You Can't Tell Them

We were watching "Blue Bloods" tonight, and the Police Commissioner was talking about raising children.  He said, "That's the hard part -- all the things you do for them that you can't tell them about."  That's profound!  He hit the nail square on the head!

My husband and I were talking about the hundreds of conversations we had about our kids when they were growing up  -- the strategies that were mapped out to make sure that each child had the best opportunity to be the person they were meant to be.  They are all adults now, and I'm quite certain they all think they need therapy because we were such lousy parents.  Head bang!  So I'm giving them some advice while their children are still young.  TAPE RECORD THOSE STRATEGY SESSIONS FOR YOUR OWN KIDS!  Twenty years from now, they won't believe how hard you tried to be a good parent.  You need proof!

Countless discussions occurred for our oldest daughter.  She had lung surgery when she was born, which caused her to have very low endurance for exercise.  We decided to treat her as if nothing was wrong.  She is a very intelligent person (grew up to be a rocket scientist -- no joke), and we were afraid that if we coddled her, she would just give up on herself.  Year after year we took her to swimming lessons because the doctors said that was the best form of exercise for her lung.  When she had trouble making it from one side of the pool to the other, we didn't tell her anything except to keep trying; practice makes perfect.  I remember going outside the pool area at the opposite end of the pool, standing behind a tree where she couldn't see me, and crying when I could hear her struggling for breath.  We didn't tell the swim instructors there was a health issue either, because we didn't want them to coddle her.  This was not easy, folks.

There were literally hundreds of conversations about our children's education.  Teachers wanted us to put the kids in special advanced programs, but we wanted them to be kids, while still getting a good education.  With each child, the discussions were repeated because not every child is the same.  None of my children are alike.

Our second daughter is only 20 months younger than the first. We agonized to make sure that she didn't feel overshadowed by the first.  Our first has a very strong personality, and our second is very laid back and easy going.  We knew she would have to stand up for herself and be counted, even at the risk of the parents having to adjust to constant familial bickering.  We wanted to make sure that our second child developed self-esteem.  Again, this was not an easy task.

Our third child was a boy, who would later be followed by another girl.  Our son needed lots of male role models in his life to counteract growing up with sisters.  We had strategy sessions to pull males into his life.  We surrounded him with men.  When we had a choice, we requested male teachers at school.  We were blessed that he had several male teachers in church.  We put him in Little League baseball.  I even had a coed Camp Fire club and took on a father as my co-leader.  We made sure he had options for socializing with boys--like a basketball hoop that we couldn't really afford (and which eventually put a leak in our garage roof from the bolts).  That Christmas we spent more on the basketball hoop than we did on the three girls combined, but they had more gifts to open, so I tried to even things up.  He had a couple of bells that he liked, so I went to thrift stores and found various bells for him so that he would have gifts to unwrap.  To this day he thinks all he got for Christmas was bells.  Head bang!

Hundreds of sessions focused on our youngest.  We were older when she was born, especially my husband. We worried that she would feel she was being raised by old people.  We tried very hard to stay young for her in spirit.  She had a health problem that we dealt with, which was the source of countless sleepless nights of worry over whether we were doing the right thing.  Self-esteem was a huge issue with this child, and we did everything in our power to let her know she is a good person, at the same time making sure the boundaries were clear.  This was also a child that absolutely no form of discipline would phase.  More strategy sessions.  How do you give a child self-esteem when you're always yelling because that's the only thing she comprehends?

So, yes, Mr. Police Commissioner on "Blue Bloods," that's the hard part -- all the things you do for them that you can't tell them about.  They don't have a clue.  If you told them, they wouldn't believe it anyway.  No matter what you do, they are going to be in therapy anyway, and you're going to be a lousy parent.  It's a thankless job, but somebody has to do it, right?

