Real Learning

Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.

 

-Fred Rogers

 

 

 

I lied during a job interview. It took becoming a parent myself for me to fully realize the lie, to comprehend the untruth that so easily spilled from my lips.

Like any lie, it was driven by motive. I really wanted this teaching job. I needed to sound impressive, competent, dazzling....even if it meant not owning up to who I really was and speaking the truth that burned deep in my core.

"Describe a lesson that went well," was the question that floated over the large rectangular table, "Walk us through it. Why do you think it went well."

The tangy smell of Elmer's glue and powdery sweet handsoap permeated the air...the smell of school...one I had come to love.

I took a deep breath and glanced at my notes.

Impress them. Sell yourself. Dazzle them.

I cleared my throat and forced my shaky voice to be still...strong...confident, "I actually taught a math lesson last week to my Kindergartners about telling time, " I started, "And to begin with I made sure to outline the learning target with them."

I continued to babble on and on, making sure to drop all of the right educational "catch-phrases" and buzz-words...watching as my interviewers nodded and furiously scribbled notes, recording my verbal fluff on paper.
The genius in this particular lesson was highly ego-centric on my part. As if scripted right out of a trendy teacher workshop, I had 'Told them what they were going to learn, taught the lesson" and then, of course, wrapped it up with a golden bow by, "Reminding them what they learned." Sure it provided some hands-on experience (manipulating tiny card-board clocks), sure it included a literary integration (reading The Very Grouchy Lady Bug), sure it ensured guided practice ("Everybody turn your short hour hand to the eight, just like me) but to this day, the fallacy in categorizing this as one of my 'best' lessons makes me wish I could rewind the hands of that giant preverbial card-board clock myself and speak the truth in that interview.
The truth.
The honest truth is that when I take my pretentious 'teaching abilities' out of the equation and focus on a time when I could look into the eyes of every single student in my classroom and see that spark...that almost tangible burning desire to learn....when the classroom climate seemed to transform into something magical...one word emerges:
Play.
It was a boringly ordinary afternoon during my first year of teaching, and the prescribed math lesson for the day called for 'story problems.' Mentioning the very word elicited a communal moan among the 6 and 7 year old children in my class. I sat on my stool in the dark room, sidled up to the glaringly bright overhead projector. I read the first 'story' aloud and began diagramming, drawing, and asking for puppetted responses to my pointed questions.
It was then that I saw it. The blank stares, the drooped postures...I could see that I had clearly succeeded in draining every last drop of  joy out of their little bodies.
This wasn't ok.
This was not how children were meant to learn.
The words rung clear as a bell in my head.
Pushing back from my stool, I dropped the pen abruptly and sputtered, "You know what? Forget this!"
My sudden proclamation awakened my half-dead class and they now stared at me with puzzled looks.
I smiled...
A hint of surprise hung in the air....an invitation.
"Come on everyone!" I cheered, "Stand up, let's go on an adventure! Let's pretend..."
No sooner had the words left my lips when I saw it. The flame had ignited. The light was on.
I was no longer trying to force a square peg into a round hole....to command winter to be spring....to impose my adult logic and thought processes on such fresh and flexible minds.
No, I had entered their world.
Taking suggestions from each of my unique students, we huddled our imaginations together and boarded a pretend flight to Disneyland. Excited little bodies worked together to push back and rearrange chairs, buckle pretend seatbelts, and assign roles.
Soon we found ourselves counting and combining pretend money (the learning target of the original story problem) to buy pretend tickets, food, and souvenirs in our fantasy land.
I looked around the room at each beaming face...collaborating, learning...playing.
A sense of 'rightness' rushed through me, down to the tips of my toes.
Joy, exploration, spontaneity, inquisitiveness, creativity....play.
THIS is real learning.
It can't be bottled up and branded, packaged and sold. It can't be mass produced, methodized, stripped down to an impersonal standardized skeleton.
No.
Real learning lives in the soul of every one of us. It lives in that feeling of unconditional love...that "I believe in you" that is often the strongest memory that students have of their favorite teacher. It lives in the repeated, "But why?" that we parents so tragically often brush off.
Real learning is mashed up and tossed around, passed down, built upon, re-invented. Real learning dreams and pushes boundaries. It is richly intimate and relational. Real learning, by it's very nature, refuses to be boxed in.

