Clean.

More Peaceful Parenting. Step 1. Forgive, accept, and love yourself.

(Photos by Sage.)

Wow. This post was harder than I ever imagined to begin. Because I am thinking: Seriously? Who am I to offer advice on a subject such as this?

Who am I?

I am a mother. A daughter. A granddaughter. A wife. A daughter-in-law. A friend. A neighbor. I am an observer and a participant in both the story of violence and the story of intentional non-violence.

And I am selective as to which tradition I choose to pass on.

Indeed, I have lived the legacy of both peaceful and non-peaceful parenting from many vantage points. And I'm ready to step up and start writing a new story. Starting today.

From the comments on the earlier posts (both this one and this one) I know I've touched a nerve. And I've lost nights of sleep over worrying that someone out there feels judged and criticized by my words. And then today in the mail (the actual mail. With a stamp and paper and everything) came a note saying (among other things), "P.S. Thanks for trying and trying to get the point across about kids and respect. I think it's a big deal."

Thanks, B. I do too.

I think it's a ginormous deal. And no matter where we've been or where it looks like we're heading, we can make changes that better the lives of our children and ourselves. How empowering is that? We get to step up and take control of our choices. We're in charge! Awesome.

But before I dig in, just to be clear, I am not:

• An abuse counselor
• A psychologist - child or otherwise
• A person living with physical, emotional, or sexual violence
• A child living with violence
• A parent wresteling with depression or mental illness
• A person healing from major past trauma

I am simply, a mom. And a mom who believes that I can do better today than I did yesterday. If you are dealing with major trauma please seek help beyond this space. Here I am simply sharing my thoughts on bringing a bit more peace into your home.

Most importantly, my words are offered without judgement for where you are or where you've been; what you've said or what you've done. They are offered with hope and gratitude for where you have chosen to go from here. What an amazing gift for yourself, your family, and the future.

While I intended to start with how you think about, speak to, or otherwise engage your child, I realized that was premature. Because before our child there was us. And that story is woven deep within our story with our own children. So perhaps the first step will be the hardest one of all.

Step 1: Forgive, accept, and unconditionally love yourself.

And when you've got that one down then move on to loving, forgiving, and accepting your parents. And your child. "Oh, right. That," you say. "No problem."

Er, or not.

Because our family stories are thick with unhealed wounds. We carry them. We play them out in a new context. We remember them in every cell. Even what we choose to forget come bubbling up during times of stress.

And so I ask you to begin by doing something that may seem nearly impossible.

Why start with love, forgiveness, and acceptance? Because it's the foundation of what we're setting out to create. It's allowing ourselves, our parents, and our child to be imperfect. And within that imperfection to still be loved and accepted. Unconditionally. Think about that for a moment. Unconditional love. Isn't that a beautiful concept? We are separate from our actions. We are loved, even when we're acting like monsters. We matter, even when we don't think we should.

It's beautiful.

If you'd like some homework, grab a blank notebook and jot down three things you appreciate about yourself every night before you go to sleep. Three gifts you bring. Three bits of your sparkle. Because guess what? You were born to shine, too.

Edited to say: Please do this exercise, with our without the pencil and paper. I did it last night in my head before I fell asleep. And while I was slow starting, I came up with three things. I know you can too.

For the very brave, share it here too. (Not required, just gutsy.) Need more inspiration? This is fantastic. No go find your awesome. 

So much love,

Rachel

Here are the links to the complete Peaceful Parenting Series:

More Peaceful Parenting Step 1. Forgive, Accept, and Love Yourself.

More Peaceful Parenting Step 2. Identify the Need.

More Peaceful Parenting Step 3. Validate.

More Peaceful Parenting Step 4. Creating a Yes Environment.

More Peaceful Parenting Step 5. Your Mission Statement.

More Peaceful Parenting Step 6. Just Listen.

More Peaceful Parenting Step 7. Play!

 

The Wolf River. My Story.

Hello, Wolf River. Wild and Scenic River. River of my name. River that winds through each page of my life.

