It sounds like an oxymoron. How can one be subject to God as ruler but be without a ruler? Maybe the more correct term is Christarchy? At any rate, I find myself strangely drawn to this end of the spectrum. More and more I find myself being pulled towards a radical way of life. Everyone said having kids would change (everything about) you but I didn't quite expect much of the changes that have happened in the past 2 1/2 years. But in some ways it makes sense, too. I've found my faith to grow and be challenged in dramatically new ways since my son’s birth. Christ’s love is about as radical as you can get so as I try to be more faithful and accurate in my walk, it makes sense that I would get pulled towards a more radical way of life. If I say I believe these things (you know, that Christ loves all sinners, especially the ones society has pushed to the side as “ugly”) then how can I not act on that?
I’m pretty sick of the whole Christian=Republican (or non-thinking, sheep who has his head buried in the sand where the entire rest of the world is concerned). And I’m pretty sickened by a lot of the American church’s approach to, well, just about everything. Christ was a pretty subversive radical himself (with that whole, “Christ is Lord” thing that was in fact treasonous). So as I navigate my way through this year’s politics, I find myself leaning more and more towards doing things that my grandparents (and parents?) might abhor. Like, not voting at all but declaring it a day of prayer and fasting? I’m not sure exactly where this will land me. I guess it’s a journey and journeys always take a little time.
The funny thing is, I don’t think I look very radical at all. I don’t think anyone would pick me out of a crowd and say, “That one, there. She’s a little too non-conformist. She’s a little too radical! (or radical at all?) Take her out!” (That was supposed to be read in your best DeNiro from the Scorcese days!)
I guess it all comes down to I’m trying to live out my understanding of Christianity in the most consistent and loving way possible. And to me, that seems like a pretty radical thing. Maybe one day I’ll have the dreadlocks and street clothes to go along with it?
I’m rambling because I believe my brain is I being sucked out along with my milk (feeding an increasingly fat 3 mos old!). So, for a more coherent read on Christian anarchy, please follow some of the links below.
Jesus Radicals
prophetic heretic
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
A good read
This is an open letter to ACOG (American College of Obstetrics & Gynecology) by one of it's members. I love that he is calling them to account for the radical and drastic statements they've been making with regards to maternal care during birth in the past few years. This letter specificly speaks about the ramifications of their statement on vaginal births after ceasareans (VBAC's) and their statement regarding out-of-hospital births. I've always been baffled about ACOG's statements because the evidence out there seems to blatantly contradict their positions. It's nice to know that it's not just my un-medically trained mind that is baffled but in fact even one of their own! Now, if only ACOG had the ears to hear.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Wahoooooo!!!!!!!!
Midwifery is legal in Missouri!
I'm still kind of reeling from shock and disbelief but it seems like it's finally happened! Check it out :)
I'm still kind of reeling from shock and disbelief but it seems like it's finally happened! Check it out :)
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Wednesday's Child is Full of Grace
I guess my body started laboring on Tuesday 3/18 but the early labor was so much like my prodromal labor had been for the past 5 weeks that I was unable to distinguish it for a loooong time. We went out to the midwife’s for my 39 week visit. Jim drove because it’s a 45 minute trip and I was unable to handle driving for that long. As it turned out I was immediately and intensely uncomfortable in the car. Everything looked/sounded good so we headed home. While at the midwife’s the uncomfortable crampy feeling had gone away only to return as soon as I got back into the car. We ran some errands on the way home but I was so uncomfortable and tired that I was getting crankier and crankier. By the time we got home I only had about an hour to rest before leaving to pick up the coop order. I was still uncomfortable but no longer felt crampy. I dozed and then left for our coop. By the time I got home Daniel woke up and I was back on mommy-duty. I had a sore throat and was still really tired and cranky so we did the least we could do until it was time for dinner. And then I fed D cereal and myself frozen soup, leaving J to fend for himself. While I was eating I realized that my uncomfortable feeling was beginning to settle into a pattern of contractions. This had in fact happened almost every night for a week so there was little spectacular in this observation. I amused myself by practicing thinking through them, saying, “surrender and open” whenever I would notice one coming. J put D to bed and we caught up on an episode of Lost. For kicks, I timed contractions during the episode. They were still irregular landing anywhere from 6-10 minutes apart and only about 30 seconds to 1 minute long at most. I figured I’d wake up still pregnant same as the last 5 days! Only I was never able to get real sleep. The contractions kept me at a doze and made me wake up every hour to pee.
