Leading Mama

Sunday Soapbox: The World is Flat

If you're a military spouse friend of mine, you might be aware that I'm rankled by rank. In fact, I recently wrote an article about rank for Military Spouse magazine. 

 

There are community responsibilities senior spouses take on. We run fundraisers, organize events, bring the main dish to the unit picnic, visit families in need, and support our spouses' careers in myriad ways.  Without the efforts of senior spouses, the military family would be in sad shape indeed: Imagine a large rowdy family tended only by an absentee workaholic parent whose idea of nurturing is to say "Suck it up!" loudly and often.

 

Rank = Responsibility. I get that. I embrace it.

 

What rankles me is the relation of rank to privilege.

 

Recently, I was flabbergasted when a spouse of one of my husband's unit members asked if she was allowed to receive emails about base information directly, or whether I would be forwarding that information to her.

 

I am happy to forward what I have, I explained, but I'd be just as happy if she'd email the original senders and ask to be put on their mailing lists. Last I checked, there's no rank insignia on MY shoulder!

 

"I can do that?" she asked. "It's okay to do that?!" She was excited but mystified.

 

"Absolutely," I said. "Where information is concerned my world is flat."

 

I see no reason to keep other spouses in the dark about events or issues in our community. The more involved others are in the community, the happier they (and I) will be. I encouraged her to seek information directly from the source.

 

After some initial shock, she said, "That's not how it was at my last base." She looked like a kid who'd just learned that she finally graduated up from the kiddie table at Thanksgiving dinner.

 

She's excited to be treated like a fully participating member of the team, instead of a link in some military spouse's chain of command. And I'm happy to have a little help nurturing this large rowdy family. Inclusion feels better than privilege.

 

Whether or not you're a military spouse, I'm on the Sunday Soapbox to say this: if you're wearing rank, get over it. You aren't better than anyone else. We're all at the grown-up table now. The world is flat.

Image Credit: © Lhfgraphics | Dreamstime.com

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What's got you on your soapbox this week? Link up an opinion piece below.

 

 

Hello, ego. Goodbye, stereotype.

Today I'm taking a minute to Pour my Heart Out about a lesson I learned last week at the grocery store. I'll warn you up front, it wasn't pretty.

 

I was just back from a two-week vacation. By 8 a.m., I'd colored my hair, taken a shower, and done my makeup. The baby was happy (so far) and Little Man was dropped off at preschool.   A grocery run seemed do-able.

 

I swept through the commissary, hoping to get all the items on my list before Little Mama had a meltdown.

 

I expected her to get tired. She hadn't slept much the day before because we were traveling. She didn't nap on the plane or in the line for immigration and customs. She didn't nap on the car ride home. As my mom would say, she was pooped. At least for the moment, she was happy to be steering the kid-friendly cart, one hand on each little steering wheel. We flew through produce, meats and dairy. 

 

And then, she was pooped. Yes, the other kind. Stinky, goopy, no-diaper-in-the-world-could-contain-this-mess pooped.  Right there in the frozen food section.

 

So I shopped faster. I jettisoned items from the list that could wait until later. I flew toward the check out, eager to escape with my poopy baby and a shred of mommy dignity in tact.

 

As I approached the check out, the pimply faced teenage checker asked me loudly, "Will you be paying with WIC today?"

 

And the world stopped spinning.

 

I thought, "Do I look like I'll be paying with WIC today?"

 

I'm sure I looked like a bridesmaid who just discovered her dress was tucked into her panty hose as she walked down the aisle. I was caught completely off guard. I was self-conscious and embarrassed. I didn't know what to say.

 

And then my brain caught up with my ego and I thought, "There is no 'look' that describes recipients of WIC." Poverty isn't so obvious.

 

I asked the checker why he thought I might pay with WIC. He responded, "Sometimes moms with babies who come in early in the morning pay with WIC." 

 

Hmm. I nodded. "I see," I said. And then I paid cash for my groceries.

 

As I left the store and pulled Little Mama out of the shopping cart, poop oozed up her back and slathered my forearm. I was mortified.

 

And I felt a wave of compassion for moms who depend on assistance to feed their families.

 

I don't know who they are. Appearances are deceiving.

