Teaching Our Kids It's Okay to Fail

We all remember our middle school years. Some adults may look back with wide smiles and fond nostalgia, although those people are probably rare. After speaking to a lot of my women friends the past few weeks, I've learned that many of them who are currently successful, empowered, admired and beautiful actually recall those times with distinct horror.


They explicitly describe them as "the worst years of their lives."


These are women who have gone on to become gifted engineers, pilots, computer scientists, teachers, writers, mothers and dedicated friends. They're leaders in their communities, churches and schools. They have surpassed every obstacle that has come their way and ended up in positions of importance and value.


Yet, when they think back to being an awkward early teenager, they cringe. They literally shudder at the mere mention of Middle School. Junior High. Whatever it was called where they lived. It was all the same. Horrible. Dreadful. Humiliating.


My own middle school years were no picnic. Going from the big fish in a small pond into a sea of glittery rainbow fish was something I hadn't expected. Not seeing my two best friends all day was a shock. Half of our elementary school went to a different middle school, so kids I had known for years were never to be seen again until high school.


Then, entered the mean girls. The rotten bullies who were relentless in their taunting. My mom always insisted they acted that way because they were jealous of my grades or my pretty hair (that's what all moms say), but it didn't take away from the fact that they followed me from class to class, unforgiving in their constant hounding.


Until middle school, everything had always gone my way. I was sassy and smart and believed I was a star. The mean girls bothered me and tried to tear me down, but somehow, I survived. When I look back now, I'm surprised at all that I was able to endure.


Maybe it was because my mom didn't let it show that she was worried for me, or that she knew middle school could quite possibly be the worst years of my life. She encouraged me to keep trying new things. She kept on insisting that I was amazing, that I could do anything, that I deserved more. She pushed and pushed and pushed. So, I believed her, and I went for more.


By seventh grade, the bullies must have moved on to someone else. Life was looking up as I had become acclimated to school, and I was finding my niche. Then, I did something kind of nuts. A few of my other friends were trying out for the girls' basketball team. I, on the other hand, didn't know how to play basketball...at all. I had always been a cheerleader, but that year, I decided to give basketball a try, too. I showed up to every preliminary practice, not knowing how to dribble the ball or run down the court or shoot any kind of basket: free throw, lay-up, are there others I'm missing? I still don't know.


Of course, I didn't make the team. I had no chance. Zero. I didn't even make the B team. I would not be allowed to ride any benches. I was just sent packing at the end of the last day. My name wasn't called, and I was left sitting in the bleachers while everyone else was celebrating. The end.


Do you know what happened after I experienced my first-ever real failure?


I survived.


My parents probably took me out for ice cream to console me. Then, they told me that I was just meant for something else. I never looked back on those basketball try-outs with regret. I never wished I hadn't participated because I looked foolish. It helped to build a stronger foundation for my character. To boost my confidence. To teach me that even if I wasn't the best at everything, I was still pretty great at other things. I would still be sassy and smart and a star.

Check me out playing Hedbanz, being my ultra-competitive self.

Is it normal that I can vividly recall this failure? I actually remember almost every time I didn't succeed at something. I can reflect on those experiences in connection to parenting. Learning to handle failure is surely an important tool to instill in our children, to help them build a healthy life.


As parents, naturally, we worry about our kids. We don't want them to have pain. Or trouble. Or sadness. Or rejection. As I listen to so many moms express their own painful memories of middle school, I have these wishes:


-I wish that we don't project our own fears about unchartered territory onto our kids. We can talk to our friends, our spouses or our parents about it.


-I wish that children who start out highly confident continue to grow...that even when they have a misstep, they know they are still loved and have value.


-I wish that kids who don't know that they are stars will find power from somewhere...from parents, from teachers, from friends, from neighbors. This world needs people who see potential in the quiet kids/quirky kids/awkward kids/kids who seem to have it all together, but secretly don't.


-I wish that we have strong, open dialogues with our kids about bullies and try-outs and grades and acne and the ever-changing dynamics of social media.


-I wish that we are able to nurture these big kids just as we did when they were babies...with deliberate, unwavering care, for as long as they'll allow...without hovering, of course.

What kinds of worries have you had about your child starting something new?

How did you handle it?

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I'm Afraid I Hoard Children's Literature

Letting go is such a challenging concept for me. I hold deep attachments to nearly everything that has been of use and significance to my life. People. Songs. Dishes. Blankets. Clothing. Letters.


I should also add books to my long list of "I-wanna-hang-on-to-these-forever-because-they're-sentimental" items. We are in the process of transitioning our two youngest boys to bunk beds, so that calls for shifting and rearranging the bedroom that they share.


Their book shelf had been busting at the seams for many years. It only ever held about two-thirds of their books at any given moment, which meant anything that didn't fit in it ended up on the floor around it. It was constantly exploding books. We were forced to cram and push and fight and then throw up our hands as books tumbled back out.


