Responsible parenting and leadership are a start. In between reaching for the sky (Toy Story rocks).

Screw the darkness. I prefer the lightness of Pop.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Before We Wreck It All to Hell

"You're an idiot!"

That's Beatrice. She's the big sister both in age and in size. Especially in size. 

"Stop it!"

That's Bryce. She's the little sister. She's about a foot and a half shorter than Beatrice. They're only two years apart, but when they stand side by side, you'd think it was a much greater age difference.

It's then that Bryce lunges at Beatrice and hits her on the arm. Or on the back. Or on the leg. Or on the head.

Multiple things are happening here at once; the physics of sibling actions and reactions. One moment they're playing cooperatively and all friendly like, which thankfully is most of the moments to date, but then the next moment they're antagonizing each other, going at each other's throats. The oldest can goad her younger sister to spark confrontation and then the youngest is much more physical in her response. 

Strike and retaliation and counter-strike. Again, not unusual for siblings. With positive discipline and  Kidpower in play, we approach as follows:
  • First we sportscast: "It looks like you have trouble solving your problem and you need help."
  • Then we encourage them to set clear boundaries without painful retaliation: "Beatrice, you were experimenting with your power but were being unsafe with your words. And Bryce, good job setting your boundary, but make sure to use your trash can and just throw those words away without hitting back."
  • Then we encourage them to play something else: "It looks like you both aren't playing the same game so maybe you should both do something different."
  • Then lastly: "Can you check in with each other please?"
That last part helps them expand their empathy by ensuring each other are okay both physically and emotionally. 

"Are you okay, Beatrice?"

"Yes. Are you okay, Bryce?"


"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

I know what you're thinking: That's nice, but sometimes you gotta be firmer than that. That's where I still gravitate sometimes; it's tough to rise above canceling out a negative with an even stronger negative.

But even I've come a long way from my childhood and I know how it works. I see how it works. The Mama sees how it works and helps to teach us all. And yet, we do have to be firmer sometimes when the girls are way out of bounds. We get mad and yell. We're human. It happens.

When it happens in the confines of home we can learn and grow from it and use our trash cans and throw all that crap away.

Except when it comes from outside the home and that crap is online. When it arises from simply being different and being made fun of, or for making a mistake that you end up paying for over and over and over again.

When "you're an idiot" becomes a painful brand inflicted continuously by legions of cyberbullies and haters. And it's even worse when you're a woman. I read a recent rare interview via The Guardian with Monica Lewinsky, the woman who had an affair with then President Bill Clinton back in the late 1990's. Of course I'm not condoning the what happened between them, and when I imagine it being one of my daughters, I'm sure one of my first thoughts would be you're an idiot.

But then we'd be there for her to help her work through it all and to help her heal and move on. That's no easy trick today considering how much abuse individuals much less iconic than Monica have to put up with online. From the fallout and abuse she still receives today, from both men and women, she's now a respected and perceptive anti-bullying advocate. In fact, she helps out many different organizations including Bystander Revolution, a site that offers video advice on what to do if you’re afraid to go to school, or if you’re a victim of cyberbullying.

The writer of the above article pointed out something that as a parent of girls cuts me to the core:

"I noticed something similar during my two years interviewing publicly shamed people. When a man is shamed, it’s usually, 'I’m going to get you fired.' When a woman is shamed it’s, 'I’m going to rape you and get you fired.'"

I'm going to rape you and get you fired. Jesus H. Christ. It's not enough just to bully the individual, because when it's a woman, you're going to throw in a violent crime to raise the hater power stakes. 

