Simplicity Parenting (29 page)

As a child reaches toward double digits—eight, nine, and ten—they’re coming out of the “let’s pretend” play stage and into “game playing.” This is a sensitive time developmentally. Hopefully, they’ve made their way through the play stages of early childhood: solitary, parallel, and “let’s pretend.” They are letting go of imaginary roles and beginning to forge their own rules, make their own games. This period is a foundry for emotional intelligence; in dynamic social interaction a child learns much about impulse control and cooperation. Having had the time to fully explore the imaginary, a child can begin to bridge their view of what is possible with what is. Having been free to imagine, a child can begin to channel that power into more set constructs. At this age they really are beginning to be ready to learn how to “play the game.”

The confines of organized sports can impose too much structure at too young an age, hindering a child’s progress through the developmental stages of play. This is especially a shame if a child “swears off” sports as they’re approaching and in adolescence, just when organized sports have so much to offer developmentally. Some people see it in these
bottom-line terms: Wouldn’t you rather your teenager be heavily involved in sports than heavily involved in other “popular” pursuits of adolescence? True enough. But beyond this either/or equation, organized sports offer teens an intensity that rivals their own at this age. Just as their emotional impulses turn inward, an external gesture like sports (or drama or community service) can be a deeply involving, excellent counterbalance to the very normal self-involvement of this period. With sports, kids can expand and deepen their sense of identity, seeing their own efforts within an individual role and within a group or team.

Nothing can complicate or railroad an entire family’s schedule like a child’s active participation in a sports league. Or two leagues. Or two siblings’ involvement in two different leagues. During the same season. Or a child’s involvement in two different sports at the same time. The permutations are endless, but the common result is a state of perpetual motion for the whole family. No matter what their sport of choice, a child’s home team is their family. The home team can bend, it can accommodate, but it can’t be sacrificed. Balance, where none exists, should be imposed.

I worked with a family of five kids, three of them very athletically inclined. There was quite a large age span between the siblings, the youngest being three years old, and the two oldest in high school. The mother of this beautiful group, Joelle, was feeling like a bus driver, but one who never quite arrived. The needs of her youngest children—for a close connection, with time to play and explore—were being strained to meet the needs of her oldest children—support and rides to various practices and meets. Joelle’s husband traveled extensively for work, so he was often unavailable. Joelle contacted me when she realized that she had been thinking, “this is all going to let up next season,” to no avail, for two years. I suggested she park the van, plan a family meeting, and work together on a schedule that would include more balance.

Balance, like the perfect swing, is elusive. You have to work at it. And very often, parents have to impose it. When Joelle realized that the whole family’s schedule was revolving around sports, year-round, she knew it was too much. These are the guidelines her family adopted, scheduling—but not overscheduling—sports. The older kids, twelve and up, were able to choose two sports for the year: one “major” and one “minor.” For example, David, the second-oldest son, chose to play soccer at school, but basketball, his first passion, was what he chose to do in a league. They each had to take one entire season—fall, winter, spring, or summer—off, with no
sports involvement during that time. And each child was responsible for researching and networking car-pool possibilities for their sport’s season.

Similar adjustments can be made with any involvement that threatens the needs of other family members, including the parent/chauffeurs. Or an involvement that threatens the overall balance that the family holds dear between scheduled and unscheduled time. Look at it from a number of perspectives—annual, seasonal, monthly, and weekly—to see where you can back off a level or two. The younger the child, the more free time he or she needs. These needs may not be felt by the kids themselves, especially by those who’ve grown accustomed to heavily scheduled days. But balance, like pace and endurance, are essential over the long run.

On some levels we recognize that young kids need help pacing themselves, balancing their time and energy. “Slow down!” we may caution them. “Don’t forget the hill up ahead!” Or a child, excited about a sleepover that night, who is spinning like a mini-tornado before noon. We know they’ll need a rest or they’ll never make it in one piece to the evening. On the immediate level, it’s easy to see when a child’s energy and desires need to be reined in, conserved. Yet on the level of schedules—daily, weekly, monthly—many parents seem to have thrown up their hands, unable or unwilling to impose balance. “She loves it!” or “He loves it!” are the rallying cries of overscheduling. With kids and their enthusiasms we seem to feel that interest alone will protect them from the ill effects of too much, too soon, and too fast. Yet with sports participation peaking at age eleven, clearly some interests are being sacrificed rather than developed by being fostered at too young an age and too heavily.

What about for older children who want to monitor their own schedules and involvements? Teens whose energy is more aligned with their interests? Certainly parental pacing is less important as children reach adolescence. Yet, as Joelle’s oldest son learned, sometimes passions grow stronger in rocky soil. By and large, Joelle’s family felt a sense of relief and ease with their new, less frenetic schedule. But not Tom, a junior in high school at the time. Every inch of Tom’s room was covered
with posters of Beckham and Ronaldo; every minute he could, Tom was either playing soccer or thinking about it. And he was quite talented, one of the star players in his traveling league. At this point in his development, Tom didn’t really need more free, unscheduled time. He had a passion. Joelle relayed this quote, imitating the sarcasm in her son’s voice: “By the way, Mom … passions aren’t ‘balanced.’”

