Birth of a Blog, Part 2: The Moral Compass

I warned my guru that a recent email to her probably would become a blog post.

I've been incubatory (if that's a word) this winter. Some thoughts wanted thinking. And -- if you give a mouse a cookie -- they demanded a blog.

This is my third blog. I maintained Dressed in Yella to keep the family posted on the girls. Before that, I kept a robust online "diary," before "blog" was even a word. It was totally anonymous and sorta shady and I would have died if any reader had met me on the street. And, no, you can't see it, because the Internet ate it by accident a few months ago, which was probably just as well.

Enter Incarnation #3.  I feel like I've found a) a voice, and b) something to say. Oooh, and both at the same time!

Plus, the world has changed. Keeping your children's photos off Facebook? Some kindly relation is posting and tagging. Downplaying your political leanings? Some well-meant friend is sharing and liking.  Even the app store on my phone requires my credit-card-linked identity before I can write a dang review.  Short of becoming a true hacker, which I'm too lazy to do, or completely checking out from online society, islandhood is no longer practical.

This is probably good for me. I've always belonged to the "nod and smile" school. You do your thing, I'll do my thing, and we'll all just go-along-to-get-along.

But in the wake of November's election, the smile feels forced and the nod feels stiff. Regardless of whether you think a) the country's headed for facism in a pizza box, or b) the second coming of Novus Ordo Seclorum is at hand, I think we may all agree that -- remember about the children? -- home-based moral guidance has become imperative.

The great privilege of parenting in America is raising your children as you see fit.  The older I get, the more strongly I believe that we're never more than a generation away from losing our foundations: social, political, lingual, religious, and/or moral.  So I've decided to up my game on the conscious, mindful, thoughtful, respectful, gentle, and unapologetic indoctrination of my children to my moral views, as expressed in a clearly-articulated family mission.

'Cause this is all I'm doing right now, and, uh, I don't like to do things half-baked.

My children may not always embrace my views.  I hope they will make their own considered decisions in time. I hope I am teaching them how to make considered decisions. If I do nothing else for them, I want to give my children a place to which they can look back and say, "I came from there."

In service to that goal, this blog plants its flag.

Well . . . and there may be a few crafts and checklists and travel itineraries and woodlore notes and recipes and RV camping tips along the way.

It's OK: If the Kids get Scuffed

If the only injury children experience is repetitive motion syndrome from playing X-Box, our species is doomed. 

-- Darren Bush, Kids Need Room to Roam: Tips on Taking Your Little Ones Camping

at The Art of Manliness

If you feel an extra bounce in your step this month, it's because Colorado is sucking up all the gravity. Sorry about that.  This time of year, a lot of things go downhill 'round here.

Including my kids.

You'd think I would know that "gravity + sleds + trees = bad news" by now, but that's why we've got a #momguilt label there on the right menu bar.

I'd love to be one of those genuinely calm moms like my EMT friend, who can stay cucumber-cool while a child is gushing blood.  I've seen her do it, and I'm in awe.  

But, no, I am one of those outwardly calm moms who is saying, "Great work, you're so brave," and "Can you squeeze my hand?" and "How many fingers am I holding up?" while my inner dialog is more along the lines of oh &*%$$## please don't let it be an eye injury, where's that blood coming from, and how the *&%%% am I going to get a kid to the ER in a blizzard and oh (&%%# why didn't I put on the snow tires last October?

It's all Facebook-perfect until Mama grabs the Stupid Button with both hands real life bites you in the hinder.

We did not need that trip to the ER, so it was a good day in the end.  And now that I'm less rattled, here's the self-talk:

It's OK: Today's Takeaways

• As noted here by the wise Darren Bush, you "minimize risk through planning, education and keeping [your] wits about [you]."
• I should could have done a better job of risk management yesterday.
• I will do so in the future. Helmets come to mind. Goggles. Treeless slopes.
• With that, the self-castigation needs to end.

It's OK, Mama. Anything that can be cured with cuddles, Children's Motrin, and mug cake is not a real emergency.

