Did you know that Juliet, when she says her most famous line, is actually asking Romeo why his family name has to be Montague? You may have already known that (smarty pants), yet there are a lot of people who think it means, "Where are you, Romeo?"
Juliet: O Romeo, Romeo!
Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny they father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Act II, Scene II = my case and point.
I must warn you, I need to do a little schooling here (as if I didn't just give you a classical theatre schooling). I must explain this dominant paradigm thing, so get comfy and go on this journey with me for just a bit.
When I teach I always say, "Does everyone know what a paradigm is?" I swear it's not as if I think you don't know, and yet there are many who don't. So, for those of you who are questioning, here is the definition: the third definition as stated by Dictionary.com (my best friend since my spelling is atrocious... see, I had to look up atrocious to make sure I spelled it right): an example serving as a model; pattern.
The philosophy I teach is called the Nonviolent Paradigm. The paradigm that is the most prevalent and common belief system is referred to as the Dominant Paradigm. The Dominant Paradigm is a pattern of most practiced (and accepted) beliefs that have three modus operandi:
1) Corporal punishment. This is going to be SO in your face and I'm SO going to say it anyway, if a person hits their spouse, that is called domestic abuse. If a person hits a stranger on the street that is called assult. If a person hits an animal, that's called animal cruelty. If a person hits a child, it's called spanking.
Whew, I don't usually unload that on people when we first meet, however, it packs a punch... yeah, that's funny.
In the State of California, you cannot call it child abuse unless you leave a mark, so, by that standard, spanking is a-okay as long as there ain't no mark to show for it. Cool, right?
Blech.
Okay onto...
2) Shame. (Your little sister can do it, why can't you? Stop acting like such a baby. Only little boys wear diapers.) In essence anything that makes a kid feel like an inferior being.
and lastly... oh, boy, this is a super big one.
3) Manipulation. That is where that bloody "if statement" lives. Oh, and rewards. Yeah, like, I know it's super cool to give a kid a cookie or a sticker or a big fat "Good Job!" when they've done something we think is totally awesome. Studies are starting to prove ladies and gents, that it is detrimental for a child's intrinsic desire to learn further or to think outside the box and it even brings fear that they will fail. As a side note check out this article, 'tis my all-time favorite from Alfie Kohn: http://www.alfiekohn.org/parenting/gj.htm Read it later, it's okay, just wait for me to finish my verbose points and then go back and check it out. Okay? Please?
Let's take a deep breath. This is a lot to digest. And I do hope you will keep reading because I have a nifty little story that ties right into all that stuff. Follow me....
So my oldest daughter... who, for purposes of clarity and ease, I will now always refer to her as...#1 (not in a praisy fashion, it's simply a marker emphasizing the point that she is indeed my first born). Now, #1 is taking this fantastic Shakespeare workshop that I, in my high and mighty staunch following of this philosophy, approve of almost 100% of the time. Except there's this "time out" thing they do that I really need to talk to the teacher about....
#1 LOVES this workshop. It's really physical and silly and they learn all about Shakespeare and the time that he lived and Queen Elizabeth. Great fun stuff. And then, at the end of this 10 week workshop there will be a play that has been immensely condensed and still maintains the true venacular of Shakespeare (thumbs up!).
#1 got a pretty large roll, lots of lines and LOTS of tricky Shakespearian words. She's supposed to have her role memorized before the play must go on (I said that on purpose). Let's keep in mind that #1 is 6 and three quarters years old... she's gonna be 7 real soon. I know where she is developmentally because I have studied the brain and all of it's mighty, mighty developments (like the human brain is born with only 20% of it full capacity, and it will furiously grow to 90% it's capacity by around 5 or 6!!!! AND the brain doesn't stop trying to reach full capacity until 26!!! Seriously, isn't that amazing sh@#?!?).
Now I need to take a breath, I find this stuff so exciting... am I alone in that?
Where was I?
Oh yeah, so all these complicated lines and really, what 6 year old doesn't have the attention span of a gnat. I mean, she's got way more attention than #3 (she's 17 months old), and still it's hard to sit for copious amounts of time and memorize Shakespeare. I have known 30 year-olds who have difficulty learning Shakespeare... and it wasn't me, I swear!
