Many in our multigenerational class couldn’t identify a passion or couldn’t discern which amongst their many passions they should follow.  I think part of the problem is with the word “passion”.  It implies something huge, burning, overwhelming.  Something so big that there can be only one, and if there is only room for one, you better be darn sure before you pursue it.  Talk about paralyzing pressure.  I don’t buy it.  I think there is room for more than one passion in our life, and I think they come in different sizes.  I know they change with the seasons of your life.  From my perspective the key is to bring things into our lives that energize us and give us pleasure.

Amy, our fearless Visioning Class leader, suggested the following questions to help you find your passion.

• What would you do if you knew you could not fail?
• What do you love about yourself?
• What would you do if had the support of those you love and money was not a concern?
• What do you dream about doing that you’ve never told anyone?
• How could you make the world a better place for yourself and others?
• When you were young, what did you know you would do when you grew up?
• What would you regret not having done if your life was ending?
• What topics do you like to discuss, read, explore?
• What would you do for free?
• What puts a smile on your face?
• What do you find easy?

Even after you get an inkling of what you are passionate about, most of us still have a long way to go.  What stands in your way from embracing your passion?  Curt Rosengren does a good job of summarizing the myths that stand in our way.

Myth #1 – Pursuing your passion is selfish and self – indulgent.  Finding something you love that energizes you is one of the best things you can do for yourself and for those around you. (I think this is a BIG one for woman!)

Myth #2 – You have to be realistic.  Do not let realism suffocate your passion. You can evaluate the challenges and look at ways to overcome the challenges. If you see them as obstacles, you may lose sight of your dream.

Myth #3 – Do what you love and the money will follow.  That is actually the abbreviated version.  The real quote is “Do what you love, work really, really hard, be patient, be persistent, be open, work really, really hard some more, and then the money will follow.”
Not quite as catchy, but much more accurate.

Myth #4- I am limited by the rules.  Whose rules?  Don’t allow someone else’s rules or expectations keep you from living out your passion.

So, give yourself permission to look for your passion.  Drill it into your head that you are not being selfish.  Of course, you have to be realistic about balancing your time between your obligations and your desires, but many of us err on the side of “the shoulds”.  Schedule time for what makes you happy and what gives you energy.  I really mean it when I say schedule.  Put it on the calendar.  And by the way, if this means leaving the kids with your husband for an evening or day, do NOT say that he is not babysitting– he’s parenting.  It’s good for him and good for the kids.  My kid’s favorite saying is so very true—If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

P.S. Next week, I’ll be blogging from the European Society of Human Reproduction and Embryology Conference in Rome.  I’m going to try to post several blogs during the conference so sign up for our RSS feed in the left column of this page or better yet, sign up for our weekly updates at the top of the left column.

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Within days we were both developing “key competencies” (as instructed by the BB), but by the second week I was becoming the star.  Pretty soon, I ditched the BB completely and was riffing on baby care.  Who needed a baby bath, when you could cuddle your baby in the shower and both enjoy the hot water and body contact?  Peter deferred to my new founded confidence, and thus an expert was born.

My expertise and confidence were both equally shallow, which is a dangerous combination.  Expertise can become a self fulfilling prophecy.  I led; Peter followed.  My confidence wasn’t deep enough to let him venture too far outside my lines, but he didn’t seem to chafe at the restrictions…until The Lullaby Incident.

I love to sing, but lack anything resembling talent.  I figured my kids were likely to be my only appreciative audience, and one of my fantasies pre-mommyhood was singing my children to sleep.  Lullabies, I soon found out, are wonderfully forgiving.  They usually have a limited range and work well in most keys; better yet, they even allow for key changes mid-song in case the original key outstretched my range.  In other words, they were perfect for my “talents”.  (You musically gifted folks are cringing, I know, so don’t try to deny it.)  I listened to recordings and wrote down the lyrics to as many lullabies as I could find.  Although I had a varied repertoire, they were all slow paced and song softly to further their soporific effect.

So imagine my surprise when one night I heard the rousing strains of Take Me Out to the Ballgame marching out of the baby monitor as Peter was putting our daughter to bed.  “Peter,” I helpfully whispered at the door, “the idea of a lullaby is to put the kid to sleep, not make her want to flag down the beer guy for another round.”  In fairness to Peter, he did try to slow the pace, but Take Me Out To the Ballgame refuses to be sung as a funeral dirge, so pretty soon he was back up to full volume and beat.

