Category: Philosophical Waxings

Parenting Advice from Some Hippies

Published on by Kelly Suellentrop12 Comments

It occurred to me today that I should add something new to my children’s diets: dreams.

This suggestion did not come from my pediatrician, or Dr. Oz, or some celebrity chef who would likely scrutinize my sometimes questionable lunchbox choices on days when I hit the snooze button too many times or on mornings before the weekly grocery shopping trip.  In this case, my unlikely nutritionists go by the names of Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young. Wait, not Young. No, yes Young. Let me check….yes, & Young.

“Teach Your Children.” I have heard the song more times than I can count, mostly thanks to my father and his almost pristine taste in music. So when I heard it on the radio today, it should not have been any different from the thousands of other times. But then those voices in silken harmony began their sage advice: “Teach your children well. Their father’s hell did slowly go by. And feed them on your dreams…” BAM!

CSNY...parenting gurus?

It was as if I had heard those words, “and feed them on your dreams,” for the very first time. I apparently had never been listening before. But now I was. And all I could think was how beautiful that statement was. How poetic. How decadent in imagery. How representative of the generation of peace and love. How…wise and oddly practical. It was the best parenting advice I have heard in a long time. And it came from hippies.

Parenting is a competitive sport these days. We train prior to the big event. We scout experts and other parents, researching new approaches to the game. We are constantly adding pages to our playbook. We scrutinize every move we make. When we fail, we analyze where we went wrong; when we are victorious, we are awarded the right to brag about our “natural” skills and our abilities to outplay our children. And we are all working toward the same championship prize: for our well-rounded, intelligent, successful child to smoothly transition into a well-rounded, intelligent, successful adult.

That is what I have been told anyway. By whom? Pretty much the entire world, that’s who. Everyone has an opinion on parenting, and we are constantly bombarded by “experts” telling us how we should parent, how we should not parent, how much we should parent, all the things we are doing wrong as parents, and so on and so on. Are you a Tiger Mom? Are you a helicopter parent? Would you be a better parent if you were French? Is my child overweight because there are toys in Happy Meals? Are Disney princesses warping my daughter’s brain?

I am starting to think we are so busy reading about how to be parents that we forget to actually parent. Just pin that parenting tip on your Pinterest board labeled “Kid Stuff” and that’s all you need to do, right?

I am certainly guilty of all of this. I can be a bit of an over-analyzer when it comes to just about anything, my own parenting skills included. This is compounded by the fact that as a high school teacher, I was exposed to teenage behaviors on all points of the spectrum, thereby contributing to an irrational fear that every time I screw up in the parenting arena I have most definitely set my children on the path leading to the defiant, disrespectful, morally corrupt section of that spectrum. Maybe I should hover a little closer. No wait, maybe I should stop catering to my children’s needs like French parents. Or maybe I need to just nip this in the bud right now, pull out some Tiger Mom moves, and start calling my kids “garbage” until they start acting correctly.

Or maybe I just listen to Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young and feed them on my dreams.

My dreams for my children are pretty simple. Love and happiness. Sure, I want my children to do well in school. Sure, I want them to have ambition and drive. Sure, I want them to be successful in life. Would it hurt if they ended up making nice, hefty livings for themselves so they could one day hook up their old crotchety parents with a sweet retirement timeshare in Florida? No, it would not. But deep down, I truly believe that everything I want for my children, everything I dream for them stems from love and happiness. If I feed them love and happiness everyday, that will nourish their spirits, their confidence, their minds, their hearts. It will grow them into beautiful people, and beautiful people do great things.

I know, I know…it sounds a little hippie dippie. But it is not as if I am never going to yell at my kids again, or tell them little white lies, or take away toys, or hold them accountable for their actions. I am still going to do all that. Maybe now I will just start trusting that the kind of parent I am is exactly the kind of parent I need to be, and that losing my cool after asking my children to stop using the couch as a trampoline for the twenty-fourth time is okay as long as it is accompanied by a large helping of love and happiness. Just like it is okay to have a Happy Meal every now and again, accompanied by a usually balanced diet. (That’s right crazy society, there ARE parents who do not need you take toys out of fast food meals. Some of us can make educated decisions all on our own. Shocking, I know.)

And because any view on parenting would not be complete without a healthy dialogue from  many perspectives, I am curious: what ingredients go into YOUR dream meals for your children? Or maybe you think this whole dream diet is just another fad? Or maybe you think I am plain crazy for taking parenting advice from hippies?

Or maybe you find it ridiculous that I just wrote a parenting blog post about how we over-analyze parenting?

My “Where’s” of 9/11

Published on by Kelly Suellentrop2 Comments

9-11 memorialTime is a funny thing. When you think of ten years, it seems like a pretty solid chunk of time. A lot has certainly happened in my life over the past decade. But ten years ago today, a lot of innocent people were robbed of the chance to experience this same decade that has filled my life so fully. And the event that played the role of thief feels just like yesterday in many ways.

