We hear a lot about building kids’ self esteem and teaching them to be responsible, but some of the messages we send with our communication thwart rather than support the actual development of these things.  If we want kids to actually build these capacities, we have to actively invite them into the process.

When a kid says “I want to quit karate” (or piano or swim team or a job or school or homeschooling) if you say something like “Huh - I thought you liked karate.  I’m surprised you’re saying you want to quit,” you’re offering an inquiry, an opportunity for your child to ask questions of herself and the situation: to consider, weigh, reflect, and receive support from you in doing so.  You’re also setting yourself up for lots more effort and work than if you say just “no,” or “yes.”  (It’s more work for both of you, in fact, so it’s also a good idea to remember that if you suddenly start engaging with your child’s statements this way you may be met with resistance you don’t expect.  If it’s good for them, why aren’t they excited about it, you may be wondering.  Habit and ease. It’s easier to let you do it. And if they haven’t experienced the satisfaction of making an important decision themselves or even participating in one, they’re likely to opt for ease.)

The thing to remember when a kid blurts out something like this about wanting to quit something or something along those lines is that kids say lots of things to try them out, or because they’re true in that particular moment. (Frankly, adults do this too, but because we tend to be less present and more in a state of constant assessment of how things we say are going to sound to the listeners, we narrate the moment-to-moment truth less steadily.)  This can really send adults into a tailspin, especially if it’s about something they’ve invested a lot of time, energy, money into.  ”What?” you’re tempted to say.  ”You begged for karate!” Many times kids are just trying to express something that, while likely related to what they’ve declared, is not the earth-shattering final never-to-be-altered fact you take it as. It’s just something that they thought of or felt just then.  You get to decide whether or not to receive what they’re saying, and let it be something other than permanent.

So if you’re up for trying something a little different, but you’re not sure how it’s going to go or how deep you want to sink yourself into the inquiry and effort of it, start with “Huh.”  Often just that word will invite kids to reflect for a moment on what they’ve said and, if there’s actually more to it, expand on what they mean.  If you lunge at a statement like “I want to quit violin,” with your own upset: “But you love violin and you’ve almost mastered the piece you’ve been working on for so long!” or “You’re not quitting now after all this time” or “I always wished I’d played an instrument when I was your age…” there’s no room for the child to look at what he’s saying, check it for accuracy, add anything he’s left out.  He can’t clarify: “I think I want to quit because I’m nervous about the performance,” or “It’s gotten really hard lately,” or “There’s so much other stuff to do I don’t know if I want to keep playing.”

Starting with “huh” also gives you the chance to consider for yourself the possible reasons he’s saying what he’s saying before you respond at any length.  You give yourself the chance to look into it a bit and reflect from somewhere other than upset.

Elizabeth Gilbert makes a strong case for depersonalizing genius and creativity (see link below).  If we were to return to older ways of referring to genius as something one has as opposed to is, we make room for error as well as fuller success, thus freeing ourselves up a bit.  (More than a bit, probably.)

My cousin’s daughter said recently as she was painting “What?  I’m drawing an airplane?  I was supposed to be drawing a bird!”  It got me wondering whether perhaps kids are freer creatively not only because they haven’t yet figured out that we have the distinction between “good” and “bad” but because they don’t experience as direct a connection between their selves and what they create as older people do.  If that’s true, it also raises interesting questions about their behavior in general, and could explain a lot of the impasse at which so many parents and kids find themselves when it comes to expectations of behavior (at any age).

I think it’d be interesting to imagine how we might nurture creativity in kids if we saw it as something to have and not something to be.  Elizabeth Gilbert’s talk has more to offer than the bit I’ve written here.  Have a look, see what it offers in how you are with your kids and their art (and other behavior), and let me know what you think.

There’s more than one way to learn to read.  Actually what I mean is that there’s more than one way to read.  I think we’re pretty clear that there’s more than one way to learn.  But people actually read differently.  Some never get the hang of sounding out, for example.  Sylvia Ashton-Warner built a whole system of literacy teaching around choice and recognition of words.  Here’s a link to a post with an excerpt from her book Teacher as well as a lengthy bio.  The book is worth reading for anyone interested in learning of any kind for any reason.  Another related resource is Katie Johnson’s book Doing Words which describes the method she developed based on Sylvia Ashton-Warner’s work.

From Teacher: “Organic reading for beginners is not new; it’s our rejection of it that’s new.”

Sometimes the behaviors that drive you crazy when your kids practice them on you (in particular, resisting and generally refusing to comply without inquiry) are the very ones you want them to implement when faced with situations involving pressure from their peers or other sources. In those other unpredictable situations you want them to be discerning.  You don’t want them to follow without question. What’s annoying when it’s done to  you could well be a boon when it turns up at a party or behind the wheel - in the face of the unpredictable.

And it’s easy to point out the difference in the situations; you know that what you’re trying to get them to do is in their best interest (at least you have decided it is).  And they should be able to tell the difference.  But the point is that their parents are the only ones kids can safely practice on, so it’s actually quite wise, and a relief, that they at least begin with you. If you won’t honor the inquiry implicit in their resistance (as distinct from engaging in a power struggle about it), they’re likely to give up on practicing, or take their practicing elsewhere.

The other day a friend used the word “just” when referring in passing to a couple of hours her son had spent drawing.  Well, she started to use the word, and then stopped herself.  She said “He was sitting there at his desk, just drawing, - I mean, drawing, and then…”

The little word had no bearing on the story she was telling, but her choice to adjust what she said got us talking about how the word “just” gets used in this way, and how much of a difference it can make to remove it. We use the word all the time to belittle things, and kids’ pursuits are a common target.  Drawing, in fact, is a common target.

This mom is at work cleaning up her language, spotting biases that sneak out in small ways, about what does and doesn’t have value, particularly in areas her son is committed to where she would never choose to spend her time.  Here’s to that.

Boy, I don’t ask myself that one very often.  Someone posed it recently when I mentioned how much I was dreading something.

It struck me as astonishingly simple and obvious, for how profound a difference it could make to any of us who might be prone to erring heavily on the side of the worst that could happen.  And you don’t even have to disregard the worst that could happen.  You could just average the two, and you’d likely end up somewhere closer to what is likely to happen.  Not to mention that considering the best that could happen might make for a measurably more pleasant experience leading up to the outcome in question.

I picked up a copy of a local parenting magazine yesterday and found this refreshingly unbiased article about the choice to school or homeschool.  The magazine is published in and about Maine, so the specifics about guidelines don’t apply elsewhere, but I wanted to pass along the article anyway.  I don’t often encounter a piece that’s laid out this way, with the tone suggesting that no educational option gets the distinction of being The Right Thing to Do.