1. Listen

Turns out, blogging is less about speaking one’s mind than it is about listening. Tuning in to other sources –reading articles, posts and online conversations — has been the key to knowing what parents are concerned about and where I might have something helpful to offer.

2.  Take a chance, be different

Like all creative endeavors, blogging is about trusting your instincts. Don’t be afraid you’ll write yourself into a corner if you become too specific. Being “niche” is good. In fact, be on the lookout for something you can add to the conversation that’s different from what everyone else is saying. There’s only one you out there, and that is all any of us have to share. The most intriguing blogs have something fresh and distinctive to say. Even if we don’t entirely agree, we read and respect those bloggers.

(This post is an example of me taking a chance, since blogging tips are not what I imagine readers care to hear from me.)

3. You can’t please everyone

Although I’ve tried to raise my children not to be rattled by conflict and disagreement, I admit that I tend to be. This is the area in which I’ve grown the most through blogging. Here’s the perspective I’ve gained: if everyone agrees with you all the time, you’re probably playing it too safe. A blogger’s job is to share his or her unique point of view, experiences and suggestions which aren’t always going to make others say “yeah, yeah, yeah”. This is especially true for parenting bloggers since parenthood, especially in the early years, is a sensitive time in one’s life, and the least confident among us (I was once in this group) are the quickest to feel threatened and go into attack mode (not my style, but I understand the impulse).

When you are attacked by a reader’s comment, understand that it means you’ve probably made that reader rethink or question something that isn’t working for them anyway. Opening up to new ideas can be uncomfortable, even painful. So don’t feel bad or get mad — empathize.

4. Titles matter (almost) as much as your post

I read a couple of “how to blog” posts that mentioned the importance of strong titles and opening paragraphs, but didn’t really believe it. Then, last summer I made a conscious effort to write a few provocative, commercial sounding titles. Big difference.  You can still be creative. In fact, it takes real creativity to come up with a pithy title that makes people stop and click, but also engagingly and accurately describes your post.

Now, when I’m conjuring up titles, I ask myself if this would capture my attention while scrolling through hundreds of posts on Facebook or Twitter. There are bloggers I’ll always read regardless of their titles, but to really expand your readership, you have to grab people’s attention, even if they haven’t a clue who you are or hated your last post.

It also helps to get an outside opinion when you’re stumped. My husband (also my tireless, extraordinary editor) has been a godsend, creating successful titles like “Don’t Cramp Your Toddler’s Style” and “The Problem With Cute Kids”.

Also, readers like lists, which are a stretch for me (organization isn’t my strong suit) but their effectiveness is worth the effort.

Case in point, here are my top ten posts of 2011 (out of about 80, total), all written in the latter half of this year.  Check out the titles…

1. The Case Against Tummy Time: Guest Post by Irene Gutteridge
2. The Parenting Magic Word (10 Ways To Use It)
3. 5 Reasons Toddlers Don’t Need ‘Redirection’ (And What To Do Instead)
4. 7 Reasons To Calm Down About Babies Crying
5. Don’t Cramp Your Toddler’s Style – The Power Of Trust
6. The Problem With Cute Kids
7. The Key To Your Child’s Heart (7 Ways It Works)
8. The Secrets Of Infant Learning
9. 10 Secrets To Raising Less Stressed Kids
10. Would You Let Your Baby Do This?

5. Be authentic

If you want to build a reputation as a blogger, never (ever, ever) sacrifice trust, integrity or authenticity to attract attention. Don’t even think of exaggerating facts or giving false information. The worst offenders create fear, which is especially cruel for parents since we are so prone to worry. Nothing is cheaper or a bigger turn-off in my book than a “made you look” post or title.

6. Facebook and Twitter

Twitter has been a great way to connect with other parenting sites and meet some wonderful ECE professionals, but the vast majority of my blog traffic comes from Facebook.  If you don’t have one already, get a Facebook page and use it. In my first year of blogging, I mostly posted my own links. Then I started noticing what successful pages were doing — making their pages into little magazines by sharing articles they liked from other sites. What fun! And this is also a great way to “save” articles that you want to refer and link to in future posts. When I finally learned how to link to not just the articles, but the other pages as well, I began to feel part of a community and my site visits increased substantially.

6. Stuck?

When in doubt, ask yourself, “What do I have to share that might be helpful to someone?” Read what’s out there and see what comes to mind. Again, it’s about listening…to others and then, ultimately, yourself.

7. Escape

The real ideas don’t come when I’m devouring information. They appear (seemingly by magic) long after I’ve read and digested, in the quiet space when I can to listen to my thoughts. For me, this is when I’m jogging or awake too early in the morning and can’t get back to sleep (a silver lining to that dark cloud).