With the bunk bed arrival days away, I was forced to do some major cleaning and purging over the past weekend. My attempt to tackle that daunting book shelf began like this:


Me: "I seriously don't know what to do with all these books."


Mark: "We should just get rid of the ones the kids don't need."


Me: (Big gasp) "How could you say that? We can't get rid of books! I think we just need a bigger shelf."


Mark: "That's insane. It's not a solution. We are not buying a bigger shelf to fill with more books. We need to go through these books, take out ones the kids don't read anymore and only keep the ones we need."


While I don't always admit it in the heat of the moment, my husband does have really strong sensibilities and quite often is...right. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt this time and see if I could actually find any books in this gigantic pile that we didn't need. Not likely. As I stated to him earlier, all books are necessary.


I sat cross-legged on the carpet in front of the book shelf, which rests in the cramped corner between the closet and our sons' current trundle bed. Slowly and deliberately, I began to slide books off the shelf. One at a time, I contemplated their value.

 

What I noticed was a huge portion of our children's books had been ripped and torn and worn to shreds. Obviously read a thousand times, they had been immensely loved. Cherished. Needed. Several of the important books had been around since before Reese was born, as they were presented to us during our baby shower. While our little guy was nestled warmly in my belly twelve years ago, our friends and family members carefully chose books for us to begin our first home library. For those of you reading this, please know, your books were meaningful, impactful and valuable to all of us. They served each baby well!

The time had actually come to clear the shelf of books that had fallen apart. Why hadn't I seen how many we had until now? (Probably because when it's time for bed and the boys choose books, they never bring us the ratty baby books). Those books had been taking up real estate on their three-tiered book shelf, and since we already decided a bigger space wasn't an option, I owed it to our growing boys to make room for their current interests.

Looking back through our tattered board books was like opening a time capsule. I envisioned myself sitting in our rocking chair, which has been perched in our many different homes, reading bedtime stories to whichever babies and toddlers were sprawled out on my lap. I felt the urge to pay each book a proper farewell, rubbing my hands across the covers of the ones that were favorites to each child and to me. I was able to tell Mark exactly where every book originated.


I breezed through the pages of these baby books, able to recite the words from memory. I lifted the flaps on the Karen Katz books, which had thrilled all of our babies to no end. As I came across Brown Bear, Brown Bear, I could hear Reese's little boy laughter as Mark always read that book with silly voices. I pulled out a tiny tea party book that reminded me of the days when my tiny Trixie dressed in princess gowns every day and asked us to call her Cinderella. The Very Hungry Caterpillar had appeared to have actually eaten his way through half the pages of our book, but Chip and Marshall had devoured it so many times, it was worth it.


Mark listened to me elaborate about why each book was important to us. To me. When I had trouble letting one go, I quietly slipped it back onto the shelf. Some of them were still in excellent shape, but I wasn't ready to pass them on yet. I'm sure I'll be ready the next time I do a book shelf purge, like when they start middle school. Time will tell.


Until then, I'm happy to report that the shelf is finally organized, leaving room for the more appropriate and more adventurous books that Marshall and Chip will be reading in the future.

Are you attached to books as well? Your own or your children's? It's difficult to explain the feelings to someone who doesn't experience them, but if you do, you just know. Maybe it's time for a spring cleaning of your books, too.

 

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Do People Still Ask to Borrow a Cup of Sugar?

Two young girls, best friends who are as opposite from one another as can be, are playing together in the back yard. It's the 80's, so nobody is wearing sunscreen or shoes. Pony tails are flying in the wind as they run around, engaging in whatever game they can agree on for the day. One girl loves baby dolls, while the other one is an athlete, so their choices are limited.


The screen door creeks open, and a Southern mama, who's been transplanted to the North, peeks her head out to yell, "Girls! Head next door and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar."


The girls grab the measuring cup from Mama's outstretched hand and then mosey over to a neighbor's house to retrieve what's needed. They don't ask the same person every time, but the results are always the same. The mom in each house on the block thinks nothing of walking into her own kitchen to share food from her pantry with a friend. A give and take exists among these women neighbors, as children embark on this simple errand.


Depending on what this mama is mixing up in her kitchen, the items she needs may vary.


A stick of butter, two eggs, a packet of cherry Kool-Aid


Tromping through the neighbors' yards with my best friend, Stacey, to borrow small items for her mom was a regular part of my girlhood. Our play was often interrupted by this request to exchange kitchen basics, her boisterous voice calling after us to fetch something to add to the iron skillet bubbling away on the stove. On many Saturday mornings, we answered their front door to find other barefoot kids asking for the same usual staples.


Do you remember those times? Did your mom share and borrow sugar from her friends? Weren't those days effortless and breezy?

