My New Home + Thank YOU!

Hey there, Jesse here! I am now blogging over at a new site called Weave In Wonder. It's the place where moms learn how to feel their happiest with meaningful self-care, respectful parenting & fun play ideas. Meet me over there! 

<3

The last 5 years blogging in this space has been so transformative for me as a mother and person. It started as a creative outlet, but truly through my writing and reflections - became a place where I could clearly see the beauty and the butterflies in my life, even when times were hard. My favorite part of having this blog is sharing it with such a supportive community of family members, dear friends, and parents near and far. Thank you everyone!

I'm not going far - I've started a website called Weave In Wonder, where I share my favorite respectful parenting practices, whole child activities, and self-care routines. Want to follow along?

With love and respect,
Jesse

On Days Your Kids Wrestle On The High Beam

The sun was shining warm and bright at the park, and I was snacking on cookies (what else?) while watching both kids play on a familiar neighborhood playground. It's blissful situations like these that lead to daydreaming for me, and I'm swept away in mapping out weekend plans or a funny story in my head. Does this happen to anyone else?

Moments later I notice both of my children straight up wrestling on a beam about four feet off the ground, leading up to a water spout. I've seen them both cautiously crawl up and down this beam in the past - but now they were both standing up and red-faced, hands intertwined, trying to be first to get to the spout, WWE style.

<cue me swallowing my cookie nearly whole trying to stifle phrases like, "you're going to FALLLL!!!">

I find that the last thing you say is usually what happens. 

With not a full run, but with momentum I got close and gently but firmly held them both and said as unruffled as possible, "I see you both want to get to the water spout first - but fighting up here isn't safe."

"Mama! Brother had his turn! Now it's mine! Get off Brother, get OFF!" Sister Butterfly cried out.
"Mine, mine, mine, mine...." Brother Butterly chimed in, mimiking her intensity. 

They continued arguing and I felt I couldn't keep them safe and connect with them. I think it's also okay to admit what you're feeling too - in this case, I was worried about them falling. 

"I'm going to take you both down because this isn't working. I'm feeling worried you may fall." I took them both down, and kneeled and looked at the in their eyes, "the sand and swings are open, or I wonder if you two can brainstorm a way to use the water spout safely...?"

In situations like these, their safety comes first, but I will allow them a chance to work the problem out once they are safe. I also don't allow any hitting or hurting one another, and will block these as best I can, saying phrases like, "I won't let you hit, yes I see you're upset..." 

They both begged me to go back on the beam, and Sister Butterfly announced that she would let Brother Butterfly climb up first to the spout, but that means he has to pour all the water for her sand castle. They both seemed happy with this plan and tried it out for the next 15 minutes with success. 

I always appreciate their own problem solving on situations like these, and will allow them a chance to work it out, even if the solution is not what I had in mind. I do the same with toy taking, because there are some BIG benefits for allowing them to work out toy struggles with you supporting them close by (Here are 4 benefits!).  

I can't help bit feel like letting children take the lead in their own disagreements is self-care for my needs as a person as well. 

Our weekend was spent without playgrounds and city life, and in the Redwoods because that balance is always appreciated by all, and everyone sleeps better that night. I just finished Last Child In the Woods in my book club, and found it fascinating that there are so many healing benefits to unstructured play in nature. Have you read it? 

PS - We just returned from the happiest week long trip to San Diego with my parents, which included a trip to a Discovery Museum located on a lagoon! I left feeling refreshed from sleeping in and homemade dinners I remembered from childhood. Thanks, Mom and Dad! 

I'd love to know, what do playground and toy struggles and solutions look like with your family? How much intervention do you find beneficial for both your children and yourself?

On Seeing The Good In Feeling Uncomfortable

Grey clouds covered the sun, and a cold steady breeze whipped my hair into a frenzy as I walked the sandy steps down to the beach. We're visiting my family in Southern California, and I felt a giddiness flutter in my heart when I heard my parents were taking both kids to the park for a few hours. We've had a wonderful time all together - but walking by myself on the beach felt like just the thing.

I jogged down to where the water met the sand, and stopped short, my eyes squinting at the sea. Maybe it was a bit too cold to be on the beach today? Did I really want to get sandy and wet and walk back to town so uncomfortable? I reached into my pocket to check the time and noticed I had forgotten my cell phone at home. Suddenly a beach walk just sounded like a chore. 

