parenting

Motherhood To Me

May 11, 2019 By Kathie Z

Two weeks ago, I came across a post asking for writers to submit their definitions of motherhood. In 100 words or less. Yikes. Sum up the last two decades of my life in 100 words or less? It was worth a try. And the word that came to mind was heart.

Motherhood is a work of heart.
It’s diving into the unknown.
It’s following your gut, trusting your instincts.
It’s calling in your mother for help.

Motherhood is loving someone more than you ever knew possible.
It’s being afraid, but choosing to be brave.
It’s saying the right thing or saying nothing at all.
It’s choosing self-less-ness.

Motherhood is imperfect.
It’s shouting, it’s joy.
It’s heartbreak and joy.
It’s messing up, saying “I’m sorry.”

Motherhood is all-encompassing.
It’s a worried mind, a sleepless night.
It’s an answered phone.
It’s a conversation ended with “I love you.”

Motherhood is heart work.

Opportunities are Like Tomatoes

September 22, 2018 By Kathie Z

Raising courageous, confident kids is hard. It’s the hardest work we will ever do. Because, I think, there’s so much at stake.

Without a doubt, educating and empowering kids is my calling, my life’s work for my own two children and the students I’ve taught and continue to teach. Over the years, I’ve honed my craft, curated a well-stocked tool box, and refined my practice. That said, the process doesn’t get any easier, the task remains challenging. I’ve learned, though, we get better over time with lots of practice. And continuous learning.

That’s why I read so much. Books to build growth mindset, books about resilience, books about taking action and living your best life, fulfilling your purpose. I gravitate to work that is presented with a blend of personal anecdotes and research based-evidence.

These past few weeks, I’ve been rereading Mel Robbins’ the 5 Second Rule. In her book, Ms. Robbins explores the trap of over-thinking and creating a negative, fear-based narrative that pushes so many of us into inaction and becoming stuck. Having become stuck herself, Ms. Robbins developed a simple five second strategy for action. Backed by neuroscience, her process for acting on good ideas has been transformative for lots of over-thinkers.

The fact that I was reading the 5 Second Rule while my daughter was simultaneously preparing for her first art show post-college and interviewing for a job in higher education was pure serendipity. As an educator, I know the research on parents being their child’s primary source of influence. And here she was, living under our roof again for the first time in four years. Navigating an incredibly stressful time with her parents in the next room, keeping tabs on the progress of both her show and job search. Yikes!

My husband and I tried our best to be supportive, but I’m pretty sure we hovered. As a writer, I know that putting yourself and your creative work out into the world can be dauntingly scary. The same can be said for working in a more traditional field, as well. The fear of judgment can become a terrible deterrent. The imagined scenarios of failure and the uncertainty of what if are confidence-eroders. We tried to support her in the best way; making ourselves available to answer her questions, offer advice only when solicited and keep the fridge stocked with good food.

A few days before the show I arrived home from work. Her best high school friend was visiting, offering moral support. She, too, was in the process of finding her first post-college job. She, too, was navigating the stressful process of interviewing and waiting. My daughter had had a phone interview for an amazing job a few days earlier. She’d been told the process would move quickly, but she’d been playing phone tag with the college for the past 24 hours. She’d made the last call so it was her turn to receive a call back. But her phone hadn’t rung, cell service in our house undependable. The end of the business day was drawing near and her time was at a premium. The art show was going up in two days. Would she need to make the four hour drive for an in-person interview? The timing was terrible. But all signs pointed to this being an amazing opportunity. So, I butted in.

“You need to Mel Robbins this thing.”

“What?” she said.

“Five second rule it. You call back,” I said.

“Yeah,” my husband chimed in.

“You really should,’ her friend joined in.

“Pick up your phone,” I said. “If you get voice mail, you get voice mail. You’ll leave a message. Then it’s up to them.”

Then I counted down. “Five, four, three, two, one, go!” I pointed to the door.

She headed out to the back porch with her phone. She made the call. And arranged an interview!

“Aren’t you glad you five seconded it?” I said when she shared her news.

“I guess so,” she said.

In the whirlwind of three days, she traveled 500 miles, interviewed for a great job and exhibited in a juried art show. She faced her fears, worked through discomfort and experienced success.

A few days after the interview, she was offered the job. She packed up her car and made the four hour drive to a small college town to start the new phase of her life. As she pulled away, she smiled her broad smile. She looked like a young Mary Tyler Moore, heading into the world on her own. I thought of the theme song to the show, “Love is All Around.” Like Mary, she was headed off into the unknown. I knew there’d be an adjustment but I know in my heart she is going to not only make it, she is going to thrive.