By 1:30, I was beginning to think that maybe it would be easier to get up to pee if I was sleeping on the couch (our bed is pretty high off the ground for 9 months pregnant!). I got up and took my pillows with me, leaving J the bed. I tried several different positions, dozing on the couch only to wake up again at 2:30 to pee. Only this time there was a little streak of red when I wiped. The midwife had specified that she wanted me to call, even in the middle of the night, for ANY red or pink mucous. I’m glad she specified this because I was looking for bloody show not a little itty bitty streak! I was obedient and called but told her I was going to try and go back to sleep. I tried but falied. I got up around 3:00 and took a hot shower. I was having to focus on the contractions when they came, moving into them, squatting, swaying,etc. But they were still short and still coming irregularly, from 3-8 minutes apart. I was sure that I was in early labor now, but still thought I was very far from giving birth. After about an hour of laboring on my own, I realized I was thinking about getting in the pool every time I had a contraction. So I reluctantly woke J up and asked him to inflate and fill the pool. I was still fine between contractions, chipper and in complete denial that the train had left the station (as J put it!). So I puttered and moved through the contractions when they came. When the pool was full, around 5:00, we called the midwife back. I was still worried I would stall out if there was too much fuss about me (which is why I wasn’t sure about getting into the pool or waking J or calling the midwife). But I figured, she could evaluate the situation on her own and decide to come or not. She asked J how I was doing and when he told her I was moaning a lot she said, “Not what a midwife wants to hear!” and booked it on over!
J and I labored with me in the pool for a while. I was able to stay really focused on the contractions, keeping my voice low and thinking about opening up. I was saying a lot of “ohhhhhh” which in my head was “open”. The contractions were still short and not too intense. Around 6, D showed signs of waking up so we called my mom to come over. The midwife arrived a little after that in a rush (poor lady!).
I was pretty serious about labor at this point and the rustle and lights around me were really annoying. But I was able to keep my focus. I really needed a birth partner at this point to hang onto during contractions and help me stay low. I kept thinking, “I’m gonna get SO BIG” which amused me but also helped me stay in the contraction. J or the midwife would hold my hands when one would come so I could squeeze and moan. The birth energy was really picking up at this point. I could tell a contraction was coming because my legs would start shaking and then I’d feel the contraction. Like it would start at my knees and travel up and through me. J kept reminding me to let it “roll over me” which I would change in my head to “roll through me.” I was also puking every few contractions, which I did with D as well. But this time it didn’t feel wrong it just felt like more of the same birth energy ripping (or rippling depending on the moment) through my body.
Mom arrived just as D woke up. She played with him, fed him and brought him in to see me in the pool as he was able to deal with it. He did super well, not getting freaked out (except for a little when I went into transition and when Grace was crowning). He kept telling Mom that I was making cow noises! I was.
