A Mindful Panda

Thus far, Lucas hasn't been terribly creative with the naming of his stuffed animals. His tiger is Tiger, the polar bear is Polar Bear, the cat is Kitty Cat, and so on. But something changed last week when Grandma bought him a small stuffed panda bear at their weekly visit to the zoo.

My mom reported that he immediately hugged the panda bear and said, "This is Sati." She thought the name sounded like it could be Chinese or at least Asian in origin, and she wondered how he would have known that the panda bears come from Asia. When she brought him home, she had a funny look on her face when she said to me, "He came up with some sort of Chinese-sounding name for the stuffed panda. How would he know that? … Lucas," she called to him, "What was that name again?" He called out, "Sati!" hugging the little panda and grinning.

On a whim, I decided to look up the word. Here are the first two references from Wikipedia:

• Mindfulness (Pali). In Buddhism the word 'Sati' usually carries the meaning of awareness or skillful attentiveness
• 
  
  An alternative name for Hindu goddess Dakshayani, Shiva's first wife

There were many more references to the word (many of them Hindu, and one including the practice of a widow throwing herself on her husband's funeral pyre) but none of them struck me as relevant.

Wouldn't it be great if the little panda actually reminds him to be mindful?

There is another reference to Buddhism buried in this story. One of his favorite books these days is Zen Shorts, which features a giant panda who tells three youngsters age-appropriate stories from the Buddhist tradition.

I could be reading far more into the name, Sati, than is warranted, but it's kind of fun to wonder at the connections. What do you think? Am I stretching it? Or is this really cool?

Unloading Some Baggage

No matter how many years I've lived, or books I've read, or personal development classes I've taken, it seems that those family-of-origin issues never stay resolved for long. Yes, I've forgiven everyone I need to forgive ... a few times over. Yes, I understand that my parents did the absolute best they could have done with the tools they had available to them at the time. So why, then, do the deep hurts and false beliefs about my unworthiness always seem to re-emerge, strong as ever, after their brief vacations?

Maybe they never go away for good, but I just had to share with you an exercise that shrunk them to such infinitesimally small particles that I feel as light as a feather – and this time, I doubt they'll ever grow back to their former strength.

Before I share this with you, I want to digress for a moment about the cyclical nature of family experiences. When we think about how we have come to be who we are, much depends on how we were raised by our parents. That, in turn, depends on how our parents were raised, and how our parents' parents were raised, and so on. If there is abuse in a family, you'll often discover generations of abuse. Most of the time, inherited beliefs and patterns are much more subtle than that. Feelings of unworthiness are almost universally passed down in this culture, with our long-standing emphasis on independence and self-sufficiency at the expense of nurturing and community.

Each generation has the opportunity to break the cycle and approach parenting in a new way. But if we don't fully release our parents from the resentment or blame that we may hold surrounding needs we had that were never met, then we'll continue to subconsciously perpetuate the cycle in one way or another with our own children.

I feel compelled to mention that it is tempting for me to disregard and minimize my discontent about my own childhood, because, quite frankly, there wasn't much to complain about. I was loved, cared for, and encouraged to pursue my dreams. I lived in nice homes and traveled the world. Yes, there was divorce, and yes, it was painful. No, I wasn't ever understood, and that was perhaps more painful. But really, my childhood wounds seem so petty when I compare myself to those who suffered horrible childhoods.

The reason I mention this is that I'm sure there are those of you reading this blog who feel the same way. I've come to realize that it doesn't matter how grievous or minor the perceived injuries. To our fragile childhood psyches, it mattered, that's all. And if we want to free ourselves from having it matter to us decades later in our adulthood, we have some inner work to do, and the core of that work seems to be forgiveness.

While I have attempted forgiveness many times over, I always had the sense I was doing it wrong. I wanted to feel it deeply, but managed only to intellectualize it. I knew I should forgive. I knew why it was important. I knew all of the reasons why my parents deserved my compassion and understanding.