 

What I do know is those moms are gutting it out day-by-day doing the best they can for their kids. They're wiping noses and changing diapers and trying to get through the grocery store before the baby has a meltdown, just like I am. And the last thing they need is to be called out for paying with WIC. 

 

I regret that I didn't stop and share my thoughts with the checker. I'm sure he hadn't considered how his customer would feel when he asks way too loudly whether she'll be paying with WIC today.

 

Empathy isn't automatic. Apparently mine needed a tune-up. 

Parenting by Death Threats

My first association to this picture isn't pleasant. It's a death threat. Made by my dad.

 

 

 His statement?

 

"If you smoke, I'll kill you long before the cigarettes do."

 

Now that's good parenting.

 

Really.

 

I'm grateful to have parents who shared their opinions with me. While I never truly believed my dad would hurt me -- he wouldn't -- I knew exactly where he stood on the issue of smoking. And I internalized his beliefs about it.  When I see the advertisements urging parents to "talk with their kids about smoking," I remember my dad's approach. It was succinct and effective. You can't argue with that.

 

If you know Leading Mama, you know I have strong opinions. And that I'm not afraid to express them. Not to my Leading Man, not to my kids, and not to other moms. I say what I think. Unapologetically.

 

I want my kids to think for themselves and to come to their own conclusions about important, complicated issues. I don't believe in parenting my force or by fear, and I'd never try to bully them into believing what I believe. But I don't keep my opinions under wraps, either. I don't believe kids learn to think for themselves and express their opinions  if they grow up in a vanilla world where no one takes a stand or a side.

 

It's important to me that my kids know what I value, and I try to show them through my actions. I tell them, too, because I don't want critical lessons to slip by unnoticed.

 

I haven't resorted to death threats. Yet. But I'm not opposed to them either.

 

What is the most memorable thing a parent said to you?

 

Speak Up!

The weight of motherhood isn’t measured in pounds and pants sizes. It’s measured in responsibility. And it hit me almost immediately with both of my children.

 

As a Leading Mama, I speak up for my children when they cannot speak up for themselves. Since my kids are small, that is much of the time.

 

  Here’s how I speak up for them:

 

1)      I ask the doctor about speech delays, hip dysplasia, and the 3^rd percentile for weight. I share my kids’ stories. I advocate for treatment or against treatment. I wait and watch and re-evaluate. I ask more questions. I speak up to protect their health.

 

2)      I recognize their traits, talents, and preferences. Little Man loves to move. He’s a sociable guy. He’s inquisitive and talkative. I look for opportunities to develop those talents. I sign him up when I think a program “fits” and say “no, thanks” to those that don’t. I ask the teacher to work on weaknesses or to expand their learning in new directions. I speak up to nurture their potential.

 

3)      I understand that more isn’t always better, even if it tastes or feels good at the moment. I make or break the rules. I say “no” to sugary snacks and staying up too late to watch another TV show. I say “yes” to thirteen colors of play doh – even if they’re mixed together – and “yes” to playing at the playground as the sun sets, even though we need to cook dinner. I speak up to teach values.

 

4)      I read the hurt or happiness on my kids' faces. I hear joy in Little Mama’s squeaks and squeals. I hear the hurt or hunger in her cry. I see frustration in Little Man’s pout. I read anger in his stomps and scowls. I give their feelings a voice, translating into words what they know with their hearts but can’t yet describe. I speak up to capture their feelings.

 

5)      I live in the world with an eye toward tomorrow. I see failures in our education system. I worry about our American obsession with reality-show role models. I seek out role models who set an example by acting with kindness, compassion and persistence. I support causes that will make the world better for my kids today and, more importantly, for their kids tomorrow. I sign petitions. I vote. I speak up for their future.

 

That’s what leading parents do.

 

How do you speak up for your kids?

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This post inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat who asked me to "Describe a time you spoke up for someone who couldn't speak up for themselves."

Image © Ken Hurst | Dreamstime.com

Post-It Note Tuesday: 6 Questions I Love

"Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. The point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."

- Rainer Maria Rilke, 1903, in "Letters to a Young Poet"

 

Usually, I love a book that offers wise answers.

 

Today, I'm loving a book that asks wise questions instead.

