Does this post look familiar? I scheduled two posts for the same date last month, and didn’t realize till they’d already gone live. I pulled this one down and rescheduled it. If you’ve already read this post but didn’t request the book from your library yet, consider this your friendly reminder.
Are you intentional about modeling how to deal with negative emotions to your kids?
Society, and our nuclear families growing up, have a big impact on how we process our emotions. Some families have certain acceptable emotions. Maybe it was OK to be angry, but sadness was mocked. Or only certain responses to negative emotions were encouraged. Snarky wit in response to feeling hurt? Cool. Crying? Not cool. Society also teaches us no one wants to see you when you’re angry or sad.
How do we teach our kids to function in a healthy way in a world full of broken people?
Feelings of nostalgia usually come up in the spring as grad season comes upon us. For me, both the end of high school and the end of college felt a little traumatic, so the memories are bittersweet.
The year I graduated from high school, my dad accepted a job on Long Island. While my classmates were making plans to hang out for one last summer, I was packing my belongings and saying goodbye to my childhood home. We pulled out of our driveway and headed south two days after my graduation.
That summer felt like a lost opportunity. The friendships that had suddenly become so meaningful and intense were abruptly cut off and I found myself in a new place, surrounded by new people who were friendly… but it would be starting over only to leave in the fall for college and start over again. I wasn’t keen.
What’s your position on advice? What counts as advice? Do you find yourself peddling your life experience from time to time? Often? Rarely?
I’ve been thinking about this since this past fall. I got home from my trip, brain freshly scrubbed. I wanted everyone to know about my experience. How could I be true to myself and not talk about it?
And then my inner voice shot back, but you should feel that way about Jesus.
This year, my oldest girl turns twelve and my youngest girl turns 6. Two will never be twice as old as Five again. Five, at six, is no longer a baby.
When I was growing up, my siblings and I spent a lot of time outside. We had a swing set that we swung so hard on, the whole structure would rock. There were mums, irises, and day lilies along the back of the house, and steps leading from our back door that were, in my memory, big and wide and perfect for sitting on. As an older kid, I claimed a corner of the yard and planted flowers in front of a beautiful stand of ferns.
I loved the smell of the clean laundry on our clothesline. I was fascinated by the iridescent wings of the Japanese beetles that clung to the clothes and the crisp, starchy feeling of the laundry as it came off the line. For the many sunny days when the clothes dried uninterrupted, there was also the rush of adrenaline from pulling down clothes as the first drops of a rainstorm began to fall.
