But How Do You Make Decisions?!

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Real-life footage of how we often argue

Complementarians incredulously ask egalitarians, “If someone doesn’t get the final say, how do you make decisions as a couple?”

This question amuses me, because I can’t imagine how else to make decisions than by discussing our opinions on equal footing and coming up with a decision on which we both agree.

It’s not always easy, of course. Sometimes I’ve wished decision-making were as simple as having the husband step in and call the shots. But there’s intimacy and oneness in making a tough decision together, with both spouses equally influencing and fully supporting the outcome. There’s wisdom, too, as two brains are better than one alone.

How do we egalitarians do this magical thing of making decisions together? It’s very similar to how most complementarians make decisions: we discuss, we listen, we look at things from all angles, we try to come to acceptable compromises or alternatives.

The only difference is that when egalitarians reach gridlock, the husband doesn’t say, “Well, looks like we can’t agree. I’m taking it from here.” The only difference between a complementarian couple making a decision and an egalitarian couple making a decision is that egalitarians keep going.

In my experience, and the experience of other egalitarian couples more seasoned in marriage than I, the perfect solution lies just beyond that huge bump in the road where you’re convinced you will never, ever agree.

Okay, but what does it really look like?

It kind of looks like an extended discussion that can span anywhere from a whole day to years, along with much personal reflection that seeks to understand one’s spouse’s position, as well as one’s own, with as much respect, charity, and open-mindedness as possible. 

Joint Decisions

When it comes to joint decisions — decisions that significantly impact both spouses — we generally yield to the person least comfortable with the decision. This isn’t something we decided on in writing; it’s just something we do, and it’s worked for us so far.

Right now, my husband is excited about buying a house. I am not. He would be happy moving this year. I would not be. Our mutual submission to each other looks something like this:

On my part, I listen respectfully when Erich tells me about a new house. I try to show genuine interest and understanding about where he is coming from. I go to showings of houses. I try to remain open-minded. I try to make sure that my objections to moving are reasonable and fair, not about being contrary or getting my own way.

On my husband’s part, he hears me and tries to understand my perspective. He does not drop the discussion or hide his enthusiasm, but he doesn’t push the issue too far so that it comes between us or gets disrespectful. He knows that since I am not comfortable with buying a house right now, we will not be buying a house until I am comfortable. He also knows that I am happy to entertain his thoughts and opinions.

For other joint decisions, sometimes we yield to the person most passionate and/or opinionated on a subject. One of our first arguments was (of course) about Erich leaving the toilet seat up. Unused to sharing bathrooms with boys, I’d tumbled into the toilet bowl a couple of times. It obviously wasn’t fair that I had to put down the toilet seat whenever I wanted to go to the bathroom. The toilet seat must stay down at all times! Then Erich shot back that it wasn’t fair that he had to put the toilet seat up every time, either.

An impasse.

I was so stunned with this excellent point that I’ve been putting down the toilet seat ever since.

Now that I think about it, Erich is much more opinionated about smaller household decisions — which brand to use, what foods to eat or not eat, how to fold socks — and since I don’t care, or don’t care as much, I shrug and do it his way. Why not?

For joint decisions that require more expertise, we generally delegate to the person more capable, interested, and/or available.

For instance, Erich handles long-term financial issues (retirement savings, the budget, investments, etc.), and I handle issues surrounding childcare and education. We do research, we come up with plans, and we present those options to the other spouse. The final decision still lies in both of our hands, but the mental load of sifting through the millions of different options rests on only one person’s shoulders. The more expert party might ask the other spouse to research a particular point or familiarize themselves with basic principles in order to make a more informed decision, but only one spouse does the mental heavy-lifting.

It’s kind of like the Congressional/Presidential relationship: one spouse is Congress, debating the options and presenting the final legislation; the other is the President, who gets veto power and can send the legislation back to Congress for further review.

That’s for joint decisions.

Personal Decisions

When it comes to personal decisions, we strive for “transparent independence.”

It’s difficult to have a truly “personal” decision in a marriage; our personal lives directly and indirectly affect the other spouse. But Erich and I agree that while it’s important to run personal choices past the other spouse, the responsibility for making some decisions lies with the person it most affects. 

We firmly believe it’s important to maintain individual autonomy in these matters. We need opportunities to fail, succeed, change, and respond to our own personal needs and desires within a supportive relationship. Exercising authority over the spouse, no matter how benevolent (as in complementarianism) or informal (as in constantly nitpicking and henpecking), is disrespectful and unnecessary in a relationship between two adults.

Further, we need opportunities to see, understand, and respect that other people can do things differently than we do. It’s not necessary to be uniform in order to be united! [1]

Issues about how we spend our free time, how we spend smaller amounts of money, how we parent, how we practice our faith, how and when we perform our household duties, what job we get, etc., all fall under “personal decisions” to us.

We’ve always run everything past each other, even if it’s not technically the other spouse’s decision or doesn’t affect them that much. “Do you mind if I spend the evening playing games with my friends?” “Would you care if I bought some snacks during the grocery run?” “I’m spending over a hundred dollars on this particular thing. Is that okay with you?”

This isn’t about permission. It’s about transparency and accountability, and an acknowledgement that our personal decisions do affect the other spouse. Normally I’m happy for Erich to play games with his friends, but maybe that particular day I’m worn out from being a stay-at-home mom and want him to watch Emmerich while I nap. Normally Erich doesn’t care about what I buy at the store, but maybe he wants to point out that I’ve been eating too much junk food or am constantly going over-budget. Of course, we trust each other’s judgment on larger purchases, but maybe we feel the money would be better spent or saved in another way.

Even with big personal decisions that hugely affect the family, we try to give each other as much autonomy as possible.

With parenting, for instance, we split along traditional mom/dad divides: I am more nurturing and cautious, Erich plays rougher and rowdier. I don’t always like how Erich parents (and vice versa!), but after saying my piece, I give him space to be the dad he thinks Emmerich should have. (And normally Emmerich giggles over whatever crazy game his daddy comes up with — even the ones that give Mommy a heart attack!)

An Important Reminder

This is what works for our particular relationship. None of this is formula for all marriages.

We’ve been egalitarian from the start, so we don’t have to deal with any latent authoritative male headship issues that might require a wife to be more assertive. We’ve never dealt with infidelity, substance abuse, or addiction, which might require one spouse to set boundaries stricter than appropriate in a healthier marriage.

