Our field trip this week was to the Museum of Natural History. Overall it went quite well because there were enough things that the kids were allowed to touch mixed in with the plethora of items that were off-limits. Sonia and I managed to assemble a dino-shaped jigsaw before the kids lost interest in the play area! They weren’t interested in the puzzle but Sonia and I were.
Yesterday we attended a birthday party that was at a place for creating art. The girls each painted a canvas with their first initial and each painted a small wooden animal. I was very glad to have two parents and I feel inspired to set up more art projects at home. Both girls were quite purposeful in going about their creations.
Friday morning I was inspired and in the SR zone for encouraging Sarah to get dressed. When she took off a sock, I celebrated hugely. When she stopped to look at the lines on her ankle left by the sock, I examined my sock marks too. It all went swimmingly. This morning… not so much. I do not have much internal space for Sarah’s whining and yelling in relation to so many things. I realize she is probably fully aware of the situation, at least on some level, so if I want her to stop then I need to change internally so it isn’t a hot button for me. I do not want to do this internal work. Bleh! &$*&#*!!!! My mom was reminding me of my younger days when I would do anything to avoid having a splinter removed. I was so scared of the pain that I would rather leave the splinter in, even when it was in my foot. I think that looking at my emotional splinters around yelling/whining/parenting/school choices/feeling powerless/etc is my emotional splinter and really, let’s just leave it in! I’m sure it will just go away on it’s own at some point! Please?
Our volunteer L. wrote a beautiful description of her most recent time in the Sarah-Rise Room:
“Sarah asked to play with the project (project, what project? I’ve never heard Sarah use that word, how does she know it? Does she know what it means? How am I ever going to figure out how to come up with a project?).
Sarah guided me, unerringly, to the shelf in the closet. No, not the pink sheet, not the blanket, the box. (One mystery solved, the box is called 101 electrical projects, or something like that. But, yikes, it’s a serious science project, not a toy. What’s it doing here? How can Sarah be interested in it? Should I be letting her play with it? Maybe it’s just about the box.)
Sarah saw that I had the box and had a look of happy anticipation. Once I gave it to her, the box got only a cursory glance “new box”. Then it was open and we were (Sarah was, I’m madly looking for the directions to see if this is dangerous. I’m concerned that the pieces seem so delicate or intricate somehow) ready to play.
Sarah started to build a circuit, she took out the pieces, snapped them in place (making a good effort of it), she showed me the motor, and then the fan, told me what they are. Then she asked for help, very clearly expecting that together we could make the motor work so the fan would go round. (I can’t do this! I have no idea how to to this! How can I get this box back in the cupboard?) Then Sarah asked for help again, and I noticed one of the pieces had a switch (ok, maybe I can do this. Let’s give it a try).
Once it was built, Sarah knew exactly how to start it, with the switch. When she toggled it over, the little motor started, the fan quickly went round then it launched. The preciousness of those few seconds! Sheer delight, from both of us, solid joyful eye contact, squeals of joy from both of us, the absence of doubting voices in my head.
Sarah never doubted there was a project, she never doubted that I would help her build it, she never doubted she could build it, she never doubted me and my support. I brought all of that into the Sarah-Rise Room with me.
Doubt. Now that I’ve noticed that habit in my thinking, maybe I can more readily recognize it when it creeps into my thoughts and choose to replace it with a more Sarah-like trust.
Thank you Sarah, L.”
As I reread L.’s reflections I see that I could apply that trust and faith to looking at whatever issues are getting in my way. Sometimes regarding various parenting moments I feel just as L. did, “I can’t do this! I have no idea how to do this! How can I put this [moment] back?” There may not be an instruction manual, but maybe if I just look at all the different pieces then I will find the switch and make sense of my own internal splinter project.
….I just paused and spilled out in writing as many of the contents as I could think of with regard to Sarah’s yelling and my getting mad. Among the many pieces, I did notice some helpful things. Sarah yells and whines the most with regard to food. Food is the arena in which she has the least control. I get mad and upset because I am still doubting my choices regarding what I feed her and thus I take it personally. So… going forward I will think about ways to give her more control over her food within parameters with which I feel truly comfortable. I don’t think this sorts of out the entire splinter, but at least I got part of it.
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