Today, times are different, right? Neighbors barely know one another enough to wave Hello while mowing the grass, how could they ever consider raiding someone's kitchen cabinets?


Now that I'm the mom in the house, I'm faced with this dilemma from time to time. I run out of basics as I'm baking. While our street is quaint, comfortable, and we are actually friends with the people who live around us, I have never sent my children to ask anyone for anything.


Not once.


I know our neighbors would gladly fill my empty cup with mounds of grainy white sugar if I asked, and I would do it for them in a second, but I haven't been able to take that plunge. What if they think I'm a weirdo?


Whenever I am short on ingredients, I do quickly consider the possibility of asking one of my lady neighbors for a bit of help. Here is my thought process, which I realize is quite ridiculous as I write it for you:


I figure that the best first step would be to text. I plan out in my mind what I should say. Something like,


"Hi! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I'm in the middle of making banana muffins, and I just realized I am short an egg. Do you happen to have an extra one that I can have? I promise I'll share the muffins with you guys! Sorry again, it's okay if you say no. Thank you so much in advance."


Meanwhile, I think about the trouble (whining) I'll have to endure to convince one of my children to go grab it for me. I'm typically a mess when I bake, so no one should have to see me in that state. Because it's never been done here before, the kids who are old enough to cross the street would argue about going. They would try to bargain for somebody else to do it.


I would have to bribe them.


Eventually, I decide none of the hassle or fear of rejection is worth it, so I give up on the entire idea. I pile everyone in the car and drive to the gas station, where a dozen eggs costs twice as much as any regular store.


All of this talk about borrowing sugar from neighbors began because Mark's mom told me a story about her current next-door-neighbor. She shared with me how grateful she was for their relationship, because she loaned her a potato when she needed it.


A potato.


I've discovered that those ladies trade foods with each other on a regular basis, just as they would have done if they'd been neighbors in 1988 or 1968. They don't have small children to shuttle anything back and forth between their homes, so the husbands do the transporting.


A friend of mine who also has four children had just boiled all of her eggs for the Easter Bunny, not remembering they would need more for baking. Instead of going through my complicated process, which ultimately would have resulted in buying overpriced eggs, she borrowed some from her neighbor. Modern mom and brilliant!


Tell me, have you ever asked your neighbors to borrow food? We do other favors for each other all the time, so I don't know why I've been anxious about this practice that's been happening in American homes for years. Should I just start the trend again?

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Something New-Our Summer Calendar Is Empty!

Most stay-at-home-moms I know have been doing the summer schedule shuffle for several weeks by now. In the past, I would have been doing the same. The calendar comes out in February to plan every little detail of what initially seems like a vast, endless and ultimately structure-free summer break. Three months is a looong time! We feel the need to pack the days and weeks with activities in order to avoid too much togetherness and not enough fun.


What begins as an anticipated vacation from our school year commitments of rising early and doing homework quickly fills up with an abundance of sports, camps, lessons, getaways and library events, all intricately woven between adult work schedules and family vacations. Mastering the family's summer schedule requires some serious skills.


Avoid sports overlap.


Set up grandparent visits.


Arrange car pools.


Make sure we have the right size cleats this year...Soccer and baseball.


Which week is church camp?


One kid wants to try tennis this year.


Can we make it from art camp in time for swimming lessons? 


Everyone needs an equal amount of their favorite activities and new opportunities.


Wait, when will we have time to go to the beach? The ice cream shop we love so much? The blueberry farm?


Every single summer, I plan to do less. Less than the year before, when we were crazy and harried and spent half of every day carting four kids to and from some sort of scheduled activity that was directed at only one of them.


Here's something nuts. I tend to sign the kids up for events that start early in the morning. What is wrong with me? When I make the schedule in February, I'm used to waking up early, so the thought of doing it all summer doesn't phase me. It doesn't seem like that big of a deal. That is until summer is actually here. Then, I'm cursing my alarm clock and the color-coded-for-every-family-member-calendar that's hanging on the side of my fridge.


Why have I been sabotaging our vacations all these years?


Well, because it has always seemed like what the best moms do. Parents who can provide educational, athletic or social opportunities for their children should do so. Right?


What if...maybe that's not right? Not in the way that we think.


Summertime enjoyment doesn't need to be costly or scheduled or outsourced. I had four kids to stay home with four kids, not so I could split them up and rely on others to give them "learning experiences." I know I can provide my children with fantastic excursions, exciting play time and meaningful activities. I don't know what took me so long to realize it.

Do you remember last December, when I decided that I needed to declare more time for the six of us? Although my Christmas prep seemed to be rooted in my family's happiness, it was actually taking me away from them. Stressing us out more. Sabotaging our holidays.


This year, I am going to do the same for summer! I'm declaring to value our summer vacation. While I can, I am going to let loose with these kids. I know it's not feasible for all parents, but because I'm home with the kids, it will work for us. Can you consider ways to join me in ending the typical summer madness?


