The Autonomy Train

I slept restlessly for the first two hours with my cell phone near my head. My wife Amy was already long asleep, knowing I would be checking if they needed a ride home from the homecoming dance. I checked a few times to see if there were any messages from our teens but there were none. Before I finally fell back asleep for the final time that night, I thought I had heard them come home, and all was right with our world. 

We're at a point now where we want our kids to have more autonomy, independence, and more problem-solving skills to figure out what to do in life without our direct parental intervention. We've given them plenty of emotional, psychological, and physical safety skills over the years thanks to Kidpower, and we continue to reinforce those safety skills continuously, teen eye rolls and all. This includes always understanding what the "safety plan" is if help is needed when we're out together or when they're on their own, which is more and more these days being 15 and 17 years old. And to always let us know if the "plan" changes and why. 

So, when both our kids wanted to go to the high school homecoming dance that would go to 11 PM, and Mom and Dad like to be asleep by around 10 PM, we asked them to find a ride home. Neither of them drives yet; our oldest Beatrice hasn't been in a hurry to drive, and our youngest Bryce can't wait to drive, but still has to wait until the spring. That's okay. Even though Amy and I were driving back in high school, driving is a lot of work (and insuring a teen is a lot of money these days). Beatrice does have friends who drive now, but they're not supposed to drive with other kids the first 12 months they have their license, and we don't want them too either (right now). 

We have reciprocal friends who share in pick-ups and drop-offs, including us, when our friends' kids need rides. Our kids are also comfortable taking the city bus that drops off right down the street from our house and have done so many times in the past few years. While we wouldn't want our teens to ride home on their bikes from a school dance that late at night, only Beatrice uses our e-bike. Bryce uses no bikes. (We tried a long time ago to be a bike family, but that never worked out.)

Plus, the next night after the homecoming dance we were taking Beatrice and a friend to see a concert and knew we'd be coming home after midnight, way past our bedtime. Two nights in a row of late nights and disrupted sleep don't bode well for us, especially Amy. 

We enjoyed the homecoming football game and halftime show while our kids hung out with their friends and then went to dance. When we left the game, we texted them to ensure they had their house keys and to ensure they found a ride home, preferably together, and we let them know the buses still ran that late. They responded that they had their keys and would find a ride. Of course, we'd get them if they had no other ride no matter how late it was, which is why I was restless with the phone near my head. The Mom-and-Dad Uber service is always available, but we agreed that it's time for them to adult more often and figure out (safe) alternatives. We're grateful that they hang out with good kids.

They had fun and made it home safely from the dance that night, getting a ride from another friend's parent. In a few years they'll be doing a lot more adulting on their own without Mom and Dad's help. Blessings to them. The autonomy train has left the station and it ain't coming back. Toot-toot.

All The Right Pieces In All The Right Places

The bed alone came in four different boxes. Dozens of pieces big and small plus four full bags of screws, dowels, and related construction things. The directions had the thickness of a magazine. Pages of descriptions with illustrations and alternate ways to put it all together. 

I started sweating just staring at it all. 

I've put together many pieces of furniture over the years, and with each piece comes its own share of stress, blood, sweat, and tears. And cussing. Lots of cussing. Sometimes the directions read like Latin and it would take forever to put together. This would always include putting something together incorrectly, followed by a string of colorful expletives while took it apart and put it back together again. 

And sometimes the directions were clear, but then pieces were missing or broken, and I'd have to contact the manufacturer to send new pieces. Usually though, manufacturers of prefab furniture provide extra parts and a customer service line to help you if you're grappling with broken or misshapen pieces that don't fit.

Like life, there's not always accurate directions, and the right pieces don't always fit where they're supposed to, and there's a lot of cussing (for me).

This time we ordered furniture from IKEA for both our daughters. We've ordered from IKEA before, and even though the joke is always what I've already outlined above -- tons of pieces and hours of sweaty fun to put together -- they've been quality products for us and they do a good job with packing their goods and the providing clear directions. 