Gift of Humor

Today I laughed at something that a friend posted on Facebook.  Most of the country is in the throws of an awful heat wave.  The picture that was posted was a sign that said, "Satan called.  He wants his weather back."  I responded that someone had not lost his/her sense of humor.  My friend said that she personally believes a sense of humor is "essential survival equipment."

That reminded me of my Dad.  Dad never had much in the way of material things.  Financial debt from serving in World War II and the Korean Conflict, mixed with raising four children on salesman's commissions, never afforded him luxury items of any kind.  He always saw to it that we had food on the table and clothes on our backs.  While we didn't have luxury items, we never thought of ourselves as poor.  We were rich in family, and that's what counted.

As Dad got older, he used to say to us, "When I go, you won't inherit anything.  The only thing I have to give you is my sense of humor."  Dad and Mom both had a wonderful sense of humor.  It didn't matter what was going on in our lives, they could find the humor in things.  I wonder if Mom and Dad realize what a valuable inheritance that was?  What an incredible legacy?

Sometimes when all is very quiet, if I listen carefully, I can still hear Dad laugh, and I can still see Mom belly laughing.  Mom and Dad left us more than a sense of humor, though.  They left us integrity, honesty, and love.  What more could children ask?

Guest Post: Trying to Be Like Daddy

My guest blogger today is my sweet daughter, Hannah.  She is a wife and mother with a beautiful family.  I was quite touched by this post, and I'm sure you will be too.

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About a week ago I was going through a bag of hand-me-downs for my son, Joey, looking for some pants that might fit him better. I pulled out several long-sleeved, button-down, collared shirts in different colors. My son, who is 20 months old, picked one up and said, “Dada shirt, dada shirt!” Unable to contain his excitement at finding a shirt just like the ones daddy wears to work, he picked it up and clutched it to his chest. I asked him if he wanted to try it on and we spent the next few minutes with him in his “dada shirt” and diaper while I tried various pairs of pants on him. (I’m sneaky, in case you were wondering.)

His excitement amused me as he wears white shirts to church every Sunday, and I was reminded yet again how much he notices. Even at 20 months he knows that the shirts daddy wears to work are different from the white shirt and tie daddy wears to church.

Fast forward a few minutes and I am in the kids’ room changing my daughter’s diaper with my son looking on, still in his dada shirt and diaper. My husband comes home, and comes in to talk to us, leaning with one hand on the door frame, weight braced on one leg, with the other leg bent and crossed over in front. My son takes one look at his father, runs over to the doorway, puts one hand on the frame and stands just like my husband. I couldn’t help but laugh and frantically tried to take a picture on my husband’s phone, but Joey moved a little with all the fuss. You’ll have to take my word for it that originally his pose exactly mirrored my husband’s.

Since this incident I’ve been thinking about how much my son tries to be like his daddy. I am fortunate to have been blessed with a wonderful man to spend my life with and I have no fears about Joey mimicking him. If he grows up to be like his father he will be a wonderful man someday. But I know that I also had a hand in this; when dating, I always considered how the person I was with would be as a father.

What if teenage girls didn’t have babies because they are lonely and craving love but instead thought of what it would be like for their child, growing up trying to find someone to emulate, being influenced more by what they see on TV than a stable parent in their home. Think how much better the world would be if instead of looking at how much money someone makes or the kind of car they drive, we considered the example they will set for our future children. Is he helpful? Is he respectful and friendly to people and the things around him? Can he laugh at his own mistakes? Can he deal with disappointment and stress without becoming violent or relying on some kind of chemical dependency?

No one is perfect, but watching my son the other night reminded me that we have two little children who are always watching us, who see everything. My little boy in a “dada shirt” reminded me to try to be the kind of person I hope he will become someday.

Dads Are Special

Two of my favorite blogs are written by fathers, who mainly write about their experiences with their children. You can find them here:

http://mikehenneke.mvourtown.com/

and here:

http://blog.nordquist.org/

As I read their blogs, I'm oft reminded of experiences with my own Dad.

