Conflict. Resolution.

Conflict.

There has been some of this recently, as of course there always is.

The biggest problem right now comes at the beginning and end of each day, when the kids go to brush their teeth.  They like to brush simultaneously, syncing up their electric toothbrush beeps.  Except sometimes one does not wait for the other to get out of bed or climb up the stairs.  And so fighting and crying ensues, here at the time of day when you really want calm and kindness. We've talked it out and tried compromises, but it hasn't worked. My Little Chickadees blogger Shelley told me she's had similar problems and eventually made a one-kid-in-the-bathroom at the same time.  So we started that last night, though they resisted being separated.  Twins are funny that way:  best friends, worst enemies, but always wanting to be together regardless.

Conflict isn't just at home.  And it's not always as clear cut as who brushes first.  Neighbor Boy is inadvertently causing some conflict these days.  He gets home from school first and waits for the kids to get off their bus, watching from his bedroom to come over as soon as they're home.  They don't always want to play with him, though, but have trouble saying so.  We've been practicing some ideas, like "I want to play by myself right now."  But Neighbor Boy is persistent.  "Can I just watch?" he says coming into the yard.  The kids try "no, thanks" a few times, with my coaching, but it doesn't work and Neighbor Boy doesn't leave(.  And there we are, all three of us, stymied by a second grader.

Because, you see, I'm terrible at conflict and conflict resolution.  Sure, I know about listening and using "I" messages, but I actually rarely ever get to that point.  Because I give up, give in, or, in the worse cases, just stay silent. And that's when I  notice that I'm upset or angry or frustrated or annoyed or sad; often, I'm moving to fix it before I know what it is.  I've always thought I was just the type of person who didn't get angry or upset, or that it was "nice," Southern etiquette to be agreeable (and not honest or direct), but I think the truth is that I'm very uncomfortable with painful emotions and so avoid them almost at whatever cost.  As I look back, this is a very entrenched habit, which, on reflection, has not served me or my friends and loved ones well (even or especially because I tend to have low or no-conflict people around me, weeding out the high-conflict ones quickly)

Now, Mama and I have been together for 18 years this summer and, in true lesbian stereotypical fashion, we process everything.  And I think I can manage our conflicts--and we don't have many (which might be because I avoid them)--because I feel safe and know she loves me and isn't going anywhere; besides, we practice talking things out a lot.  But otherwise, with everyone else, whom I don't practice with or feel that comfortable around, I might be something of a doormat, trying to never say anything that will directly cause me or the other person to be upset, or by not reacting or responding when they upset me (I guess because I would choose upsetting myself than someone else, almost every time). Sometimes by apologizing to them.  Oftentimes by being silent.  Sometimes permanently, of which I am ashamed.

Except, that is, when I reach my boiling point, and emotion spills over uncontrollably.  And that's not good or pretty either.

So, how do I teach conflict resolution if I avoid conflict and never have real resolution?  Yes, I have non-violent communication, or NVC, and I have probably been drawn to that by its model for expressing needs and understanding feelings.  But I'm not sure how often I model that in my own behavior, even if I talk a good game.  I mean, I've been confounded by a second grader, whom I didn't want to upset by asking him to leave. And so I disappointed the kids and upset myself.  (That particular incident ended on a high note, as the kids all decided to play together and created a circus performance on the playset, which was fun.)

But I'll be thinking about how to do that better next time, probably by studying some more NVC and consciously responding in the moment instead of avoiding, repressing, or glossing over it.  So the kids will do better than I do every time.

Resolution.

Smad

"It makes me really sad and mad that people do stuff to animals. I'm so sad and so mad I'm . . . smad!" --Stink in Judy Moody, M.D.: The Doctor Is In! by Megan McDonald

"Smad" is our new favorite word. The kids first heard it on a Judy Moody book-on-tape during their drive to school or kung fu. They rushed upstairs, giggling hysterically at their new word, ready to see if I knew it. I didn't then. I get it now.

It is so apropos . . . of growing up, of growing older . . . of living. Bud is smad that he has to go to school when he'd rather stay at home. Sis gets smad at Bud, when he won't play what she wants. I'm smad that my foot hurts just as I got my back better. Mama is smad about that too (not at me, but for me, for her, for all of us). It even sounds like what it means.

Funny, the more I think about those feelings, the more I find they often go together. In NVC, both those feelings are said to arise in us when our needs are not met--we are sad to be let down, angry that things we wanted didn't work out. Helplessness, frustration, disappointment, lack of control. Smad.

But, what's the positive equivalent combination? Happy and grateful. Grappy? Hapful? We'll have to work on that one.

A Good Day for Compassion

I didn't watch the televised memorial for the victims of Tuscon's shooting, with President Obama, last night. But I'm reading about it this morning (here and here and here and here and here).

And I am inspired.

“At a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized, at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who think differently than we do, it’s important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we are talking with each other in a way that heals, not in a way that wounds. . . .

"So sudden loss causes us to look backward – but it also forces us to look forward, to reflect on the present and the future, on the manner in which we live our lives and nurture our relationships with those who are still with us. We may ask ourselves if we've shown enough kindness and generosity and compassion to the people in our lives. Perhaps we question whether we are doing right by our children, or our community, and whether our priorities are in order. We recognize our own mortality, and are reminded that in the fleeting time we have on this earth, what matters is not wealth, or status, or power, or fame – but rather, how well we have loved, and what small part we have played in bettering the lives of others. . . .

"The loss of these wonderful people should make every one of us strive to be better in our private lives – to be better friends and neighbors, co-workers and parents. And if, as has been discussed in recent days, their deaths help usher in more civility in our public discourse, let's remember that it is not because a simple lack of civility caused this tragedy, but rather because only a more civil and honest public discourse can help us face up to our challenges as a nation, in a way that would make them proud. . . .

"I believe we can be better. Those who died here, those who saved lives here – they help me believe. We may not be able to stop all evil in the world, but I know that how we treat one another is entirely up to us. I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us."

