Archives for category: Parenting

Browsing through a bookstore the other day, I came across (on the buy 2 get 3 table) a book by Larry Winget, titled “Your Kids Are Your Own Fault”.

I picked it up out of curiosity. Wow… Yep, featured on Fox News… um, okay…

As I gingerly placed the book back on the table (didn’t want those cooties!), my Best Friend told me I needed to buy it. We argued for a few minutes, until I realized that I’d be getting the book for free anyway (3 for 2, you know…). I relented.

About a week later, I opened it up in a mall food court after having spent a couple hours at the DMV (seemed appropriate…), and I began to skim the pages.

If you’ve read how I feel about Fox News, you can imagine how quickly I skimmed. Just following my Spiritual Guide’s instructions – minimally. Yes, I felt verbally assaulted and insulted by Mr. Winget’s presentation.

But I continued skimming, shocked with myself.

Damn, I agree with this guy.

He’s got some good ideas about parenting… Yes, Larry, I’m already doing all these things you suggest… Thank you for the affirmation… Gee, maybe my great kid is my “fault”…

As I drove home, I contemplated the new world I had entered: a world in which I agree with someone associated with Fox News.

Maybe I’m not liberal after all… Maybe I do need to watch more TV… Maybe Larry’s right, and the world is a mess…

…maybe I’m going to hell in a handbasket…

Here’s the thing: Larry’s book is a little over 250 pages long. He could have presented his parenting philosophy in about 25 pages – max. He chose to fill about 200 pages with words like this:

“If you are looking at a thirty-five-year-old disaster, face it, folks: it’s too late. You have failed as a parent. You have failed yourself, your child, and your child’s children. You have failed society. And all of us will end up bearing the burden of your failure. Thanks! Think of that next time you bump into a thirty-five-year-old idiot; you should send his parents a thank you note because it’s their fault.” (from page 12)

Why? Why does he feel he has to yell at me – yes, me? (he specifies that several times…)

I wonder why people “like Larry Winget” (who are, of course, empty of inherent existence) feel they need to yell at people to get their ideas across.

Maybe he thinks I’m stupid and can’t think for myself.

Here’s the Buddhist stream-of-consciousness commentary:

Well, if Larry Winget is appearing to my mind, then I created the cause for this appearance, my angry-commentator-karma has ripened, oh damn, what do I do, what do I do?

Then my Best Friend pointed out: No, we brought him to your attention, you’re just peeking into the world as it appears to others for a moment… It’ll be over soon…

Whew. That’s better. I’m so glad Larry Winget stopped yelling at me. Now I can get on with my (hopefully) loving parenting.

By the way, if my son turns out all right, please give him the credit. All I’ve done is tried to be a good mom.

(this post was inspired by this post from giulas41 and this post by Anupadin)


Teaming Up With Teachers

My son received an autism diagnosis in 2000.

In the years since, he’s attended public schools, from Pre-K onwards. We’ve traveled 3 school systems and a range of settings: self-contained classrooms, resource classes with dedicated paraprofessionals, resource classes with shared paras, and independent work in regular classrooms.

We’ve met a variety of teachers, from passionately enthusiastic young recent graduates to seasoned veterans nearing retirement.

Throughout the whirlwind of changes (of schools and teachers, as well as the changes through growth), I’ve seen one principle proven over and over again:

You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

Please pardon my pun. Baseballs and insects often collide, but teachers are not flies; they are kind people who do their best to work with our kids.

Baseball games let people understand the yearning of learning: the yearning to know what’s coming next, the yearning for the dull boring part to end, the yearning to get on with the game. I know parents yearn in this way for their children; I imagine teachers yearn for this too.

Last week my son had an outburst in a busy classroom. It shocked the teachers; that was their pop fly. My son still feels caught: caught between his own frustration in the class and his own understanding of consequences. He will probably remember that “out” for years.

Over a decade, we’ve fielded a lot of pop flies and thrown a lot of balls. Different circumstances and levels of exhaustion provoked an assortment of responses with sometimes-unexpected results.

Our pop flies usually come in the form of emails. As parents, we have the luxury of learning about incidents once the teachers have had a chance to catch their breath. We catch the fly ball and take a moment to decide what kind of ball we’re going to send back: a screaming scorcher, a gentle lob, or something in between.

On some level, we make a decision: is this a competitive sport, or a team effort?

When this happens, I try to remember: this is not about “me”. However I respond, my son is the one who will face the “umpire” the next day at school. And the ump will have to deal with my son.

The “umpire” is not just a body in a funny striped shirt. We’re talking about a human being who fills the shoes of teacher, umpire, coach, friend, and protector. There are probably other roles I don’t even know about…

So, when I feel a pop fly coming, I put out the honey, dust down my motherly defensiveness, and catch the fly.

To all the caring teachers in the world: Thank you for fielding my son’s throws, and for being his parent when I can’t. I know his throwing arm wobbles sometimes, and you really have to run to catch that ball.


Call me lazy… another re-blog…  But Mama Kat is hilarious!

I grabbed this excerpt from “How To Make A Phone Call In A House Full Of Screaming Children”… Read her post if you could use a good laugh!

I could have used this idea a few years ago…

Throw Skittles at your children…One At A Time
They will enjoy this fun game and will scurry away from you to recover the coveted candy. The children will sound happy and well taken care of and the person on the receiving end will think you are a fantastic mother while she deals with her own screaming child on the other end.


I came across this recent post by Seth Godin:

Seths Blog: Three ways to help people get things done.

It caught my interest for selfish reasons… I’ve had some run-ins with bullies and extortionists in life, so I love the third method he proposes… “Open the door”…

As I was closing the window on the post, I realized, Damn, this applies to working with Autism… I wonder if he knows that…

Now I don’t delude myself with the idea that Seth Godin might give a rat’s patooty what I think, but I will question one aspect of his Open Door Policy:

What kind of expectations do people need to have others place on them, before they will strive to achieve their potential?