Here was my conundrum, #1 had ZERO desire to sit down and read the script (which is, let's face it, pretty dry reading if you don't have much experience reading AT ALL, much less Shakespeare).
I didn't want to force her because I knew if I MADE her sit down and read she'd be miserable and I would instantly create a hate of learning, Shakespeare, Mommy, sitting and reading and Mommy. Catch my drift? What I did observe is when she was in class, she would, with great gusto, read her lines as best as her little 6 year-old comprehensive skills were able to do. She loved interacting with the other kids and she could viscerally experience what it felt like to play onstage with someone else.
Now, the dominant paradigm might have a lot to say about this:
"You'd better learn this or you're gonna look silly on that stage..." or
"All you friends have learned their lines, you're going to be the only one still on script..." or
"Fine. If you don't want to sit down and take the time to learn them then we just won't go..."
I'm sure you can think of a few more statements steeped in the Dominant Paradigm. However, in the interest of MY OWN attention span...
Cut to the evening of the workshop, they are working on the script, the deadline to have lines memorized is close at hand, #1 hasn't even read the entire script yet. I'm sweating bullets because I'm terrified that she will become shy and feel inadequate. However, I also knew, if she would get up there and see some of the older kids having fun with the lines and saying them with little to no effort, then the concept of learning lines would actually be modeled for her. She could actually experience the result without me trying to talk and talk and talk to make her understand which might very well make her hate the whole world of theatre or Shakespeare or Mommy or learning or Mommy (this sound familiar?).
My little girl got up on that stage and tried to read those complicated lines like a champ, her spirit totally intact. She read them PAINSTAKINGLY slow, and just made up words that she thought might be right when she didn't know how to pronounce a word. It was painful for me to watch, though she stayed with it with a tenacity that I could NEVER have preached to her. She was motivating herself!
I learned from her confidence, too. I was really afraid of OTHER people's judgment on me for not going over the lines with her. And watching her filled me with so much love and admiration for this child that wasn't going to succumb to the judgments of others, she was taking flight and confident that she would land on her feet.
I'm all weepy. Give me a minute....
(sniff)
Okay.
We get in the car to go home and get this, #1 says, "I need to read these lines more. Mommy maybe we can read the lines together while we eat dinner." I kid you not. She found it for herself, she still loved me and, hallelujah, she's going to LEARN THOSE LINES because she wants to, not because I forced her to.
It's a leap of faith, this parenting style. It scares the pants off of you... and perhaps that's because we put too little faith in our offspring.
Call this philosophy what you will, I will call it a parenting style from the heart built on love and trust and connection.
Romeo: With love's light wings did I o'er perch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kindsmen are no let to me.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Shoulds, ifs and buts...
should | sh oŏd|- modal verb
should have, could have, BUT you didn't
1) Used as a judgment about your behavior and the guilt associated with it OR the judgment of your child's behavior based on your opinion of how you believe they should navigate inside your belief system
2) a window into judgment
Seriously. I have looked at this word for many years now. I have decided it is a dirty, dirty word. You should not use it... ain't that irony?!?
I heard a mom recently say, "I should have put him back in his bed but instead I snuggled with him and now I've created a need where there should not have been."
Hmmmm.... allow me to unpack that incredibly weighted statement...or are you already ahead of me? Can you HEAR the judgment? And the bitch of it is this: it's not all her own judgment. She is adhering to the judgment of others and how THEY think she should parent.
After Christmas I thought: "I should write thank you letters". Ew. That feels like I'm totally trying to convince myself to do a social nicety that often feels like such a chore to do.
I actually NEVER write thank you letters. Not because I'm all against "the man" and trying to revolt against social niceties. I simply hate writing thank you letters. My dear friends who are reading this, now you know why I have never written you a gosh darn thank you letter. I abhore writing them. I would much rather call you and thank you, and talk to you and find out how you are doing. Why, oh why, must we gauge our level of thankfulness on a letter that was a real pain in our ass to find the time to sit down and write in the first place? Can I get an "Amen"?!?
When we parent from the place of judgment, be it our own judgment or outside influences, we have completely disconnected from ourselves and our children. We have begun to fall down the guilt rabbit hole that was created by other people and their opinion of how we should act.
I could go on and on, however, I do fear beating a dead horse...which is a completely grotesque colloquialism.