"I forgive you." I said it out loud, in writing, to them, to myself, and still … I didn't really get it. A conversation or memory would trigger a reaction, and I'd be right back again where I started – feeling resentment and anger about the childhood I wished I had had. I would see the effects of my inner sense of unworthiness stamped on every aspect of my life: career, finances, relationships, creative pursuits, you name it.

So when my dear friend and mentor suggested I do a writing exercise to release and forgive my parents, I thought, "But I've done that already. It didn't work."

Regardless, I decided to play along and give it a go.

Well … this time it worked.

The exercise was simple and didn't take me very long at all to complete. I also did it right after my meditation, which may have contributed to the healing. Who knows? Anyway, here is what I did:

1. For each parent, I simply jotted down what I knew of how they were parented, and any important things that may have impacted their young lives. (Again, I already knew this stuff. I was so tempted to skip the whole thing because it was nothing new to me. I'm so glad I did it anyway!)
   
2. Then, for each one, I answered the question: Did he/she have the tools to give me what I needed as a child? (Uh … no. See? Simple answer.)
   
3. Here's the kicker, though … for each parent, I wrote a couple of sentences from me as an adult, addressing them as if they were still young children, releasing and forgiving them, and showing them the love I would show my own son if he were in their shoes. Just so you'll understand what I mean, here's what I wrote for my father, who lost his mother when he was four years old, and was never allowed to grieve for her: "I have compassion for you, dear motherless boy. I hold you and let you cry. I tell you stories of your lovely mother to comfort you. I release you from any guilt you may have over how you raised me – or didn't – and I forgive you." I mean, how can I continue to feel anything but compassion for the man after looking at him in this way? It was really powerful.
   

The final step I took was to show my own little self that same compassion and forgiveness, since after all, I've been the one bludgeoning myself with these childhood hurts for all these years. After writing about a particularly painful time in my very young life when we lived in Australia and my brother was a tiny, attention-hogging infant, this is what I wrote to myself:

"Sweet little Lexi, with your ballet shoes and sunhat, your heat rash and sunburns, your darling smile and exuberance, I hug you and laugh with you. I listen to your stories and dreams with rapt attention, and I show you how much you are loved and special and amazing. I forgive you for the unkindness you have shown yourself, and I congratulate you on your strength and willingness to do this work at all costs. You never gave up, and here we are now … ready to shine."

This time, I felt the forgiveness and the healing - for all three of us - in my heart. It's as if there's been a locked door barring my way all these years, and the key to unlocking it has been hanging there right in front of me, but covered in cobwebs and dust, barely visible, and too icky to touch.

I hope that my sharing here will encourage you to reach into the cobwebs to dust off your own key, and see what doors open up for you.

Namaste',

Alexis

 

Lucas Teaches the Law of Attraction

A recent conversation with Lucas while driving:

Lucas: Are you happy?

Me: Yes, I'm happy.

Lucas: Are you happy when you say, "What the heck!"? (He mimics my annoyance brilliantly. Perhaps a future thespian?)

Me: (stifled laugh) Oh, you mean when I said, "What the heck!" about that truck that pulled out in front of us back there? (Me and my audible commentary on everyone else's driving!)

 

If you've been reading my blog for even a couple of weeks, you'll know that this "Are you happy?" thing has been going on for a while now. It's Lucas' favorite question. At first, we thought he was trying to gauge whether we were done being upset about something, as in: he's written in ballpoint pen all over his sheets, and immediately after my outcry he asks, "Are you happy?", perhaps hoping for a yes, so he can get back to playing.

Then, after last week's meltdown at Seaport Village, he followed the "Are you happy?" question with, "Do you love me?" which led me to believe he was trying to figure out how the love and the happiness were related – or not. It was a reasonable assumption.