I offered to teach him a few lullabies, but he decided to take the daddy reins back.  He was going to begin, by golly, with singing whatever songs he wanted, including Take Me Out to the Ballgame. He did add a few more traditional children’s songs to his play list, but they were all of the upbeat, toe-tapping, and often gross variety.

Oh Dunderbeck, Dunderbeck, how could you be so mean?
To ever have invented the sausage meat machine.
Now all the neighbor’s cats and dogs will nevermore be seen, they’ve all been ground to sausages in Dunderbeck’s machine.

Turns out, song selection has little to do with how quickly a child falls asleep, and they all grew up to love sausage.  Who knew?  And thus, a new expert was born.

Over the years, we’ve been able to balance each other pretty well.  I was a good ballast to his tendency to worry about their physical safety when they were romping, rolling and crashing their way through childhood.  “Honey, if the worst that can happen is that they break a bone, let them go,” I’d counsel.  The tables are turned now that some are driving.  The worst that can happen in a car is far worse than a broken bone, and I cling to his calm (and a whole lot of prayer) to get me through.  But this balancing act only works because he is an equal.  Sometimes, we moms don’t make room for more than one “expert”.  (By the way, even thinking about the word expert in conjunction with parenting makes me giggle. As if anyone could ever be an expert at this task.)

Good parents come in all different styles.  My way, is…well, just my way.  If you have a parenting partner, you need to come to an agreement on the big stuff, but leave a lot of room in between for individual parenting expression.  Kids not only tolerate these differences, I think they thrive.  So do parents.

P. S. If you have kids, please share ways in which your parenting style differs from your partner. Or, in what ways did your parents differ.  Did it screw you up?

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Dawn, since I listened to your show and read all your FAQs and resources on this journey, I thought you should be one of the first to know that our daughter has finally arrived after 6 ½  long years.  We ended up using a surrogate and donor eggs with my husband’s sperm. I remember listening to one of your shows on surrogacy a long time ago and starting to think that it might be an option. I’ve gone back and listened to them all so many times in the last 2 years.  They were really helpful in making the decision and some other shows helped us go with only transferring one embryo. Thank you.  I am really hoping you can give me some advice now.

We have been home for almost a month and it is nothing like I thought it would be. I know I sound ungrateful and shallow, but I don’t feel anything like love for this beautiful child. I have dreamed of her and wanted her for so long, but now I feel like a stranger to her. She doesn’t feel like mine and I know she really isn’t mine. I know you talked about this issue but I never thought it would happen to me. Even though I’m not related to her, I thought I would fall completely in love regardless, but that hasn’t happened.  I think I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life and I have no one to blame but myself since my husband wanted to stop a long time ago. I’m ashamed to tell him or anyone else any of this.

The myth of falling in love at first sight is powerful and pervasive.  Plenty of potentially great relationships have never taken off because of this myth, and plenty of first time parents have suffered needlessly.  We have idealized the instantaneous nature of maternal love to the point of absurdity.  Some mothers indeed feel an immediate intense love for their child, but plenty of us do not– regardless of how we became mothers.  You’re blaming surrogacy and donor egg for this lack of instant love, but others blame an especially difficult labor, breastfeeding troubles, in-laws, or adoption.  I pity the poor mom who has nothing to blame.

I have talked with enough women to believe that surrogacy and donor egg and adoption can impact the immediacy of your feelings of love.  You haven’t had the intimacy of the past nine months to develop these feelings.  Many moms through surrogacy or adoption do “fall in love” with their baby during the pregnancy, but some don’t.  The good news is that you have the rest of your life grow in love with this child.  This will be easier if you stop longing for the romanticized ideal of instantaneous love.

It’s interesting why we idealize the idea of falling rather than growing in love.  When I think of falling, I think of something quick and painful.  I much prefer the image of growing in love.  Growth implies depth, roots, and the ability to withstand the forces of life.  I have experienced the intoxication of lust at first sight and the warmth of maternal caring at first sight, but not really love at first sight.

You may not have a biological connection through genetics or pregnancy, but your daughter is 100% yours regardless.  Love is absolutely not dependent on biology.  I assume you love your husband, yet you share no DNA.  This child is yours and will share many of your mannerisms, habits, and traits.  In other ways she will be uniquely herself.  Isn’t that what we all should hope for our kids?