If. Here's my beef with "if": it's not the word itself so much as the power we give it when we try to somehow influence our child's behavior.
"If you don't eat your vegetables then you won't get dessert!" or
"If you hit your brother again, then no more TV for a week!"
Right?
Nonviolent parenting has the awful task of making you aware of... pretty much everything. There's science of the brain and stuff that I will get to someday. There's the awareness about our own past when we unconsciously say something that our parents used to say to us (usually something that we swore we would never say to our own children). And then there's the awareness of the impact of the words we use. To say the dreaded "if statement" implies that we are about to reward or punish based on a result we judge to be correct.
When you set a condition (such as an "if statement") then you have negated a child's emotional life. And why do we even care about a child's emotional life?!? Because that, my dear reader, is the foundation for a healthy, school/life-ready human being (I'm simplifying... not by much). Contrary to certain beliefs that perhaps we ourselves were raised with, the emotions of a child are important and life-altering. Let's honor that, shall we?
But... From Marshall Rosenberg, the author of Nonviolent Communication, comes the saying: "Don't put your but in my face", but not butt. When you make a statement and add "but..." then you have taken away everything you JUST said. I would like to prove my point, but I don't want to bore you. Or I could say, I would like to prove my point, and I might bore you. Yeah, I'm gonna prove my point and you might get bored and that's okay.
I challenge you to eradicate "but" and "should" from your vocabulary. "If" is far tougher. The truth is, IF your kid runs in traffic they might get hurt. There is a place for an "if statement", however, there is also a way to abuse it.
Aware, aware, aware....aaaaaaaand I'm aware I'm done with this post. If you want to read more, then you better get comfortable (and don't spend too much time away from your kids while you read this). You probably want to think about fixing something to eat. See that? Not a "should" or a "but" in sight, and one lovingly placed "if statement".
Fin
should have, could have, BUT you didn't
1) Used as a judgment about your behavior and the guilt associated with it OR the judgment of your child's behavior based on your opinion of how you believe they should navigate inside your belief system
2) a window into judgment
Seriously. I have looked at this word for many years now. I have decided it is a dirty, dirty word. You should not use it... ain't that irony?!?
I heard a mom recently say, "I should have put him back in his bed but instead I snuggled with him and now I've created a need where there should not have been."
Hmmmm.... allow me to unpack that incredibly weighted statement...or are you already ahead of me? Can you HEAR the judgment? And the bitch of it is this: it's not all her own judgment. She is adhering to the judgment of others and how THEY think she should parent.
After Christmas I thought: "I should write thank you letters". Ew. That feels like I'm totally trying to convince myself to do a social nicety that often feels like such a chore to do.
I actually NEVER write thank you letters. Not because I'm all against "the man" and trying to revolt against social niceties. I simply hate writing thank you letters. My dear friends who are reading this, now you know why I have never written you a gosh darn thank you letter. I abhore writing them. I would much rather call you and thank you, and talk to you and find out how you are doing. Why, oh why, must we gauge our level of thankfulness on a letter that was a real pain in our ass to find the time to sit down and write in the first place? Can I get an "Amen"?!?
When we parent from the place of judgment, be it our own judgment or outside influences, we have completely disconnected from ourselves and our children. We have begun to fall down the guilt rabbit hole that was created by other people and their opinion of how we should act.
I could go on and on, however, I do fear beating a dead horse...which is a completely grotesque colloquialism.
If. Here's my beef with "if": it's not the word itself so much as the power we give it when we try to somehow influence our child's behavior.
"If you don't eat your vegetables then you won't get dessert!" or
"If you hit your brother again, then no more TV for a week!"
Right?
Nonviolent parenting has the awful task of making you aware of... pretty much everything. There's science of the brain and stuff that I will get to someday. There's the awareness about our own past when we unconsciously say something that our parents used to say to us (usually something that we swore we would never say to our own children). And then there's the awareness of the impact of the words we use. To say the dreaded "if statement" implies that we are about to reward or punish based on a result we judge to be correct.
When you set a condition (such as an "if statement") then you have negated a child's emotional life. And why do we even care about a child's emotional life?!? Because that, my dear reader, is the foundation for a healthy, school/life-ready human being (I'm simplifying... not by much). Contrary to certain beliefs that perhaps we ourselves were raised with, the emotions of a child are important and life-altering. Let's honor that, shall we?
