By Tiggy Johnson
I find it difficult to talk about some of my parenting decisions, particularly my stance regarding my children’s sugar intake. As a self-confessed sugar-Nazi, this is absurd because I know I’m doing a good thing, even though it isn’t always easy. Even so, it remains the one thing I feel most criticised for. Not that I’m strict on only how much sugar they eat.
The other day my mother asked why I wasn’t buttering the bread for my eighteen month old before spreading it with a thin layer of homemade jam.
It wasn’t an inquisitive or helpful Would you like the butter? but something accusatory as if I was depriving him of something vital, like oxygen.
It went something like this.
‘Don’t you want butter?’
‘Why would I?’ I’ve never offered any of my three children butter.
Mum shrugged, so I continued. ‘How many adults do you know who find it difficult to cut down on unhealthy foods they’ve been eating forever?’
I knew immediately from her expression that she wouldn’t respond so, almost before it began, the conversation was over and I know why. Obviously, I could only have been referring to her, a grandmother who’d developed type 2 diabetes in her early-fifties and still, ten years later, sneaks in the odd naughty snack when no-one’s watching.
In fact, she tries to sneak my kids a smorgasbord of sweet treats whether I’m watching or not, with one of two typical responses: That’s what grandparents are supposed to do or It won’t hurt.
But it isn’t about whether the treat itself hurts. What will the kids think when they’re old enough to understand what diabetes means? Or wonder what Nana was thinking when she pushed McDonalds in front of them as she ate the sandwich she’d made for herself.
I’ve tried to bring it up a few times, either with just Mum or among family and close friends. Nobody’s on my side. Sure, one of my sisters-in-law was horrified she once gave them lollies in the car; after dinner and their baths, teeth brushed, in pyjamas ready to fall asleep on the way. Generally though, they think I’m being uptight for not wanting the kids to have, say, the fifth or sixth treat within an afternoon or for insisting they have regular sugar-free days.
Initially it bugged me that Mum overruled me and fed my kids junk regardless of what I said, but by the time my eldest (now seven) was five, the issue was that my family failed to support me and that they were undermining my authority.
A few years ago, as a children’s party was winding down and most of the guests had gone, I brought it up again, hoping to enlist the understanding of my oldest friend.
Instead, she suggested that if we were guests in her home, her family would offer them lollies.
‘I’d say no,’ I said.
‘It’s our custom,’ she replied. ‘Just one lolly.’
‘One lolly is one lolly. One lolly at your house today; chocolates, lollies, biscuits and sweet drinks at Nana’s tomorrow; a birthday party the next; and when they get to school, it might be the teachers with a reward or a classmate bringing chocolates to share for their birthday; they want to play at a friend’s house after school…’
‘Yeah,’ she said, nodding. ‘I see what you mean, but it’s our custom. A long-held tradition and if they don’t take it, we’re offended.’
‘Oh,’ I said, and later wish I’d added, ‘But it’s okay to offend me?’
Tiggy Johnson is a Melbourne writer and mother of three. Her short story collection Svetlana or Otherwise (Ginninderra Press) was released in 2008 and her poetry collection First taste in 2010. She is the editor of page seventeen and blogs at www.tiggyjohnson.blogspot.com
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
The Invisible Cords - Stages of Separation
Laura Innes has written a lovely guest post for us, about her experiences with her girls, on separation and independence. Thanks Laura!
After the birthing of your child, whether it is cut or falls away naturally, the separation of the umbilical cord is an awakening.An awakening to the idea that you and your child are indeed two separate entities. After a pregnancy where you felt very much to be one being, two hearts beating within the same vessel.
While this is the more obvious and well known ‘cutting of the cord’, it has dawned upon me that there are ongoing, more subtle separations that help to ease us gently into the growing independence of our children. The creating of their own lives, separate from ours.
One of these moments came upon me when my first daughter, new to the world of school, tried to insist that I needn’t walk her up to her class anymore.
It’s not that I wouldn’t feel safe letting her make her way to her classroom, there are only forty-one children in the whole school, and I find it to be a very safe little community. I just simply want to do it. To hold her hand as we make our way up together. As much for my benefit (or maybe more so), than for hers. While I’m not working, I have the opportunity to be there every day. I love being involved in what’s new in her world. Seeing her creations, meeting with her teacher, and putting a face to the so often mentioned names of her friends.
It’s a small way of comforting me that she is safe, accepted and comfortable in the environment where she spends so much of her time these days.
I’ve realised that her not needing my kiss goodbye anymore, though I still offer it every day, is not a sign of rejection. Rather it’s a sign of confidence. That my precious child feel s secure enough in her being not be intimidated with the prospect of being away from my side.