The depth of your despair, however, should not be taken lightly.  Post baby depression is real and is not dependent exclusively on the hormonal upheaval of birth.  Adoptive parents and parents through surrogacy can and do experience depression after the child comes home.  In part, I suspect it is the natural let down after achieving a long sought after goal.  In part it’s also because the first months of parenthood can be unexpectedly lonely and hard.  These feelings are so common we’ve done a number of shows on them ( Parenting kids conceived through Assisted Reproduction, Surrogacy , Are you Ready to Move to Donor Eggs or Sperm?,  Parenting Through Surrogacy, Parenting after Infertility, What 3rd Party Reproduction Can Learn from Adoption, Nurture vs Nature — Which Trumps in Parenting)  Unfortunately, our society rarely talks about these darker parts of new parenthood.

Loneliness can hit new moms through surrogacy and adoption particularly hard.  Pregnancy and pregnancy related activities, like child birth classes and breastfeeding classes, are a great way to find other women who are soon to be going through the trials of early motherhood.  However, once your child arrives the opportunities explode if you look for them.  Mommy-and-me type classes are very popular for everything from yoga to running to music.  Community recreation centers and libraries often have these programs for a very low cost.  It really helps to have someone to commiserate with when your darling drops a diaper bomb on your white sofa and you haven’t found the time to shave your legs in over a month.

The first months of motherhood are a lot of work done with very little sleep and few rewards.  I’ve always thought that God planned the first smile to hit at around six weeks to insure human survival.  Just about when you think you can’t keep going, the source of your exhaustion smiles at you.  Who knew that droolly toothless smiles were such a powerful fuel and aphrodisiac.

You need to ditch the shame.  You haven’t done anything wrong, and you aren’t weird or abnormal to have these feelings.  However, you do need support and help, and you need it now.  Share your feelings and fears with your husband.  He may feel relieved because he feels the same way, or you may feel relieved that he doesn’t blame you.  In fact, he may think that this beautiful child is the best thing that has ever happened.  I have no idea what he’s feeling, but this is the type of thing couples should share.

Try to establish a routine. I know this is easier said than done with a new baby, but it will help normalize your life if you have a scheduled time for a shower, for fixing dinner, and for doing the laundry.  If you can afford it, hire a sitter so you can get out once a week to do something that you like to do.

Run, don’t walk, to a good infertility counselor.  Many infertility patients struggle with unexpected feelings once they finally succeed at having a baby, and a good counselor can help you work through them.  Your infertility clinic may be able to recommend a therapist or you can use the resource we’ve listed on our How to Find a Doctor or Therapist page.

If you have had thoughts of harming your daughter or yourself, immediately tell your husband, a therapist or doctor, and your best friend or someone in your family.  Have someone nearby to call immediately if you have these feelings.  This despair doesn’t mean you’re a bad mom, just a mom that needs a little help right now.

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I was walking with a few friends after we dropped our kids off at school and shared my excitement that tonight at my house was leftover night.  One, wrinkling her nose with disgust, said she hated leftovers; the other said she never had food leftover.  I was dumbfounded by both.  If you liked it the first time around, why wouldn’t you like it the second time around.  Lots of casseroles and soups are even better the second day.  Now if you’re moving onto the third or fourth day, then I get it.  I’d be sick of it too.  But the second time in a week is fine by me.

As to my other friend that didn’t have a refrigerator full of leftovers, I don’t know whether I was more surprised by her ability to guesstimate serving amounts exactly or by the fact that she didn’t actually aim to have leftovers.  I may be a lousy serving size guesser, but usually I plan to cook enough for two meals.  I’m also a sucker for efficiency.

Now, truth be told, my affection for leftover night is not universally shared in my household.  My hubby either is neutral about leftovers or has the wisdom to keep his mouth shut.  Not so for all of my children.  Leftover night is often greeted by “Oh, great.”  Notice the lack of an exclamation point.  (How do you capture sarcasm in print?)  So, a couple of years ago I decided that leftover night needed a marketing makeover.  My first stab was to change its name.  Who could resist “Choose your own dinner night” or “Favorite Night”?    The catch was that all choosing and favorites had to come from inside the plastic containers in the fridge.

When that new name approach stopped working, I moved on to the repackaging approach.  Mix the various leftovers (veggies, chicken, beans) with pasta, top with cheese, and bake.  My family will eat most anything smothered in cheese.  I’ve also created some interesting soups this way.  Most of the time, I get away with this, but periodically one of the kids will notice that they’ve seen that squash or cauliflower before in another incarnation, and rat me out.