This morning I stood at the kitchen counter, reflecting on the whirlwind of the past week, how our daughter’s life had jettisoned in just a few days. My husband and I have been empty nesters for two years and we’ve embraced it. Realizing that our oldest was actually an adult who was living far away hit me. I was so happy for her, but a twinge sad.

I reached for the tomato I’d placed on the windowsill the night before. It was still a little yellow so I figured I’d save it for my lunch, give it another day to ripen. But overnight it had developed a bunch of black spots that radiated from the center. I’d waited too long and it had gone bad. Then it occurred to me. Opportunities are like tomatoes on the vine. They take time to ripen, but they need to be picked at just the right time. Enjoyed. If we wait too long, don’t act, then the opportunity will pass. So will the joy. I planted these tomatoes from seed in April. Finally, in September, they are ready to be picked and enjoyed. Right then and there. Foolishly, I had waited, let the opportunity pass.

I smiled at the irony. Had my daughter waited for the call back, didn’t act, let the call go to voicemail due to unpredictable phone service; who knows what would have happened? Perhaps her opportunity would have withered on the vine, maybe been picked by someone else who was waiting, ready. But she’d acted, made the call, “picked the tomato.” Chosen to enjoy it. Without over-thinking.

May this be the first of many tomatoes she picks at their peak.

©Kathie Z.

Parting Words

September 3, 2018 By Kathie Z

I stood at the dismissal door waving, a smile on my face. “Have a great weekend! See you Tuesday!” I was exhausted, yet exhilarated. Like always, the first few days had flown by and life had shifted into high gear. I knew my students were tired, too. Because the first few days of school are hard. Adjusting to a new grade, new expectations, and a new teacher takes a lot of energy. As I sent my students home for the long weekend, I wanted my them to leave feeling happy, cared for, excited for what’s yet to come. And I wanted them to know they would be welcomed enthusiastically when they returned.

Educators and parents alike know how important the start of each new school year is. The first few days are critical. We have a few days to get things right, set the stage for what’s to come. That’s why huge chunks of time are dedicated to creating a classroom community and establishing routines. Routines, we know, not only maximize student learning, but they promote feelings of safety and security as our students learn what to expect at various times, while learning what is expected of them.

In and out of the classroom I embrace routine. Because there are so many “have tos” and “want tos” in life but a finite number of hours. Established routines help us use the precious commodity time efficiently, allocate minutes and hours, use them mindfully. And one of the most precious of minutes in our school day, in my opinion, is dismissal.

As adults, we’re all familiar with the phrase, “famous last words.” Many of us can quote final lines from favorite movies and books. Likewise, lots of us can conjure memories of parting words from people who mattered; a special neighbor, a dear school friend, a family member who really understood us, a parent. Their words left an imprint. Most of us can name a teacher who made a lasting impression on us too, because of something they said in parting.

When my girls were little, there never seemed to be enough time. Our morning routine followed Swiss clock precision. The moment the alarm clock buzzed Monday through Friday, each minute was accounted for. My kids quickly learned that there was no “being late to school,” no dawdling. Each morning as I headed out the door, I called, “Be good today. Learn lots. I love you.” On good mornings, when all ran smoothly, my goodbye was sing-songy. On bumpy mornings…not so much. The words blended into one. Regardless the delivery, I wanted my girls to hear the same message: have fun, make friends, be happy, be curious, engaged, ask questions, persevere when things get hard and remember, you are loved.

Day after day, my children heard the same thing. Three simple phrases, intentionally crafted and communicated. Be good. Do good. Love you. It was our goodbye ritual. Which I believe set them up for a great day.

When they left for college, my girls each established a phone routine with my husband and me. We could look forward to Friday night phone calls from our younger daughter, Saturday morning from our elder. They filled us in on highlights from their weeks, successes and struggles. As each conversation came to a close, I made sure to end with an encouraging word, an acknowledgement of effort, an I love you. With my children hours away, I rediscovered the incredible power of our parting words.

This made me rethink classroom dismissal. Dismissal was my least favorite time of the day. It was often rushed, hectic. But understanding the power of parting words, I knew there was room for improvement in my dismissal process. Didn’t I want my students to leave feeling positive about the work they’d done? Acknowledged for the contributions they’d made? Excited to return? Of course, I did. So, I revised my farewell. “Good night. You did great work today. See you tomorrow.”