The furniture is for both our daughters, because after sharing a bedroom for 12 years, and cramming a lot of stuff for two kids into one space, they're getting their own rooms as teens after some house remodeling. They've always gotten along fine in that shared space, but they're definitely looking forward to their own rooms. Their mom Amy has been helping them go through what they're keeping and what they're getting rid of. Now that we're back from vacation, it's time to get it all done before school starts. 

It is a bittersweet moment, though. This is yet another transition to independence and adulthood for them both. Moving away from young kid things (not all the way) to older teen things. Decorating their own spaces they way they want (within parental reason). 

It's also bittersweet because we know they'll miss each other. They've been close as sisters and friends for a long time sharing a bedroom and it will come with some buyer's remorse. More for our oldest Beatrice than her younger sister Bryce; Bryce can't wait for her own room. Yes, they'll still be in the same house together and will hang out in each other's new rooms, but the childhood days of sharing space are ending. 

I took a break from putting together Beatrice's new bed to have lunch. She asked me if she could help put something together, and I said of course. I told her to put together her desk chair. 

From where I sat at our dining room table eating lunch, I could hear Beatrice moaning and complaining about putting the chair together, not understanding the directions, dropping screws. Just like her dad but without the cussing, I thought. Then I heard Bryce tell Beatrice she'd help her. 

Bryce joined her big sister and I listened to them work together. They laughed, they complained, they teased each other, and they put the chair together, together. At one point it sounded like they were struggling with the chair, but when I asked if they needed any help, I heard a resounding no. 

I checked out the new chair and sure enough they put it together correctly, although there was an extra plastic cap that looked like it belonged on the chair. Bryce told me it did not and the directions said to throw it away. 

Well done, kids. However, life doesn't come with such a clear set of instructions, and while they're not quite in their own rooms yet, so far their budding independence and path to adulthood has all the right pieces in all the right places. 

When You're On Your Own

At the very moment we had to pull over on the side of the highway because I thought we blew out a tire, our kids were on their own downtown eating a yummy meal together.

It wasn't the first time they've been on their own like this. And unfortunately it wasn't the first time recently we had car trouble. 

But there we were. My wife Amy and I had dropped our daughters off downtown, soon to be 13 and 15 years old. They were going to go shopping and get something to eat (a late lunch or early dinner -- we were all not sure whether to call it linner or dunch -- I preferred dunch), and then take the bus back home. Our oldest Beatrice had already done the bus experiment and it worked out well. Both her and her sister Bryce were doing it for the first time together now. Of course we reviewed our Kidpower safety plans with them -- make sure to get on the right bus, move away from any danger if needed, get adult help if needed -- so we felt confident they'd be fine. 

We were driving to San Francisco to pick up a new used car and then come right back home again. The whole time Amy texted back and forth with our kids. Everything went great for all of us. That is, until I heard what sounded like something dragging and then air whooshing out of a tire. That's not what it was, although we did find a screw in the right front tire. The tire wasn't going flat, but we knew we had to get it fixed before going all the way to San Francisco and back. We still hadn't pinpointed the dragging sound. Shit, not again. f

This was the point where Beatrice became stressed thinking her and Bryce wouldn't have enough money for the meal they ordered. They have their own accounts and Bea has an ATM card now and Amy even gave them a little extra money for the afternoon. Bea texted back and forth with Amy about paying for the meal while we got off the highway to find a tire place. 

Soon after that, a man in a delivery van drove up next to us, honked, and pointed at the front of our car. I thought the tire was definitely going flat now. We pulled into a church parking lot and stopped, but the tire was still fully inflated. The man in the van doubled back and pulled into the lot with us. He showed us that the front protective panel under the car had broken loose and was dragging on the ground. I can't believe we didn't see that at first. He was kind enough to tape it up temporarily so it wouldn't drag anymore. 

Poor Beatrice was still stressed about the money for the meal, texting back and forth with Amy, and continually asking the restaurant staff about how much everything costs. Amy assured her we would help out if they ran into any issues. Bea texted a picture of her meal, though, and it certainly looked yummy. All Bryce cared about was eating it.