I’m not sure what I like about leftover night the best.  Yes, my inherently lazy nature certainly appreciates a night off from cooking, but I also love the efficiency and thriftiness of it as well.  There is something very satisfying to me about living with what we have and using up everything with little waste.  I enjoy the challenge of cooking with what is available locally or seasonally, and then using every last bit of it.  Oh, don’t get me wrong; we certainly have our share of plastic containers with fur covered substances that used to be Thai curry or bean soup, but I like the challenge of trying to avoid reaching that science experiment looking stage.

Hey that gives me an idea.  I’ll jump on the latest marketing trend and call tonight “Green Night”.  No, that is definitely not an appetizing name.  How about “Love the Earth Night”.  We’re going to be ecologically friendly and politically correct—and my fridge gets cleaned out.  Hey, I’m really a sucker for a three-fer?

Anyone else have tips for using up leftovers?

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Our home would be an intellectual and artistic haven– stimulating, but not over the top. I would involve my well behaved progeny in carefully selected intellectual, athletic, and artistic endeavors, while leaving plenty of unstructured time for them to ponder the fate of dandelion puffs.  I would fill our house with books, educational toys (made of wood—expensive wood), and nutritious food.  Oh sure, I’d indulge them occasionally with some cheap, plastic, easily broken, mind rotting toy and a box or two of Fifth Avenue hyped, sugar laden cereal to keep them from feeling deprived when they compared notes with their friends, but since they would only watch the occasional PBS TV show, they would be protected from the dirty touch of advertising and would be more than satisfied by mom-approved toys and cereals.  Yes sir, I was a nurturist all the way because I so wanted to believe that I was in control.

Now that I’m in the uncontrolled midst of parenting four very very different kids, I realize that control is an illusion, and I’m not sure where I stand on the nature vs. nurture debate.  My family is a mix of children by birth and adoption raised in the same house by the same parents.  The nurture argument would say my kids would be similar since their environment was similar.  The nature argument would say that my biologically related kids would be more alike than the adopted child.  Neither of these arguments is correct in my family.  I think that may be why I am so fascinated with the nature vs. nurture argument.

An advantage of hosting a radio show is that I get to schedule shows on subjects I’m thinking about.  Such was the case with our Dec. 9 , 2009 show on Nature vs. Nurture/ Genetics vs. Environment.  I’m intrigued by the “famous” twin studies, so our guests were the directors of two of the leading longitudinal twin studies in the US.  Their findings on the influence of genetics and environment are fascinating.  Eerie similarities between identical twins reared apart exist, but their research doesn’t support a genetic vice grip on how we turn out.  Some things, such as physical appearance, ADHD, and obesity appear to be highly controlled by genes.  But most other things, such as IQ and personality, have only a moderate genetic connection.  And some things, such as social attitudes (I think this means things like liberal vs. conservative, generosity, etc.), job satisfaction, how readily we fall in love, and our sense of humor, seem to be influenced very little by genetics.

Determining the relative influence of genes and environment is particularly hard in real life, in real families, because each child in a family has a unique environment.  Although my kids have been raised by the same parents in the same home, their environments have differed since their place in the family, life experiences, talents and personality are different.  For example, our eldest was burdened and blessed with three younger siblings throughout most of her life, while our youngest experienced quite different burdens and blessing by having three older siblings.  They are spaced out by ten years, so arguably they haven’t really had the same parents since we were different parent when our eldest was born than we were ten years later when our youngest arrived.  Also, as one of our guests pointed out in the show, each child changes their environment and our parenting by being who they are.

Four kids and more than a few years later, I’m far less certain of most things in life and all things in parenting.  I quickly figured out that I wasn’t cut out to be a nurturist, since that put way too much pressure on me and drained the fun right out of parenting.  Jumping ship to the naturist side had some appeal since I wouldn’t be held responsible if my children’s fate was predetermined by the arbitrary mixing of DNA.  This was reassuring since I was far from the perfect parent.  (I had an inkling of this my first week of parenthood, when I decided that baths were too traumatic for us both, and since we wiped her bottom and face regularly, they were unnecessary.)  Despite the allure of passing the buck to the genetic whims of nature, however, I couldn’t ignore the similarities in my kids—both by birth and adoption—that seemed to have an environmental connection.

