How to survive as an introverted parent.

Since a couple of people asked to talk about how to survive as an introverted parent, I thought I'd share my (admittedly limited) experience from the past 6.5 years. I'll be even more inclined to call it "advice" if I survive the next 6.5 years! Until then, we'll just call it musing. ;oP

Here are things I've learned the hard way:

-marry an extrovert. ;P They have more relational energy at the end of the day. (I say this only half jokingly; Nate and I are both introverted, and while we understand with a good deal of sympathy each other's need for space and quiet, it makes it harder when we're spread thinner. :P)

-be frank with your children about what it means to be introverted, tell them that you like them a lot, and make sure they understand that "needing quiet" is just your way of recharging. My oldest daughter needs a lot of alone time, too, and is actually really understanding when I tell her that I need a little space to gather my thoughts.

-leave the kids at home with daddy. One of my friends put it to me this way (and I happen to wholeheartedly agree): Dads don't babysit. They parent. It's not an imposition to ask a parent to spend one on one time with their own child. Take advantage of your spouse's ability to supervise your kids, if you have a spouse. If not, grab the nearest and dearest person you can, promise to bake them a nice pie or something in exchange for cooperation, and leave your kids for a few hours. It doesn't even have to be daily; one afternoon or night a week seems to be enough to do the trick.

-Quiet Hour. It's hallowed and sacred in our home, because mommy is not a very nice mommy when it's not honored. People who can't say their ABCs are exempted and instead placed in a tub full of some sort of sensory gook that entertains them for a while. People who cannot talk at all nap during this time. :P

-Outdoor play. Most neuro-typical kids become quieter, less clingy and totally engrossed in their own world when taken outside. We spend a LOT of time outside when the weather is nice, thus lowering the overall noise level.

-Buy your reading children as many books as they care to devour. If they're not into fiction, give them encyclopedias and how to manuals. Sell your hair if you have to. Give the talkative child unlimited access to decent literature.

-When you feel like tossing your clingy child across the room, hug them closer. Consider this an investment. I've caused both myself and my touchy feel-y child needless hours of agony by avoiding her rather than gritting my teeth and spending that agonizing 15 minutes she needs. Not worth it. Suck it up and do the interaction, even if you're brain dead, and your child will be able to move on more quickly. It's OK to fake it...even forcing yourself to fake it comes from a place of love. ;)

-Don't over-commit. Especially if you're a relational introvert, don't commit yourself to more interaction outside your family than you can handle. A couple of outings a week seems to be my limit as a mom of smalls, unless, of course, I'm just hiding in a corner of a coffee shop with a book by myself. I have a few close friends that aren't counted as "outings", because they're more like family. Which brings me to....

-DO cultivate friendships with people who you connect with, who you trust with your children, and who do not wear you out. If you're an introvert blessed with an extroverted child (God help you), having trusted friends who are willing to chat and read and play with your little ball of relationship will become invaluable to you (and your child). I may be exhausted the end of the week, but grandma or my best girlfriend who doesn't yet have children might be delighted to read a bedtime story to my chatterbox. And I'm delighted to LET them. It really does take a village.

-Feel free to decline random interaction. If I'm running on "low", energy-wise, and I know I still need to give a little for my kids, I don't make it a point to carry on a detailed conversation with Betty Sue Shopper at the grocery store. Even though I cringe as I say it, I'm learning to say, "You know, I don't really have time to chat right now. Have a great day!" I don't always have to answer the phone or go to the door or respond to the email right away, if it's not pressing.

-Be reasonable with myself about how much alone time is actually attainable at this point. Right after my firstborn entered our lives, I was absolutely gob-smacked by the loss of my "alone" world I'd had my whole life. I seriously grieved it. I spent quite a lot of time intensely angry over the fact that I was never. ever. alone. Gradually, though, my kids become part of my new "normal", and I find myself less uptight over the fact that they're constantly present. They've kind of entered my inner sanctity bubble, in some ways (out of necessity) more than even my spouse, especially when they're nurslings. It helps me to remember that this chapter of life is fleeting, and they won't be so close to me in physical and emotional proximity forever. I have hugely conflicting feelings about this, of course. ;oP Nothing's easy come or easy go for me, and I'm already bracing for the grief that their absence will bring, once they're ready to try their proverbial wings.