We can all use a little more compassion in our lives, a word I'll use instead of civility, which strikes me now as almost too politicized. Compassion is the act of listening to and for the feelings and needs of ourselves and others in order to connect with each other.

And despite all the focus on talk radio and politicians, the public, national, political forum isn't the only arena that requires more compassion. We've all bemoaned drivers' manners while merging, people's attitudes in parking lots and grocery lines, neighbors' disagreements about yards and mowing. And of course, too much yelling and bossing in the family. But it's not just "them." I know, because I've been both complainer and complained about.

So, this morning, our second snow day, as I stand and read about tragedy and sadness not only in Arizona but all over the world, I embrace my family and re-commit myself to compassion. (But, as for talking to the kiddos about Tuscon, I won't be unless somehow they hear about it; see here.)

And, though we have no rain puddles in the Connecticut suburbs today, we're going to go play in the snow later today. In honor of Christina Taylor Green and with hope and compassion for us all . . .

Getting a Ticket

No, no, I'm a good driver! And, knock wood, I haven't gotten that kind of ticket in 20 years.

This is a different kind of ticket, part of a rewards system we've instituted, based upon an amalgam of plans that Mama Teacher implements at home and at school, with such arcane and Byzantine rules that only vested 5-year olds can keep track!

The kids get a ticket (a colored piece of index card with a stamp of a bunny or penguin):

• if they complete their checklists and other tasks as assigned without any undue delay;
• on a surprise basis based on their behavior, but--and here's the trick--they can't do things specifically to earn tickets; in other words, we "catch them out" in good deeds and reward them accordingly (like when Bud brought in both their backpacks from the car or Sis did the same with their lunch kits);
• for positive behaviors above and beyond the call of duty, like following directions and holding it together during the hailstorm that sent us to the basement
• and my favorite, for "trading in" old toys they no longer use, understanding completely that the toys go away to other kids; if the toy is used by both, they split the value and must agree.

Tickets are never taken away. However, "outs" are given if something egregious occurs--three "strikes" (warnings to stop), or violence--and if you get three outs, you don't get to shop that week. Tickets can be redeemed at the weekly "family store," held on Sunday afternoons. Objects are priced from 1 ticket to 20. The kiddos generally earn about 7-10 tickets a week and are encouraged to save tickets from week to week to get the, literally, "bigger ticket" items (which this week include a small Playmobil knight set and a Calico Critter furniture set; think about a dollar per ticket, on average, but not exactly). We are also working on having non-thing choices, such as an outing alone with a parent, a meal at a restaurant, some kind of activity. But no candy and no stuffed critters. Period.

My favorite part is when the kids are close but not quite to the number of tickets they need to trade in for something they want. So, they run around the house looking for old toys to offload, as I make suggestions based on what I know they don't use and what I'm keen to get rid of. I feel like an auctioneer, "I'll give you three tickets for the puzzle, three tickets, going, going, gone!"

Another caveat--see, I told you this was convoluted--kids can help us choose what goes in the store. For instance, we were at the Ren Faire on Saturday (more on that soon) and Bud wanted a siege tower but it was above our standard allowance of the equivalent of the admission fee for souvenirs, and so he bargained with Mama to have it purchased for the store so that he could trade in tickets for it on Sunday. And it worked. Brilliantly.

Okay, I've told you what and how, but not why. Which is as murky as the rules above and emerged for a variety of disparate reasons. First, we realize that we have too much stuff and are, perhaps as older parents who like to buy things (especially the parent who works!), always thinking of things to get the kids. But we want to discourage the "greedy gimmes," and have the kiddos understand that sometimes they need to earn their things and not just feel entitled to having everything they want. While still letting them have things. But without real money and an allowance involved, since they don't really understand the value of money yet. Call this a pre-allowance project. Secondly, we were keen to encourage them to let go of things they didn't use and to think about what they really wanted.

But I had real reservations about a). rewarding them for what I feel like they should be doing anyway as healthy, responsible individuals (like brushing their teeth) and as part of the family (like picking up their dirty clothes) and b). using tickets as a bribe for discipline and good behavior, which goes against all my NVC training on respecting the individual, establishing a connection, making requests, communicating, etc (instead of threatening punishment and offering rewards, which is really only short term). While Mrs. Director assuaged my concerns on the former, suggesting that because we all function as a family, we all get to share in some of the family reward and that it's not a one-to-one correlation between, say, unloading the dishwasher and getting the ticket exactly, I'm still hesitant about the latter, especially when they do things just to get the tickets, not because it's "right" or "good."

Sigh.

But as Mrs. Director points out, this works now--and it does, by "works" I mean curbs our propensity for stuff and encourages positive, responsible behaviors--but it won't work later so we'll try something new then. Frankly, I like the multifacetedness (I know, not a real world) of the plan.

Still, I try to do our jackal and giraffe talks (a la NVC) as the opportunity arises, encouraging talks about feelings and needs and how these are met and unmet as we interact.

Right before I give out the tickets!

Needs, Me, and NVC

(Mercy, I write all this and it sounds just like some kind of New-Age cult. But it clarifies my thinking, even if it doesn't sound clear at all. And so I write this mainly for my own edification. For past, perhaps more explanatory posts, see here and here and here and here).

I had thought I would spend this very rainy Saturday with the kids while Mama worked from dawn to dusk on an important project; instead, her project was postponed and I got to attend the NVC workshop I'd organized.

While the parts were exhausting (from set up and clean up to my head cold and sitting for 8+ hours), the sum was exhilerating. Not only did I learn more of the approach of NVC, I did some difficult personal work on communication and connection--let's leave it at there is a person with whom I know I don't communicate well and I would like to try again, with improved skills that will allow for, I'm hoping, a better connection between us. In fact, it would be hard to adequately summarize the effects of the day, so I'll focus on outlining what I learned.

