Simplicity Parenting (23 page)

My friend and colleague Jack Petrash (author
of Navigating the Terrain of Childhood)
has raised three children: two grown and one in high school. He told me that evening meals were sacrosanct at his home. This was fine for many years, but as his boys got older, they tried to get out of it. They had places to go, things to do; dinner with the family had competition. Jack and his wife, Carol, held firm. They also decided that they would spend thirty or forty dollars extra every week on food so that the boys’ friends could come over often and have meals. They figured that even with high food bills, compared to, say, the costs of family therapy, they were coming out ahead. So much would be discussed over the course of those meals. As parents, Jack and Carol had a view into what their teenagers were thinking, doing, and what their friends were like.

It’s appropriate for teenagers to begin to chafe at long-standing family rhythms. It is their job, developmentally, to complain. That doesn’t mean that in response we should pack up our traditions and call it a day. Consistency and connection at home pay some of their highest dividends during adolescence. CASA found that a majority of teenagers who ate three or fewer meals a week with their families wished they did so more often.
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You may have doubts about whether “core meals” on regular nights would be a good idea for your family. Again and again I’ve seen how grounding it can be for children, so I hope you’ll give it a try. You needn’t make any announcement; no grand speeches will be necessary. You’ll be into the third week before your children notice the pattern. Well before that, though, I think you’ll see that dinners have become a bit simpler and more consistent.

Sleep and Pressure Valves

The dishes are done, and any leftovers have been put away. Do you find yourself now mentally assessing the odds of an on-time bedtime? Do you rate the energy level of each child against the chances that his or her lights will go out, and eventually yours, at a reasonable time? It’s impossible for a child to go from full tilt to full stop at bedtime. In fact, I think of a child’s process toward sleep as beginning when they wake up in the morning. What kind of day will this be? How rhythmic? Will it include activity, and opportunities to pause, to process what has happened?

When you think about it, falling asleep involves a sort of leap of faith, a “letting go” that requires trust. I sometimes say to my daughters, when turning out the light, “It’s okay now … Fall right back into your angel’s arms.” Sleep issues often stem from problems with anxiety and trust; what kids need to “let go” into sleep is a greater feeling of connectedness.

Let me share with you the idea of “pressure valves,” rhythms that you can build into your child’s day. Pressure valves offer security and (like the best of rhythms) connection. A pressure valve lets a child release emotional steam. When they can let it go during the day, they can more easily “let go” into sleep.

Henry had had problems ever since he started school. Boys and school don’t always coexist peacefully. It’s an alliance that often has to be helped along, nurtured. Henry’s problems at school were being made worse by the fact that he was having trouble going to sleep at night.
Henry’s mother, Sue, was a single mother. I think of Sue often to this day, because I learned something wonderful from her. You may find it useful as well.

Sue and I talked about increasing the predictability and rhythm of their days together. When I mentioned how she could preview the following day for Henry, she said, “That’s just what I’ve begun to do! I call it ‘making a grit sandwich.’” This I had to see. At the end of the day, when Henry was getting ready for bed, she would lie on his bed and begin with a question. “Henry, love, what was a good thing, a courageous thing about the day?” “Well,” Henry would say, giving it some thought, “at recess, in foursquare, Theo said that Jerry was cheating … but it was just that he hadn’t seen the hit, really, so I said, ‘Jerry wasn’t cheating!’” “Really? You stuck up for your friend? Good for you. What was the hardest thing today?” “Well, probably when we had to do those counting things again, you know? I told you about how in math now we have to make piles with those beads and then put them together?” “Yes, you mentioned that Tuesday.” “Yeah, well I still hate that stuff, but I got it more today.” “You understood it better?” “Yeah.” Sue’s responses would be minimal. She would not offer psychoanalysis, no ready fixes or judgments on the day, so much as the quiet validation of bearing witness. Listening and noticing.

Henry, meanwhile, was unpacking his day for her. Imagine a suitcase full of thoughts and emotions from the day. With her questions, Sue opens the suitcase and allows Henry to take each thing out to show her. She would then ask him about the next day. “What do you think will be the hardest thing about tomorrow?” “Oh, volleyball! We’re doing volleyball in PE and I suck at it!” “What will be the best thing?” “Recess! Cuz, like, that will be so cool, we’ve already picked teams for kick-ball and I am on Joseph and Lucas’s team, which is awesome…”

Out it all pours … Henry’s fears and disappointments, his hopes and dreams. Dreams are not always huge things, after all. They can be quite small. But they illuminate our thoughts, our perspective on life. Sue has not only beautifully unpacked the day with Henry, she’s previewed the next day. And because Henry is having some difficulties at school, she has left him with what she calls “a grit sandwich.” In other words, he has expressed some of the things he is having trouble with, but those things are cushioned, or contained (picture some very soft bread) by other aspects of his school day that are pleasant and exciting for him. Sometimes, especially with quiet little ones, you may not get a ready rush of responses to your questions. That’s all right, too. They
have, meanwhile, thought about their day, in the comforting light of your attention.

How can you help your child release the pressure of their day? I think there should be at least two, hopefully three or four such “pressure valves” built into the day’s routines.

Especially for kids who have trouble getting to sleep at night, it helps to think about the day as a mirror into what might happen at bedtime. What kind of day will this be for them? “Another way to look at it,” a father once said in a workshop, “is ‘Am I going to be able to watch the game tonight?’” If your child hasn’t had opportunities during the day to release pressure, he or she may have trouble at bedtime. And if you think of pressure in strictly adult terms, you miss the fact that today your child’s brain will be processing information and building neural pathways, and her body will be growing at rates that will make what you do today look like a whole lot of standing still.

