I started out this parenting journey equipped with armloads of books. Good books. Books about developing strong connections with children and building positive attachments. Books about how to set up a gentle, warm, home environment. Books that each held some gem that I could take into my life with my kids. Books full of ideas I am grateful for.
But no matter how much I absorbed though books, or conversations with friends, or online forums or articles on attachment parenting and positive discipline, I still felt something was missing in our home. I loved the advice to build strong connections and to always give children empathy for their emotions.
I knew that the positive interactions should outweigh the negative, but I felt I was often drowning in all the things we had to discuss and work through and debate and negotiate, the nagging and the power struggles- especially with my one little fireball who gives me lots of fodder for this kind of engagement.
I can’t lie to you all- it’s been a little rocky over here.
We are just pulling ourselves out of a rough patch that involved a fair amount of chaos, worry and tears. I am not going to go into all the details because it’s not fully my story to tell, but it affected me a whole heck of a lot, and our family and our homeschool, and my sleep and the state of our house and how little I’ve been able to make time for anything beyond the basics.
But you don’t need to know the details to know how this goes, right? You make some plans, and go on your merry way, and then something derails you- some big external thing or some big emotional thing, but certainly some big unexpected thing,
This was the dream:
For my children to have an unhurried, play-filled, simple childhood.
For our family to be strong and healthy and connected.
The weather was beautiful today, after a string of cold, rainy, grey days it felt so good to be outside and we spent most of the day out there. The boys invented a new game on the trampoline called “ball war” involving more soccer and volley balls then I ever knew we owned, and a lot of hooting and laughing (and no injuries, thankfully. This game seems to be played boys against balls somehow, and I’m not arguing.)
I’ve noticed lately that though we spend a whole lot of time together, the kids and I, that just living under one roof, working together on chores and lessons and regular everyday stuff, doesn’t guarantee that we are feeling connected to each other. Sometimes we are here, sharing space, but not really together. Not as much as we’d all like to be, anyway.
Some days feel busy and rushed.