 

Here are 6 Questions I Love from Robin Fisher Roffer's book Make a Name for Yourself: Eight Steps Every Woman Needs to Create a Personal Brand Strategy for Success I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in their own brand identity for business or blogging. Robin rocks!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sit with these questions. Let them soak in. Then, if you dare, share your answer to one of these questions in the comments. Or -- better yet -- share one of your own favorite questions.

 

Love the questions. The answers will come.

 

Community-Sourcing for Cowards and Control Freaks

Yestertime, I wrote a post on the value of community-sourcing. I asked you how it could help you with an upcoming project. And you went mute.

 

Completely and utterly silent.

 

Maybe you thought “that would be neat,” but were overcome by feelings of panic. "If other people help me, they might screw things up." "Aaaask for hhhhellllp? What if they say nnnnooooo!"

 

I’m not surprised. Really.

 

Crowd-sourcing is easy, unless you like to control the process, pace, and direction of the work. In other words, unless you’re a control freak with perfectionist tendencies, like Leading Mama. 

 

If you’d like to get others involved in your next big project but are paralyzed by fear, here’s my advice.

 

1.       Make it meaningful. Be prepared with an “elevator speech” about the effort you’re undertaking. People need to feel its goodness before they’ll jump on board. Everyone wants to feel good.

 

2.       Explain the scope of the project in big, round numbers. If you need 8 widgets, ask for 10. But be ready to receive 20. In my experience, you’ll get more than you ask for. Especially if they can feel the goodness. Know in advance what you will do with the abundance you’ll receive.

 

3.       Determine which facets matter most to you personally. Decide what your minimum standards are for those facets. (If you are a control freak with perfectionist tendencies, the minimum may not be so minimalistic. That’s okay. Leading Mama’s philosophy is “go big or go home” and it hasn’t kept me from community-sourcing!) Find a way to ensure the minimum standard will be met. Then let go of your need to control things.

 

4.       Communicate your vision, but don’t tell people how to create it. Telling people how to do their work crushes their intrinsic motivation. Scaffold success but let people come up with their own process for delivering it.

 

5.        Practice quality control. Redirect contributions that don’t meet standards or ask for a do-over. People want to be proud of what they do. You’ll protect your reputation and boost participants’ sense of pride by maintaining high standards.

Community-sourcing is win-win-win. It’s less leader-focused than other methods of getting things done. But in the end, you’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish when you start the ball rolling then get out of the way. Good leadership is never about the leader anyway.

Swoops and Poops

You’ve seen them at the park. They gather near the parking lot. They sit on the benches, preening. They walk in aimless circles while the kids play on the jungle gym. They’re not really watching the kids, but they’re poised to take flight if someone gets in their space. And they’ll swoop in fast if someone drops something edible.

 

Photo from slack12 at flickr.com

All is calm on the playground until the kid in the too-short sweatpants rips a green plastic shovel from the hands of the toddler in the glittery cupcake t-shirt. The little girl cries out. ‘Mooooom! Dat mine!’

 

Coffee and smart phone forgotten, she’s off the bench, wheeling and swooping toward the children. Screaming and chastising.  Gesturing wildly. Seagull mom flies into the sandbox, makes a lot of noise about the hostile takeover of the green shovel, steals it back from too-short-sweatpants, and returns it to her little cupcake.

 

She tells cupcake to stop crying. It’s over. She got back the shovel. She screams at too-short-sweatpants about playing with his own toys and shoos him away.

 

Then she turns and flies back to her bench, where she’ll pass time waiting for another opportunity to swoop into action.

 

She’s no helicopter parent. She's more like a seagull.

She leaves the kids to their own devices.

She’s in her own world.

Until something happens.

Then she flies in,

makes a lot of noise,

dumps on everyone,

and flies away.

 

 

 

Photo from Dave Harkin at Melbourne LightPainters

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Seagull parenting is an adaptation of Ken Blanchard’s seagull management concept. Learn more about it in his leadership best-seller, The One Minute Manager .

Sunday Standpoint: Honesty is the Best Policy

 

Little Man lies. Constantly.

 

In fact, this week he told Leading Man that a secret is "when you don't want Mommy to know something."

Nice, huh?