By then we'd already stopped at one tire place that couldn't help us, and then found another one that could. A small independent gas station mechanic who gave us amazing customer service. They even gave us two chairs to sit on in the garage bay and two cold waters to drink while we waited. They fixed the tire and the panel under the car and we were on our way again in less than 30 minutes. 

At this point the girls were wrapping up their meal and Amy helped Beatrice figure out the tip. They had more than enough money and Bea was thankful. Bryce was just thankful again for a yummy meal. Plus, the restaurant staff were very polite and helpful. The girls then did a little more shopping and took the bus home, which let out right across the street from where we live.

Later on when we were all home together again, I was thankful that our kids are learning to be safely independent by hanging out downtown and riding the bus home. And that we as the adults and parents can manage stress of when things go wrong (with our car, for example, yet again), because they will. But going wrong doesn't mean it can't be made right. That's the thing when you're on your own, you don't always have to do it all by yourself; parents, friends, family, and even strangers can help. Good people always willing to lend a hand. 

That Pocket Comfort

We lived those 1970's social media memes. The ones that touted how we played outside at night unsupervised. How we rode bikes without helmets. How we rode in the back of pick-up trucks at high speeds. How we had dirt clod fights in vacant lots. How we took Polaroid selfies. And how we didn't need any stinkin' smartphones. Gen X forever!

Nope, we used pay phones and we liked it. When we had loose change to make a call that is. Otherwise, we'd have to call collect, meaning the recipient of the phone call had to pay for the call charges. If they accepted. Of course our parents accepted when we were stranded and needed help as a young adult. Which never happened to me. Maybe.

Cell phones wouldn't be available for at least another 15 years, and even then most people couldn't afford them. My wife Amy and I have a running joke about a movie I made her watch years ago called Miracle Mile. It was an apocalyptic thriller that came out in 1988 starring starring Anthony Edwards and Mare Winningham. I loved the movie. Amy did not. There was another actress in the movie, Denise Crosby, who also played Security Chief Tasha Yar in the first season of Star Trek: The Next Generation, which Amy loved. In Miracle Mile, Denise played a mysterious businesswoman who had a huge cell phone she used it to call government officials from a diner. You'll have to watch the movie to see the rest. 

I didn't have a cell phone until the mid-90's, and it was a plastic "Star Trekkie" Motorola flip-phone. Fast forward to today, and there are nearly 3 billion smartphones in the hands of people everywhere around the world. 

And that now includes our daughters' hands. 

We've never been resistant to the idea that they would have phones at some point. We are a device-friendly family, and both girls have been using old iPhones as iPods for a few years now, as well as iPads. We monitor their device time and what they're doing on their devices, and have empowered them to tell us if they see something inappropriate or experience an inappropriate exchange with a stranger while playing Roblox.

After a year of distance learning, our oldest Beatrice finally gets to experience middle school in person soon, even if it's only two days per week. Bryce goes back to in-person 4th grade soon, too. Because of this and the fact that they're on their own more often inside and outside of the home, it was time to activate phones for them so they can text and call us, and we can do the same with them. Plus, we have phone rules about texting others and our family safety plans in place and review them every week. 

Decades ago when Amy and I were kids and teens, we never imagined a world where we could be in contact with our friends and family anytime and from practically anywhere. Today, we couldn't imagine not having the ability to text and call our children anytime and from practically anywhere. No apocalyptic thrillers here; we'll take that pocket comfort the phones bring us every day of the week. 

A Wonderful Thing To Witness

The ripped chip bag rested peacefully on the kitchen counter. Although its usefulness had come to an end, and the remaining potato chips now sat safely in a resealable bag, its demise was a violent one. There wasn't just one random rip down the side of the bag -- there were multiple shreds -- as if ripped apart by sharp talons of a hungry animal. 

"Beatrice, let me show you again how to open up the chip bags," I said to our oldest daughter. 

"It's really hard to open!" Bea exclaimed.