And even in our own marriage, individual situations require a slightly different approach or end up with a slightly different outcome. Sometimes one of us changes our mind, sometimes we reach a compromise, and sometimes we hit upon a completely different third way. We just never know until we get there!

I firmly believe that there is no one way to reach a united outcome. It’s not about a wife yielding to her husband all the time, or a husband yielding to his wife all the time, or a wife asserting herself all the time, or a husband asserting himself all the time. It’s a dance of submission and assertion, of staying silent and speaking up, of changing one’s own mind and challenging the other’s. 

But the common denominator in of all of these variables is that we never close the discussion or make a decision unless both of us are happy with the outcome. While some decisions seem more impossible than others at the time, we’ve always found a satisfactory conclusion to our disagreements.

And let me say again: this way of decision-making is not always easy. Whether from selfishness or simply difference, becoming a united front is daunting. The decision-making process surrounding family faith and parenting, for instance, started at the beginning of our dating relationship and only reached an acceptable compromise sometime during our first year of marriage. That’s around four years of debate, frustration, discomfort, tears, and despair.

But as hellish as that time was, the outcome has been amazing. There is no resentment, no feeling that we weren’t heard or understood, no frustration about having to do things the other person’s way — only unity and understanding we never thought possible at the time.

[1] Dr. John Gottman, a prominent researcher on marital health, says that even in happy marriages, the majority of disagreements remain unsolvable. It’s important to pick your battles and give lots of grace and understanding!

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Listening to the Mom Guilt

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Children need kind, consistent, well-informed parents. Whatever parenting beliefs a mom holds, if they’re backed up in fact (good advice, careful observation, and thoughtful research) and implemented kindly and consistently, children will turn out okay.

All of this requires confidence. I find that when I’m feeling worried, guilty, or unsure, I don’t apply my beliefs or approaches consistently or kindly. I get frustrated, and that frustration can come out on my child. I waffle back and forth on how to do things, confusing my child who needs consistency to navigate his world.

Have you ever noticed that the most volatile of parents are also the most easily swayed? A lack of confidence in one’s discipline methods, for instance, can turn a kid whining for candy in the checkout line into the end of the world for the parent, too. Flustered and at her wit’s end, the mom starts yelling at her child to stop whining. When the whining inevitably escalates into all-out tantrumming, the mom will scream, “Fine! Have the candy!”

Without confidence, our worry, guilt, and uncertainty makes us lose our cool and our parenting approaches that made much more sense when we read that article a few days ago.

Unfortunately for moms, this uncertainty crops up everywhere, sometimes even right after we’ve gained certainty. I’ll study out an issue and come to a satisfying conclusion, only to hit a roadblock with my baby (or a well-meaning online comment) that sends me reeling back to the drawing board. More often than not, this uncertainty feels like guilt — mom guilt.

Since we carry around mom guilt about the smallest, craziest of things, we think that the guilt is something to get rid of. It’s inaccurate and unhelpful. It’s certainly something moms shouldn’t listen to.

But maybe it isn’t.

Whenever I feel mom guilt, I’ve found leaning into that feeling to be productive and insightful. Even though the feeling manifests as guilt and often begins in response to a less-than-gracious question or rant, it’s drawing on many of those other underlying mom emotions. I don’t feel mom guilt about the things I confidently believe and have seen successfully implemented. It never feels good to hear another philosophy or parent questioning your style, but I put that in a different category than mom guilt.

I feel mom guilt about the new things, the uncertain things, the things I’m not quite sure I understand or am doing correctly, the things that I think I should do according to the parenting philosophy I follow but that don’t feel right.

When I lean into the mom guilt, I hear what my gut is truly saying: I’m not sure this is working for my baby. I’m not sure this is working for me. I still have questions and concerns that bother me more than I want to admit. 

This is a matter of confidence. The mom guilt clues me in that I am not confident about some aspect of my parenting and that I should start troubleshooting the issue.

Sometimes I just need reassurance, either from a mom friend who’s been there and done that, or from my husband who’s ready to back me up when I chicken out, or from my own experience seeing a parenting decision work out well for our family. Being a mom is hard. It’s easy to lose perspective amidst the sea of options and potential disasters stemming from those options. Feeling confused turns into feeling inadequate — and that’s when good husbands, sisters, friends, mentors, and my own mother step in to remind me that I am a good mom and I will get through this.

Sometimes I need more research or thought. I’m analytical and systematic in my approach to parenting; I need to understand things conceptually in order to implement them practically, or I’m lost. Plus, there’s so much I don’t know! I thought babies would be more straightforward, but ever since the first moment when I held Emmerich and hoped to goodness I didn’t drop him, I’ve been Googling the most basic of things. Mom advice is indispensable in sorting through all the expert opinions and data, but the expert opinions and data still need to be sorted — including the personal data of observing my own baby more closely.

What I try not to do is stuff the mom guilt away. It’s right that we empower moms to listen to their motherly intuition, and that’s why it’s important to listen to the mom guilt: mom guilt is part of that motherly intuition. It’s not the comforting side where mom knows best. It’s the side that reminds you that you don’t always know best, especially in the particular situation making you uneasy.

Moms, like any humans, get caught up in their lofty parenting goals or limited perspectives or sleep deprivation or stress and fail to see their children clearly. We don’t know all the answers off the top of our head. We haven’t done all the research possible. Mom guilt reminds us of our humanity. While we need to respond to mom guilt with so much grace, we need to listen to the mom guilt when it shows us where we might have gone wrong — whether it’s as benign as losing confidence or not understanding our children or the issue or it’s as serious as potentially wronging our children.

All of us can think of loving, devoted mothers doing something from less-than-ideal information or ideology, even some truly horrible things like hitting children with plumbers’ pipe for punishment or yelling at their children, not apologizing, and then blaming their loss of temper on the children’s bad behavior. I would venture to guess that the majority of parents who hit their children or yell feel guilty about their actions, but instead of leaning into the guilt, they stuff it away with excuses and beliefs that led them to believe hitting or yelling is okay in the first place. How many broken parent/child relationships could have been saved if parents were encouraged to listen to the guilt they felt after inflicting overly harsh punishment or insensitively communicating?

A mom who doesn’t listen to her mom guilt can build up problems in her relationship with her children. As I said above, a lack of confidence often leads to a loss of the firm, kind, consistent parental leadership children need. Some parents let that lack of confidence and uncertainty fester into a feeling of inadequacy, lashing out at others — their children, their nosy relatives, the random people of the internet. Some parents overcompensate for their lack of confidence by putting on a show and justifying their behavior without true introspection.