"The great rule is: Play on they surface, and the work takes place underneath."
-Joseph Chilton Pearce

And so, here I find myself years down the road, thinking about the "school years" that are just an eye-blink away for my sweet Landon. I have so many wishes for him as I see the spark of wonder already ignited in this curious young learner. I am saddened at the thought of adult-contrived competition and high-stakes assessment being the fabric of his young school years...of time and space for spontaneity and questioning being seen as a luxury rather than the life saving oxygen they are to early learning.
But, it is Landon himself that inspires hope in me.  As I watch his small fingers work tirelessly on his latest imagined project, a vibration of passion floats through the air. I see this same passion reflected in so many of the heroic teachers whose lives have touched mine.
This energy, this love, this human spirit....it always finds a way to burst through that which tangles it up.
We just have to get out of our own way long enough to listen.
To observe.
To understand.

"Children often try to tell us what we in our blindness and deafness have so seriously failed to tell them."
-Joseph Chilton Pearce

Life is a classroom, and 'real learning' never, ever ends.
As I kiss Landon goodnight and he yawns out his hundredth "Why?" for the day, I hug him tight and whisper through the sleepy stardust, "Never stop asking, why, darling. Never."

 

 



Fear vs Love

Nonviolence is not sterile passivity, but a powerful moral force which makes for social transformation.

-Martin Luther King, Jr.

