A Magical Childhood

storyland

A few years ago I heard an actress describe her childhood as “magical” and something clicked in me.  I had been searching for that word, a word, to describe my desire for my children.  And that phrase “magical childhood” is something I’ve become a bit fixated on.  Before I had a hard time knowing and understanding what kind of childhood I wanted my kids to experience.  We lived in the heart of NYC at the time, with tons of sights, sounds, friends, encounters bombarding us everyday.  It is a glorious, and extremely fun place to raise a child.  It kinda blew my mind that riding the subway was completely normal to my kids.  But I was raised on a small farm, with space to roam free, unencumbered by rules and supervision.  As a fairly new parent I struggled: did I want my kids to experience the city with all its diversity and bustling life or did I want them to have that freedom I experienced as a child?  Both had their pros and cons, I realized it really depended, ultimately, on what my husband and I wanted.  So, when I heard that television actress relate her childhood as magical I knew that’s exactly what I wanted for my kids; and that was, potentially, attainable just about anywhere.

But, what exactly is a “magical childhood”?  What does that mean?  Is it possible?  Does it just happen?  Or are there conditions that I needed to create in order for a magical childhood to develop?

storyland

I began to ask around.  I talked and discussed with family members and friends what they thought a magical childhood meant.  Or if they had any memories of magical moments in their childhood.  Here are a summary of their responses:

My husband:  He remembered many magical moments when his dad would spend time with him.  His dad worked a lot, but when he was home his dad focused on the kids.  And he remembers some of those times very vividly and holds those memories dear to his heart.

My dad:  His most magical moments of his childhood were also with his dad.  His dad, my grandfather, was a dairy farmer.  My dad fondly remembers times when his dad would spend one-on-one time with him, often in the form of teaching him something new.

My sister:  She shared an experience she had as a mother, with her two kids.  She said it was a simple time, just the three of them were sitting on her bed and she was reading stories out loud to them.  And she felt there was a feeling of happiness, goodness, and openness.  She felt that moment was very magical and thinks her kids felt that too.

My good friend:  She had a completely different perspective on it (and that’s why I love her so).  She said she didn’t really think children felt like their childhood is magical; but as an adult, when you look back, you can see and feel the magic in selective memories.  When kids are in the thick of it, life it hard: feeling left out of friendships, not understanding homework, pushing against parents, etc.  It’s only maturity, and growing up, that makes childhood magical.

Although I see my friend’s perspective, I don’t completely agree.  I do agree childhood can be stressful–the bulk of mine was, but one of the most lovely things about childhood is there are long stretches of time (such as summer breaks) when a child has nothing to do, except be a child.  I think parents and adults often put too much pressure on children to perform well, not be lazy, or just be a good kid.  And a lot of childhood stress can stem from adult pressures.

I thought it was interesting and enlightening to hear my family members’ perspectives; they all had magical memories involving a parent, a simple loving interaction with that parent.  Which is, surprisingly, quite the opposite, from my most magical childhood memories.

I am smack dab in the middle of a large family of seven kids and, in hindsight, my parents were going through a very rough time while I was young.  Both parents were gone almost always, working, getting multiple graduate degrees.  Doing their best do avoid each other and the struggles at home.  By the time I was 10 my dad no longer lived at home.  I do have a nice memory of my dad putting me to bed a couple of times and telling me bedtime stories.  But the most magical times were when I was playing outside; usually in the spring and summer.  We lived on open land, with a few farm animals and space to roam and get lost.

I love looking back and feeling the warmth of the California sunshine on my back.  Remembering touching the round, smooth leaves of the locust tree between my fingers as I gathered them into my bag, like a robber, before my brother–the cop–captured me and put me in jail.  (Did you know…if you pinch your fingers tight around the top of a locust tree twig and pull down all the way to the end, the leaves break off in the form of a rose between your fingertips.)

The dogs’ incessant barking, the roosters crowing, the tall tree limbs swaying and creaking in the winds; these are what my magical memories are made of.  And so much more.  Much, much more.

I’m excited and curious to look through the lenses of my children’s lives.  Every so often one of them will mention a memory that sounds perfectly magical.  Note to self: write those down!!!

My 8 year old just woke up and is sitting here next to me in my cozy bed, as I finish this post.  I asked her, “Do you have any magical memories?”

“Going to Storyland or Santa’s Village.  Everything seems perfect when we go there; everyone is happy, it’s summer, nothing bad happens.  It feels good.”

Magic!  The magic happens when we feel good.  But most especially when we feel good with the ones we love.

What do you think makes a childhood magical?  What magical memory do you have from your childhood?

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The Anti-Yelling Challenge

Mississippi

About a month ago I was talking to Bradley, my husband, about my mommy-guilt. Bedtime at my house can be atrocious sometimes almost always. I’ve been at this for over 7 years, but most nights feel like an alien invasion: complete chaos and confusion. No matter how many times these kids go to bed. I digress. Bradley and I were talking about ways I could overcome my mommy-guilt. And, I really, REALLY wanted to stop yelling. Yelling didn’t do any good, it scared my kids, it made them cry, they often got ready slower, and I felt terribly guilty every.single.night. It felt like Groundhog Day. Why couldn’t I figure it out? How impossible is it to get it right?

So Bradley and I talked about what would motivate me to stop yelling. I knew I should stop, but I needed something big to help get me motivated. After brainstorming a few ideas I decided to reward myself with money toward a trip I wanted to take to visit some friends in Europe. The deal was every 5 days of not yelling I could put $100 toward the trip. But I had to make it 5 days straight to get the $100. That was the beginning of February. It has been a month.

I have had many ups and downs. But the ups are longer and the downs are getting shorter. It is slowly improving. My kids seem happier. I know I’m happier.

One day, early on, my kids were pushing my buttons and I felt myself starting to boil inside. I stopped what we were doing and I told them I was working really hard to not yell. We talked about how we all feel when I yell at them. I explained that I don’t like yelling and I am learning and working really hard to stop.

Now when I feel the anger brewing inside I stop and get their attention. I tell them I feel very frustrated and I feel like I am going to yell at them. We talk about what we can do to defuse the situation. Or sometimes I ask one child to take a break in another room (or all of them :)). It’s been amazing how much it helps to have their support. My 7 year old daughter will work really hard to help her younger brothers make good choices too. It’s not perfect, but I was surprised how much it helps having them on my team. They want me to succeed at this too!