My story with you runs deep. Deeper than the water in the Hole. (It's so deep and tannic there I've never touched bottom and I never will. Thought if I was brave enough I know I could. I've always know I could. But I can't.)

I remember floating handmade boats along your shore. I remember catching crayfish with fishing line and venison sausage, me in pigtails and bib overalls and bare feet. Me. A kid. You, where I came so may weekends. This place is our Cabin. Built by my Grandpa Les and my great-grandpa Emil. Next-door to my grandparents house (back then). Where we had Christmas and Thanksgiving and summer vacation and weekends and deer camp. The River. Family. This place.

I remember spin-fishing from the dock and learning to cast a bamboo rod in the yard at my grandparents house, a mere feet from the Cabin I visit today with my kids. I remember standing on the other side of your noisy rapids, my grandmother on this side in her blue mumu/nightgown, also barefoot, waving at me in the morning light. My folks owned a lot across the river where we'd camp and always our eyes were on the dock, waiting from Grandma to appear.

I remember falling into your icy water as a child, splashing headlong into the biting early-winter current. An innocent, curious leaning forward and SPLASH! Baptism. Hello, Wolf River. I remember my Dad's strong arms reaching down to pull me out, then walking across the snow to the house. I remember that he didn't laugh. He put his arm around my wet shoulder while I cried from the painful cold, so grateful that I was safe.

I remember countless inner-tube rides. From the bridge. Or the woods. Or just up river at the neighbor's dock. Hundreds of trips down these magical waters. Child. Pre-teen. Teen. Adult. I remember. Wolf. River. I will always remember.

I remember swimming in your shallows as a child and skinny dipping in your depths as an adolecent. I remember falling in love with the man I was to marry, and at the same time weeping at the knowledge that my grandmother was dying. Right here. Beside your water.

And then, that she was gone.

I remember Pete on one knee in the tall grasses along your banks. We were both in chest waders, fly fishing. We'd been watching a flock of mergansers navigate your rapids. I was so enthralled with them that I leaned too far forward, hiding behind a rock, and my waters filled with your startlingly cold water. No fear of death like 20 years previously, but the shock of the cold upon my skin once more. Two years later we married beneath the riverside hemlocks and changed our name to yours. There was a hummingbird that came to sip the nectar of our foraged lilacs deep in the woods that day. Maybe it was Grandma Lee, the hummingbird lover, come to watch the magic of our day. I think so.

It took us years to be ready to spread Grandma's ashes. More than a decade until my mom could finish her goodbyes. But when it was time I dug into her urn with my bare hands and brought up great hand-fulls of ash to carry to the water. Those ashes were not her, but yet somehow they were. I remember sprinkling Grandma Lee's ashes here in shallows and wading out into the deeper water. I watched my parents do the same. In the river that so represented her life, her joy, and her dreams we said goodbye. And later that day when Lupine and I played in the river we stepped on the grey silt that lay over the rocks beneath the water knowing that my daughter's feet were on the bones of my grandma. Literally. And figuratively. And being okay with that. Because we live. We love. We inspire. (And in the case of my Grandma and me, we knit and we sew.) And then we die. And it's normal. It's okay to die. And in truth, I liked seeing her ashes there in the Wolf River and feeling that silty water beneath my toes. Because she is part of the ground beneath my feet. And here she was, sifting on through the place she most loved.

This week, spent here at the Cabin, most of my time was spent with knitting in hand. Three projects in the works. Two on needles that came from the house just a few feet up river. My grandma's needles. I can still smell her sewing room when I picture it in my mind. And as I sat with my back to the fire - the stone fireplace that my grandpa built - I wondered - did she sit here, knitting on these same needles? We've perched on this slab of concrete, crafting a life, one stitch at a time.

Tonight we're back home. My kids are asleep. Each of them holds in their arms a blanket knit by my grandma as they sleep. And who knows? Maybe she knit some of it perched right there on that hearth. If not she knit it next door, looking out on the river, stitch after stich after stitch.

