“You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.”

-Abraham Lincoln 

The moment you bring a child into the world, you enter a social contract of sorts.  A mom contract, really.

You agree to love and nurture that child.  You agree that, to the best of your ability, you will teach right from wrong and help that child grow into an independent and responsible adult.

You agree to accept responsibility for that child along the way, because that child is yours.  Your choices, behaviors, and attitudes will shape that child as he grows.

But you also enter a village of parents.  The cliché is old and well worn for good reason.  It truly does take a village to raise a child.  And, as responsible parents, we all have the opportunity to pitch in and help out when another parent needs a hand.

We don’t, of course, sign any such contract or truly agree to any such terms upon leaving the hospital with our tiny, helpless, bundles of joy.  But wouldn’t it be great if we did?  Figuratively speaking, naturally. Let’s face it; leaving the hospital requires enough paperwork as it is.

But wouldn’t it be nice of we were all on the same page with this parenting thing?

Before you jump to conclusions here, let me be clear:  This isn’t about right parenting and wrong parenting.  As a therapist, a parenting expert, and, most importantly, as a mom, I’m a big believer in the fact that every family is different.  One-size fits all parenting simply doesn’t exist in this world.

No judgment here, mamas, we all need to find our way along this journey.

But that doesn’t preclude us from meeting somewhere in the middle.

Isn’t it possible, for instance, to say that we all need to supervise our kids while at the park or in other community venues?  Is it really so wrong to expect other moms to put down that phone because your child needs you?

No, I’m not talking about missing out on the twirling of skirts or blowing of bubbles or any other Facebook graphic meant to induce mom guilt on a viral level.  I’m not judging your choice to check your email or check in with a friend.  Been there – done that.  Moms need a break.

I’m thinking more along the lines of kids pushing other kids, teasing other kids, littering all over the park, and practically screaming out for attention…while you do whatever you’re doing over there on that park bench.  Can’t we meet in the middle here and say that perhaps we should all agree to look up from our phones every few minutes or so just to be sure that our kids are behaving?

It is the job of the child to test limits.  A little shoving or teasing doesn’t make a child a problem…it just means a teachable moment is hanging in the air, and it would be really great if we all decided to teach in those teachable moments.

And while we’re on the subject…what if we all agreed to teach our kids the value of kindness and empathy and that bullying and teasing are never ok?  What if we simply decided that mean behavior won’t be tolerated, but that kind behavior will be praised and celebrated?

If we did that…we might actually decrease the overwhelming bullying statistics that hang over us and cause us to worry.

We could even agree to take one step further, for that matter.  What if we decided to finally stop the judging/criticizing/one upping thing that tends to happen among moms sometimes?  What if we simply said, “No more”, and focused on building each other up and helping each other out?

If we did that…we could model prosocial behavior for our children.  We would show them, by example, that kindness is appreciated and it’s always nice to lend a hand.  We could also show them that there’s no room in this world for bullying of any kind.

What if we entered this contract together and chose responsibility, kindness, respect, and empathy above all else?  What if we always helped instead of hurt and always listened instead of needing to be heard?  What if we became the people we would like our children to become?

If we did that…we could truly make a difference.  We could raise a generation of kind-hearted, respectful, and responsible youngsters.

And if we did that…we could finally sit back and just enjoy the ride.

“A mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.”

-Emily Dickinson 

I clung to her leg like a snail to a rock in stormy seas.  Steadfast in my refusal to let go, I stared at my feet and made no attempt to hide the tears pouring from my giant chocolate colored eyes.

“I don’t want to go.”

Hiccupping and sobbing as we walked side-by-side, she reassured me in quiet tones.

“I won’t leave.  I will be right there.”

At last we reached the sports field and it was time to let go.  For one hour, I was to play games with other five-year-olds.  For one hour, I was to trust strangers.

Quiet and introverted, I preferred the company of my dolls under the close supervision of my mother.  I had no need for classes and other kids.

“I will be right here.”

She promised to sit on the bench and watch.  She promised to be there always.  And she did.  Every time I glanced in her direction she met my gaze with a huge smile and enthusiastic wave.  She didn’t chat with the other moms.  She never moved from her seat.  For that morning, she sat still and smiled – making good on her promise.

38 years later I find myself making similar promises to my little girl.  Quiet and introverted, she prefers the comfort of home and family.  She shines when she finds her way out of that shell, but taking that first step takes patience and understanding.