I no longer force that morning kiss; just accept graciously when it is returned, and walk back to the car, to my day, knowing that my girl is okay without me.
Another of these subtle separations presented itself to me with the return of menstruation after my second daughter’s birth. Eleven months after her umbilical cord was cut, I recognized that familiar, yet almost forgotten warm trickle. I felt a little overwhelmed, not something I expected to happen. It was like a marking of the final chapter to my pregnancy and birthing era.
Although I still feed her frequently at my breast, my body has shifted in the recognition that my baby is less dependent on me, and is making way for the opportunity to nest and nurture a new spirit.
What an amazing gift to be a woman in this moment. To trust and amaze at the instinctive capabilities of my own body.
These moments are providing me with a reflection on the idea that our children, as much as they are a part of us, are also their own separate beings.
An opportunity to let go a little of the emotional strings of attachment, and allow these beautiful souls room to grow and develop.
At times I know I’ll have the natural urge to hold on tight. I will try instead to take a step back and appreciate the resilience and confidence my children have developed. To feel proud that I have been a part of that, and to know they feel safe enough to venture out on their own, while trusting that I am here when they need me.
About me:
My name is Laura Innes; I live in the Yarra Valley and am a young mother of two spirited girls who inspire and amaze me every day.
I am passionate about instinctive parenting, gentle birth, breastfeeding, and trying to grow as a mother through all the trials and joy motherhood brings.
After the birthing of your child, whether it is cut or falls away naturally, the separation of the umbilical cord is an awakening.An awakening to the idea that you and your child are indeed two separate entities. After a pregnancy where you felt very much to be one being, two hearts beating within the same vessel.
While this is the more obvious and well known ‘cutting of the cord’, it has dawned upon me that there are ongoing, more subtle separations that help to ease us gently into the growing independence of our children. The creating of their own lives, separate from ours.
One of these moments came upon me when my first daughter, new to the world of school, tried to insist that I needn’t walk her up to her class anymore.
It’s not that I wouldn’t feel safe letting her make her way to her classroom, there are only forty-one children in the whole school, and I find it to be a very safe little community. I just simply want to do it. To hold her hand as we make our way up together. As much for my benefit (or maybe more so), than for hers. While I’m not working, I have the opportunity to be there every day. I love being involved in what’s new in her world. Seeing her creations, meeting with her teacher, and putting a face to the so often mentioned names of her friends.
It’s a small way of comforting me that she is safe, accepted and comfortable in the environment where she spends so much of her time these days.
I’ve realised that her not needing my kiss goodbye anymore, though I still offer it every day, is not a sign of rejection. Rather it’s a sign of confidence. That my precious child feel s secure enough in her being not be intimidated with the prospect of being away from my side.
I no longer force that morning kiss; just accept graciously when it is returned, and walk back to the car, to my day, knowing that my girl is okay without me.
Another of these subtle separations presented itself to me with the return of menstruation after my second daughter’s birth. Eleven months after her umbilical cord was cut, I recognized that familiar, yet almost forgotten warm trickle. I felt a little overwhelmed, not something I expected to happen. It was like a marking of the final chapter to my pregnancy and birthing era.
Although I still feed her frequently at my breast, my body has shifted in the recognition that my baby is less dependent on me, and is making way for the opportunity to nest and nurture a new spirit.
What an amazing gift to be a woman in this moment. To trust and amaze at the instinctive capabilities of my own body.
These moments are providing me with a reflection on the idea that our children, as much as they are a part of us, are also their own separate beings.
An opportunity to let go a little of the emotional strings of attachment, and allow these beautiful souls room to grow and develop.
At times I know I’ll have the natural urge to hold on tight. I will try instead to take a step back and appreciate the resilience and confidence my children have developed. To feel proud that I have been a part of that, and to know they feel safe enough to venture out on their own, while trusting that I am here when they need me.
About me:
My name is Laura Innes; I live in the Yarra Valley and am a young mother of two spirited girls who inspire and amaze me every day.
I am passionate about instinctive parenting, gentle birth, breastfeeding, and trying to grow as a mother through all the trials and joy motherhood brings.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Last Sunday Marked The End Of Child Protection Week
By Jenny Chapman
I didn’t even know it. Did you? Thank you to the Twitter people who brought this to my attention, particularly @carolduncan .
Child abuse is something, unfortunately, that happens daily, hourly, in every corner of the globe. I am not just talking of physical violence, or even sexual abuse, but of psychologically and emotionally violating our children.