I should have heeded the warning sign.
Like many learning experiences and slip-ups in the journey of parenting, I was, of course, distracted.
As I sat chatting with other mothers in our group, I noticed the first signs of distress in my sweet two year old son. A few other toddlers in the room noticed the airplane toy Landon was playing with. Giving the toy one big push forward with a pretend buzzing sound, Landon fanned out his small fingers and raised his arm, letting the toy out of his grasp to watch it roll. Of course, in the unwritten rules of toddlerhood, if your hand isn't on it (or even if it is sometimes!) it's MINE...and just like that, a playmate swooped in and scooped up the airplane, SCORE! Running across the room with it, she was gone and Landon stood there with his mouth wide open as he realized what had happened.
Frustration enveloped him like storm-clouds blotting out the sun. He dropped to the ground and began bull-dozing his head around the carpet, moaning, "My plane! My plane!"
Still distracted by my conversation, I quickly salvaged a new toy out of Landon's bag and tried to appease him.
Another Mom in our group scooted a red, plastic toy train to Landon...hoping to help alleviate the sting of lost ownership.
"I frow," I heard faintly, while still listening to my friend's story, Landon's verbal warning that he was about ready to launch something.
I paused and got down on his level, "I know you are frustrated buddy, but no throwing. Throwing hurts!"
Then, it happened. The straw that broke the camel's back.
Another toddler swooped in and grabbed the 'replacement toy'....wooden animal beads and a string. Skipping off merrily with them, she dragged the colorful wooden creatures behind her like dogs on a leash.
"I frow," I heard again, amidst conversation.
Glancing down at Landon, I prepared to excuse myself from the conversation without interrupting my dear friend. Holding up my hand, I opened my mouth to speak just as a streak of red whizzed across my vision.
The toy train!
With a loud thunk, Landon and I both watched in horror as the train collided with the unlucky and unintended target, Landon's good friend who was humming and playing unsuspectingly on the floor.
She let out an ear-shattering wail just as a hefty black and blue bruise began to form on her sweet little forehead.
Ouch!
Immediately my stomach sank.
Perhaps one, if not THE most embarrassing moment as a parent is when your child hurts another child, even if it's unintentional.
In a moment like this, it's as if you are watching everything in slow-motion and it feels as if all eyes in the room are glued to you.
YOU are the parent of the 'perpetrator'. What ARE you going to do? The spotlight is on.
I could hear my heartbeat thumping wildly in my ears.
It is in this very raw vulnerability that I have made some of my biggest mistakes, that I imagine many parents find themselves reacting in ways they later regret. After all, it is so very easy to react in a knee-jerk fashion, covering up embarrassment with anger.
Yet the irony is that it is in these moments that our children desperately NEED us....need our calm, need our compassion, need our confidence....the MOST.
There is SO much I am learning through the journey of parenthood, but never underestimating the power of relationship keeps bubbling up, like the chorus to a beautiful, insightful song.
So, with pulse pounding and stomach in knots, I knelt down to my child and took a deep breath.
He glanced at me nervously, his eyes filled with tears, biting his bottom lip, watching as his friend cried heartily on her mother's shoulder.
I sighed as I looked back and forth between the sobbing friend and my tearful boy.
I had a choice.
Anger or compassion.
Punishment or guidance.
Patronize or empathize.
Fear.....or....Love.....
Putting my arm around his tiny body, I gave him a gentle squeeze as if to say, "I'm here, darling...I'm here. You are not alone. Let's walk this messy path together. Let's solve this. Let's make it right."
"Throwing hurts," I reiterated to Landon, "Look at how sad your friend is. She's crying because she got hurt on her head. Ouch."
A hot tear rolled down Landon's cheek. He crouched down and banged his own head on the floor.
"You were mad and sad, I understand. But NO throwing."
Giving him a kiss and looking him in the eye I continued, "Let's help your friend feel better. What can we do?"
Landon took it upon himself to extend a peace offering of his one and only bag of coveted fruit snacks to his injured friend...a perfect two-year old apology.
Ten minutes later, tears dried...booboo's and bruised spirits kissed and on-the-mend, we all sat together on the ground smiling and laughing.
Watching the two toddlers happily playing once more, I felt a pang of humility melting through me. Often we get so wrapped up in our image as a parent, in how we perceive a situation, in how WE feel. To make matters worse, we are barraged by an undercurrent in society that values control, that values punishment masquerading as justice, that whispers through it's actions that might makes right. And because we are so tired/busy/and over-committed, we never even think to question these ugly seeds that have taken root in our words, in our actions....in our parenting.
I know I didn't.
But children are born so innocent of this tangled mess we make for ourselves.
They are born with tiny heart caring nothing of image and yet caring everything about relationship....caring everything about love.

Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent then the one derived from fear of punishment. (Mahatma Gandhi)

Parenting is full of choices.
Life is full of choices.
And although I have a long road ahead of me...there is one thing I am a utterly certain of.
I choose love.

Peace Begins with a Diaper Change

"If we are to reach real peace in this world and if we are to carry out a real war against war, we shall have to begin with children; and if they will grow up in their natural innocence, we won't have to struggle; we won't have to pass fruitless idle resolutions, but we shall go from love to love, and peace to peace until at last all corners of the world are covered with that peace and love for which conciously or unconciosuly the whole world is hungering."