That's pretty much what I've got tonight. Others feel free to post ideas in the comment section! :O)

My early introversion.

When I was in college, I used to set personal goals for myself...not about grades or exercise or performance, as those things tended to fall into place naturally for me. Studying into the wee hours wasn't an enormous intrusion for me. No, my goals were more lofty than that. They revolved around...wait for it...spending time with other humans. ;oP

Don't laugh. It's not at all funny. (OK, maybe it's a little bit funny..) I literally had a quota that I forced myself to fill, a quota of time spent having "fun" with other people, usually in the form of eating or movie watching or get togethers or hikes or what have you. (Parties, the extrovert's code for being crammed into a room full of people who yell at one another over music, were simply beyond my realm of understanding, and totally out of the question.)

Being *social* and a relational being at my core, I had enough of a spark of wisdom to recognize that in order to maintain a certain degree of emotional health away from family, I had to make connections and talk and BE with people. Generally speaking, I enjoyed the interaction once I was there, especially after meaningful, warm relationships were formed. But that first year of test driving friends and forced interaction on principle? Pure HELL for this introvert. I'd often find myself in a house or room or outing looking at the people I had absolutely no common threads with, and think to myself, "How in the name of all that's good and sensible did I land here listening to this girl jabber on and on about how much she loves Breakfast Club at 1am?"

To be sure, out of these forced outings (6 hours a week outside of classes and rehearsals and study groups) sprung many a fond friendship that I carry with me this day, once they started to sport the comfortable sheen of familiarity and the joy of being known well. Remarkably, during this time, within my own little circle, I could have even been called popular, or at least well-known, although certainly not the hostess or social coordinator extraordinaire like some of my more extroverted friends. I could be silly, amusing, gregarious, funny and social in turns, and, for the most part, my "quietness",a trait I value as an asset, wasn't the defining feature of my personality.

But, oh, how I flopped on my bed in sheer bliss once I felt I'd been sufficiently "socialized" for the week! How I'd grin and whoop and waltz around in my pajamas to jazz once my roommates all left simultaneously for a long weekend! The *only* other person I felt equally fantastic around in those happy moments was my then-boyfriend, Nathan, and he was only allowed to be around because he happened to be more introverted than I was. (In fact, we never actually socially dated as much as we sized one another up, informed each other that we made a smashing

pair, and became a "couple") All my best thoughts and feelings and dreams happened (and still happen) when I'm not being yanked to and fro by the intrusive conversations, emotions, opinions and interactions of a group of people. I'm brilliant, creative and at peace. The world slows to a reasonable pace and makes much more sense.

Forcing interaction is no longer a problem for me. Because people are my passion, my own nature tends to demand exchange of thought and energy. I exhaust myself at the alter of human relationship. :P It tends to seek me out with a relentless insistence, and, for the most part, I welcome the interactions of a more thoughtfully constructed social life of my adulthood. Turns out, there are other people out there who share my sensibilities, who wear me out a tidge less than the general populous! My "family" base is bigger, and I have to expend less energy putting myself out there in order to maintain connection. (I have the deepest empathy for displaced introverts searching out new friendships and family, I assure you!)

Even so, I'm a little more prone to indulge my inner flights of fancy and appreciate my need for "alone" processing time much more than I did in my earliest adulthood. After all, it is where all my best thoughts occur. Thus far, investing in alone time (or as alone as a mother of 3 snuggly children can ever be) is never a decision I regret, and increasingly, one I don't feel the need to

apologize for. My deepest sense of whimsy, my inner philosopher and poet, my happy flower-picking inner child, is much, MUCH more at peace after several days to myself.