Even more recently, he's been asking the happy question in the car, usually right after I've made a comment about something that was not making me feel very happy. I live in California, so there are many opportunities to find unpleasant experiences while driving. (Side note: I have managed to almost entirely omit the occasional profanity that used to escape my lips within the isolated cocoon of my car. My cocoon-mate was beginning to swear at fellow drivers before he was two. Oops!)

Why this incessant questioning? Are you happy? Are you happy? Are you happy?

Yesterday it occurred to me what might be happening. I think he might be channeling Abraham.

Just kidding.

But let me explain. If you aren't familiar with the Abraham/Hicks body of work on the Law of Attraction, it's time you checked it out. It's one of my favorite approaches to spiritual practice. I know I won't do it justice here so please check out the website or one of their many books. In brief, the basic premise is that our emotions carry different vibrations ranging from low to high, and we can only draw to us, or attract, that which is a vibrational match to what we're emitting. If we're vibrating at, say, irritation, we will only attract or notice more things that match the vibration of irritation, (like bad drivers or traffic). So if we want to experience something more positive than irritation, it behooves us to find our way into a "better feeling place" so we can attract more positive experiences (like all green lights or nice people who let us merge). It's all about taking responsibility for our emotions. We really can choose to feel different in any moment.

It's easier said than done, but I think it's worth the effort to embrace the practice.

All of this is what came to mind after our most recent exchange in the car. I noticed that every time I "chose" to be other than happy, Lucas would ask his question. It occurred to me that perhaps he's not wondering if I'm happy at all. Maybe the intent of the question is more along the lines of, "Are you choosing happiness right now?" but, let's face it, he's only two. What if the question is his way of reminding me to practice the Law of Attraction, which I so easily forget to do?

Maybe he really is the teacher and I am the student. Maybe we take turns. Who knows? Whatever the case, it beats the heck out of putting sticky-notes everywhere to remind myself to choose a better-feeling thought. If I look at it this way, then for the duration of his love affair with the question, I can use it as my reminder to check in with my emotions, and take responsibility for getting them where I want them to be.

Namaste' dear Lucas.

May I Have My PMS in Peace, Please?

After charting every rise and fall of my temperature for the twelve months leading up to Lucas' long-awaited conception, it amazes me that I am largely oblivious to my cycle these days. I circle the day on my calendar, and then at some point, the calendar flips to the next month and that little circle falls out of my awareness completely.

So when everyday life becomes exceedingly difficult and I begin to act like an emotional lunatic, when I look in the mirror and wonder dejectedly how I've aged fifteen years in a week, when everyone, especially my family, annoys me beyond belief, when I have absolutely NOTHING to wear and my hair won't cooperate, and this is reason enough for a crying jag or a temper tantrum, I am oddly surprised a day or so later when I find it's time to mark that circle on my calendar again. "Oh ... hormones… of course," I think as I reach for the box in my bathroom cupboard.

The calm returns. Sanity is restored.

My husband (who has witnessed this more times than a man deserves) suggested that I come up with some sort of early warning system so he'll know it's just my period and not the end of the world as we know it. It's a good idea.

Here's why it's an even better idea. Guess who else was wigging out during my most recent bout of premenstrual mania?

That's right … my über-sensitive son.

Newsflash!!! If you have a sensitive, indigo, crystal or otherwise intuitive child, be prepared to share your PMS.

It's actually rather funny looking back on it, although I was ready to commit myself over the past few days. Here I was, impatient, annoyed, overwhelmed by the choice of oatmeal or eggs for breakfast, and there was Lucas, standing between my legs everywhere I went, (yes, between my legs - how's that for a hint?) whining and falling into crying fits for no apparent reason. Both of us looked to Toby in despair. "Help! We're driving each other crazy!"