Mother-daughter relationships are written about often because of the complex nature of the relationship.  There are ups and downs and ages and stages, and sometimes there can even be moments of silence.

Some wonder if they will measure up to the perceived successes of their mothers.  Others are adamant that they can do better.  I will never be like my mother, they think, as they try their best to do the opposite.

What children don’t always see is the mother behind the mother.

There is the mother who keeps the family safe and on track.  Cooking, working, doing, going, shuffling, and sometimes even using a bit of magic.  On the surface, mothers are consumed with busy.

But then there is the other part of motherhood.  The quiet part; the part that doesn’t often see the light of day.  Watching, worrying, problem-solving, planning…mothers are always thinking about their children.

And motherhood lasts a lifetime…

My mother has stood behind me for 38 years.  She has coddled, she has pushed, she has hugged, she has cheered…but she has never once stopped mothering.  She has never once walked away.

She has cried with me when crying was the only thing to do.  She has yelled with me when yelling seemed necessary.  She has laughed with me and made me laugh.  And she has listened every time I came running.

Some people think that mothers need to take a step back when their daughters become mothers.  That this is the defining moment – where mother/daughter becomes friend/friend.

Perhaps that might be true at times.

But my mother has continued to mother.  We’ve found friendship and she has allowed me to help her just as she helps me, but always she remains my mother.

Parenting is long and winding road and there is no shortcut.  There is trial and error, there is information, there is support, there is friendship, and there is love.  But there is no easy button.

When I hear people say that they want to do the opposite – that they don’t want to end up like their mothers – it breaks my heart just a little bit.  Because when I think about the essence of my mother – the thing that makes us the same – it’s strength.

Behind the scenes, during the moments I didn’t see as a child, my mother learned to rely on strength.  She faced obstacles, she fought hard for her children, and she never ever gave up mothering.  She remained strong when we faced great loss and encouraged us to find our own strength along the way.

Although there times that I wish I didn’t need the strength I seem to possess, I am grateful to have found that strength from watching my mother.

It isn’t about being the opposite or doing better.  It isn’t about her way or my way.  It’s about taking the best of what she taught me and starting there.  It’s about working tirelessly behind the scenes so that my own daughter may one day find the strength she needs to cope with the ups and downs that life has to offer.

It’s about mothering always and loving forever.

I am my mother’s daughter, and for that I am proud.

“In order to be irreplaceable, one must always be different.”

-Coco Chanel

People often seek similarities.  Common bonds get conversations rolling and friendships started.  When we find our common ground, we know how to move forward. In fact, similarities are the essence of small talk.

But small talk only gets you so far.  It gets you through the cocktail party and helps your child through the very first week of school.  It gets you through the transition to a new job and helps your child secure that very first play date.

At some point in every relationship, similarities are just similarities.

Different makes a difference.

And yet, we subconsciously teach similar.

As responsible parents we encourage our children to give everyone a chance.  We schedule play dates with different kids.  We ask about everyone, not just the clear favorites.  We take an interest because we want to show our children that every child matters.

We talk about different.  We say that different is good.  We say that different makes a difference.

But do we really believe it?

I do.

Over thirteen years ago, different walked into my life and changed it for the better.  Tall and handsome with beautiful blue eyes that just might stop traffic and a soul that’s beauty is beyond compare, my husband swept me off my young and independent feet in a single sentence.

From the minute our eyes met, I could sense different.  He was nothing like the rest, and that was a very welcome relief.

But it goes much deeper than that.

Raised in a very small town in the Berkshires, surrounded by trees and people working 9-5 jobs, my husband decided, at the unreasonable young age of 11, to hang up his baseball cleats in favor of music.

Music, as it turns out, was coursing through his little soul.  Raised in family that knew nothing of making a life out of music, he insisted that music was for him.

He was different.

Bass by bass, gig by gig, he cultivated his talent and made his way to the top.  All.  By.  Himself.

Because he wasn’t afraid to be different.

Today, parents seem to feel great pressure to focus on raising the elusive “well rounded child”.  Instead of allowing children to find their passion, parents throw them into a little bit of this and a little bit of that.  And they pile on the pressure along the way.

And although they go to great lengths to talk the talk when it comes to celebrating differences, I’m not convinced that all parents truly appreciate the difference that different makes.