-Mahatma Ghandi

No one prepared me for THIS, was all I could think as I stared at my adorable, bright, and stubborn-as-a-mule 21 month old son. Stomping his foot, he wrenched his diaper clad body away from me. All limbs and dimpled knees, his round belly prodruded comically as he paraded around the room announcing, "No-no-no-no-no!"
"It's time to change your diaper, buddy," I repeated, "It stinks."
It had been a LONG morning. After being up with a congested nose for a good portion of the night, Landon was beyond tired....and so was I!
My son's green eyes locked with mine.
Showdown time.
I gingerly moved forward, trying to sell him with my non-chalant smile
Why did this have to be so hard, I thought, I'm just trying to HELP you!
Grabbing under his arms, Landon kicked his legs so fursiously that one connected right with my chin.
Pow!
And he was free again.
I burried my face in my hands.
There was a time when I would have considered this a moment to puff up my feathers in indignant and insecure anger and show Landon who was boss. I could use my size advantage (despite the mess caused by kicking legs and a messy, messy diaper), I could punish, I could bribe.
With fingers pressed to my cheeks, I shook my head and peered up.
What was I to do?
 Landon began stomping his feet and bobbing his head to some imaginary beat, his face full of concentration. He stopped abruptly, and leaned forward extending one leg behind him into a comical yoga-like pose....saggy, full diaper and all.
As he stretched and preened, I could feel the last bits of my composure slipping away.
Landon pursed his lips and craned his neck like some strange hybrid toddler-peacock....
And that was all it took.
I. Completely. Lost. It.
Like 'I-belong-in-the-loony-bin lost it'.
Erupting into laughter, I threw my hands up in surrender.
My sweet son, wild eyed and confused....cocked his head to the side and cracked a half smile...not sure if his mom had indeed finally gone crazy.
Soon, though, the hysteria spread like wildfire and even my very reserved, very careful son couldn't keep the cap on. Those baby giggles began peppering the air and mixing with my own, breaking up the tension like bubbles bursting.
We laughed and laughed until our sore stomach muscles and tear laden eyes begged for a rest.
Reaching forward, I scooped Landon into my arms and hugged him tight, imagining my love washing over him like a warm wave.
Leaning back and looking him in the eye, I repeated the same words as before.
"It's time to change your diaper, buddy."
And yet they were not the same.
Those words had now somewhow transformed into something that sounded more like a confident invitation rather than an obligated, annoyed question.
It was magic.
And just like that, he calmly followed my lead and FINALLY that diaper got changed.
Oh happy day!
Parenting is such HARD work sometimes. There are no easy fixes or one-size-fits-all instructions to follow. Landon still has plenty of days when he fights, cries, or screams when it comes time for [diaper change/to get in the car-seat/to go inside after playing/ etc.] fill in the blank with many, many other scenarios.
But, if there is anything that I learned from our day of diaper-changing hysterics, it is that attitude is EVERYTHING. My son has had less than 2 years to learn to deal with his feelings of frustration.
I've had 30.
There will be many, many situations where I don't understand Landon, when his BIG emotions take over and he does something he later regrets (I have a nice scratch on my neck from last night's meltdown to prove that!) or when I just plain mess-up as a parent.
But unlike my passionate toddler [whose 'emotional center' of the brain is developing rapid-fire while his frontal-cortex (....that which controls reasoning/rational thought/emotional regulation....big surprise there!) is completely underdeveloped]; I am ABLE to make the choice to do better.
I am able to chose how I look at the situation.
I am able to take a breath, calm down, and even find humor.
I am able to model for my son how to navigate the stormy waters of frustration and anger in a productive way.
I am able to reassure my son that, until the day I die, I will constantly reach out to him....endlessly making the concioius effort to connect with him. No. Matter. What.
Above all...even when my biggest doubts creep in....I am able to chose love over fear.
As Ghandi said, "If we are to reach real peace in this world...we shall have to begin with children."
Peace begins in the home. It lives in subtle exchanges and expressions of grace. It shines as those who are bigger/older/more powerful treat those who are most vulnerable with dignity and respect.
Parenting can indeed be such hard, thankless work.
But, as my son wraps his warm, soft arms around my neck and squeezes tight, I am utterly convinced that it is the highest calling there is.

The Power of Words

"...For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of."

-Matthew 12:34

"Talk Less. Ask More."
-Alfie Kohn

 

 

Soaring thousands of feet above the deep, blue Pacific was when it happened. Of all places, of all times. Through the wooshing of forced air and the hum of hushed conversations and muffled coughs, we heard it. 10 month old Landon tipped his chin to the low ceiling of the 737 bound for Hawaii, pointed a teeny finger, and exclaimed, "i-ight!."

