And if, Heaven forbid, something can’t fit into the tight space between one demand and the next one, we feel that we have let others and ourselves down. We run and run toward no specific destination, glad to have made it a day and already fretting about the demands of the days ahead. In itself, that’s not freedom.

The solitude and forced captivity of the past few days have taught me something important – we can only fit so much into one day, and what doesn’t get done before nightfall will still be there waiting for us tomorrow. And if for one day we need to let someone down for not meeting THEIR expectation, then oh well…at least we got to play Candyland.

On a Date with Myself

“Self-worth comes from one thing – thinking that you are worthy.” ~ Wayne Dyer


Today all my children are back in school. While I was talking to my editor last night, our discussion led to a list of different things I need to work on and deliver to her soon. “The next few days I will have the chance to work on some of these tasks,” I told her, “but not tomorrow, since I am taking the day for myself.”

After the words escaped my lips, I wondered how they sounded to others. I am quite excited to be working on the list she wants me to work on, and it really does not feel like work at all, but after two weeks of refereeing three kids home on winter break, I think I deserve a few hours for myself.

I remember there was a time in my life when I felt guilty about taking personal time. My motto was to run and run, and then to run some more to make sure everything and everyone were taken care of. Being a nurturer by nature, I thought that was the only way to manage things around me, until one day I started feeling sick. When I finally made myself go to the doctor, I was diagnosed with Lyme disease – I hadn’t felt well for a couple of weeks and I was overly-fatigued, but having small children an a million other things I routinely took care of, I never gave even a tiny thought about slowing down. The doctor was horrified by my lack of care toward my own health, and sent me home with a two-week treatment of antibiotics and a lecture.

I recovered from the illness fairly quickly, but I also made a pledge – never again would I allow myself to get so run-down before paying attention. My outlook on a lot of things changed in those few weeks; I needed to be there for the kids, and the house, and my husband, and our business, but who would take care of it all if something happened to me and I had to be hospitalized? Was I so stuck-up to think they would all be on a fast ride to hell if I wasn’t there to check on everything? Of course not; someone else would be taking care of things – maybe in a different way, but they would take care of everything nonetheless. Another thought crossed my mind…could it be the opposite? Could it be that I valued others more than I valued myself?

It didn’t take me long to realize that in order to take care of others I had to first take care of myself. That included not getting emotionally involved in the personal dramas of others – as my friend Dena so beautifully put it, I became compassionately detached. I still cared for everybody, but I also cared for my own well-being. After all, only a skilled swimmer in good shape could save a drowning man; if one jumped in the water without being able to swim, or allowed the other person to drag them down in their panic, there would be not just one, but two people drowning. That day long ago, I learned that if I really want to be there for others I must first be there for myself.

So, today myself and I are having a date. I’m planning to go browse new titles at a bookstore in the sweet company of a tall cup of Starbucks’ dark roast until it’s time to pick my daughter up from school. In just a couple of hours, I’ll be happy to be Mom again, but for just a little while it will be fun to just be me.

No Longer Afraid

Many of us probably remember when, as children, we believed monsters were lurking in the darkness of our closet, or lay hidden under our bed, patiently waiting to seize us as soon as our parents left the room. Although we were told they weren’t real, in our minds we could picture them clearly: huge and threatening, their eager, yellow, slimy fangs glimmering in the shadows, ready to swallow us in one single bite.

As adults we still fear the monsters lurking in the unknown and the forgotten, and often picture them much mightier than they really are. The monsters we fear as adults lurk behind the curtains of important decisions, or in the chambers of the mind we have chosen to lock away after being emotionally wounded. The two are quite different from one another.

The monsters we fear when we find ourselves at an important crossroad in our lives are birthed by the apprehension we feel when facing uncertainty. Most of us experience anxiety when not sure of what will unfold; we tend to expect the worst as a defense mechanism; by doing so, we are already braced for disaster before taking the turn and don’t feel as concerned with being attacked by unforeseen events. In the majority of cases, the apprehension we feel is unfounded and mostly feeds on insecurities. In some situation, we feel as if we are facing a daunting task which will drain us of vital energy; once we get started with the project – and get swept into the flow of things – the work gets done and we realize it wasn’t too bad after all.