I also need to get away from the computer periodically, clear my head and forget I ever had a blog. Best to do this before your friends and family feel neglected and resentful (learned this the hard way).

9. Get personal

Share personal stories to illustrate your points whenever possible. The personal touch is what makes the difference between a site you respect and one that you feel a real connection to.

10. Welcome contributions and collaboration

My blog is specifically about Magda Gerber and RIE’s Educaring Approach, which limits possible guest posts, but it makes my day when someone sends me an interesting video, shares a story or their experiences with the practices I write about. I beg them to let me post it. Nothing is more engaging to me than the unique experiences or perspectives of another professional or parent.  And my top post for 2011 was Feldenkrais practictioner Irene Gutteridge’s guest post “The Case Against Tummy Time”!

11. Write evergreen

When I began blogging, my husband gave me a fantastic piece of advice: write evergreen posts… and I’ve never looked back. But my husband was right, readers have (looked back). Posts that I put my heart into back when just my friends and family were reading have been discovered in recent months. Three of my top four posts this month were oldies from my first months of blogging: No Bad Kids – Toddler Discipline Without Shame, The Easily Forgotten Gift and You’ll Be Sorry – Children And Apologies. How great is that? I’ve been especially thankful for the time away my evergreen posts have bought me during the busy holiday season.

I still have a lot to learn about blogging, and I’m sure 2012 will bring many more lessons. Maybe this will be the year I finally master something all the blogging experts recommend…the 300 word post (and pigs will fly).

In the meantime, I’d love to hear your ideas!

(Photo, entitled “Look At These Potatoes”, by one of my favorite collaborators Jude Keith Rose)

It occurred to me that my family’s favorite stories might appeal to you, too. Truth be told, this is my list. These are books I never tired of reading, which may be at least part of the reason my children enjoyed them so much as well. As my acting teacher used to say, “If you are thinking it, the audience knows it,” and there is no more sensitive, aware audience than a young child.

First Year

Like most babies, mine liked Pat the Bunny and books with photos of animals, or babies doing fun stuff with their mommies and daddies. But earlier than I expected they also appreciated a narrative (even if told only through pictures), especially humorous ones like the “Max” books or atmospheric stories like Rain Talk. And these were also more enjoyable for me to read…

1. Max’s Breakfast, Max’s Bedtime, Max’s Birthday, Max’s Toys by Rosemary Wells

2. The Owl And The Pussycat by Edward Lear, illustrated by Jan Brett

3. The Furry Bedtime Book by Margo Lundell, illustrated by David McPhail

4. Wake Up Mr. B.! by Penny Dale

5. Rain Talk by Mary Serfozo

6. Good Dog, Carl, Carl Goes Shopping and Carl’s Masquerade by Alexandra Day

Second Year And Up

I don’t believe in ever pushing or rushing a child’s cognitive development, but I discovered that by exposing my children to both spoken language and books that were a little beyond their understanding, their language skills grew in leaps and bounds. I remember reading a long time ago (wish I could remember where) that mothers intuitively know how to extend a child’s vocabulary this way, adding increasingly difficult words to the conversation. (I imagine that the new breed of hands-on fathers do, too).

If children don’t comprehend a book enough to enjoy it (or just aren’t in the mood), they clearly indicate their disinterest. Mostly, my children astonished me by enjoying books that I would have thought were way beyond them.  So, when in doubt, try it!

You’re  probably already familiar with popular classics we loved like: The Complete Tales of Winnie The Pooh (great on audio CD, too), The Little Engine That Could, Peter Rabbit, The Ugly Duckling, Madeline, Paddington Bear, Yertle the Turtle and The Lorax, to name a few.

If I had to pick one children’s author for my hall of fame, it would be Arnold Lobel.  Second and third would be Russell Hoban (especially his Francis series) and Rosemary Wells. I’ve read their books a million times and it isn’t enough. They are eloquent, silly and smart, have the quirky humor and uplifting view of life that can cheer me at the end of dreary day, make me appreciate life again. If you haven’t yet discovered these books, you’re in for a treat.

Arnold Lobel favorites include Days With Frog And Toad (great on CD, too), and all the other Frog And Toad stories, Mouse Soup, Uncle Elephant, Owl At Home, Grasshopper on the Road

Russell Hoban’s Bedtime For Francis, A Baby Sister For Francis (great for new big brothers or sisters), Bread And Jam For Francis and Best Friends For Francis.

Rosemary Wells’ The Island Light and First Tomato (From her “Voyage to the Bunny Planet” series) and her Max and Ruby picture books, Bunny Money, Bunny Cakes and Max’s Dragon Shirt

Mommy Tear-Jerkers

I never once read these books without tearing up, which disturbed my children a little at first, but eventually they got used to me. If you need a good, happy kind of cry, these magical favorites might do the trick…

1. Roxaboxen by Alice McLerran and illustrated by Barbara Cooney (an all time personal favorite that kindles my childhood memories of playing “Town”).