I was four years old when my parents decided to take the family to San Francisco for a little vacation. I was tiny, so my bed in the hotel room was the bottom dresser drawer which had been pulled out onto the floor. I remember a lot from that trip. Dad convinced a taxi driver to go up and down a few of San Francisco's largest hills to give me a thrill. There was a woman on a street corner selling flowers, and Dad bought a red carnation for me. It was the first time anyone ever bought me a flower, and I felt like a grown up lady. We went to dinner on the wharf, and since Mom and I were not fish eaters, we had Veal Parmesan (which I love to this day).

Dad often danced with his children in the aisles of grocery stores. It was a little game that he played to amuse us--and he always succeeded. He also loved to take his children one at a time to Uncle John's Pancake House for breakfast. He would let us order anything we wanted, and my favorite was pancakes with boysenberry syrup and a chocolate milkshake.

Dad often took me to breakfast at the garbage dump. He would get up early on a Saturday or Sunday morning, pack a sandwich and a banana for me with a thermos full of milk, and while he was unloading the garbage, I would have breakfast in the truck and watch the "garbage dump flies" (seagulls).

Dad loved to work in his yard! He was so patient with me as I tried to "help" him. I'm sure he could have done things much faster if I'd gone in the house and left him alone, but he was ever kind about my attempts at helping.

I turned sweet 16. Dad took me to lunch, and I was introduced to my first Monte Cristo. He bought me a souvenir at the register when we left (which I still have). It is the Christmas story in a miniature book (maybe 2" x 2 "). I felt like a princess.

Dad was a salesman who worked on commission only, and sometimes it was difficult for him to stay motivated. When I was about 17, I bought a stereo from my earnings working at a local furniture store. My younger sister and I would blast 76 Trombones from "The Music Man" first thing in the morning. Dad would march around the living room with us and get his "motivation" for the day to go out and sell life and health insurance. No matter how bad things looked, Dad was always willing to march and laugh with us before he went out the door.

Dad often had appointments in the evening which took him away from the family. He didn't like the time away. He also didn't like to eat alone. If he missed dinner with the family, he would often come in late, grab one of his kids, and we would go with him to a restaurant to eat. I loved that time alone with him. He would listen intently to gibberish I had on my mind. I'm sure there were times when he wanted to shut me up--but he never did.

I have too many memories for this blog post. So to my Dad bloggers, I'd just like to say thanks. Thanks for being Dads. Thanks for being so willing to share your Dad experiences with the rest of us. Thanks for stirring up memories of my own childhood experiences with my Dad, who passed away 25 years ago. I'd like you to know that what you do is really worth it.

Covenant of Self-Reliance

WHEREAS I've spent the last thirty-three (33) years of my life with one goal at the forefront: Being the best wife and mother I can be.

WHEREAS children don't come with a book of instructions, and all parents handle parenting to the best of their abilities and skill sets.

WHEREAS my efforts have apparently not been in vain because I have four healthy, happy children who have never been to jail, never taken drugs, don't smoke or drink alcoholic beverages, have never had a child out of wedlock, have never had a sexually transmitted disease, all are active in church, three have served missions, three have been sealed in the temple, three have lovely families of their own, and the fourth is coming right along.

WHEREAS despite the success mentioned above, my children have decided that my efforts in parenting have made me evil, and a person who they could never live with in a crisis.

WHEREAS my only desire is to make sure that my children remain happy and I don't desire to make their lives miserable for even a nanosecond, despite their making my life a living hell for the last thirty-three (33) years.

WHEREFORE I set my hand this day on this my covenant that in the event I grow old and cannot take care of myself, I will not live with any of my children, but will find other means of support and care or take care of the problem by other means necessary.

Executed this 20th day of February, 2010, in Sacramento, Sacramento County, California.

________/s/Laurie E. White_______

ORIGINAL WILL BE KEPT WITH OUR WILLS AND TRUST.