My son is merely one child/young man with autism, and we’ve worked with him in a fairly isolated fashion… But that kid has done some amazing things. And I’ve found that he flourishes exponentially better when the expectations are quite minimal, and the love, affection and acceptance are abundant.

If Seth’s “expectations” are to “accept and love yourself”, then he’s got one helluva business/life model there.


I put together this little video

We had a remarkable snow here in Atlanta a week or two ago.

On one of my walks I was struck by the sight of the melting snow running undernearth the crust of ice on the street.

It looked like the pavement was crying… reminded me of an essay I had written on Heartbreak


Think about how much an active womb resembles a roulette wheel. The shape, the throwing of the ball into the bowl, the chances taken – all of it fits on some level.

I believe I know why I’ve never heard of a gambling-themed baby shower.

Just the same, I can think of three ways parenthood resembles a trip to Biloxi. Thrilling uncertainty: it lures even “practical” people into wild visions of delight. The chance of walking away with a “gift”: this appeals to anyone with a shred of longing. But the willingness to accept any outcome… now that, ladies and gentlemen, really brings the analogy home for me.

When we’re expecting, we examine many things, just as others examine us. Of all the wonderful explorations that occur around conception, birth and growth, my most riveting came from one question: “Am I ready to – consciously – surrender the rest of my life to uncertainty?”

Parents never discover the effect their little bundle of joy will have on their lives until it arrives. Then we often – unconsciously – commit to fulfilling all the expectations of others and ourselves. Most of these expectations catch us unawares after we’ve walked away with the winnings. Sure, we can make decisions. We can decide what numbers to play. But if we think that gives us control, we’re kidding ourselves. Children have an amazing knack for dropping into whatever slot on the wheel they pick, regardless of where we placed our hard-earned cash. Even when all the medical screenings come back bright and cheerful, and even if our DNA seems promising, we cannot predict how many times we’ll have to keep our cool in the toy aisle. Or take a deep breath when our teenager has a meltdown. Or watch our 3-year-old undergo general anesthesia.

If you can walk away from a table in Biloxi empty-handed and still say you had a good time, then you’re ripe for parenthood (and life). No matter the outcome, we can find ways to experience our children as amazing gifts and teachers. No amount of cash winnings can compete with that. Actually, children emerge to surprise and test us. This may come as a surprise, but your roulette wheel is biased. And it’s also all arranged in advance. That’s the funny part: we get exactly what we asked for. We just didn’t anticipate how our wishes would come true.

For instance, I went through years trying to figure out the cleverest way to please the most people, so that my life could be predictable and “successful”. In 2000, my son received an Autism diagnosis; he quite often rolls outside the region of expectation and predictability. Yet every time I stop cringing in dread of unpleasant outcomes and uncover my eyes long enough to see how we’re doing, what do I see? This beautiful boy instinctively understands and lives what’s important… and makes good grades too. Over the years, I’ve noticed that every one of his little “quirks” seems to directly address one of my hang-ups. One by one, he helps me release them. What a selfless gift.

The most powerful blessing arrives with the attitude that accepts whatever arises.

Can you imagine a roulette gambler expecting to control the spin of the wheel and the settling of the ball? Expecting to know how children will turn out creates a similar invitation to learn first-hand about odds. It’s so tempting to plan, hope, dream, and use our children to define ourselves. That’s the giddy anticipation part. Yet those expectations hold no sway over how life unfolds. Parenthood sometimes seems to imply responsibility for the outcome. I visualize gamblers glaring at each other once the ball settles onto its number, as if one of them made it fall right there, right then. Somehow, it’s much easier to laugh at that image than to chuckle at our own unvoiced expectations surrounding parenthood.

When we view parenting like placing a bet on a wheel, we give ourselves permission to have no idea what will come our way. ‘Permission’ plays a key role in how much we enjoy our spin of the wheel. Feeling permission to wonder, question, and observe liberates us. Releasing self-expectation is one of the most generous and liberating acts a parent can perform.

For anyone who experiences an exuberant moment, learning that she/he faces the prospect of parenthood, it’s worth also taking a pregnant pause. Consider the deep blessing of meeting uncertainty as teacher, and that you’re about to get your butt kicked by having your wishes fulfilled. Embracing the uncertainty of parenthood states that you’re willing to take whatever may come, place your bets, and continue breathing while the wheel slows and the ball gets ready to drop.


So, I was talking with my friend John the other day, and I mentioned that I tend not to like to have long phone conversations. His reply: “Yeah, I noticed…”

Food for thought.

I think that tendency comes from a few sources.

The first would be phone conversations with “boyfriend” in high school… You know the kind: “So, what are you doing?” “Oh, nothing.” “Yeah? And what are you doing now?” “Oh, just listening to you…”

The second source could be years of studying and practicing Buddhism, 4-1/2 of which I spent as a nun, while much emphasis was placed on avoiding “meaningless activity” and “meaningless speech”… I generally didn’t watch TV (which is why I still think of buildings first, when I hear the word “House” – I was an architect, too) or spend time on the internet (which is why I feel like a real dinosaur as I jump into this postaday thingy).

The third source comes from spending years as a workaholic single mom of a child with special needs – I often just didn’t have the time.

Now that I’m back “in the world”, I’ve got a lot to learn about it (especially as others experience it), and I’m learning the value of friendships and connecting with others.

Several of my new blogging buddies write about getting pissed off, the mind, and  dreams (one of my favorite topics and a new category to add!). I’m finding there are more people out there of like minds than I imagined.

So I’m getting back on the “phone”.

Cheers!