I am not talking about protecting our children from learning hard lessons in life. I am not talking about ‘cottonwoolling’ them. I am certainly not talking about letting them grow into inappropriate behaviours. I am talking about respect and care for these little human beings. I am talking about being responsible for the way our children are treated in this world—a world that at the moment, we are custodians of. The world where someday, our children will take the reins and steer this planet into the way of being that they themselves have been taught. By us.
Right now, I want to talk about spanking.
In some cultures and countries, even so called advanced, western countries, ‘spanking’ is not seen as child abuse, but of a firm but loving form of behaviour modification. There are some articles on the web that I find abhorrent, advocating boundary control with spanking, in the most ‘loving’ and concerned language. Here is one such article . Some things said there just left me speechless.
I grew up in a household where there was moderate spanking, and grew up believing that spanking was required to ensure boundaries of behaviour. In fact, I was taught by a famous American Christian author that (and 25 yrs since reading it I STILL remember this) one must break a child's spirit by the time they were three, in order to control his/her behaviour in the future. And that spanking was the best method to do this. Thankfully I wasn’t a parent at the time I believed in this.
Here in Australia spanking/hitting/corporal punishment is illegal. And I am glad. It is an act of violence toward another person. By this I mean for a child, it violates their personal space; it violates them physically, emotionally and psychologically. How can it not? It is a shock to the system in every way, and why would we willing want to do this to our children who are absolutely dependent on us? To overpower a child is hardly difficult. To do so physically through the medium of spanking is hardly difficult. It is an 'easy' form of control—but is it right? I don't think so. We come from a culture where spanking has in the past, been a traditional form of control. We live in a culture that believes it has to disempower others in every invasive way possible in order to achieve our goals. So it can be difficult to think outside this square. But hang on—this is almost an insult—we are intelligent beings. If we can’t think of suitable working alternatives we have a big problem.
Nowadays we do know and are far more aware of our parenting practices. There are alternatives to 'spanking' and we as individuals can choose these alternatives. Our children are so trusting to us with their lives, their little bodies. I want us to honour that trust by respecting them in any way that we possibly can. Physically overpowering them, except when safety is an issue, is not an option.
Conscious parenting for me is not about perfect parenting (thank goodness) but about trying to think through the consequences of my parenting choices, preferably before I make them (being the nature of being ‘conscious’). What am I teaching/modelling for my child? What am I really doing to my child?
If you are interested in a great article against spanking, I do suggest you take a look at The Natural Child Project . It has an impressive list of resources at the end.
Here in Australia spanking/hitting/corporal punishment is illegal. And I am glad. It is an act of violence toward another person. By this I mean for a child, it violates their personal space; it violates them physically, emotionally and psychologically. How can it not? It is a shock to the system in every way, and why would we willing want to do this to our children who are absolutely dependent on us? To overpower a child is hardly difficult. To do so physically through the medium of spanking is hardly difficult. It is an 'easy' form of control—but is it right? I don't think so. We come from a culture where spanking has in the past, been a traditional form of control. We live in a culture that believes it has to disempower others in every invasive way possible in order to achieve our goals. So it can be difficult to think outside this square. But hang on—this is almost an insult—we are intelligent beings. If we can’t think of suitable working alternatives we have a big problem.
Nowadays we do know and are far more aware of our parenting practices. There are alternatives to 'spanking' and we as individuals can choose these alternatives. Our children are so trusting to us with their lives, their little bodies. I want us to honour that trust by respecting them in any way that we possibly can. Physically overpowering them, except when safety is an issue, is not an option.
Conscious parenting for me is not about perfect parenting (thank goodness) but about trying to think through the consequences of my parenting choices, preferably before I make them (being the nature of being ‘conscious’). What am I teaching/modelling for my child? What am I really doing to my child?
If you are interested in a great article against spanking, I do suggest you take a look at The Natural Child Project . It has an impressive list of resources at the end.
For a heartfelt, informed blog highlighting child protection issues here in Australia, I direct you to Rants of a Redundant Mother
For further information regarding Child Abuse in Australia, or to get involved with campaigns, have a look at NAPCAN. There is local contact info on this site for those who need help.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
On Feeling Welcome
By Jenny Chapman
Be welcome.
What is it that makes us feel welcome? Does it come from the way others treat us, or from our own sense of self acceptance? I think it comes from both. We need a level of self-acceptance to sit comfortably with the acceptance of others.