Right now in my parenting journey I have replaced “versus” with “and” in the nature vs. nurture debate.  It seems to me that we are all a product of both our genes and our environment and that we have a great deal of control over our environment as we age.  I recently read a quote by a psychologist that researched in this field.  When asked if nature or nurture contributed more to a personality, he responded, “Which contributes more to the area of a rectangle, its length or its width?”  This is strangely reassuring to me now.

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Daughter #2: How come you and Dad are never in these pictures?

Me: Someone has to actually take the picture and that someone is me.

Son #1: They invented this magical device, oh say 50 years ago, that let’s you delay the actual shutter click.

Me: You were a lot cuter before you could talk.

Hubby (sensing mutiny): Good idea, we’ll do a family shot this year.

Me: (sending DH the evil eye): Just remember, this isn’t my idea.

Ten minutes later we’re assembled in our front yard with camera on tripod, hair coiffed, and smiles in place.  Son #1 volunteers to set up the shot using that new fangled delay gizmo and run back to get in the picture.

Take 1

Son #1 reviewing the finished shot: Not bad, but Mom and W (brother) need to open their eyes.

Take 3

Daughter #1 reviewing: Mom, next time, just look …normal.

Take 6 

Daughter #1 and Son #1: Mom and W, just try to look close to normal.

Son #2 (W): I am looking normal.

Daughter #1: By normal, we mean open eyes and mouth resembling a smile rather than a grimace.

Son #2: I’m feeling the pretty coming on.  Let’s do it.

Take 10

DH: The game is starting in 20 minutes, so maybe we should just settle for one we already have.

Me: (Resending the evil eye) Maybe we shouldn’t.

Take 12

Daughter #2: Mom, when you feel your face going all weird and wonky,  just…well, just stop.

Me: On what planet do you think that advice would be helpful???

Her: Well, that’s what I do and it seems to be working pretty good for me.

Take 14

Me and Son #2: (fist bumping) We can do this!!! Next one’s it!

Take 16

Daughter #2: Can I go find one of the cats to be in the picture?

Everyone else: No!

Take 17

Daughter #1: You know, it’s uncanny, but Dad, H (Brother #1) and L (sister) look great in every picture.

P, H, and L (Fist bumping and doing an obnoxious victory dance)

Take 18

DH: Did I mention that it was the Cowboys and that they’re kicking off right about now?

Me: Did I mention that it wasn’t my idea to take a family picture?

DH: Did I mention that I didn’t think it was going to take an hour?

Me: Did I ment…

Kids: OK, you two stop bickering!

Son #2: I’m feeling good about this one. Let’s do it.

Take 20

Son #1: OK, great one of Mom and good of everyone else except W, who looks constipated.

Daughter #2: That’s how he normally looks.

Me: Oh well, I guess this is as good as we’ll get.

Son #2: HEY, I thought we were in this together.

Take 22

Daughter #2: I see a cat. Can’t I go get him?

Everyone else: NO!

Take 23

Son #1: You know Mom, you really aren’t a bad looking lady—for your age. I just don’t understand why you can’t look that way for the camera.

Everyone else: *Audible gasp*

Son #1: What I meant was…

DH: Son, trust me, the best you can do at this point is shut up.

Take 27

DH: Christmas card pictures are so 2008.  It almost seems irresponsible given the current economic climate.  Let’s send a message of frugality and skip the picture this year.

Take 29

Son #1: Darn (or something close), it’s good of everyone, except Sister #1 has her hand in front of her face.

Me: Works for me.  Let’s call it a wrap.

Daughter #1: MOM!

Take 30

Daughter #1 and Son #1: Hey, everyone has their eyes open and something close to a smile. Unfortunately, the dog’s butt is facing the camera and Dad looks like he’s strangling her.

In Unison: Who cares?!?!  We’re done.

Lessons Learned:

1. Family pictures do NOT equal family harmony.
2. Only the photographically challenged get a vote on final selection.
3. It is NOT abnormally vain, as some have insinuated, to want to look something other than demented in a picture that is going to be shared with friends and family that haven’t seen me in years.
4. It is NOT helpful to tell someone to “just look normal”.