It’s difficult to allow ourselves the possibility of being wrong as we interact with and care for the people we love most. Leaning in to the mom guilt requires (ironically) a level of confidence in our self-worth, and that’s hard to come by, especially for moms in a parenting culture of shame and way too much information.

But the grace we need is that it’s okay to be wrong. It’s okay to try something else. It’s okay to feel guilty, or uncertain, or clueless. We need to believe that for ourselves and for other moms so much that we’re empowered to admit when we’re wrong or unsure, and make the necessary change.

Kids don’t need perfect moms to turn out well. They need kind, consistent, well-informed moms — and all of us are capable of being that if we listen to our mom guilt and try again.

A Definition of Toxic Masculinity

This promo for the Stronger Men’s Conference made its rounds in egalitarian circles and was soundly rejected as the textbook example of “toxic masculinity.”

Which reminds me how many people misunderstand what egalitarians mean when they talk about “toxic masculinity.”

Frequently, people read “toxic masculinity” as a statement: masculinity is toxic and/or, by extension, men are toxic. On the contrary: “toxic masculinity” works just like any adjective/noun pair. “Toxic” describes a certain kind of masculinity.

For the people in the back, “toxic masculinity” does not mean that masculinity is toxic. It means that toxic masculinity is toxic.

Many egalitarians stop there.

Radical feminists take it further. They believe that masculinity (not men, masculinity) is inherently toxic, all of it, because both masculinity and femininity are gender constructs, and gender constructs are toxic. As Rebecca Kotz puts it,

Gender is the tool to maintain the patriarchal power structure. Gender/masculinity is inherently toxic because it is used to distribute power in a hierarchical, abusive, fixed way based on our biology. That is why traits associated with masculinity are often identical to traits associated with dominance and soldier-like qualities (femininity is associated with subordination, deescalation, and trauma responses to male violence).

(Quick definition of gender: radfems discriminate between biological sex and gender. Sex differences are real. Gender isn’t, as it is a social construct and confine based on stereotypes that limit real people’s real traits.)

Here’s where it starts getting tricky. Even though feminists will insist that they do not hate men, many will read misandry between the lines of these definitions of toxic masculinity precisely because our culture cannot always distinguish between violence and dominance and being a man.

Many men will defend their interests in weapons, war, violent video games, MMA, and the like on the grounds that being dominant (e.g., the spiritual leader or the head of the home) and being war-like is at the core of manhood. Simply by being masculine, violence, domination, and many things associated with them get a free pass from scrutiny. It’s okay that boys role play violence, because that’s just what boys do. It’s okay that he’s obsessed with getting to the top, because real men have ambition.

When people hear the words “toxic masculinity” leveled against things traditionally associated with men — especially one’s own self-concept as a man — it’s understandable that “toxic masculinity” feels like hatred against men.

But “toxic masculinity” is not meant as a commentary on, much less a personal insult against, individual men who choose to be or do things traditionally associated with masculinity. It’s certain things (like war) or traits (like power) situated in the context of a particular narrative that real men are like this in exclusion to balancing “feminine traits.”

That is to say, it’s not toxic that your husband is the strong, silent type. What is toxic is the idea that real men don’t show emotion. It’s not toxic that you enjoy playing football. What is toxic is the idea that men who would rather bake, read, or create are sissies. It’s not toxic that your brother serves in the military. What is toxic is the idea that real men are willing to kill others for a higher cause, and non-violent men are sub-masculine as a result.

Does that make sense? Radfem Megan Hita puts it more succinctly: “The concept of masculinity is toxic, as it says there’s only one right way to be a man. That does not mean that all things that are often said to be masculine are toxic, but that the concept itself only serves to limit people and proscribe their behavior based upon their sex.

That’s what’s so toxic about the promo for the Stronger Men’s conference. It’s not the monster trucks and the football and the automatic assault weapons, per se. It’s that it’s all power, violence, and domination in the name of manhood, without any acknowledgement of the other nuances and interests of other real men. Even worse, it’s all power, violence, and domination in the name of Christian manhood, without even a nod to Christ’s humility, servant leadership, and non-violence.

For a conference claiming to turn men into stronger Christians, it’s emphasizing not only things non-essential to being a Christian man but things contrary to core Christian principles.

Like my husband said: It’s not that there’s MMA there. It’s that they’re calling it Christian.

This narrative of manhood presented as the promo presents it as the definition of a “strong man,” with no counterbalance, is, in my view, toxic masculinity at its finest.

*

More resources: Rebecca Kotz explains how gender is more than stereotypes: it’s the basis for patriarchal oppression. Engaging, informative, and well worth the 35 minutes of your time! Behind the Mask, a Netflix documentary on the damage toxic masculinity does to men and boys, is another must-watch. I watched it once while pregnant with my son and then insisted my husband watch it with me again.

Gendered Parenting Advice?

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I was disappointed to see this article printed in a mainstream parenting magazine. Entitled “Boys vs. Girls: How to Tailor Your Parenting Techniques,” it lists several ways boys differ from girls and vice versa, and how these differences require responses tailored to your child’s specific sex.

Where to begin?

Well, first, girls and boys are more similar than dissimilar. Data on so-called masculine and feminine traits falls into a normal bell curve, like so:

Bell curve v1 A

The average boy and the average girl are pretty much the same. Gaussian distribution also means that a significant number of girls are more masculine than the average boy, and a significant number of boys are more feminine than the average girl.

Certainly, some differences do exist between the sexes, even at young ages. Biological differences cause girls on average to grow faster and hit puberty sooner, something that will change once the average boy hits puberty and surpasses the average female peer in height.

But most of the time, when people talk about the differences between boys and girls, they’re observing the extreme, outlying masculine and feminine traits — not the average boy and girl and not innate biological differences. These sociological differences may be statistically significant, but not significant enough to change parenting strategies on the basis of sex alone.

I don’t have the space to detail all the ways in which neuroscience tries to find psychological differences between the sexes that simply aren’t there, but Cordelia Fine’s Delusions of Gender: How Our Minds, Society, and Neurosexism Create Difference and Parenting Beyond Pink & Blue: How to Raise Your Kids Free of Gender Stereotypes by Christia Spears Brown debunk or clarify many of the article’s claims about gender differences.

Even if the differences mentioned in the magazine article are accurate interpretations of correct research, those differences are made larger and more meaningful than they really are.