At one point the contractions started coming harder and closer and I began to think I was headed for transition. But I also really needed to pee and thought maybe if I could just pee things wouldn’t feel so intense. So J and the midwife helped me onto the toilet. I sat, peed and jumped straight up again as peeing pushed me over the edge into transition. Three hard contractions came one on top of the other. I was mostly able to vocalize through them and hang on to J (or maybe it was the midwife… I really couldn’t tell ya!). All I could think of was getting back into the pool as fast as I could. One more contraction in the bathroom and I went straight back into the pool. Things at this point were pretty intense and the timeline gets a little hazy. I was having a hard time dealing with some of these contractions. I could feel Grace moving down pretty quickly and I could feel myself opening up. I would describe her descent as a fist pushing down inside of me and the cervix opening up as being torn apart, but strangely less painful than all of that but no other language describes the power of those sensations. The midwife asked if she could check me and found me just about ready to push. She also saw a small little lip and aksed that I wait to push. Since I didn’t feel the urge at all yet (and had a two hour transitioin with D) I didn’t really believe that we were so close to the end. A couple of contractions later and my waters broke. It was such a forceful feeling that my first thought was the baby had punched me from the inside. But immediately I felt a desperate need to push. In fact, I felt my body pushing in spite of me. The midwife had seen meconium in the water and wanted me to deliver on the bed. She and J helped me out of the pool and onto the bed as wuickly as possible. I know I walked and they ushered but it really feels like they carried me we moved so quickly.
I landed on the bed in a kneeling position and J sprawled across from the other side to give me some moral support. Grace was crowning at this point and the midwife asked J if he wanted to help catch. He got up and walked around but I was suddenly seized by an unbearable need to bear down hard and realized I had nothing to grab onto to help me do that. So I somehow managed to tell J I needed him back with me. He again landed in a really awkward position but I was able to hang my arms around his neck and bear down. And I bellowed and pushed and bellowed and pushed! And we hit the ring of fire with some serious force! Wow! And it got worse! Then the midwife told me to take it easy. So I breathed, moaned and shouted but didn’t push, though my body wouldn’t stop, I just didn’t help it along at all. Another big, long amazingly painful powerful push and the most glorious feeling of pop and slither! I was done! She was out. The midwife passed Grace to me through my legs and I knelt and held her while the cord pulsed its last. “Is she still a girl?” I asked “What color is her hair?” J asked. And then she started to cry and look around a little and cry some more.
D and Mom came into the room at this point to seek out the source of the new noise! D was pretty excited and climbed onto the bed to peek at the little baby. Grace (still nameless) nursed within the first half hour, maybe at about 15 minutes while Jim called family to greet them with the news of the new baby. They all wanted details we couldn’t give them yet like, weight, height and name! We were still a little stunned at the speed of the whole thing! It was 7:55 am when Grace Elinor arrived, weighting 8lb 14 oz and measuring 20 1/2 inches long. It was around 9:30 when we were able to tell them all those details.
I am on cloud 9 with this birth. It was powerful and fast but I was able to stay present the entire time. I was able to surrender to the force of my body without panicking and without feeling a loss of control. This was exactly the birth I had hoped for and imagined.
By 1:30, I was beginning to think that maybe it would be easier to get up to pee if I was sleeping on the couch (our bed is pretty high off the ground for 9 months pregnant!). I got up and took my pillows with me, leaving J the bed. I tried several different positions, dozing on the couch only to wake up again at 2:30 to pee. Only this time there was a little streak of red when I wiped. The midwife had specified that she wanted me to call, even in the middle of the night, for ANY red or pink mucous. I’m glad she specified this because I was looking for bloody show not a little itty bitty streak! I was obedient and called but told her I was going to try and go back to sleep. I tried but falied. I got up around 3:00 and took a hot shower. I was having to focus on the contractions when they came, moving into them, squatting, swaying,etc. But they were still short and still coming irregularly, from 3-8 minutes apart. I was sure that I was in early labor now, but still thought I was very far from giving birth. After about an hour of laboring on my own, I realized I was thinking about getting in the pool every time I had a contraction. So I reluctantly woke J up and asked him to inflate and fill the pool. I was still fine between contractions, chipper and in complete denial that the train had left the station (as J put it!). So I puttered and moved through the contractions when they came. When the pool was full, around 5:00, we called the midwife back. I was still worried I would stall out if there was too much fuss about me (which is why I wasn’t sure about getting into the pool or waking J or calling the midwife). But I figured, she could evaluate the situation on her own and decide to come or not. She asked J how I was doing and when he told her I was moaning a lot she said, “Not what a midwife wants to hear!” and booked it on over!