Like the ritual I’d established with my own two children, the good bye I said to each of my students at dismissal time carried meaning. I wished them fun, happiness, had noticed their efforts and let them know I was looking forward to seeing them again the next day. Simple phrases that packed a lot of meaning. And for the kids who had a not-so-great day? Well, I’ve adapted a favorite line from one of my favorite picture books, Lily’s Purple Plastic Purse, by Kevin Henkes. “I know today was difficult. Tomorrow will be better.” I love these words because of their directness; reassurance that mistakes are expected and accepted, the promise of a brand new day to try again.

I realized that it took seconds to wish every child a good night, provide personalized encouragement, share a smile as they filed past. The parting words let my students know that I’d noticed, that they mattered. These positive feelings carry over into the next day and the day after that, creating an environment of trust and risk-taking. What a gift.

©Kathie Z.

The Encouragement’s on the Wall

August 15, 2018 By Kathie Z

Every profession has its jargon and my field, education, has lots. One term we teachers hear used a lot is “literacy-rich environment,” sometimes referred to as “text-rich environment.” Educators invest time and energy creating literacy-rich classroom environments to promote literacy, a cornerstone of academic success and life-long learning.

So, what exactly constitutes a literacy-rich environment, you may wonder? Well, according to the experts, a literacy-rich environment is a classroom that has lots and lots of things for kids to read-ranging from calendars and schedules to books and magazines, as well as instructional posters and teaching charts, to name a few. A literacy-rich environment includes a wide variety of writing materials, as well. “Writing materials” encompasses everything from the expected classroom writing tools, paper and pencil to markers, crayons, chalk, dry-erase boards and rubber stamps. There are so many ways we teachers can cultivate our spaces to inspire and support student literacy.

The other day I prepared my daughter’s bedroom for her weekend visit home. As I dusted and tidied, I looked at her space with a critical eye. Not very surprising, her room is a text-book example of an incredibly literacy-rich environment. We’d fostered a love of reading, writing and self-expression in our home, so it was no surprise to find she’d filled her space, made it engaging, inviting the visitor to “read the room.” On one wall there are shelves filled with novels and textbooks, on another a bulletin board with handwritten notes and acceptance letters, a poster sized map of New York City. Another wall in her room is a massive chalkboard filled with doodles and some of her favorite quotes collected from books and artists. Reading my daughter’s room made me smile, appreciating the gift of the person who curated this space. I realized this is the space of an engaged learner, but more importantly, it also the private space of an inspired, brave, feeling person. The items she’s collected and displayed provide her with artistic inspiration and encouragement to put herself and her work out in the greater world.

Then it hit me, her room is what I call an “encouragement-rich environment”! Curious, I decided to take an observation walk around the house. (This is a learning activity in which teachers lead students on a walk, typically around the school, encouraging them to look closely, notice things in their environment and make discoveries.) In a matter of minutes, I found my daughter’s room was not unique in being encouragement-rich. I found evidence of inspiring, “you can do its” in just about every space. Postcards with trust your gut sayings are pinned to the kitchen bulletin board. Mugs stored in the cabinet declare, “You are my Sunshine.” Our daughters’ original art hangs on the walls, beautifying the space while validating their life choices. In our office, a sign states that “Good things come to those who create.” In the living room, a book shelf is filled with novels by authors whose stories of perseverance while navigating the publication process serves as my personal motivator. Encouragement abounds in our house.

I thought about the choices I’d made when decorating our house to create an environment that was safe, but promoted creativity and risk taking. I thought of the pillow I’d bought encouraging my daughter to “believe in her dreams,” pursue a career in the arts, the coffee-table book of successful, contemporary female artists that both of my daughters received one Christmas.

After walking through our house, I realized it’s nearly impossible to escape encouraging words. And this makes me so happy. I thought about when my girls were little, when I told them to “use their words,” express themselves. I see that I had been doing just that, too. Using words. Not only to bolster my daughters’ literacy skills and promote a love of learning, but to encourage and lift them up.

©Kathie Z.

Lessons From a Mama Duck

July 25, 2018 By Kathie Z

I’ve always loved ducks. They’re silly and beautiful, graceful and awkward. The embodiment of cheerful contradiction. And the image of a line of ducklings waddling behind the mama duck? The epitome of maternal leadership, in my opinion.

My husband and I had just enjoyed a terrific breakfast at a sidewalk cafe where we met a friendly, young couple seated next to us. They, being recent transplants to the city, wanted to share some of their favorite insider gems. We told them we’d been visiting this upstate city for years, but our visits would probably be less frequent as our daughter had just graduated from the city’s college. Our conversation swayed away from the city’s many attractions to our daughter’s plans. The four of us engaged in a terrific talk about the gift of time and the need to take it while finding your place in the world.