And so it goes. Not only about opening up chip and cereal bags, but also resealing them with clips. 

"Girls, let me show you again how to clip the bags shut," I said to both our girls, holding up a bag of cereal and a clip. "Fold the open end a couple of times and then clip it, like this. That way the stuff inside stays fresh."

"Okay, Dad. We'll do it," they both said.

Which then they don't, half-sealing or leaving open on the table. And so it goes. We keep practicing Positive Discipline, though, and now that our children are flying headlong into teenage-land, there will be constant reminders like these. Over and over and over again. 

The good news is that for the past few years they've received an allowance for doing specific chores each week around the house. And those things they do, with the occasional reminder or two. Sometimes with a serving or two of teen sass as well. 

We're okay with that because we're eons from the days of wiping buts and noses. We do miss those days of their childhood (but not really the wiping buts part), especially when our phones pop up photo memories from years past. But mercy me -- Beatrice is cooking now! And both our daughters are transforming into responsible and accountable human beings, finding their individuality and independence with eyes of love and empathy. 

Recently after the bitter freezing cold weather that stretched all the way down into Texas, Beatrice announced she wanted to do something. She announced this at the end of one of our weekly family meetings. 

"I want to give to Texas," said Beatrice.

"You do?" I said.

"Yes, because of the water and power problems. People need help," she said.

"Do you both want to donate your allowance 'give' money you saved?" said their mom, Amy.

"Yes," Bea and Bryce said. 

"Then we'll match it," said Amy.

Another big milestone arrived recently as well -- one that involves a developing independence. The girls have spent more and more time alone at home by themselves when Amy and I are going for a walk or a hike or running errands. However, this latest milestone was a different kind of alone, one involving venturing into the world without Mom and Dad. Every Saturday there is a farmers' market across the street from us. It's the beginning of a highway actually, but there is a four-way stoplight at the intersection with "walk - don't walk" signals. 

The girls really wanted to go by themselves and get some yummy treats. We agreed and then reviewed our safety plans about crossing the street. We also reviewed our Kidpower safety about being on their own and being calm, confident and aware about everything and every person around them as they walked to the farmers' market and back again. We gave them some money and reminded them to buy us carrots with the greens so our rabbit could eat the greens. 

Off they went. "Should we follow them?" I asked Amy. 

"No, let them go. They'll be okay," she said. 

The girls don't have phones yet, although that will change this year as they start doing more things on their own, and as they finally get to go back to in-person school (Bea will be in 7th grade and Bryce in 5th in the fall!). And while they struggle with opening and closing chip and cereal bags, among other things that we as adults take for granted (and can also still struggle with), their path to independence is a wonderful thing to witness and an honor to be a part of. 

An ALL CAPS Family

"Heat of the moment
Curse of the young
Spit out your anger
Don't swallow your tongue..."

–Rush, Stick It Out

Every morning it's the same thing: we have to tell them more than twice. After weekday breakfast and morning homework (yes, we have them do homework in the mornings when they're fresh and the fact that we're all up early every day), then there's free time before school. This includes playing with their toys or a little TV and/or iPad time.

And then it's time for both girls to brush teeth and brush hair and finish getting dressed for school so they can leave on time. Every time it's the same things. We know it. They know it. The things never vary much on a school day.

But every time we have to tell them more than twice.

"Beatrice and Bryce, IT'S TIME TO GO TO SCHOOL! PLEASE GET READY!" calls out the Mama, what I lovingly call my wife, and the one who does most the wrangling. I follow her lead and follow up.

"BRYCE, PUT THE IPAD AWAY AND GET READY!"

"GEESH! I'M DOING IT!"

"BRYCE! NOW!"

"GEESH!"

"BEATRICE, THAT MEANS YOU TOO!"

"I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME; I'M DOING IT!"

"THEN DO IT!"

"I AM DOING IT! YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME ALL THE TIME!"

Oh my Beatrice and Bryce, but we do...