The other type of monsters we need to face, at times, are the ones we have kept locked away in the attic of our mind, those which caused us great pain in the past and we tried to forget about, the very same ones which haunt our dreams and taint our daily life. This kind of monster is the scariest to face. After being locked away for so long, we have forgotten what it truly looks like, and our imagination paints it much bigger and much more threatening. Truth is, after being locked away for several years, the monster has weakened, and the emotional charge which we attached to it when it was free and able to harm us has depleted with time. After so much time away from it, we have also become stronger and more able to defeat it, so we no longer need to fear it as the mighty giant it used to be.

Once exposed to the light of a conscious confrontation, it will likely appear for what it truly is: an old, residual fragment of the original monster, void of energy and greatly undernourished because of the new choices we have made for ourselves. By keeping it tucked away, we have assumed that its power would never lessen, and have saved it in our mind’s eye as being as big as it was when we locked it away. We have chosen to keep it alive out of sheer fear, and fed it on occasion with our anxiety and doubts.

At some point, it is time for the monsters to be slain. It is time to bring them out and face them in the light of day; only then we will see that the fear of the monster is much larger than the monster itself.

Through the Eyes of a Child

“A joyful heart is the inevitable result of a heart burning with love.” ~ Mother Teresa

When I went to pick up my daughter from pre-school yesterday, I found her in the reading corner looking at picture books with another child. I saw her pointing at one of the pictures in the book she was holding and laughing, and I wondered what she found funny in it - it was a picture of baby Jesus in the manger, surrounded by the three wise men bearing gifts.

Her teacher came along, took the book from her, and told her that it wasn’t a funny book and she shouldn’t be laughing at the pictures in it. I was stunned. Not by the fact that a small child was laughing at a picture, mind you, but at the thought that an adult allegedly trained to deal with children couldn’t tell the difference between a derisive laugh and an expression of joy. The two kids were enjoying the pictures, and looking at them made them happy; the fact alone that they would erupt into random laughter without a reason apparent to adults could possibly only be explained by the one grown-up person on earth who shares a child-like spirit, the Dalai Lama.

Inner joy is not something planned or in any way related to outside influences, but an inner state which is self-feeding and self-propagating. So, should we really teach our children that it is not okay to be joyful?

Having been raised in a fairly conservative environment, I am very familiar with – and a strong supporter of – self-discipline; I believe that one should not allow emotions to cloud our better judgment and get in the way of sound decisions set in place for our greater good, yet I believe that inner joy is such an asset that it should never be stifled.

A joyful person is always joyful, regardless of what’s happening in the outside world; even when trying events take place, the upset is only momentary, and the mood quickly shifts back to its natural state because joy stems from within and it’s barely stroked by circumstances. Many confuse happiness with joy, but the two are about as alike as silk and satin – both are soft and pleasant to the touch, but their origin and overall nature are different. Happiness can be exhilarating, but it is not constant. It shifts with the outside currents and can easily come and go depending on the presence – or lack – of external feeds.

Unless traumatized by unfriendly circumstances, children are joyful until adults get in the way telling them it is wrong to feel that way. A large portion of adults act foolish in the attempt of recapturing the essence of joy they felt as children, but they unfortunately seek joy where only happiness can be found. When the link to joy is criticized or abruptly interrupted, the child quickly looks for the closest substitute, happiness from the outside world.

When we walked outside, I asked my daughter what made her laugh while looking at the book. She looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes and said: “It was a picture of baby Jesus, Mommy; He was so cute that I wanted to hold Him.”

When Angels Sing

Yesterday I attended my daughter’s recital at her preschool. After everyone was seated, the music teacher introduced the different classes and directed each group to their assigned places in the chapel. The program consisted of several songs the children had to sing and play with simple instruments. Photographs were prohibited until the end of the show to avoid distracting the little performers.


The first to line up were the animals, including Morgan who was dressed as a donkey. Following, entered Joseph and Mary, who – terror written on their little faces at the thought of being the main characters – took their places by the manger and stood facing the crowd while fighting the urge to pick at their costumes.