When it comes to our children and teens, this is where we must start educating on what cyberbullying is and the harm it causes to all of us. Kidpower, the global nonprofit leader in personal safety and violence prevention education, has some great tips on how to do just that including asking kids who are actively using technology for communication what they already know about cyberbullying. They usually have a lot of information and strong ideas. Ask if this has ever happened to them or anyone they know. Make sure that the young people in your life know that:
  • Cyber-bullying means using computers, mobile phones, or other technology to hurt, scare, or embarrass other people. Cyber-bullying gets people in serious trouble at school and also with the law. In a growing number of places, certain forms of cyber-bullying are illegal.
  • Being mean is being mean, no matter how you do it. Don’t ask if it’s funny. Ask if it will make someone unhappy.
  • Even if you think someone was mean to you, being mean back is not a safe way to handle the problem. Instead, get help from an adult you trust.
  • Have the courage to speak up if you notice anyone cyber-bullying. Say that this is wrong and that you are not going to keep it a secret.
  • Use privacy settings, but never post anything in social medial or send anything out electronically that you don’t want the world to see.
  • If you get an upsetting message or see something that is attacking you: Do not reply. Do not delete. Save the message, get a screen shot, print it if you can and get help from an adult you trust. If one adult does not help you, keep asking until you get the help you need.
Again from the above article: Lewinsky has advice for bystanders, too: “Don’t bully the bully. It doesn’t move the conversation forward. I see bullying as similar to cutting. People who cut are trying to localise their pain. I think with bullying, people are suffering for myriad reasons and are projecting it. Instead of cutting themselves, they’re cutting someone else.”

That's positive and quite progressive, something I'd struggle with being the father of a victim of so much visceral hate. Just as I wrote earlier this year about hateful online trolling and the site called Yik Yak, Kidpower also offers up another eight important skills on how to face bullying with confidence.

Skill #2, which is all about "leaving in a powerful, positive way," recommends that the best self-defense tactic is called "target denial." In other words, "don’t be there." Or as I like to call it -- change the channel, kids. Turn the channel and don't give "them" any more power than they already have. I do it all the time, especially online. This doesn't mean I wouldn't face an oppressor and stand up for myself, and there are many options and flavors of defensive responses including physical self-defense if ever needed.

That's really tough advice to give, I know. I'm still conflicted because I'll defend our girls no matter what -- both the Mama and I will -- and we want them to do the same for themselves. And in the same breath of me saying "turn the channel" I sometimes want to say "smack them back."

But instead of a world where victims and haters refer to each other as idiots, regardless of how much we want to believe otherwise about the latter, we should do a lot more checking in with one another before we wreck it all to hell. Because if we're not playing the same game, then for goodness sake do something else. 

Like read a book. Adopt a pet. Plant a garden. Go for a walk. Don't be an idiot. 

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Feeling the Road as I Do

“Sing with me, sing for the years
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears
Sing with me, just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away…”

—Aerosmith, Dream On

The San Francisco Giants overcame a 0-5 first inning deficit to ultimately beat the Los Angeles Dodgers 9-6. And we were there.

Well, at least for the first five innings we were there. At that point the score was tied up at 6-6 and the girls made it as long as they could before we headed home.

It was an amazing experience for all us – especially the girls – since it was Little League Day at AT&T Park and Santa Cruz represented well among many other Bay Area cities. Beatrice and I wore our team’s shirts and hats (the Rockies) and Bryce wore the hat and shirt from our T-ball team last year (the Reds). The Mama wore the Reds hat as well.

The Little League teams and their families got to march through the stadium before the game started. The girls were thrilled looking over the field and up at the surrounding stands.

“Where are we going to sit?” Beatrice asked as we walked along the stadium’s perimeter.

“Way up there,” the Mama and I answered, pointing to the upper deck above the third base line.

“Mama, I don’t want to sit up there,” Bryce said. “That’s too high up. I don’t want to fall.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You won’t fall. We all have seats to sit in.”

“It’s too high!”

Our parade ended and we exited the field. We then proceeded on the winding upward walk to our section. The girls ran ahead of us, energized by the ballpark and all the people and kids. The Mama and I walked behind deciding on what we wanted to eat for lunch. We rounded another bend in the walkway and fell silent.

Maybe I have another 20 years of good road ahead, I thought. Twenty healthy, productive years where I can provide for my family so that we can do things like this. The Mama probably has even longer, being five years younger than me and statistically speaking outliving me in the long run.

Maybe I’ll be able to keep running after them, at least until they’re out of the we-need-to-run-after-them phase. Maybe later on in my 70’s, 80’s and beyond, I’ll be in good health still. Maybe at some point I’ll see them start their own families if they so choose and still be able to shuffle after grandchildren. 

Maybe. God, I hope so. 

Man, what a buzz kill I am. Let’s play frickin’ ball!