The first example in the magazine article demonstrates this: “Boys develop language skills more slowly than girls. Most of their speech is comprehensible by age 4 1/2. So avoid ‘constructive criticism’ using abstract words such as inappropriate, focus, disruptive, or success. They can sound like the wah-wuh-wah-wah-wah of the adults in ‘Peanuts’ cartoons to your son.”

The educator in me died a little. How does comprehensible speech indicate the level of boys’ verbal comprehension? Every language learner comprehends more than he can verbally express. Even if speech and comprehension develop at the same time (that is, slowly), the logical solution is not to avoid widening the child’s vocabulary but to familiarize the child with the meaning of inappropriate, focus, disruptive, or success. Ironically, the online article links to another, gender neutral parenting article on how talking, talking, talking is the key to developing language and widening vocabulary — not avoiding certain words because your child is a boy.

By following this gender-specific advice, we train ourselves and our society to perceive boys as more incapable of verbal expression and thus to treat them that way, resulting in — surprise, surprise — fewer verbally expressive men.

All of the advice in the article could just have easily been presented in a gender-neutral way: Certain children require louder decibels to hear, so if your child “ignores” you, she or he may not have heard you in the first place. Certain children have a hard time sitting still. This is because they’re kids.

It’s unnecessary to mention gender at all. In my work as a teacher, I’ve never found gender helpful in diagnosing problems or planning lessons. I assume all children need communication adjusted to their unique personality. I assume all children have short attention spans and a need to move after 15-30 minutes. My students ran the gamut of self-control and communication skills, and I’ve seen them go through all the stages of verbal and physical development that every kid, boy or girl, goes through.

I don’t treat children differently based simply on their sex. I treat them the way they need be to treated at that particular stage in their development. I try not to lower or heighten expectations based on their sex.

The article would have been wise to heed its own warning about gender stereotypes and, in its own words, simply viewed children as the unique individuals they are.

For the Wife Who Married Wrong

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Women, find yourself before you decide to go find a man.

I didn’t do it this way and a lot of us didn’t…doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.

But a confident woman who knows who she is actually knows what she is looking for in a partner. She isn’t looking to validate herself with a good looking lover. She knows what her deal breakers are and so she easily rules out any companions who do not fit.

She knows she is valuable and unique. She understands herself well enough to have an idea when someone isn’t compatible with her.

Lastly, she loves herself already so when she does find a partner and God confirms, she is able to love out of an overflow of a healed heart. She isn’t trying to soothe the wounds of the past with sex and lust… And who knows…maybe once she is whole she realizes the gift of singleness is grand.

Whenever I see good dating advice, I feel regret.

Regret because I didn’t follow the good advice. Regret because I made huge mistakes. Regret because I ignored things that should have been addressed. Regret because I never gave myself the option of breaking up or waiting for something different. Regret because I feared to be unloved. Regret because I feel like I got married too soon, too young, too naive — and I didn’t realize any of this until after I got married.

It’s funny to say that out loud: I regret getting married when I did, I regret dating the way I did, I regret the choices that I made and where I ended up. All of those things are true, but once the eternal covenant is made, there’s no Plan B, no what if, no way to turn back time and try again.

But I need to say the regret out loud. I need to name mistakes as mistakes, bad decisions as bad decisions, if not for my own benefit then for the benefit of others.

I didn’t do the dating thing right.

I was verbally abusive and manipulative.

People were right to tell him to break up with me.

I was far too insecure to know what I wanted out of life or marriage.

Marrying during a catastrophic existential crisis was a terrible idea.

And it hurts — it kills — to say “I shouldn’t have” and “I wish I’d done,” especially when other couples are happy, and not in therapy, and still madly in love with each other, and telling everybody that marriage is the best thing that ever happened to them.

*

Saying those things, it feels like a betrayal of the one you love most, but it’s not. I love my husband. I’m in love with my husband.

Love doesn’t make it any easier.

It makes it more confusing, because you don’t regret marrying him, but you do, in a way, but not because you regret him, even if you sometimes do. You recognize that it’s not his fault, not even when you yell at him that it is. You recognize that it’s not the marriage’s fault, either, even though it’s so dang difficult every day. (“If you’re in a relationship, sometimes you probably feel like you’re fighting a caged death-match with an invisible spider monkey. And the monkey is rabid. And you don’t have any legs. And then a buffalo jumps in there and starts head-butting everything and your face catches on fire and there is a general atmosphere of chaos.”)

It’s a you problem, and always has been, even if the marriage exacerbates the problem and salts the wound you’re trying to heal.

Marrying before you’re ready, before you’re healed, it’s like trying to bench press 250 on a broken arm, all while trying to smile for the camera the whole time. Maybe marriage would be easier, maybe life would be easier, if I knew who I was and what I’d believed, and had the courage to be that way instead of melting down into existential angst.

I keep telling myself, I thought marriage was for broken people?

Isn’t it?

Maybe I’m a different kind of broken.

*

It feels like there’s a textbook brokenness that marriage only strengthens — and I didn’t have that textbook brokenness. I didn’t have textbook anything — an ENFJ marrying an ISTP; a recovering fundamentalist marrying a cradle Catholic; a narrative, empathetic soul marrying a facts and figures brain.

Even now, writing this, I’m giddy over him and who he is and how different we are and how that makes me laugh and challenges me — but that doesn’t take away the regret, and it doesn’t take away the fear that because we weren’t a textbook case, we’re doomed.

I’m a rule follower. Life ends if the rules aren’t followed. I have no imagination beyond the rules. I have no idea what to anticipate, so I don’t know how to react. I have no skillset for improvising life or trailblazing my own path.

When your story doesn’t follow the rules, doesn’t make a neat equation (do x to get y), when it goes completely off the rails into uncharted, unadvised territory, it makes you want to stop dreaming, trying, and hoping.

This is how I think: I broke the dating rules, and now I face the consequences.

*

This was all weighing on my shoulders, unconsciously, when Amber Picota shared the block quote of advice. Everything, everything about her advice is spot on, everything I didn’t do and didn’t understand and should have.

But for the first time, I didn’t feel only regret. I felt hope.

This good advice wasn’t, for once, in the context of the woman who followed all the dating rules and ended up with the marriage of her dreams. It was in the context of, well, having broken the rules — regret, journey, mess, change, the sensibility that only comes from doing it wrong the first time.