2. I Love You The Purplest by Barbara M. Joosse (Great for siblings. Beautifully captures the feeling of loving more than one child.)

3. The Selfish Giant by Oscar Wilde

4. The Adventures of Taxi Dog

Speaking of dogs

If you love dogs like we do, you’ll get a kick out of the Henry and Mudge series by Cynthia Rylant, especially Henry and Mudge Get the Cold Shivers and Henry and Mudge and the Wild Wind. You’ll also like the hilarious Three More Stories You Can Read To Your Dog by Sara Swan Miller.

Kid’s choices

Each child is unique, of course, and though mine all appreciated these books when they were very small, their tastes soon diverged. When I recently asked, “What first books come to mind?” the 18 year old remembered classics she first read, Go Dog Go and Are You My Mother? The 9 year old surprised me by mentioning the rather obscure Ladybug At Orchard Avenue, and the 14 year old (biggest book lover in the family) said “Auntie Claus” and also insists on holding onto the entire Berenstain Bears series (which we really do have in its entirety). Interesting that many of the books that I know where extremely special to them when they were infants and toddlers they don’t seem to remember! Locked away in their unconscious, I suppose.

My children liked these… Me, not so much.

The Amelia Bedelia series and (though I feel blasphemous saying this) a couple of the Dr. Seuss books like The Sleep Book (it’s supposed to be monotonous, right?) and One Fish Two Fish were tough reads for me. I admit to surreptitiously skipping some pages.

Last, but not least

These two books would not be great favorites, except that they are responsible for experiences that I will never forget…

Silly Tilly’s Valentine by Lillian Hoban is the first short chapter book my middle daughter read all the way through, and I can still hear the jolly lilt in her voice. She was 4 ¾, sitting on the sofa in my bedroom while I lay in bed nursing her new baby brother. He was colicky and not a sleeper. I was overwhelmed, depressed, exhausted. Her moods had been shifting between showing empathy for me (and making touching, spirited attempts to cheer me up), excitement about her new brother, anger and grief over my lack of availability for her since the baby. In the midst of all of this she had been teaching herself to read and it was with Silly Tilly that I realized, Oh my gosh, she’s really reading!

Mr. McMouse is an odd little story and not my favorite book by Leo Leoni, but my son could never get enough of it. During his second year, he asked for it at every bed and naptime. Maybe he liked it because at the end this rather lost character (Timothy) becomes a hero after saving another mouse from being killed by a cat. The triumphant conclusion: “When finally the Headmouse called Spinny and Timothy to the speaker’s stand, there was thundering applause, for by now every mouse in the castle knew their story…”

When my son was almost 2 ½, his big sisters and I went to visit friends in England for a week and left him home with his dad. It was the longest period of time that I have ever left any of my children. I’m no good at it. I remember calling my husband from the car on the way home from the airport. I was beside myself with worry about our boy’s feelings during this long separation. My husband put our son on the phone and when I said “Hi Benny!” he replied in his sweet high-pitched voice, “Every mouse in the castle!”

Do you have a favorite book to share? Funny, now that I’ve written mine down, I think I might be able to part with a few of them.              

Dear Charlotte,

Such a monumental time in the life of such a monumental girl (funny, I kept typing “momumental”), which must be why this letter has been hard for me to write. I meant to write to you for your 18^th birthday! The thought has been overwhelming – so hard to face the depth of my feelings about my little girl growing up.

“I love you aalllll the best.”

I discovered this in an old journal. Apparently, you said those words to me regularly when you were 2. You were certainly mirroring the love I had for you then, have now, and will always have.

But I don’t just love you — I have never admired anyone more. I would be proud to call you a friend or even an acquaintance. Honestly, I’m a little thrown to be the mother of a person like you. You deeply inspire me. And make me look really good.

You are a loving daughter, friend and teacher. You are unforgettable to anyone who has ever come in contact with you. Every moment with you is etched on my heart. These come to mind…

Dinners

What baby loves restaurants? You did. Our once-a-week (at least) dinners together were some of my most memorable times with you. We talked. We joked. You always rose to the occasion, and we were at our best together — buddies. Strangers were impressed by the joy and intimacy they observed between a mom and her baby and often told me so. We had traditions.  One was repeatedly playing our two favorite songs on the jukebox at the Coral Beach Cantina: “La Bamba” and “Here Comes the Sun.”