The week before we had family visiting during Spring break – Amy’s Dad and Step-mom – and the girls were so excited. They couldn’t wait to show them they’re favorite toys and games and anything else they could think of in the moment.

The day before they arrived, Beatrice said, “Wait, how come they’re still alive? They’re so old.”

Beatrice is our literal inquisitor, not meaning any harm, but sometimes hitting the big-question sensitivity from out of the awkward blue.

“They’re not that old, Beatrice,” the Mama said. “They’re doing fine and will be here tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. I can’t wait to see them!”

We all hugged and laughed and I thought, Daddy’s old getting older too, Bea. Mercy me…

Having children later in life and being older parents has never bothered me that much, only because we’ve worked hard to take care of ourselves and so far benefit from the best of our gene pools. And we both feel great. However, the imaginary infinite road we told ourselves we had throughout our 20’s, 30’s and even in our 40’s, is now gone for good.

Gone like the crushed cartilage cleaned out from my right knee when I had torn meniscus surgery nearly two years ago. I feel the difference every single time I work out, especially when I do my once-per-week beach run. It doesn’t hurt, but it’ll never be the same again either. And I certainly don’t want a complete knee replacement anytime soon (reminds my lovely physical therapist, the Mama).

Yes, I feel every inch of the finite road these days, my suspension nearly shot. And with more friends and family losing loved ones of late, mortality is a familiar tune hummed frequently to myself.

I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, although feeling the road as I do, I take nothing for granted. When even dropping the girls off at school before leaving on a business trip becomes as much as a memorable moment as walking in a Little League parade at a big league ballgame. Or when Beatrice hits the ball off the pitching machine during a Little League game and Coach Daddy’s arms fly into the air to cheer, overcoming her fear of playing. Or when Bryce shouts “winner, winner, chicken dinner!” when playing family bingo, but later on leaving poop in the toilet -- again.

All that has happened and all that is yet to be. Taking the scenic route makes it all worthwhile. The laughter and the tears. Until the Good Lord will take us away. Amen.

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Support Team Kidpower at The Human Race

Many of you know the Mama (my wife) is a certified instructor for Kidpower Teenpower Fullpower International, known as Kidpower for short, and I'm a big supporter of the organization as well.

Kidpower is a global nonprofit leader in personal safety and violence prevention education. Instead of using fear to teach about violence prevention, the Kidpower Method makes it fun to learn to be safe, building habits that can increase the safety of young people and adults alike and that can last a lifetime.

Our family is now part of team Kidpower in this year's Human Race Walkathon & Fun Run, raising funds to help make our community a stronger, safer, more vibrant place to be.

The Human Race has been helping nonprofits fundraise together for over 35 years, giving an opportunity for Santa Cruz County nonprofits, individuals and groups to fundraise for local programs. 

The 2016 Human Race takes place on Saturday, May 7, 2016. Registration starts at 8 a.m. The run begins at 9:00 a.m., and the walk immediately after. Online giving goes through May 7, 2016.    

My Kidpower team goal is only $500 and I hope you will help me reach it (which you can do below).

Let's all rise up and create healthy realities for our families and communities!

You can also find recent Kid Power articles below and my interview with Irene van der Zande, Executive Director and Founder of Kidpower:

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Again with Now and Forever

"There's a feeling I get
When I look to the West
And my spirit is crying for leaving..."

—Led Zeppelin, Stairway to Heaven

We weren't there when she coded. She had gone into the hospital for what was supposed to be a routine procedure, and sometime during recovery, her heart failed. The first time nearly 10 minutes transpired before they revived her. Then her heart failed again. And then a few minutes later again.

That's when the hospital called me, early one evening over three years ago, two weeks after I had taken her back home to Oregon from California. This after a disastrous stay with my sister only months after my father died from battling cancer and failed treatment.

The surreal phone call had me frozen in place in our kitchen, the phone pressed to my ear as the Mama watched me intently.

"Yes, I understand," I remembered saying. "But what happened?"

"We don't know yet, but we've cooled her body temperature with ice to slow any permanent brain damage that might occur due the heart failure and loss of blood flow. We have her on life support now."

"Will she wake up?"