“I didn’t do it this way,” she can admit. “A lot of us didn’t.” (Raising my hand.) “Doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.”

Oh, thank God. 

And this is the hope, this is the challenge, this is what I grit my teeth to do every day: My marriage, my life will look different and messy and atypical and never the poster child for good Christian anything…but it doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.

Maybe it’ll even be interesting, for once.

*

“You mean,” said Lucy rather faintly, “that it would have turned out all right – somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?”

“To know what would have happened, child?” said Aslan. “No. Nobody is ever told that.”

“Oh dear,” said Lucy.

“But anyone can find out what will happen,” said Aslan.

I have lost the opportunity to know what would have happened had I waited, and healed, and collected my confidence and self-knowledge, but I can still find out what will happen now that I choose to heal, grow, and stabilize with a good, loving man.

That is still a choice I can make well, and not regret.

NB: I discovered this in my drafts folder. I wrote this a year ago, right at the end of the Seven Months of Marriage Hell where I felt on the brink of separation. I’m really happy to see that my conclusion proved true so far, and our marriage is doing fabulous!

I Broke the Myers-Briggs Test

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A self-portrait of my personality

Does anyone else have trouble with personality tests?

I used to love taking personality tests, particularly the Myers-Briggs. Throughout high school and most of college, I consistently tested as an E/INFJ. My friends and I would discuss the nuances of our results and uncovered lots of insight into ourselves and our friendships.

Then several things happened:

  • I started seriously dating, which brought out a completely different side of me. While I was pretty nonconfrontational and undemanding with everyone else in my life, I was this raging storm of confrontation, demands, and neediness with him and him alone. To this day, I am like two different people when it comes to things like confrontation, conflict, and communication. In my marriage, I am blunt and initiate conflict and confrontation with no fear. With everyone else, I live in fear of conflict. In my marriage, I expect Erich to pull his weight in the relationship. With everyone else, I can overextend myself.
  • Dating also aroused my latent anxiety, and I developed or became aware of habits that looked a lot like insecure-anxious attachment. I had developed coping mechanisms to control this anxiety with other people, but with Erich, it all came out. Which was my real personality — the flood of anxiety or the strength that reined it in?
  • I got burnt out by college and withdrew into introversion. I’ve always been more of an ambivert, but I noticeably changed into an introvert in my senior year — and people annoyed me like never before. I hung out with “my people” and dropped as many obligations that involved dealing with people and their emotions as possible. Today, whether I am introverted or extroverted (that is, whether I lose or gain energy around people) depends primarily on the individuals, the social situation, and how much sleep I got the night before.
  • My inner life and my outer life are very different beasts. At work, I am driven, detail-oriented, and perfectionist out of principle. My self-control is insanely good in public. At home, I have often felt legitimately out of control. In personal conversation, I am docile and overeager to find common ground — to the point where the words coming out of my mouth make no sense because I’m trying to say everything and nothing at the same time. When interacting online, I tend to be too blunt, and stirred up far too much trouble when younger behind the protection of email.
  • My two closest friends (my husband, an ISTP, and my college roommate of three years, something like an INFP) began rubbing off on me. Their major personality differences balanced me out, teaching me new ways of thinking and interacting with the world.

All of these things taken together make personality tests a nightmare. Radically different parts of my personality switch on and off depending on the person I’m with or the situation I’m in. There is a huge difference between how I instinctively react, feel, and believe and who I allow myself to be.

It’s no wonder that the last time I took an Enneagram test, I got this message: “It is not clear from these test results which type you are.”

Do you have similar problems with personality tests? What do you get typed as? The Enneagram tentatively has me as a 6 (which sort of makes sense), and the last time I took a Myers-Briggs test, I got ISFP/Adventurer (which is accurate in its data but not in its explanation of the data).

Edited to reflect my newfound realization that I’ve been spelling “Myers” with an extra E my entire life! Word lovers, psychologists, and people who actually pay attention when they read, I apologize for the agony my misspelling has been causing you.

No Bad Kids

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This is the last installment in my premature celebration of the Week of the Young Child. I didn’t finish up yesterday’s post in time because e.e. and I took advantage of the three hours of spring weather, so you only get 4 posts. Try not to be too upset. If you need more young child inspiration, check out the other posts in this series on infant play, listening to children, and not being a helicopter parent

Christian views on discipline and child development are often based in the idea of original sin. “Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child,” Proverbs tells us. “Beat it out with a stick.” (Rough paraphrase.)

According to this view, every undesirable behavior stems from some sort of conscious choice to do wrong — disobedience, disrespect, or just general naughtiness. Kids are inherently sinful, and their sinfulness affects everything they do.

I cannot disagree with this diagnosis strongly enough.

Yes, the fall affects every aspect of the human experience. We are indeed sinful. But “sin” is not, in my understanding, properly understood as merely disobedience to or rebellion against God’s law. Sin isn’t even primarily willful, conscious choices to do wrong for doing wrong’s sake. Sin is any disturbance of God’s shalom, any disorder of the good things still in this world. This includes disobedience and rebellion, of course, but it also covers the brokenness of the world and the harm we receive from it — whether it’s as “benign” as watching an animal die, suffering from the common cold, or getting yelled at for an accident; or as serious as enduring discrimination or abuse.

Living in a broken world messes us up.

I believe children are born in the image of God — that is, with an innate desire to love, to create, and to do good.  Jesus praises little children as our examples of faith, because he recognizes their motivations to please, to do right, to wonder, and to believe against all odds.

But children are not little angels. They throw fits. They bite other kids. They yell “no” when you tell them it’s time to change their diaper.

How can I make the case that kids are inherently good when we’ve all seen plenty examples of children acting out?

Well, think back to the last time you lost it.

I’ll start. I came home from work and snapped at my husband for not doing the dishes like I’d asked. “You never do anything around the house!” I yelled, instantly remembering a half dozen things he’d done in the past week. Offended, he then pointed out those half dozen things. Instead of apologizing, I grumbled something about him being so sensitive. He gave me a look of hurt and annoyance and turned away. “You don’t care about me!” I yelled. “All you care about is your stupid computer games!” A long rant later, having failed at getting a rise out of him, I stormed into the bedroom and burst into tears.

I just wanted him to hug me. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted the dishes done. I just didn’t know what I wanted; I was too strung out to think straight.

Sure, you could argue that I’m acting out of my total depravity. Maybe you’re right. But I’d gotten no sleep last night while the baby wailed, I’d felt like I spent all my time cleaning our house, an awkward coworker disagreement went down at work, a kid got a bloody nose under my watch, and the unwashed dishes were the straw that broke this weary camel’s back.