Music

Music was always a mutual high for us. One of the first songs that I remember soaring to with you besides “La Bamba” and “Here Comes The Sun” was “We Three Kings” from one of our Christmas tapes. We listened to that zillions of times and not just during the holidays. There was a glorious instrumental bridge that always inspired me to scoop you up and dance with you in my arms. I remember when Dad’s Cousin Tom had been visiting us once and was just leaving, and after he walked out the door I turned on the music, picked you up and starting dancing.  Then he returned having forgotten something and caught us. He looked surprised, smiled, made a polite and hasty exit.

There were many other songs we rocked to over the years. Whether we were at home or in the car I’d always crank up the volume. “She’s So High Above Me”, “Ironic”, “2,000 Miles“, to name a few.  A year or two ago, I remember you telling me that you looked forward to having your own car so you could blast music on the stereo. Wonder who you got that from.

Asking my advice and sharing your pain

I hate it when you’re hurting, but I’m incredibly touched and flattered when you share your difficulties with me. I don’t have the same access to you I did when you were small, and that’s okay, but when you let me in once in a while I feel reconnected and realize again how completely I adore you — how proud you make me.

Helping me

Wow. You may not even know how much you helped me when I shared a painful professional situation with you and you said, “You should be angry.” By being so clear and perceptive, you gave me access to a feeling that I don’t easily recognize or allow myself to feel. In that moment you were not only a great friend but like a parent to me.

Grace

Another wow.  When you were asked to get up at church in front of everyone and share your plans and hopes on High School Senior Day, how did you get the idea to spend most of your time thanking all the parishioners for being so welcoming all these years? Where do you get these incredible instincts, this amazing poise, graciousness, spirituality? Even Ms. Bowles said to me afterwards, “She will never disappoint.” No kidding!

Angels

I had forgotten these secrets you told me when you were 2 and was excited to find them in the journal…

“In my bed, when I close my eyes, I see angels and they protect me… You know what?” Charlotte asked conspiratorially. 

 “What?”

“They sleep in beds.”

“They do?”

“Yes”, she answered, suddenly whispering. “And do you know what color they are?”

“Uh, no…white?”

“No, they’re purple,” she said with quiet conviction, “and their covers are purple, too.”

“Their what?”

“Their covers. Everything is purple. And the angels in my room, they protect me…so I don’t get lost” She paused and then asked, “Do your angels protect you?”

“Yes…yes, they do.”

Since I know you’ll continue to be in close contact with angels, I won’t worry about you in college…much, but I’ll think of you constantly.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you loving me “all the best”. I’ll feel blessed, honored to be there whenever or however you might need or want me. Those will be high points of my life. So, please, keep them coming.

I made another discovery in the journal, yet another charming thing you told me often when you were 2…“I want to keep you.” Charlotte, those are my sentiments…exactly.

In order to dance La Bamba

In order to dance La Bamba

You need a little bit of grace

A little bit of grace

For me, for you, ah up, ah up

Ah, up, up

For you I will be, for you I will be, for you I will be…

While I was writing this, Charlotte happened to be out buying a graduation dress in a color I haven’t seen her wear since she was small. Guess.

“Can we go to Starbucks and then meet the bus at the second stop?” (It’s about 12 minutes away.)

“Uh… I don’t know” I stammered, momentarily overwhelmed by the idea of this modest change of plan (and never as carefree and willing in these situations as I’d like to be). “Oh, okay,” I reluctantly agreed…

Once I was in the car with him and had made the necessary call to my convalescing daughter’s carpool, I relaxed and was suddenly grateful to be spending this special time with my son, granting his wish.  Children need our No’s, but it’s easy to forget how much they need our Yes’s, too. 

After Starbucks we parked on the quiet street where the bus would be stopping. My son said he wanted to climb the big coral tree across the road. Once again I hesitated, stick in the mud that I am. “Doesn’t it have big thorns?” (I hate this side of myself. It turned out to be a magnolia tree anyway.)

“No, mommy, it’s fine!”

“Okay. But I wanted to be with you.”

“Then come with me.”

“No, that’s okay.” It was 7:10 AM, chilly, and I hadn’t climbed a tree since…never mind. Still, later I wished I’d joined him.

We exchanged goodbyes, kisses and “I love you.”

He ran across the road, plopped his backpack on the sidewalk and disappeared into the tree. For the next few minutes I could only imagine his experience. He was invisible.

As in all good adventure stories, there was suspense…  First a man walked by, his dog trailing behind off-leash. The dog paused to sniff my son’s backpack. Would he pee on it?  Thankfully, no. 

My boy suddenly emerged out of the tree and onto the sidewalk. He looked around for a moment, noticed the bus approaching and then jumped up to swing on a branch before disappearing into the tree again. I imagined he wanted to pop out and surprise friends who might be looking out the bus windows.

Then the bus arrived and totally obliterated my view. I couldn’t see the tree. I couldn’t see if my boy was entering the bus with the other children.  I could only see his backpack through the underside of the bus, still on the sidewalk.