Silence on the other end. Then, "It's possible. We'll know when we start warming her up in about 48 hours. I assume you'll be coming up."

"Yes. Yes, I will. We will."

Two days later my sister, my wife and I were all there. Together we stood in silence around my mother's hospital bed. She lay swollen and silent, eyes closed, the only noise coming from the life support systems keeping her alive. I had just talked with Mom on Thanksgiving the week before, but my sister and her hadn't spoken since their falling out.

During our awkward silence around her bed, I wept. Not only because I missed our mom and I couldn't say goodbye, but I wept because her broken heart still trailed in pieces behind her since she'd lost her husband, and more recently since she wasn't speaking to her daughter.

I wept because I believed then as I still believe now that her broken heart gave up, that she wanted to go home to heaven and be with Dad.

A week later we told Beatrice about heaven. In the simplest of definitions, with loving language and expository words used sparingly if at all.

The Mama had finally made it home from Oregon, but I remained with my sister taking care of what had to be cared for. There I was, watching my family on FaceTime in front of our fireplace adorned with stockings and alit with Christmas moon lights, thinking of It's a Wonderful Life.

"What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down..."

Bryce babbled and ran back and forth across the phone camera's field of vision, calling for Amy's mom, and she answered back softly. Beatrice stood in front of the couch while the Mama knelt next to her. She held the little figurine of two mice that she fell in love with when we were up visiting my parents in June, Nana and Papa as all the grandkids knew them.

"Beatrice," the Mama said, "we want to tell you that Nana isn't sick anymore, that she's with Papa in a better place."

"Yes," I said.

The Mama continued. "Nana and Papa are now together in heaven where they will be forever."

"Nana and Papa are together," Bea echoed. "In heaven."

"Yes, sweetie. They love you very much and will always be with you."

As I said those words, I ached to believe them, as if my very presence in that moment depended on everything I learned as a child growing up in the Nazarene Church -- the many pictures of smiling Christs, arms always draped lovingly around children of all colors and nations, set in a meadows on warm spring days.

"They will always be with you, Bea." And I really wanted to believe that for me.

I watched as Bea's mind swirled and ticked, trying to understand what it all meant. She held the mouse figurine tightly and smiled. I took that as my answer.

For two people who've always questioned the edicts and redeeming value of Christianity, the Mama and me were quite comfortable telling Bea about the coloring book version of heaven.

Because we believe we'll be together someday in a better place. Because we already are -- the Mama, me, the B-hive and our family and friends.

Heaven is being with those you love. To hell with everything else.

Heaven is now; heaven is forever.

All this came back to me when I saw the post from a dear friend of mine who just lost her husband, both of whom have been battling cancer for years and the complications that unfortunately come with those battles. I touched my computer screen and wept for her and her family, losing her husband, her best friend, the love of her life and the father of her children and grandchildren.

I wept because I know how much she loved her husband. I wept because I still miss my parents. I wept because I imagined losing the love of my life and the mother of our two lovely little girls.

I wept because I know resiliency and healing are like continuous tides that eventually wash away our grief, while the footsteps of those loved ones who have passed before us remain permanently affixed upon our stairways to heaven.

Again with now and forever. Amen.

Heaven's Addendum

Their heaven wraps around the finger lake at sunrise
like a gold band forged now and forever.
I walk and cry and laugh and run along the paths,
Draw beauty of sky, trees, debris and water
deep into my lungs' tendrils that feed my heart.
I stop to pay homage to Kinkade and Sparks,
tempered (of course) by Hopper, Folds and Peart,
Bly and Kerouac, and Stein and Thompson Walker of late.
I thank God for my parents, for their love and suffering
when their bodies finally slowed to sudden stops
only four months and a day apart after a millennium.
Heartache leaves permanent scars of pleasure and pain,
but I thank God for my parents and their heaven,
for it will be there for me every morning I rise
promising more than until death do us part,
an eternal promise for my wife and us all.

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Let's All Rise Up And Create Healthy Realities

“How can you expect a child to understand the sickness of a world whose eyes are blind? The dying man inside this little boy is questioning his once upon a time…”

—Toy Matinee, There Was A Little Boy

And on the morning that Jesus haunts, our girls awakened to stuffed bunnies and plastic eggs filled with jelly beans. They arose still innocent and full of hope, living in the safety of loving parents and a larger community whose social fabric is still fairly intact.

