Family Rules

How often is it that we take an honest assessment of our own interpersonal strengths and weaknesses? For me, the answer is rarely. But, I found something that led me down just that path of introspection this week. I was cleaning out our kitchen junk drawer, and came across an old paper with our family rules written out.  It must have been buried in there for along time, but I took it out, and hung it up on the side of the refrigerator. I've been staring at it, and thinking about the rules all week. They were typed out, so I was able to find the original file on my computer and see when exactly we drafted them. It was August 19, 2008. I was really impressed at how appropriate and on target the rules were, given how long had passed since we wrote them. Amazingly, the rules cover the same issues we struggle with daily. But, as I stared at the five simple lines day after day this week, I began to think more about the behaviors that prompted them, and why those issues remain our constant struggles. I was inspired to create our own set of family rules after watching the various nanny shows on tv. I watch them religiously, and have a great deal of respect for their techniques. For every family they visit, they draft a unique set of rules. This is always their first step towards creating a better, happier family dynamic. So, I decided to write a set of rules for our family. That was back in 2008, and I never did anything more than that. But this week, as I looked at the rules stuck to the refrigerator, and thought about their inspiration, I also thought about what else the nannies do when they go into a home. They always focus on changing the parents' behavior. When they do that, the kids' behavior changes as a natural byproduct. And so, standing in the kitchen alone one day, staring at the refrigerator, it hit me. Those rules I wrote, that were so well thought out, and so timeless in their application, were for me too. Of course, in an adult way, I follow all of those rules. But, when I looked just slightly below the surface, I realized that those rules not only point out the kids' weaknesses, but mine as well. In an instant, I saw so clearly that one of the reason the kids struggle with those issues, is that I too struggle with them. I tell them one thing, then do another myself. It's hard when something like that hits you so unexpectedly. But, I also am excited by the feeling that a well-lit path has been laid out before me. Those rules are now my beacon.

I look at the piece of paper now, and marvel at how simple yet profoundly wise the five rules I wrote are. When I drew them up, I never realized how seriously they would be taken, least of all by me. They will definitely be staying on the refrigerator, and maybe in 5 or 6 more locations throughout the house, as an inspiration. After all, even an old dog can learn new tricks. Here they are:

The Bruntrager Family Rules
1. We are a team -- work together, help each other.
2. Be kind. Don't hurt anyone else.
3. LISTEN. Don't talk when other people are talking.
4. LISTEN. Do what you are told the first time.
5. No whining. Be polite.

And I've decided to add one more rule that seemed too import to leave out. It's another weakness of mine that I hope to turn into a strength:
6. Have fun!

 (These photos are from our annual Thanksgiving family talent show, where our family truly shined.)

Road Trip

The book I've been reading says that traveling across the country in a minivan is "the ultimate family bonding experience." If that's so, I've done some major bonding over the last few weeks with mine. We covered 900 miles of road last week, from Boston to PA, then VA, and back again. We loaded up the minivan with a dozen bags, 6 people, 3 bikes, 2 strollers, and one car top carrier. Here are some of those memorable moments.

Jack and Elliot were once again enthralled with Uncle Bill's Rock Band game. They couldn't get enough playing time. The most surprising and fun part of it for me, was realizing how well they were actually able to sing and play the drums. Their favorite songs were Eye of the Tiger, Hungry Like the Wolf, and Psycho Killer. Walking downstairs to find Elliot belting out the tune and Jack playing the drums was priceless. It also made them seem suddenly very grown up.

I also got to hear lots of stories from my verbose brood . Elliot shared some future plans with me. When he grows up, he's looking forward to being a lifeguard in Seaside Park, NJ. He plans to spend his summers there, and then buy a winter house in Princeton when he's 16, "because (he's) already in NJ." At first he told me he intended to work as a "business man" during the winter, until a new idea occurred to him suddenly. His new idea? To work at a "general store" for the winter. According to Elliot, "people need more food in winter, because it's cold and you can't pick things." But, he wanted my reassurance that, working in a general store, he could still have Saturdays and Sundays off so that he could make waffles for breakfast, and sometimes grits and bacon.

Jack, though not thinking about his future career so much, was also full of questions about other potential future plans. He wanted to know all about building and designing houses. Apparently he was doing research for his dream house. I found him drawing up the plans after we got home. (Click on either image to see them in larger scale.)