A full minute passed and I began to worry. The bus would be leaving any second, and either he wasn’t getting on or he had forgotten his backpack.  I took my key out of the ignition and opened the car door. Just as I was stepping out I saw his backpack scooped up and my son’s sneakers as he ran towards the bus door… with only a moment to spare. 

As the bus left I sat in the car savoring the morning, loving my boy, grateful and tearful. I thought of other times friends, loved ones, and especially my children have inspired me to let go… and live a little.

Have your children inspired you to break the routine or taken you on an unexpected adventure?

I’m sharing this scenario because it was unimaginable to me and may be to you, too. I realize now that I was self-centered and ignorant enough to assume sexual abuse would not really touch the lives of “people like me”. Now I know… I’ve just been blessed that it hasn’t.

For the first time I can understand how the family and friends of those who commit heinous crimes might feel. From an outsider’s point-of-view it’s simple and obvious: “Ugh, horrible person.” Or not even a person…animal. Despicable. How could you ever love such a lowlife? But my friend was not only a ‘person like us’, he was an especially warm, popular, charming, one, admired by many for his talent and expertise. And trusted.

He was generous. Sometimes I needed repeat adjustments within the same week, and he wouldn’t charge me. He gave you more than the half hour you booked with him, even if you were late. He invited us to bring our children to be adjusted for free (which seems ominous now, but my children were not victimized by him, and most others weren’t either. Predators are not indiscriminant, I’m learning). He was spiritual. He did a special healing ritual with my mother when she was sick from cancer a few months before she died.

I saw him at least once every couple of months and kept him up to date about my life. He wanted to know what was going on with me and my family. He cared.

The father of one of this man’s victims, also a friend, told me that he had never doubted the man’s trust. He was close with both the man and his wife. His 5 year old daughter spent time in the man’s care, seemed to enjoy being with him, never balked, and her dad believed that spending time with this grandfatherly figure was positive for her. Once the little girl told her dad that the man had touched her “there” while she was in the bath, but said immediately afterwards, “Just kidding”. Even then, her father hadn’t the slightest suspicion. He’d trusted this man intimately for many years and knew his daughter had a rich fantasy life. She liked making up stories.

It wasn’t until the father heard about another family filing a complaint that he had the dreadful realization — his little girl had tried to tell him. When he went to his daughter and she divulged details about the abuse, he found that although she may have felt uneasy on some level, she had perceived the abuse the way her abuser had wanted her to – an affectionate little game they played together. “Don’t tell your parents. They might get mad at me.”

I’m ashamed to admit that I share this story for selfish reasons, too, in hope that spilling my thoughts will help me untangle them. I still don’t know how I feel or how I’m supposed to feel. I’m reliving my many interactions with this man, hearing his voice and his laughter, remembering his every touch and facial expression — a slideshow of once pleasant images now viewed through a distorted lens, nightmarish. One minute I’m disgusted, so angry and sad for the children. I hurt, cringe and shudder. The next minute I just remember him, and try to merge these disparate people into one — friend and child molester — but can’t, at least not yet. And the hardest thing to reckon with are my feelings of loss, and the guilt I have for feeling them. Because even for the devastating harm he’s done, lives he’s changed, innocence he’s stolen, I’m finding it impossible to hate this guy, to just throw him away. This is the death of a friend, but worse… there’s disillusionment and betrayal. How could he?

If I’m wrestling with these feelings, with all my years of life experience, how will the children reconcile theirs? Will they understand how a relationship that felt so loving could be so wrong? Will they struggle to comprehend how the intimate ‘games’ they shared with a trusted friend could be shameful and bad? Are they bad, too, for enjoying them, and him? Do they feel remorse for sending him to jail? Will they heal this wound and trust their instincts again? I’m praying that they will.

I urge you to read these “Eight Common Myths About Child Sexual Abuse” by the Leadership Council. I believed a few of them. One of the most jarring to me is “Myth 4: Children who are being abused would immediately tell their parents. Research shows that children who have been sexually assaulted often have considerable difficulty revealing or discussing their abuse. Estimates suggest that only 3% of all cases of child sexual abuse (Finkelhor & Dziuba-Leatherman, 1994; Timnick, 1985) and only 12% of rapes involving children are ever reported to police (Hanson et al., 1999).”

My best advice is to do what I didn’t do until I was shocked into this new awareness. Talk to your children about abuse as early as possible, discussing rules with them about friends and relatives of all ages and appropriate touching. Warn them about adults and others who ask them to keep secrets. Keep the lines of communication about these issues open and non-judgmental. Here is an excellent post on the subject by Shara Lawrence-Weiss: Your Child’s Best Defense Is YOUR Warning – Early Childhood News  

If you have answers, insights, or experiences to share, I hope you will.

