At a recent meeting of my parenting class, the topic turned to "How do you handle it when somebody does a job but they do it wrong?" I missed some of the discussion on this point because the question itself reminded me of a piece of advice I received at my wedding shower: Do not call a way your husband has of doing something WRONG simply because it is DIFFERENT from the way you would do the same thing.
I think we as parents need to keep this principle in mind not just with our spouses but also with our children. If my daughter wants to make her bed by starting in the middle and working toward the edges, what difference does it make to me? As long as her bed is made, the job is done. I do want to offer her my insight about how to approach certain tasks, but she has her own way of seeing the world and her own way of taking it on. And she may even have a way of doing things that is both a better fit for her personality and an objectively better method for the job.
If I want her to do the work without a fight and even value the work, I need to give her the freedom to try things her own way. If I want her to feel valued as a person, I need to honor her perspective, even if it is different.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Learning to be clean and tidy
Housekeeping has never been a stong area for me. That (and quite frankly, driving) is where I think my ADD rears its ugly head most viciously. It goes something like this: I set up a hyperdetailed, why-would-anybody-even-think-of-this system of organization. (In one apartment, the clothes in my closet were arranged by type and color: jackets, long-sleeved white shirts, long-sleeved shirts that were mostly white, long-sleeved shirts that were mostly another color but included some white, long-sleeved shirts in colors other than white, short-sleeved white shirts, ... you get the idea.) This system is so detailed that before long I cannot keep up with it and begin to take short cuts. Short cutting my system eventually leads to not using it at all--just putting things anywhere. Putting things anywhere leads to chaos. Chaos leads to paralysis. Then I have a huge mess and no power to go in and set it right until somebody comes in and sets me straight.
This was its own problem when I was single and the clutter and mess reached a point where my once totally-brand-new, never-lived-in apartment was transformed into a heap of junk with just enough room for my cats and me to pass through. (On a good day, the cats might even be able to find the litter box.) But it is a problem of an entirely different kind now that I am a married woman with two small children, even if we do live with my mother-in-law, who is fond enough of a clean home to keep some of my messiness in check.
About a week ago, things had reached a point where our nanny had to pull me aside and explain that she had cleaned our bathroom not out of the sheer goodness of her heart (though there is certainly no shortage of that) but because the filth had reached such a level that she did not think it a safe space for herself or my children. She did this with a level of care and professionalism that would have done Supernanny proud, and I will forever be grateful that she did. It was clear to me at the end of that conversation that I didn't have the luxury of one more second for "trying" to be tidy. My family was counting on me to get this right, right now.
So I began with the very simple concept that my mother really did try to teach me (but my addled brain didn't quite receive): put things away when you are finished with them. I worked on this during the day, did a final straighten at night (complete with a wipe down of the bathroom), and noticed that I really could be clean and tidy without having to outdo to likes of Adrian Monk. I worried, though, that it still might not be enough. You see, I am a genius about getting a strong start--and a complete nincompoop at follow through. But something that happened a few days ago gave me hope that this time might be different.
Sunday evening, two of my nieces were visiting at the house. My daughter love, love, LOVES her cousins and never gets her fill of them, so my husband and I decided to let her stay up until they went home. As the hour inched past nine, though, it was clear that bedtime had arrived, even with cousins still in the house. So I shuffled my children off to bed, making a mental note to come back out when they were asleep and do my final straighten. But I fell asleep putting them to sleep and never got back out. When I woke Monday morning, there were a few items left in the living room (a couple of books, a pair of my son's pants, and two balls) that were out of the way but still needed to be returned to their actual homes. But the living room was straight. I made a mental note to find out if my mother-in-law or my husband were responsible and thank them for helping keep me on track.
Here's the kicker: BOTH OF THEM SAID THEY DIDN'T DO IT. The living room was exactly the way I had left it, with its pre-bedtime "mess." I have come so far that the mess I leave behind now looks tidy to me! Crazy, isn't it?
Bonus points: I was working on something on the computer this morning when my (not-quite-four-year-old) daughter changed from her sneakers to her rain boots so she could go outside with Grandma and "jump in muddy puddles." I went in the bedroom after she had done this and discovered her sneakers, right where they should be, lined up neatly next to each other. If crazy, mixed-up Momma can get it right, I guess she will, too.
This was its own problem when I was single and the clutter and mess reached a point where my once totally-brand-new, never-lived-in apartment was transformed into a heap of junk with just enough room for my cats and me to pass through. (On a good day, the cats might even be able to find the litter box.) But it is a problem of an entirely different kind now that I am a married woman with two small children, even if we do live with my mother-in-law, who is fond enough of a clean home to keep some of my messiness in check.
About a week ago, things had reached a point where our nanny had to pull me aside and explain that she had cleaned our bathroom not out of the sheer goodness of her heart (though there is certainly no shortage of that) but because the filth had reached such a level that she did not think it a safe space for herself or my children. She did this with a level of care and professionalism that would have done Supernanny proud, and I will forever be grateful that she did. It was clear to me at the end of that conversation that I didn't have the luxury of one more second for "trying" to be tidy. My family was counting on me to get this right, right now.
So I began with the very simple concept that my mother really did try to teach me (but my addled brain didn't quite receive): put things away when you are finished with them. I worked on this during the day, did a final straighten at night (complete with a wipe down of the bathroom), and noticed that I really could be clean and tidy without having to outdo to likes of Adrian Monk. I worried, though, that it still might not be enough. You see, I am a genius about getting a strong start--and a complete nincompoop at follow through. But something that happened a few days ago gave me hope that this time might be different.
Sunday evening, two of my nieces were visiting at the house. My daughter love, love, LOVES her cousins and never gets her fill of them, so my husband and I decided to let her stay up until they went home. As the hour inched past nine, though, it was clear that bedtime had arrived, even with cousins still in the house. So I shuffled my children off to bed, making a mental note to come back out when they were asleep and do my final straighten. But I fell asleep putting them to sleep and never got back out. When I woke Monday morning, there were a few items left in the living room (a couple of books, a pair of my son's pants, and two balls) that were out of the way but still needed to be returned to their actual homes. But the living room was straight. I made a mental note to find out if my mother-in-law or my husband were responsible and thank them for helping keep me on track.
Here's the kicker: BOTH OF THEM SAID THEY DIDN'T DO IT. The living room was exactly the way I had left it, with its pre-bedtime "mess." I have come so far that the mess I leave behind now looks tidy to me! Crazy, isn't it?
Bonus points: I was working on something on the computer this morning when my (not-quite-four-year-old) daughter changed from her sneakers to her rain boots so she could go outside with Grandma and "jump in muddy puddles." I went in the bedroom after she had done this and discovered her sneakers, right where they should be, lined up neatly next to each other. If crazy, mixed-up Momma can get it right, I guess she will, too.
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