We made most of the 11+ hour drive home listening to Christmas carols and talking about our plans to put up our tree. We also made sure to take a few short breaks to practice singing Hungry Like the Wolf and Eye of the Tiger.

A Glimpse

Several months ago, a friend of mine, who already has three kids herself, asked me what life was like with four. I have yet to find the time to reply to her question. So, in honor of her question, I'm offering a glimpse of my life with four, during these "first days", the craziest time of my year.

Most of the time life with four is good. Our days are orderly. We arrive places on time. The house is fairly clean. The dishes are done. Dinner's on the table each night, and includes at least one vegetable. The laundry's put away. The mail is answered; the messages returned. But, then there are the dark days. The days I don't (usually) write about. These are the days when the laundry has piled up so high that it overflows into the hallway. The kids have gone days without baths. The breakfast dishes (and sometimes the milk) are still on the table at dinner time. Dinner consists of something hastily defrosted from the freezer, served lukewarm, each item on the plate a different shade of tan. The keys get left in the door (sometimes the mailman is kind enough to ring the buzzer to tell me.) There's pee, poop, toothpaste, or all three on the carpet at some point during the day. The library calls to tell me I have $10 in late fines. Everything is lost in the mess. I'm exhausted and grouchy. I drink caffeine to stay awake, and eat meals of peanut butter spoonfuls chased with chocolate chips. I lose my patience with the kids. I vent my frustrations on Ted.

We arrived home from our vacation on Labor Day. Just in time for "first days", what the director of the boys' pre-school affectionately calls the beginning of each school year. These are those introductory days at every school -- the half days, the days when parents are supposed to stay and hang out in the classroom, the days when your child's grade hasn't started yet. The days that count as school days to everyone except the parent who is waiting for the REAL school days to start. This is my busiest time of year. With kids in multiple schools (and one kid still on a waiting list for school this year,) I race around from drop off, to pick up, to open house, to the school supply store, breastfeed the baby and squeeze in a diaper change and nap between aforementioned stops. I rarely make it home between the first drop off and time to make the dinner. While the boys are home with me all summer, I put many thing on hold. I make a promise to myself that I will have time again once school starts. And I will. But the beginning of school has a deceptive lure. It's not until long after school starts that I find that time again.

These busy days, I am caught living moment to moment. As I come and go, I walk by our only partly unpacked suitcases. I dare not hope to accomplish something each day. I cannot find the few moments of mental peace needed to formulate a to-do list. I know that I will only be able to do the urgent things that come up -- the boo-boo's that need doctoring, the lunch to be packed, the form that must be returned to school today, the food we need for tonight's dinner.

This morning I picked up my toothbrush and put toothpaste on it. Then, someone needed my attention right away. I put the toothbrush down on the counter. I didn't see it, or think about it, again until I was headed out to parents' night tonight. Oh well.

The general tone of our family life is still upbeat, even in these busy times. But, I do sometimes feel like a hamster on the wheel. Or, to be more accurate, I feel like I'm swimming in a beautiful pool of deep water. I love being in the water, but the pool is so deep that I can't reach the bottom. I have to swim constantly to stay afloat. At some point, long after dark, someone tosses me a soft, comfortable raft. I climb up onto it and rest, falling instantly to sleep. Sometime early the next morning, while still deep in slumber, the raft is yanked out from under me, to the tune of someone crying. I start swimming again...

The Perfect Life

It's 10:00 at night. It's our last night at my in-laws'; tomorrow we head back to Boston. The kids are all in bed at last. My in-laws have gone upstairs. Everyone else has gone home. I find myself sitting in semi-darkness at the dining room table, reflecting on the week. I had a wonderful time here. I loved being able to just open the front door and let the kids outside at any time of day to play. We discovered several new favorite activities right here in the neighborhood, from fishing in the pond, to walking and biking on the trail, to playing in a nearby creek. And as always, we spent every evening in the company of Ted's siblings and their children.

As many of you know, we have been talking (ad nauseum) about moving for the last year or so. We are continually discussing whether or not to leave Boston, and if we do, where we should move. We spend most of our time discussing various towns in MA. But, after weeks like this one, we inevitably revisit the idea of moving closer to our families.

I find these discussions exhausting and frustrating. Ever the perfectionist, I am looking for the perfect place to live, to lead the ideal life. In this case, it would mean a great town, with a reasonable cost of living, lots of outdoor space and activities for families, lots of sunny weather, a big house with a bigger yard, close to Ted's (equally perfect) job, and within a few miles of all of our relatives. When this option doesn't readily present itself, I find myself unable to choose between any of the other, less perfect options at all. So, we find ourselves slowly growing grey right where we are. (Which is not a bad place at all, but does fall somewhat short of my dream place.)