Predators groom parents and community in order to access children. They are usually “highly respected.” -BraveKidsVoices

A petite “pixy”, as Laura Huxley describes her in the video “Seeing Infants With New Eyes”, Magda radiated big, bold and bright.  She was in her eighties when I met her and still sat cross-legged on a pillow on the floor during her Resources for Infant Educarers (RIE) parent/infant classes, serving bananas and juice with great care and dignity… to babies. 

I once read that the people we think of as charismatic are those who listen to us intently – as if we alone exist.   Magda was an intent listener, but what mesmerized was her authenticity. She hadn’t an insincere bone in her body and saw beyond any pretense in others, too. She never smiled to please, only from within. She was the real deal — brilliant, eloquent and not one to back down from controversy. In fact, she seemed to delight in debate (and would usually have the final word). 

I hung on Magda’s every syllable in her RIE I theory class and followed her around to her speaking engagements like a groupie.  She enlightened me, and for once in my life I knew without a doubt that I was in the right place at the right time, hearing exactly what I needed to hear. I didn’t know then what Magda’s  lessons would mean for my life, or what I would do with them, but I was certain this was the education for me.

I imagined that this was the same conviction the talented actors whom I’d always envied had about their chosen profession — still riding ups and downs in their careers, but never doubting they were on track. Their shoes fit.  I seemed always to be squeezing into mine.

While I was working as Magda’s class assistant (the second level of RIE training), my father died suddenly and tragically. Shocked and grieving, I felt for weeks as if my world had cracked open, poured me out, and I was floating, transcending the earthly dimensions of time and space.

After class each week, Magda was there for me — my weekly therapist. She was the wise leader I deeply admired, and also the attentive grandmother I’d never had. Perceptive, non-judgmental, empathetic but never pitying, Magda cradled my broken heart with a gentleness that I will never forget.  

I have never stopped being in awe of Magda, and I channel her often.  When I’m writing, asked a difficult question, or having a problem with my children, I try to imagine, “What would Magda say?”  And I’m grateful, beyond grateful for her guidance and wisdom, and more so every day. But what I treasure most are memories of Magda’s friendship, the times we spent just squeezing hands and giggling together, sharing a secret joke, so secret that half the time I didn’t even know what we were laughing about. Magda probably did.

Magda Gerber, RIE Founding Director, died at her home in Silverlake, California on April 27, 2007. She leaves behind a legacy of respect for infants which her students and colleagues will carry forth in her memory.  -RIE.org

November 1^st was Magda’s birthday. (She didn’t share her age.)

Do you have a mentor? Did you know Magda Gerber? If so, please share your stories and memories.

The other day a reminder came to me in the person Nancy Beyda, a Labor Doula, childbirth educator and prenatal yoga instructor touted by moms in my new infant class. I called to ask her about lactation issues, wondering if she thought making feedings a peaceful, relaxing time of togetherness might not only help build a relationship of trust, but also make the mechanics of nursing smoother and easier. She agreed that it did, but also expressed empathy for moms who feel the need to multi-task. A mother of 3 herself, she understands the pressure we feel to do it all, be supermoms. 

And then she said something I was glad to be reminded of, words that have been key to my survival as a parent. They brought back a flood of memories: “letting go”.   

For me, new motherhood wasn’t about being super productive. An actress/model before becoming a mom, I had never been a hard or consistent worker. And although it was intimidating to hear about actresses going back to work after a few months (or even weeks), losing their pregnancy weight instantly, giving the impression that childbirth was just a brief aside in their careers, I didn’t have high expectations for myself in that area.  I just wanted to be able to accomplish something besides caring for a baby all day. Others seemed to do it, and I got terribly frustrated when it seemed that I couldn’t…ever. 

I’d looked forward to motherhood my whole life, but the reality — especially combined with physical complications, baby blues (to put it mildly), and zero education about parenting besides a lesson in the “burrito wrap” — was much harder than I had thought it would be. I was surprised and totally overwhelmed. 

One of many meltdowns came when, 5 or 6 weeks into parenthood, I decided to finally try to get my body back in shape with some exercise.  I had a shiny new stair machine given to me by my generous husband so that I could conveniently exercise at home after the baby (a machine I probably used a total of 5 times before we finally gave it away a few years ago, in case you’re considering one).  I placed my daughter, fed and rested, in her bouncy seat on a table near the machine. Three minutes later she started crying, and I stopped climbing, removed her from her seat and brought her to my bed. While her crying waned, mine took over. 

Later, with the support and encouragement I found through infant expert Magda Gerber, I finally learned to let go, to lower my expectations of myself and try to stay in the moment. It not only made life with a baby more tolerable and enjoyable, but as Nancy Beyda reminded me, this is the spiritual lesson that our babies are here to teach us. 