My Facebook status today reads, “Remembering where I was, where I have been, and where I am.” I guess to me, that is what this day is about. In most respects, I am fortunate that the majority of September 11, 2011 will a be fairly typical Sunday. I did not lose anyone close to me, nor did the attacks happen in my city. So my day will play out with a certain normality: church, Grace’s first soccer game of the year, and a family get-together for Grandma Suellentrop’s birthday. But I know my mind will take pause for little moments throughout the day, remembering what happened ten years ago.

Where I Was: On September 11, 2001 when the first plane hit the World Trade Center’s north tower, I was sitting at my desk grading papers during my free period (I taught high school English). I heard a knock at the door and turned to see a colleague who immediately told me what had happened. I walked down to my department head’s office where a few other teachers had already gathered around her small television set. Like every other American, we were stunned. We watched in horror as a second plane hit the south tower and mourned as we witnessed both towers collapse before our eyes. And then the Pentagon. At the sound of the bell, I walked to my classroom wondering how in the world I was supposed to teach a lesson on the Iliad. How could I expect my students to pay attention to the happenings of a mythological war when a real war was happening at this very moment? And I was worried about the questions…why? who? what’s going to happen? are we safe? my dad is on a business trip in New York – can I call him? I did not have any answers. I was in a way still a child myself at only twenty-four. So I gave the students a choice. I handed out study questions that they could work on if they chose to, and I turned on the television in the classroom. This was history they were witnessing after all…terrible history, but history no less.

Where I Have Been: As I mentioned, a lot has happened to me in the ten years since 9/11, most of it very wonderful.  I got married, got a dog, bought a car, left my teaching job, had two kids, moved to a new house, discovered new talents and hobbies, lost my grandfather, made new and wonderful friends, became an aunt, started a blog…the list goes on. But I will admit that the terrorist attacks affected the way I look at the world. For the past ten years, 9/11 has always crossed my mind every time I fly. For the past ten years, I have worried a bit more about our country’s existing and future relationships with the rest of world…and about the future for my children.  But for the past ten years, I have continued to live probably in much the same way I would have had 9/11 never happened…not because it did not change the world or affect my consciousness, but because there are brave men and women fighting for and defending me, enabling me to do so.

Where I Am: So on this anniversary, it still feels a bit surreal. I can easily put myself back there and remember crisply how it felt, like stepping into an emotional time machine. But we are not there anymore. In so many ways, we have all moved on. Now September 11th serves as a reminder to me of all I have to be grateful for. I am not going to pretend I can make sense of the tragedy, or find some reason that so many innocent lives were lost. Maybe God had a reason for it. But to me, it was just sad. I will say prayers that all those victims have found peace after such violent deaths, that their loved ones have found the strength to live without them, that the survivors are no longer haunted by the memory of that day, that safety follows our troops overseas, that world leaders can find a way for peace, and that we may all guide our lives by the pursuit of happiness.

My “Wheres” of 9/11

Published on by Kelly Suellentrop2 Comments
photo credit: 911 Memorial via photopin (license)
photo credit: 911 Memorial via photopin (license)

Time is a funny thing. When you think of ten years, it seems like a pretty solid chunk of time. A lot has certainly happened in my life over the past decade. But ten years ago today, a lot of innocent people were robbed of the chance to experience this same decade that has filled my life so fully. And the event that played the role of thief feels just like yesterday in many ways.

My Facebook status today reads, “Remembering where I was, where I have been, and where I am.” I guess to me, that is what this day is about. In most respects, I am fortunate that the majority of September 11, 2011 will a be fairly typical Sunday. I did not lose anyone close to me, nor did the attacks happen in my city. So my day will play out with a certain normality: church, Grace’s first soccer game of the year, and a family get-together for Grandma Suellentrop’s birthday. But I know my mind will take pause for little moments throughout the day, remembering what happened ten years ago.

Where I Was: On September 11, 2001 when the first plane hit the World Trade Center’s north tower, I was sitting at my desk grading papers during my free period (I taught high school English). I heard a knock at the door and turned to see a colleague who immediately told me what had happened. I walked down to my department head’s office where a few other teachers had already gathered around her small television set. Like every other American, we were stunned. We watched in horror as a second plane hit the south tower and mourned as we witnessed both towers collapse before our eyes. And then the Pentagon. At the sound of the bell, I walked to my classroom wondering how in the world I was supposed to teach a lesson on the Iliad. How could I expect my students to pay attention to the happenings of a mythological war when a real war was happening at this very moment? And I was worried about the questions…why? who? what’s going to happen? are we safe? my dad is on a business trip in New York – can I call him? I did not have any answers. I was in a way still a child myself at only twenty-four. So I gave the students a choice. I handed out study questions that they could work on if they chose to, and I turned on the television in the classroom. This was history they were witnessing after all…terrible history, but history no less.