I don’t normally snap at my husband, but when I do, I’m sleep-deprived and stressed.

Our adult bad behavior often stems from the hurt or frustration we experience in a broken world. It’s a rare person who chooses to exercise her will in a sinful way just for the sake of it. Physical and emotional ailments wear down the will, making it more prone to hurting others or ourselves, like a wounded animal snarling at its kind owner in self-preservation.

Even with abuse or crime, hurt people hurt people. Hurt begets hurt. Violence begets violence. Abuse begets abuse. We give what we experience.

None of that excuses sin, but it explains the complications of human nature — how pain and ignorance disorder our otherwise good motives, causing harm to ourselves and others.

With children, it’s even less complicated than that. Developmentally immature, children don’t know how to handle the brokenness of the world, not even small things like hunger or minor disappointment. They don’t have the self-control to quell their emotions when they’re stressed; they don’t have the empathy required to see how their actions affect others; they don’t have the knowledge of how to solves problems with words instead of teeth and hands.

Bad behavior, from tantrums to biting to disobedience, is often communication under duress: “I’m tired!” “I want that toy back!” “I feel like that rule is unfair!”

Children don’t explicitly do things to harm or bother others for the sake of harming or bothering. They feel things deeply, and they need to express those feelings. They just don’t know how to do so in appropriate ways.

Neither do many adults, it turns out. Have you ever seen a kid throwing a tantrum in the noodle aisle, only to walk past them again in the cereal aisle and see the mom screaming at the kid for throwing a tantrum in public? Both felt strongly about something, and both expressed their feelings in an inappropriate, immature way.

The thing is, many adults give their own tantrums a pass because their own feelings appear legitimate to them, while they hold kids to a higher standard of behavior simply because their kids’ reasons for throwing a tantrum don’t seem legitimate.

We need to give our children the same respect, grace, and understanding we want when the world wears us down with its many inconveniences, injustices, and hurts. And if you’re not giving or receiving this grace for yourself, you’re not going to be able to give it, either. Just as there aren’t many “bad” kids, there aren’t many “bad” parents, either. Just harried, stressed, tired, overwhelmed, and outnumbered parents who are still learning how to survive in a broken, sinful world.

 

You Are Not the Authority on Your Child’s Feelings

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A rare “cranky” photo. He fussed during our entire Easter photoshoot…because he had just sat through a long church service and was more than ready for a nap.

I’m celebrating Week of the Young Child 2018 a week early! (Yay, mom brain!) Yesterday I wrote about curbing our tendency to tell kids “no, don’t, stop.” Today I’m talking about listening to them. 

I write a lot about the importance of letting people tell their narratives as they see them. I believe this is crucial for understanding and making peace with those who are different from us. When we fail to hear what people are actually saying and meaning, when we hijack their narratives to push our own agenda, we are no longer truth seekers.

Children are no exception. In fact, I think it’s particularly imperative for parents to figure out what their children mean, instead of foisting false motives onto kids. Children are only just becoming self-aware and are much less capable of expressing that self-awareness. We are their last court of appeals; if we get it wrong, they have no one else to turn to.

One of my students injured herself on the playground — tripped while running, regular kid stuff. When her mom asked the girl for an explanation, she didn’t even let her daughter finish the requested explanation before lovingly and kindly butting in with her own version:

“I was running on the playground, and — ”

“No, you weren’t looking where you were going again, were you?”

The girl’s happy smile froze. She didn’t contradict or agree with this assessment. She didn’t know what to say in the face of a parent rewriting the story of how she simply tripped over a stair step. What’s worse, the parent insinuated that this was almost a character issue: you’re too spazzy, you never pay attention.

We hijack our children’s narratives all the time, especially when they’re expressing inconvenient emotions.

I find myself teasingly calling e.e. a crankybutt every time he inexplicably cried. This is dismissive of both his emotions and his communication. It’s not that he understands and is offended by the term “crankybutt”; it’s not that I fail to quickly and gently respond to his cries.

But it is the case that every time I genuinely view him as a crankybutt, I am not accurately identifying his real needs and emotions. Every time I label him without understanding, I train myself to view me as the authority on my child’s emotions and meaning, instead of him.

With that in mind, I try to be intentional in how I speak to and about e.e. When he starts fussing for no apparent reason, I say, “I wonder if you’re feeling tired” or “I wonder if you’d like to lie on your back now; let’s roll you over and see.” Simply adding I wonder reminds me to be observant rather than prematurely dogmatic.

If a nap or a spell on his back doesn’t do the trick, it doesn’t mean he is a cranky, demanding child who, oh my goodness, just needs to stop crying already. It means my assessment was wrong about what his crying meant, and I should try something else. 

When my husband comes home, I try to speak accurately of e.e. Was he really “cranky all day”? Was he really “clingy” or “needy” (both negative words)? Or was he simply in genuine need of more cuddles and attention because he’s an infant and requires Mommy to help regulate his emotions? Maybe he was slightly gassy and I didn’t know it, or feeling extra tired that day, or starting another growth spurt unbeknownst to me.

How we speak of our children to ourselves and to others matters so much, because perception is reality. If we start viewing our kids as whiny, cranky, and naughty, instead of tired, overstimulated, and curious, we will start treating them as whiners, crankybutts, and disobedient children — instead of just kids. We will overwrite and thus erase what our children are trying to tell us in their limited way. 

Even more insidiously and subtly, we’ll blame our kids for our own negative feelings instead of taking ownership of them ourselves. We are worn out at the end of the day, preoccupied with our own exhaustion and stress, so when our preschooler bursts into tears at pickup, we minimize her exhaustion and stress as a “tantrum” in order to cope. “Why are you being such a baby?” we’ll snap. “Stop crying right now.”

Guilty as charged. When e.e. wasn’t napping well and I was zonked from multiple night feedings, I felt frustration, sometimes even anger, at e.e. and his nonstop crying. “You are so frustrating!” I wanted to yell. “Just stop crying and go to sleep and we’ll both be happy!”

With the very last shred of self-control within me, I paused and reminded myself that e.e. was not frustrating; was frustrated; and there’s a big difference.

Correctly identifying and speaking the frustration out loud kept me from blowing my top: “I am feeling frustrated,” I would tell my uncomprehending infant. “You keep crying, I haven’t slept enough, and all of that is making me feel very frustrated with you.”

