I've found a missing piece. Over the last ten to fifteen years, I have been hunting and gathering parenting strategies from the dense forest of experts' and veteran parents' philosophies and practices. I've emerged with an armful of techniques that seem to work, having left behind much that I found to be ineffective or harmful.
As I teach parenting classes, I see that what parents take from these classes works…most of the time. As I use these same techniques with my own kids, I feel successful…most of the time.

However, there are some issues over which I watch parents scratch and claw their way through different techniques and find that no matter what they do, how angry they get, how many privileges they remove, "nothing works." It is a lonely place where parents battle desperately with a pattern of behavior that drains them. They are resentful, exhausted and pushed to irrationality. I know it. I've been there myself numerous times.

In the not-so-distant past, I have considered secretly imprisoning my three-year-old son in his room until he is safely through several specific developmental stages, namely whining and treating his baby sister like a science experiment. I responded to those behaviors with a vengeance, trying things that should have worked as often as I've tried things that didn't have a prayer of working. I sometimes got temporary results but at the end of the day, I felt powerless, drained and resentful. And at the end of that same day, I imagine my son felt powerful but insecure and unsafe.

I was missing something and I sensed it had something to do with our relationship.

I watch other parents in my classes fall into the Nothing's Working Pit. It is a tragic sight. They grasp for the tools in their toolbox, finding them all to be lacking as their anger and frustration sucks them down into the pit, their voices calling out, "Why is my child doing this, this, this….?" Or "My child is driving me crazy, crazy, crazy…" When I see this happen, I again sense the solution is in the relationship between these parents and their kids.

Why do you think, I asked my husband one late night, there are specific behaviors that affect specific parents in such a way as to render us utterly incapable of reacting with love or remaining in control of ourselves or our homes?

Then I ran across an idea that occurred to another parent educator who was sensing an empty spot in her toolbox as well. She talks and writes about the reality that our kids find and push our buttons. They poke around with their behavior until they find ones that elicit smoke from our ears, loud noises from our mouths and bright colors on our faces. Once they find those buttons, they push them whenever they need to: when they need attention, when they're tired, bored, frustrated or angry. They learn that those buttons become easier targets when we are tired, angry or frustrated ourselves.

Bonnie Harris, author of When Your Kids Push Your Buttons talks about how to identify our buttons and describes ways to defuse them so that we can return to the empathetic, loving and rational parents we once were. Neutralizing the reaction we have to our kids' behaviors starts with identifying why those buttons are there and what the behaviors are saying about our child's needs.

As the only adult in the relationship between ourselves and our kids, we can change the entire dynamic by being honest with ourselves about our part in these conflicts. Parenting is not about taking a small object and molding it just so into a near-perfect final product. Parenting is a relationship between two people and, like all other relationships, involves two perspectives and two sets of needs.

Our job, when we are feeling irate and intolerant, is to consider our child's viewpoint and assess his/her needs. Next, we must determine why the behavior is causing us so much pain. Does it spark a bad memory from our childhood or are we exhausted or hurried in the moment, or a combination of past and present influences? It is below the surface of the behavior where we will find the roots of the solutions.

Let's say you are intolerant of incessant whining. As you look at your child's unspoken needs, you may begin to understand that she is upset because she had to stop doing something she was really enjoying to transition to the next activity and feels out of control of her own life. She may also have learned that whining works either because she has gotten her way in the past or because at least it gets you to react rather than move forward with the next activity, thereby allowing her to retain some control. You decide she is not, in fact, a manipulative, selfish child who sets out to make your life miserable whenever she pleases.

Next, you look at yourself and why the whining is so distressing to you that it makes you cringe, bargain, yell and punish. Is it because your brother whined as a child and stole the limelight every time? Or is it because you whined and were shamed by your family? Or are you afraid of what others might think of your parenting or your out-of-control child? Once you can identify where your acute discomfort comes from, that honesty can open a door to new alternatives.

Therefore, when your toddler whines again you can remind yourself that she is struggling with losing control and having to stop what she is doing. You can also remind yourself that you don't want to react to her behavior the way your family reacted to yours. Then comes the important step of letting go of that anger-deep breaths, a time out for yourself, or simply pausing before you react. Lastly, as you are taking that valuable pause, ask yourself what other options might be out there aside from punishing, yelling or shaming. You might help her transition slowly, providing a heads-up a few minutes before she needs to stop. You could tell her you understand how hard it is to stop playing, putting words to her feelings, and that you would be happy to talk more about it when she can use her normal voice. Giving her a hug and explaining that you understand may help her when you tell her the activity has to end because it is dinnertime. Whining doesn't need to be accepted, but once we are angry, our overall effectiveness becomes null and void.

This is not necessarily an easy conversion to make. These are loaded issues for a reason-usually they are connected to life-long beliefs about ourselves and about children. Being patient and committed to defusing your buttons will allow you to retain your energy, be more effective in shaping your child's behavior, and strengthen your relationship.

If you had been in my home any time in the last few weeks, you'd have heard me breath a sigh of relief. I've eagerly gathered up this new perspective and added it to my armload of techniques to offer to my children and to the parents I work with. After using these ideas for just two days, my son, who had been hurtful to my daughter for several weeks, stopped hurting her completely. Once my anger was removed from the mix, I was able to solve the relationship problems with dignity and effectiveness, and my children relaxed into the love and safety of my responses.

The Divine Bond
April 9, 2003

I got a call this morning from a mom who'd taken private infant massage lessons from me a few months back. She called to report that though she's loved her daughter since conception, she has finally started feeling joy about being her mother. Serena is about six and a half months old. The first of those six months were very long.
Serena entered this world peacefully. But she didn't draw another peaceful breath until a few weeks ago. She had colic and gas, was hypersensitive to stimuli, wouldn't allow her parents to put her down or stop moving and rarely slept.

