Mobile therapy

Sometimes to distract myself from the fact that I'm exercising, I listen to a podcast. (My thighs are so gullible! They fall for it every time.) A month or two ago, I listened to an On Being episode with the always fabulous host, Krista Tippett, interviewing Dr. Sylvia Boorstein (who is part wise Jewish grandmother, part therapist, part Buddhist teacher). She had some insightful comments that really resonated with me about reacting and responding as parents on those tough days and moments. 

photo: Massimo Dutti

photo: Massimo Dutti

On always being a mother, even when your kids have grown:
​Dr. Boorstein:
I tell people — I tell people that I could have the most profound equanimity and I am two words away from losing it completely. Then they say, "What are those two words?" I'd say, "Well, you have to understand that first the phone has to ring. Ring, ring and you pick up the phone and a voice says, "Hello, Ma?" and [if] it doesn't sound right.

. . .​

Wise effort and the difference between "Can I care?" vs. "Am I pleased?" (though she talks about younger children in the example below, I think it applies well to older kids, too)
​Ms. Tippett:
 Let's talk about this core insight that suffering — and, again, we're acknowledging that parenting is the greatest loss of control we ever suffer — that suffering results from struggling with what is beyond my control, that idea that our minds get in conflict with our experience and that's where suffering comes from, not so much from the realities themselves, but how we struggle with them. How do you think that applies to this?

Dr. Boorstein: Well, I just remembered actually just before we came out here this evening. I was sitting backstage and I remembered I was on a flight last Friday, and there was a family of five traveling with me. And everything is progressing well; it wasn't a terribly long flight. Near the end of the flight, the two- or three-year-old, she just fell asleep and now she's awakened and it's late in the afternoon. Probably her naptime is way off. She not only woke up, but she woke up and she's beside herself and crying and flailing in the way of three-year-olds. I watched these two parents and they were fabulous. Her mother was completely just consoling, quietly talking to her, not losing her equanimity at all. I was marveling at it. I thought it was wonderful.

You know, sometimes you see much more upset parents. This parent was not upset. Then by and by after a little while, the dad over here said, "Pass her to me." So they changed children. She passed this one back to him. And then he — behind me — spoke to her in such a kindly way, and slowly, slowly she pulled herself together. I just so admired their parenting skills. I admired it because, first of all, the child calmed herself down. They didn't whiz themselves up and create more suffering for themselves. They also didn't create more suffering for the whole plane because, you know, sometimes when a child is getting upset and the parent becomes all upset, then you feel pulled into it.

Ms. Tippett: Right.

Dr. Boorstein: But somehow these parents' equanimity was like a calming effect around the whole plane. And I thought well they were really — at the time, I thought they were really good parents. But I thought the element of their goodness was that they're acting very wise, and that the wisdom involved is this child is two and a half and that's what two-and-a-half-year-olds do [ed: or, in our cases, 12- or 16-year-olds] when they're awakened from a nap in the middle of a loud and rumbling landing.

Ms. Tippett: You know, that's also an illustration of a distinction you made when you talk about wise effort. I found this really helpful. I feel like that's a story about it. You said in terms of our reactions, that there's a big difference in any moment between asking, "Am I pleased?" Which of course, on an airplane and you have a screaming child, you're not pleased. You're embarrassed. You think you will be less disruptive if you can make them quiet. But the difference is between asking, "Am I pleased?" or in this moment, "Am I able to care?"--

Dr. Boorstein: Yeah. For the child and for myself in a kindly way.

. . .

On being kind to ourselves
​Dr. Boorstein: 
I was thinking about the GPS in my car. It never gets annoyed at me. If I make a mistake, it says, "Recalculating." And then it tells me to make the soonest left turn and go back. I thought to myself, you know, I should write a book and call it "Recalculating" because I think that that's what we're doing all the time.

That something happens, it challenges us and the challenge is, OK, so do you want to get mad now? You could get mad...Indignation is tremendously seductive...So to not do it and to say, wait a minute, apropos of you said before, wise effort to say to yourself, wait a minute, this is not the right road. Literally, this is not the right road. There's a fork in the road here. I could become indignant, I could flame up this flame of negativity or I could say, "Recalculating." I'll just go back here.

. . .​

Maybe it was just the timing in my life but this was like a bolt-of-lightning, lightbulb moment pep talk for me!  What do you think of her words of advice? 
p.s. ​Any other podcasts recommendations to distract my gullible muscles?


If you're interested in hearing more, listening to the edited or full interview is well worth the time. Or you can watch it here

TV parenting

COUPLES-BRITTON-CHANDLER.jpg

Entertainment Weekly recently had a March-Madness-style bracket game to determine TV's best couple of all time and it got me thinking. What about television's best parents?  

For your consideration, I submit Tami and Eric Taylor of Friday Night Lights (may it rest in peace & dvd sales). Heck, I'd nominate them both for best couple and best parents. (And look, I think EW staff agree with me.) Their believable, sparky (that's a word, right?), evolved partnership deftly captured the reality of marriage and parenthood in a way that left me feeling both understood and inspired. Spot on, FNL. Connie Britton and Kyle Chandler said that what allowed them to establish that partnership was that the writers told them from the start that they were never going to break them up.

Oh, and my runner up nominees? Adam and Kristina Braverman from Parenthood.​
​What think you?

p.s. This might seem like a silly exercise (and, okay, it is) but, surprisingly, it's sometimes media parents that make an impact. Once upon a time I helped conduct research on teen parents. When we asked for examples of parents they looked up to most or wanted to emulate, they quite often cited a fictional tv parent or a celebrity. Ever since, I'm always glad when a television couple demonstrates a relationship and parenting that's worth emulating.

The checkmarks

That last post (specifically the part about sitting through years and years of school concerts, which--I should add--I really do mostly love) stirred my memory of a funny Sarah Vowell piece about lessons she learned through band and music in junior high.​  I went and looked it up and, sure enough, I think her fourth lesson especially applies here:

Tuba player from Butte Montana, via

Tuba player from Butte Montana, via

"Lesson number four, when doves cry. From the time I was 12 until I finished high school at 18, my poor parents' calendar was blackened by an ambitious roster of concerts and recitals averaging at least one per month. They were always so gushy in their support it never dawned on me that they might have preferred to avoid junior high school gymnasium performances of the theme from Rocky. They acted as though their world revolved around my sister and me, and that's what we believed.

"But I remember one night after an eighth grade band concert, I caught a glimpse of pencil marks on my father's rolled up program. He told me that he checked each movement of each piece off as they ended.

[LAUGHTER]

"Obviously because he was counting the seconds until he could go home. And at the time, I took it badly. I was offended that he had so little regard for the seriousness of our interpretation of "What Do You Do with a Drunken Sailor?" But now I see those pathetic little check marks as heart-shaped symbols of his love. Everyone says that love requires the utmost honesty, but that's not entirely true. Once I knew that my father was suffering for my sake, really suffering, I learned that love, especially the parental kind, requires the heartwarming sacrifice that can only accompany fake enthusiasm.

- ​from This American Life, episode 104. Listen here. Transcript here.