J and I labored with me in the pool for a while. I was able to stay really focused on the contractions, keeping my voice low and thinking about opening up. I was saying a lot of “ohhhhhh” which in my head was “open”. The contractions were still short and not too intense. Around 6, D showed signs of waking up so we called my mom to come over. The midwife arrived a little after that in a rush (poor lady!).
I was pretty serious about labor at this point and the rustle and lights around me were really annoying. But I was able to keep my focus. I really needed a birth partner at this point to hang onto during contractions and help me stay low. I kept thinking, “I’m gonna get SO BIG” which amused me but also helped me stay in the contraction. J or the midwife would hold my hands when one would come so I could squeeze and moan. The birth energy was really picking up at this point. I could tell a contraction was coming because my legs would start shaking and then I’d feel the contraction. Like it would start at my knees and travel up and through me. J kept reminding me to let it “roll over me” which I would change in my head to “roll through me.” I was also puking every few contractions, which I did with D as well. But this time it didn’t feel wrong it just felt like more of the same birth energy ripping (or rippling depending on the moment) through my body.
Mom arrived just as D woke up. She played with him, fed him and brought him in to see me in the pool as he was able to deal with it. He did super well, not getting freaked out (except for a little when I went into transition and when Grace was crowning). He kept telling Mom that I was making cow noises! I was.
At one point the contractions started coming harder and closer and I began to think I was headed for transition. But I also really needed to pee and thought maybe if I could just pee things wouldn’t feel so intense. So J and the midwife helped me onto the toilet. I sat, peed and jumped straight up again as peeing pushed me over the edge into transition. Three hard contractions came one on top of the other. I was mostly able to vocalize through them and hang on to J (or maybe it was the midwife… I really couldn’t tell ya!). All I could think of was getting back into the pool as fast as I could. One more contraction in the bathroom and I went straight back into the pool. Things at this point were pretty intense and the timeline gets a little hazy. I was having a hard time dealing with some of these contractions. I could feel Grace moving down pretty quickly and I could feel myself opening up. I would describe her descent as a fist pushing down inside of me and the cervix opening up as being torn apart, but strangely less painful than all of that but no other language describes the power of those sensations. The midwife asked if she could check me and found me just about ready to push. She also saw a small little lip and aksed that I wait to push. Since I didn’t feel the urge at all yet (and had a two hour transitioin with D) I didn’t really believe that we were so close to the end. A couple of contractions later and my waters broke. It was such a forceful feeling that my first thought was the baby had punched me from the inside. But immediately I felt a desperate need to push. In fact, I felt my body pushing in spite of me. The midwife had seen meconium in the water and wanted me to deliver on the bed. She and J helped me out of the pool and onto the bed as wuickly as possible. I know I walked and they ushered but it really feels like they carried me we moved so quickly.
I landed on the bed in a kneeling position and J sprawled across from the other side to give me some moral support. Grace was crowning at this point and the midwife asked J if he wanted to help catch. He got up and walked around but I was suddenly seized by an unbearable need to bear down hard and realized I had nothing to grab onto to help me do that. So I somehow managed to tell J I needed him back with me. He again landed in a really awkward position but I was able to hang my arms around his neck and bear down. And I bellowed and pushed and bellowed and pushed! And we hit the ring of fire with some serious force! Wow! And it got worse! Then the midwife told me to take it easy. So I breathed, moaned and shouted but didn’t push, though my body wouldn’t stop, I just didn’t help it along at all. Another big, long amazingly painful powerful push and the most glorious feeling of pop and slither! I was done! She was out. The midwife passed Grace to me through my legs and I knelt and held her while the cord pulsed its last. “Is she still a girl?” I asked “What color is her hair?” J asked. And then she started to cry and look around a little and cry some more.
D and Mom came into the room at this point to seek out the source of the new noise! D was pretty excited and climbed onto the bed to peek at the little baby. Grace (still nameless) nursed within the first half hour, maybe at about 15 minutes while Jim called family to greet them with the news of the new baby. They all wanted details we couldn’t give them yet like, weight, height and name! We were still a little stunned at the speed of the whole thing! It was 7:55 am when Grace Elinor arrived, weighting 8lb 14 oz and measuring 20 1/2 inches long. It was around 9:30 when we were able to tell them all those details.