Reality was restored, the true narrative recovered, and both my feelings and e.e.’s feelings were understood and validated.

Stop Telling Kids to Stop

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My students playing freely with baking soda and colored vinegar. I made only one rule (“Don’t eat anything”), and the only kid who broke never made that mistake again!

It’s the Week of the Young Child! (Actually, it’s the week before the Week of the Young Child, but my young child keeps waking up every forty-five minutes at night and I can’t read dates right, so we’re going to celebrate early.) Yesterday I wrote about playing with infants. Today I’m talking about playing in general, and how boring and restrictive we adults are about it. 

“Don’t walk in the mud!”

“Don’t go near that road.”

“Don’t touch it!”

“Don’t put it in your mouth!”

Caregivers talk almost exclusively in imperative commands. I’ve seen parents hover over their kids, controlling every blink, twitch, and word with some form of negative commentary:

“Hold the door open for her! God. Do not walk in that dirt — DO NOT WALK IN THAT DIRT. I don’t want that in my house. Get out of there right now. Go to the passenger side door, she’s backing out. Stop it, you two; get in. Now! Stop! Stop it! Why are you acting like this?!”

I’ve been that teacher who micromanages every bit of fun that kids have:

“Keep your hands to yourself, Casey; there’s no wrestling at school. No, we don’t stand on that bench, you might fall off and hurt yourself. No, you may not walk up the slide. Get out of the way so Rachel can — Rachel! Feet first down the slide! Put down the snow, Malia, no, ew, don’t eat it, that’s yucky. Friends, get off the ice! Nobody is allowed to play near the ice, remember?”

No, don’t, stop.

We say these things to our children over and over again, even if no real danger is present or harm is done.

It’s often born out of a fear of healthy risk, a disinclination to clean up messes, and, for me especially, a fear of what other people think. Will people think I’m a lax parent if I let my toddler try on a purse while shopping? Will people think I’m a lax teacher if I let kids talk in the bathroom? Is that lady judging my parenting because my son accidentally let a door slam in her face? Will parents think less of me if they see kids pushing each other in the Cozy Coupe car under my watch?

Instead of putting the children’s needs first — their needs to play and explore freely without constantly bumping into a barrier of no, stop, don’t — caregivers often put their own desires first — the desire to look competent and authoritative to others, the desire to not clean up another mess. But it’s emotionally exhausting and ineffective for caregivers to uphold detailed, endless rules that unnecessarily restrict kids. It just breeds power plays and frustration on both ends.

For everyone’s sanity, here are some suggestions to curb this micromanaging tendency:

Create yes spacesA “yes space” in RIE theory is an area with no hazards — a place where, theoretically, your child could explore unsupervised without risk to herself or other objects. It’s a place where caregivers could have no conceivable reason to say “no” to anything their child wants to pull out or play with.

Even if you don’t have a special room or gated area for a “yes space,” put on the onus on you to take away hazards instead of requiring a young child to stymie their curiosity. Put away items, lock cabinets, or move your child to safer area so that they hear “no, don’t touch!” less often. Why create an unnecessary power struggle when you can simply take away the temptation?

Get comfortable with risk. Kids learn through risk. They learn about themselves, their competencies and shortcomings, and the world around them, its hazards and helps. If we constantly police what kids can do under our supervision, they won’t be safe and smart when outside of our supervision.

As an example, I try to let kids walk down the steps of our school’s changing station on their own, even though it’s a bit tricky for younger, uncoordinated kids. I stand right there, ready to catch them if they fall, but I don’t hold their hand unless they request it. Sometimes they trip a bit and risk falling, but those near-falls teach them how to navigate stairs of all sorts on their own. Those children are less likely to do reckless things, since they’ve experienced the risk of nearly falling flat on their face. It’s the kids who get lifted down from the changing table or who always have an adult helping them down who do far more dangerous things (like nearly throwing themselves off the stairs expecting me to catch them!).

Be realistic about harm. Kids will fall, trip, and run into things no matter how many rules we enact or how many times we yell, “Don’t run! Watch where you’re going!” They will get hurt, and there will be scrapes, bruises, and bloody noses. That’s just the nature of childhood.

We have a soft gym at my preschool, and kids love to roll down this ramp on large balls. Some teachers are uncomfortable with this and want the kids to only slide on their bottoms. You know how many kids have injured themselves rolling down the ramp on balls? Zero. And how many kids have hurt themselves merely sliding down the ramp? Plenty.

Besides, kids often ignore adults’ pleas to stop if the risk is minuscule or the request is silly. When I was a kid, I lived on a quiet street in the suburbs. All the neighborhood kids congregated in and around this street to play hockey and ride bikes. We’d been doing this for years when one day, a police officer spotted us riding our bikes back and forth across the street, in and out of our driveways. “That is too dangerous,” he cautioned us. “You could get hit by a car. I don’t want to see any of you doing that again.”

From that day on, we obediently made sure no police officers were nearby before we started up our bike rides.

Even kids as tiny as toddlers will continue to take a risk if they don’t understand the real danger behind it, which is why it’s important to reserve our no, don’t, stop for clear dangers. Otherwise, our no, don’t put the dishwasher pod in your mouth will seem as over-reactionary as no, don’t eat the snow. (We all tasted snow as kids. And leaves. And grass. And our mom’s weird-tasting wood coasters.)

Unless the activity causes intentional injury (e.g., one student slinging balls into other kids’ faces) or a potential for a huge injury (e.g., playing by a busy road), just calm down.

Let children measure their own level of safety. It’s true, kids make dumb decisions. But it’s also true that in certain circumstances kids can evaluate and express when they feel hurt or in danger better than their caretakers. I’m losing count of how many times I’ve pulled two kids apart on the playground, expecting howls of pain, and found both the tackler and the tackled laughing hysterically.

“Ian,” I’ll chastise the offender. “We do not tackle our friends at school. You could have hurt Ryan really badly!”

And then as soon as I turn around, Ryan, that poor, helpless victim, tackles Ian back, still laughing uncontrollably.

For some reason, many kids find it funny to punch, tackle, push, wrestle, and throw balls at each other. Don’t you remember doing things as a kid that just sound horrific now as an adult? I rough housed with my dad, getting tossed on my head and finding it the funniest thing ever. I repeatedly crawled through this huge bushy plant with leaves that gave you millions of paper cuts. I wound up our tire swing and spun around until I was dizzy enough to puke — multiple times.