Maybe you need a nudge. What will it take? Are you worried the kids will strangle each other if they spend too much time together? Are you nervous how you'll handle having them with you All.The.Time? Believe me, those thoughts cross my mind, too.


What first led me to let go of my urge to schedule so much was when our oldest son decided to stop playing a sport that he's played for the past six years. Cold turkey, he told us that he didn't want to join this year. That registration is usually what starts the ball rolling for my summer schedule shuffle. Without it, I didn't even need to open my calendar. A few of the kids didn't plan to attend the camps they've gone to in the past. I could check those off my list, too. Now, it's April, and we have missed deadlines for most everything that will be happening around town this summer.


Do I feel guilty?


Maybe a tiny twinge.


Then, I remember:


We live three miles from an incredible fresh water beach, but shamefully, our summers are typically so hectic that we only make it there a handful of times. This year, we'll be free to go whenever the kids ask.


They have bikes and wagons and scooters, and we live in a neighborhood blanketed with shade. We can create our own free "biking camp," making pit stops at home for big bowls of watermelon that will drip pink juice down our chins.


We're going on a road trip to the Rocky Mountains with our best friends and their four kids. We'll witness more of our Earth's beauty in one week than the kids could ever experience in an expensive nature class or science camp here in town.


Lemonade stands, trampolines, swing sets and bubbles.


Jumping, playing, chasing and climbing.


Screeching, squealing, bellowing and laughing!


Those are the moments that we should be dreaming about...the lazy days of summer.


We've spent an entire school year barking at our kids to hurry up, and nobody wants to waste the short summer months riding around town in a junk bus. Would you join me giving our kids a carefree summer...a true vacation?


Is your calendar already jam packed with Kid Stuff? Will you be able to resist the temptation to fill each week with more? I know it's hard and even scary to be unstructured, but let's try it together. You have gifts and talents to share with those babies you dreamed of for so long. Let them see you shine. You have a sprinkler for them to run through if you can't make it to a pool or the beach. You can dig out your old roller blades or take long walks with them after work. The memories they'll make with you by their sides will be immeasurable, and your alarm clock will survive until September.

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What Will Moms Do When Our Chuck E. Cheese Closes?

Utter the words Chuck E. Cheese to parents, and you'll be greeted with one of two very different reactions. During my past twelve years as a mom, I've found him to be quite a polarizing character.

I proudly stand in the camp of parents who are thankful for the brilliant entertainment concept that is Chuck E. Cheese.

For over a decade, it's been used as a regular meeting place for my mom friends and me. No matter how old or young our kids have been, we always knew they would be free to romp around without fear of bothering anyone.

That place stood chock full of games for all ages, rides, slides, photo machines, music and all the trinkets and treasures a child could ever dream of accumulating in two short hours.

The noise was so over the top on its own that nobody ever noticed that children actually have voices, too.

Parents didn't feel pressure to ensure kids sit quietly at the table while waiting for food. We set them free with a cup full of tokens (always bought with a coupon) and endless possibilities. They actually wanted to leave the moms alone, only checking back in to beg for more tokens or grab a drink or slice of pizza.

My girlfriends and I sat sipping iced tea and enjoying our crisp salads. Well, and let's be real, we gobbled up pizza, too.

Germies and overloaded senses couldn't keep us from taking advantage of Chuck E. Cheese, which is what people in the other camp often cite as reasons to avoid it.

A few years ago, I decided that we should visit Chuck E. Cheese on my birthday, instead of going to my usual grown-up favorite, which is Olive Garden. Our four kids had a blast, while Mark and I tuned out the chaos and treated it like a date. Our Babysitter? Chuck E. Cheese.

I'm writing this piece on the first day of Spring Break, after one of my best friends and I made plans for lunch with our six collective kids. Where did we choose? Chuck E. Cheese, of course!

Surprisingly, when we arrived, we discovered that our local store is closing in just over a week. The mall that houses it is restructuring and has bought out their lease. This comfortable home, which has served as such a wonderful sanctuary for thousands of children during our brutal winters, will vanish. Yes, I just called Chuck E. Cheese a sanctuary.

For parents who live in frigid and snowy climates, indoor play places are vital. Our children crave the space to run around in a warm environment. Sure, they love to play in the snow, too, but that can only last for so long before their fingers and toes start to freeze. With all the sitting still that they do for school, we need for them to have a huge place to be free.

Before I was a mom, I never would have imagined how much I could rely on Chuck E. Cheese to save my sanity. I will forever be thankful for the opportunities and memories we have in that building. Birthday parties, playgroups, baby time, mom time, couple time. It was all worth it to me. To us.

Thank you, Chuck E. Cheese! You have been part of our family. We will miss you.

How do you feel about Chuck E. Cheese? All I can say is don't judge until you try it.

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