And tomorrow when we venture out into the cold they'll wear scarves and cowls knit by me, and mittens and hats knitted my my grandma. Because even now, after decades, she still keeps us warm.

And so we come here. Season after season, generation after generation. To the cabin build by my grandpa and my great-grandfather, alongside the river who's name we've taken as our own. We don't live here, but this is Home. In a grander way than any place we've ever lived. This. Is. Home.

A Half-Week in the Woods.

I bet you didn't miss us at all.

We slipped away for the better part of a week up at the cabin. It was just what we needed. Time like this makes me appreciate my people (and yes, this place) ever so much. What a delicious week it was.

And now we're home - unpacking, restocking the fridge, and catching up on laundry as usual post-vacation. I'll be back here with some stories from the river and more yummy photos of our week away. But first that laundry needs my attention. We'll chat soon.

Love,
Rachel

Stash Knitting. Using what I have.

I have. A lot. Of yarn. Two or three decent sized baskets of the stuff. Four years ago I don't think I remembered how to knit. I certainly didn't make anything with yarn. I doubt there were three skeins in my house back then. Today? There is an abundance. Observe:

A peek inside one of three bins of yarn in my craft room.

Soft and gorgeous hand-spun that I can't wait to use. I picked it up for me but Lupine has her eyes on it. Edited to say: Because I left it out after I took this phoot the kids just made the pretties trip line I've ever seen to capture Pete. I think its time to cast this one on before it all is used for mischief.

Four surprisingly soft, fine wools. The black is nice. I'm not sure about that '80's kelly green though. (Teal may be the only color I like less than this one for myself.)

Two small skeins of shiny cotton. Tank top or bodice of a dress for Lupine perhaps?

Three blues, one grey. Six big skeins. Sweater for Sage? (It's almost soft enough but not quite.) He just looked over my shoulder and vetoed that idea. Okay, maybe one for me. Overdyed with red to see what magentas/purples I could transform them into perhaps.

Another hand-spun that I love. Not sure why I hoard these. This one is baby soft. Cowl?

Four visually beautiful but texturally nightmarish hand-spun skeins. Like sandpaper on the neck I tell you.

And that's just the pretty stuff. There are dozens of half-skeins, plenty of my spinner-in-training yarn, and lots of other odds and ends.

I haven't been knitting for long. But in those few years I've become hopelessly addicted to yarn, knitting patterns, and the possibility they hold. This winter I've cast off nearly a dozen projects (many I have yet to share with you) and have more on the needles at any given time than I probably should. (I am not a linear project person. Five or six projects at a time suits me perfectly. It keeps things interesting.) Some of this winter's projects (my hat and cowl, Lulu's leg warmers) I bought soft new yummy yarn for, others (Pete's sweater, Sage's cowl, and my mittens) came straight from the stash.

Most of the yarns above I scrounged up second hand (rummage, thrift, various barters, and craigslist), a couple I have bartered for with hand-spinners at shows, and a few I've spun myself. I've lucked out and been able to build a stash for very little money. What a gift to have a box of useful yarn at my fingertips!

Which brings me to my dilemma.

I'm wanting to cast on a shawlette for myself this weekend and I was picturing something in a variegated pea green or perhaps a purple/magenta combination (my favorite colors for the past couple of years).

But, um, I don't have those colors in my stash.

Do I go to the knitting store? Or do I work with what I have?

This is what my sister would refer to as a "first world problem". And it is. For goodness sake I'm not unraveling my children's outgrown sweaters to make them a new one for next year. But oddly somehow that abundance is a bummer in and of itself. Because I don't feel like it's appropritae to buy yarn, yet I really want to. Because I have a magenta hat. A magenta scarf. And I thought: oooh! Magenta mittens. But then I paused. Because if I have dozens of skeins of suitable wool in the craft room, why exactly am I buying new? Damn ethics.