The day before Easter I took our girls downtown to go grocery shopping and then to get a "treat" at our favorite local candy and ice shop called Marini's.

As we passed locals and Spring break tourists shopping, eating and taking in the sights, I was again reminded that Santa Cruz has always been a progressive city and a defender destination of those less fortunate -- runaways and homeless that include aggressive panhandlers, many of them either mentally ill, drug addicts or both.

This time I was extremely conscious not of the older homeless on Pacific Avenue, but those younger kids, the teenagers with hollow eyes and shallow smiles selling homemade jewelry and other various items, or simply asking for money with poorly handwritten signs.

As we passed the female teens, most likely runaways from broken homes due to abuse of some kind (upwards of 75% of runaways are female), my heart cried out for them. I held my girls hands tighter, thinking to myself that no matter what, this wasn't going to be them. That no matter how much the world shakes things up around us, the Mama and I would always be there to protect and guide our girls.

Amen. Much of what follows I wrote last year, but sadly this is an ongoing problem too many children and teens face every day, their hope of Springtime faded like pastel watercolors washed out in the rain.

Admittedly I've never been fond of Easter. It was always an emotionally conflicted holiday for me. The spirit of Spring renewal, and for those of us raised with Christianity and learning of Christ's ascension from the grave, always gave me elusive hope that I too could overcome anything life put in my path.

For decades I felt helpless, the healing from abusive relationship after relationship just as elusive, and then channeling my impotent rage into depression and unhealthy relationships as an young adult.

My mother and sister here the only support network back then, but they were just as damaged at the time, if not more so than me. Unfortunately too many other family and friends didn't want to know and/or acknowledge what was happening. And we didn't have the skills to ask for help either.

Decades later the Mama and I went from not wanting children at all to changing our minds happily and having two lovely little girls. We knew we were "all in" and would do everything we had to do to protect and empower them while ensuring and sustaining only a healthy network of relationships around us all.

Sadly, the statistics say otherwise for too many others. A report of child abuse is made every 10 seconds1 in 4 women and 1 in 6 men were sexually abused before the age of 18. And that's only what's reported. Statistically speaking, child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all religions and at all levels of education.

This combined with having children of our own is why I've been a domestic violence and child abuse awareness advocate for years, and why the Mama is now a certified instructor for Kidpower headquartered here in Santa Cruz.

Kidpower Teenpower Fullpower International, known as Kidpower for short, is a global nonprofit leader in personal safety and violence prevention education. Instead of using fear to teach about violence prevention, the Kidpower Method makes it fun to learn to be safe, building habits that can increase the safety of young people and adults alike and that can last a lifetime.

Since April will again be Child Abuse Prevention Month, I wanted to again share four recommendations from Kidpower on how awareness, action, and skills can keep our precious children and teens safe from most abuse, most bullying, and most other violence, most of the time:
  1. Making SURE kids know you care. Discuss the Kidpower Protection Promise with every young person in your life who you are in a position to help. Tell them, “You are VERY important to me. If you have a safety problem, I want to know. Even if I seem too busy. Even if someone we care about will be upset. Even if you made a mistake. Please tell me and I will do everything in my power to help you.” Ask them occasionally, “Is there anything you have been wondering or worrying about that you have not told me.” Listen with compassion to their answers, avoiding the temptation to joke or lecture.
  2. Not letting discomfort get in the way of safety. Decide to make the Kidpower Put Safety First Commitment: “I WILL put the safety and well-being of young people ahead of anyone’s embarrassment, inconvenience, or offense.”  The fear of upsetting or bothering someone can make it hard to speak up – and breaking the silence is at the foundation of stopping sexual abuse. Don’t automatically trust people or places because they are familiar to you, have a great reputation, do nice things for kids, are in positions of authority, or seem wonderful. Make sure that their behavior and values are consistently Worthy of Trust.
  3. Supporting young people in developing healthy boundaries and strong relationships. Teach kids positive communication skills. Uphold the Kidpower rule that touch, games, or play for fun or affection should be the choice of each person, safe, allowed by the adults in charge, and not a secret. Teach kids that touch should not be secret, games should not be secret, presents someone gives you should not be secret, videos and photos should not be secret, and problems should not be secret. Coach young people so they are successful in practicing skills – using examples that are relevant to their lives – so that they are prepared to stay aware, speak up, resist emotional coercion, move away from trouble, and be persistent in getting help from busy adults.
  4. Sharing information. Tell parents, educators, and administrators about Kidpower’s tools for teaching child abuse prevention strategies and skills for schools and other youth-serving organizations that help protect children and teenagers, including those with special needs, from most abuse, bullying, abduction, and other violence. Share the articles and videos on our Child Abuse Prevention Resource Page.
Let's all rise up and create healthy realities for our families and communities. To that end, our family is part of team Kidpower in this year's Human Race Walkathon & Fun Run, raising funds to help make our community a stronger, safer, more vibrant place to be.