As the narration of the Nativity continued, and the songs were sung, there wasn’t a somber face in the room. There is something very special about a group of little children coming together and singing. While I am sure that teachers stressed the point of remaining composed during the performance, I was amused to see a fair share of tiny hands being raised to greet parents in the crowd. When Morgan saw us, she could barely contain herself – her face was so radiant and proud that it could have lit up a dark room.


One little boy teased his head dress enough that it ended up drooping on the side of his face; another had his sign language backwards, and the sweet voices of the pea-sized cast squeaked when they hit high notes; but in the end, all those little mistakes are exactly what made the show unforgettable.


We are conditioned to believe that only perfection can lead to satisfaction, but nothing could be further from the truth. As we watched these tiny beings sparkle in their own magnificence, we were all wrapped in a delightful state of awe, and our souls truly heard angels sing.


We all gave up on seeing a perfect show, and allowed the wave of improvisation to gently sweep us away to a world of heartwarming delight. By the time the performance came to an end, Christmas was definitely in the air.

Discipline - The Building Block of a Functional Society (repost)

“Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishments.” ~ Jim Rohn

The main goal of discipline is to teach children self-control and remind them that there are natural consequences to their actions: by repeatedly associating an unpleasant consequence to an unwanted behavior, children are able to learn the difference between what is acceptable and what is not.

In generations past, the rearing of children was much stricter if compared to the standards our society lives by today, but most of those children grew into responsible and creative adults.

Today, in an era of psychological expertise aimed at telling parents how they should raise their children, parents don’t know how to act any more. A new school of thought teaches that parents should praise their children for good behavior and not discipline them; because all children thrive on praise and acceptance – we are told - if rewarded for the good actions, they will try to repeat those behaviors to earn even more positive attention.

Yet, our youth are not thriving. Juvenile crime rates are rising at frightening speed, and our children are caught in a spiral of self-destruction.

As parents are losing their grip on the ability to keep things under control, and feel that society is promoting a new generation of weeping, uncontrolled criminals, new fundamentalist groups are sprouting like poisonous mushrooms on a field. Michael Pearl, the minister who advises parents to beat their children with plastic plumbing supply line, is only one of the radical advocates of parental rights who, sadly, appeal to the weary and frightened parents who no longer know where to turn.

So, parents ask, is there a right way to raise happy children who will become well adjusted, productive adults?

One of the main things to remember is that our children are being raised in a world dominated by societal and peer pressure, and parental skills are compared to those exhibited by theatrical parents on TV sitcoms. Those forever smiling television parents - always available and never losing their cool - are fictional, and it is unfair to use them as a scale to measure real life parents who are weighed down by financial burdens and tighter schedules.

Also, the demands on children are doubling with each passing day, as they are expected to behave like pint-size adults in a society which no longer allows children to be children.

If a child is rambunctious, he or she is quickly diagnosed as having ADD or ADHD, and is medicated to numb the excess energy which no longer has an outlet through creative play and physical activity. In times past, children were able to go outside and play from sunrise to sunset, and were therefore allowed to use the endless supply of energy they are naturally equipped with. In today’s world, children are increasingly kept inside and forced to channel their energy into indoor entertainment, often with the result of living their childhood through the virtual adventures of video games characters.

That said, it is important to understand that discipline is just as important today as it was yesterday, and children need limits and boundaries that will control their natural tendency to go overboard.

There has to be a balance of praise and moderate discipline, so that the child will feel loved, accepted and appreciated, but will also understand what areas of behavior need improvement.

As parents, we have the responsibility of maintaining the reins of this balance, if we ever hope to set the building blocks of a functional society.

A Tiny Clue

“Usually there’s some kind of clue, whether it’s a rhythmic foundation or very abstract – just an emotional kind of landscape – and then you just kind of start someplace.” ~ David Sanborn


Yesterday it was my daughter’s birthday. For some time she had been wishing for a particular doll she had been seeing on TV commercials, but by the time the birthday date approached, she also asked for other things I thought she would enjoy more, so I doubted the doll was in the cards.