I am on cloud 9 with this birth. It was powerful and fast but I was able to stay present the entire time. I was able to surrender to the force of my body without panicking and without feeling a loss of control. This was exactly the birth I had hoped for and imagined.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Stuff....
I've been thinking a lot this past year (even longer, really) about stuff and money and God's gifts to us. I have a really hard time trying to figure out how to live a giving life in an American culture of excess and consumption. I hate consumption. I hate the accumulation of stuff and money. I find it really disturbing when believers hoard stuff (including money). I believe that Christ calls us to freedom from all things money-related when he tells us "Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for your selves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Luke 12:33-34 NIV) It is so easy to read those verses and say "Yeah, but... what about dinner? Or what about clothing? Or what about, x, y, z..." I can only say that the verses preceding tell us we are more valuable than the lilies of the field and the birds of the air who our Father takes care of absolutely. But I cannot tell you what the details look like. I cannot define excess for myself, so I cannot begin to define excess for anyone else. And as much as I hate the aforementioned things, I myself am guilty of consumption and hoarding. And I am fearful of taking that ultimate plunge and letting it all go!
I have long been trying to figure out how to live, conscious that everything I have (and I mean EVERYTHING) is God's gift to me, be it the dime I found on the floor or my sewing machines or my house or the food on my table. And if nothing belongs to me, then it should all be used to the glory of God. It's the how of that I've been stumbling over. We live in a culture of such excesses that it takes a constant awareness and effort to fight it off. And it's exhausting. And I constantly fail at it.
We had this great sermon on the parable of the talents (Mathew 25:14-28) a while back where our pastor challenged us to use the gifts from God (money or otherwise) boldly, taking them and making them work and growing them. His analogy was that an investor who takes risks is rewarded with a much larger profit margin (anyone who plays the stock market nows that a 10% return is a good year, right, but in this parable, the two guys get a 100% return, doubling each of their investments!) . I have been playing it safe with God's gifts, burying them and hoarding them.
I don't know really where this takes me, but I thought I'd offer up the challenge to the popular perspective on property and possesion. It's certainly been challenging to me to think through and question how I use (or don't use) my stuff. And to think through how I can take risks and gain the freedom from money that Christ talks about. If I come up with any answers, I'll be sure to let you know ;)
I have long been trying to figure out how to live, conscious that everything I have (and I mean EVERYTHING) is God's gift to me, be it the dime I found on the floor or my sewing machines or my house or the food on my table. And if nothing belongs to me, then it should all be used to the glory of God. It's the how of that I've been stumbling over. We live in a culture of such excesses that it takes a constant awareness and effort to fight it off. And it's exhausting. And I constantly fail at it.
We had this great sermon on the parable of the talents (Mathew 25:14-28) a while back where our pastor challenged us to use the gifts from God (money or otherwise) boldly, taking them and making them work and growing them. His analogy was that an investor who takes risks is rewarded with a much larger profit margin (anyone who plays the stock market nows that a 10% return is a good year, right, but in this parable, the two guys get a 100% return, doubling each of their investments!) . I have been playing it safe with God's gifts, burying them and hoarding them.
I don't know really where this takes me, but I thought I'd offer up the challenge to the popular perspective on property and possesion. It's certainly been challenging to me to think through and question how I use (or don't use) my stuff. And to think through how I can take risks and gain the freedom from money that Christ talks about. If I come up with any answers, I'll be sure to let you know ;)
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Food, seasons, speed....
(OK, I know it's been 3 months since I wrote ANYTHING but I've been nesting like a mad woman and excusably turned my energies to actually getting my house in order for our little Thumper, coming near the full moon of March. If anyone still cares to read this stuff, please forgive my absence!).