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What sparked these thoughts was the recurring popularity of a blog I wrote inspired by the national public radio show This American Life episode titled “Switched at Birth”. You will need to read that previous blog to understand the story, but the Crib Note version is that two baby girls (Marti Miller and Sue McDonald) were switched at a hospital in the mid 1950s. One mother, Mrs. Miller, suspected immediately that she had the wrong baby, but for numerous reasons she said nothing until 40 years later. Every good story needs a villain, and the show put the black hat squarely on Rev. and Mrs. Miller’s head.

This must be a popular segment for TAL, because they’ve rerun it several times since I posted that blog. The first time it re-aired, the youngest Miller daughter commented on my blog giving additional information that was left out of the radio show. Her version was much kinder to her mother. The last time it was on the radio, one of the switched babies herself—Marti, the one raised by Mrs. Miller– commented. She provided even more missing information, but what struck me most in her comments was her understanding and forgiveness of her mother.

I don’t think anyone ever begins parenting thinking they are going to need to be on the receiving end of their children’s forgiveness one day. I certainly know I didn’t. I started this whole parenting endeavor planning on being as close to perfect as possible. Being a good mother was the most important thing in my life. It still is; I’m just less sure about how to do it.

In my years of parenting, I’ve made my share of mistakes. Blowing up at a child who provided the spark, but had nothing to do with the build up of emotional fuel. Trying to do too much and succeeding at doing a poor job of everything. Giving only half my attention, accusing when I should have had faith, putting off their questions until “I had more time”. These are the mistakes I see, but what worries me are the mistakes that are hidden from me, like the “mistake” Mrs. Miller made. She never set out to harm anyone and likely didn’t even realize that it might have been handled better until years later.

A friend once told me about a conversation with her teen son. They were talking about being scared and she asked him what scared him. He said nothing would ever compare to fear he felt when his sister went missing. He vividly recalled first his and then his mother’s search, the anxious phone calls, the growing worry, and his terror. Ultimately his sister was found safe, but the event left its mark and remained the worst day of his life. My friend remembered none of it.

My friend is not some inattentive flake or parent too caught up with her work or life to notice her children. Quite the opposite. She was a stay at home mom, totally invested in her kids. She can only guess that she wasn’t all that worried about her daughter’s whereabouts, but missed that her son was. How, she wondered, could she miss something so big? Completely unaware, she left her son to deal with his terror alone.

Last week at dinner my family was talking about childhood misconceptions. Son #2 said that when he was little he really believed that summer camps were a place where parents sent their kids to get rid of them—kind of like boarding school for life. He recalled the gut wrenching fear he felt the week before he went to a five day church camp the summer he was 11. He said he walked around the house that week saying good-bye to everything and everyone, and crying himself to sleep. I knew nothing. Oh, I knew he was reticent to go, but this child is hesitant about all things new. His older siblings had loved this camp, and I’m sure I was full of my cheery talk about all the fun things he would get to do. I tucked him into bed each night, but somehow missed that he was truly afraid.

I was so sure when I began parenting that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes my parents had made. True enough, I avoided some of their mistakes, but succeeded in creating my own. One night a girlfriend and I were engaged in the time honored girlfriend tradition of complaining about our mothers, when I realized that our children would someday be sitting around a table complaining about us. It was a disconcerting feeling. She and I quickly agreed that it couldn’t possibly happen since they would have nothing to say.

What I know is that each and every one of us screws up with our kids. Some of these mistakes we know about, some we don’t. It is impossible to parent without giving our children cause to forgive us. I apologize for the mistakes I know about, and try my best to model forgiveness because I know someday I will need to be on the receiving end. I can only hope my kids will be as understanding and forgiving of me as Mrs. Miller’s daughters are of her.

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Let me start with the typical disclaimer:  I have absolutely no problem with co-sleeping or “the family bed”, if it is freely chosen by both parents and it works for everyone.  If your family enjoys the togetherness, and both parents are able to get a good nights sleep and find the time and place for intimacy, then by all means, go for it.  I’m not one who thinks it will harm kids in any way.  I can even see the benefits in terms of bonding.  However, these benefits may come at a high price.

The problem I see from talking with lots of parents is that often co-sleeping is the default “choice”, rather than the preferred choice.  They can’t figure out any other way to get their kid to sleep or to stay asleep, so they settle for the family bed.  Parents sheepishly (or maybe I should say sleeplessly) recount evenings of one parent going to bed with the kids so they will stay put long enough to go to sleep and nights of musical beds where one parent leaves mid-night to sleep in the child’s vacant bed or on the sofa to get a decent nights sleep.