"Did you hear that?!" I exclaimed.

"He just said light!" My mom confirmed from the next seat over.

With all eyes on him, Landon beamed and (after witnessing the circus of Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa all over-enthusiastically pointing like monkies at their own over-head lights and chirping "Light!" "Light" "Light" over and over) he offered an encore.

"I-ight," he croaked matter-of-factly. And we all swooned.

Landon spoke his first word.
It was as if we could see a whole new world opening up to him; like a treasure map uncurling it's canvas secrets.
Maybe our elation stemmed from the fact that this was a first for Landon. First smile, first steps, first word. It seemed logical.  But there was something more. Something of deeper value in our reaction; something that hinted at the promise of a growing, morphing, changing, and richer connection with Landon through the vehicle of language.
A whole new world indeed.
Now, at 19 months, Landon lives for his words. Stretching in a drowsy, lazy-morning fuzz, Landon begins his day talking. Even before those precious eyes can blink the sleep from them, the words spill out.
"Oh light! The pillow. Blanket! Sunshine!" Landon sings as he names everything in his itty-bitty world.
The joy of watching our son discover his voice was quickly matched with the sobering realization that he would repeat anything, yes anything, that we said while he was within earshot.
Landon, like all healthy kids, seems to have an innate gift for honing in on those special words that, to Mom and Dad (Mom more specifically in this case) seem innacuous enough to slip into an adult conversation for emphasis. Words that, while little ones scamper about 'playing independently', you assume they would never think to listen to, much less repeat. But those little ears, oh those little ears...they don't miss a thing.
"Ccccc-r-aaaa-pp!" Landon trumpeted proudly, after said adult conversation above.
Our heads whipped to quick attention, our mouths dropped open, and Landon smiled from ear to ear.
"Cccc-r-aaa-p!" "Ccc-r-aaa-p" "Ccc--r-aaa-pp" He annunciated as he marched around the lawn. Over and over and over.
And we just about died.
Lesson learned.
As comical (at least in hindsight) that the situation was, it was a humbling learning moment for us as parents. The obvious conclusion to be much more careful of what we said around Landon didn't seem to be all we were meant to learn. This only scratched the surface. Embedded deeper was more of a feeling, a hearfelt longing to make sure we are concious of the attitudes that drive how we use words spoken both around and to Landon.
You see, even though we are taught the contrary, words can be weapons. Especially in these tender, formative years. They can wound little hearts that look to us as the center of their world. They can deflate the spirit of wonder in a child simply by a snide comment or an impatient demand.
But, we realized, it's simply not enough to say the 'right' things.
Children are geniune and honest, down to their core. A nicety spoken out of obligation or a word of encouragement uttered in frustration just doesn't feel right. Even mounds of compliments from the most well-intentioned parent can feel a little hollow somehow.
Perhaps it stems from the fact that there is so much that is unsaid behind what we actually say.
I've been so guilty of presenting this false front of words before. It's happened in times that I've worried about what strangers in the grocery store might think of me as a parent, times when I've told a white-lie to Landon (sorry, the cookies are all gone) because it was easier for me, times when I've wanted to manipulate Landon's behavior so I've showered him with candy-coated 'positive reinforcement' rather than stating a simple, loving limit or allowing him to experience and internalize the joy of a task .
Me. Me. Me.
The problem is, parenting....good parenting....isn't about me.
And this conflict of interests between my words and my intentions; when I opt to say what's most convenient for me rather than set a good example...it's reflected in my son's face.
It's as if children, especially young children, live on a different wavelength where the words that are spoken to them are interpreted only second to the energy that they receive.
That unsaid 'stuff'...it's their primary language.
Innocent matter-of-fact honesty and pure, un-tamed wonder are the very fabric that children weave their words through.
And it's refeshing...so very refreshing.