• Honest expression, or Observation/Feeling/Need/Request (OFNR), is the core of NVC as I understand it. Practicing these honest expressions is at the heart of many of the workshops I've attended (this was my 5th). But this time, we did the NVC dance--pieces of paper labeled with the steps and we moved between them bodily as we considered a communication issue we were having. Funny that such physical movement would change the way you conceive of and construct an honest expression, but it allowed me to more fully clarify what I was considering. Then, the workshop leader added a question at the front--"Intention to Connect?"--which urged us to consider, very basically, what our intentions were in even considering an honest expression. And there I sat wondering if I really even had an intention to connect, if I really wanted to improve things. When the answer was yes, I could more clearly proceed. Then, our small group leader removed the "O," realizing that we were all getting bogged down in pinpointing an observation that precipitated our need to connect. This also freed me up from cataloging things and allowed me to get to the heart of the matter without any burdens or baggage. Confused yet? Just go with it . . . .
• Then we went through several other exercises--considering a trigger (an interaction that, in this case, provokes difficult emotions), providing empathy for ourselves in response to the trigger, providing empathy for the other person (so that we consider the other side)--and mind you this is all imagined--that allowed us to consider ways to communicate and the feelings that might arise in advance (or, even if we never, ever had these conversations, to explore our needs and feelings).
• This all lead to a new concept for me, "honoring the beauty of the need." This is basically the idea that having needs, even those that are unmet, attests to something beautiful in the human condition. Let's say I have the need for community that is unmet, meaning I haven't managed to connect with a group of friends. Regardless, the fact that I desire to participate in a group for mutual friendship and support says something positive about me and I should celebrate that, even if I'm having trouble satisfying that need. Does that make sense?
• Anger as an ally: what makes you angry? (oooh, non-NVC alert: nothing makes us feel some way; we are triggered and choose are feelings and responses). Look carefully at what when you get angry and you will most likely see a need that is unmet (this is similar to jackal voice of blame and judgment pointing you to a need. This leads to "make friends with your jackal--jackals are just giraffes with a language problem!). This is particularly important because that curiosity about the unmet needs leads you away from the "blame game" of figuring out whose fault something is. I had thought I would spend the day parsing out small incidents with Mama that make me see red, but really, those are simple, because when I look at them, they all have one thing in common: I feel angry when I need support in my efforts of be a good mom and to keep the house in order. Which I've told her and she heard and accepted. But then we're strongly connected and communicate well. Challenge addressed.
• Okay, more rhetoric: "emotions put us into motions for getting needs met"
• And another, "meet one need, mourn the other." This is about regret, when you try to meet a need and are unsuccessful. Regret not only points you in a direction for meeting future needs (i.e. by alerting you to unsuccessful strategies but also to how much you need something) but also points you towards self-empathy when a need is not met.
• Have to vs. choose to. Rosenberg, who founded NVC, has said that "should" is the most violent word in the English language (I have said elsewhere that I think "still" and "yet" are. But it's the same idea.) Basically, this is another core tenet of NVC: that you are responsible and have agency--no one makes you feel or do anything. You choose. Sure some of the choices are quite obvious (i.e. aren't "real" choices, like pulling your child away from running into the street), others have difficult consequences (like not paying taxes). But by recognizing that everything is a choice, you realize what your needs are, your priorities. Like, let's say I moan about "having" to make dinner. I don't "have" to make dinner. Someone else could or I could buy it. But perhaps I am committed to making dinner, perhaps I "choose" to make dinner, even when I don't really want to, because I value my contribution to the family or my need for healthy foods or saving money. Then the burden of making dinner isn't foisted upon me but is my choice. So choose and enjoy your choice. Let go of regret, move from resentment to acceptance. Your energy will change.
• On "street giraffe" or how to take all this awkward-sounding, New-Age cult language and make it sound normal to people unfamiliar with or suspicious about NVC: words are just a strategy. Once you understand the ideas, you can use other lingo, like for "need" use "it's important," "meaningful," "value," "wish/hope for," "care about" or for feelings use "what's going on" or just "you are ____." For "would you be willing to tell me what you heard me say/how you feel about what I said" try "how does that sit with you?" or "what comes up for you?"
• Finally, for gratitude, which is how we end every session (after starting the session with introductions focused on "what's alive for you?"): "thank you" is like "I'm sorry" in NVC and is seen as not an effective communication strategy, in the sense that if you just say "thank you" (or "I'm sorry") in many instances, you aren't explaining how you feel. So instead, you work through OFNR again to express gratitude, really outlining how we were affected. Take my "thank you" email to our organizers, which basically said "I feel so happy about the workshop because it met my needs for community and learning." It's much more constructive, and even meaningful, than "thanks a lot."

Despite the rain, we all enjoyed the community of connection we created in our mutual goal of learning. This was enhanced by the food, the majority of which was made by my friend Rev. M (the soups I brought weren't such a success and I didn't get a chance to bake this time). She believes in the power of good food to complement and reinforce a learning experience (and I would add, any occasion), to nourish the body and soul thereby creating a sense of community and connection. Certainly, it is a highpoint of the day, if also because by not actively engaging in NVC practice we are able to assess and absorb what we've learned. But then, for me, the whole day was a highpoint.

-=-=-=-=-=

Dried Cherry and Almond Muffins

¾ cup milk

3 Tablespoons milk

½ cup dried sour cherries

1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Pinch ground ginger

½ stick (4 Tablespoons) unsalted butter, cur into small pieces

1 ½ cup all-purpose flour

½ cup sugar

2 teaspoons double-acting baking powder

¼ teaspoon salt

1 lg egg, beaten lightly

1/3 cup slivered blanched almonds

In a small saucepan whisk together ¾ cup milk, cherries, cinnamon, and ginger. Simmer the mixture for 2 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat. Stir in the butter, stirring until melted. Let the mixture cool.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Into the cherry mixture whisk the egg, almonds, and the 3 Tablespoons of milk. Pour the wet mixture over the dry mixture. Stir the batter until just combined.

Spoon the batter into a buttered 1/3 cup muffin tin, filling them ¾ full. Bake at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes, or until they are golden and springy to the touch. Let the muffins cool for five minutes. Turn them out onto a rack.