I entertained the idea of a warm coffee shop down the road. Now that sounded cozy! But then I looked out into the choppy waters, and noticed a diver about a quarter mile out, diving up and down in the water, as agile as a porpoise. My mom later told me that these divers are great swimmers, and are out there spearing fish for dinner. 

Hell, if there are people brave enough to spear fish for dinner with some flippers and a snorkel, then I could walk the beach without needing to feel perfectly comfortable, I thought. 

I walked the beach for a few miles, and let the waves crash on my feet. Then a wave unexpectedly splashed up to my knees. Before long - I couldn't' help myself - I was trudging a long, nearly waist deep, and literally giggling to myself as I splashed around, tripping over seaweed and watching seagulls soar over my head. I walked back into to town with Baba Butterfly and ate lunch outside, my cold toes and soggy leggings a reminder of feeling so happy and free (he snapped a photo of me above!).   

I wondered about all the wonderful experiences in life we sometimes miss out on for the sake of comfort. I love a good Hygge moment and definitely opt for Converse over heels any day. But why do I need to seek comfort as much as I do, even if it means missing out on feeling happy and free?

Before I knew Magda Gerber's Educaring®  approach, which is also called RIE® - I wanted comfort for my own children at all costs. I never considered what they were missing out on. In the early days with Sister Butterfly, I relied on a cushioned swing or button filled exersaucer to keep her comfortable and entertained. I never considering that these well-meaning devices actually restricted her movement and freedom to explore and play in a natural way.

I also found myself not wanting her to cry or experience hard things like toy struggles - because I thought it was better for her to be happy all day long. I was shhhing, breastfeeding all day and night, and even wearing her in a sling around the house with an aching back - all for the sake of keeping her perfectly content. I'd "fix" toy struggles before anyone got upset. I soon learned there are many reasons to calm down about babies crying (here are 7 reasons!), and thoughtful ways to allow young children to work toy struggles out themselves. 

***I'd love to hear the ways you felt happy and free in a moment that was uncomfortable, if you don't mind sharing. I'm also curious, in what ways can we let go a little bit of feeling comfortable, and allow children the same exhilarating benefits (while taking care of their needs). 
xoxo, Jesse

I Don't Want An Artificial Life

A blast from the past photo of Brother Butterfly! <Cue my mama heart singing>

Hey there, Jesse here! I am now blogging over at a new site called Weave In Wonder. It's the place where moms learn how to feel their happiest with meaningful self-care, respectful parenting & fun play ideas. Meet me over there! 

<3

It took only one sip of the "fresh-squeezed" orange juice I ordered to realize I just drank some Sunny D, and feel a bit like this kid. I actually never minded Sunny D until I tried the real stuff and realized that artificial orange wasn't for me. It wasn't until my 30's when I decided that nearly everything artificial wasn't for me (excluding movie popcorn and fake eyelashes because the world does feel like a better place with those two things). 

I don't want an artificial life. 

I want to remember feeling the juicy tenderness of a tomato at the farmer's market. Then ladling hot vegetable soup into bowls to feed four hungry bellies. 

I read authors that make me laugh and cry and ruminate for days. I want to read about experiences that feel hilarious, raw, exhilarating, dangling. Not what's always comfortable and pretty (I'm reading White Oleander now and loving it, have you read it?)

I watch nearly hypnotized each time the golden glow of beeswax slowly pours into votives when we make candles each season. Sister Butterfly is in charge of plopping in the wicks, watching it cool, and then blowing out the candles at dinner time. "Thank you bees," she says as the lavender scented smoke encircles us. 

I gravitate towards true friendships. The kind that you can cry in your blanket while she says, "I'm here for you," and you both laugh so much you drive home from your late night tea date with sore cheeks.

I sometimes step into the artificial world of social media and scroll my phone for much too long. I'm left with a dull headache. I feel taller and gaze softer in natural sunlight, with redwood trees to lean on and no cell phone reception for miles. 

Child, I want you to shy away from the artificial. 

Can you feel the magic in the real and true like I do? 