To be a great parent is more a function of listening than of explaining.
-Alfie Kohn

  As Landon's world continues to bloom and grow with language, we hope to be ever aware of the power our words and attitudes carry. We hope our words will carry encouragement, validation, and a spirit of understanding and love. Mostly, though, we hope to simply listen. And when letting go of focusing on the me of parenting, we hope to not only listen, but to learn in the process.

 

 



The Tomato Plant Lesson

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

-Galatians 5:22



"Do you know how long it takes to grow a tomato plant?" Mike asked with a little chuckle and a large does of patience.
The afternoon sun danced over the fenceline, casting a warm light over Mike's freshly planted garden. A gentle breeze carried the scent of dewy grass and sweet cottonwoods. Above the springtime song of Robbins and Swallows could be heard the exuberant shriek of our 13 month old son as he toddled barefoot through the grass. I smiled as I watched Landon stagger and stumble, sheer joy bursting forth from his every move.
"No," I answered Mike, "I really hadn't thought of it before."
I replayed the scenario in my head that had unfolded five minutes earlier, wishing I had caught it on video.
I could see it so clearly. Mike standing at the fenceline, holding the big plastic watering can over his beautiful potted vegetables, green stalks reaching toward the sunlight. And there was Landon, buzzing back and forth behind Mike's heals, drinking in his daddy's every move. With one clumsy step forward, Landon extended his chubby fingers to pluck the flimsy plant tag out of the dirt (his favorite pastime while in the wilds of the backyard) and....it....happened. Our darling son pirouted to the right....stepped on his own toes....then....PLOP...SNAP...whooops:) In one swift movement, Landon broke his fall directly on the tomato plant. As he regained his footing and zipped off to investigate the next garden delicacy, we got a glimpse of the aftermath. The vibrant green stalk had been severed and completely snapped in half; hanging by a thread like a loose tooth.
"How can you be mad at him, " Mike half-chuckled, half-groaned, "Look how happy he is, he's just totally oblvious."
Steeling a glance at eachother, then at Landon (now hovering like King Kong above the pepper plants) we both broke into a laugh.
Of course we couldn't be mad at him.
He's 13 months old.
He's growing, investigating, interacting, exploring, and making mistakes....PLENTY of mistakes.
But isn't that how we learn?
The whole situation got us thinking.
Is there ever an age that we are justified in being 'mad' at Landon for a mistake (like the tomato plant incident) or any mistake for that matter?
I hadn't taken the time to truly reflect on that before. That one question spurred a cluster of others to sprout into my head.
Wasn't that the perscribed role of a parent? At least a responsible parent? We need to punish our children so that they learn from those mistakes....right? Especially if the crimes are messy, inconvenient, or God forbid....done in defiance.  Then, our anger is justified.

This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.
I don't want to do this, but you've left me no choice.
That's it, this is the LAST warning!
You've really done it this time.

I cringed.
Deep down in my heart, I knew this didn't feel right....would never feel right.
This punitive 'justified' anger, cleverly disguised as a parental 'duty', was really an ugly lack of self-control; of impatience masquerading as rightousness.
I say this from a point of humility, because I am far from innocent.
I look back at my days in the classroom and I am swept up into a sheepish flury of scenes flashing before my eyes, hasty words echoing in my head. It seemed there were times when those select few tough, hurting students of mine would do anything to push my bottons, misbehave so outrageously that my daily plans were completely thrown out the window.
And boy was I frustrated! Regretfully, I probably let it show. I undoubtedly dealt with some situations in ways I wish I could have done differently.
But, you see, that's the beauty of mistakes.
We can learn from them.
I want to do things differently with Landon.
I WILL do things differently with Landon.
I can start today by not accepting the myth that children need to be 'put in their place'.
I can start today by not valuing blind obedience over relationship with my child.
I can start today by being a loving, patient authority figure who sets limits with empathy.
Above all, I can start today by dealing with my anger before I lose control and by respecting the power that my words and actions have over my child.

“I have come to the frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element (in my classroom or in my home). It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that makes the weather. I possess a tremendous power to make life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal.”