So I found two skeins of single ply black wool in the bin and cast on my mittens. Black is almost as good as magenta, right? And in fact, I love them - largely becasue these pretty mitts were essentially free and this season I'm trying to stay mindful of my budget. (The yarn came with many of the others pictured above from a rummage sale - $25 for a heaping large laundry basket full of wool yarn and roving. For you non-knitters - if you've somehow stuck with me this long - it's not unusual for a single skein of nice yarn to run close to that.)

So I've made myself a promise. I'm not buying new yarn for a bit. (I know. That was non committal. I'm going to try it on for a few weeks and see how I do. This is a big leap you see.) I'm going to work my way through a bit more of what I have first, even if that means changing the projects on my to-do list.

And to you I ask: what would you do with a milk crate full of scratchy wool? I'm open to suggestions.

What's on your needles? Do you buy new for every project or are you a frugal/thrifty stash builder? I'm all ears.

I See You.

I was so moved by your comments yesterday about what makes your child sparkle. Many of you know your kids so well. You see their soul - and their gifts - shining out.

But sometimes I know it isn't so easy. Plenty of you didn't comment (some because you don't comment as a rule, but others I suspect because that question was really hard.) Sometimes it's hard to see their gifts.

I acknowledge this to give you clearance to say "I don't really know what my child's sparkle is. Right now it's just hard." Because sometimes it's like that. I've been there. Really. I remember the first time I asked myself that question and I drew nothing but a blank.

But now? I get them. I see them. I feel them. You will too. With time. Find patience for yourself and your child. It will come.

For those of you who struggled with seeing your child's gifts, start watching. Be aware of the moments that make you smile more than the ones that make your grimace. Ask your partner. Your parents. Their friends. And soon a lovely picture of your child will start to emerge.

And sometimes seeing them from this new, appreciative vantage point will change the course of your day. Maybe even your relationship. It wouldn't hurt to do the same thing for yourself too. Becuase seeing yourself from a place of love and appreciation tends to spill over into how you see those around you.

I realized that I didn't participate in yesterday's kid-love-fest. So here I am with my contribution. Because I do so want to participate. In so many ways I think motherhood changed everything, and these two are where that transformation happened for me. 

Mister Sage. You are funny. Sharp. Wise beyond your years. You are my Sage in so many ways. You are also a study in contrast - quiet and rowdy, sensitive and oblivious, innocence and mischief. You are aware of the subtle energy around us, imperceptible by most. You feel. So much. And I honor that.

You taught me how to mother. You transformed me.

And Lupine, I am crazy about you in so many ways. Determined and strong, you know where you are going. I have no doubts you will get exactly where you choose to be. You are sweet and kind and nurturing, aware of the feelings of all who surround you. You are drawn to beauty and distracted  by faeries and magic and light. You are stardust. I can see your magic as you move through the room. I think we all can.

You sparkle. Constantly. 

Thank you both for choosing me. For choosing us. To be your family. We came together to learn and grow, challenge and be challenged, to transform and evolve. I'm up for that challenge. I embrace it.

I respect you. I like you. I love you. I trust you. I am your mama, and you will always occupy most of the space in my heart.

Ten Steps to More Peaceful Parenting.

When I wrote this post earlier this month I was surprised by the powerful response it received. You commented, you shared, you emailed, you reached out. Some of you saw yourself in the child, others saw themselves in the mother. Many of you stressed that we can not possibly know the context of this moment and must be careful before we judge another.

And you're right. I don't know their story.

So I decided to start with a few assumptions and see if that changed my take on their dynamic. For the sake of this discussion I assumed that there were some stressful extenuating circumstances - that their day had started bad and gotten worse, that there was a family crisis going on at home, that the child had been acting out in a big way for weeks, and that the mother was suffering from some emotional trials of her own.

While I am sensitive to this new story and my heart goes out to the family I created in my mind, it didn't change much for me.

Even in this new context I don't think it is okay to shame or disrespect a child. Period. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Pretty simple, except when we try to apply it to how we parent. Then it gets messy. 

Because, quite simply, we often don't treat children with the respect that they inherently deserve.