But... From Marshall Rosenberg, the author of Nonviolent Communication, comes the saying: "Don't put your but in my face", but not butt. When you make a statement and add "but..." then you have taken away everything you JUST said. I would like to prove my point, but I don't want to bore you. Or I could say, I would like to prove my point, and I might bore you. Yeah, I'm gonna prove my point and you might get bored and that's okay.
I challenge you to eradicate "but" and "should" from your vocabulary. "If" is far tougher. The truth is, IF your kid runs in traffic they might get hurt. There is a place for an "if statement", however, there is also a way to abuse it.
Aware, aware, aware....aaaaaaaand I'm aware I'm done with this post. If you want to read more, then you better get comfortable (and don't spend too much time away from your kids while you read this). You probably want to think about fixing something to eat. See that? Not a "should" or a "but" in sight, and one lovingly placed "if statement".
Fin
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
That smart dude...
There was this story on NPR about a famous scientist. I don't remember his name, though I'm sure he was very, very smart, and I think he won a Nobel Peace Prize... at least, that's how I remember it. Suffice it to say, he was a brilliant scientist and he said on national radio that he owed it all to his mother. Here's the story as I recall:
When he was young scientist in the making, like around 5, his family used to get those old fashioned glass milk containers delivered to their door. One day he tried to pick up the milk which had become slippery due to condensation on the bottle. Well the damn thing spilled all over the floor. His mom came over and simply said, "Oops, you spilled the milk. Were you trying to carry it? It was too slippery and fell out of your hands. Let's clean this up together and then we'll practice carrying the milk." And somewhere in there she asked if he wanted to play in the milk. I know, she's way advanced, because seriously, who really wants their kid to play with milk all over the kitchen floor. She must have been totally zenned out.
So this scientist in the making kid is playing with the milk (what kid wouldn't seize that opportunity!) and when he was done his mom helped him pick out the cleaning implement. He chose a sponge. They cleaned the mess and THEN his mom filled the milk container with water and sent him outside to practice carrying the milk bottle around in a manner that would keep it from slipping from his hands. Scientist Man then said: "My Mother taught me it was okay to fail."
Wow.
Get it?
Instead of getting mad at him for trying to do something he really ought of asked for help doing, she let him PLAY IN IT, got him to clean it up WITH HER, and then encouraged him to find out how to carry it himself, WHICH (I just had to write in all caps one last time) is, in essence, a science experiment. He explains that he failed in his experiments as an adult but he never once had the shame that is placed on "failure". He simply played with his failure... well, I don't know if he did that but it's funny to think about, and moved on to figure out why it failed and he tried again.
My point in all of this is, inside of the Nonviolent philosophy, we don't need to shame a child, no matter how significantly we judge the unwanted behavior to be. There is ALWAYS (all caps... sorry) room for staying connected to our kids.
Yesterday, my middle child, whom I shall name Louie (the feminine version of the name, with the emphasis on the last syllable), charges at my oldest...named...Huey (also feminine with emphasis at the end) on our little plastic, wholly unkempt dirty backyard slide. Louie knocked Huey to the ground while Dewey (yes, my youngest, and guess where the emphasis goes?) looked on watching the entire exchange. Huey is in tears, Louie keeps babbling that it was an accident, and Dewey stares wide eyed at me to see how I might respond.
I try to take a moment, but the sight of my Huey sprawled on the dirty ground (which is only slightly more dirty than the slide she was just knocked off of) really triggered me. I calmly walk toward the trio, and a bit like the Hulk I go for my default grabbing of poor Louie's arms to ask her "What were you thinking?!?" I grab too tight, tighter than I mean...damn that always happens to me.
I release my grip the moment I see Louie's bottom lip tremble and her eyes get watery. I really have to breathe. I put my head down, take a moment, and then look up to focus intensely on my child's sweet blue 4 year-old eyes.
I simply say, "I was really scared for your sister. It looked like it really hurt. Baby, please be careful." She says, "It was an accident".