A baby’s or toddler’s naps are built-in pressure valves. A quiet rest time during the day is something to hold on to for as long as possible. Even an eight-or nine-year-old child can benefit from an hour of calm in the middle of the day, whether they spend it resting or in some quiet activity. Actually, we could probably all benefit, regardless of age, from such a practice. Once a child is school age, and not having a rest period there, you can still implement one during the summer months or on weekends. Keep the concept alive—even after your kids graduate from their midday naps—that rest time is something we do when we can. Won’t sleep during the day interfere with your child’s ability to drift off at night? Most kids older than six won’t sleep during rest time, and if they do, it’s because they really need more sleep than they’re getting. But a half hour or an hour of quiet, restful solitary time during the day is restorative at any age, and a habit worth cultivating.

An after-school ritual can serve as both a pressure valve and a bridge between the worlds of school and home. The proverbial after-school snack can do the trick. Do you remember Marie, from Chapter
One? Marie’s mother had arranged her work schedule so that she was home when Marie was done with school. I suggested she make a habit of having a little snack with Marie as a transition ritual. “But she doesn’t talk to me!” she reported, after a week. Who says she has to? A moment of connection can be silent. As Marie comes to rely on her mother’s presence during this time—sitting there, moving about the kitchen, looking through the mail—she’ll use that connection to suit her needs.

As I mentioned, my family observes a moment of silence right before dinner. I think of this as a pressure valve. Quite honestly, we started with ten seconds of silence and gradually worked our way up to a minute. We’ll probably work up to two minutes and that will be our limit. No, it isn’t an hour of meditation every day, but any parent with small children will probably be impressed. I know I am, most every night. The kids are quite itchy, without fail, for the first bit, but then they relax into it.

You may be wondering: What’s the point of having a moment of silence? If so, I challenge you to try it. Around our little table each night there is a sort of collective sigh as we relax into this one quiet moment. The point of holding this silence is to deepen one’s attention. We aren’t always aware of the tension we’re carrying. If you have to be quiet for a moment, chances are your shoulders will drop a bit and you’ll be aware of your breath, perhaps for the first time that day. For a child who talks or moves or fidgets quite continuously all day, this moment of quiet stillness will be
very
noticeable. A moment of silence not only releases the tension of constant doing, it presents a remarkable alternative: just being.

For some boys and industrious types, work can serve as a pressure valve. Such work might be doing a project: hauling rocks in a wheelbarrow, digging a hole, building with blocks, catching lizards, or climbing a tree. Ongoing projects that kids are anxious to get back to right after school can be wonderful pressure valves. Any activity a child can “lose himself in” allows for a release of tension, and the mental ease needed to process the day’s events. Whatever the means, active deep play is an excellent pressure valve. As kids reach the preteen years, sometimes hobbies or collections—the beginnings of deep passions—and organized sports can serve the same purpose.

One small suggestion I have for a pressure valve I’ve mentioned before: the lighting of a candle at some regular point of the day. Part of
your family tradition might be to light a candle before dinner and let one of your children snuff it out at the end. For small children, the light of a candle creates a magical world. It concentrates their attention and narrows their focus to a small, golden circle. Again, this is a very simple thing. But you may be surprised by how powerfully soothing it can be.

One mother really made me laugh when she reported that her little son seemed to equate candlelight with some sort of primal truth serum. “Aren’t most kids quieted by candlelight?” she asked me. “Not Jared! When the candle’s lit he opens his little heart (and mouth) to recount his deepest wishes for the earth and every creature ever known, as well as his thoughts, hopes and dreams for himself, his friends, pets, teachers and our mailman. It’s very dear, but honestly, as I light the candle now, I think to myself, ‘Hold on to your hat!’ I never know what will come out!” Now,
that’s
a pressure valve!

No gadgets or special effects necessary. We have what we need to help our children balance their lives, days, and energies. Each little pressure valve, each opportunity for release and calm, is very small, insignificant. But imagine tucking in a child—your child—when they have had some of these moments throughout their day. Imagine a greater sense of ease and calm in their little bodies, in their breathing, as you lean down to kiss them good night.

Sleep is the ultimate rhythm. Everything your child does and who they will be are affected by their sleep or lack of it. Low self-esteem? Too little sleep is one of the first things I look for. Without sleep we’re reactive, unable to approach new things or changing circumstances with strength and resilience. Sleep is the required rhythm to a strong “I am” sense of self. Because a child’s brain is still developing, and so much of that neural growth and pruning happens while they’re sleeping, a deprivation of even one hour can have intellectual and behavioral consequences. According to studies done by Dr. Avi Sadeh of Tel Aviv University, the performance gap caused by just one hour’s less sleep was equivalent to the normal gap between a sixth-grader and a fourth-grader. In other words, your sixth-grader who’s going to school sleepy may be learning (and behaving) at a fourth-grade level.
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In my experience, most children between two and six need eleven hours of sleep. From ages six to eleven, some kids can do well with ten hours, but that number will go up again—to eleven or even twelve hours—during adolescence. Unfortunately, most kids don’t get anywhere near these numbers. Half of all adolescents get less than seven
hours of sleep on weeknights. According to studies conducted by the University of Kentucky, by the time they are seniors in high school, kids average only slightly more than six and a half hours of sleep a night.
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