The duet hit its peak yesterday at Seaport Village, following Lucas' ill-advised consumption of some chocolate frozen yogurt. I, on the other hand, had not had an afternoon snack. This was a disaster waiting to happen. The sugar hit his bloodstream while we were waiting in line for some water. Lucas crept away from me and grabbed a chair from someone's table and began pushing it across the courtyard. I called after him to stop. He looked back at me and then began to push the chair in earnest through the crowds and toward the sea wall. I dashed out after him, carrying my wallet and the water I'd just stolen.

When I reached him, he knocked over the chair and began to run. I got a hold of his wrist while he writhed and screamed, and I struggled to keep him from knocking his head on the ground. Meanwhile, I tried to right the chair and return it, still holding the water and the wallet. Finally I managed to pick him up, struggling and screaming, and we returned to the little cabana from which I'd taken the water.

Now I was at the end of an even longer line, and Lucas's maniacal screams were bouncing between the floor tiles and the roof, deafening everyone in the building. He was sitting in my arms with his knees pulled up to my chest, trying to push away with his feet. Then he began to swing his arms and biff me upside the head. Everyone must have been staring – I wouldn't know. I was too busy trying to figure out how to restrain his arms without ripping them off of his maddening little body. The manager approached me at the end of the line, quickly took my payment and said, "You're good! You're good! Go ahead! You can go!"

I got him outside, steam coming out of my ears, threw down the water and my wallet, plunked Lucas into the stroller, and wrestled him down to get the safety belts fastened. I pulled the shade over the top of his screams and sank into the chair, while everyone in the world stared at me like I was the worst mother in the world, and Lucas was little Mr. Demon Spawn. It was all I could do to keep from crying.

As his crying wound down, he asked me through his tears, "Are you happy?" (This again!) "No!" I answered sharply. "No, I'm not happy right now. I'm very, very frustrated and angry!" His screaming resumed at a higher pitch.

At the time, I thought it was the sugar for him, and afternoon hunger for me, short-circuiting our fuses. Now I can see it was a culmination of a few days of growing irritability on both our parts, pushing at one another to this breaking point.

When the screaming was over and he had calmed down, he had another question to ask me. "Do you love me, Mommy?" I picked him up, hugged him, and told him I always love him, even when he's throwing fits and I'm angry or frustrated.

I assumed that he knew this, though really, I'm not sure why I should think it's a given to him. He's trying to work out the difference between my happiness and my love, and he needed it spelled out for him, just so he was clear.

It's a good reminder about being responsible with my emotions, PMS-induced or otherwise. It's not just me they're affecting.

Chasing Fairies: reprise

Lucas chased away some annoying spirits or energies this morning. It's been a long time – maybe almost a year – since he engaged in his own version of space-clearing, which is why it was somewhat surprising to hear his bossy voice shouting from the bedroom, "Phat! Phat! Go away! Phat! Phat! Go away! Go… A… way! Love is here!" After repeating this insistently a few times, I heard him nonchalantly mutter to himself, "They goed away."

I say I was only "somewhat" surprised because I was partially expecting something unusual to happen this morning. You see, I've been meeting a lot of intuitive women lately, some of whom also have very intuitive children. I thought it was high time these women all got together to support one another and normalize this experience a bit. Last night was our first meeting – in our living room.

I won't go into the details of our meeting, but I can tell you that the energy was palpable. You could actually feel the room buzzing with good vibrations. It was awesome!

The energy wasn't just coming from the eight of us gathered there, either. It seems that there were a number of family members, guides and angels wanting to get in on the fun.

This being the case, I wondered if Lucas would actually feel something different this morning when he woke up. Sure enough, he did.

After Lucas' rather loud space-clearing-fairy-chasing, my husband went into his bedroom to see what was going on. He asked him who was there. Lucas answered cheerfully as he trotted down the hall to the kitchen, "There was some God in there, but it goed away."

I think that was a fascinating choice of words: "some God." My guess is that he meant it as "a bit of God", rather than one God or another. Perhaps he sees us all as a bit of God, and the spirits would be no different. He didn't seem upset or fearful at all about them being there, so I wasn't worried about their presence, either. They were probably just some friendly spirits who had lingered on after the party ended last night, and he simply wanted them to get a move on.