I have two theories about Serena's parents and others with similar babies. The first is that they are very strong people with emotional and physical reserves running deep. The second is that their strength is derived from a divine and primitive bond that occurs between parents and their children. That bond, that invisible umbilical cord between a parent's heart and a baby's essence is the magical link that allows even the most challenged families the chance to thrive.

For some, this attachment starts pre-conception. Some parents have a sense of who their baby is and a "calling" to get pregnant before they're even ready to have a child. Others start connecting with their baby as they shift their lives to work on conceiving. Still others become permanently attached at some point during pregnancy. It might happen with the reality check of the first trimester's nausea and fatigue, or during the ultrasound greeting. Some feel it with the baby's first movements, or during the final nesting stage. Others feel their first real connection as labor begins and birth is imminent.

For others, an unplanned pregnancy can be a stressful time with no room for bonding. However, a large number of these hesitant parents connect with their babies at birth and feel their bad luck become their blessing.

There are parents who do not bond with their babies for days, weeks or even months after birth. More often than not, hormonal fluctuations and life stressors are the cause of the delayed attachment. And, more often than not, with treatment and support, the connection gets made. Regardless of when the link develops, once it is there, it is permanent and unyielding.

In an average family with an average baby, this divine bond allows parents to sacrifice for the good of the baby things in their life they'd sacrifice for nobody else. Sleep, for instance. Every new parent foregoes sleep in the name of nourishing and comforting their new family member.

In addition to interrupted sleep, new parents give up social outings, privacy, downtime, cleanliness and quiet. No more morning paper, no more independent trips to the bathroom, and no more spontaneous…anything. New parents don't leave the house without gear, nor do they "run out" to the store. Vacations can take days of packing while dinner at a friend's can take hours.
Simply put, parenting is a lot of work. And that is what it is like for average families with average babies.
Now, the parents who come home from the hospital with a baby and his colic, or gas or reflux or any number of disabilities, disorders or diseases have a few more sacrifices to make. These parents still don't pee alone or sleep at night. But they are also playing tug-o-war with any sanity or independence the average parent still has. These parents spend their days not only feeding, diapering and sleeping their babies (if they're lucky) but also visiting doctors and specialists, reading even more books, tapping their creativity and resourcefulness, and grieving.
Serena's parents, for example, could not do anything other than hold and bounce for hours on end. And that just seemed to decrease the crying. They refused all invitations to bring Serena anywhere and watched friends' faces fall when they visited and saw that things really were "that bad." Serena's mother quit her job that she intended to return to in order to devote her days to meeting her daughter's needs and frequently made the three-hour drive to her mother's home to get the breaks she needed to reign her sanity back in.

So, that bond we talked about allows the average family with an average baby to laugh at sleep deprivation, roll their eyes at all the new bodily fluids they handle and gaze dreamily at the new love of their life. That bond is the balancing rod between the sacrifices and the love.

For families with high-needs babies, that divine bond saves lives. It keeps the bleary-eyed, sometimes devastated parents moving through their days and caring for their baby. It is the motivator behind the superhuman strength it takes these parents to not just survive the days but to continue to seek the optimal solutions for their babies. This bond brings out the best in parents when the baby's needs threaten to bring out the worst.

So here's to new parents and their dedication to this most important job of raising their baby.

And here's to that divine bond between parents and their babies that is responsible for breathing life into new families.

Most new moms spend many maternity leave moments swimming around in murky waters, contemplating the decision of whether or not to return to work. Resting on one shore of the ocean of possibilities are mothers who gladly re-join their adult colleagues part-time or full-time. They thrive as they re-engage in their intellectual pursuits, beaming at the framed picture of their baby on their desk. They come and go from their babies and their jobs with feelings of clarity, purpose and balance, having energy and enthusiasm for both.

On the opposite shore are mothers who said good-bye to their bosses and co-workers on their way to the hospital, knowing they would be happy if, and only if, they stayed with their babies for the first few years of their lives. They feel fulfilled, connected and useful in their roles as mothers.

However…it seems that most mothers swim around in the middle between happily working and happily not working. There are a number of factors that keep these women from finding a comfortable place on solid ground. One common, powerful emotion is guilt. Moms report feeling guilt over an assortment of feelings and circumstances such as:

Leaving the baby; Not having ideal childcare; Not wanting to work; Not wanting to stay home; Missing baby's development; Losing or weakening their bond with the baby; Not wanting to focus on their hard-earned career; Wanting to focus on their career; Forcing baby to adjust to new people and/or routines (i.e.: bottle-feeding); Not being able to give 100% to baby or work; Wanting breaks from the baby…the list goes on and on.

At some point, many moms find their way out of the mire of guilt by quitting their jobs, cutting back hours or working at home. Others find relief as they get comfortable with their baby's caregivers. But some remain torn for months or years as they vacillate between needing to work and wanting to be home or wanting to work and needing to be home. Though most moms eventually find peace with their decision, they might be able to come to that peace sooner if they do some things to untangle and dispel the guilt.

Guilt, in this case, is the result of our unsuccessful grappling with two diametrically opposed beliefs: "I should be home full time with the baby," and "I should work." While those basic convictions are common, the reasons behind them differ from woman to woman. One mom may believe she needs to be home because no one else can meet her baby's needs while another mom may feel strongly about being home so she does not have to force a bottle on a baby who prefers (or demands) the breast. One mom may think she should work because her family needs the income while another woman doesn't want to jeopardize her career by stepping out for a while.

Because we can't figure out a way to live up to both beliefs, fear crops up. We are afraid that we will neglect our baby, our finances, our career, or ourselves. That fear, and our sense that we have no other options, leaves us feeling guilty and stuck. When we begin to get clear that we are setting ourselves up by expecting the impossible, we begin to open our minds to a solution that will allow for peace of mind and fulfillment.

The first step is to tell the truth. What are your beliefs? Where is the overlap between what you presume you should do and what you physically can do? Try to find the area or areas where you can't fulfill both conflicting beliefs. An example might be, believing you should be home with the baby full time and believing you should work 30 hours a week.