I've been thinking a lot about food recently. I love food. I enjoy cooking. But I hate the grocery store. I mean really hate the grocery store. To the point where I pretty much don't shop until there's nothing left but beans and potatoes and onions. I'm not exactly sure when this happened. I used to kind of like the process of meal planning and budgeting and going to the store every week. But recently, it has become an unpleasant chore. I hate loading up the car and packing my son up and heading out. I hate the experience of being in the store and feeling like I’m getting screwed from every angle. It’s such a pain to have to read every label and hope that I’m not missing something.
In the past few years we’ve become more and more green (and PC!) about our food choices. Starting with the switch to all organic produce and grains. Then we split a CSA (which is a great way to reconnect with where your food comes from). Then we bought a chest freezer and split 1/2 a grass-fed, free-range organic cow from a local farmer. Which meant I was never going to the store for meat (and could actually afford to buy ethically & sustainably raised meat).
Really I think it's the combination of all these things. We market in the park 7 blocks from our house all spring, summer and fall. We get our milk, eggs, bread, etc from the local grocer 5 blocks from the house where my son plays with the employee’s baby daughter. We know our farmers who provided all of the produce for the whole growing season, both through the CSA and at the market. I get bulk grains and legumes from our bulk foods coop once a month. I don't really have to go to the mega-grocery store anymore, definitely not in summer. It's nice.
I’ve been surprised to find how much this has made me aware of the pace of the seasons. In the Summer, everything is fast and quick and there is such abundance and so much work to do. I’m hoping to learn how to can and preserve soon so I can really begin to take advantage of this (and go to the grocery even less often)! But by the end of summer I don’t want to even look at another tomato! Come Autumn things begin to slow a bit and I start to crave those heavier foods like Squash or Leek & Potato soups. And by the time the first hard frost hits, I’m ready to nap and survive only on roots and grains, apples and sausages. But by the time Spring makes her first peeps in the buds on the trees and the bulbs shooting up, I am craving those greens! All I want is greens. Which is good cause around here that’s all I get for at least 3 weeks of the growing season!
I marvel at the sense of peace and the spiritual journey of learning (trying) to pace myself with the seasons. There is such rhythm there, like any week or month. It’s like Winter is the Earth’s Sabbath. Take a rest, God says, recuperate because Spring is coming and regeneration takes energy. Summer is close behind and abundance is taxing. But Autumn will follow and everything will indeed get done. Then the rest and sleep of Winter will come once again.
I've been thinking a lot about food recently. I love food. I enjoy cooking. But I hate the grocery store. I mean really hate the grocery store. To the point where I pretty much don't shop until there's nothing left but beans and potatoes and onions. I'm not exactly sure when this happened. I used to kind of like the process of meal planning and budgeting and going to the store every week. But recently, it has become an unpleasant chore. I hate loading up the car and packing my son up and heading out. I hate the experience of being in the store and feeling like I’m getting screwed from every angle. It’s such a pain to have to read every label and hope that I’m not missing something.
In the past few years we’ve become more and more green (and PC!) about our food choices. Starting with the switch to all organic produce and grains. Then we split a CSA (which is a great way to reconnect with where your food comes from). Then we bought a chest freezer and split 1/2 a grass-fed, free-range organic cow from a local farmer. Which meant I was never going to the store for meat (and could actually afford to buy ethically & sustainably raised meat).
Really I think it's the combination of all these things. We market in the park 7 blocks from our house all spring, summer and fall. We get our milk, eggs, bread, etc from the local grocer 5 blocks from the house where my son plays with the employee’s baby daughter. We know our farmers who provided all of the produce for the whole growing season, both through the CSA and at the market. I get bulk grains and legumes from our bulk foods coop once a month. I don't really have to go to the mega-grocery store anymore, definitely not in summer. It's nice.