And then everyone's done and they're out the door off to school. Our kids may still be a few years from the ALL CAPS teen world, but we're definitely an ALL CAPS family now. Most of us know what that means in the texting and email worlds, that ALL CAPS means yelling, whether in excitement or anger.

We're not really screaming at each other, though, not like you would if the heat of the moment escalated and you're literally mad to a boiling point. No, this is more heat of the moment direct communication, a related segue, something we encourage, just not always the bump in volume. This is the parent and older child dance performed daily, and while we don't want them to unnecessarily talk back, we do want them to speak up.

Internalizing angst, deflecting one's own emotional reaction to everyday situations, and avoiding direct and honest communication are things I had my fill of throughout childhood and young adulthood. Even the early years with Amy before she was the Mama, I would shut down like nuclear reactor melting down at its core, and not talk about what was bothering me. At least not until my foundation cracked with sulfurous radioactivity.

Not at all proud moments in the ALL CAPS emotional rage within affecting the loved ones around me. It took time to unravel from that behavior, but unravel I did.

Today we're direct, open and honest with each other and with our children. And in turn, we encourage our girls to do the same with us and others and not to take things personally and react retaliatory, which isn't easy for kids and adults alike. We create a safe space to talk about anything that needs to be talked about, reflecting on our days each and every day, giving thanks and sharing what we're grateful for, and what we might be angry about.

For us, being an ALL CAPS family means being a vocal interdependent unit of independent beings growing up with each other. Helping each other be better humans in a world where too many reactors are melting down at their cores.

And yet, whether we have to tell them more than twice about doing something or not, we're their parents first and foremost, helping their developing minds and souls grow into something special -- and to get all the friggin' stuff done that needs to get done.

"BRYCE, TURN THE IPAD OFF RIGHT NOW!"

"GEESH! I DID!"

"TURN IT OFF!"

"OKAY, OKAY!"

Using My Wareness

"...when you move me everything is groovy..." —Train, Drive By

I just wanted her to wear something other than than the gray sweat pants. The shirt she had on was fine, the Mama had already told her it was fine, and I had told her it was fine multiple times as a negotiating tactic to get her to change the gray sweat pants and put another pair on. 

She didn't budge, though. She dug in.

"No! I want to wear these pants."

"Beatrice, we're going to be filmed today for Kidpower, and all I want you to do is to change your pants. You can wear the shirt. The shirt is fine. Okay?"

"No, Daddy! I want to wear these pants."

Think, think, think...

"C'mon, Bea. Why can't you wear different pants? What's your idea? I want you wear different pants that are darker. I'm sure Mommy would agree. Something darker. C'mon. What about these?"

We were in her room now. I held up five different pairs of pants, mostly darker ones and some with different patterns on them. Anything but the gray sweat pants. 

"My idea is to wear these," Bea answered.

The what's your idea? framework was from the girls' early preschool days and positive discipline and parenting. Instead of being authoritarian and dictating to your children about any and all things, the idea is to include them in the conversation and decision-making to empower them and literally ask them, "What's your idea?"

And Bea's idea was to wear those friggin' gray sweat pants.

"Daddy, you should pick Beatrice's favorite pants -- the black ones with sparkles on them," said Bryce, trying to give me a hand.

"Which ones are those? These?" I held up something similar to what she just described.

"Um, no, those aren't it."

"Then where are they?"

Both girls shrugged. "I don't know," said Bryce.

Think, think, think...

I picked three pair. "Bea, can you pick one of these, please?"

"No, Daddy! I want to wear these!"

Think, think, think...

"Okay, then we'll bring these three and let Mommy pick one out."

Red-faced Beatrice was either mortified, angry, or both. Probably both. Yeah, that was probably it.

Right?

"Daddy, didn't you know that those are my favorite? I told you I wanted to wear those!"

She pointed to a pair of black stretch pants I head, the ones with stars and other geometric shapes on them.

"You did?"

Does it matter, Daddy? C'mon...

"Yes, those are the ones I want to wear. C'mon, use your awareness, Daddy."