Last year my world crashed around me as I dove into a black pool of depression and self-rejection. I isolated and gave up on myself, my work, my friends and my lover. Every day, and this was the worst because I could see myself doing it, I rejected my son and his needs. I spent days in bed and did not want my son around. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I felt I had nothing to give him, and to be awfully honest, I preferred most times to have my head in a book. I palmed him off to friends, family and his father, much more than was necessary. But being a single mum, he was around—and had to wear whatever I dumped on him. He was not welcome, and though I tried to mask it, in his own four year old way he knew it. The memory of it horrifies me.
Slowly his behaviour changed as his sense of being welcome and accepted diminished. Nothing changed about his needs, but his sense of freedom to come and go in my presence obviously started fading. He became more wary; not knowing if or when he would be pushed away. He became clingy. He changed to being more ‘contrary’ and behaving from a base of frustration and uncertainty rather than contentment. He changed to inappropriate attention-seeking behaviours. (And I wallowed in exhaustion, sadness and guilt.)
Thankfully I have been learning ways of coping that suit our little family. First and foremost was to heal the fractures of the bond between my son and I. I am so thankful for the resilience that is in a child. I’ll share another time, how I have discussed depression with him. We enjoy a wonderful intimate relationship again now.
Through my experience I learned that one of the most important things we can do for our children’s self esteem is make sure they know they are 'welcome' in our home, our workplace...our personal space. It MATTERS. Our facial expressions and body language, MATTER. That their company is welcome, MATTERS. And, knowing that we want to be in their company, MATTERS. It’s not always easy, I am the first to admit.
Welcome=acceptance=self acceptance. I think it's the foundation of our 'social needs' as human beings. I think that this early sense of feeling ‘welcome’ as a child, becomes the foundation of our own self-acceptance, and avoids that gnawing, insatiable ‘need’ that many of us experience, leading us to make all sorts of choices and behaviours that invariably leave us, still wanting, in fragmented relationships and communities.
Be welcome. A magical element of being alive and part of an amazing world.
Be welcome to our Barefoot community, where our passion for parenting, community and our earth mingle together in words, provoking thought and discussion.
Be welcome, to read each others' stories of life, love, loss, and laughter.
Be welcome. Welcome to read, share, comment (please do!)
Be welcome.
What is it that makes us feel welcome? Does it come from the way others treat us, or from our own sense of self acceptance? I think it comes from both. We need a level of self-acceptance to sit comfortably with the acceptance of others.
Last year my world crashed around me as I dove into a black pool of depression and self-rejection. I isolated and gave up on myself, my work, my friends and my lover. Every day, and this was the worst because I could see myself doing it, I rejected my son and his needs. I spent days in bed and did not want my son around. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I felt I had nothing to give him, and to be awfully honest, I preferred most times to have my head in a book. I palmed him off to friends, family and his father, much more than was necessary. But being a single mum, he was around—and had to wear whatever I dumped on him. He was not welcome, and though I tried to mask it, in his own four year old way he knew it. The memory of it horrifies me.
Slowly his behaviour changed as his sense of being welcome and accepted diminished. Nothing changed about his needs, but his sense of freedom to come and go in my presence obviously started fading. He became more wary; not knowing if or when he would be pushed away. He became clingy. He changed to being more ‘contrary’ and behaving from a base of frustration and uncertainty rather than contentment. He changed to inappropriate attention-seeking behaviours. (And I wallowed in exhaustion, sadness and guilt.)
Thankfully I have been learning ways of coping that suit our little family. First and foremost was to heal the fractures of the bond between my son and I. I am so thankful for the resilience that is in a child. I’ll share another time, how I have discussed depression with him. We enjoy a wonderful intimate relationship again now.
Through my experience I learned that one of the most important things we can do for our children’s self esteem is make sure they know they are 'welcome' in our home, our workplace...our personal space. It MATTERS. Our facial expressions and body language, MATTER. That their company is welcome, MATTERS. And, knowing that we want to be in their company, MATTERS. It’s not always easy, I am the first to admit.
Welcome=acceptance=self acceptance. I think it's the foundation of our 'social needs' as human beings. I think that this early sense of feeling ‘welcome’ as a child, becomes the foundation of our own self-acceptance, and avoids that gnawing, insatiable ‘need’ that many of us experience, leading us to make all sorts of choices and behaviours that invariably leave us, still wanting, in fragmented relationships and communities.
Be welcome. A magical element of being alive and part of an amazing world.
Be welcome to our Barefoot community, where our passion for parenting, community and our earth mingle together in words, provoking thought and discussion.
Be welcome, to read each others' stories of life, love, loss, and laughter.
Be welcome. Welcome to read, share, comment (please do!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)