on forgetting the moment

When I worked with teenagers preparing for college I would see anxiety spread across their faces as they relayed to me the recycled, These will be the best years of your life. The advice would come from adults they respected and adults they shunned, so it seemed to be some universal truth: the next four years are the best of your life. This would inevitably produce panic about the choice of college which seemed even more grave a matter than it already had to be, but the occasional senior would ask, Really, Jen, is it true?

And I would say no. Can you imagine your life peaking at age twenty-two? Yikes, what a message.

I heard the same thing, of course, and I'm convinced it comes from well-meaning individuals who didn't really live their college years well and when they had the chance. They have regrets. And so life afterwards is tainted. They want to go back and do that again. 

I had an unbelievably good time in college. I became a studious person, rowed on the crew team and traveled the nation, tried almost every legal activity once, and got in just enough trouble to keep me out of the clinker. I tried a dozen things and failed. I tried a dozen more and succeeded. I think I squeezed every bit of life out of my four years at university so there's nothing for me to return to.

Likewise, I think any good thing valued for what it is at the time can be let go when the time passes. My wedding day? The only parts I want back are those I didn't fully enter into. The portions I gave myself over to are an easy joy as I recall them. But even then, I can't quite grasp the sound of Hawk's voice as he spoke his vows or the sound of the string quartet playing Gounod's Ave Maria as I walked down the aisle.

The memory of our wedding ceremony is so sweet and real to me because I was intentionally present as it passed, not because I can recall its thousand details precisely.

So I have to ask how much I will remember of this fleeting time having babies in the house and I am left with the reality -- I am going to forget things as time passes. Whether I enter into these moments with my children or I allow other matters, less important matters like to-do lists, creative works, books to read, etc., to distract me, in ten years I will recall about the same amount of detail. But by entering into them, savoring them as they pass through my life, I will be left with the very real experience of them, and I believe this whole-hearted experience is what gives us truly happy memories and barricades against regret.

When I rock Poppy to sleep, I make sure to take in her sounds, her movements, knowing that I will never have them this way again. And when Ace reads on my lap or rushes up to hug me of his own volition, I know that I will lose the perfect knowledge of how it feels but I will forever possess the experience itself. And it changes me.

A friend alerted me to the very very brief time of "newborn-ness." She said, We all think it lasts a month or more but really, the newborn is gone in a matter of one or two weeks and they have grown into babies. Don't miss it. Stay in bed holding that little life as long as you can. Leave the house a mess and hold that baby and stare at that face." So I did. I held Ace in bed for ours, just holding and staring and enjoying. I held him on the couch, as I walked through the house. The same with Poppy. And sure enough, they quickly grew into their baby-selves but I wasn't sad to see the newborn leave because I drank every drop that I could feasibly drink from that time.

And thus, I could recognize the supreme value of the next phase.

What do you think? Is life over at twenty-three (and perhaps why so many of us have a quarter-life crisis)? Or is there a way to continue on after a good time without going downhill?

I'm eager for your thoughts!


Happy Monday, friends.

icj,
~j

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on : admitting you don't know

Source: society6.com via Jennifer on Pinterest

My college years at a Jesuit university gave me four classes under a Father Gawronski. In one of those classes he responded to a question with the answer,  I don't know. We were all shocked. This man is one of the last Renaissance men; he speaks a few languages extremely well, admires music across centuries and cultures, and taught me more than I'd be able to express here. So to hear him of all people say that he didn't know the answer in response to an area about which he should know everything (right, professors know everything?)...wow.

But with that, I've found the strength to admit when I don't have the answer. It's still hard to do sometimes, but it's more honest. To my husband. To my friends. And even to my very young children. I find freedom in it and I am more confident when I'm willing to give an actual answer. Not to mention the conversation that I don't know can welcome.

What about you? Is it easy for you to say?

icj,

j

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on : toddlers and pushing

Source: mybookshelfreview.com via Jennifer on Pinterest

It's happened twice in the last 2 weeks and never prior. My 18-month-old son was pushed away by another child while playing in the toy area at our local library. When I say pushed, I mean it in the most personal, hurtful way -- though unprovoked, the other child looks my son in the eye, slowly raises his/her hand, and progressively presses against my son's chest. This isn't I'm reacting spontaneously, this is a gesture screaming, I reject you.