I say, "I know. Please be careful of people's bodies." I wait a beat to see her acknowledgement. I check in with Dewey (she's now moved to the nasty old slide). Low and behold, my baby is crouching down next to Louie. She's totally checking in with Louie. She saw everything I did and is parroting me.
She's the sponge in this experiment.
Huey was the milk.
Louie was the scientist in the making kid.
Dewey was the sponge.
I cannot shame my child for making a mistake.
I CAN help show her how to do it in a way that won't spill the milk.
The milk was not hurt in this story. She was fine. We sat down and talked for a bit. She saw it was a mistake.
I don't ever want my kids to be afraid to make a mistake.
I want them to intrinsically learn from them.
And then I want them to try again because they want to, not because I make them.
Punishment will, 100% of the time, succeed in making a child scared.
Let me ask you, do you learn best when you're scared?
Do you remember the teachers you had in school because they scared you or because they took the time to talk to you, connect with you, and show you how to do something?
I'm going to go clean that slide now.
When he was young scientist in the making, like around 5, his family used to get those old fashioned glass milk containers delivered to their door. One day he tried to pick up the milk which had become slippery due to condensation on the bottle. Well the damn thing spilled all over the floor. His mom came over and simply said, "Oops, you spilled the milk. Were you trying to carry it? It was too slippery and fell out of your hands. Let's clean this up together and then we'll practice carrying the milk." And somewhere in there she asked if he wanted to play in the milk. I know, she's way advanced, because seriously, who really wants their kid to play with milk all over the kitchen floor. She must have been totally zenned out.
So this scientist in the making kid is playing with the milk (what kid wouldn't seize that opportunity!) and when he was done his mom helped him pick out the cleaning implement. He chose a sponge. They cleaned the mess and THEN his mom filled the milk container with water and sent him outside to practice carrying the milk bottle around in a manner that would keep it from slipping from his hands. Scientist Man then said: "My Mother taught me it was okay to fail."
Wow.
Get it?
Instead of getting mad at him for trying to do something he really ought of asked for help doing, she let him PLAY IN IT, got him to clean it up WITH HER, and then encouraged him to find out how to carry it himself, WHICH (I just had to write in all caps one last time) is, in essence, a science experiment. He explains that he failed in his experiments as an adult but he never once had the shame that is placed on "failure". He simply played with his failure... well, I don't know if he did that but it's funny to think about, and moved on to figure out why it failed and he tried again.
My point in all of this is, inside of the Nonviolent philosophy, we don't need to shame a child, no matter how significantly we judge the unwanted behavior to be. There is ALWAYS (all caps... sorry) room for staying connected to our kids.
Yesterday, my middle child, whom I shall name Louie (the feminine version of the name, with the emphasis on the last syllable), charges at my oldest...named...Huey (also feminine with emphasis at the end) on our little plastic, wholly unkempt dirty backyard slide. Louie knocked Huey to the ground while Dewey (yes, my youngest, and guess where the emphasis goes?) looked on watching the entire exchange. Huey is in tears, Louie keeps babbling that it was an accident, and Dewey stares wide eyed at me to see how I might respond.
I try to take a moment, but the sight of my Huey sprawled on the dirty ground (which is only slightly more dirty than the slide she was just knocked off of) really triggered me. I calmly walk toward the trio, and a bit like the Hulk I go for my default grabbing of poor Louie's arms to ask her "What were you thinking?!?" I grab too tight, tighter than I mean...damn that always happens to me.
I release my grip the moment I see Louie's bottom lip tremble and her eyes get watery. I really have to breathe. I put my head down, take a moment, and then look up to focus intensely on my child's sweet blue 4 year-old eyes.
I simply say, "I was really scared for your sister. It looked like it really hurt. Baby, please be careful." She says, "It was an accident".
I say, "I know. Please be careful of people's bodies." I wait a beat to see her acknowledgement. I check in with Dewey (she's now moved to the nasty old slide). Low and behold, my baby is crouching down next to Louie. She's totally checking in with Louie. She saw everything I did and is parroting me.
She's the sponge in this experiment.
Huey was the milk.
Louie was the scientist in the making kid.
Dewey was the sponge.
I cannot shame my child for making a mistake.
I CAN help show her how to do it in a way that won't spill the milk.
The milk was not hurt in this story. She was fine. We sat down and talked for a bit. She saw it was a mistake.