Sean and I are raising two different versions of different.  While Liam plays the drums just about everywhere he goes, Riley fills journal after journal with her books, poems, and recipes.  They dress themselves each and every day; he prefers his pants backwards, she prefers loud, mismatched, and just a little bit of flair.  They always, always wear sunglasses.

And people never fail to point these things out.  They joke, they tease, and they ask questions that need not be asked.  Simply because we’re raising different.

Children, as we all know, pick up on everything.

In the quiet of darkness, just before falling off for the night, Riley shared a thought that seemed to weigh heavily on her mind.

“Mommy, sometimes I feel different because I always wear sunglasses.  But I like them and they go with my outfits and they keep the sun out of my eyes.  But I don’t want to be different with everything.”

Asthma, food allergies, and pet allergies are the other differences that set her apart.

“You know, sweet girl, different is what makes the world a better place.  When you choose your outfits, your eyes sparkle.  When you pick your sunglasses for the day, you smile gets a little bit brighter.  And when you write in your journals, your soul shines through.  You are different.  That’s what makes you you.”

It’s time to move on from simply accepting differences to celebrating differences.  It’s time to recognize the strength that different brings.

Because, this?  Is different.  And different makes a difference.

“Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.”

-Mother Teresa

Words are a powerful tool.  They convey emotion, seek answers, and bring thoughts to life.

Words, both large and small, can change the way a person thinks.  Words can make a day better or worse, calm or rattle an anxious soul, begin or end a friendship, or signal that greatness or danger lies ahead.

Words have the power to change everything.

Choose your words carefully.

Use your nice words.

Say kind things.

As parents, we coach our children to use their words – specifically their nice words.  We tell them that words are what are necessary when they need help or feel frustrated.  We show them that words, even simple words, can start a conversation that might result in friendship.

When their angry words come out in moments of frustration, we help them to find their calm words and calm tones to resolve the big feelings that triggered the yelling.

As parents, we hyper-focus on the words used by our children.

But do we always think about ours?

Our words are important.  Our tone can change everything.  Our affect sets the stage for the day.

We have to think about our words.

Choose your words carefully.

Use your nice words.

Say kind things.

On a day like any other, sunny and crisp, long and short, Liam I raced through Target.  Grabbing the necessities quickly in an effort to save time to visit the cars and make it out in time for Kindergarten pick up, we pretended to race the other carts.

As we paused for a few moments to admire the new cars, a young boy approached.  His mother, clearly under stress and trying her best to move him along, tapped her foot impatiently.  He didn’t want to leave.  She did.  I know both sides of the story well.

I cued Liam that our time had come and she took the opportunity to do the same.  Liam, with one last hopeful glance, slowly shuffled away.  The other boy stood still.  His mother’s voice shifted from impatient to angry, understandable in the heat of the moment.  But as we rounded the corner, she uttered the words that could have shattered the little boy’s soul:

“Do you see that boy?  He listens.  You don’t.  You’re so annoying.”

My heart nearly broke in two.  I know those words.  I’ve felt those words.  I’ve lived some version of those words.

Words are not easily forgotten.  Words follow us through life, reminding us of our shortcomings.  Words don’t slip off into the night – words echo through our souls at night.

Words are, indeed, a powerful tool.

Some parenting days are great.  The stars align, the kids get along, and everything falls into place.  Some parenting days are a little less great.  The stars forget to shine, the kids bicker, and everything seems to fall apart.

There are no guarantees in parenting.  There are only moments, days, months, and years.  That’s all we truly have.

We have to think about our words.

No matter the frustration.  No matter the stress.  No matter the exhaustion, illness, or temper tantrums…we have to find our words of love.

To use unkind words is to break the spirit of a young child, and there is no greater sadness than a child with a broken spirit.

Choose your words carefully.

Use your nice words.

Say kind things.

Find your words of love.

“There is more good than bad in this world,

More light than darkness,

And YOU can make more light.” – Peter H. Reynolds

Children are not born into this world with hatred coursing through their little souls.  Children do not look for reasons to judge, criticize, and ridicule.

Children are born into this world with goodness and light.  Children look for love, happiness, and hope.

Until they learn otherwise.

Children learn about hatred from their environments, their experiences, and the words they hear.  Some children, it seems, are taught to hate.