-=-=-=-=-

Cream of Celery Soup

4 cups celery, 1” chunks

3 cups potatoes, 1” chunks

4 cups water

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup celery, very finely minced

1 cup onion, minced

¼ teaspoon celery seed

¼ teaspoon salt

3 Tablespoons butter

1 cup milk

¼ cup or more sour cream or heavy cream

(white) pepper to taste

Bring chuncked celery, potatoes, water, and 1 teaspoon of salt to a boil in a saucepan. Cook, covered until soft. Puree in blender. Transfer to soup pot.

Saute minced onion with ¼ teaspoon salt until translucent. Add minced celery and celery seed. Saute until tender. Add to the puree in the soup pot.

Whisk milk, heavy cream or sour cream into soup about ten minutes before serving. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Do not cook the soup—just heat to serve.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Lentil Soup with Spinach, Tomatoes, and Cumin, Vegetarian

(Makes about 6 servings, recipe slightly adapted from The Sugar Solution Cookbook.)

1 T olive oil

1 1/2 tsp cumin seeds (not ground)

1 large onion, chopped small

4 cloves garlic, minced (about 1 T minced garlic)

1/2 tsp. ground coriander

fresh ground black pepper to taste

1 tsp. paprika

1 1/2 cups brown lentils

4 cans vegetable broth or water (about 7 cups, original recipe called for 5 cups water)

(could probably substitute chicken stock if you don't have vegetable broth)

1 can (14.5 oz.) diced tomatoes with juice (I use Muir Glen organic canned tomatoes)

2 cups chopped spinach (tightly packed)

salt to taste (I didn't use any salt since I used canned vegetable broth)

Put olive oil and cumin seeds in large heavy dutch oven and cook over medium heat until fragrant and starting to pop, about 3 minutes. (Stir a few times so they don't burn.) Stir in onion, minced garlic, ground coriander, and black pepper and cook, stirring frequently, until onions are softened, about 4 minutes. Stir in the paprika and cook about 1 minute more.

Add lentils and vegetable broth, reduce heat, and simmer uncovered about 30-40 minutes, or until lentils are quite tender.

Add diced tomatoes and juice and chopped spinach and simmer uncovered 20-30 more minutes, until soup ingredients are well blended and lentils are starting to break apart. Season to taste with salt and serve hot.

This printable recipe from KalynsKitchen.com.

Valuing the Kidddos

One of my favorite authors, Karen Maezen Miller, of Momma Zen, has launched a new website, timed for the release of her (much-anticipated in my house) new book, Hand Wash Cold: Care Instructions for an Ordinary Life. Today's blogpost, titled "Valuing the Child," culminated a trend I have sensed here at home.

It began about a week ago, with Sis repeatedly urging Mama and I to "come on." That phrase drives me nuts. Especially from a kid. When I'm trying my best. And I heard Mama, who is equally frustrated by it, "Sis, I bet we say that to you a lot and you don't like it much." "No, I don't." Touché.

And then, the other night, as we were getting ready for bed--the clock was green and counting down to the end of the bedtime ritual--Sis cried, "He always gets more books!" Mama told her that was because he gets dressed first. "But I like to take my time," she protested.

Yesterday, we were hoping to go outside, at the kids' request, but they were dragging their feet about getting all the snow gear on. So I told them I was going to set the timer and if we weren't ready or at least making progress, we weren't going out. Immediate tears from both kids. "Mom, I can't get dressed fast," Bud cried.

And I remembered Miller's post:

"Not to expect.

Not to push.
Not to accelerate. . . .

To value a child is to value them as they are. To support them where they are.
To show them the immeasurable and eternal value of love."

Sure, I had been using all my good NVC giraffe language much of the time, explaining to them what I wanted (fun, play, connection, cooperation) and how it made me feel when they didn't share this need (anger, sad, frustrated, annoyed). But I have been forgetting the point of both NVC and "valuing the child" this last week or so: it's not about nice strategies to get what I want, but about respecting the kids and connecting with them to meet both of our needs, to acknowledge and then value them as they are (I should add, in hopes that one day, they can do the same for me and everyone around them). And all the rush and pushing and "come ons" haven't been effective strategies for meeting anyone's needs. Especially because I don't really want to rush this part of their lives, of my life--I want to value our time together. And so I start again, because as Miller notes, we are always growing.

Here is a Wonderful Day

"There is a Wonderful Game" by Hafiz

There is a wonderful game we should play,
And it goes like this:
We hold hands and look into each other's eyes
And scan each other's face.
Then I say,
"Now tell me a difference you see between us."
And you respond,
"Hafiz, your nose is ten times bigger than mine!"
Then I would say,
"Yes, my dear, almost ten times!"
But let's keep playing.
Let's go deeper,
Go deeper.
For if we do,
Our spirits will embrace
And interweave.
Our union will be so glorious
That even God
Will not be able to tell us apart.
There is a wonderful game
We should play with everyone
And it goes like this...

from I Heard God Laughing- Renderings of Hafiz by David Ladinsky

Saturday was the day-long nonviolent communication (NVC) workshop (which was started with the above quote) that I had been worried about and preparing for all week. And it was marvelous. Though it was the same material and instructor as the workshop I attended last year, I had more insights and was inspired. Without delving into NVC theories, which you can gather here, I want to give you a snapshot of my day:

• If you ask a mom "how are you?" she will often answer about her kids. Trust me, it's exactly what happened to me when I met up with my co-organizers. Miss J (yes, there are a lot of people in my life whose names start with that letter) asked how I was doing, and I said that the kids were feeling better. Which I guess means I was feeling better, but really shows sometimes how out of touch with ourselves we can be.
• During these workshops, we often get into small groups to go over a situation that we would like to explore with more clarity. Mine was the recent uncomfortable conversation at the "dinosaur museum" with the nosy questioners. And so, my honest expression (OFNR--observation, feeling, need, request) was something along the lines of "When I hear you asking questions about my family, I feel worried because I need respect and acceptance. Would you be willing to change the subject?" Or something like that. Anyway, one of my group members said, basically, "B.S. Tell them to shut up." But I often see these conversations as a teachable moment for people who are more curious or ignorant that actually mean. Sometimes, however, like that time, they can also be very ill-timed, especially with my in-laws there and the kids listening. And so, with the help of the trainer, I realized that I'm torn in these situations--I want to address the questions in a meaningful way so as to both reach out to the stranger but also to model for the kids how to be proud of our family while at the same time I want to be with my family and not satisfy the ideal curiosity of strangers while we're trying to have a good time. So, as the trainer suggested, I need to be real, not nice. To figure out what I really want in any situation and then say so, something like, "I'm torn. I appreciate your interest but today I'm trying to spend time with my kids." I'm still working on it, but it gives me a start for addressing questions that we get frequently and which I've never known how to answer.
• The trainer, in talking to me about that, also said something illuminating: when you have two needs that can't be met simultaneously (and isn't choosing "correctly"--or I should say the most effective for your long-term needs--between them one of the definitions of being an adult?), take a moment to acknowledge or mourn that one of your needs will be unfulfilled. For example, it comes in handy with mindful eating (or parenting or budgeting or whatever): let's say I want a piece of birthday cake but one of my long-term needs is healthy living. But the birthday cake fulfills my short-term need for fun. And so you choose, and sometimes you eat that cake and say, "I'll eat better tomorrow," but more often, if you really want to meet that long-term need, you mourn the birthday cake and eat something else. (I'm mixing a few things here but I think it makes sense). It works with all sorts of things and really clarifies for me the decision-making process on all sorts of topics.
• Following the above, I really appreciated the statement "assume incompetence not malevolence." This is particularly relevant to something in my own life, though I'm not sure I would use "incompetence," perhaps ignorance, as in not aware of the effect. There are a couple of people in my life who don't talk to me. Not "won't," as far as I know, in that there hasn't been a fight or disagreement. Just don't. I email and/or call; they never return the calls. Or acknowledge them. Or I comment on their blogs; nada, zip, zilch in return. Even when I think what I have to say is important or interesting or worthy of response, if only a "thanks for letting me know." Okay, I'm not on Facebook, which is a hurdle, perhaps, I'm guessing from these situations, an insurmountable one. But I've been hoping these people would meet me halfway, if only to email and say, "why don't you call me instead?" And I try to think it isn't personal, vindictive, aggressive (if only passive), or, as in the quote, malevolent. Especially because I know I am probably "that person" in other relationships (Lambeth can attest to how often I don't reply to his emails directly, even if, also in that case, it is in no way malevolent). But it also leaves me unsure of what to do next, scared even of what they might be thinking, wondering what it is about me? When really, I'm betting it isn't about me at all. Their silent "no" just means they are meeting their needs another way, a way that just doesn't involve me (see bullet after next). And, until we connect, that's just where we are for now.
• As well as "everyone is always doing the best they can."
• And "a no is a tragic expression of a yes." Which sounds confusing but is based on the NVC assertion that everything we do is a strategy to meet a need--sometimes it's not effective, but it is still about meeting needs (and all feelings come from the fulfillment, or un-, of needs). Which means if someone says no to you about helping you meet one of your own needs, it is because that person is trying to meet one of his or her own. And that's when you can ask, connect, and try to reach both of your needs. For example, "Would you be able to watch my kids on Tuesday?" "No." But the "no" isn't mean, the no is because perhaps that person is already having a babysitter come to watch their kids. And if you could talk about that, you could perhaps share the babysitter expenses or reschedule or something . . . I think the saying encourages me not to take "no" answers, especially from the kids so personally, but instead to try to figure out what they are saying "yes" to and go from there.
• Some studies suggest it takes 6 seconds for your conscious brain to react to a situation, while your "reptilian" brain kicks in immediately. The secret is to wait a bit and think about a situation. I guess the oft-recommended idea to count to 10 is a good one.
• Many people seemed fine with all the NVC ideas, except when it came to raising children. They just couldn't grasp the idea of the partner-parent who tries to encourage a connection with children through dialogue instead of more of a top-down/rules-and-consequences structure. Sure, it sounds like a free-for-all, but in practice--and I know because I practice it a lot, sometimes not very effectively--it's not structure-free. It's just that the structure is arrived at through mutual respect and conversation, which I believe makes it more meaningful and lasting (and before Lambeth comments about following instructions, my kids are very clear about health-and-safety rules as well as the difference between a demand and a request--one can't be an option, the other can. I just have to practice stating it all correctly.) So, it meant a lot to me that the trainer talked a bit about parenting, which is my main practice area for NVC because Mama and I just don't have that much conflict (and because she is more wary of my new language than the kids, even if I know she'd admit that it has helped us be clear with one another). I'm just sorry the other participants, many of whom were parents or teachers/principals or felt they were raised right by disciplining parents, couldn't hear what we were trying to explain with open ears.
• Wow, the food was good, from Rev. M's famous Oatmeal Molasses Bread and Mini-Muffins to her Roasted Root Vegetable Soup, to the refreshing salad, and my Potato and Greens Soup and Brownies. We all felt very taken care of. Homemade food makes all the difference, even something as simple as soup and bread.
• I bought some books and two puppets, a jackal and a giraffe, hopefully to help me introduce and illuminate NVC for the kids. And the kids LOVE the puppets. I explained very briefly, the next morning, about the giraffe and the jackal, two animal symbols of different types of talk: giraffe talk being the honest expression of compassionate communication and jackal talk being the more common use of judgments, labels, evaluations, "shoulds/shouldn'ts," demands, lack of choice, and blame. As I did it, I made the jackal alternately whiny and bossy. Sis immediately said, "I don't want to be the jackal. I want to be the giraffe!" Of course, in NVC, neither is "good" or "bad" but the giraffe is more effective at meeting needs through a quality of connection while the jackal often alienates us from ourselves and others. (Yes, that's all NVC speak, much of it adapted from a small booklet entitled Communication FUNdamentals by Jean Morrison and Christine King, which I bought at the workshop). And we practiced the voices as we cleaned up their room for Chinese New Year. It's a start but they were very receptive. To the point that, more than once since then, Sis and Bud have said, "Use your giraffe voice" or "That's jackal talk." Awareness is half the battle, I'd say. And we've got a start.

