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Archives for 2017

Welcoming the Good

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We’re at the waning days of the year and the same old same old topic has started to clog my newsfeeds. What’s your resolution? How to make this year the best year ever! How to really accomplish your resolutions. In years past, I would have opened each and every article, scoured their contents and distilled the salient points which I would work to replicate. Because who can’t benefit from some self-improvement? Goodness knows I certainly can.

Yesterday, though, when my sister asked if I’d figured out my resolutions for the coming year, I told her quite simply, “I’m not making any resolutions this year.” “What?” she replied, obviously stunned. Being my closest confidante, her surprised reaction made complete sense. Aside from being my closest sibling, she is my exercise buddy, wellness accountability partner, creative work collaborator and my dream sharer. She knows first-hand the myriad of goals I set and work towards accomplishing bit by bit. All in an attempt to replace my own criticism with accomplishment.

But this year, I decided that the resolution thing isn’t for me. Bear with me for a moment: I’m not saying that I’m giving up on goal setting. No way. What I am doing, though, is rather than engaging in the traditional resolution setting that includes writing down a list of ick I want to discontinue or change, I’m choosing to celebrate the positive.

What if we siblings, parents, children, partners, teachers, loved ones chose to continue doing good and positive and promote doing even more of the same? What if at the advent of a new year we reflected on all of the things we have done that make us proud of and set goals of continuing this practice and experiencing more of these good feelings? What if we reflected on the various ways we did good and worked towards replicating these good deeds? What if we made time for quiet and appreciating the small moments of beauty? Carved out time to spend with the ones that truly matter? Listened? Laughed? Expressed gratitude?

I believe that by focusing on what’s working rather than what’s not, we can move forward in a more productive way. By welcoming more good into our lives rather than struggling to push the unpleasant away, we are inviting joy. Good begets good. That’s why this year I resolve to keep on keepin’ on.

© Kathie Z.

‘Tis The Season

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The sky was robin’s egg blue, the sun was shining brightly and the snow beneath our feet was powdery soft. It was a picture postcard New England day and the countdown to Christmas was on! The holiday was only two weeks away and we’d yet to get a tree.

Back in our early days, the two of us were all about creating traditions. We’d head to the tree farm where my parents had gotten their tree for years to tag our tree. For those of you unfamiliar with this term, “tagging” is the early bird’s way of getting dibs on the best Christmas trees. Here’s how it works: You head to the tree farm weeks before Christmas; before weather or crowds pose a distraction and you choose your tree. You write your name on the tag in Sharpie and tie it to a branch. Just to be sure no one mistakes your tree as fair game, it’s a good idea to affix something personal to the tree, a ribbon or your dog’s neck scarf, for instance. You return a few weeks later, seek out your bandana and fetch that tree. If you’re thinking “this sounds a little much,” you’re right, but back then, we didn’t think so. We were establishing shared rituals.

As the years passed and we became a family of four, our annual family tree trek evolved and we ditched tree tagging altogether. Finding the tree became less of an adventure as the girls grew and their lives became busier. Last year when our youngest daughter, a lover of all things Christmas, went off to college and we officially became empty nesters, the tree getting officially became one more task to check off our ever-growing holiday to do list.

The third weekend of December, my husband and I headed to the mom and pop tree farm high on the hill and chose a “good enough” pre-cut tree. Just like always, he put the lights on and I began decorating. When I came to the box of “special” ornaments, the ornaments each of the girls had personally picked out since toddler-hood, I decided I had done enough tree decorating. How fun it would be for them to finish the tree together. I pictured them reminiscing as they placed the different ornaments that served as punctuation marks to each phase of their childhoods.

 

The girls both returned home a week before Christmas. “Nice tree, Mama,” my older daughter said. “Yeah, it looks good,” my younger daughter said. “I left you two a box,” I said. “Nah, I’m good,” my younger daughter said. “You can finish it.” I was crestfallen and super perplexed. How could this lover of all things Christmas take a pass on finishing the tree? “Seriously?” I asked. “Yeah,” she said. “It looks good. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Mess it up? What was she talking about? She could tell from my scrunched up face I was lost. “You’ve already done it the way you want,” she said. “You should finish it.”