If I told you the same story but instead of a mother and child it was a husband speaking to his wife would you excuse the behavior? What if it was an adult talking to their elderly parent? Would it be okay then? Would we say "Maybe they were having a hard day." and see their behavior as acceptable?  Or would we expect them to find a way in which to heal their own hurts so that they could treat their partner or parent with the respect that they deserve? I think - and hope - it would be the latter.

Children have been demoted to the bottom of the worthy-of-respect continuum in our culture. We force them to do what we think is important; we tell them we know better than they; we believe that losing our cool is somehow more acceptable in the context of childhood.

And I wholeheartedly disagree. We can be the grown-up and hold that place of responsibility without disrespecting our kids. I just know we can.

Truth be told, I sometimes yell. Sometimes I even swear. (Yes, around/at my children). I've slammed doors, pounded my fists on the carpeting, and thrown things down dramatically in frustration. Yes - there have been moments when I've been bossy, rude, and/or disrespectful to every member of my family. Now you know. I can be a bitch too.

Yup, sometimes I totally and utterly lose it. And my losing it likely either more or less dramatic than yours, depending on your personality and your context. Maybe for you "losing it" means striking your child or letting a distressed baby cry without you coming. Or maybe "losing it" means saying something snarky to your partner when they come home, snapping at your child, or drinking too much at the end of the day. Maybe "losing it" means saying words that hurt more than hands - angry, shaming words. Words you can never take back. Or maybe it means being less gentle than usual when you put your child in their car seat. Chances are, you lose it now and then in your own way.

And whether you lose it once a year or dozens of times per day is beside the point. Because we are all imperfect. And always will be. And within that imperfection, we all starting at our own perfect place. Because from where we now stand each and every one of us can strive to do better at this job we volunteered for. We can be mindful and choose to do right by our children, just a bit more than we did yesterday.

What would happen if we decided to simply do better?

I strive to parent peacefully. Almost every day. And I don't know many other families who don't use punitive strategies with their kids in an attempt to control behavior (punitive being everything from loss of privileges to time-out to spanking). Pete told me recently that I'm always a more patient parent on Tuesday night - after hanging out with another NVC (non-violent communication)-parenting mom. Because she inspires me. And it transforms how I engage with my kids. I learn new strategies just by being with her once a week.

A very different mother/friend called me for parenting advice last week. She was in a challenging time with her little one and needed a perspective shift. We do things differently and she had a hunch that my ideas might help them through this challenge. I offered some gentle-parenting strategies and a few days later she called to say how their dynamic had transformed because of our discussion. Literally within minutes of hanging up the phone. She was applying the principles we talked about (within the context of her own parenting style) and seeing her connection with her child deepen. I was amazed.

And those two mamas in my world made me wonder - what would happen if we could open a conversation here to elevate our experience as parents? I think we could all realize real change. You, me, anyone we invited into the conversation.

Ten weeks, ten posts, ten different strategies to lovingly apply to your relationship to your child.

Are you in?

But before we begin, let's take a moment for gratitude. Because gratitude takes what is before us and shows us the shiny bits. The best parts of our imperfect reality.

Your kids - what do you appreciate? Tell me what their sparkle is.

Love,
Rachel

Edited to add: To follow this series through, just click on the category "Non-Violent Parenting" at left and you'll be all set.

The Weekend.

What's that you say, it's Saturday?

I hope your weekend, like ours, is filled with learning, playing, growing, and being. My tea cup is full, and my spinning wheel is waiting.

Love,
Rachel

Seeing Their Gifts.

When Sage was small it was the two of us. Everyday. From wake-up until dinner time it was the Mama-Sagie show. For more than 4 years. Reading, cooking, cleaning, sledding, swimming, playing, working. We got quite accustom to each other's company. The past five years (since Lupine was born and Pete quit his job to join me in LuSa Organics) it's been the four of us most days. What a dramatic shift. It's been nothing short of amazing to have so much time for our whole family to be together. I count that blessing everyday.

And yet, sometimes one-on-one is perfect. Sometimes I miss it.

I got three sweet Valentines from Sage. Inside of one was a coupon for "one day of Mama-Sagie time". I'm cashing it in today.