Two days ago, a nearby church was holding a large charity yard sale, so Morgan and I went, early in the morning. Since the sale was indoors and we knew most of the people there, I allowed her to walk around the tables alone carrying a small bag of money she had earned attending to small chores, while I looked through books. A short while later we went to pay for our purchases. I didn’t pay much attention to what she had picked up, and waited until the lady at the cash box gave Morgan her change before turning toward me to collect the things I was going to buy.

After we got home, Morgan pulled her treasures from the plastic bag – a purple, fuzzy handbag, a princess nightgown, and a small book. I looked at the book and saw that it was a small inspirational book entitled “Waiting for Baby”. I asked her why she had picked up such a book instead than one of the many children’s titles, and she replied that she didn’t know – she just liked the rabbit picture in the front. That same night, we read a little of the book at bedtime. It was indeed a delightful book about the joy a mother feels as she gets ready to welcome her long-awaited baby.

Yesterday morning she woke up early, ready to start celebrations. Knowing that within a few hours she would be celebrating with all her friends filled her with delight, and pumped quick silver into her veins. We ate breakfast and called everyone down so that she could open some of her gifts before we went to the party. Just looking at the pretty festive paper made her giggle, and she could hardly contain her excitement. She loved the gifts – an interactive cat her brothers bought for her, Play-dough toys and a DVD-player for her TV - but nothing prepared her for her next surprise, a beautiful pink box my parents sent to her from Italy.

She opened the bow and giggled as she ripped through the beautiful paper, until time stood still, and the doll of her dreams was only a few inches away from her stunned little face. She looked at the doll, then at me, and then, as if someone suddenly lit fireworks behind her eyes, she burst into a scream of uncontainable delight. She ran to the window and blew kisses into the sky to my parents, as if the wind could carry her love to them. Then, she came back to the table, picked up her baby, and ran to her room to find the book she had bought the day before. “See, Mom,” she said, “I really was waiting for a baby. She came today.”

We are often given clues of what’s to come. The trick is to pay attention and try to understand them as we journey along.

Worry Away

“Worry is interest paid on a loan we may never receive” ~ Author Unknown


Knowing the type of worry warts my parents are – and realizing that my voice sounded awful and stuffy from a virus – I almost hoped they wouldn’t call me yesterday. Instead, nine o’ clock sharp, shortly after I got out of bed, the phone rang. It was my mother. Immediately following my throaty and stuffy hello, I heard a small gasp, and then…"what’s the matter with your voice?"

I proceeded to explain that I had probably caught a virus, and that’s when the question came. “Have you been to the doctor?” to which I replied that I hadn’t even been sick 24 hours, and it seemed a little premature to go to the doctor. “Oh my goodness, child” my mother exclaimed, “do you follow the news? The swine flu is spreading everywhere. How do you know it’s not that?”

In fairness to her, I don’t know for sure, but I could bet that if I was infected with something serious I would probably feel a little sicker than I do; if, instead, I was indeed infected with the dreaded virus and my symptoms were this bearable, I wouldn’t see the point to go to the doctor to start with – let that bad boy run its course and be done with it.

Of course, the sermon wasn’t over until I learned that two of her clients were also very sick and concerned right now, and even young people are a likely target.

When I hung up the phone I drew a breath of relief. It’s nice to know your parents love you and are concerned about your safety and wellbeing, but in all honesty, all that worry seems misplaced. 90% of the things we worry about rarely ever happen; if we are unfortunate enough to run into the 10% that actually manifests, we have likely spent so much time and energy worrying about the problem ahead of time, that when we truly need to gather our strength and map a plan of action, we are spent and unable to think clearly.

Personally, I refuse to give in to worry. If – and I repeat if – something is due to happen, I will cross the bridge when I get there. Until then, I will live in peace, albeit a little sick. And if I get any worse, it’s not like the doctor is moving away and my time is running out; I’ll go in if the need seems real.

So, until I get better, I will continue to drink plenty of fluids and get extra rest, which for a parent of three kids always on the run is not a bad deal after all. And am I worried? As Arthur Somers Roche once said, “worry is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged it cuts a channel in which all thoughts are drained.”

Right now, as I watch my kids scramble around making me hot tea and toast, my thoughts are far too rewarding to let them drain away.