When tragedy strikes, no matter the size, feelings overwhelm us.  At first, we panic.  We fear for our own safety and for the well being of our loved ones.  Soon we experience great sadness.  We question the meaning of meaningless actions and wonder how life can be so very cruel.  And that’s when anger rears its head.  We yell, argue, and project our feelings because no matter how far removed we might actually be from the tragedy we feel it in our souls.

We demand answers.  We demand action.  We demand safety, resources, and change.

But underneath those very big emotions, many of us feel helpless.  And sometimes, just a little bit guilty.  It didn’t happen to us (this time).  It happened to other moms, dads, aunts, uncles, and grandparents.  It happened to other couples.  It happened to other friends.

What can we possibly do when there’s nothing to be done?

We can make more light.

As parents, we come face to face with opportunity every single day.  We have to make difficult decisions, we have to respond to stressful situations, and we have to help our children with various obstacles, big and small.  How we choose to do those things makes a huge impact on our children.

When we teach empathy, we raise a generation of children who care about and make an effort to understand other people.

When we teach our children to embrace differences, not simply to accept them, we raise a generation of children who are not caught up in the fear of the unknown.

When we teach our children to lead with kindness and compassion, we raise a generation of children who stand up to hatred.

When we make these choices, we make more light.

At the moment, we live in a country divided.  We unite when something terrible strikes, but when the dust settles we resume arguments that need not be argued.

If only we can stop for a moment and look at the big picture.  If only we can teach our children that what’s important is not some antiquated definition of marriage and arguing over semantics – that what IS important is love and respect.  That love makes the world a peaceful place.  If only we can do that…

We can make more light.

If we can teach our children to stand up to bullies, to defend their peers, and to walk away from negativity.  If we can praise prosocial behavior and extinguish hateful behavior, we can raise children who don’t feel the need to tease, bully, and emotionally torture others.  If only we can do that…

We can make more light.

If we can model peaceful conflict resolution.  If we can choose kind and calm words instead of hateful worlds and violence.  If only we can do that…

We can make more light.

We live in a culture of panic.  Each episode feels worse than the next because the landscape of fear in this country is constantly changing.

I don’t know about you, but I want better for my children.  I don’t want my children to have to look for the helpers during each new tragedy to hit our country; I want my children to BE the helpers who look out for others along the way.  And I want the help that they provide to be far less terrifying than the help provided during recent events.

I want to eradicate bullying, put an end to teen suicide, let love be love, and live to see a country that actually lives up to its name.

I want my children to experience a much brighter future full of goodness and light.

Parents can plant the seeds of change for their children.  Every day we can choose the high road, keep our emotions in check, and lead with kindness and compassion.  We can raise a better generation of Americans.

We can be the change we want to see.

We can make more light.

“When people are ready, they change.” – Andy Warhol

Change is inevitable.  Some changes are big.  Other changes are small.  But all changes require time and a little bit of bravery.

“Mommy, I think I’m ready for a bigger bed.”

His voice was small and uncertain, as if he had waited quite some time to actually utter the words aloud.  I turned to find him staring at the floor, twirling a loose thread hanging from his favorite fire truck shirt.  He was nervous, unsure whether or not he made the right choice.

I knelt down to the walnut colored hardwood floor and met his downcast eyes.

“If you’re ready we’ll order your new bed on Saturday.  If you decide you need more time, that’s still ok.  You get to choose, sweet boy.  This is for you.”

With a heavy sigh he melted into my arms.  Staring out the window, he checked out for a little while.

“I’m ready, I just don’t want to miss my crib.”

Finding his way between little and big sometimes leaves him confused.

“Four is hard sometimes.  Some days you feel big and other days you feel little.  But your crib will always be stored in the garage, right next to Riley’s.”

The request for a change certainly shouldn’t have felt so momentous.  At four, he seems to grow by the day.  His converted crib looks smaller and smaller as each day passes.  And yet, it keeps him cozy.  He feels safe in the small space.  It’s his little place to just be…

We never once pushed the “big boy bed”.  In fact, we never even used those words.  Labels lead to expectations and expectations cause stress.  Sean and I decided long ago to simply let our kids grow on their own schedules.  Eventually…they will both be big.

While Riley wanted a new bed the minute she turned three, Liam had no interest.  We checked in every once in a while, but he always provided the same response, “I like my crib.”