I define bedtime success as kids going to bed on their own after a mutually satisfying bedtime routine of no more than about 30 minutes, and all family members getting a restful sleep on most nights.  The family bed can fit within this definition of success, but so often it does not.  I’m not sure when we started believing that going to bed within a reasonable amount of time, at a reasonable hour, and in their own bed is beyond the abilities of most kids.  Many parents I talk to believe that expecting this monumental feat is sheer folly, or worse, it’s cruel.  It is neither.

I’m a big believer in parent-centered families.  I know that flies in the face of what you hear in this child-centered time we are living in, but in my ever so humble opinion, the best parenting comes from content parents.  I want parents to take care of themselves in order to take the best care of their children.  Parents need to have time for themselves individually and with each other (or if single, with other adults).  They need a time and place for intimacy.  They need sleep.  It’s a whole lot easier to find this time if one parent is not spending all evening getting the children to bed or going to bed with the child, and restful sleep is easier for many people if they aren’t sleeping with a wiggly squirmy child.

I am aware that sleeping together as a family is common in some cultures.  I am also aware that the parents I talk to may not be a representative sample of family bedders.  If you are one of those happy family-bed families, read no further.  I would caution you, however, to make darn sure your spouse truly feels the same way as you.  Frequently when I talk with parents, one parent says they love the family bed, but when specifically asked, the other parent (in my experience, usually the father) will admit that he is tired of sharing the bed and not getting a good nights sleep, but doesn’t think the alternative is possible and doesn’t want to rock the boat (or bed).

Now to the 64 million dollar question—how to get the little darlings to sleep within a reasonable amount of time, at a reasonable hour, and in their own beds.  For those of you who have read this blog to get to the how-to part, you’re going to be disappointed.  That is the topic of a book rather than blog.  I gave specific techniques in the last chapter of my book (The Complete Book of International Adoption) and we’ve done a number of Creating a Family radio shows on this topic (June 11: No Cry Sleep Solution and June 25: Raising Your Spirited Child), and we’ll do more in the future since sleep in the #1 issues for all parents of young children.  But the real reason I don’t want to go into the specifics  is that in my experience, the how-to follows once the parents decide that it is absolutely necessary for the child to get to bed and stay there.  And truthfully, the how-to’s are basically the same, no matter what approach or philosophy you follow: keep them in the crib until they are old enough to reason with, establish a bedtime routine, and be consistent.

Parental attitude is the key ingredient in families that get their kids to bed with a minimal of fuss.   Parents have to really believe that it is not only possible, but that it is best for both child and parent.  What would happen if your child refused to get in her car seat?  She can procrastinate, argue, scream, and cry all she wants, but at the end of the day, she’ll be strapped in.  That’s what I mean by attitude.  Parents also have to believe that a few tears will not permanently harm their child.  No matter what anyone tells you, a child that is used to being in control of bedtime will not often relinquish this control without a fight.  You can still be loving and emotionally available to your child and get them to bed.

I know of what I speak.  I have four children with very different temperaments, but ultimately all four became great sleepers (defined in my mind as going to sleep on their own after a mutually satisfying routine).  With one we had to be much more rigid since she challenged all routines and parental control, and with another we had to move slower since he struggled mightily with separation from us, but we ultimately succeeded within a relatively short period of time.  All kids were in their beds by 8:00 and we had the rest of the evening to ourselves to recharge.  Parenting is hard work and I for one am a much better parent when I punch off the parenting clock by 8:00.

Once you get your kids firmly into good sleep habits, you can bend the rules if you want.  Seldom is Peter out of town that I don’t have one kid in bed with me for a “sleep-over”.  We watch a movie on my laptop, eat popcorn and apples in bed, and settle in for a squirmy wiggly night’s sleep.

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I run a nonprofit (I imagine that’s not news to you since you are reading this at the website of that nonprofit) and like most nonprofits, we try to save money wherever we can. It’s hard to beat free office space, so my office is in my house.  Most of the year I love this arrangement.  I can take a break to start dinner or throw in a load of wash mid afternoon, I can take my laptop to the porch to work, and I can’t beat the commute– a short climb up 24 creaky stairs.

But starting June 11, the first day school is out, along with the glories of summer comes the guilt.  It’s an odd sort of distraction.  I accept that I will have less time to actually work during the summer because of keeping one ear on what’s happening downstairs, what rules are being stretched, and who needs a distraction, but my husband also works from home, so we share this job.  The guilt thing, however, is mine alone and is harder to get a handle on. 