Lessons Come in Many Packages

"There is no such thing in anyone's life as an unimportant day." ~ Alexander Woollcott




If anyone asked, I’m certain my children would have replied that yesterday was not a special day – a list of chores was awaiting all of us in preparation of our upcoming vacation and the beginning of school.

The boys were requested to clean their rooms and one bathroom each, vacuum and organize the toys in the playroom. Most of the chores were attended with little fuss, but when it came to the bathrooms they instantly began to drag their feet.

Instantly switching to drill sergeant mode, I told them they had to fulfill their tasks or else. I don’t expect perfection, but a piece of cardboard and an orphan bottle cap can hardly be defined part of the décor, so I made them go back a few times to clean what they had left behind; needless to say, they generously huffed and puffed the whole time.

I also made them help their little sister with her chores, and bring a stick of butter to an old neighbor – by the end of the day, they told me I would have done well as a slave owner. By the time their father got home, and asked how their day was, they both said their day was boring and mom was mean as a hornet, to which, of course, my husband replied that some day they will be thankful that mom didn’t allow them to slack off.

My oldest son thought about it for a moment and turned toward his brother. “He’s right” he said, “I’ve actually learned something cool today”. My jaw dropped at this point, although I tried very hard to pretend I was eating. My husband asked what he learned, and Stephen said: “I saw that as a team we get things done quickly, and mom’s critique showed me that my job wasn’t done right - once I start something I need to finish it. And I also learned that it is okay to stop what I’m doing to help someone else who’s smaller or needy.”

I wasn’t even pretending to eat any more. I was so surprised at my son’s wisdom that I didn’t care if I looked like a deer in the headlights at that moment. He was right. An ordinary day – and a hard and boring one at that – had turned into a learning experience.

Every day is a new page in the book of life, and by going through the motions of our routines we learn things we take for granted.

In one day of cleaning, my sons learned the meaning of compassion helping a neighbor in need and their little sister; they learned the power of teamwork; they learned they should never leave a job until it is completely done; most of all, they learned that a good lesson can hide behind the most boring of tasks.

They also learned that mom can be a slave driver at times, but that’s a story for another day.

Dreaming of Butterfly Wings

“When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry, Take a cherry
Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder
Mine are sweeter, for the eater
When the dews fall. And you'll be fairies all.” ~ Emily Dickinson


Few things are as disarming as the innocent and wondrous eyes of a small child asking for the impossible. I saw those eyes yesterday, when my daughter marched down to the kitchen and asked me how she could get wings and a tail.

A quick glance at my puzzled face told her I was lost, so she proceeded to explain to me that she had decided to be a real fairy. And not a regular fairy, thank you very much – she wanted to be a fairy mermaid, and be able to fly and swim at the same time.

On first instinct – probably out of frustration because she was stepping over my wet floor – I was tempted to tell her that only birds and planes can fly, and only fish can live under the sea. Then I made a fatal mistake – I looked at her eyes. Two huge pools of blue crystal set into a cherub face, staring at me in hope and profound awe.

All I could say was “You’re still a little young, Honey. You need to wait a bit longer, until the queen of fairies decides you are ready.”

Satisfied with my reply she smiled, turned on her heels, and went back to watch the rest of the movie, as I finally released the breath I had been holding in. I went back to my floor – now smeared by little fairy footprints – and thought about my daughter’s wish. A tail and wings. Maybe that wasn’t such an unreasonable request after all.

A tail is used to swim and move gracefully through something fluid and ever changing in form. Like water, emotions can be nurturing or drowning, and as a parent, I strive to teach my children how to deal with feelings in general. By guiding them toward being able to handle a varied range of emotions, I’m indeed giving them the gift of a tail.

Similarly, we teach our children how to spread their own wings and learn how to fly; we give them tools to catch the winds of change under their wings and use those opportunities to lift themselves high above the storms of life.

For once I hadn’t just fallen for the depth of my daughter’s eyes, but I had happily realized that I can make a huge difference in her world. With or without pixie dust I can be the queen of fairies.

The Beauty of Imperfection

“There is only one success - to be able to spend your life in your own way.” ~ Christopher Morley

Some time ago I pondered about how different my life is now compared to what it was when I was younger. I remember needing others’ approval a lot, especially when it came to my parents. Although they never had non-realistic expectations for me, I had them for myself.

