Sweet Summer Sweat
Hello after a month-long absence from blogging. Let me explain my quiet.
Something funny happens in my family on the first hot, aimless days of summer. Some people live for this free and, so-called, easy season. Not me. It’s like my whole family gets botched up by the suddenly loose structure in our lives and we don’t quite know what to do with ourselves or each other. My son gets moody. My daughter gets a little mean. And all of my good mothering sense gets sweated out in one sticky July afternoon on the playground. It’s like I fry the piece of my brain necessary for paying attention to children.
Not only that, Mark and I think we occasionally should be kicking back at night–enjoying our own sweet summer sweat–but instead we’re getting cranky because of late bedtimes that eat into our together time. Here we are in week four of summer and I’m ready to do the back-to-school shopping. Where are those Sunday circulars anyway? I mean, my head really wants autumn.
But since that’s not happening, here’s what is.
My kids started camp today. One manageable week of day camp at their public school. They are familiar with the other kids in the camp. They could navigate the school building blindfolded. They get to swim the day away in the nearby reservoir then play a few games. And still they were both clearly freaked out by walking the 5 blocks down the street to camp. CAMP.
Oh my God, I remember my first day of YMCA day camp at Holiday Ridge. I was nine and had to pull my shy older sister down the street to catch the bus with 35 strangers. Then when we got there, I had to pretend I was having fun for the next two weeks of crafts and swim lessons, also known as torture by crawl stroke. Camp stunk, but I didn’t have anyone to tell. Even if I couldn’t actually wrangle my way out of going, I needed a caring adult to listen to me moan about the meanie counselor, the stinky changing rooms and the crawl stroke.
Our kids need us to listen to them about what gets hard, where they feel sad, scared, terrified or (they probably won’t use this word but they might need to express it) oppressed. Yes, oppressed. Sorry, but adults oppress children all the time. Our children need to be able to say, “Mom, Dad, I’m scared to go to camp or I’m not so sure about this soccer thing you signed me up for” without us saying, “There there. You’ll have fun. You’ll be with your friends. Don’t be scared. Be quiet.”
Let your kids be scared without trying to shut them up. Listen to them, if only for (sound familiar) five minutes in which you don’t tell them how they should feel.
Try this. One child at a time, snuggle up next to him or her and let them know you’re there. Be silly and light, don’t treat this as a serious, sit-down heart-to-heart talk about their emotional well-being. Laughter is the easiest access to a child’s emotions. Get them laughing a little with you, but please no tickling. That’s a worse form of torture than the crawl stroke. Then in a light way say, “What’s going on?” and see what comes of it. Listen to what they are telling you, emphasis on the listening. This is time to give advice or tell your kid what to feel. This is you letting your child have his or her feelings about whatever.
It’s the summer so maybe they need to talk about boredom or missing their friends. Maybe, if you’re lucky, they’re in a great place of relaxed and happy and they want to share that, too. Some children will want to beat their parents up and, if you can lightly play wrestle them, letting them win, do that. For children, having some physical control over their parents can be hugely empowering.
And that’s it. Kids aren’t like adults who often freak out about opening up, about emotion. Typically, if you listen carefully, kids will be thrilled to show themselves to you. It’s summer. It’s camp season. Don’t insist on happy. As parents, let’s take five minutes and see what’s really going on.