The second step is to look at what ideas are behind those beliefs. For instance, you might think you should be home with the baby because you know her best or because your mother thinks you should. You might feel you need to work 30 hours a week because your family needs your income or because your job is very fulfilling. Reality says you can't physically do both.

The third step is where the solutions lie. It is the place where you roll up your sleeves and dig deep to find your bottom-line truth. Look at your competing beliefs and, instead of trying to do both or picking one at the expense of the other, decide what is most important for you. Allow yourself to evaluate what your true conviction is, what you need to honor in order to feel like you are being true to yourself. Do you need to be home with your baby? Is that a bottom-line truth for you? Do you need to work? Is that a bottom-line truth for you? Or do you need a combination of both to live authentically?

This can be tricky because our belief systems are often based in fear rather than truth. There is a big difference between the mom who says, "My truth is that I need to work because we have to pay the mortgage," (fear of financial stress), and the mom who says, "My truth is that I need to work because I get filled up by the work I do and the people I work with," (truth about self.)

Similarly, there is a clear difference between saying, "I need to be with my baby because my mom stayed home with her babies and she will judge me if I go to work," (fear), and "I want my baby to have the consistency and responsiveness of her mother for the first year of her life," (your truth.) If you are still conflicted after getting clear about what you believe to be right for you, then the bottom line truth may be that you need both in your life. Having both might look like working a few hours and spending most of your time with the baby. Or it might be that you are willing to stay home for the first year and creatively keep your hand in your career until you return as a regular employee.

If you are struggling to find your deepest truth, talk to someone who can be objective, who wants to support you in being true to yourself and who doesn't have a personal need for you to choose one over the other. Or write about it and allow yourself to be candid and honest. Your deepest belief must be allowed to surface in order for you to move forward.

Once you understand where your truth is, the fourth and last step is to commit to pursuing it above all else. Bring your new clarity to the forefront of your mind as you look at your decision of whether or not to return to work. When you make the commitment to be true to yourself, you open your mind up to new alternatives you may not have considered. This allows you to focus on meeting your ideals, your bottom-line truths, while the other issues are taken care of by the limitless supply of options. For example, a woman who has adopted her mother's belief that she should be home with the baby realizes that she wants the stimulation of working part time in order to feel whole. She then focuses on finding a way to work some and be with the baby some. She approaches her employer, discovers they have job share opportunities, and the person she decides to share with has a wonderful childcare provider close by. If you can, figuratively, 'get out of your own way' or let go of the assumption that you are already aware of all the possibilities, you might discover a neighbor you trust will take care of your baby or your boss will allow you to work part-time, or a new part-time job becomes available, or your spouse gets a raise. There is no limit to the possibilities once we commit to being true to ourselves and to letting go of the fear.

Here are some words of experience from moms who've come to peace with their bottom-line truths and the decisions they've made for their families:

Ask yourself what you need to be the best parent you can be; Only use caregivers you trust-drop-in unannounced, call anytime, have them fill out a daily log; Consider paternity leave for your husband/partner; Be present wherever you are, with baby and at work; Consider working part time, flex time, at home, nights or weekends; Ease back into your job-1/2 day first day, start mid-week, start back part time and then move to full time; Decrease family expenses; Move closer to extended family; Put off returning for several more months until you feel ready; Come home to nurse in the middle of the day; Find other moms who might want to co-op or trade childcare with you; Use family or close friends for childcare in the beginning (but don't bounce your baby around between too many caregivers); Find a stay-at-home mom who might watch your baby and need the income or offer to do that for someone else.

When we can acknowledge our conflicting beliefs, get clear about what is most true for us, commit to fulfilling that truth above all else, and allow the alternatives to appear to fill in the gaps, we find peace. We find fulfillment. Our hearts are calm and our minds are clear. We can focus on the blessings in our lives and our families reap the benefits.

Self-doubt in parenting is natural and, sorry to say, permanent. That is the way parents are built. Constructive self-doubt says things like, "Better check references and visit the daycare center one more time before you bring your baby there." And, "Are you sure it's safe to leave your daughter alone on the bed while you go to the bathroom?"

If we ever found a plateau of complete comfort with our parenting skills, our poor children would be in grave danger. Who would protect them from unexpected crises if we did not experience that divine level of alertness and constant questioning that comes with our instinctual desire to do it better? Babies and children need us to live with a bit of self-doubt, a type of vigilance around our behavior and responsiveness that ensures their continued well-being.

Extreme self-doubt, however, can become a frequent irritant, getting in our way of enjoying motherhood. For some, it can lead to terror, self-hatred, or depression.
What would parenting be like if we weren't heavy with extraneous self-doubt? My guess is we'd laugh more and ruminate less, relax more and research less, have more energy and more fun. I picture moms' groups all over the country filled with smiling women, their faces free from tension as they lightheartedly share mistakes and solutions with each other. I can almost picture back-slapping.
However, self-doubt seems to be a popular theme amongst mothers these days, and the chorus goes something like this: "Intellectually, I know what to do. But I just don't fully trust myself. What if I'm wrong?"

For example, what if the opposing expert team is right and the way I am handling the sleep issue will, actually, damage my child? What if my mother-in-law is right and my child grows up spoiled? What if I'm being too rigid, lenient, mean, nice, responsive, unavailable, etc., etc., etc.?

What would happen if we flipped any one of our fears into a positive line of questioning? Let's take the sleep issue. What if sleeping with my baby is building trust and providing comfort? What if it is easy to transition him out of our bed when we're ready? What if our sex life survives this phase just fine?

Since we can't predict the future, we can't know which scenario is going to play out. Therefore, the absolute best we can do is make conscious decisions based on the information we have at the moment.

We get that information from listening to our child, checking our instinct, and gathering information from others. If, at any point, we get new information that tells us what we're doing isn't working, we'll do something else. That is precisely the process we need to trust: that we are conscious enough to make the best decisions we can at any given moment, and we'll adjust as we need to.