Anything less than a straight A was not good enough for me at school, and I always strived to reach perfection. I kept my house fairly neat but polished it within an inch of its life if someone was coming over. Same with the kids – I had this image made up in my mind of the perfect household, and anything less than that simply wasn’t good enough.

Somehow, through the years, I changed. It was not anything I did different, or anything I consciously acknowledged, but over time I realized that happy children are more fun than perfectly behaved children, and a house that’s not completely organized is more comfortable to live in.

My huge test was this year, when my parents came to visit. I had been extremely busy before their arrival, and had no chance to organize my house the way I always did. I took a look at it right before going to the airport and told myself it really didn’t matter – my parents were coming to see me, not my house.

And indeed I was right. I don’t think my parents thought twice about the toys or anything else that wasn’t in place. They were so happy to see us that we could have lived in a rundown shed and they wouldn’t have noticed.

That’s when I realized how often we needlessly worry about things that are only alive in our own minds. We assume we know how people will feel because that’s the way we would in their place, but in reality we have no way of knowing.

I have friends who have destroyed relationships because they were certain their partner was being unfaithful, when in fact the other person had no intention to betray them. Their doubts were the mere product of their own insecurities.

These days I no longer worry about what others think. I accept the fact that they may live, think or behave differently than I do, and I am comfortable being my own person.

Perfection is a state of mind, and it truly is in the eyes of the beholder. I believe my life is perfect as is now – I don’t have a perfect house, perfect children, a perfect spouse, and I am certainly not perfect myself, but I am happy and at peace. Even when some things remain undone.

It's His Fault!

“You must take personal responsibility. You cannot change the circumstances, the seasons, or the wind, but you can change yourself. That is something you have charge of.”~ Jim Rohn


There are many times in the life of a mother when she wants to look at her children and lovingly say “I told you so.” Yesterday was one of those fatidic moments for me.

We have recently adopted a kitten, and although I have repeatedly told my daughter that the kitten is not a toy - and should only be picked up occasionally - my opinion in the matter seem to quickly evaporate the moment the words escape my lips.

Yesterday morning, she was on a mission to get the cat to sit on the counter beside one of her stuffed animals; when she put him down, the kitten tried to escape and she grabbed him quickly – too quickly.

The cat slipped off the counter and instinctually tried to hold on to anything he could as he fell. Unfortunately for her, Morgan happened to be the only thing in his way before he reached the floor.

The result was a deep gash on her hand, as the kitten’s claws dug into her skin and ripped a four-inch path on it. Of course, Morgan could not see her part of responsibility in the unfolding of the situation that had just occurred. According to her, the kitten – who had been until five minutes before the sweetest cat on earth – was now “stupid” and had hurt her on purpose. Although I tried to explain that the kitten had scratched her by accident as he was falling, she would hear no reasons.

More often than not, many of us entirely blame others when something happens, even when we are partly at fault. It is easier to get angry at someone else than it is to get angry at ourselves, regardless of the fact that we might have facilitated the process, if only by enabling the actions of others.

By assuming responsibility for our part, we fear the spotlight of judgment will instantly shine on us, and expose our weaknesses for all to see. Yet, self-accountability is necessary if one hopes to break the chain. Without accepting that a change of perception is needed within ourselves, we will continue to walk blindly into the same mistakes, and will perpetually stumble into the very same rocks we tripped on before.

Each time we point a finger at someone, it wouldn’t hurt to acknowledge that the rest of them are pointing back to ourselves.

Discipline: The Building Block of a Functional Society

The main goal of discipline is to teach children self-control and remind them that there are natural consequences to their actions: by repeatedly associating an unpleasant consequence to an unwanted behavior, the children are able to learn the difference between what is acceptable and what is not.

In generations past, the rearing of children was stricter when compared to the standards our society lives by today, and most of those children grew into responsible and creative adults.

Today, in an era of psychological expertise aimed at telling parents how they should raise their children, parents don’t know how to act any more. A new school of thought teaches that parents should praise their children for good behavior and not discipline them; because all children thrive on praise and acceptance, if rewarded for the good actions, they will try to repeat those behaviors to earn even more positive attention.