Anger does not belong in parenting. I look into the backyard and smile at that crooked tomato plant, thankful for the lesson it has imprinted on my heart. In it's tattered clay pot, the once ravaged stalk is now sprouting new growth and ready to bear fruit (or vegetable for that matter) despite it's ordeal. Just as our children are constantly learning and growing, so are we as parents. Like the tomato plant, there will be times in our parenting when we are broken and barely hanging on by a thread; our patience tried and our mistakes plentiful. But, like the tomato plant we have a tremendous capability for resilience; an unending invitation to mend our own brokeness (or lean on our faith to do so). It is then that we can step up to a higher standard; a standard not defined by perfection or guilt but cloaked in grace and abounding with love.

Confessions of a Change-of-Heart Mama

I think too much.
I'll start out there. Years from now, when Landon is reading this, he'll probably understand this about his often over-analytical mama. And maybe he'll be the same way...after all, it could be in the genes. Or perhaps it's simply a 'mama thing'. Either way, sometimes these thoughts/passions/feelings/words swim around in my head and keep me up at night. With eyes trained toward the cealing, it is in the soft, hushed, buzzing darkness that I can't quite figure out if it's my head or heart keeping me up; they are too closely tied. I wonder and worry, think and pray...all about that which I am most passionate about; parenting my sweet little boy. I'm sure that I'm not alone in this. Parenthood (even this far) has been the most suprising journey. If you would have asked me what I pictured my life to be like with a 13 month  old BEFORE having kids, I would have painted a portrait far different than the gloriously messy, hilariously chaotic, deeply love-filled and soul-warming reality that is my life today with Landon. Let's start at the beginning.
With swollen belly and anxious heart, my nine-month-pregnant self tidied up Landon's nursery. I carefully aranged extra bottles, pacifiers, swaddle blankets, bouncy seats, vibrating swings, expensive and pretty bedding, bassinettes, changing tables, cribs...you name it, we had it! This kid had more 'gear' than space in our house. And I CARED about the gear, boy did I ever. I had visions of how cute my little bundle would be lying peacefully in his designer bassinette. I daydreamed about how Landon would coo and smile at me from one of his plastic baby-holding contraptions as I whistled and cleaned my tidy house.
It seems so shallow now...this neat, shrink-wrapped idea of what I thought motherhood with an infant to be. Perhaps this is just a normal step in the metamorphasis one undertakes when becoming a parent. I imagine God chuckling at parents like me...seeing our eyes widen in amazement when suddenly....REALITY hits!
Landon arrived....
He was perfect and beautiful and the very embodiment of LOVE....
BUT....
He did not ONCE sleep peacefully in his designer bassinnette, most of the plastic contraptions irritated him, and the bottles....HA! Landon had other plans.
He yearned for nearness, for warmth, for cuddles, for smiles, for the sound of mom's heartbeat. He NEEDED relationship, he had NO need for all of the gear. :)
And so began my first lesson.
I read recently a notion that children are like little 'holy' teachers, imparting on us wisdom that reflects God's heart and what is truly important in life....if we only take the time to 'listen'. What an idea! The most humble, powerless, and innocent of all, teaching...not by preaching, not by wielding force, not by employing an agenda or caring what other people think...but simply by honest example. 
It's all about relationship.
My little 'holy' teacher chose this as his first, and quite possibly most important lesson. And when the veneer of my ludicrious pre-conceived notions and expectations began to crack, a simple and beautiful truth began to shine through.
The details, the schedules, the 'stuff' isn't important.
It's all about relationship. Parenting, marriage, family, life, love....God.
As Landon grows, Mike and I hope to always value this truth in our parenting.
When tempted to anger, we hope to instead chose patience.
When led astray by distractions, we hope to embrace spontaneity and opt to be present with our child.
When faced with an easy-out, we hope walk the path of highest integrity alongside Landon, however rough it may be.
It's all about relationship.
If I could write a letter and send it back in time to my pre-parent self, it may say simply that. :)