So, a great, rejuvenating day. Which is why I am now doubly sorry that I probably can't attend the next workshop because Mama is working several Friday night/Saturday combos in the next two months. I'm going to try to arrange childcare, but I'm also trying to accept that maybe my need for NVC won't be met this time around. But I can still practice.

"Out Beyond Ideas" by Rumi (13th-century Sufi mystic)

Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing,
there is a field.
I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase
each other
doesn't make any sense.

(translation by Coleman Barks)

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Roasted Root Vegetable Soup

To Make Roasted Root Vegetables

1 lb rutabagas

1 lb turnips

1 lb yams

1 lb fennel

12 oz carrots

1/2 lb halved Brussel sprouts

1/2 lb cauliflower florettes

12 oz carrots

2 lb onions

4 tablespoons olive oil

2 teaspoon sea salt

black pepper

2 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves or 1 teaspoon dried

2 teaspoons finely chopped fresh sage or 1 teaspoon crumbled dried sage

For the Soup

1/3 cup pearl barley

1/2-1 teaspoon sea salt

5-7 cups any basic vegetable broth

4 cups roasted root vegetables

1/2 cup whole leaves fresh flat-leaf parsley

2-3 teaspoons sherry vinegar

Preheat oven to 375. Peel and dice all vegetables to uniform size, about 1 inch. Mix teh vegetables in a large bowl with olive oil, salt, pepper, thyme, and sage (the original recipe calls for 3 tablespoons of dry sherry). Spread the vegetables over 2 shallow pans and roast for an hour until they are tender and flecked with dark spots. Mix and turn vegetables a few times during roasting and switch pans halfway through. When you are done, you will have about 8 cups of vegetables (which seems to suggest, you can make half of the vegetables called for in the recipe to reduce cutting and peeling time!).

Combine the barley in a large pot with 1 1/2 cups water, a dash of salt, and 5 cups broth. Bring to a boil, lower heat, and simmer, covered for about 35 minutes. The barley will swell 2-3 times its original size. Add the 4 cups of mixed roasted vegetables and simmer for 15 minutes. Add more salt if necessary. Add parsley and vinegar during last few minutes. Add more broth if too thick.

Note: You can add olive oil at the end, or serve with fresh goat cheese or cream. Also mushrooms, noodles in place of barley, and a variety of herbs can be used.

adapted from Anna Thomas, Love Soup

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Sour Cream Lemon Streusel Muffins

2 cups flour

1/2 cup sugar

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoon grated lemon peel

1/2 teaspoons salt

1 cup walnuts, chopped

1/2 cup sour cream

1/2 cup milk

1/2 cup butter, melted

1 egg, beaten

1 tablespoons sugar

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Grease muffin cups or line with paper. In large bowl, combine flour, 1/2 cup sugar, baking powder, lemon peel, salt, and walnuts. In small bowl, combine sour cream, milk, butter, and egg until blended. Stir into flour mixture just until moistened. Spoon into muffin cups. Sprinkle remaining 1 tablespoon sugar over tops. Bake 15-20 minutes for regular sized muffins, 20-25 minutes for jumbo, or until cake tester comes out clean. Remove from pan and cool on rack. Makes 12 regular-sized muffins.

Rev. M

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Penny's Seed Muffins

1 1/2 cup all purpose flour (may use whole wheat pastry flour, if desired)

1/2 cup whole wheat flour (may use whole wheat pastry flour, if desired)

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons sesame seeds (raw or toasted)

2 tablespoons poppy seeds

2 tablespoons wheat term

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup nutmeats, chopped

1 cup buttermilk

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1 egg

Stir together flours, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Stir in brown sugar, nuts, wheat germ, and seeds. Beat together buttermilk, egg, and oil and pour into dry ingredients. Stir to blend. Fill a dozen greased muffin cups. Bake at 400 for 20 minutes.

Rev. M

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First and Foremost Brownies

1/2 cup butter

8 oz bittersweet chocolate

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup granulated sugar

3 eggs at room temperature

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1/2 cup flour

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

Preheat oven to 300F. Line an 8" square pan with overhanging parchment paper.

Melt the butter and cook until it becomes light brown and smells wonderful. Remove from the heat. Cool for 10 minutes.

Add the chocolate and melt. Stir until smooth. Add the sugars and mix well. The mixture will be grainy. Add the eggs 1 at a time, mixing until the batter is glossy and thick. Add the vanilla, then the flour, mixing only enough to incorporate the flour. Add the salt and mix briefly (adding the salt at the end of the mixing lends a wonderful contrast to the sweetness).

Pour into the prepared pan and bake for 25-30 minutes. The edges will be firm but the center will be slightly soft, yet puffed. Remove from the oven and chill completely.

Note: this batter can be refrigerated and frozen indefinitely. Brownies, wrapped well, store in the fridge for 1 month or in the freezer for up to 6 months.

Lisa Slater, The Brownie Lover's Bible

What We Did This Weekend

What a weekend! It was almost 70 on Sunday, with clouds, and just as warm with sun on Saturday. And so we spent some of the weekend outside.

Saturday was my second NVC course and so I spent the whole day learning more techniques of nonviolent, or compassionate, communication. We delved more into empathy and practiced honest expressions. And I spent the day pondering how to respond to grocery store questioners. You know, the ones who ask about the kids' parentage or origins while we're picking out grapes or standing in line to check out. Rarely hostile, these strangers are curious . . . and intrusive. We don't ask white families where they came from. Unless they have accents. But Mama, who is Chinese, gets asked about once a month if she is "from here." And she just smiles and says she was born in NYC. Some then persist, still wanting the answer to their unstated question "what are you?", and begin a litany of Asian countries. When they find out she's Chinese, they usually just nod, having figured her out, I guess. And that's what happens with the kids, except there are all these layers of possibility: are they "mine"? are they adopted? where did I adopt them from? if I didn't adopt them is their father Chinese? Nope, their other mom is Chinese.