“What are you talking about?” I finally said. “I saved the best for you two. On purpose.”

“No thanks,” my younger daughter said pleasantly. “You’ll just move the ornaments when I’m done anyway.” My mouth fell open. “It’s true, Mama” her older sister agreed.

And it was true. In my effort to create long-lasting traditions, I’d asserted control. And in that control, I’d communicated unattainable perfectionism in the form of non-verbal criticism.  I’d moved precious ornaments I planned on passing on to the girls when they had homes of their own to higher, less vulnerable spots on the tree. What I’d done out of concern of some future gesture of good will was a present judgment of “wrong.”

In the year that’s passed, I’ve been reflecting. A lot. About the things that matter. And what I’ve realized is the teeniest gestures are often the ones that convey the loudest messages. If an ornament breaks, so what? The memory remains. Besides, who knows if my children will even want these things? Only time will tell.

So this year, the tree my husband and I picked out in record time stands beside the staircase undecorated. It will remain this way until the girls return. And when we decorate it, I’ll do my best to remain grateful, mindful. Who knows, maybe this’ll be the year that we establish a new tradition-one where ornaments are placed and left.

 

©Kathie Z.

 

 

 

 

There’s Always Time for Second-Hand Joy

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He’s ba-ack! Or maybe she’s back. Male or female, that pesky little elf is back for its annual spy mission. And I’m not too thrilled. That’s because the teacher me is not a fan of Santa’s little helper.

Before you label me a bah-humbug, unfun curmudgeon, hear me out. Please.

“Santa Fever,” is something all primary teachers learn to navigate. We can temper the Santa excitement with routine and structure. We’re pros at managing work, fun and talk of the guy in red.

This elf thing, though. It’s been a game changer. In the early days, I assumed this elf thing would peter out, go the way of pet rocks, Beanie Babies and silly bands. The elf thing required so much effort, put so much pressure on parents it wouldn’t be sustainable. But, I was wrong. Super wrong.

Between Thanksgiving and December first, elves magically reappear in my students’ homes. Talk of gratitude is abruptly replaced with elf stories. “You’ll never believe what my elf did today!” Day after day, there’s an elf story or three to be told. And as December progresses, my students become increasingly amped up relaying stories, giggling over the silly elf hijinks, gasp and guffaw repeating details of naughty elf behavior.

And all this elf talk takes so. Much. Time. Time which we never seem to have enough of as it is. Ever. Which seems all the more precious during this “most wonderful time of the year.” Bell to bell, every minute of our school day is accounted for. And stories of these little North Pole tourists engaging in their slumber time shenanigans were eating away minutes and minutes of my precious time, derailing learning!

Then I got to thinking about time. And the elf. What if I reframed this perennial challenge? “Reframing,” (in super-duper simplified terms) for those of you unfamiliar with the term, is choosing to look at something differently.  What if I tried to see the elf as a good thing instead of a time thief? Embrace my students’ excitement? Experience second-hand joy? Surely I had time to participate in extreme happiness, right?

So that’s what I’ve done this year. Engaged in some serious reframing. And I’ve realized that the most precious time of all is the present. In a year’s time, my students will be third graders, on their way to becoming legit “big kids.” Quite possibly some of them will even decide they’re too old for elf silliness. For now, though, they’re where they’re meant to be; in the company of a mother and teacher who knows from first-hand experience how quickly time passes, how quickly children grow up, how quickly excitement fades. Right now, my students are in the presence of a teacher who is so happy to share in this special, magical time.

©Kathie Z.

Children are Sponges

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Clichés abound in education and parenting literature. One of the most often repeated is “children are sponges.” Eyes gleam and smiles fill faces as stories are related about the amazing ability a child has demonstrated to learn something new. Countless Facebook posts declaring pride for an achieving child have been written and shared. I, myself, have exuberantly declared a child a sponge; marveling at her amazing information download, as if it happened by osmosis. So, so, many times.

