I Believe....

My children spend hours each day at a new hobby: Wheelbipping. At first appearance, the sport is anything but magical. A child attaches a Lego person to an equally small Lego base with wheels. He then rolls the creation over all surfaces, horizontal or vertical, in the house. Occassionally, Wheelbip Jousting takes place in which competitors roll toward each other with their lances at the ready, attempting to knock one another down.

Why is this activity fascinating enough to go on for hours? Perhaps because we don't have television. Perhaps because I spend too much time writing blogposts. Maybe because I tend to cook our meals which lands me in the kitchen while my children find yet another thing to entertain themselves with.

But here's what I think: Wheelbipping is dreaming in the hand. Both boys spend a chunk of each week skating or biking the skateboard bowl near our home. As they roll over and over in real time the simplest maneuvers, I imagine that they dream of their bodies and vehicles arcing midair in the form of their companion spatial artists. What is Real?

When I see Sam Wheelbip with singular focus across tracks that appear to be randomly chosen, my breath catches in my throat. The energy that emits from his controlled flight sets my hair on end. He is joyfully present in his awareness; the doing is the being.

At age eight, Trinidad approaches the sport more analytically. "Do you know, Mom, for some reason Air Surfers [a recent offshoot involving plastic human figures that hover in air over the chosen substrate at all angles] look more graceful than Wheelbippers."

"Maybe it's because they fly," I said. (What is flying, I wonder, if our hand alone controls the distance these objects hover above the earth? If all objects have potential flight, why are only some credited with this power?) "I'd be -- I'd be more graceful if I flew," I add. Seda laughs.

"What is funny?" asks Trinidad.

"Adult joke," says Seda.

"Adult joke? What does it mean, Mama?" asks Sam.

"I don't know," I say, blankly. "I don't get it either."

Long NVC'ish Dialogue -- Get Yo'self A Cuppa Tea...

We bit into a fabulous dilemma today. A family friend expressed to the boys that he feels annoyed when he hears their voices dive into a whine pitch (they both understood from the example what he spoke to), and he asked if they would be willing to express themselves in a different tone of voice.

Sam said he understood what he was being asked to do and was willing. Trinidad bowed his head in silence, and then slowly melted until his head nearly touched the floor, lower lip hanging. I went to check in, quietly, but he avoided me and asked for some space in his room. In my history of parenting this child, I have not yet seen him respond like this.

Trinidad refused empathy, and returned quietly to the room when he was ready for a group story. After the story, he and our friend reconnected in wild physical play, but I knew that the work had only begun. After awhile, I translated our friend's request into feelings and needs (unsure whether he had; I'd been out of the room in the middle of the discussion), and then Trin told me that he had felt sad to hear what K-- had to say.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Because I don't know how to speak any other way when I am sad or angry," he said. "That's just me, and I don't want to change who I am. I would rather have no friends than do that."

I saw how much this meant to him. "You really want to be authentic when you express yourself -- is that right?"

"Yeah. And it's just me. I like K-- , but I just want to be me, too."

We talked about meeting some needs -- authenticity, self-connection -- while watching others not be met -- connection, fun, contribution. He felt so sad, hopeless even, to imagine so many needs unmet. I breathed into it, holding the space for mourning.

Two hours later, walking in the sun, I reframed it. "So. I hear that K-- has needs for choice and connection up and you would like to be authentic about how you express yourself. That is a dilemma. Hmmm. Somehow it sounds less dismal when I just focus on the needs. Does it seem that way to you?"

"Yeah!" he said.

"So, our job is to find a strategy that holds everyone's needs."

"I don't think we can," he said, after a moment. Tears welled in his eyes.

"Mmmm. When you think that, I bet you feel sad," I said. I opened my heart to hold the space.

"Yeah. I don't want K-- to be annoyed, and I want to just be me."

"Mmm. So, I wonder if there are any other ways to meet your needs for authenticity besides whining."