Maybe that's my answer. I talked about possiblities with two women in similar situations--one was a single mom who had adopted her Chinese daughter and another was an aunt whose nieces were from Sierra Leone and had been adopted by white parents. Both agreed that questioning was constant and upsetting and that often the best answer was as little as possible. Every conversation does not need to be about education and outreach. Or I'd never get out of the grocery store. And so, using NVC, I pondered my feelings and needs regarding this situation. In classic "giraffe," I came up with "When I hear strangers ask questions about my children's origins, I feel anxious and protective because I am needing dignity and security for my family." Now, in true OFNR (observation/feeling/need/request), I need a request--but "so would you please mind your own business?" or even "why do you ask?" aren't exactly modeling positive behaviors for my kids (too defensive). But I don't really want a quality of connection with strangers all the time so, (still using NVC jargon) entering the connection with an energy of my own choosing, I choose not to connect. I might just smile and say, "They're great, right?" and leave it at that.

While I was pondering the way to work through racism and homophobia at the grocery store, Mama took the kiddos to Mystic Seaport, where they had a wonderful time in the art studio, children's space, and new outdoor wooden boat playset. It was odd that they were there without me, but I was really glad that they were doing something special and really proud of Mama for attempting the field trip on her own (funny, it's the driving that would keep me from doing it, while the driving is the easy part for her).

Then Saturday night was my Personal Renewal Group (PRG). This month's theme was "who I am" and it was reflecting on this that lead to all the recent posts on work. Next month's theme is self-care. But I think I'm mostly good at that, in the sense that I do devote time to my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual health each week, if not each day. In fact, tomorrow, I have an appointment to meet my new GP. From there, I'm hoping for the referral to an orthopedist and then an order for my new orthotic lift in my shoe. And the okay to keep working on my 5K training. But the PRG is a good reminder to keep it all going.

Sunday was our special children's concert at a local nature center. We went early and visited all the animals: Sis loved the horses and bunnies but not the wandering guinea hens; Bud liked the super stinky pig and the ducks. And then there were all the reptiles! They both liked all the art on the premises, both the modern steel constructions and the more traditional wooden totem poles (which they recognized from AMNH and "Little Einsteins"). Before the concert, we had lunch at a local sandwich shop, though Mama and I had picked up some falafels for ourselves and relished having something different (we're hoping to go for Ethiopian on a date while my mom is here).

Bud really liked watching the musicians warm up for the concert--a trio with a violin, viola, and cello. He realized the musicians were all wearing black--"I'm not wearing black so I can't be a musician today." There were lots of songs about animals, some as solos and some with the whole trio. Plus discussions of each instrument. Both kids sat extremely still while the music played, absorbed in watching it live (because Bud had asked if he needed to go to the potty, if they would wait for him! ). At one point, the cellist asked the kids to imagine swans for the next piece. "Can you see them?" he asked. "No!" Bud answered, his eyes shut tight while he tried so hard. We all laughed goodnaturedly, but I think he was surprised at the response and a little shy. Sis, who had started the concert writing letters on a piece of paper, was soon absorbed in the music, sitting as still as a statue. They both said they liked it.

But they liked other things more, of course. They liked the little toy in the children's room that allowed them to make impressions of their hands . . . and faces! And they liked the little wooden outdoor stage where they sang and danced while Mama fetched the car. Bud made us swear we would build a stage in the backyard--"with several sticks and the one big piece of wood on top."

And so now it's Monday, with a big week ahead: Gommie comes on Thursday, as does our Miss T up from Georgia for the week. Plus school and Chinese. And a party and an outing this weekend. So, if the posts are fewer and further between, you'll know why. Just means I'll have more to tell you next week!

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Mama's Note: She would like me to mention that people don't ask if she is from here because they assume that she is not. They say, "where are you from?" And sometimes she says NYC and they still say, "no, really?"

I Want to be a Giraffe

Almost a year ago, I attended a wonderful workshop on compassionate caregiving, during which we were introduced to the theories and techniques of Nonviolent Communication, or NVC. Yesterday, I followed up on that original workshop with one devoted entirely to NVC--what better way to spend a holiday devoted to love than in learning how to communicate with a more open heart?

As it was just an introduction, I can't fully explain the history, theories, or strategies of NVC here. Clinical psychologist Marshall Rosenberg, having grown up in a violent Detroit neighborhood, later identified and developed strategies for communication that created and supported less violent, more compassionate relationships. At the basis of this is an awareness and understanding of needs, or basic human requirements ranging from physical well-being to freedom and the pursuit of happiness; feelings, which are the result of needs being met or unmet; and strategies, or the things we do to meet needs. Compassionate communication strives to create a quality of connection between people that supports needs getting met (resulting in positive feelings, as opposed to needs remaining unmet through conflict which results in negative feelings).

So how do you do that? Well, that's the tricky part. Self-awareness through "needs consciousness" and "emotional literacy" allows us to understand our own motivations and behaviors. A formula such as "I am feeling _______ because I need ______" allows us to connect our emotions with the needs that are met or, more usually, unmet--this then provides a way to address the needs and negative emotions. For example, let's say it makes me crazy when the kiddos drag their feet, literally and figuratively, about getting out of the house. I could say something like "I am feeling frustrated" but not because "the kids don't leave the house in an orderly or timely fashion"--I am responsible for my own feelings; blame and causality have no place in NVC--but because "I need to be helped and supported (by them) in my efforts." I can then ask them "would you be willing to help me get out of the house so that we don't have fights first thing in the morning?" (actually, that's jumping ahead to an "action request"; often you start with "connection requests" like "would you be willing to tell me what you think you heard me say?' so that you can be certain you were heard and understood). Of course, that all sounds very awkward and formal (and silly when talking to 3 1/2 year olds), but as I see it, the first efforts in any new language or way of speaking are artificial--just look at your beginning Latin text. Who ever needed to say "puella bella est?" Even in English we don't usually say things like "the girl is pretty." But that's the kind of grammar and syntax I learned for weeks in beginning Latin (and Greek, and German, and French, and ASL. And we don't even know verbs in Chinese yet!).

