She thought this was hilarious, then added, “I’d rather pass gas than to go to science class.” We laughed until our stomachs hurt, and she didn’t mention tae kwon do again. This technique worked better than telling her to buck up, and it was certainly more fun.
I hit on another rather Pollyannaish strategy that, to my astonishment, really worked to keep me in a “Sing in the morning” frame of mind, all day long: I “reframed” a particular chore by deciding that I enjoyed doing it.
For example, as Eleanor’s birthday approached, I dreaded doing all the little errands—ordering the Baskin-Robbins ice cream cake (a Rubin family tradition), taking the girls to the party store to choose paper plates, buying presents, and making invitations for our family birthday party. I begrudged the time I spent on it. Then I told myself, “I love making plans for Eleanor’s birthday! How fun! I’ll never have a baby this young again!” And…it really did change my attitude. I also reframed by imagining that someone had offered to take over the task from me. Would I let someone else plan Eleanor’s party? Nope. That realization also changed my attitude toward the task.
A friend of mine told me that when his sons were five and three years old, they woke up at six every morning. On the weekends, week after week, he and his wife tried to persuade them to go back to sleep or to play quietly—with no success.
So finally he gave up. He’d let his wife stay in bed, and he’d get the boys dressed and out the door. He’d stop for coffee, then the three of them would head for the park, and he’d watch them play for an hour before they returned home for breakfast.
These days his boys sleep late on the weekends, and now, my friend told me, those mornings are some of his clearest and happiest memories of that period. The morning light, the quiet park, his little boys racing across the grass.
The days are long, but the years are short.
ACKNOWLEDGE THE REALITY OF PEOPLE’S FEELINGS.
As part of my research for the month, I reread, for the fourth time, the collected works of the world’s greatest parenting experts, Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish, and in particular their two masterpieces, Siblings Without Rivalry and How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk. I discovered these books when a friend of mine mentioned that two friends of hers had the best-behaved children she’d ever seen. So when I met that couple, I asked for their secret—and they swore by How to Talk So Kids Will Listen. I ordered it that night, and I became an instant follower of Faber and Mazlish.
What’s different about their books is that they’re packed with practical advice and examples. So many parenting books belabor the arguments about the importance of the goals—as if anyone is disputing that children should be well behaved, respectful, able to tolerate frustration, self-directed, and so on. Fine, but what do you do when your child throws a tantrum in the cereal aisle?
The most important lesson from Faber and Mazlish’s books is simple and as applicable to adults as to children: we should acknowledge the reality of people’s feelings. In other words, don’t deny feelings such as anger, irritation, fear, or reluctance; instead, articulate the feeling and the other person’s point of view. Sounds simple, right? Wrong. I had no idea how often I contradicted my children’s assertions of their feelings until I tried to quit. Too often, I said things like “You’re not afraid of clowns,” “You can’t possibly want more Legos, you never play with the ones you have,” “You’re not hungry, you just ate.”
Crazily enough, I discovered, just repeating what my child was saying, to show that I appreciated her point of view, was often enough to bring peace. Instead of saying to Eleanor, “Don’t whine, you love to take a bath!” I said, “You’re having fun playing. You don’t want to take a bath now, even though it’s time.” This strategy was astoundingly effective—which suggested to me that much of children’s frustration comes not from being forced to do this or that but rather from the sheer fact that they’re being ignored.
So what strategies could I use to help show my children that I was acknowledging their feelings?
Write it down.
For some reason, the simple act of writing something down makes a big impression on my children, even the preliterate Eleanor. To restore peace, it can be enough to whip out pen and paper and announce, “I’m going to write that down. ‘Eleanor does not like to wear snow boots!’”
Don’t feel as if I have to say anything.
Eliza can be a bit of a sulker. Sometimes I pull her onto my lap and cuddle her for five minutes, and when we get up, she’s cheerful again.
Don’t say “no” or “stop.”