I’ve been surprised to find how much this has made me aware of the pace of the seasons. In the Summer, everything is fast and quick and there is such abundance and so much work to do. I’m hoping to learn how to can and preserve soon so I can really begin to take advantage of this (and go to the grocery even less often)! But by the end of summer I don’t want to even look at another tomato! Come Autumn things begin to slow a bit and I start to crave those heavier foods like Squash or Leek & Potato soups. And by the time the first hard frost hits, I’m ready to nap and survive only on roots and grains, apples and sausages. But by the time Spring makes her first peeps in the buds on the trees and the bulbs shooting up, I am craving those greens! All I want is greens. Which is good cause around here that’s all I get for at least 3 weeks of the growing season!
I marvel at the sense of peace and the spiritual journey of learning (trying) to pace myself with the seasons. There is such rhythm there, like any week or month. It’s like Winter is the Earth’s Sabbath. Take a rest, God says, recuperate because Spring is coming and regeneration takes energy. Summer is close behind and abundance is taxing. But Autumn will follow and everything will indeed get done. Then the rest and sleep of Winter will come once again.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Play and motherly obligations
For some reason how much a mother/parent plays with their child(ren) has come up a lot in recent conversations. I've done a lot thinking about this because, well, I'm not inclined to play constantly with my son. In fact, I think that it is detrimental to the development of a child to become dependant on a parent to entertain them. The work of children is play. The work of an adult is many, many things and play is a part of that but it is not the primary focus. So, I do not feel guilty that I actively encourage my son to play on his own 90% of the time.
Does this mean that when my child needs my attention I ignore him? Not in the least. There is a world of difference between ignoring the needs of my child and activiely encouraging him to discover and create his own worlds of play. Worlds that I cannot and should not enter into. After all, why is it that I get bored within a few minutes of scripted, pretend play but children can go for long stretches of time without breaking character? Because I am not wired for that kind of play but my son is.
Of course, this all plays into how we parent overall. I practice what I have heard called benign neglect. That means that I allow my son a lot of free reign in which to explore and learn without interference from me. So, it seems to be a natural extension of that to encourage him to play for long stretches on his own. I think, too, it depends on how one defines play. We spend a lot of our day talking and he tags along with my chores most of the time. We go for walks and talk about what we are seeing and we read and cook, etc. But we also spend a long part of every day with me reading on the couch while he plays. Or if we go to the playground, I sit on the bench and only intervene when he is in danger or is threatening harm to another child! In other words, not very often.
I'm sure there are differing perspectives with regards to how much a parent should play with their children (as with every aspect of parenting!). I guess I would offer up the perspective that the guilt that is poured on by some media and experts is perhaps a little out of whack. Perhaps constantly being entertained is not a healthy state of being for adults. We should consider when those patterns are established. Yes, please interact with your child on their level. Yes, family time is great. But please don't feel guilty if it's just not your thing to play ponies or trains for hours on end.
Does this mean that when my child needs my attention I ignore him? Not in the least. There is a world of difference between ignoring the needs of my child and activiely encouraging him to discover and create his own worlds of play. Worlds that I cannot and should not enter into. After all, why is it that I get bored within a few minutes of scripted, pretend play but children can go for long stretches of time without breaking character? Because I am not wired for that kind of play but my son is.
Of course, this all plays into how we parent overall. I practice what I have heard called benign neglect. That means that I allow my son a lot of free reign in which to explore and learn without interference from me. So, it seems to be a natural extension of that to encourage him to play for long stretches on his own. I think, too, it depends on how one defines play. We spend a lot of our day talking and he tags along with my chores most of the time. We go for walks and talk about what we are seeing and we read and cook, etc. But we also spend a long part of every day with me reading on the couch while he plays. Or if we go to the playground, I sit on the bench and only intervene when he is in danger or is threatening harm to another child! In other words, not very often.
I'm sure there are differing perspectives with regards to how much a parent should play with their children (as with every aspect of parenting!). I guess I would offer up the perspective that the guilt that is poured on by some media and experts is perhaps a little out of whack. Perhaps constantly being entertained is not a healthy state of being for adults. We should consider when those patterns are established. Yes, please interact with your child on their level. Yes, family time is great. But please don't feel guilty if it's just not your thing to play ponies or trains for hours on end.
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