Letter to Landon

 With Landon's first birthday fast approaching, I took a look through his baby book and came across the letter we wrote to him before he was born. Wanting to make sure my only handwritten copy didn't get lost or chewed on by a very busy toddling baby boy, I thought I would include it on Landon's blog:)

November 18th, 2010

Dear Landon,

For five months now we have dreamed about you, wondered about you, marveled at your firsts (first time hearing your heartbeat, first time feeling you kick, first time feeling your tiny, bony foot protruding from my belly) and this week we got to see your face on an ulstrasound and found out you were a boy! We are having a son, and the joy and love we feel for you already is bigger than the sky.
When we arrived at Dr. Case's both Mommy and Daddy were chatting and laughing nervously, just so excited to meet you. When the nurse called us back, we both looked at eachother and smiled, it didn't quite seem real that in a few minutes we would know so much more about you.
The exam room door creaked open moments after the nurse left us, and Dr. Case extended his hand and introduced himself. Landon, in life you will meet all kinds of people; some who make you feel good, warm, and comforted with their kind presence, some, of course, who do not. Landon, Mom and Dad want you to know that you can learn something from ALL types of people. Dr. case was the first kind, though:)
As Daddy held onto Mommy's oustretched hand, Dr. Case told Mommy and Daddy that no matter if you were healthy or sick, boy or girl, he and Dr. Lawler would take care of you...that there was no problem we couldn't work through together, and that he and Dr. Lawler could be added to the long list of people that love you. As you grow, both now and after we are born Landon, I hope you always know those three things to be true.
As the screen flickered to life, Mommy and Daddy watched in awe as your face pieced together before our eyes.
"The chin and mouth look like me!" Mommy exclaimed.
Landon, right away Mom was so struck by how much of herself she could see in you...it was surreal. Daddy looked on with love, so amazed to be seeing you for the first time.
The doctor made measurements of your bones, your body, and your organs as he talked and moved the wand. With a voice that sounded like a smooth, warm cup of tea on a cold day, he reassured us, "All of this looking perfectly normal, healthy."
Landon, we would have loved you no matter if you were crippled and sick or healthy as a horse. As you go through life though, you learn never to take good health for granted...and when we found out how healthy you were, we felt so, so blessed.
As the wand moved and pushed on Mommy's belly some more, we could see your thigh bones (and what was in between them) flash across the screen. Mommy knew right away that you were a boy, before the doctor even said those anticipated words, "It's a boy! You have a son."
It makes me laugh to think how this might be embarrassing for you to read later in life, but if you take anything away from it, imagine the look on your Daddy's face when he found out he was having a son. His eyes twinkeled with so much joy, so much love...I could almost see him imagining all of the things he'll teach you, do with you, enjoy with you. You are so lucky to have him as a Daddy, Landon. He is such a good man and you will learn so much from him.
As I finish writing this letter we are just weeks away from meeting you! We can't wait to see you for the first time, to hold you, to count your little fingers and toes, to talk about who's eyes you have...our excitement is tangible.
Still, as I sit here and can feel your knees, elbows, feet, and fists squirming this way and that in my belly, YOU remind me of something. It's as if I feel the urge to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and imprint this moment in time on my heart...like a photographer capturing a still photo of a fiery sunset.
Landon, in life we can get so focused on looking forward to the future and waiting for that 'next' thing to happen that we can miss the beauty of the journey. Carrying you, nurturing you, and being a part of YOU for nine months has been the most fulfilling journey of my life. Not quite two, yet not fully one...we share a conncetion that is powerful. As you begin this amazing adventure of life and enter this big world, let that connection, that LOVE that Dad, God, and I have with you be the flame that burns inside you, fuels your dreams, makes you reach for the stars. Always remember where you came from, Landon, and let that same love be your safe haven, your soft place to fall.
YOU will do GREAT things.
We love you.

Love,
Mom & Dad