Join us!

Sunday, March 20, 2016

When the Choice Is Theirs

“When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful,
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily,
Joyfully, playfully watching me…”

—Supertramp, The Logical Song

As we approached the baseball field, Beatrice walked with me.

"Daddy," she said quietly. "I want to play in the game now."

"I'm so glad," I said. "It'll be a lot of fun, Sweetie."

"Yes, I want to play with my friends."

My heart lifted. Yes! I thought.

Only a few days earlier, her eyes said it all to me: lost, overwhelmed, anxious, scared. Even over the FaceTime call I could tell. Her breathing rapid and a little erratic, she just kept saying over and over again she didn't feel good and didn't want to go to school. Then she went to the bathroom and threw up.

I knew exactly what it was -- I felt the visceral ache of her panic attack as if it were me. Because it was me as a child. It was me as a teenager. It was me as a young adult and sometimes beyond.

Two days before I had left for my latest business trip, it was more of the same. She'd even held me and cried, nearly begging us both not to go to school because she didn't feel well. Then she held the Mama and kept saying the same thing.

That whole week was the same every morning, Beatrice saying her stomach hurt and that she didn't want go to school, that she wanted to stay home. The Mama even took her to our family doctor who didn't find anything physically wrong with her.

The week before was when she fell in the mud puddle during lunchtime -- soaking her from head to foot. At first, there didn't seem to be any fallout from it. She said she was fine. She said she had just fallen all on her own. But the very next morning she said she did feel well and threw up, so we let her stay home from school. The anxiety symptoms weren't quite clear yet, so we assumed she had a stomach bug.

But she did get anxious every morning afterward, which made her feel ill. The good news was that every morning she overcame her fear enough to get ready for school and went on to have a somewhat decent day. However, everyone morning its manifestation was a little stronger and painful to watch.

We worried this day would come, when a trigger like falling in the mud puddle (whether she was teased or not) led to awareness of embarrassment and her ongoing struggles with navigating first grade, compared to other kids. That she'd struggle more with developing coping skills than other kids.

A few years ago Beatrice had a slight speech delay, which her speech therapist at the time confirmed was more than likely auditory processing disorder (APD), which affects less than 5% of school-aged children. This was something we first became aware of when Bea was three years old.

What this meant was that she had trouble processing the information she heard in the same way as other kids because her ears and brain didn't play nice together. That in turn affected the way her brain recognized and interpreted sounds and how she reacted to various stimuli -- too much stimuli always overwhelms.

Ever since we've ensured she's had the help and the resources to persevere. She's come a long way and academically is on par, and socially manages fairly well, even though she's still easily overwhelmed and overcome with stress -- a deer in headlights on the long road from childhood to adulthood.

"I'm telling you it's anxiety. She's having panic attacks," I told the Mama.

"Maybe. She could have a tummy bug as well," she replied.

"Maybe, but I'm telling you they're panic attacks. I know all too well what they feel like. We've just got to continue to help her with coping skills, just like we've discussed before."

"Yes, I know. Poor baby."

"Great, she's become her daddy now," I said. I'm sorry, Bea. 