True enough. But neither are they fragile. The rules imposed served as counterweights to Tom’s desire, and as his will and resolve strengthened, so too did his passion. Unfortunate as it seemed to him then, Tom was still playing for the home team, his family. His passion was threatened and tested by the rules they adopted. His needs and desires were tempered by those of his other “team members,” including the youngest rookies and the team managers. He had to work that much harder to play, scrounging up rides and “paying” for away games with family events. He had to take an entire season off, which seemed ridiculous at first, but his low-level recurring shin splints did finally heal. In the end, it turned out, Tom was a team player. And his passion—supported, but not indulged—survived. And grew.

Balance—like pace and endurance—is essential over the long run. It isn’t just true for young children. It’s true for adults (and teenagers) too. And especially true for athletes.

Balance is what we’re after in simplifying our family’s schedules. And once we cross our kids’ names off the “Race of Childhood” sign-up form, time opens right up. Time for rest and creativity to balance activity; time for contemplation and stimulation, moments of calm in busy days, energies conserved and expended; time for free, unscheduled play, for ordinary days, for interests that deepen over time; time for boredom; and time for the joy and infinite passion of anticipation.

Rich, fertile soil takes time and balance to develop. The same is true of childhood. In fact, in simplifying your family’s schedule it may be helpful to write a list of things that take time. Things that can’t be rushed, things that deepen over time. (Such a list is ideally written while lying in a hammock, or sitting at the park, while your kids play.) But keep the list open, and keep it close at hand; you’ll be adding to it over time. Your child’s interests, their abilities, their sense of freedom, their sense of humor, and their sense of themselves will be on the list; these take time. The strength of your family’s connectedness also takes time and balance. So start with balanced schedules. Sow the seeds of balanced childhoods. What will develop, over time, are strong and whole, resilient, balanced individuals.

Imagine …

• your child having time every day—unscheduled free time—to daydream and play.
  

• what your child could do with the occasional “gift” of boredom.
  

• what can develop when a child has time to dream: the joy of anticipation, and a greater depth of meaning and feeling.
  

• consciously balancing some of your child’s crazier days with calmer ones.
  

• appreciating the pleasure of the ordinary.
  

• your child’s worldview building from a deep well of unregulated, improvised, flexible free play.
  

• how well such years of general physical activity will serve your child as he/she moves into organized sports.
  

• appreciating that genuine interests and abilities take time to form and that those developed over time (not pushed or hurried) are more likely to become lifelong pleasures.
  

• what a lifelong gift you will bestow by gently insisting on, and modeling, the importance of downtime and balance in daily life.
  

SIX
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Filtering Out the Adult World

L
ate summer afternoon sun was slanting in through my office window when I met with Annmarie. We had conversed for some time when I asked her to choose a word that best described her experience of motherhood. She looked at me quizzically, with an almost guilty smile. “Really?” she asked. “Just one word?” What a strange request, really, when every mother and father has a river of emotions about their role as parent, an ever-flowing current of thoughts and feelings about their connection to their offspring. Dip in, at any point along the bank, and you’ll draw up a cascade of memories, sentiments, questions, and hopes. Annmarie was clearly devoted to her eight-year-old twins, Peter and Krista. I wanted to see which of her emotions would float to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged. Actually, it wasn’t hard for her to choose.

“Worry.”

The word hung in the air between us, clearly honest and deeply felt. Annmarie continued, saying she could speak for hours of her love for her two beautiful children. She could easily spend an afternoon trying to explain what a blessing they were, and how much they meant to her. But since I had asked her to describe the
experience
of motherhood in just one word, she said she had to acknowledge what she felt most of all, from day to day: worry. “Before I had kids, nobody ever mentioned this … how my heart would crack open, as a mother, and be filled with worry.”

I think most parents can empathize with Annmarie. Worry and concern are with us in parenting from our children’s first days. A baby’s
vulnerability is extraordinary. Nothing we are told, nothing we read prepares us for the feelings we have as a new parent holding our baby, and knowing that we also hold their life in the balance. Do you remember in those first weeks of parenthood, waking with a start from a dream in which you’d left your baby on the bus? Or in the garden, forgotten under the big green leaves of a summer squash? Nobody has to tell a new parent how completely vulnerable their baby is; we feel it keenly. But by attaching to you, the baby builds a ladder of relationships and attachments that will help them ascend to maturity. As a parent it may seem
that your
emotional vulnerability has just begun, and will only increase as your love does, over time. To love something so much: what a colossal risk!

When she came to see me, Annmarie was concerned about her children’s third-grade teacher, who seemed to be more aware of Krista’s abilities than of Peter’s. Annmarie felt the teacher must “like Krista better than Peter,” and she worried about the ramifications of this. She was also apprehensive about Peter’s coach, who was clearly not giving him the chances he deserved to play and to shine. Peter needed to “feel good about” his athletic skills, and that wasn’t going to happen with him sitting on the bench so much. She worried about their safety, about the fact that she simply couldn’t “watch them both, all of the time.” Annmarie was troubled about Peter. He and Krista were so close; what would happen if Krista pulled ahead of him academically, and maybe even socially, too? What kind of career would Peter have if he wasn’t excelling now?