Simplicity Parenting (8 page)

As a parent your attention will also expand with a little less mental clutter in your life. And your awareness of your child will deepen. Beyond all of the benefits of simplification that I’ve outlined, there is another. It is one of those slow creepers, an unexpected joyful suffusion, something most parents would not have thought possible. The most elemental and powerful reason to simplify is this: As your awareness of your children widens and deepens, so too will your love.

You may be wondering how you can possibly make changes in your family’s daily lives when you’re already so busy. It’s one thing to embrace the ideas in this book but quite another to implement them. Where do you start? How can you marshal your best intentions and put them into action?

I’ve found that the simplest path to real and lasting change is through the imagination. “Nothing happens unless first a dream…” When you create a mental image of your hopes, you chart a course. You create a picture that you can then step into. Like a lasso thrown around a star, your imagination navigates the surest path to your goal.

Here, and at the end of each chapter, I invite you to relive some of the ideas and images we’ve covered and to imagine how they might work in your own home.

Imagine your home …

• as a place where time moves a little slower.
  

• becoming less cluttered and more visually relaxing.
  

• with space, and time, for childhood—and with time for one another every day.
  

• as a place where play and exploration are allowed, and honored.
  

• having more ease as you begin to limit distractions and to say no to the stress of too much, too fast, too soon.
  

• as a sense of calm and security take hold.
  

• becoming a place where those we love know it, by virtue of our attention, protection, and appreciation.
  

TWO
•
Soul Fever

L
et’s begin at a comfortable starting place for any process: by remembering and appreciating what we already know. We know our children, that’s for sure. We know them as no one else possibly could. We know their best, shining selves, and every degree removed from that. The edge of their “too little sleep” selves, the delight of their “overcome with silliness” selves, and the sometimes dangerous intersection of those two. We know the cadence of their voices, their smells, the meaning behind their expressions, the things that engage them. We almost always know what they want to say, but can’t.

The depth of our knowledge of these small beings is phenomenal. It’s certainly more than just what an accumulation of days, moods, or experiences would show us. More than what we’ve learned from others on the subject (of kids), or what we’ve experienced directly. More than everything we’ve done to record the time we’ve spent together … our notes and pictures, our videos and memories. Yes, we know our kids better than everything we could show, or tell you about them. We see them with a sort of X-ray vision, after all. Not exactly a superpower, but as close as we come to one. We see our children with a depth of vision equal to the sum of our attention, our connection, our love for them, and our fervent desire to understand them.

This deep, instinctual knowledge of our kids—like everything else—waxes and wanes. While our love may always be there, our attention can suffer; our connection can sometimes falter, and when this happens, understanding them can seem like a whole lot of work. Our instincts are not always strong. Simplification is about stripping away
the distractions and clutter that monopolize our attention and threaten our connection. It’s about giving kids the ease to become themselves, and giving us the ease to pay attention. To more fully develop, and to trust, our instincts.

In the chapters ahead, we’ll begin the practical steps of simplifying, of peeling away the stresses and excesses that can overwhelm a child’s emotional well-being and short-circuit our instincts. But first let’s look at how, with attention and connection, we can recognize when a child is overwhelmed. When they are being rushed along by too much stuff, speed, stress, or when they have what I think of as an emotional or “soul fever.” Let’s look at how, instinctively, we treat an emotional fever in much the same way we do a physical fever: by drawing the child close and suspending their normal routines.

As parents, we develop an instinctual sense of what to do when our children get sick. Our instincts are part childhood memories of what brought us comfort, a bit of science, a large dose of compassion, and some parental adrenaline. After all, it’s a rare mom or dad who isn’t humbled by their baby’s first high fever, or by a long night spent sitting perfectly upright—motionless—holding a little one so congested that they can only breathe in one position. Sometimes routine, sometimes downright stressful, our children’s illnesses are never convenient. Yet over time we develop ways to see them through, changing our schedules and rising to the occasion.