Buoyed by our great talk, we set off on a walk through the city’s central park. Designed by the same architect of the Central Park, it’s a gem. After visiting my favorite sculptures, my husband and I headed towards the park’s exit. My attention was drawn back into the park, though, by a family of ducks swimming effortlessly in a stream. I walked towards the stream, watching as the mother duck hopped out of the stream and led her brood of ten, formed in an orderly line, across the walking path. The mama scaled the rocky slope with ease, leading the way for her ducklings. Halfway up, the first in line began to struggle. The second duckling stayed close while the remaining ducklings turned around and found an alternate route to their mama atop the hill.

I turned to my husband, “What will they do?” I was worried these two ducklings would be left behind. Realizing it could not walk up the rock, the duckling decided to leap. Its sibling followed suit. In moments, all of the ducklings had made their way to the top of the hill. I cheered a little yay for the ducklings. Their grit had prevailed and the duck family was again reunited under the cover of greenery.

Our duck celebration was short lived. We heard a high-pitched chirp from the stream below. Peeking down we saw a lone duckling swimming in the stream. We quickly figured out that this duckling was the eleventh duckling, separated from its brood!

I turned to my husband and said, ““Oh, no! What do you think will happen to this little one?”

“I have no idea,” he said.

We stood there at the side of the stream watching the duckling swim to and fro. Its chirps got louder as it became more agitated. We stood by helpless, but rooting for this little guy to be reunited with its family. From atop the hill, we heard the mama duck vocalizing to the duckling. At last the duckling seemed to hear her and it found a rock on the edge of the stream and made its way out of the stream. It took a step onto the path and chirped some more. It paused, listening for its mama’s reply.

Just as it appeared we were about to witness a happy reunion, a little boy walking on the path with his family trailing behind spied the duckling. “Look!” he shouted, pointing excitedly and running towards the duckling. “A baby duck! A baby duck!”

Instinctively, the duckling froze. As the little boy neared, it ran back to the stream and hopped back in the water. The little boy moved closer to the stream to get a better look as the duckling swam in the opposite direction, chirping louder.

Ugh. I was frustrated. The little boy’s innocent enthusiasm had triggered the duckling’s fight or flight response and it had chosen to flee.

“The duckling’s been separated from its family,” I said across the stream to the little boy and his mother. The mother took her son by the hand and led him away. I stood on the other side, watching. Feeling helpless.

Where was the mama duck? Why wasn’t she helping? The duckling swam towards a group of ducks swimming downstream; but they quacked loud quacks that seemed to say, “beat it!” The duckling frantically swam away, into a protected spot of stream and chirped even louder. The duckling was clearly exhausted.

I walked to the bench where my husband was sitting and I said, “I wish I could do something to help.” “I know,” he answered. We sat there quietly, watching. Would this little duckling try again? Or would it remain there at the edge of the stream, alone.

After some time, the mother duck emerged from her hiding spot atop the hill. She scurried down the hill followed by the other ducklings. She ran across the path and jumped into the stream. The other ducklings followed behind. The lone duckling swam quickly towards its mother and found its place in line with its brothers and sisters. All eleven followed their mama’s lead to the edge of the stream.

“Well, that was good,” I said smiling at my husband.

“Yup,” he smiled back. “I was beginning to think we might spend our entire day here,” he teased.

As we walked towards the park exit, I couldn’t help but make the connection between what we’d just witnessed and our breakfast conversation about the gift of time.

Watching the duckling’s struggle had made me so uncomfortable. I’d wanted to help, solve its problem, make everything all better. But I knew I couldn’t intervene with a wild animal. It was not my place.

And isn’t this the same struggle we face continually with our own children? Watching them struggle and lose their way triggers uneasiness. And all too often a desire to jump in “fix” what appears to be “broken.”

But that mama duck stayed put, remained engaged, but from a distance. The duckling needed time to struggle, space to try to figure things out on its own, learn. And she gave that gift of time before coming to lead the way.

“Wow,” I marveled. “That mother duck taught me a great lesson, just now.”

Regardless of age, our children are going to face challenges. And like that duckling, they may lose their way and cry out for help. But we, parents, must give our children the gift of time. Time to make mistakes, time to try, time to struggle, time to figure things out and find their own way. Although it can be uncomfortable, downright painful to witness, it’s our responsibility to step back and exercise patience. And when they’ve invested the necessary time? Tried a bunch of solutions? Found themselves in a corner, truly in need of help to finding their way back to their path? That’s when we can step in and lead.

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