There have been days (months?) when mothering felt like so much work. And when you're mired in struggle or worry or suffering it can be difficult to see the gifts that our children bring to our lives. I've been there. But these days I can see Sage's (and Lupine's) gifts so clearly, I wonder how I could have missed their magic in the past.

As we set out on our Mama-Sagie outing today I appreciate Sage's sensitivity, his humor, his intuition, his mind, his imagination, and his softness. And I appreciate the gift of a whole day with him alone. Just like old times.

Love,
Rachel

Homeschooling Together: Making dolls.

As quiet homeschoolers, we're often doing our own thing. We love the peaceful space we've carved out. We thrive in it - all of us. Last week actually cancelled plans with our homeschooling coop two days in a row (two very fun activities - ice skating at the outdoor rink and a hike into the woods to see ice caves) because we'd had a trying week and just needed to lay low. The kids reported that those unexpected free-days were the best part of the week. Who'd have thought?

Sage does not thrive in large groups. He loves hanging with other kids, but prefers them one family at a time. (Even his birthday parties rarely consist of more than one friend.) My kids play with friends each week, but don't crave the busyness that many children are accustom to. After watching a school group walk by us on an outing one day he reported that sharing his learning space with so many children would be "horribly distracting".

So this is how we roll. It's a good match for us.

But we are hardly going it alone.

Yesterday we enjoyed a full day with another unschooling family. The three younger children wore every costume in the closet and had a picnic out in the snow while the two older kids did dozens of chemistry experiments and started working on a robot. It was wonderful to watch all of them. Learning, playing, exploring, socializing. And being with another like-minded mama means we could be there to answer their questions without meddling in their process and without second-guessing our own.

There is another family we visit with often who's children enjoy spending a day with us on occasion. Our kids are embarking on a Waldorf doll-making adventure together. Each child (ages 5 - 10) is making a doll by hand, week by week around our table. They chose their skin and hair fabric, cut out their dolls, pinned, and have now begun the sewing.

I love this so much.

To have my children with other kids who "get them"; to share what I know with my own children and our friends; and to have them share their day with this family we love. Yes, our unexpected quiet days are among our favorites, but really, these days with good friends are the ones we all love best.

P.S. Homeschooling friends, you likely know well the perpetual dialogue about socialization. I thought you would enjoy this article about it. It's fabulous and goes right to the heart of what I have seen. Don't be put off at first. She throws down some surprising statements, but follow her for a bit and I think most of you will agree. 

Love, Rachel

Making: Hair tie and bobby pins.

Well those were fun.

There is something addictive about covering buttons. And when you have bobby pins, rings, and hair ties to attach them to it's that much more obsessive.

For whatever reason it is oddly satisfying to take a tiny 1" scrap of fabric and turning it into something useful/adorable. We can't stop. I think we've made them everyday since the supplies came home.

The kids and I got our supplies from this lovely little shop on Etsy. And while yes, you can pick up covered button kits at the fabric store, Sunbeam Button's prices might even beat Hancock for the button parts, plus Sherry offers simple tutorials to go with her kits (which, believe it or not, I actually needed for our first project).

The hair-tie/bobby pin sweatshop that is our kitchen table hasn't let up for days. Lupine - with a bit of help from me to cover the button - has made pairs of ties for most of her friends (and to match most of her own outfits). Sage has been making them too, thought not wearing any of course. Too girlie. Ahem. (Ooh, unless we make some in his favorite color - camouflage.)

We've all been at it until our hands ache. It's that kind of satisfying. I expect we'll stop exactly when we run out of supplies. And then we might just need to get some more.

~ * ~ * ~

And as a postscript, I wanted to show you the matchbox babies from yesterday's craft madness at my table. (You did see my "Hey girl" on that post, right? It keeps cracking me up.) This year we made one needle felted cloud baby (Sage's), one heart baby (Lupine's), and a wee garden beet baby (for me).

The kids and I decided that they are "dream babies" this year and should live on our night stands to help us with good dreams.

I'm in.