When we try to do many things at once, we don’t do anything very well. If we go down the list, we often find that much of what we think must be done right away can be postponed. The new parent transition is a natural downshift to a slower pace. When I resisted this, I was continually frustrated.

New parenthood is also a time to learn to ask for help. There were tasks I felt responsible for that could be delegated to someone else. When my second baby was born, I was surprised to find that a market in my area would deliver groceries to my home for no extra charge. I used this service religiously in those first months, even though I never quite got over the weirdness of having a stranger pick out my apples. Sometimes a trusted neighbor stood by while my baby was napping, so that I could do a quick errand without waking her. 

It also helped me to try to keep my perspective. Back then each day seemed impossibly endless, but now those first years seem like such a brief period of time in the scheme of things. There’ll be time later for those online degrees, re-entry into the social whirl, going back to work, or starting a home business.  Life and parenting are about priorities, and with children it’s the quality of our relationship that matters in the end — and the memories, the blur of perfect and imperfect moments we’ve spent together.  Most of us wouldn’t trade those for anything. 

I really loved it when at the end of the call Nancy reminded me, “It’s not that we can’t have it all. We just can’t have it all at exactly the same time.”

Do you have a hard time letting go? What are your parenting survival tips? Please share…

Dinner on the patio of a new Cuban place was a joyous affair. (For me, anyway. It’s never easy to know what teenagers think, but they laughed — a good sign.) We then went to see the chick flick Eat, Pray, Love. 

I had a problem with the previews. The first two — The Little Fockers and How Do You Know – had  erectile dysfunction themes, a tad embarrassing to share with my 13-year-old who just started attending PG-13 movies. I must have murmured “great” or “lovely” as each trailer ended, because big sister muttered her annoyance. “We don’t need to hear what you think every time.”  Later that evening I felt it my duty to explain Viagra to the younger one.  Chuckling at my naiveté, she exclaimed, “Do you think I don’t get spam?” and then confessed, “I thought it was funny!”  

Sigh. 

It was the third trailer that put me over the edge.  Life As We Know It stars Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel as a couple who hate each other but are thrown together because their friends die and name them the guardians of  their adorable baby Sophie. If this romantic comedy cliché weren’t appalling enough, the majority of the jokes seemed to be at the baby’s expense, including the one that really jarred me: the baby is supposedly walking for the first time, and the guardian “dad” knocks her down, pushes her on purpose for one of the movie’s big, slapstick laughs. 

Of course, I’m wondering and hoping they found a teeny tiny stunt double, but even if they did — this is funny? Would we laugh if someone pushed a dog down?  (My hunch is no. In fact, there might even be an emotional — and organized — public outcry.) And what are parents thinking when they allow their babies to participate in this stuff? What about the lesser evils, like the baby being handled by strangers, actors who are pretending to be clueless and carry her like a slab of meat? 

When I was acting I sometimes did commercials with babies. I admit I didn’t respect babies the way I do now. Becoming a mother and meeting infant expert Magda Gerber opened my eyes to a new view of infants as full-fledged people. But even then I knew there was something wrong with a mom telling me to stuff M&M’s into her 10-month-old baby’s mouth so that she would cooperate in my arms as we ran through fake rain. 

Commercials are very competitive for babies because two or more are hired for one role. They all get paid a minimal day rate, but only the baby who appears in the actual commercial gets the big bucks – the residuals. Parents are motivated to make their baby the one that behaves for the camera. It can bring out the worst in a stage mom. 

Another commercial I did (for Kleenex) required me to cuddle a sleeping baby in my arms. Those five seconds of commercial time took hours to shoot.  There were three babies hired, and the parents were working their tails off to get the babies to sleep. Then, the baby would be tucked into my arms on set in the dark. The director called for the lights. Within moments the room was brighter than Christmas, and the baby would wake up and WAIL! (Where was he? And who the heck was I?)

I don’t even remember how many tries it took get a baby knocked out enough to finally make this shot work.  And I wonder, knowing what I know now, could I ever do those things to babies?

My husband had gently nudged me the night before…what was the worst thing that could happen if I was computer-free for 36 hours? While I had only planned to check in a little, more than likely I wouldn’t have been able to resist turning it on in the hotel room in the evening and first thing in the morning. I’d get sucked in, a few minutes would turn into an hour, and it would bleed into our time together.  My wise, yet vulnerable middle child, edgy and cynical (as is mandatory for a 13 year old), would never ask for my undivided attention. And I wouldn’t see her again for two weeks. 

But what finally made the decision for me was some self-chastising — I should take my own advice…duh.  I’d recently written about parents, technology and the challenge of unplugging to spend time fully present with our kids. That this was even an issue for me was totally humiliating. 