I don't ever want my kids to be afraid to make a mistake.
I want them to intrinsically learn from them.
And then I want them to try again because they want to, not because I make them.
Punishment will, 100% of the time, succeed in making a child scared.
Let me ask you, do you learn best when you're scared?
Do you remember the teachers you had in school because they scared you or because they took the time to talk to you, connect with you, and show you how to do something?
I'm going to go clean that slide now.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
And we're off!!!
This is a test. In the event of a real blog, please feel free to read the entire post. For now...this is just a test.
I've done the blogging thing before. I'm kind of surprised it's not totally "so 5 minutes ago". Then again, maybe it is and I'm just so clueless that I'm not aware of what's hip.
My story, in short, is that I am trained in this crazy philosophy called "Nonviolent Parenting and Education". Much to your surprise, it's not just about staving from hitting your child. It is... well... MUCH more than that. Suffice it to say I am absolutely crazy smitten with the philosophy and how much it has changed my marriage, my relationship with my children and my entire view of humanity.
Yeah, it's just that powerful.
I do believe this philosophy is the path to peace, as a way to let go of the anger and revenge we humans so desperately hang on to, a whole new way to view our own lives and the future lives of our children.
And then there are times when it's just so @#%*! hard and I want to hit something... not my child... a large pillow would suffice.
Because, like anything that's going to change the world, it takes time to evolve.
This philosophy is a practice, like yoga, or playing an instrument. And people think I'm CRAZY for talking to my children as if they are fully functioning adults. "Stop acting like a child", is NOT something I will say to my CHILD. My child is a child, and I expect she will act like a child. All my girls will become adults before I know it, and dear Lord, PLEASE LET MY CHILD ACT LIKE A CHILD. It ain't gonna last forever!
I have three kids... girls to be exact. I was 29 when my first born changed my life forever. I'm 35 now and damn is it hard when my youngest, 16 months old, doesn't sleep because she's getting molars. I sure don't bounce back from sleeplessness like I used to. I digress....
So follow, if you will, on my wholly imperfect practice of the philosophy. I try with all my being to practice what I preach to other parents. And like any good therapist will tell you, therapists are perhaps the most screwed up people... which is why they pursued therapy in the first place, because it's most likely the very thing that saved them from themselves.
I struggle everyday to practice what I literally teach. It's harder than nails and I wouldn't trade it for nothin'.
And so we begin...
I've done the blogging thing before. I'm kind of surprised it's not totally "so 5 minutes ago". Then again, maybe it is and I'm just so clueless that I'm not aware of what's hip.
My story, in short, is that I am trained in this crazy philosophy called "Nonviolent Parenting and Education". Much to your surprise, it's not just about staving from hitting your child. It is... well... MUCH more than that. Suffice it to say I am absolutely crazy smitten with the philosophy and how much it has changed my marriage, my relationship with my children and my entire view of humanity.
Yeah, it's just that powerful.
I do believe this philosophy is the path to peace, as a way to let go of the anger and revenge we humans so desperately hang on to, a whole new way to view our own lives and the future lives of our children.
And then there are times when it's just so @#%*! hard and I want to hit something... not my child... a large pillow would suffice.
Because, like anything that's going to change the world, it takes time to evolve.
This philosophy is a practice, like yoga, or playing an instrument. And people think I'm CRAZY for talking to my children as if they are fully functioning adults. "Stop acting like a child", is NOT something I will say to my CHILD. My child is a child, and I expect she will act like a child. All my girls will become adults before I know it, and dear Lord, PLEASE LET MY CHILD ACT LIKE A CHILD. It ain't gonna last forever!
I have three kids... girls to be exact. I was 29 when my first born changed my life forever. I'm 35 now and damn is it hard when my youngest, 16 months old, doesn't sleep because she's getting molars. I sure don't bounce back from sleeplessness like I used to. I digress....
So follow, if you will, on my wholly imperfect practice of the philosophy. I try with all my being to practice what I preach to other parents. And like any good therapist will tell you, therapists are perhaps the most screwed up people... which is why they pursued therapy in the first place, because it's most likely the very thing that saved them from themselves.
I struggle everyday to practice what I literally teach. It's harder than nails and I wouldn't trade it for nothin'.
And so we begin...
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