Yet, our youth is not thriving. Juvenile crime rates are rising at frightening speed, and our children are caught in a spiral of self-destruction.

As parents are losing their grip on the ability to keep things under control, and feel that society is promoting a new generation of weeping, uncontrolled criminals, new fundamentalist groups are sprouting like poisonous mushrooms on a field. Michael Pearl, the minister who advises parents to beat their children with plastic plumbing supply line, is only one of the radical advocates of parental rights who, sadly, appeal to the weary and frightened parents who no longer know where to turn.

So, parents ask, is there a right way to raise happy children who will become well adjusted, productive adults?

One of the main things to remember is that our children are being raised in a world dominated by societal and peer pressure, and parental skills are compared to those exhibited by theatrical parents on TV sitcoms. Those forever smiling television parents-always available and never losing their cool-are not real and it is unfair to use them as a scale to measure real life parents, who are weighed down by financial burdens and tighter schedules.

Also, the demands on children are doubling with each passing day, as they are expected to behave like pint size adults in a society which no longer allows children to be children.
If a child is rambunctious, he or she is quickly diagnosed as having ADD or ADHD, and is medicated to numb the excess energy which no longer has an outlet through creative play and physical activity.

In the old days, children were able to go outside and play from sunrise to sunset, and were therefore allowed to use the endless supply of energy that they are naturally equipped with. In today’s world, children are increasingly kept inside and forced to channel their energy into indoor entertainment, often with the result of living their childhood through the virtual adventures of video games characters.

With that said, it is important to understand that discipline is just as important today as it was yesterday, and children need limits and boundaries that will control their natural tendency to go overboard.

There has to be a balance of praise and moderate discipline, so that the child will feel loved, accepted and appreciated, but will also understand what areas of behavior need improvement.As parents, we have the responsibility of maintaining the reins of this balance, if we ever hope to set the building blocks of a functional society.

The Gift of Now

In “Journey to Ixtlan", Carlos Castaneda writes about the Angel of Death as being always present near one’s left shoulder. If one turns fast enough, Castaneda writes, it is possible to catch a glimpse of the Angel, and remember to live every moment fully because it could be our last.
This past week, my friend Connie had a chance to come face to face with her own mortality. After becoming very ill because of an untreated kidney infection, she was taken to the hospital, and immediately admitted. For a few days, her doctors struggled to keep the infection under control, and her condition seemed to deteriorate by the minute.
Saying that Connie was terrified is a serious understatement. She knew her body was shutting down, and everything she had taken for granted was quickly spiraling out of control. Connie thought she was going to die.
When I spoke with her, the first words out of her mouth were about her children. She was afraid of how they would cope if something happened to her, and also realized how much she missed simply having them around. She talked of the times she got angry with them over trivial things, when she could have instead told them how much she loved them.
Having three children myself, I totally understand the frustrations of parenting. Yet, Connie’s ordeal seriously made me think.
What if something was to happen to me, and I wasn’t able to connect to all the people I love or respect before leaving this earthly plane? Would they know how much I care about them? If I was to die tomorrow, would it really matter that my three-year-old daughter flooded the bathroom today, or that my husband didn’t throw his dirty socks in the hamper this morning?
We spend such a large portion of our lives worrying about things that don’t matter, that we lose focus of what is truly important. We hold grudges against people we love over unimportant matters, and never think that we may not have another chance to make amends.
After talking to Connie, I thought about my own family, my children, my parents who live far away. I realized that many times I hang up the phone without telling my husband that I love him, I choose housework over going to the park with my children, I forget to call my parents and friends because I am too busy. I never think that those simple actions could be the last chance I have to let them know how I feel. If something suddenly happened to me – or them – those perfect opportunities would be lost forever.
We are programmed to allow life's circumstances to take over, to focus on making the next dollar as if it is the last chance we have to become rich, and we forget that it is up to us to appreciate each moment and the subtle blessings that surround us at all times. The dishes will still be there the next day, and the paperwork will be waiting for us when we get back, but will our loved ones be there tomorrow? Or even later today?
Each moment of our lives that is not fully appreciated is a moment we have wasted; it's a gift we have not accepted; it's an opportunity that may be lost forever.