By the time our plane took off, I was more at ease about letting go. And en route to car rental on the SFO Airtrain, I was feeling freer than I’d felt in a long time (see my glee in photo above.)  My daughter and I had tender moments hanging out in the hotel room that I seriously doubt would have happened with the distraction of my laptop present. And in the morning, while she slept, I cracked a book that has been on my bedside table for at least six months. 

Allison Gopnik’s The Philosophical Baby could have been written just for me. The introduction alone confirms the reasons I write and teach about babies. Do parents really need more advice? Probably not. But my interest in infants and toddlers is unending. I’m fascinated by the power and mystery of those first years. They have such a profound effect on our lives, and yet most of us have no memory of them at all. 

“New scientific research and philosophical thinking have both illuminated and deepened the mystery,” acknowledges Gopnik. “In the last thirty years, there’s been a revolution in our scientific understanding of babies and young children. We used to think that babies and young children were irrational, egocentric and amoral. Their thinking and experience were concrete, immediate, and limited. In fact, psychologists and neuroscientists have discovered that babies not only learn more, but imagine more, care more, and experience more than we would ever have thought possible. In some ways, young children are actually smarter, more imaginative, more caring, and even more conscious than adults are.” 

Once again it seems that infant expert Magda Gerber (with the wisdom gained from her mentorship with Dr. Emmi Pikler) was way ahead of her time. Well over thirty years ago she was urging parents and caregivers to treat infants with the same respect they would extend to another adult, to imagine life from a baby’s point-of-view and to pay attention, carve out time to be truly present with our baby…the way we would with any loved one. Long before scientists and psychologists studied infant awareness, she gave babies the benefit of the doubt. She believed in babies, perceived them as capable, competent, inner-directed individuals ready to actively participate in a relationship with their parents from day one. 

By opening my eyes to see infants as these unique individuals worthy of our respect, Magda Gerber gave me a timeless map for parenting that made it intriguing, even exciting, and made the exhaustion and drudgery easier to bear. Whether or not I chose to stay on course, it was always there to guide me. 

After settling my daughter into her dorm room and saying our goodbyes, I headed home, especially grateful I’d ditched the laptop and followed Magda’s guidance to pay attention to my baby.

My handsome, fun-loving father-in-law is a successful Broadway producer, was a set designer in the early days of television, and has always been an artist. When his first granddaughter came to visit the family house in Vermont at 20 months old, Grandpa Edgar naturally wanted to connect, and one of the ways he did that was to draw with her. Charming, right? 

What Edgar didn’t know was that I had been zealously protecting his granddaughter’s power of discovery for months,  suppressing my own urges to show her how to do things that she might later be able to discover on her own. By then, Magda Gerber’s belief that infants should be trusted to be initiators, explorers and self-learners had been confirmed for me by my daughter many times over. I had also been steeped in early childhood educator Bev Bos’ advice to “never draw for a child” and Piaget’s words, “Every time we teach a child something, we keep him from inventing it himself…That which we allow him to discover by himself…will remain with him.” 

When my dear friend Stuart dropped by a few months before the Vermont trip and brought my daughter a small box of crayons, I cringed. He was probably a little offended, and certainly taken aback when I begged, “Don’t show her how they work!” But having been a best friend for years, Stuart was well-acquainted with my somewhat obsessive, perfectionist tendencies. He obeyed. 

My daughter liked the crayons. She took them out of the box, and struggled until she got them all back in. Many, many times. I may have been the only mom in the world to appreciate such an activity. I thought it was perfect. And I knew the day would come (and it did weeks later) when she discovered the profound truth — crayons make marks! But even then, the marks of color were not as fulfilling to my daughter as getting those stately soldiers to line up again, just right, in the box. 

So, well-meaning Grandpa Edgar didn’t have a prayer. I was polite (I think) when I asked him not to draw for his granddaughter, and I tried lamely to explain why, but in retrospect I believe opening my mouth at all was ungracious. After all, it wasn’t the same as if I drew for her — parents are much more influential to a child than anyone else. A demonstration from me might have been perceived as the “right” way to draw, and discouraged her because she wasn’t as able. 

As my mother-in-law sagely pointed out, my daughter would just think of drawing as something special that her grandfather does.  And it is…and she does. And, she is now an artist in her own right as a photographer. (And she’s still into composition – likes everything lined up, just so.)

So, the moral of this story is: tame your parenting zeal. Embrace tact, even if it means biting your tongue.  Leave the grandparents alone. They deserve to develop their own relationships with their grandchildren. If they are not daily caregivers, it doesn’t matter if they have different parenting practices than we do. Most of the time they know better, anyway.

Do you have any grandparent stories? Or are you a grandparent? I’d love to hear from you.