Now that was funny. Why? Because of all the Kidpowering the Mama does (what I lovingly call my wife) -- all the important safety skills she teaches to children, teens and adults alike -- an important aspect is always being aware of your surroundings, who's around you at anything given time, to stand up straight like a giraffe and look, look, look around and be aware, aware, aware.

Use your awareness, Daddy. We use that phrase loosely around the house a lot these days. 

"Yeah, use your wareness," Bryce piled on, dropping the "a".

Well, at least we had the pants thing tackled. 

"All right, Bryce. Time for you to finish getting dressed now and then we've got to go, girls."

Minutes later we're all downstairs and Bryce called out behind me, "Daddy, I'm ready."

I turned around. 

Wow. 

I giggled. Not laughed, but giggled. 

"Oh, Sweetie, I love you, but we can't keep that on your face."

"Ah, c'mon, Daddy. I did it myself."

"I know. But, no." 

I giggled again. Bryce had a big American flag bow pinned in her hair on one side of her head. But that wasn't the funny part. She had also taken it upon herself to put lipstick on. Lots and lots of lipstick. The Joker from Batman lipstick -- like the old-school Cesar Romero version and the Heath Ledger version combined. Swirls of bright pink lipstick around her mouth, with some of it actually on her lips.

Bryce didn't fight it much, because she knew it was too much and yet still very much enjoyed the act of putting it on. We wiped it off and minutes later we were out the door. 

A dozen hours later after a rare late night date night for me and the Mama watching Train in concert, a dear friend who was watching the girls and had texted Amy a picture of the girls hugging and smiling. She showed it to me as we waited to exit the concert parking lot. 

And there was Beatrice, wearing those friggin' gray sweat pants. Because that was her idea. And then there was me using my wareness, because sometimes I can. Right on for Daddy.

May the #BhivePower Be With You

When I heard it the first time, my heart filled with love and faith, and my spirit transcended the atmospheric sensitivity of childhood scarring.

“Chewie, we’re home.”

For some, the words are meaningless, nothing more than another passing obscure reference of no interest, something silly for the crazies of sci-fi fandom.

But for me, it’s beyond moving. It lifts me up and holds me close, as if I were a lost, frightened child finally found, held tightly in my broken mother’s loving embrace.

In the summer of 1977, the world was complicated. We were still recovering from the longest and steepest recession at that time. Middle East tensions ran high. Domestic violence awareness and child abuse awareness was in its infancy. Political myopia was everywhere. We seemed to be a highly disconnected world in the wake of early technological innovation.

My own complicated world at the time was still years from full recovery, living with domestic violence and abuse. Star Wars was to become a savior of sorts for me, and why I convinced my little sister to stand in the long hot line with me at the Fox Theater in Visalia, CA to see the new space epic.

We sat in the dark theater and held fast the seats beneath us, looking aspirational celluloid straight in the eye. I remember with stellar clarity the journey to a galaxy far, far away when I became one with rogues, rebels, villains and heroes and a musical score that haunts me to this day.

Nothing else really mattered until the house lights came up and it’s all I could talk about for the rest of that summer. But I carried with me a newfound hope, and now decades later, multi-generations of fans wait longingly for the next chapter of the Star Wars saga.

Chewie, we’re home sent chills through many of us and we cheered along (and I’m still cheering since I’ve watched the new trailer over and over and over again), yet again living in a complicated parallel universe to 1977: economic recovery, global tension, political myopia, accessible domestic violence and child abuse awareness, a now highly interconnected world via a mobile and social tech explosion.

That's why I'm so excited for my girls to watch the films someday soon, distanced only by the obvious differences they're growing up with (for the better) than I did. They've already had a lot of indirect exposure from me (go figure) and from other shows and stories, and are drawing pictures of their favorite characters (Beatrice tends to be drawn to the villains of stories, so we'll have to watch that young Padawan). The Mama's onboard as well having seen Star Wars when she was about Beatrice's age.

Even with the mixed reviews of two-dimensional female anti-hero Padme years ago, her daughter Leia will always rock with fiery independence and strong leadership, tempered by grace and compassion.