 

But lately, I’ve been thinking and I’ve begun looking at this metaphor through a different lens. Time and experience allow me this beautiful gift. They encourage me to press pause and think. And I’ve been thinking about expectations. A lot. And my thinking has led to some major reframing.

 

Full disclosure-I love, love, loved this metaphor. I beamed while marveling at a child’s ability to absorb information and make meaning. I’m not sure there is anything much better than a child making a connection between something learned in class and connecting it to something in her own life. It’s magical to witness authentic learning suddenly occur. Undoubtedly, it’s one of the greatest payoffs of being a parent and teacher.

 

In recent years, though, I’ve seen a shift. Small children are being asked to do so much more. Expected to absorb more. So, my mind goes back to the analogy, the time-tested truism: children are sponges. And I have to say, “Yeah, but…”

 

I know that learning happens and a child’s knowledge grows incrementally. Bit by bit. And my mind shifts back to the sponge. Literally the physical object sitting on my kitchen counter. I wonder how much can this sponge actually absorb before it reaches its saturation point, becomes blocked, unable to take in another drop? From experience, I know that it’s more than a spoonful and less than a gallon. I also know that over time, my little sponge will absorb far more than a gallon.

 

After much reflection, then, I suppose the analogy holds true. Children are sponges. Their ability to absorb so much information and develop so many skills is amazing. And we adults must provide the gift of time to allow them to grow bit by bit. Because that’s what they’re supposed to do. Learn and grow, little by little.

 

Kathie Z.

 

Perfect is an Icky Word

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Words. I love, love, love words. So much that I chose to major in English. Words are magical. They can convey so many different ideas, themes, and emotions. Words when strung together artfully can become best sellers or classics. They can become monologues and pithy dialogue. Words can motivate, inspire and sum up a feeling beautifully. Words put together just right…well, there’s nothing better.

But words used capriciously? We all do this sometimes. Speak without thinking. Blurt something out. It’s part of being human.

Lately, though, I’ve been trying to listen to myself. I have the privilege of working with small children every day. I speak for a living! Words are my tools. And I must use them responsibly.

Responsibly? I know that term will sound dramatic to some, but I think it’s the best word in this this moment. Words are so powerful. They can deflate, convey unworthiness, and do some serious damage. Simply put, words used thoughtlessly can leave a mark.

I don’t know a single adult who cannot recount a time they were made to feel “less than” by someone’s flippant remarks or condemning label. While doing press for her book Lean In, Sheryl Sandberg spoke of the negative feelings that accompanied being labeled “bossy.” I listened with interest while she passionately argued against the use of it. Eegads, I remember thinking. Is the use of the term “bossy” that detrimental to girls? Does it really hamper them in their pursuit of happiness and success? Plainly, yes. The term that stung her as a little girl, Sandberg found, has huge ramifications in shaping young girls’ self-esteem. Fully embracing the power of words, Sandberg started an on-line campaign, BAN BOSSY.com to educate and empower girls.

 

Hm. That got me thinking. Although my previously shy self was never ever labeled “bossy,” I began pondering other powerfully icky words. Words that had stopped me in my tracks, eroded my confidence, made me feel less-than. And it took brief moments to decide the queen mother of all icky words for me is “perfect.” Perfect which also seems innocuous, and sometimes even passes as a compliment, is another incredibly, powerful and I’d argue harmful word. Perfect is unattainable. Perfect does not honor the struggle that is so necessary in the learning process. Perfect is stress inducing, magnifying mistakes into big-deal character flaws. Perfect is a word that offers far too little benefit for me to use-with my children or the students in my classroom.

Words matter and our children are listening to what we’re saying. In the words of educator Haim Ginott, “Children are like wet cement. Whatever falls on them makes an impression.” Instead of assigning a judgment, I choose not to use “the p word.” Why would I when there are so many other fantastic, amazing, wonderful uplifting words?

©Kathie Z.

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