When we parent from a place of self-doubt, on the other hand, the fear is not only that we will never be armed with enough information, but that even if the "right" decision were to appear, we'd miss it. We believe we will unknowingly screw this whole child-raising thing up.

Let's look at a mother who is confronted with the issue of whether or not to leave her separation-anxiety-ridden fourteen-month-old with a babysitter so she and her husband can go out. After reading books, talking to other parents, listening to her toddler's needs, and checking her instinct, here's what she comes up with:

It is important to have time away with her husband. Her child's behavior is developmentally appropriate. She trusts the sitter. It is important to her child's development of trust and understanding of how things work that when she leaves, she say good-bye rather than sneak out, even if it causes tears.

Now, if this mother trusted herself, she would be confident that she was making the best decision she could, that she was open to receiving new information, and that she would adjust her decision if needed. Therefore, she would notice if her daughter became excessively clingy, sleepless, or angry, or was increasingly more upset rather than less, after mom left. If she noticed any of those things, this mother would re-evaluate.

However, let's say this mother experienced self-doubt and that doubt was realistic--in other words, her child really did suffer permanent, emotional trauma because of her leaving. In order for her to cause long-term damage, any hint of that trauma would have to escape this mother's awareness. In order for her to unknowingly cause harm, she would have to miss any and all signs that her child was experiencing distress. She would, therefore, continue leaving her child rather than recognize her child's extreme distress and, in turn, change her decision.

The task, then, is to continue listening to our children, checking in with our instinct and staying open to new information. That is how we will know if we are on the right track or not. Self-doubt is not what keeps us from causing harm. Hiding in parenting books does not keep us from causing harm. Expending energy second-guessing ourselves over and over does not keep up from causing harm. Watching and listening to our children is what keeps us from causing harm. We will make the right decisions if we are listening to our kids and our instincts.

When we trust ourselves to do that-stay in close touch with what our kids and our instincts are saying--we can gather information with clarity and thoughtfulness rather than from within a thick fog of second-guessing. We can make decisions and then relax, rather than remaining stuck in obsessive thinking.

Imagine life without self-doubt. Imagine undertaking the enormously important job of raising a child with confidence and self-assuredness. All we have to do is trust the process where we learn about our children's needs, watch their behavior for signs of how they are doing, and remain open to doing things differently when we get new information.

We are building relationships with these mysterious little people. This is a dance, not a construction project, as there are very few right angles or level surfaces in raising children. We are not inserting tab A into slot B, hoping not to break open slot C by mistake. We are interacting, guiding and loving to the best of our abilities. There is a lot of room for mistakes, growth, learning and maturing on everybody's part. We're just trying to figure this stuff out together, as we go.

We finally did it. My husband and I finally hired a babysitter for a full Saturday so we could "do what we love to do but can't do with kids." Just the two of us drove into the heart of the Rockies and hiked to 12,000 feet, went out to dinner and to the movies. It took us just under four years to get around to this.

Now, to immediately disengage the bomb that is about to go off in the new parent mind, rest assured this was not the first time we'd hiked, nor was it our first visit to a restaurant or movie theater. It was simply the first time, since we became parents, that we did it all in one day, together, just us.

This day offered me the opportunity to look back over the last four years. I thought about my metamorphosis from a childless woman to a new parent. From a content mother of a newborn to a weighted down, trapped parent of a toddler. And from there to a place of acceptance of myself as a mother.

Having a baby was the final goal on my life plan at that point-once Gabriel arrived, I felt as though I had too. During the early months of his life, I wasn't yearning for the next thing--I was more content than ever before. So when a heavy cloud of depression descended over me after Gabe turned one, I was confused. It didn't make any sense to me, as my first year of motherhood felt so right.

But after Gabe's first birthday, his needs grew. I started working more and was finding less time to spend with my husband, my friends and myself. I began to daydream about my old, free life. I took mental retreats back in time to the summer I lived in my truck in Crested Butte. I craved the days of spontaneously riding my bike to the movies whenever I felt called to do so. I fantasized about lying in the sun and reading books in the middle of the day. I dreamed about skiing, mountain-biking, running and vacationing-none of which had ever required coordinating childcare, doing them separately from my husband, or carrying a car load of baby gear.

This delayed sense of lost freedom was a shadow growing bigger, darkening the life I thought I was supposed to love.

I shared with a kind friend my disappointment over my ever-narrowing lifestyle. Because she didn't have children, the common reaction, to suggest that maybe I just needed to be more grateful for having a healthy child, never occurred to her. Even in my sadness I was deeply grateful, but I still felt increasingly restricted and smothered.

She related her experience of becoming a full-fledged adult with a mortgage and a career-- a life she'd strived for and achieved. Once there, she began to miss the freedom of being a student-the thrill of learning, the freedom, the transient life-style, and her intense social life. She began to resent having to go to the same job at the same time everyday when all her days used to be different. She felt trapped as a homeowner, rather than successful and established.

She told me it helped to consciously say good-bye to the life she still believed should be hers-the old life that part of her still wanted to live. She laid out the life she used to have next to the one she had now and picked one at the expense of the other, as she knew it was impossible to have it all. She chose her current life and said good-bye to the old, as if sorting through her outdated wardrobe and basking in the memories stored in the old pair of tattered jeans before she dropped them in the box marked Goodwill.

That made sense to me. I missed my life as a student, a ski bum, an outdoor-adventure-lover, a single woman, a childless woman. But I couldn't wear those roles anymore. I had been holding on to this stubborn idea that if I was committed enough, I could still do the things I wanted and have a family. I'd been demanding of life that I should be able to have a child and still be me, as I fought desperately against the contrary idea that having children meant losing oneself. I was right-that I can be me and raise a family-but it needed to be a new version of me, a version into which I hadn't yet morphed.

I then went about making the mental shift to match the physical shift of becoming a mother that had happened a year before. I thought about the parts of my life that I had loved and would miss. I chose a few pieces to bring with me into my current life like my skis, bike and running shoes. I brought my love of outdoors, books and movies. I brought my sense of humor and adventure. But I didn't bring the old me. I discovered all those things fit on the new me, they just wore a little different. And then I visualized saying good-bye and walking away from my past.