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Update 02-26-16: You're going to hear a lot about my guru in this blog. On her gentle and gracious advice, I've fixed updated the post as noted in the strikethroughs. Because, in her wise words:

It was an accident - those happen regardless of how many precautions are taken:) . . . Yes, you COULD've. But, who the hell can do it all? Does this make any sense? It's the only piece in any of the 3 blog posts that didn't ring true with the rest. Just my two cents. For what it's worth.

It's worth SO much.  Tammy, je t'adore.
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Try This at Home: Recognizing Happy Places

The village may think I'm crazy / Or say that I drift too far / But once you know what you like, well / There you are

- Disney's Moana

Everything's dynamic nowadays. There's no real reason to start "at the beginning" with a new blog any longer. Accordingly, I'll just . . . start.

Try This at Home: 

Recognizing Happy Places

Where and how, between homework and friends and art and yoga and swimming? Well, that's precisely the point.  Ever met someone who couldn't find a happy place? Yeah, me, too. I've met those someones. I've been that someone. It sucks. I want to do better for my girls.

Happily, a happy place can be right under your nose. Dragon Girl, for example, likes to climb. Heaven help me, how she likes to climb. She likes curbs, rocks, retaining walls, and pretty much anything elevated. She'll be a natural for Parkour if I can ever bring myself to tell her it exists.

So, when she wants to explore an obstacle, I try to say "yes."  It costs nothing but time, and very little of that, to make her truly happy for a whole morning.

Look up "happy place" in the dictionary, and there's this.  Time: 4 minutes.

It doesn't have to be free-range, either. Every Wednesday morning, we swipe a few minutes on the climbing wall at her sister's school, while the big kids are in assembly saying the Pledge of Allegiance.

I know, I KNOW . . . but she's so happy. Time: 12 minutes.

Try This at Home: Today's Takeaways

• Finding my child's happy place is a Good Thing.

• Enrichment can happen perfectly well outside of enrichment classes.

• On most days -- admittedly not all -- I can spare 3 minutes to let her walk on the curb. Because what will I really achieve by spending that extra 3 minutes in Wal-Mart?

• It's good for me, too, to see her smile.

As an added personal bonus, Dragon Girl's happy place requires Mama to Let Go. Because, fine, call me a helicopter, but it's very very very hard to watch my four-year-old freeclimb to twice her own height. Even though she's still pretty short.

Birth of a Blog, Part 1: Retrenching

[S]eek adventure, even in the little things. . . . . Your example will greatly influence your children. If you are caught in your own rut, then so will your children be, but if you break free, then you give your children freedom.

-- Tom Brown, Jr.
Tom Brown’s Field Guide to Nature and Survival for Children

This winter, I lost my way for a while. These things don't happen quickly. Usually you trot along cheerfully until the moment you look up and realize, "Aw, damn."

That happens in the woods. Sometimes, it also happens in the laundry room.

Moss is on the north side, right?

We put 2016 to bed amid a welter of business, financial, and health issues. I'd barely looked up while hopping from rock to rock all year. But after the morass was stabilized, questions came creeping:

• Now that my children mostly dress themselves, how does my role change?
• Now that my parents have moved to town, how do I support their active aging?
• Now that my spouse is commuting 1,000 miles for work, how do I hold the fort at home while remaining engaged with his professional goals?

I found myself writing to a friend, "Is this how I am going to spend my middle years, obsessed with everybody else's developmental phases?"

It's very pretty, but there's no trail in sight.

After that burst of honesty/self-pity, I began to wonder if my RV obsession might be a harbinger of larger issues. That line of thought led to:

Maybe I'm allowed to have a new developmental phase too.

The thought arrived with such a big "click" that I physically jumped. Accordingly, this blog -- and the next chapter of my life -- began with mopping up spilled wine from my computer desk.  Figures.

At this point, I could have run out and bought a red sports car.  But, no, I'm still keen on the idea of an RV. I think it's a better fit with the work I've chosen for this time of my life:  raising my girls to find their own way, both in and out of the physical woods.