Processing issues aside, according to a Parent and Child article, Tamar E. Chansky, Ph.D., author of Freeing Your Child From Anxiety, said that nearly 20 percent of kids today have actually been diagnosed with some form of anxiety disorder — everything from minor phobias, like a fear of dogs, to generalized anxiety, which is when kids worry about everything that could go wrong. “Ten years ago, it was 13 percent. That’s a big jump in a decade,” she said in the article.

Based on everything we know and have been reading about to date, not overwhelming either of our children with adult sensibilities is so important. Helping them break down their fears into easily managed incremental steps so their confidence not only remains stable, but increases over time, is also critical. Encouraging Beatrice to push through things isn't wrong, but it can also exacerbate her anxiety since her awareness has been amplified, and when she's ready to bolt in her head and heart.

However, parenting means making the hard choices, and the Mama and I both agree that not everything is a choice for our girls -- that there are things they have to do and push through. But in certain situations when we empathize and when the choice is theirs they can learn to overcome on their own. After the stressful week Beatrice experienced she didn't want to play in her first little league game of the season. I was especially bummed out by this since I'm helping to coach and wanted her to be excited about playing and having some fun after such a stressful week.

We explained to the girls that we were all going to the game (not a choice), and that I wanted Beatrice to sit with our team still (not a choice), but that it was up to her if she wanted to play or not (her choice). Before the game and on the way to the game, she said she didn't want to play.

"Beatrice, are you going to play in the game?" Bryce kept asking her, over and over along the way.

Ugh. Not helping.

"Bryce, please stop asking her that. Thank you."


We parked and got out of the car. As we approached the baseball field, Beatrice walked with me.

"Daddy," she said quietly. "I want to play in the game now."

"I'm so glad," I said. "It'll be a lot of fun, Sweetie."

"Yes, I want to play with my friends."

My heart lifted. Yes! I thought. One little victory at a time.

Let's play ball, Baby!

Sunday, March 13, 2016

The Poop Completion Principle

At the door I paused. Is it safe? I thought. Will it be clear? Will it be fresh?

It was a one in three shot in this house, finding a clean one to visit. The good news is that we keep them clean with regularity, me being the latest scrubber and wiper-downer. 

I crept into the bathroom, not sensing anything unusual, no pungent smells assaulting my nostrils or watering my eyes. As I inched closer to the toilet, my confidence level increased that all would be well in the #BhivePower world.

Thank good--

Before I could finish my thought, I had made it to the eggshell white abyss and peered into its watery bowl. There it was in all its normal functional glory: poop.


"Hey, who didn't flush the toilet?!?" I yelled.

No response. I knew the girls were in the living room playing. 

"Who didn't flush?" echoed the Mama.

Still nothing; the girls were playing pet adoption with their stuffed animals.

"Who didn't flush the toilet?!?"

"How big is the poop?" answered Beatrice finally.

"Does it matter?"

"Then it was Bryce."

Sigh. Of course is was the other. It's always one or the other. Much more Bryce these days than Bea, but still...

Months and months if not more of potty training to get them the tipping point of poop-wipe-flush-wash. But the flushing part? Not so much. Yes, we're still in a drought in California even with the El NiƱo storms, and the old adage "when it's yellow let it mellow, but when it's brown flush it down" has always been one we've practiced, drought or no drought.

The flushing is a struggle because of the noise outside of the home. Beatrice has always been noise sensitive and those industrial toilets in schools, businesses and other locales can frighten even those wearing ear plugs or ear muffs. They are really friggin' loud. Like blasting the waste into another universe via a porcelain wormhole.

Bryce is also sensitive to it, but she's just not as hip to the poop completion principle, not always wiping and usually never flushing. Washing hands are intermittent as well, but Beatrice is really good about that these days.

Wiping correctly takes a while and any parent who does the family laundry can attest to that. Mercy me, even in adulthood it's a struggle sometimes, but at least we've got most of the traditional peeing, pooping, wiping, flushing and washing hands in a sustainable cadence. With the only exceptions being if you're camping, having to use holes in the ground of bathrooms (Mama and I have seen a few of those in our travels), an astronaut (and those are very expensive holes), and unfortunately living in poverty and third-world squalor. 

Fortunately we're in good potty shape overall. It'll take practice and patience with Bryce, but eventually she'll get there. And at least I've got a fun activity waiting for me when I get there as well.