I recently saw how that exercise in saying good-bye allowed me to fully enter and embrace my life as a mother when, several Sundays ago, my husband was lamenting about how drained he felt and how he wished weekends were different. I asked him what he wished would have happened that weekend. He told me he'd wanted to sleep in (I laughed), read the paper, do yard work, watch football, take a nap, see a movie and go out to dinner. I pointed out cheerfully, "You got to take a nap!" He didn't laugh.

Then we talked about the fact that we don't live that life anymore. If we wake up with the hope that maybe this weekend will be different or, even worse, the expectation that a weekend of leisure is the only good weekend to be had, we are doomed to disappointment, resentment and depression. His wishing things were like they'd once been felt like a familiar holding pattern-the one I had experienced before I made a decision to live fully in my busy life with a family and say good-bye to childlessness.

When I made the decision to completely step into my life as a mother, I began to notice bits of freedom and adventure hiding in nooks and crannies of my days and realized the importance of perspective.

We took our kids hiking several weeks ago, switching back and forth between walking at a 3 ½-year-old's pace and carrying both kids. Rather than lounging around the little mountain town after a strenuous hike, we ate bagel sandwiches in the car on the way home. We spent our evening playing indoor football and building block towers before bathtime and p.j.s. Nobody slept in, and the Sunday paper stayed in its wrapper.

On my family hikes today, I explain why leaves turn colors, watch a one-year-old run dirt through her hands, and sing and laugh to keep everyone awake on the way back to the car, lest my precious afternoon naptime be stolen from me by a catnap on the trail.

They are different hikes than I used to take. I have learned to make time to go on more serious hikes with friends. But to choose to go back to a life with no family would be to choose to miss out on watching these two little people grow. My life before children may have been physically exciting, but there was a narrowness of self-focus that has been widened to include the richness of others-the fullness of children.

When my husband and I had our adult hike the other day, we stopped by the stream for a moment without worrying about a three-year-old falling in or a one-year-old getting restless in the backpack. I was vividly aware of my freedom. But while I was elated to be hiking at my pace, carrying nothing but a water bottle, and finishing not only sentences but full paragraphs without interruption, there was something missing. I instinctively scanned for rocks Gabe might like to throw and looked for safe places for my daughter Jordan to practice her off-road walking. I then understood that I will never again be childless, not even for a day, no matter how high I hike or how long I'm away.

And so I see the way this works. While I've gotten to a place where the life I live today fits well, there will come a day when I will part with the lifestyle of a mother of young children and replace it with a new one. I hope I'll be able to bring a few things from this life with me, knowing they will probably wear a little different.

I admit, I sometimes dream of teaching all the world how to parent using a perfect blend of the finest parenting strategies developed by the most brilliant experts. Then I am jolted out of the world of fantasy by a mom telling me that time-outs didn't work for her child or another parent who says she has tried everything and can't get her two-year-old to sleep through the night. Right, I remind myself, every child is different. When it comes to the "how-to's" of parenting, I am as impressed with effective parenting techniques as I am humbled by every child's unique needs and personalities.

Skilled parents remind me of high-end interior designers. What interior designers seem to possess is an ability to do two things at once: utilize rules about things like color, texture and flow to create a working and nurturing home while tailoring all of that to the needs of each individual client.

Quality interior designers create homes to fit their client's tastes while quality parents create structure to fit their child's personality. The first step for designers and parents is to get to know their customer.

For example, I was talking recently to a mother of a six- and a three-year-old. We were talking about preschools. She commented that her six-year-old couldn't get enough socializing at that age, while her younger son prefers to spend all of his time with his mommy. Had she not listened to her children, she might have put them both in preschool three half-days a week-too much for one and not enough for the other.

During another conversation, I was talking to two moms about temper tantrums. One told me that her eighteen-month old son "threw fits" only when he was tired. The other looked envious as she told us that she spent much of her day with her two-year-old anticipating the next "melt down" when her daughter doesn't get her way.

Along with understanding their child's personality, parents also need to be aware of their developmental needs. Here's an illustration of how development can come into play: One suggestion parents often hear when their child is throwing food at mealtime is to gently remove the child from the table and end the meal. This will quickly teach him to stop throwing. Let's look at that.

A six-month-old may not be old enough to understand what not to do in order to be allowed to finish a meal. He may do better with just a spoonful at a time rather than the whole bowl in front of him.

A ten-month-old may be capable of understanding what it means to keep food on the table, but will still have an easier meal if given only small amounts of food at a time. She is probably ready to be shown alternatives to food-throwing.

An eighteen-month-old will understand ending the meal if he throws food but, unless it is just a habit at that point, there may be an underlying issue to consider. Does he not like the food? Is the meal being rushed? Are people arguing at the table or is this an adult-dominated meal? Without addressing those issues, just removing him from the table will not solve the problem-likely, it will worsen.

Once the interior designer understands what the homeowner wants, or the parent knows the child's temperament, personality and developmental needs, the next step is to consider the overall structure to planning the house or raising the child. There are a number of general rules in setting up a home or raising a healthy child that are universal.

For instance, in home decorating, you wouldn't put things blocking the entrance to a room that would inhibit the natural flow. Similarly, parents shouldn't shame or hit their children. Within the over-arching structure, there are an infinite number of decisions to be made that are best chosen based on the individual homeowner or child.

Good interior designers are inspired by ideas that work. They may suggest an ideal kitchen layout will have long walls lined with cupboards, appliances hanging to leave room on counters, and an island of convenience in the middle. Those kitchens really work. They are inviting, efficient and create an environment of productivity and nourishment.

Parents find brilliant ways to be effective with their children. They use things like time-outs for aggression, removal of toys that have been left out, and ending the playdate when the child won't share. These methods help their children experience safety, love, confidence and success. They bring peace to parents.