We learn how to support them through the chills, coughs, fevers, and rashes we come to expect. Our instincts even carry us (and them) through some of the more unusual symptoms (“So
this
is ‘projectile vomiting!’”) they surprise us with (“You have nasty red bumps
where?!”)
. We learn that comfort is a large part of healing, an essential ingredient in any recipe for “getting better.”

One touch of their forehead, one glance at their dull eyes and we know … the signs of physical fever are unmistakable, unavoidable. And so we begin the process of caretaking.

Just as inevitably, our little ones (into adolescence and beyond) will experience what I’ve come to call “soul fevers.” Something is not right; they’re upset, overwhelmed, at odds with the world. And most of all, at odds with their truest selves. From the toddler who absolutely can’t tolerate your authority when she is so newly intoxicated with her own, to the same child, eleven years later, who longs to fit into a social circle that bullies and berates her. Whether the source of the malady was internal or external, it’s now raging within, occupying the child’s attention
and affecting their behavior. Affecting, also, the emotional climate of the home. You could think of these as “emotional fevers,” yet I prefer “soul fever” because there is something so uniquely individual about the way each child manifests their tribulation. Just as one child never seems to run a fever, while her sister’s temperature climbs into triple digits for the slightest cold, so each child wrestles their inner trials in their own way.

Often when I’m giving a talk about parenting today, a parent will ask, “How can I tell when my child is overwhelmed?” It is a common question, usually followed by “And what can I do about it?” As for the first question, my short answer is: instincts. Instincts that we may need to develop, or redevelop. Instincts that should be—and can be—as clear and reliable as those we count on to recognize and care for our children when they’re ill.

This book is my best attempt to answer “What can we do about it?” It’s a question that so many of us ask ourselves. The truth is, what we do, instinctually, to care for our children when they’re sick could be boiled down to this: we
simplify
. This is
exactly
what we need to do when they are overwhelmed; stretched thin and stressed out by the effects of having too much stuff, too many choices, and jumping through their days too fast. It is also what we need to do when their fever is emotional rather than physical. Emotional growing pains, or soul fevers, are as natural and inevitable as the common cold, and can be “treated” in remarkably similar ways. Simplification gives children the ease they need to realign with their true selves, their real age, and with their own world rather than the stress and pressures of the adult world.

Let’s start here, then, with an example that serves as a metaphor for the whole process of simplification. Let’s look at what we tend to do without even thinking about it once we feel our child’s fevered brow, or see in them a telltale listlessness. The steps we take, and the attention we bring to caring for our children when they’re sick is, essentially, simplification. We’ll look at the signs and symptoms of soul fevers as well, and go through the steps we can take to help our children build their emotional immune systems, their resiliency. Just as we notice when they’re fighting a physical fever, we can become more attuned to their soul fevers, and when they’re simply overwhelmed.

We can learn to recognize when their systems are out of balance. Remembering what we already know (and what it is so easy to forget when
we
are overloaded and overwhelmed), we’ll reawaken our caretaking instincts by simplifying.

Noticing

Physical Fever:
We begin to care for our child when we notice they’re not well. Shivery or hot, slower to respond, not interested in eating, a heavy, vacant look in their eyes … from these signs, individually or in combination, we can tell they’re “off,” “not themselves.” Your daughter may seem fine to me—active and bright—but one look in her eyes and
you
know that she has or is getting the cold her brother had last week. Their little bodies are not extensions of our own, but sometimes it feels that way, given how naturally we notice their physical fluctuations.

Soul Fever:
Generally, we need to see a few symptoms of disquiet to identify a soul fever. Inner turmoil extends beyond a bad mood or brief snit. It also lasts longer. A child with a soul fever stays “out of sorts,” taking more than a step or two toward their quirky tendencies. A child being sullen is usually just that; but if they’re sullen then feisty, and tangling with friends they usually adore, we might take a second look. Soul fevers begin with a sort of prickliness, which can take different forms. Kids respond to an inner unease characteristically, depending on their temperament. An introverted child may withdraw physically and emotionally, but still perhaps “snipe,” or “take potshots,” at others to announce their discomfort. An extroverted child usually manifests their unease more directly, with anger or blaming.