Where I Have Been: As I mentioned, a lot has happened to me in the ten years since 9/11, most of it very wonderful.  I got married, got a dog, bought a car, left my teaching job, had two kids, moved to a new house, discovered new talents and hobbies, lost my grandfather, made new and wonderful friends, became an aunt, started a blog…the list goes on. But I will admit that the terrorist attacks affected the way I look at the world. For the past ten years, 9/11 has always crossed my mind every time I fly. For the past ten years, I have worried a bit more about our country’s existing and future relationships with the rest of world…and about the future for my children.  But for the past ten years, I have continued to live probably in much the same way I would have had 9/11 never happened…not because it did not change the world or affect my consciousness, but because there are brave men and women fighting for and defending me, enabling me to do so.

Where I Am: So on this anniversary, it still feels a bit surreal. I can easily put myself back there and remember crisply how it felt, like stepping into an emotional time machine. But we are not there anymore. In so many ways, we have all moved on. Now September 11th serves as a reminder to me of all I have to be grateful for. I am not going to pretend I can make sense of the tragedy, or find some reason that so many innocent lives were lost. Maybe God had a reason for it. But to me, it was just sad. I will say prayers that all those victims have found peace after such violent deaths, that their loved ones have found the strength to live without them, that the survivors are no longer haunted by the memory of that day, that safety follows our troops overseas, that world leaders can find a way for peace, and that we may all guide our lives by the pursuit of happiness.

Are You Finished Yet?

Published on by Kelly Suellentrop4 Comments

The short answer: no, I’m not.

But let me begin with why I have started this blog in the first place. Quite a while ago, it crossed my mind that maybe I should jump on this bandwagon to, if anything, chronicle all the funny, wonderful little moments of my children as they grew. A sort of literary scrapbook. Besides, it kind of tickles me to think I can embarrass my kids in cyberspace. At the time, my daughter was 4 and my son was 1.  I was in “mom of young children” mode: the preschool scene, weekly playdates at the park, cutting grapes in half…you know the drill. Mommyhood was my life. (That’s not to say now that my children are at the ripe old ages of 6 and 3 , I’ve abandoned those things or the mindset. But recent occurrences have changed my inner world a bit, which I will explain in a minute.) However, like so many things I plan on doing, the whole blog idea became just another item on the “I’ll start it tomorrow” list. Well, my tomorrow has finally come.

What prompted me to finally get my backside off the couch in order to plop it down in my desk chair and start typing? A few things, but the most notable was a friend who is working on publishing a book on breastfeeding. She asked if I would contribute a story about my own experiences with it, and after procrastinating an embarrassingly long time, I finally started to compose a piece about my horrifying and hysterical account with a lactation consultant. As I typed, I could feel this energy being created in my body. When all was said and done, I realized how much I missed writing. Since young adulthood, I had always been putting the pen to paper. The frequency slowed once I became a teacher and focused my skills on teaching others to write. Then once I had my kids, I pretty much stopped altogether. But after all this time, I realized I still had something to say.

This reawakening was encouraged by a few more incidents that reminded me that even though my most important job right now is being a mom, the part of me that existed pre-children was still sleeping away inside of me. She is still little groggy, and I think I have caught her hitting the snooze button a few times, but I am hoping this blog will help her drag herself out of bed, have a strong cup of coffee, and regain her former glory. No doubt there will still be talk of kids and juice boxes and “my-son-just-said-this-what-do-I-do,” and maybe even a little poop, but hopefully I will prove to be a more dynamic character and write about the girl who always dreamed of being an author.

Now, back to my title. I had finally made the decision to become a “blogger” (I really hate that term…it sounds like someone throwing up), but the hard part was figuring out what to title it. I can never make things easy on myself and be content with something like “Kelly’s Blog.” Let’s face it; there is no satisfaction unless I completely agonize over something until the muscles in my neck want to strangle the life out of me just so I will stop obsessing. Anyway, I was staring at the computer this afternoon, trying to think of something so I could at least register for the damn blog. My daughter Grace had decided that since I was working, she obviously needed to play computer games right at that instant, after ignoring the other seven hours of the day it sat unattended. “Mom, are you finished YET?” I did not have the heart to tell her that had she not given me a wealth of ideas with that simple question, I most likely would have given up in frustration and let her frolic on Barbie.com.

Are you finished yet? I hear it more than I care to, because usually it denotes that I am falling behind, taking time away from something more important that I should be doing. Like spending time with my family. I hear it from my kids when I have told them I will play with them as soon as I finish putting away some loads of laundry. I hear it from my husband when he is going to bed and I am still in the kitchen trying to mold the perfect Star Wars character out of fondant for a cake I told someone I would make. I heard it from my friends in high school when we would go out to eat and they would be ready to hit the next destination while I was still working on my french fries (earning me the nickname Poke). Whether it is a matter of too much on my plate or just being plain slow, it seems someone is always waiting for me.

So goes my story... License: CC0 Public Domain via Pixabay
So goes my story…

But as I think about it, the question means something else, something very relevant in light of my reawakening. I am not finished yet. Despite being sidetracked, I am not finished chasing my dream of being a writer, even if my greatest works only end up on a blog. I am not finished discovering where life will take me and what new talents and joys will be born. As a teacher, I always told my students that there is never truly a final draft in the world of writing. Revisions can always be made; a composition is never finished. Now get ready for my big epiphany: the same applies to life. So goes my story of being completely undone…