However, homeowners would be highly dissatisfied, if not downright insulted, if interior designers simply memorized a decorating template and laid it down in each home they entered. And child-raising would be a disaster if it were all about technique and not about the child.

Any interior designer will report that there are clients who don't want an island in the middle-they want a table there or nothing at all. Other clients don't want cupboards but shelves on parts of the wall.

In that same way, some kids throw a tantrum in the grocery store because they aren't dealing well with being told they can't have a toy, while others tantrum because they are hungry. Therefore, treating both situations equally, as though they were both clear cases of poor self-control, without teaching the child ways to express the need beneath the behavior will only create a larger, potentially life-impacting problem.

Another example has to do with the position of the child on the continuum between sensitive and high-spirited. Parents with shy, cautious and easily-spooked kids learn to go slow, speak softly and provide lots of reassurance. Parents of kids with strong emotional reactions, risk-taking behaviors and defiance learn to lay down the rules and stand strong like ancient trees in a hurricane. But those kids who hang out in the middle of that continuum can pose a bit of a problem when their reactions to consequences are tear-filled one day and tantrum-like the next. The key to dealing with the middle-of-the-roaders is listening. Their behavior may hinge on factors like fatigue, hunger, stress, fear and disappointment even more than their extreme counterparts.

After designing the custom kitchen or custom interactions with our kids, the last step is to be flexible within the process of putting together the home or raising each child. While a homeowner might want complimentary colors in most rooms, i.e.: black/white, earthtones, or varying shades of blue, that person may want to go wild in the bathrooms with clashing reds and oranges or contrasting patterns. Like the unpredictability of individual homeowners, a child may use one behavior to express different needs.

For example, when a little girl whines in the store, she may be motivated by a very different need then when she whines before bed, when Daddy leaves for work, or her juice is gone. If a parent responds to the whining with the same line, "Uh-oh, whining. Time for a break in your room," that little girl may be overwrought with frustration, not knowing how to get her parents to hear her. Over time, she may begin to believe she is wrong to feel what she feels. On top of all that, she won't learn acceptable ways to express herself. End result: frustrated, whiney child with a distorted sense of self, and frustrated parents who wonder why their tools aren't working.

If her parents know who she is and how she views the world, they can use their tools to stop the whining and their love and guidance to teach her other ways of communicating her underlying needs.

If she whines when Daddy leaves for work, her mother might give her a break in her room to stop the whining and then look at the need behind the noise. Is she in a Daddy-focused developmental stage? Is Daddy gone more than normal these days? Mom can then address those issues, looking at ways to talk about missing people, getting out pictures of Daddy, having Daddy call during the day or giving her a stuffed animal to remind her of him, etc.

If whining when Daddy leaves has become a habit, Mom might look at changing the routine that leads up to it. Maybe Daddy can say good-bye when his daughter is engrossed in an activity or maybe she would enjoy going outside to wave good-bye. An immediate distraction after he leaves can help bypass the daily whine. Remember, extinguishing the whining may not be the only goal. That behavior is often the symptom of a need that, once met, can be one more solution to stopping the behavior.

A good interior designer possesses knowledge, creativity and a commitment to meeting the client's needs. Quality parents share those same characteristics. They have knowledge of effective and loving strategies, the creativity to use them at the right times, and a commitment to knowing their child's needs and personality as intimately as they know their own. That way, when their shy child yells in the grocery store, they don't stifle her with a consequence, and when their rambunctious child craves a hug, they pick up on his subtle cues and offer their open arms.

My husband came home from shopping the other day with a size-five pair of pink sneakers with sparkles. He bought them for our 16-month-old daughter.
I cringed.

My insides were screaming, "Get those hideous things out of my house! No self-respecting daughter of mine is going to need a pair of shoes that encourages giggly, appearance-oriented, substance-less behavior. My daughter will want sneakers she can climb in and you just can't climb in pink, can you? Especially when it sparkles."

Meanwhile, as I took in the sickly-sweet miniature footwear, my outsides simply smiled that tight-lipped, no teeth, barely-a-smile smile. My husband looked so pleased with himself. He adores our daughter and, I'm sure, felt like he was connecting with her true self by acknowledging and supporting her presumed need to sparkle.

So here's where I'm stuck. I want nothing more than to support my kids for who they are inherently. Except, apparently, when it comes to wearing pink.

What is it about this color that feels like such a destructive force threatening the strength of my daughter? I view most aspects of femininity as powerful and invaluable: raising children, connecting deeply with people, pursuing intellectual endeavors with compassion, and multi-tasking. When I found out our second child was female, I was as ecstatic as I was terrified that our family was now going to include such a powerful little being. Maybe our society is as scared of that strength as I was, which would explain why they might try to mute these little powerhouses by dressing them in pink.

Though the color in and of itself is as benign as any other member of the pastel rainbow, it has become a distraction. We don't see the child beneath the frill. When we meet a young child dressed in green, purple or blue, we base our impression of who she is on her behavior. But when we meet a little girl in pink, we often stop there. She is adorable and sweet or cute and cuddly. We don't see the fire behind her eyes or the determination in her movements. We see the costume, not the character. At such an early age, for girls, it becomes all about appearances. Like decorating a power line with a feather boa, we shroud girls in this blushing color, distracting ourselves from their innate potential to become who they are uniquely here to be.

While it is appropriately adorable to dress infants of either gender in hues from the pastel spectrum, I am bothered that we graduate boys to mixtures of bold colors while little girls are held back in pink. In comparison to boys who shed their sky blue identification, pink becomes increasingly more pronounced in girl things as they proceed through childhood. Toys in stores are separated into boys' toys, unisex toys and pink toys. Little girl accessories: pink. Little girl school supplies: pink. And, as we know, little girl sneakers: also pink.