Every kid tolerates things differently, and we do children a disservice to decide what they can tolerate or not. I’ve determined that my job as a teacher is not to enforce my view of what’s tolerable or not, but to enforce what they view as tolerable or not.

We teach our kids to speak up for themselves: “I don’t like that,” I hear them say all the time to each other, from being called a “buckethead” or getting tackled to the ground. I uphold children’s “I don’t like that.”

If I see Ian going in to tackle Alexa, for instance, I’ll throw myself between the two because I know how much Alexa hates playing rough. If Ryan decides he’s had enough of the tackle game and Ian’s not letting up, I pull Ian off and say, “Ryan told you he doesn’t like that. You need to listen to friends’ words when they tell you they don’t like something.”

Just don’t be a stick in the mud, okay? Really, what’s the harm in your child walking through some damp dirt in the parking lot? Worst case scenario, he gets dirt on your car floor, which is already covered in Cheerio dust and road salt. What’s so bad about kids wrestling each other? Worst case scenario, someone gets hurt, and the game stops. What’s the worst that can happen if you let kids climb up the slide?

I’ll tell you. They can step on their dress, slip, and slam their chin into the landing, resulting in an ER trip and stitches. But did that stop me from climbing up the slide? You bet it didn’t.

And if busting my chin open didn’t stop me from doing something fun, you shouldn’t stop kids from being kids.

How to Play with an Infant

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Our stupidly simple play space: a blanket and Mommy’s mirror

Welcome to the Week of the Young Child 2018! To celebrate, I’m writing a week’s worth of blog posts on how to foster young children and our relationship with them. 

Being that mom, I worried about how to play with my infant son. Did I need to bring out special toys? How long should he have tummy time? Should I be with him at all times? Isn’t he supposed to be rolling over by now? Pinterest, help me before I ruin my child!!!

Of course, e.e. wasn’t remotely interested in any bright toy I waved in front of his face. He gravitated toward stuffing burp cloths in his mouth and staring at blank white walls.

In Resources for Infant Educarers (RIE) philosophy, infants are competent little humans capable of expressing their needs and interests — as opposed to helpless blank slates requiring parents to do everything for them. Obviously, immobile, nonverbal infants require more help than mobile, verbal children, but it’s true that even the littlest of humans aren’t entirely helpless.

Once I began viewing e.e. as capable of thinking and communicating his own wants and needs, I took a step back and respected his ability to entertain himself as well.

I’ve since come to view my role as a parent as less of an entertainer, shaking rattles and singing songs, and more of an observer and a facilitator. I don’t make the fun; I make the space for it.

The light bulb moment happened when he was around two months old.

Every time he suckled for his pacifier, I stuck it in his mouth. Every time, he almost immediately spat it out — and began suckling for it again. Frustrated, I stopped giving him the nook.

“Look at him,” my husband said suddenly. “He’s playing with it.”

Sure enough, e.e. had invented a single-player game of fetch — spitting out the pacifier, then slowly reaching out his tongue to lick or nuzzle it back into his mouth. Then he spat it out again and repeated the whole process.

My two-month-old is making up games? Clearly, I didn’t even know my own child.

Ever since then, I’ve spent a good deal of time just sitting and observing e.e. — his interests, his competencies, his ways of doing things. From those observations, I’ve tweaked the activities we do together to strengthen his interests or pique new ones.

A little while ago, he discovered his hands were not only good for gnawing but also great for grabbing.

That’s when I reintroduced toys, after three months of no luck. But I didn’t play with him, per se. I didn’t jiggle the rattle or kiss his face with the bunny. (At least not very much. I’m only human — totally enamored and obsessed mom human, to be precise.) I just set them out and watched what he did with them.

In his own time, his gaze fell on the fuzzy gray bunny, and his mouth and fingers registered that stuffed animals felt a lot like his beloved burp cloths. He spent a good five minutes pawing and flailing at that bunny.

Then he lost interest.

Normally when a baby loses interest in something, I start shoving the object back in her face, cooing, bouncing, standing on my head to get her attention again. (Why do we do that? Do we feel like failures as caregivers when babies find the ceiling more interesting than our proferred activity? Do we just think that’s just the thing to do with babies? Asking for a friend.)

That’s annoying. That’s rude. That’s the exact thing I snap at my husband not to do. And if I don’t want anybody to stick a toy or a long explanation about hydroponic gardens in my face when I’m obviously writing this blog post, Erich, why does another human’s clear signal of disinterest deserve less respect just because that human is an infant?

So I curb my inexplicable tendencies to be the life of the party. I try to just watch instead, to see if I can facilitate another play opportunity or just let him be.

Babies know what they want.

No, really, they do — that, or my baby’s just the most prodigious infant that ever lived. (Which, like, duh.)

The other day, e.e. expressed an interest in sitting up. Whenever I propped him up on his Boppy pillow, he strained forward until I lifted him into a sitting position. This can’t be developmentally appropriate for his underdeveloped spine, I reasoned, and lowered him back down. But he stuck his neck forward, crunched his belly, and gave me that bewildered why-do-you-do-this-to-me-Mom? look.

The books say he isn’t supposed to be sitting up until four months, but e.e. knew what he wanted, and he knew how to guilt Mommy into making it happen.

Okay. Fine. (But I still want you rolling over, e.e. Prodigious babies roll over.)

Now that I’m looking for e.e.’s cues, his playtime objectives are quite obvious. When he wants to grin or talk, he grins or talks. When he wants to interact with me, he looks in my eyes. When he doesn’t, he looks away. When he gets tired of tummy time, he starts fussing. When he wants to be on his tummy, he rocks his body until I take a hint.

Sometimes he’s smiley and social. Sometimes he’s introspective. Sometimes he wants to stare at blank walls. Sometimes he just wants to gaze into my eyes while making duck lips. And sometimes he wants to lay prone on the ground and complain about life. (Like mother, like son.)

Through observation, I’ve seen e.e. for who he is, what he wants, and what he can do — even as an infant.

*

Okay, weird mom, but really, how do I play with an infant? Here are e.e.’s and my top five suggestions for easy, fun play:

  1. Baby yoga
  2. Songs with motions (“The Wheels on the Bus,” “Hickory Dickory Dock,” “Bananas Unite,” etc.)
  3. Blowing raspberries at each other
  4. Mimicking each other’s vowel sounds and facial expressions
  5. And, of course, chewing on burp cloths