I feel guilty if I’m not doing things with my kids if they are around.  I feel like I have to, or should, maximize this opportunity to be with them.  To influence them, to instruct them, but mostly to have fun with them.  School time is guilt free time.  Summertime is another story all together.  

When my kids were younger, I worked part time out of the house, so there was much less juggling of work and home schedules.  When I was home, I was home to do home things.  Each week I would plan an art project, a cooking project, and a field trip.  It was almost like running a summer camp, and I loved it.  I know my parenting role has changed now that my children are older and so has my work schedule.  But I still think they need my time and attention and summer days present so many opportunities. 

I know it’s a cliché, but I’m more aware than ever that this time with our kids is fleeting.  All too soon, they will have lives of their own.  Actually, “too soon” is not the right description.  If we are lucky and if we do our job as parents right, it will be at the right time and they will be ready to phase us out of their everyday lives.  But, thank goodness,  most of mine are not there yet, and I want to relish every moment of the time I have left.  Now, the funny thing is, my kids are at the age when the last thing they want on most days is more undivided time and attention from dear old mom. But knowing that they feel this way doesn’t change how I feel.  

So, this summer I’ll be feeling that peculiar mommy summer guilt–wanting to spend my days with my kids and needing to spend them (or at least some of them) at my work.   So, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll succumb to the guilt and go rustle up a kid for a game of badminton, a cow race on the Wii, or some cookie cooking.

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The sad thing is that until she mentioned it, I hadn’t realized that our two stood apart from the other 25 adorably and fashionably dressed girls.  My standards for nice dress (also known as church clothes in our family) have dipped so low, that I now considered my daughter dressed up when she’s wearing her brown pants, instead of blue jeans, and her church flip flops.  Yes, she has a pair for dress occasions; and yes, they are almost identical to the other Old Navy flip flops she wears everyday, but cleaner—I hope.  And for those of you who are blessedly ignorant about Old Navy flip flops, they are identical to the ones you grew up wearing from Wal-Mart and similarly priced, but come in a rainbow assortment of colors.  We own enough colors that my daughter can coordinate her flip flops with her outfits.  Now, how’s that for fashionable.

This is my fourth child, or more to the point, my fourth teen.  I’m one of the BTDT (been there, done that) crowd, and I understand the progression from security blanket to security clothes.  My daughter feels secure in pants, cute shirt with a cami underneath (no matter how hot it is outside or how little flesh the shirt shows), and of course, flip flops.  My friend’s daughter’s security is her blue jacket and jeans.  As I chatted with my friend reassuring her that her daughter would someday outgrow the need for the blue jacket, or at the very least outgrow the jacket, I smugly (and silently) congratulated myself on keeping clothes in perspective.  As I inwardly smiled at the wisdom gained over four children, my eyes fell on my high school aged son, and I had to restrain myself from going over and pulling up his jeans.  His security, I’m sad to say, comes from very baggy jeans worn with way too much boxer (and not infrequently a little crack when he bends way over) showing.  It drives me nuts! 

I would have voted for Obama anyway, but he won me over completely when he said his message for the brothers of America was to “Pull up your pants!”  I even stooped so low during the election to tell my boy that since he couldn’t vote for Obama, the least he could do for him was cover his butt.  Honestly, I saw enough of it when he was a baby, and that was when it was cute. 

But even though I don’t like his choice of clothes, when I’m not so consumed with irritation, I realize that they offer him the security of the crowd.  I’ve seen this need in varying degrees with all my children.  I’ve also noticed that the more confident the child, the less the need for security clothing.  One son, who was born self assured, only briefly went through a stage in middle school of wanting to dress like everyone else.  In high school he often shopped at K-Mart and thrift stores by his choosing.  When I offered to buy him something at a more fashionable store, he said that it didn’t matter where the clothes were from–fashion came from the inside.  If you felt cool, you were cool.  Wise words, but not everyone, and very few teens, can pull it off. 

I know the flip flops and low slung jeans are part of trying to figure out who they are.  They make my kids feel secure and offer them invisibility in the crowd while they are in the process.  I look forward to the day when they don’t need these trappings to feel secure, but I don’t think there is anything I can do to speed it up.  In the meantime, I’ll periodically buy fresh flip flops and try really really hard not to aim for the wedgie when I yank up those ridiculous looking jeans.

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