So where does my daughter fit into all this? As I go back to my original plan of encouraging my children to be exactly who they are, I notice that I already know quite a bit about my three-and-a-half-year-old son, Gabe. He is a person who loves modes of transportation, back rubs, figuring out how things work, stories, sports, and making his sister laugh. His favorite color is purple. Or yellow. Or blue. Or green. It depends. So far, I've been able to joyfully and without hesitation support all of his interests.

But I don't know as much about little Jordan yet. I know some-she likes books, climbing on things, listening to people sing, her brother, and doing things all by herself.

I have not, as of yet, been able to glean her opinion of the color pink. And just as I don't know whether she is a Democrat or Republican, I, as her mother, fill in the blanks for her with what I think best. Therefore, no pink.

However, I share the decision-making role with her father and, because I have no justifiable cause to outlaw pink, I'm stymied. We have decided to prohibit guns and Barbies in our home as we agree on their destructive nature to the psyches of our children. But the color pink is harder to refuse. They've done no studies that I'm aware of to show that pink weakens the female spirit. I have no scientific ground to stand on here.

I also don't have the support of my extended family, as they laugh from the sidelines, reminiscing about me between the ages of three and eight when I refused to wear anything but dresses-the lacier, the better.

There's also the possibility that Jordan will be drawn to rose or fuchsia or even liquid-medicine pink. If so, I will work to gulp down my distaste and acquiesce, hoping against hope it will be a phase. I know if I refused her request for any sort of sparkle or frill, it'd be a set-up for power struggles, rebellion and, worst of all, her own self-doubt.

In light of the forces working against me in this situation, I'm compelled to question my own stance. As I do that, with great trepidation, I consider that pink may symbolize girlhood-a stage in life worthy of great celebration. Just as I needed to be "all girl" in my long hair and dresses, it is possible that my rough-and-tumble daughter may revel in sparkles as she tries on one of many aspects of being born a girl. It might even be possible, if this is the case, that I could derive some vicarious pleasure from her "pink years" as I clearly deny myself that in my own life. If I can revel in how stunning she actually is when she dons that precious-girl pink and, simultaneously, acknowledge and support the growing little person behind the glitter, I think I'll be giving this mothering-a-daughter thing the best I have.

For now, I won't likely pick out her new Hello Kitty-esque sneakers when I dress her, but I suppose I don't have to forbid them. I can remember that early childhood gender-identity is a time of great exploration--a fact my son, Gabe, often reminds me of. The other day he asked us to put one of Jordan's hair ties in his hair when we were out in public. This time, it was my husband who cringed while I complied. Gabe walked around the store with a rubber band wrapped around a tuft of hair on the top of his head. He was very proud as, in his mind, he had a blowhole, just like a whale.

If exploration and experimentation seems to be what this is all about for my kids, I can learn to embrace pink just as I've grown to love firefighter hats, detailed conversations about bodily functions, and play where just about everything smashes into something else. I'm learning over and over that motherhood entails as much exploration and experimentation as childhood.

Road Trips of Then and Now

When I was 23, I drove from Santa Cruz, California to Crested Butte, Colorado with everything I owned in the back of my pick-up truck. My only companion was my blue and white parakeet named Beau. I was moving. I was single. I was childless.

A few days ago, I drove from Green Mountain, Colorado to Prescott, Arizona. To fit all we'd need for our five-day vacation, we had to rent a Suburban. My companions were my husband, my three-year old son, my ten-month old daughter, my sister-in-law and her ten-month old son.

The only similarity between those two trips was…the road.

As I write, I am three days into this vacation and, because my husband is playing golf with his mother, my kids are asleep, (their grandfather manning the monitors,) and my sister-in-law and her son are out shopping, I am alone for the first time. Alone by the pool, no less. Just like a real vacation.

But I'm no stranger to rare and sacred moments of alone time or hauling around gear for four. These activities seem particularly intriguing to me this week because this vacation is a self-contained five-day snapshot of my life that begs to be compared to road trips of the past. While the title of all these adventures past and present may be "Road Trip", the chapters and paragraphs within share few common words. And as I reflect on the vast and numerous differences between traveling before and after having children, I am compelled to judge those differences: Which is better? Which life would I prefer?

First, there is the packing. It took two days to prepare for this short trip versus half that to load up all my belongings ten years ago. And though I was energized by anticipation as I packed my kids' bathing suits and the camera, I was mostly thinking, "This better be worth it." Score one for traveling solo.

Then there is the company. Ten years ago, I was alone. My bird offered sporadic small-talk, but as I drove through Winnemuca, Nevada, it was undeniable how alone I really was. On this current drive, I was anything but alone. I had car seats full of children with their usual assortment of needs bubbling up with comically unsynchronized timing. I also had two other adults, lest I forget to mention them and their various and sundry needs. But when we passed a train, a real train, I was as excited to watch my son's reaction as he was to see that train. My soul was soothed by the sight of three sleeping children with their eyes closed, heads cocked, and blankies clutched. The kids' antics were fodder for laughter and conversation the adults needed to beat the road zone. We co-parented and co-piloted our way through innovative back seat diaper changes and peaceful sleepy hours. One point for traveling with my family.

The pace of this drive was another stark change from the days of racking up miles by day and dozing in motel parking lots in the middle of the night. This time we could only drive during naptimes and at night to save everyone from the babies' wild protests at being trapped in car seats, awake. And though I've visited downtown Santa Fe on trips of old, I have never, until this week, sat in the grassy square on a blanket pulling twigs, leaves and dirt out of anyone's mouth. Nor have I traded that job for applauding my little performer up on the empty portable stage they had set up-conveniently so, I might add.

No, ten years ago, a stop in a similar town would have meant browsing shops, maybe a short read in the park, a walk for my legs and a quick bite to eat on my way out of town. But then there was no conversation, no wonderment and a noticeable absence of singing three-year olds. There was great self-interest and self-concern then. Today I am distracted by needs of others. Today is a much richer time. Another point for the family trip.