"You have that power, too,” says Luke Skywalker in the latest Star Wars teaser trailer. Of course he’s referring to “The Force.”

Make fun of me if you want, but we should all aspire to have it. Always. #BhivePower

To School the World on the New Status Quo

“I note the obvious differences
in the human family.
Some of us are serious,
some thrive on comedy.

Some declare their lives are lived
as true profundity,
and others claim they really live
the real reality...

...we are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike."

—Maya Angelou

They sat riveted while I told them about Dorothy, Toto, Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion, the Wicked Witch and the flying monkeys.

The flying monkeys and the Wicked Witch freaked them out a bit, not quite ready to watch the movie classic Wizard of Oz just yet, or read any of the fabulous L. Frank Baum Oz books from which it is based on, but hearing pieces of the story transformed them into their own animated storytelling mode, using felt people, objects and shapes on a felt board to create their own Oz-like fables of brave princesses battling dragons then drinking refreshing rainbows.

"Why is Oz only two letters?"

"Because it's that simple, Bea," I answered.

She smiled and then both Bea and Bryce continued their storytelling with the felt boards. I watched them both, Bryce gesturing even more so with her hand and arms while she spoke, while Bea laughed and played along, adding her own commentary.

We're very grateful for being able to create a loving, safe environment for the girls to be able to thrive in, to give them the freedom (within reason) to explore, absorb, learn, adapt, be expressive, confident and to think for themselves, even at nearly four and six years old. This has included their amazing preschool and pre-K experiences with the teachers, parent volunteers and their friends at Bridges to Kinder.

Part of that learning also means to experience first hand, to go out and "do" -- to be physically active and adventurous (within reason), to be comfortable with travel and meeting new people and having new experiences that continuously poke and prod at insidious complacency.

The goal being to help them develop the self-awareness, confidence, self-reliance, relevancy and flexibility needed to live their lives as "true profundity" and to be real in reality as Maya so eloquently puts it above.

The world in general still isn't very kind to women and we want our girls to be well, to learn to live strong on their own and with one another, and eventually school the world on why this should be the new status quo for every human being.

“If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine; it is lethal.” —Paulo Coelho

Oh, how the cartoon Bea swells

"You know, you guys are doing a great job," the grocery store checker said to me.

"Thanks," I said. "This is all new to us and we're figuring out as we go along."

He nodded, helping me bag the last of the produce. "I see a lot of parents with their kids in here, and trust me, you're doing a great job at setting limitations."

I thanked him again and we left. I don't know how right he is, because sometimes it feels so wrong.

Only 25 minutes earlier, as soon as we walked in the store, Beatrice took off giggling. We told her to stop, to come back, but she giggled some more and ran outside through the store doors.

I had just locked Bryce into the cart when Bea headed out the door. Mama came to the cart and I sprinted after Bea.

Livid. We've been dealing with this a lot lately.

She of course was laughing hysterically as she ran into the parking lot thinking it was a game. I grabbed her -- stopped myself from smacking her on the butt (which we've done) -- picked her up, carried her back in and dumped her into the shopping cart, which she didn't like one bit since she wants to walk on her own more and more. We then told her, as we've done a hundred times already in the past few weeks, that it's not okay to run away like that and not stop when we ask her to.

Yes, we know she's not even three years old yet. It makes sense that she doesn't understand the repercussions of her actions and why it's dangerous to run away. But the problem is that for the past few weeks she's been getting more and more bold in taking off away from us like it's a cartoon game of chase.


That's the catch -- the fact that Bea wants more independence and walk around without a tether but she doesn't get boundaries yet. We're working on getting her to understand that running down the sidewalk toward a busy street is not acceptable while running around the grassy field in front of the Santa Cruz lighthouse is.

Except when cartoon Bea runs into the real brick facade of the Santa Cruz lighthouse, she doesn't bounce away cleanly like a cartoon would. She goes "smack" and oh how the cartoon Bea swells.

That's all folks! [queue the music]