Instead, I try to give information that shows that although I understand their desire, I have a reason for not granting it: “You’d like to stay, but we have to go home because Daddy forgot his keys.” Studies show that 85 percent of adult messages to children are negative—“no,” “stop,” “don’t”—so it’s worth trying to keep that to a minimum. Instead of saying, “No, not until after lunch,” I try to say, “Yes, as soon as we’ve finished lunch.”
Wave my magic wand.
“If I had a magic wand, I’d make it warm outside so we didn’t have to wear coats.” “If I were Ozma, I’d make a box of Cheerios appear right now.” This shows that I understand what my kids want and would accommodate them if I could.
Admit that a task is difficult.
Studies show that people tend to persevere longer with problems they’ve been told are difficult as opposed to easy. I’d been doing the opposite with Eleanor. Thinking I was being encouraging, I’d say, “It’s not tough to pull off your socks, just give it a try.” I switched to saying things such as “Socks can be tough to get off. Sometimes it helps to push down the back part over your ankle, instead of pulling on the toe.”
Not long after I’d made my cheat sheet, I had a chance to put these principles to work.
One Saturday, Jamie and I were talking in our bedroom when Eliza burst in crying. We knew it was real crying and not fake crying, because Eliza has a very convenient “tell” when she’s staging her tears. If she balls up her hands and holds them to her eyes, like an actress in a melodrama, she’s faking. This time, her hands were down, so we knew she was really upset.
I pulled her onto my lap, and she sobbed into my shoulder, “People always pay attention to Eleanor, but nobody ever pays any attention to me.”
Jamie and I looked at each other with worried expressions, and Jamie gave me the look that means “I have no idea what to do, can you handle this one?”
Just in time, I remembered my resolution, “Acknowledge other people’s feelings.” Although I knew that it wasn’t factually true that no one ever paid any attention to Eliza, I managed to restrain my first impulse, which was to argue, “What about the five games of Uno I played with you last night?” and “You know everyone loves you just as much as Eleanor.”
Instead, I said, “Wow, that hurts your feelings. You feel ignored.” That seemed to help. I rocked her for a few minutes in silence, then added, “You feel like people pay more attention to Eleanor.” “Yes,” she said quietly, “so what should I do?” Instead of groping for some facile solution, I said, “That’s a tough question. You, Daddy, and I will give it some serious thought.”
When we stood up, she threw her arms around my waist and gave me a big hug, one that felt more needy than grateful. I figured she needed some reassurance. I put my arms around her and said, “No matter what, you know that you’re our most precious, darling Eliza, and no one would ever forget about you or think that someone else is more important than you.”
“Come on, Eliza, let’s go see if my bread dough has risen,” Jamie said. “You can punch it down.” She took his hand and skipped off!
Experts say that denying bad feelings intensifies them; acknowledging bad feelings allows good feelings to return. That sure seemed to be what happened with Eliza. This was a real happiness breakthrough: not only was this approach more effective in soothing Eliza, it was far more gratify
ing to me to act in a loving way, instead of giving in to my impulse to act in a dismissive or argumentative way.
Jamie is skeptical of child-rearing “techniques,” and he hasn’t glanced inside a book about parenting since he tossed aside What to Expect When You’re Expecting after the first chapter, but even he started to use this strategy. I watched one morning when, after Eleanor threw herself, kicking and screaming, onto the floor, he picked her up and said soothingly, “You’re frustrated. You don’t want to wear your shoes, you want to wear your ruby slippers.” And she stopped crying.
BE A TREASURE HOUSE OF HAPPY MEMORIES.
Sometimes the importance of some bit of happiness-related research or advice won’t hit me when I’m reading about it; only later do I grasp that I stumbled across something essential.
One piece of wisdom that didn’t resonate with me initially was the importance of keeping happy memories vivid. But as I mulled over this principle, I realized the tremendous value of mementos that help prompt positive memories. Studies show that recalling happy times helps boost happiness in the present. When people reminisce, they focus on positive memories, with the result that recalling the past amplifies the positive and minimizes the negative. However, because people remember events better when they fit with their present mood, happy people remember happy events better, and depressed people remember sad events better. Depressed people have as many nice experiences as other people—they just don’t recall them as well.