And the vacation itself? Well, as I said, I'm alone for an hour for the first time in 72 hours. I am very, very happy right now. I often miss my free, low-maintenance and crumb-free life. I long for lazy mornings, romantic evenings and more mature play in between. But this morning, while the baby slept, my husband and I brought our son to the pool. I would sacrifice it all over again to hear his laughter and feel his splashes in my face as he jumps into my arms with the kind of unwavering trust that exists between a child and his mother.

Ten years ago, I used to smirk knowingly at the line in the Grateful Dead song, "What a long strange trips it's been." Ten years ago, I had no idea.

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My daughter Jordan and I have had quite a time lately. This little girl, who'd been relatively happy for the majority of her 19 months, had, seemingly overnight, become fiercely angry and frustrated. She was suddenly spending most of her days screaming, crying, hitting, throwing her little body around and refusing comfort. And it was all aimed, it seemed, directly at me....

I couldn't do anything right. I tried negotiating, comforting, ignoring, distracting, placating, pleading, bribing, singing, nursing, rocking, reading, dancing, and reasoning. I was a one-woman circus complete with a freak show or two.

Nothing worked. The only thing that calmed her was when I left and someone else cared for her. But she didn't let go easily. She screamed with all her might when I dropped her off with her very familiar nanny, which added to my bafflement. "Why are you so upset that I'm leaving?" I thought to myself, "You don't even like me."

Within a minute of my departure, she was reportedly in great spirits and didn't fuss a bit. When I returned to pick her up, she was thrilled to see me, running into my arms with giggles and dancing eyes. She remained pleased with our reuniting for all of three minutes. Then, I'd inevitably do something to offend her deepest self and she'd erupt into screams, not to be soothed until, hours later, she fell exhausted into bed.

This went on for days. I was a wreck wondering what had happened to my previously relaxed and cheerful daughter. I was so bewildered by this drastic behavior change that we visited the pediatrician to rule out some acute mysterious pain or sudden onset of mother-induced psychosis. All negative. "She may have some mild constipation, which might be causing her discomfort," the doctor guessed, clearly grasping at something, anything, to explain Jordan's emotional intensity. But my daughter has a history of getting 'stopped up' when she ingests too many bananas and too much milk. That's never caused anything worse than some grunting and pushing.

Leaving the doctor's, I was relieved she was physically healthy, aside from an apparent prune juice deficiency, and I made a decision to implement my last resort: it seemed time to teach my toddler some behavior- and emotion-management techniques.

My husband and son had conveniently planned to be out of town for the weekend. They left quickly, waving good-bye and wishing me luck, thanking their lucky stars for their escape route. Jordan and I got down to business.

Over the next few days, when she got frustrated or angry, she would take whatever was in her hand or within reach and whip it across the room, erupting into screaming tears. My new response became some variation of, "Uh-oh. Toys (or forks or remote controls) aren't for throwing. If you're frustrated, you can give it to Mommy or put it on the table. You can have it back when you're ready to be gentle."

Her initial reactions were shock, offense and increased screaming. The look of disbelief on her face said, "What? I can't throw? That's what I do is throw!"

After about 30 seconds, I would ask her if she was ready to hold it without throwing. She'd invariably say yes. I'd hand it back for one more try. If she held it, I'd praise her and if she threw it again, which was more the norm, I'd take it away and move us both on to something else.

Phase Two of this process, though subtle, brought me a glimmer of hope. It began the same: she'd get angry and throw something, I'd remove it, she'd get more angry and I'd offer a second chance. The first noticeable shift came when, in response to my asking if she was ready to be gentle, she began to answer honestly with a yes or no. It was a sign that she was developing a most crucial step in self-control-that of self-assessment. I began to think we might see ourselves out of this chaotic, tantrum-dominated world yet.

The start of Phase Three happened when, during her second chance, she began to consistently hold on to whatever the object was as opposed to impulsively hurling it across the room again. And, with her newfound ability to hold on to the cup or pen or bowl full of applesauce came a marked decrease in her emotional intensity. It was as though when she kept her body from exploding, she could keep her emotions from following suit. She was calming. And so was I.

When our babysitter came over one evening, I knew we'd entered the Fourth Phase. Instead of shrieking and clinging, Jordan hugged me, waved and said, "Bye-bye, Mama," and then turned to engage with her babysitter. I took that as a sign she was feeling grounded and secure enough to let me go. Inside, I was leaping for joy.

Phase Five, though not the final phase, was probably my favorite. We got a flat tire one evening and had to wait a while for someone to come help, as changing a flat with a roaming toddler is not a practiced skill of mine. As we waited in the front seat together, she wanted to draw. We found a pen and paper. For some reason, the paper, as seen through the eyes of my daughter, was entirely unacceptable. She threw it and screamed.

We went through our routine. She told me she was ready to try again. I handed her the paper. She scribbled twice, but then must have revisited her initial distaste for the paper because she scrunched up her face, squirmed in her seat, let out a whine and then paused.

Instead of following through by chucking the paper back down on the floor, she looked up at me and handed me the paper. She had finally pulled together just enough memory, self-control, rational-thinking and emotional groundedness to positively manage her frustration.

I was thrilled. I worked to contain my emotional reaction at that point so as not to stomp all over her moment with my fanfare. I simply said something like, "Wow, Jordan, you just handed me the paper instead of throwing it. Nicely done." She looked up at me and smiled. We were finally on the same page.

The final phase, Phase Six, seems to be the maintenance phase. I'd love to tell you that she hasn't screeched, whined or thrown anything since. The reality is that my daughter will forever tangle with bouts of frustration, anger, disgust, disappointment and irritation, for that is life. But she and I have found a sort of rhythm that helps her pick up her integrity, get back in sync with her world, and leave the tantrum behind.

Now when I hear her volcanic rumblings, I can help her cool the embers by guiding her actions with equal parts of love and consistency. That way, we can usually (though not always) avoid the disastrous spewing of hot lava. Living at the foot of a volcano is undoubtedly adventurous, but when it is quiet, I stand in reverence and gratitude to be intimately involved with one of nature's greatest creations.

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