And like it, he did.  Much like is daddy; sleep has always come easily to Liam.  He slept through the night at five months – no training required.  He has never once asked for a sip of water, an extra story, an extra song, or an extra anything.  He has his routine and he falls fast asleep after the last of the “I love yous” are uttered.

If he didn’t want to change, there never seemed to be a reason to do it.

Until he was ready.

I always knew that I would struggle when we put the last of the cribs away.  I struggled to have them.  I fought long and hard.  And as much as I might always long for one more, a third just doesn’t seem possible.  Moving up is a difficult task when you know it’s the last of each little stage.

Tears formed at the corner of my eyes as I drifted off to sleep last night, knowing that this morning would be the last time I would find my baby boy in his little bed.

Big is coming, whether or not I’m ready for it.

The morning was fast and full of moving, dismantling, and rebuilding.  Furniture was moved.  And old bed was unmade and a new bed was made.  There was no time for sadness or longing.

There was only time for change.

A few small tears began to escape as I watched my sweet little boy climb into his new, bigger bed adorned with his favorite construction trucks.  I started to feel just a little bit sad.  The longing kicked in ever so slightly.

Until his sweet little voice extended the invitation of a lifetime…

“Now you can snuggle me in my bed, Mommy.  Come on.  Come lay with me.”

And just like that, with a wipe of a tear and a melting a melting heart, I snuggled my way through the change.

As any brave mommy would do…I did my best to simply embrace it.

“The weak can never forgive.

Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” –Mahatma Ghandi

He sat on the living room floor, his little four-year-old legs pulled tight to his chest, heaving enormous sobs.  Each sob broken by a hiccup, he struggled to cope with his very big feelings.

He had hurt his sister’s feelings and he didn’t know how to make it right.

“Sit with Mommy, Liam.  Come sit on my lap and tell me.  Are you feeling bad?  Are you afraid Riley might be mad at you?”

“YES!  I wasn’t friendly and now she’ll be mad and I want to give her a hug but she might not want one.”

“What do we always say?  You can always make it right.  Sorry means so much.  And we always try our best to forgive quickly.”

With that, Riley, who was waiting patiently around the corner, came running in to hug her baby brother.  She can’t stand the thought of conflict, and, like her mommy, she is quick to forgive.  An apology was made, and soon they were off and running again.

Forgive easily.  It’s one of our family mottos.  Don’t hang on to negative emotions when happiness is just around the corner…

Forgive and forget.  Let bygones be bygones.  Take the high road.

As parents, we have endless little sayings that all say the same thing:  be forgiving.  It sounds simple when these phrases roll off our tongues.  It sounds like all we have to do is simply smile and forgive the person in question.

And yet, it’s not that easy.

I recently read an article about the power of forgiveness.  Forgiveness, the author said, decreases stress and increases positive emotions.

I know this to be true.  I’ve always been forgiving, sometimes even a little too forgiving.  I can’t sit with negative energy coursing through my soul, and I find it difficult to just walk on when something hurts.

I like closure.

Forgiveness, as it turns out, isn’t just about giving another person another chance.  It isn’t simply an act of letting someone off the hook.  It’s an act of opening your own heart and allowing positive energy in.

When people refuse to forgive, they carry around negative emotions that build up over time.  Eventually, these negative emotions will become too much to bear.  When that happens, people experience stress, anxiety, depression, and sometimes very intense anger.

And when people act on these negative emotions?  Friendships are lost.  Families are fractured.  Relationships are altered.

Practicing forgiveness – finding a way to look for the good and move on from the bad – can change your life.

Forgiveness is a daily theme in our house.

It’s no big secret that siblings argue once in a while.  An abandoned toy is suddenly everybody’s favorite right now.  An accidental bump on the slide is cause for a quick tattle just to be super sure that it wasn’t on purpose.

If I’m being honest, these moments are small and infrequent in nature.  They tend to crop up when sickness keeps us cooped up or boredom creeps in.  But we address them just the same.

Because hte more you practice the art of forgiveness, the more easily you are able to forgive.  This skill – and it is a skill – is essential in the larger world.  As much as it breaks my heart to even consider it, at some point one of my children will be teased.  At some point, one of them will be hurt by someone else.  And although there might be tears and anger, we will work on practicing forgiveness each time.

Because forgiveness releases the burden of a cluttered soul.  Forgiveness inspires happiness and inner peace.  Forgiveness restores emotional balance.

Forgiveness, as it turns out, is a very powerful tool.