I am, and ever shall be, an incurable and unapologetic introvert. It's a lovely way to be, isn't it?

Mischief Managed.

Dear Essie, Nomi and Eva,

When your mama was little, I had a lively mind, and a stubborn streak a mile wide (not a bad thing, if you ask me). When your daddy was a small fry, he was lively with a propensity for getting into honest mischief when he was bored. So, chances are, if you have as many babies as you say you want to have, you might have at least one offspring who has a wildly active mind or body.

These are the two year olds who empty not one,

but ALL of the flour

and dried bean cannisters from the pantry while their mommy lays their baby sister down for a nap. These little sprites attempt to get their own cereal and milk at 2.5, climb to the top of the bookshelf at 3, leave the house through the window screen to pick mommy some flowers at 3.5, give all their stuffed animals a

shampoo early in the morning very quietly "so they don't bother your sleep" at 4, and try their hand at making waffles from scratch and doctoring the "diseased" cat with medical tape at 4.5. (And the same children who chase down that very cat and wrestle it to the ground to save an unfortunate mole from certain death!)

Least you think my opinion of lively children is low, let me set the record straight right now,

loves: I'm rather fond of them. In fact, I think they're brilliant in every way. I admire their creativity and drive to accomplish new things, appreciate the fact that they aren't dampened by the arbitrary rules that society deems necessary to set. The soft spot in my heart for lively people is permanent and dear to me.

Teaching respect of others can be a challenge, so, I'll let you in on a secret I've discovered: lively children tend to recognize and honor the boundaries of others more when their own needs are

met. That sounds like a great deal of gobbledygook , doesn't it? What it means, boiled down, is- you may threaten and take and woun

d and restrict as much as you like, but this will likely only serve to frustrate your lively

child. Mommy knows, unfortunately, because I've tried all those things. It was actually Essie, one day, that looked at me and said, "Doing that will only make me madder. I can't help it. I need something to DO!!"

And that's the key, darlings. An active mind literally and simply cannot stop being as active as it is. So, my job as a mommy became not keeping you out of mischief, but giving you plenty of safe exploring and adventure to sink your little teeth into. It dawned on me slowly that I didn't want to slowly box you into something more manageable. I wanted to show you how to be the best and safest spectacular you that you could possibly be without blowing yourself and others up.

Ever notice how all the interesting book characters (the ones who have the best adventures) tend to be a bit different or "mischievous"? Most of them are also the people who have the quick wits and bravery to rise to the occasion when something truly terrifying or challenging presents itself. Never let another person shame you out of playing the role that was written for you; if you're full of spirit, it's for a reason!

It's been hard work keeping you busy. But then, so would have been following you around and bullying and coaxing and begging and insisting that you be still and docile, something completely against your (God-given) nature. So, we dance. We jump, we climb, we take things apart, we cook, we put things back together, we jest, we roll, we sing at the top of our lungs, we read about squirrel anatomy after we find a dead one in the yard, we make approved messes.

I sit cringing sometimes on the sidelines while you crack eggs and get some on the counter, while you hammer away at nails in a board, you dexterously walk narrow rails, while you bury yourself in the dirt in the garden, you teach me phrases of your own invented language and while you construct your very own dutch-hair-fro through copious amount of back-combing (and then proudly wait by the door to go grocery shopping in your new 'do).

And, frankly, loves? Despite the fact that I fall into bed completely and utterly exhausted every night, I wouldn't want to change a thing. I used to hope you got a "more" child in your adult years, as a means of personal retribution. Now, I pray you get the privilege someday, because it's an intensely beautiful and humbling experience to see a being that intense burn so brightly every morning.

I love you.

To some mama or daddy.

I have a little girl who loves pancakes and cats and wearing rainboots with her dresses. She likes animals and songs and watching things grow, and especially snuggling in the winter. She collects rocks. I happen to think she's the cat's meow.