I'm gliding over all sorts of things, mainly because it's complicated to shrink several handouts (themselves shrunk from a larger text) and several hours of lecture and practice into one post (and if I've misunderstood or made a mistake, it is mine and not NVC's or the workshop leader's--check out the links for clarification). And because I don't grasp all of it yet. Besides, I'm not qualified to teach NVC. But I wanted to give some sense of why I'm fascinated by it. Mama and I are pretty good about communicating and expressing our feelings, I tend to think; we'd even come up with ways to talk about needs and feelings, though without really getting to the heart of NVC. When we lived in Chicago, we had a lengthy discussion about the "orange juice glass." If Mama left a dirty orange juice glass on the table and I freaked out, it wasn't because I really couldn't bear dirty dishes, but because I felt taken for granted, disrespected, whatever. And then of course, Mama would feel like I was overreacting--or maybe she left the orange juice glass out because I never said I appreciated what she did do. While there was no actual orange juice glass beyond our hypothesizing about how we (mis)communicated, the orange juice glass left on the table became our metaphor for those little things that can eventually lead to conflict, disaster, and the end of relationships when overlooked or ignored, at a time when many of our friends were dissolving their unions. Updating that to NVC, the orange juice glass was not just an orange juice glass but a symbol for unmet needs and negative feelings. And in the intervening years, it has been our shorthand for "something else is going on here entirely and we need to pay attention." It's always important to do the dishes, you know.

Even our solid communication skills have been tested by exhaustion, overwork, and especially our lack of a language for understanding and interpreting the challenges and experiences and emotions of parenthood. I think NVC might give us those tools. Because, really, yesterday when I identified my unmet needs which resulted in frustration at not getting out of the house easily, it was a need to feel capable and competent at my work, not just a need for help and support from the kids. I get so upset in the mornings because I think I've done everything I need to do to get out of the house smoothly--packed bags the night before, given plenty of time, given plenty of warnings and reminders, issued clear instructions about coats and shoes--and still we're just not progressing. And then I feel incompetent. I hadn't realized that until yesterday. At the same time, I realized what the kids' needs must be: they need to play and they feel sad, angry, and frustrated that I'm cutting their playtime short to put on shoes to go to school (really, it's any transtition, not just school). I have a feeling that the next time we head out the door for school, it'll be different than before, if only because I am more aware of what's happening. Of course, going to school isn't a choice (or a "request"), it's a "demand," something that is non-negotiable. But the way that we actually get out the door to get there can be approached in many different ways. And NVC allows me to attempt a less confrontational, less "violent," more compassionate way. In NVC lingo, to be a giraffe--the land animal with the largest heart whose head rises so high that it can see the "big picture" and who only uses force in self-defense.

There's more to it--empathy for others and empathy for self, being beyond "right" and "wrong," taking responsibility for our own feelings and actions, the belief that we are all doing our best at any given time--and that's just the introduction. I purchased Rosenberg's intro to the subject, Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life, and a parenting book highly recommended by several parenting resources, Respectful Parents, Respectful Kids, which contains feelings and needs cards which seem to be a hallmark of NVC training. It's funny, because it was by sorting through the cards trying to figure out my feelings and needs surrounding disorderly departures from home that I came across the "capable" needs card and had an "a-ha!" moment. I've also signed up for another workshop, which goes beyond introducing these ideas to actually implementing them. So if you hear me talking a lot about observations, feelings, needs, and requests, about giraffes and jackals ("the judge"), about empathy and connection, about causality and blame and power and violence, being hooked and being curious, about the spiritual practice of compassion, you'll know where it came from and what I'm doing, even if it sounds like I'm speaking some weird new language. I am--it's giraffe.

Happy Hearts Day!

Happy Valentine's Day to all and sundry! I hope you and yours spread the love around.

I spent the day at a Nonviolent (or, Compassionate) Communication workshop, about which I will post at length later this weekend. It was really eye and heart opening. And the ability to spend 8 hours learning

a way of relating to ourselves and others, moment to moment, instead of letting
the past dictate our present. By learning to identify your needs and express
them powerfully, as well as to bring understanding to the needs of others, you
can stay connected to what is alive in you and create a life that it is more
fulfilling.

was the best Valentine's Day present I could've gotten this year.

Nonviolent Communication

As a parent of preschoolers, those are two of my favorite words: nonviolent and communication. And so, having missed a workshop this weekend on NVC, as it is abbreviated, I have been doing some research on Marshall Rosenberg and his "language of compassion." I'll keep you updated as I go along, but his 10 Steps for Peace would make a great parenting handbook:


10 Things We Can Do to Contribute to Internal, Interpersonal, and Organizational Peace
(1) Spend some time each day quietly reflecting on how we would like to relate to ourselves and others.
(2) Remember that all human beings have the same needs.
(3) Check our intention to see if we are as interested in others getting their needs met as our own.
(4) When asking someone to do something, check first to see if we are making a request or a demand.
(5) Instead of saying what we DON'T want someone to do, say what we DO want the person to do.
(6) Instead of saying what we want someone to BE, say what action we'd like the person to take that we hope will help the person be that way.
(7) Before agreeing or disagreeing with anyone's opinions, try to tune in to what the person is feeling and needing.
(8) Instead of saying "No," say what need of ours prevents us from saying "Yes."
(9) If we are feeling upset, think about what need of ours is not being met, and what we could do to meet it, instead of thinking about what's wrong with others or ourselves.
(10) Instead of praising someone who did something we like, express our gratitude by telling the person what need of ours that action met.

The Center for Nonviolent Communication (CNVC) would like there to be a critical mass of people using Nonviolent Communication language so all people will get their needs met and resolve their conflicts peacefully.
2001, revised 2004 Gary Baran & CNVC. The right to freely duplicate this document is hereby granted.