Sweet baby, you moved so naturally and comfortably on your blanket as I sat nearby. There was never any need for Bumbo seats or propping you up to help you artificially sit. You stretched, rolled, reached, looked at your hands in the sunshine - and you sat up on your own when you were ready. Right after you crawled. 

You play often with real things made from the Earth - rocks we find in our own apartment complex become Story Stones, and seashells discovered in the ocean become telephones. You wrap silk scarves around your shoulders as capes, and stack wooden blocks as tall as Brother Butterfly. 

Tender soul, share your true feelings with me, if you'd like. Laugh yourself silly or reveal how angry you are at a friend. Or even how angry you are at me. I'm here to listen, and to help if you need it. 

There's no need for iPads to learn about the natural world. Lay with me on this blanket and let's watch the bay twinkle from the sunshine peaking in from the clouds. Point out the seagulls diving into water for a fish. Sketch in your notebook a snail slithering on the grass and detail the swirls on its shell. And wonder aloud, "do you ever think I'll find a unicorn beetle Mama?" 

You won't have to fake a smile in pictures for me, dear Butterfly. I'll never ask for an artificial, "I'm sorry" or force you to say "hello" or "goodbye" when you're busy in your 2 and 5 year old minds. I'll model my friendly and compassionate nature, and I know you'll follow suit when you're ready. 

I'll let you get bored sometimes until you ball your hands into fists and cry out, "Mama! I've never been so bored and I can't stand it!" I'll watch you find something to do eventually, and often times reluctantly. I think to myself, 'Yes, life can be boring sometimes, and then it changes and feels hilarious, raw, exhilarating, or dangling.' Hours of the day zoned out with an iPad or TV would just distract from these real things we need to sit with.  

Each night when I tuck you in, I whisper to you, "I love you just the way you are."

There is nothing artificial in that. 

On The Swirls (And Swirls) Of Being Fully Human

Hey there, Jesse here! I am now blogging over at a new site called Weave In Wonder. It's the place where moms learn how to feel their happiest with meaningful self-care, respectful parenting & fun play ideas. Meet me over there! 

<3

It all started innocent enough. We were painting a tree branch for a process art book club I was hosting that week, and I was feeling so warm and glowy watching them paint together with their dedicated expressions on their faces. I imagined hanging the tree branch in their room as a symbol of their sibling love. Oh, it would be wonderful, I thought.

I stepped in the closet for 12 seconds to search for a bottle of glue. Or what is modpodge? It doesn't really matter now. I came out to find Brother Butterfly swirling his fingers in red paint he'd poured over our rental carpet in four heaping glops. I stood there, stunned and horrified while he dipped his fingers in again and squealed with delight.

Nothing makes me feel fully human like my children do. One minute I'm floating on a cloud of joy, and the next I'm scrubbing red carpets and my own tears.

When I'm in the outside world, I rein in my full humanness much more than I'd like to admit. I sometimes laugh politely at bad jokes, and I also sometimes stifle a loud laugh at a hilarious one. I calmly stand in long lines with one child who is whining in the cart and another who I suspect just licked a mirror, and all I want to do is scream toward the front, "hurry up!" When I feel immense pride about an accomplishment, one I've worked hard at for years, I'll change the subject with a friend. I hold back on telling my Mom how much she means to me when she visits.

Children never hold back their humanness like adults do. They laugh loud at the punchline in hilarious books, and burst into tears at the dentist. They will declare exactly what they are thinking, which might be the truest statement you heard all day, at the most inappropriate time. They'll scream with rage at their brother, "don't you touch my blocks ever again!" and a few minutes later, burst into a fit of giggles over a fart. They'll snuggle up close to you and look you in the eyes with their big brown eyes, without wanting to look away.

It's a marvel the way children let their emotions swirl inside them for as long as they need, until they are done with that emotion. Then they are on to the next. They understand themselves so well when we let them. I'm seeing that the more I let their full humanness be something that is seen as normal, the more whole they appear to me and to themselves.

Is feeling fully human part of what makes childhood feel so magical? Perhaps feeling the full scope of being human as an adult, even if that means crying a little more when I need to, and laughing more when I need to, (and screaming "hurry up!" when I want to) is the key to a magical adulthood?

I'll keep you posted!