The younger the child, the more obvious they make their unhappy state. They may become hypersensitive, aware of itchy labels, twisted tights, noises that they wouldn’t otherwise even notice. Little things bother them. Tantrums become deeper, more intractable. Sleep patterns change. You can often see little changes in their posture: shoulders raised, fists clenched. Most of all, they are much more easily “set off” than usual; their emotional switch has a hair-trigger sensitivity.

You could say that they are acting “out of character,” but in truth, their character is amplified, almost caricatured. In middle childhood you might see shifts in friendships, in dress or work habits. For middle school kids and teenagers you might notice your child having difficulty settling into things, whether homework, a hobby, or any activity that would usually hold their attention. Of course challenging rules and boundaries is the teenager’s developmental job, but with soul fever you may notice particularly feisty challenges to rules that are firmly in place, accepted, and have never been challenged before.

Let’s take an extra moment to consider adolescence, a particularly “feverish” developmental stage. Adolescence is all about polarities, and swinging between them. You can picture fairly typical ends of a spectrum: the teenager who is either a whirlwind of activity, or a motionless, dead weight on the couch. The kid who can suddenly outlast you way into the night can also sleep through their little brother’s noon band practice. There is a need to belong in adolescence that’s so intense it seems primal, yet a teenage boy or girl can spend more time alone, in their rooms, than they ever did before. A teenager’s parents know that they can’t make a comment, no matter how innocent, that is absolutely immune to challenge. Most every kid, in adolescence, seems to be heading toward a legal career. Yet among their peers the same child can be the picture of conformity, a wet noodle of agreement and acquiescence.

The movement between these polarities is the norm in adolescence. When a teenager is having difficulty, when they’re emotionally out of sorts, they tend to get stuck in one extreme or the other, becoming tenacious and myopic. I remember a student I had, Teresa, who was fourteen years old, and her life was rather topsy-turvy. She had many adults in her life (parents, stepparents, and various parent substitutes), but she had little consistent, commanding, and compassionate adult presence. One day in class Teresa was being quite disruptive, in an entertaining, attention-seeking way. When I asked her to get back to her work, she realized that she definitely had everyone’s attention now, and she wanted to escalate the situation. It wasn’t my finest moment as a teacher, but I remember asking her, “Must you be so subjective?” to which she shot back “Do you have to use such big words when you’re losing the argument?” When I explained what
subjective
meant, using the well-worn cliché of not seeing the forest for the trees, she looked at me with pure disdain. “I’m fourteen, that’s my job!” With that she turned and walked out of the room.

Teresa was right; teenagers are very self-absorbed. But she was also stuck. These outbursts—symptoms of the same soul fever—were echoing throughout her life. In no arena—home, school, or friends—was she getting the counterbalance she needed. Nobody was helping her fill the middle ground, showing the value of warmth rather than anger’s pure heat. Nobody was modeling compromise, how to build or hold on to relationships. She was being allowed to revel in her own power and independence, repressing her need to belong.

The developmental purpose of adolescence’s polarities is a zig-zaggedy path toward self-regulation. We now know the brain is still
developing during these years, particularly those sections that are critical for judgment and reason. What allows a teenager to move between polarities is the (boring) stability in their lives. A safe and stable context allows teens to swing between polarities without getting stuck in one extreme or another. It gives them a center, a plumb line to use as they learn to regulate their behavior. Luckily for Teresa (who is now a college graduate and in her late twenties, by the way), the adults in her life—family, teachers, and an athletic coach—met while she was in high school to discuss and commit to ways to provide more form and consistency in her life.