 

He hides candy in the drawers of his playroom. When I find it, he explains dodges "I was saving it for you, Mom."

 

When he waited a bit too long to run to the bathroom and -- as a result -- made a pee puddle on the tile, he didn't clean up. He didn't fess up. He closed the door and acted like nothing happened.

 

I found the "surprise" some time later and called him to the scene. He denied that he had an accident. He told me "a ghost did it."

 

In this family, I'm the cook, maid, cheauffeur, and personal shopper.  

I'm the reader of bedtime stories and brusher of teeth.

 

I'm also the bad cop.

 

I put limits on TV time and sugar consumption.

 

I've yet to utter my own mother's refrain "The whiter the bread, the sooner you're dead." But it won't be long. Little Man gets white bread at school and recently told me he doesn't like brown bread so much. Great.

 

Leading Man would plop the kids in front of a screen with a bag of chips and a bowl of candy if it wasn't for me. He wants them to be happy. Always.

 

He's a "yes" man.

 

I am the voice of "No."

 

"You can't watch another episode of Dinosaur Train."

"You can't eat candy for breakfast."

"You need to clean up the puzzle before building a train track."

 

And I tell the unflinching truth. I say "We're not going to McDonald's for dinner because Mom and Dad want a nice dinner."

 

Leading Man -- a.k.a. coward of the county -- says "McDonald's is closed on Saturdays." When we drive by McDonald's, he says "Look, what's that out your window?" so Little Man won't see the golden arches.  Dodge and weave. Deny and distract.

 

My Sunday Standpoint: Honesty is the best policy. Even if it gets you in trouble. Even if it means the kids will whine and moan and grumble all the way to the nice dinner Mommy wants.

 

What do you think? Is honesty always the best policy? Take a stand and link up below. 

 

 

Sleep It Off, Sister

 

 

 

 

 

Inspired to participate in Post-It Note Tuesday by my sweet, restless baby, who's shenanigans ensured I would function on 3% brainpower today. Nice.

 

Balance is Relative

Time management gurus would freak out if they saw how I operate. I don't collect empty pizza boxes or tchochkes, but I'm surrounded by so many to-dos and wanna-learns I could star in a special episode of Hoarding: Buried Alive. I'd call it "the overachiever edition." Maybe I should pitch this idea to Oprah.

 

Here's my dirty little secret to getting it all done.

 

I let creative impulses, have-to's, want-to's  and deadlines determine what I do and when I do it.

 

Leading Man calls it "just-in-time excellence."

 

If the ideas are swimming in my head, I capture them on paper. I save files and add details as they come to me. When article is due, I write it. If Little Man is out of socks (again!), I do laundry. If the baby has a hacking cough -- right now she sounds like a 2-pack-a-day smoker -- I take her to the clinic. If I feel like Thai Chicken with Basil for dinner, I get busy in the kitchen. If I don't want to cook, I defrost and reheat.

 

When someone offers snuggle time, I drop everything and I "nuggle." I *do* have priorities, you know.

 

The old schedule that housewives perfected over a hundred years and embroidered on millions of flour-sack dish towels just wouldn't fly around here.  

  

Monday: Wash Day
Tuesday: Ironing Day
Wednesday: Sewing Day
Thursday: Market Day
Friday: Cleaning Day
Saturday: Baking Day
Sunday: Day of Rest

 

Spreading tasks over time would certainly make my life more manageable. But it doesn't fit with my personality. I love the pressure of a deadline. The thrill of keeping too many balls in the air is something I miss if my to-do list grows shorter than my arm. I get itchy to take on new tasks.

 

But -- even if it looks like I am in way over my head most days -- I manage to maintain a sense of balance in the longer term.

 

Right now I am working hard. I am overcommitted. I am struggling to stop myself from taking on more. And I am loving every minute of it.

 

I'm also anticipating a delicious change of pace when we go on a two-week vacation this spring. (Where? Turks and Caicos, thank you very much for asking. Super scuba, gorgeous lush tropical happiness, sandcastle making and shell-collecting. Mmmm. I can almost feel the sun on my face.)

 

For Leading Mama, balance is relative.

I know I can have it all, just not all at the same time.

 

This post inspired by a prompt from