With this knowledge in mind, I vowed to take steps to help everyone in the family to experience happy times more vividly. Jamie loves looking at photo albums and has a secret sentimental streak for things like outgrown baby clothes, but he’s not going to put in the time necessary to pull memorabilia together. If I wanted a treasure house of happy memories for my family, I needed to be the one to build it.
I stopped resenting the tedious hours I spend maintaining our family photo albums. I use these albums as a family diary, to capture little family jokes or funny incidents as well as the usual round of birthday party, Thanksgiving dinner, and vacation scenes. Photos help me recall happy details that once seemed unforgettable: how Jamie used to make rice pudding all the time; how tiny our four-pound Eliza was when she was born; and how Eleanor loved to show off her belly button. Without photographs, would we remember the fall afternoon when we wandered through Central Park with Eliza dressed as a “lovely fairy” or Eleanor’s ecstasy the first time we put her in a swing?
Not a chance.
Beyond the taking of photographs, another way to accomplish this goal was to embrace my role as the family reporter, to spread family cheer. We have two sets of extremely engaged grandparents, and the two who live around the corner are as eager for information as the pair who lives in Kansas City. I made more of an effort to e-mail informational notes with updates from the pediatrician’s visit, reports on school events, or funny things that happened. Now that I’m a parent myself, I realize how much the happiness of parents depends on the happiness of their children and grandchildren. By sending around a quick, fun e-mail, I can give everyone in the family a lift (and also myself—do good, feel good). As I’d learned in February, even Jamie likes to get e-mails during the day with interesting bits of family news.
With this in mind, when I joined Jamie in our bedroom after tucking Eleanor in for the night, I said, “I don’t think I’ve told you about Eleanor’s new good-night ritual. Now when I’m done rocking Eleanor, I carry her to the window, and she says, ‘Good night, world.’”
“Does she really?” he asked in a tender voice. Without my resolution, I might never have bothered to mention it.
Resolving to be a “treasure house of happy memories” also got me thinking about the importance of family traditions. Family traditions make occasions feel special and exciting. They mark the passage of time in a happy way. They provide a sense of anticipation, security, and continuity. Studies show that family traditions support children’s social development and strengthen family cohesiveness. They provide connection and predictability, which people—especially children—crave. I know that I enjoy a holiday more when I know exactly what we’re going to do and when we’re going to do it.
At the same time, because family traditions usually involve special decorations, special food, a special sequence of events, and participation by certain people, most traditions (other than the tradition of ordering a pizza during the Super Bowl) involve a fair amount of trouble and are a potential source of guilt, resentment, anger, and disappointment.
I was right to start my happiness project with a focus on energy. When I felt energetic, I enjoyed putting up decorations, getting out the video camera, and all the rest. When I felt low, everything seemed like a burden. Last year, I kept putting off buying a pumpkin for Halloween, and we ended up not getting one at all. Eliza and Eleanor didn’t seem to mind, but I was shocked by myself. That counts as Mommy malpractice in my book.
But even though we didn’t have a pumpkin, I did manage to keep up our family’s personal Halloween tradition. Every Halloween, I take a picture of Eliza and Eleanor in their costumes, put the photo in a Halloween-themed picture frame, and add it to our Halloween photo gallery. I also give a copy to each pair of grandparents, so they have their own set. This tradition takes a fair amount of effort, but it’s fun to have a set of holiday photos that we put out for just one week of the year, it gives a sense of family continuity, and it’s an excuse to give a present to the grandparents—that’s a lot of happiness bang for the buck.