I can't speak for anyone else, but I know that I have found certain aspects of adulthood overwhelming. I felt very sure of myself as a child, and always knew which way I was pointed and where I was headed. I had my plans and goals outlined in front of me clearly. It was easy to make the "right" choices and work towards them. I knew that I wanted to enjoy high school, travel abroad, go to Princeton, and get married and have a family soon after college. I did all those things, just as planned. But, I found that my life wasn't laid out so clearly after that. While I sometimes enjoy taking hold of destiny's reigns, I also struggle at times with the myriad of choices I have, and still find myself hoping to catch a glimpse of a path, laid out clearly before me.

For the Love of Nature

"In all things in nature, there is something of the marvelous." - Aristotle

We left home last Thursday headed for New York's Hudson Valley. As we pulled out of our parking space, Ted realized he had left his extra shoes inside the house. So, we pulled around front and parked the car momentarily on the street. Ted ran inside. He emerged minutes later, carrying not only the forgotten shoes, but a large, fuzzy orange caterpillar. He found the caterpillar crawling in the entryway to our house. (Mother Nature is no stranger to the city.) Back in the car, he handed the caterpillar to Elliot. Normally our most social and vocal child, Elliot spent the next few hours ensconced in his own world, holding and playing with the caterpillar. (He only dropped it a a few times, and only once lost it down the leg of his shorts.) Neither Ted nor I could get over the entertainment value of the caterpillar. We encountered terrible traffic on the Mass Pike, so decided to get off. Our detour took us, quite unexpectedly, to Purgatory Chasm, where we had a picnic lunch and played outside. While at the playground there, Elliot happened upon two more caterpillars, this time smaller green and black ones. He added them to the cup he was carrying his first one in. Moments later, the fuzzy orange caterpillar attacked one of the smaller ones, fatally wounding it. Elliot was angry at his former pet. He labelled the orange caterpillar "mean" and decided not keep him any longer. He held on to the surviving green and black caterpillar, who made it with us all the way to the Residence Inn Poughkeepsie.

About 2 years ago I read the Omnivore's Dilemna, immediately followed by Animal Vegetable, Miracle. These were truly books that changed my life. I couldn't stop talking about them. After hearing me, my sister-in-law lent me a book she had read called Last Child in the Woods. While I can't say that I loved it as much as the first two, it definitely had a profound impact on my parenting. I have always found peace and beauty in nature, especially alone. I certinaly hope that my four boys will grow up feeling a similar close bond with nature. But, the book made me realize that this bond will not cultivate itself. I need to create and provide opportunities for my children to fall in love with nature, if I want them to grow up loving nature as I do. This awakening has changed the way I think about our time outdoors.

On Friday, we woke up in Poughkeepsie and drove to the Vanderbilt Mansion. It is a beautiful and lavishly impressive home that is certainly worth a visit. Most people stop by for an hour or so, take the tour of the home, perhaps walk around the gardens, then get back in their cars to head to another destination. We spent the entire day there. Jack and Elliot played wiffle ball with Ted in the grass. Mattie rode his bike along the sidewalks. Theo lounged in the grass, holding toys and looking up at the trees. We followed the path of the river that winds through the estate. (Only one park ranger stopped to make sure our children, who were playing along the river bank on a steep embankment, were being "adequately supervised.") We took a hike on the Hyde Park Trail. The boys played inside the thick branches of a pine tree, discovering a dark, cool, hideaway inside. We found the old carriage house, saw the Hudson River, and looked for bugs. To some people, it might seem like we wasted a lot of our time in Hyde Park, spending an entire day at the Vanderbilt Mansion. After all, there are many other homes and things to see in the area. But, I've started to see our time spent in nature as a destination in and of itself. Even when they're "doing nothing," the kids are getting something. Ted and I were able to relax and enjoy the outdoors ourselves, something we are rarely able to do. The estate provided the perfect outdoor playground for the kids. There were few people, even fewer cars, and lots of land. Their imaginations reigned as they discovered each area they explored. They could stray farther away from us than they ever can in the city. Hopefully, they had some of those special, private moments in nature that forge the life long bond we hope they'll have. For us, it was the perfect vacation spot, and another perfect day outdoors.