"I don't think so," he said.

"Oh! I have an idea. What if you expressed yourself by saying how you feel and what needs are up for you? Would that be doable?"

"Yeah, but I'd probably still whine."

"You might, but you'd be taking responsibility for how you feel, and I'm guessing that that would be a big contribution to K--. When you whine, he's often hearing what you are asking for as a demand, so here's another idea: you could let him know that what you are asking for is a request and not a demand. Do you know the difference?"

"Well, kind of."

"It's like this," I told them. "If I ask you to set the table and you tell me 'no,' and I say, 'Well, I want you to set it anyway. Because I said so,' then that would be a demand."

"Hey!" said Trinidad. "A lot of other mothers tell their kids to do something, and when their kids ask 'why?' they say 'Because I said so.' I think they say it because they don't really know why either."

"Have you ever heard me say 'Because I said so' to you?" I asked, prepared for the worst. :)

"No, you haven't."

"You know why? Because I heard it so much from my parents when I was young (and I didn't like it), that I vowed to never say that to you. I make no guarantees about the future, but I want to celebrate right now that you don't remember me saying it in your eight years. Hurray." We smiled at each other. "And I think you're right: the parent who says that probably does not want to take the time or energy to check in with what needs are behind it. They might be tired and just wanting ease and to get the job done."

"Yeah, that's what I think, too."

"Anyway," I said, "if I hear your 'no' and then decide to share my needs that would be met by you doing it and make the request again [I gave example], then you might shift and agree to. Or, I might decide to do it myself."

"Or eat without forks that night," offered Trinidad, in the spirit of limitless possibility.

"Yup. The point is, I could work with your 'no' and find other ways to hold both our needs. Do you think you could make it clear to K-- that you are making a request, not a demand?"

"Yeah, I think I could," said Trinidad.

"You know, even if you whine to do it, I'm guessing that would really meet his needs for autonomy, because he would know he was in choice about it, and that's the big problem."

"Yeah!" said Trinidad.

The kids shifted their attention to walking on the edge of curbs and after about ten minutes, I offered this: "You know, an interesting thing might happen if you own your own feelings and needs when you're upset. You might well speak it in some other tone of voice than a whine." I paused and noticed Trinidad watching me intently. "Because," I went on, "a whine is that tone of voice we often use when we think we are helpless -- that our happiness depends on someone else."

"You're right!" said Trinidad. "How did you know that?"

I laughed. "Because I've given it some thought. So, just the act of owning your own feelings and needs will probably make it easier to make a true request, easier for that request to connect and for everyone to feel in their power, even if they are disappointed with the answer to that request."

"Yeah!" said Trinidad, beaming.

"So, I have an idea. And this would really meet my needs for teamwork and mutuality in our family, too. Would you guys be willing to practice expressing your feelings and needs at various times throughout the day when we are not upset, just for practice?"

"Sure," they both said, and we did it right then. Both were remarkably eloquent in their expressions, despite the fact that they have often claimed to be clueless as to what feelings and needs were in the past (what is it about the cobbler's children being ill-shod?). Apparently, this conflict offered them new motivation. I expressed my own needs met!

We have checked in on feelings and needs twice more this afternoon. (Interesting aside: When Sam expressed that he was happy with a need for peace met, he insisted on whispering it in my ear, afraid that saying it aloud could jinx his luck with volatile big brother...) And, as I've been typing this, another conflict brewed between Seda and Trin. The latter came in and expressed himself, taking full responsibility for his feelings and needs and his part in a misunderstanding. His voice could be described as a whine, erupting in tears midway, and making space for a good sob before asking for my response. I found that we were both more creative than usual in solving the problem, and both of our needs were met, Seda releasing her issue with it in confusion over our solution.

I am sitting now in gratitude for dilemma, the opportunity to crack open perceived barriers so that limitless possibility can be seen by both sides. In gratitude for growth and shared learning, shared reality, and the unconditional love that keeps us trying for a winning solution.