Both times he was merely watching the other child play. The last time it happened, he watched in horror before his lip curled down and wallop-sized tears began to fall. I slowly knelt to comfort him and as I did the other child's mother said, He better get used to it.


My heart sank. I disagree.

While I loathe seeing my son hurt by what is, let's admit, common toddler behavior, I never want him to get used to it. I hope he never expects disrespectful, selfish, and injurious behavior because he should know that such behavior is wrong. We only call something wrong if we are capable of doing what is right. He knows he should not behave that way toward others. I hope he will not accept it from others just as he will not accept it from himself.

My mother gave me brilliant advice when I was an inexperienced caregiver working college summers at a daycare. She said, kneel down, look confidently into their eyes, and speak clearly but gently when disciplining very young children. Explain the reason succinctly and move on. And when it is over, let it truly be over. Hug and kiss them and recognize that the moment is a new start. I very quickly became the most well-loved and respected caregiver in the 2 rooms in which I worked, and I credit it to this and more of her similar advice. 


I remember Holly, mouse-brown hair and gray-green eyes, 4-years-old and a kicker and screamer. She was sent to the office on a daily basis. But by practicing my mother's sound advice I was able to make her feel wanted, accepted, and respected. I expected her to behave well and when she did not, I saw it as an opportunity to show her she was worthy of my expectations: I disciplined her but I listened to her side; I punished her with timeouts but I encouraged her every second she stayed put and then, I swirled her around as soon as the 2-minute timer rang. And for the time I worked there, she stopped hitting, whining, and tattling and instead laughed, played well with others, and even took her nap.

I believe we should expect adult behavior from our children but at a child's level. I expect that my 18-month-old son will not push but if he does succumb to the temptations of his 18-month-old mind and body, I will discipline him appropriately for his age. After all, the traditional use of discipline meant to train, educate, and form a person for the good. Meaning that in addition to correcting his behavior, I must encourage him to expect more of himself and others. Even as a toddler.

Back at the library I'm pretty sure the other mother said something like That's not nice. Don't hit. Say your sorry, but I'm equally sure the little girl wasn't paying attention, and the mother certainly didn't command it. The girl hadn't a clue she was being disciplined (she continued to play), and she didn't give my crying child a moment more of her consideration.

I see a tendency to accept something as normal just because it happens often. But I want more for my children. I want them to give more as well as expect more from others.

What about you, friends? What do you think? I'd love to hear about it!

icj,
~j

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on : raising kids and emotional attachment

Source: thejoyofthis.com via Brandy on Pinterest

We received a ton of pressure to have our firstborn cry-it-out before he was 4 months old, and I've already experienced the same in our daughter's first 3 months (especially month one!). While we did use the method at our son's 6 month after exhausting all other methods and after we had, I believe, created bad sleep habits, we also held him as often as possible or "wore" him, exclusively breastfed for the first 5.5 months, and kept him in our room for the first 6. We're doing all the same with our daughter except we strive to avoid bad sleep habits (she has slept through the night from day 6).

Our daughter cried more during the day than he ever did. I think this is part temperament and part second-child reality--she's often made to wait while our oldest is attended to. I've been told that she's colic and that some babies just need to cry. That may be true for a handful, but we believed that her cries had specific meaning and that we should give her the benefit of the doubt.

Sure enough, by persevering in my attempts to comfort her I've learned that she's a highly visual person; if she can see, she's going to be active even if she's exhausted. So lights on? Not good. Now for naps I either take her into a dark, dark room or shield her vision with a cloth (though never against her skin/face) as I wear her. At night, it's always a dark room. She also needs a good half-minute to adjust to a new position. And she needs me to be attentive to her sleep cues before she has the chance to reach exhaustion. Though I help her, nurse her, and rock her, the little gal falls asleep in her crib! And I take advantage of that high-interest during her daylight waking periods by talking to her and giving her plenty to experience. The result? Her cries are still powerful (0-60 in no time flat) but very brief and less traumatic for all.

Recently, I came upon this article on PBS's this emotional life page. I found it encouraging and appropriate.

What do you think? I know this can be a hot topic!

icj,
~j

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