She's ferociously protective of little things, helpless things, and the people she loves, and she's endlessly patient with her baby sister even when she "is completely owie-ing her face!" She likes polka dot cardigans, little tiny figurines and using great big words and poetic phrases. She likes to climb things, and to be impressive.

Today, without prompting, she told me of the sort of man she'd like to marry. He must like to wear polka dotted bow ties when he's feeling dressy. He must like toast with marmalade on it, and he must enjoy making waffles on the weekend. He should like to garden and grow things, and have lots of animals. He must be gentle and very brave and snuggly. He should be strong. He mustn't like to step on lady bugs. The bow tie is important. He must be "the best person she's ever met".

Since this is important to my funny little woodland elf, it's also important to me, naturally. I

think her heart is quite smart.

If this is the sort of boy you have at your house, please hug him for me, lots of times; at least 12 times a day. Be so patient with him when he brings frogs into the house, and applaud his love for living things. When you feel so frustrated that you feel like hurting him, rock him instead. Don't stop him when he tries to climb that next highest branch in the tree. Be proud of his wildness, and be proud of his gentleness. When he cries, don't tell him not to-just show him how to use a tissue. Teach him how to solve problems, not ignore them. If he wants to learn to sew, don't be squeamish. Teach the boy to sew. Be terrified of his best dinosaur roar.

In other words...love him for who he is. I know my sweet little monkey girl will.

My girl.

Hippogriffs, Thesauri and Henbit

Our family likes to play silly

word games in the car...it started way back when my brother (who ended up an English major) and I used sit in the back of our family's station wagon and play the Alphabet game on road trips, which escalated to the "see how many similar words you can name under one word in the thesaurus" game.

One of Nate and my favorite pastimes while driving in the mountains or hiking is thinking up the biggest words we can that start with a certain letter. Another (the one the girls and I were playing today), is the game where you have to think of all the words you can that match a

syllabic scheme: for instance, four syllables, emphasis on syllable two. Ubiquitous, forsythia, Corinthian, tumultuous, cantankerous, inferior, apology, hilarious, regrettably, lascivious,

remarkable...you get it.

So, anyway, I was trying to explain the rules to Essie, while dubious that

she'd grasp the concept yet, but she piped right in with, "I see! Three syllables, emphasis on the first: HIPPOGRIFF!!" (She's reading Harry Potter.) Then, Nomi rasped out, "Chrysalis! And Icarus!" You could have knocked me down with a wax-laden feather. There's something about kids and rhythm...it's like peanut butter and jelly.

Next thing I heard was, "Two syllables, emphasisissss on the first: butthead!!" No one ever accused us of being highbrow.

This afternoon, I found an awesome, amazing find at the antique store, but I shan't say what it is until I actually get in in my house, least I somehow jinx the process. I'm on cloud nine.

This evening, Esther was out of sorts, and was sent to bed early, and Eva fell asleep in the car ride home from picking Nate up from work...so it was just me and the Nominator (who is delightfully 4.5 these days). We decided to make a sign on the door of our laundry room that tells whether the washer is empty or full. (Someone, perhaps me, has a naughty habit of leaving the clothes in there until they start smelling of sauerkraut, probably because I have a very visually prompted memory..the family, however, objects to their underthings smelling like feet. Pickies.)

We made the laundry door sign out of some old aprons of my grandmothers that had been stained, and some happy vintage lace and buttons. It makes me grin.

our shoe vase is hard at work again, now that the yard is covered in purple sheets of henbit...spring is coming!!

Upcycled footstool!

Meet bertha the five dollar footstool. Ain't she a beyoot? ;OP I found her in thrift store this week, and, against my better judgement, took her home with me. She looked at me with puppy dog hinges. How could I refuse?

A little bit of tender loving elbow grease made it into a nice little box to keep books and treasures in, and for the kidlets to sit on! I may make a little tutorial later, but for now, here she is. :O)

Tada!! That's all for now. :)