For patience, for care, and for the courage to say 'no.'

January Skies

"My" bees took wing in mid-afternoon sun. This is quiet proof of their existence, a celebration that they lived through the freeze. The ceremony is lost on them. From the outside looking in, their living or dying is mine alone to ponder, letting go the temptation of taking full responsibility. I am only a worker bee myself.

The air, the water, the earth is One hive above and below me that I may witness what flies beneath the sun as some part of who I am.

A New Year

My gracious! Over a week with no post! The New Year is full of hope, new beginnings, and adventure. I took the kids mid-winter camping (oh, isn't she a fun Mom?) at the coast last weekend. We braved ice and rain, dirt and damp to sit by the campfire and consume more than our healthy share of hotdogs and marshmallows. Don't get me wrong -- we also brought beans and rice, greens and salsa, fruit (two pumpkin pies with whipped cream).... oy vey! We found the middle of the road by ditch diving either side!

It was a blast to play by the ocean in our one sunny day, to hike in the lush green forests that adorn our coastal edge, and to covet every ounce of comfort, warmth and good cheer allotted to us in this, the brightest of winters.

We visited the Darlingtonia, carnivorous and voluptuous pitcher plants unfurling their dappled leaves invitingly. It is a season of consummation -- the fly to be eaten, digested, and translated into green. We stood among them, our eyes and mouths tipped upward to the sun. We rested and rooted in the hummus of a world that cares for us.

Vacation is our home.

Tension

Power under pressure.
Mother of the Big Bang.
Tangible swift, backwards and up, filling in the cracks.
Searching for, creator of outlet.
One dance step manifested.
Potential.
Release in reaction.
Intentional creation.
Container and contained.

Tension farmer planting, harvesting --
Focus and Serendipity --
Guide me.

Conflict

"You know, I just want to celebrate the joy I feel in witnessing the very rich lives we lead. We have a lot of fun, and I also cherish the opportunity to grow in the times we have conflict," I said.

"I think that having conflicts seems more realistic," said Sam, age five. Realistic -- is that a synonym for Alive?

"Yeah," said Trinidad, age eight. "It's really great that when we have conflicts, we just work them out and go on. [I think he was thinking of a very emotional, nearly (?) violent moment between him and his brother hours before that they appeared to recover from completely within fifteen minutes.] It's not like in a movie when everything changes because of a conflict."

This gave me pause. Trinidad had named a piece that I think is critical in supporting childrens' emotional development and presentfuture peacemaking. I have long watched our neighborhood youth run in packs, squabble, and work through their challenges by a great variety of means including retreat, pursuing reconnection, self-connection, and seeking support. I have seen them look to their own and others' needs without attachment to their personal responsibility (in a sense of blame and shame) in "making it right," and still they move on in connection at the turning of tides. I have seen children in groups dive into both their challenges and their play with a full fervored frenzy, then shift as white water turns the bend naturally into deep tracts of calm. I have seen them let go to find peace.

As we adults seize each opportunity to make Right in the world, seek fairness and consideration for all, it is this element of letting go that seems most at risk as we attempt to support "processing" the challenges we see coming up in those young lives we steward. I am not at all saying that these efforts are without value, integrity or even necessity to support safety. I am only naming the dance between recognizing and holding space for sensitivity even as there is also the spaciousness to allow conflict and pain to move through without our own understanding keeping pace. It can be most challenging to let go the pain the we perceived to have happened as we make room for the autonomy of our children, trusting that their work is their own even if some piece goes yet unprocessed.

It is another effort to let go in the trust of love.

My New Years Resolution:

Focus.

Because when I laugh, I laugh for our world. When I cry, it is for us all. When I play, I see that the play is of me and through me, at large in a culture starved for the presence of play. When I write, it is in our words, that we may better understand each other in ourselves.

Let that inform my focus.