I am glad he felt empowered to clear his space to his liking … and I hope that his guides and angels will forgive his bossiness.

Are You Happy?

Lucas' favorite question these days is, "Are you happy?"

Most of the time, he asks me this when steam is coming out of my ears in the midst of a particularly challenging exchange. "No, I'm not happy! I'm frustrated!" I might snap at him.

One minute later… "Are you happy now?"

"No, Lucas, I'm still a little bit mad."

And on it goes, like a Verizon commercial, until "happiness" is reached.

I'm well aware that this is an important learning opportunity. The lesson I DON'T want to teach him is that his happiness is dependent on other people or circumstances. I DO want him to be able to regulate his own happiness regardless of outside influences. I'm just not sure how I'm going to help him learn this when I'm a long way from mastering it, myself. It is so tempting to say, "You made me mad," or "Mommy is happy when you ______."

But I know this is not the truth. Lucas' behavior does not cause or limit my happiness. It's my response to his behavior that does that. And my response is completely within my own control, whether I choose to believe that or not. Furthermore, to convince him otherwise is to manipulate his behavior by taking advantage of his empathy and desire to please. That's coercion, and if you're a regular reader of this blog, you know we try to avoid that.

Explaining this to a toddler is challenging, at best.

Here are some more of my fumbling attempts to answer his happiness question when I'm clearly not happy:

"Right now I'm choosing to be mad, because you hit me and that hurt." (Oops, I still blamed him for my anger. And yes … even the amazing Lucas hits his mom on a particularly melty-down kind of day. I hate that!)

"No, I'm not happy. I'm cranky and tired, and you're annoying me." (In addition to giving him power over my sanity, this one is just not nice.)

"I'm a happy person, even though it looks like I'm mad now." (That just doesn't even make sense!)

"No, I'm not feeling happy, but I'm going to take some deep breaths and work on getting calm so I can feel my happiness." (This is as close as I've gotten to taking full responsibility, while not lying about my emotions.)

As he continues to ask me the happiness question, I am offered repeated opportunities to refine my answer and explore the underlying truth behind the question. It is, indeed, an important learning opportunity, but not in the way I initially saw it.

As it turns out, I'm not the one teaching the lesson.

May in Review

This great idea of a monthly review was started by Mon at Holistic Mama. You can check out a list of other bloggers writing their Mays in Review here.

Summary

May was a month of slowing down. We all had colds at one point or another, so it necessitated more couch time, reading time, sleeping time. While I'd rather enjoy that down time without being sick, sometimes that's what it takes to get us to hop off the hamster wheel and take a break.

Fun
Lucas is so loved at Trader Joe's that the manager had a set of nametags made for him. They're working on getting him his own toddler-sized Trader Joe's Hawaiian shirt.

Challenging
Struggled with doubt about the focus of my writing; log book sales were at a standstill: meditation was barely warding off financial panic.

Thoughtful
Read Outliers, and wondered if I've missed my chance at putting in enough hours at any one thing to be really successful.

An Insight/Thought
Sugar was likely the culprit behind feeling run down most of the month. (Am I really admitting this publicly? Does this mean I have to do something about it? Please don't take away my chocolate.)

Website/Blog Find/Tip or Idea from web
The Natural Birth Project is a new organization that is growing by leaps and bounds. Check out what they're doing to bring awareness about natural birth to the masses.

Words
Lucas was captivated by the children's book, Zen Shorts, by Jon J. Muth. He sat completely transfixed for three readings in a row!

Note to Self
I have much to be grateful for.

Slice of home

This scene is a daily occurrence. Usually it's in front of the stereo, but since Papa was rehearsing with his band in the music studio (to the left), Lucas moved his operations a bit closer to the action.