My desire to be a treasure house of happy memories gave rise, however, to a problem. I didn’t know what to do with my children’s various keepsake papers, such as those Halloween pictures. I wanted the girls to have their own copies. Where should I put them? I also wanted both girls to have a copy of their yearly birthday party invitations, the family Valentine’s cards, family wedding invitations, class photos, and so on—but where to keep all the stuff? Making little stacks in out-of-the-way cabinets and pinning papers to the bulletin board, as I’d been doing, wasn’t a good long-term solution.
A friend told me that she kept scrapbooks of such items for each of her kids, but my heart sank at the thought. I was barely keeping up with our family photo albums. Then my Eighth Commandment started flashing inside my head: “Identify the problem.” What was the problem? I wanted to save all these mementos for Eliza and Eleanor, but I didn’t know where to put them. I wanted a convenient, inexpensive, attractive way to store them that would keep them organized without taking up too much room.
Instead of moving various piles around the apartment, as I usually did when confronted with this kind of problem, I forced myself to sit and think. Convenient. Inexpensive. Attractive. Organized. Paper storage.
And just like that, I thought of a solution. File boxes. I bought two the very next day. Instead of buying ugly cardboard file boxes, I splurged and bought a slightly fancier version from an upscale office supply store. The boxes were a pleasing tan color, covered with a woven fabric, with proper wooden handles. I fitted out each one with a pack of hanging files.
I started with Eliza. After gathering up a lot of loose memorabilia from around the apartment, I made a folder for each year of school, past and future, in which I put her birthday party invitation, a copy of the photo I took each year on the first day of school, the program from the school holiday party, some characteristic work, our family Valentine’s card, a camp photo, and so on. Then I did the same with the few items I had for Eleanor.
These boxes make it easy to store these mementos neatly, and they’ll make great keepsakes for the girls when they’re older. How fun to imagine that when they’re fifty years old, they’ll be able to look back at their birthday party invitations from nursery school! I was so pleased with the system that I started a box for Jamie and me too, divided by year.
As I thought about the various traditions we observed, it occurred to me that I didn’t need to wait for traditions to emerge spontaneously. A
“new tradition” may be a bit of an oxymoron, but that shouldn’t stop me from inventing a tradition that I wished we had.
Jamie came up with a great one: Polite Night. He suggested that every Sunday night, we set the table properly, enforce good manners, and have a nice meal together. Calling it “Polite Night” was my brilliant stroke. It turned out to be a very useful exercise and a lot of fun.
Also, when she was little, I’d started the tradition of Eliza and her grandmother taking a weekly music class together, and when Eleanor was old enough she started a weekly class, too. Judy is deeply involved in music and theater, and having this weekly date means that grandmother and granddaughter see each other at least once a week, in a context that allows Judy to impart her enthusiasm for music to the girls. Then I thought—what about their grandfather? He needed a grandchild tradition of his own, so I invented one. I proposed that a few times each year, during her vacations, Eliza would visit her grandfather at his office for lunch. He thought it was a terrific idea, and these lunches have been a great success.
I have no idea how Jamie and I started this, but we have a family tradition of yelling “Family love sandwich!” and scooping up the girls in a big tight hug. Our version of a secret handshake.
I wondered what traditions other people might observe, so on my blog, I asked readers for ideas from their families. Some of my favorites:
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When I was a kid and wanted my three younger sisters to help me clean the house—I invented a game called “Cleaning Company.” (I had no idea there actually were such companies.) I’d pretend the phone was ringing (“Prrring! Prrring!”) with hand to ear holding an invisible receiver. (“Hello, Cleaning Company. What’s that you say? You need us to come over right now and clean your house for a party? We’ll be right over, ma’am.”) Then, I’d clap my hands together excitedly and announce to my sisters, “Sounds like another job for Cleaning Company!” We’d pretend to pile into an imaginary car and drive over to our living room (“vroomvrooming” all around the house first—we were all still in elementary school so this was pretty fun for us). Then, we’d start cleaning whichever room we’d been assigned to briskly while repeatedly singing, “Cleaning Company! Cleaning Company! Woo woo!” with a raise of our hands (or feet if our hands were full) with every “Woo woo!” Pretty crazy, huh?