Through Children's Eyes: #Parenting Lessons

ON SELF-CONTROL

I stood in the middle of our living room, a gaping backpack in one hand, brain spinning as my internal clock was ticking. "Where are the Bulgarian textbooks?" I asked with a hint of distress, but at no one in particular, and hoping against hope for an answer. Eyes scouring the view of our very lived-in living room, I felt my blood pressure rising. I'd just bounced the breakfast plates off the table and into the sink, but traces of food and liquid left a mark on the table that needed to be taken care of. Lunches were packed, but backpacks were still not ready, and I could just feel the longing stares of dogs waiting to go out. "I put them on the piano grand last week," I thought to myself. There was practically nil chance of discovery amongst a stack of piano and children's books, and months-worth of kid art. It had finally happened. Contrary to every care suggestion, I'd  surreptitiously turned the piano into yet another storage unit. Our organizational saving grace!  I caught sight of Ben, the 5-year-old, sitting on the floor, sneaker in hand looking around indeterminately. "Hurry up! Put your shoes on!" I barked. I knew it was possibly going to take at least 10 mins of reminders before he finally accomplished the task. Sam, the 7-year-old, steering near me, and putting on a sweater, shot a quick look in my direction, and said half as if to poke fun, half matter-of-fact: "You are about to start panicking, mama! Don't panic, because then I'll start panicking!" I froze. Nothing like your young child to call you out on a behavior you don't much like modeling for your offspring.

It is a shocking (at least for me) fact of parenthood that children proactively and spontaneously help us learn more about ourselves. They are miniaturized versions of Ivy-league-trained therapists, whose strength is in pushing us, where elegantly, where crudely, into self-improvement. I am grateful! Hopefully, also receptive of the unintended criticism for I do tend to get lost in the daily grind to the extent where I am simply led by impulse and inertia. The exact opposite of what has recently re-surfaced as a personal quest - the ever-moving target of mindfulness and self-awareness as function of contentment and happiness. Yes, thanks to advances in neuroscience we preoccupy ourselves with limiting fast-paced TV programming, and expanding activities like swimming and martial arts for the benefit of our children's executive brains, but how come no one is asking the question (if they have, please share findings): how does parenthood affect adult executive function?

Nothing has tested my self-restraint, abrupt task-switching ability, planning in the near and long-term, impulse- control and related activities more than day-to-day parenting. When we find ourselves having to prioritize between 20+ tasks, noises, and demands every half hour of each day, it might feel like we are pressured against a wall and fighting to keep our sanity within an inch of our breath. Still we are to show patience,  understanding, and optimism to our children and teach them to navigate through their own maze of conflicting feelings and know-how. We try our best, but humanly and fatefully fail to hit all of our targets. What gets us anxious is the not knowing of where we'd missed. Because if we knew,  we are sure to fix it. Or so we tell ourselves. So I tell myself.

ON SMILING MORE

We had a 10-year-old family visitor for three weeks last spring. Not unlike your typical over-achieving American-born Chinese. She is intelligent, confident, and beautiful; spews talent and charisma. Fascinated, my boys gaze at her in sheer unmasked admiration. She is a heroine, a goddess, brought to them from the skies to show them another mysterious and inspired way of being.

At night, with boys gone to bed, she unravels before my eyes and ears. She says her parents fight. They don't EVER smile at her. She can't make them happy. They don't spend time with her. The only time they engage with her is when they command her to do schoolwork, or play the piano. She doesn't share with them what goes on with friends in school, for fear of getting into trouble, for fear of being misunderstood. Her stream of words is accompanied by a flood of tears. She is inconsolable.

My mind reels.  I know her parents love and dote on her. I know they expect a lot from her, but she is their only child, their pride and joy; their whole world wrapped in one. She may know it, but doesn't feel it. She may feel it, but doesn't know it. I shudder at the thought of my children feeling alone and unheard, disconnected from the people who love them the most. I stroke her head and listen, then listen some more. I tell her what I think she needs to hear, what I know to be true. Her mom and dad love her. If she found it difficult to talk to them, she could try putting thought to paper, approach them with the wonder of the written word. I tell myself what I need to hear, what I know to be true: "Peer into your children's eyes with a smile on your face. Let them know they are welcome and embraced."

ON THE BIG QUESTIONS

In the mountain town of Bansko, Bulgaria, I sit on a bench and watch my boys play soccer. A boy from an earlier evening approaches and sits by me, an eager smile on his face. He tells me his name is Ivan. He is a kick boxer, gregarious and friendly; loves The Hobbit and Harry Potter. At the tender age of 9, he already knows he will be a world traveler and a writer. He volunteers he is the author of a comic book, which he gifted to his 2-year-old stepsister. There's an abrupt pause in our conversation before he posits the BIG question: " One thing I never understood is why my parents got a divorce!" I hold my breath. Was this for me to explain?! It couldn't be. I only just met him. Yet there he was. The air around him pulsates in agonizing anticipation. And I suspect it isn't the first time he's asked this question. Did he ever get an answer?

Preoccupied with protecting our children, we fall prey to the proposition of delaying the telling of hard truths. Thus, our children hear them from the most unexpected sources; occasionally accompanied by explanations, most of the time open to their own interpretations. It isn't a bad thing in and of itself, because it shows them varied ways of thinking, teaches them mental self-reliance and critical acuity. But when looked through the prism of our parent-to-child relationship, then the measure of closeness and trust between us is affected in the negative. More of the same follows. We all suffer ... in isolation ... from one another. Hard, indeed, some truths are. But they need telling.

Let's get the conversation ball rolling! We would  love to hear what lessons children around you have taught you, or your own perspective on any of the above.