Kids are mean.

Adults are mean.

Sometimes people are kinda rotten.

Today a little girl told my daughter that she “wasn’t cool” and then proceeded to get up from the lunch table and find another spot to sit down.

[This is me envisioning doing terrible things to that little girl.]

But I get it. I really do. I get it because I am mean, too. I have done means things, both as a kid and as an adult.

But I also get it because kids are forgiving. Adults can be empathetic. I really don’t want to hurt people’s feelings. We are all nice, at times. We are all really not nice, at times. We know what bullying is because we’ve been bullied and we’ve been the bullies. If not out loud, then definitely in our hearts.

So today, with my child who exhibited no hurt feelings at the rudeness of this fellow third grader, I talked about kindness. And I reminded her to be the kind of person Jesus want us to be—kind, loving, compassionate, friendly. I reminded her to look for the kids who are getting left out and laughed at. I reminded her that unkindness really is “uncool.”

I also talked about how people will say mean things in this life. It’s just a fact of this life. You can’t run and hide from the hard things; they exist so we must be aware of them. But you can confront them. You can recognize that sometimes people say things that just aren’t true. And other times you can understand that if you burp at the lunch table and then laugh, that some little girls will not want to hang out with you.

Sometimes you’ve got to tamp down the weirdness (a phrase I’d like to put on a t-shirt actually) and then sometimes you’ve got to find those quirky friends who get your version of weird.

But whatever you do, remember to be kind. Quit being a jerk to those who don’t look the way you want them to. Be gentle with the burpers. It’s what Jesus would do.

And parents, be gentle with your kids. School can be rough so make sure that you are their soft places to fall, that home is a respite from the mean people. Affirm your children without being aghast at the rudeness of others. The rest of the world may be rough, but your kids need to know that you love them unconditionally, quirks and all.

I needed a break. She needed a break.

First pumpkin spice latte of the season was almost a spiritual experience, though I’m embarrassed to admit it meant that much to me.

Homework sits, undone, on the kitchen table while she plays in the rain for HOURS.

I’m thankful for the rain, for the clouds, for the stream overflowing behind our house, for the little neighbors so happily playing together, for the hummingbird moths fascinating my daughter, for pumpkin spice lattes, for friends that call and text, for a husband who sent me to Starbucks even though we’re trying to save money, for a clean countertop, and last-but-not-least chocolate chip cookie dough.

I have not forgotten the date—no, I woke up with it on my mind. 9/11. Somehow it seems fitting that it’s a rainy day.

My next personal essay will be entitled, “The Role of the Trampoline in Respite Care” or “How the Trampoline Saved My Bacon.” Stay tuned.

Father God,
Watch over your beloved Livia today on her first day back to school. Be her strength and her stronghold, her solid rock while the rest of her world is changing and still unsettled. May she know that your spirit is with her all day long and that you comfort her. Please bless her with a quieted mind that is eager to learn, a heart of compassion for befriending others, and a spirit of joy that is contagious. Give her at least one friend today, Father; one person who understands imagination and creativity and exuberance. I am so grateful that you love her far more than I can even fathom. May your grace mark our household and your love bolster us to love others today.
In Jesus’s Name, amen.

Another article is up at Her View from Home with words by Maralee Bradley and images by yours truly. Go, read, and be encouraged to embrace your season of life.

If you’ve ever cried in public, then you know how embarrassing it can be to feel vulnerable. I went through a season where I cried at what seemed like every church activity I went to. I’d walk through the doors into a group of women and just start crying about how hard things were. (Hint: my daughter was three at the time.)

It’s tempting to walk away from these moments with a deep sinking feeling in your gut. Oh man, did I really say all that? Why did I cry in front of my friends? And so on and so forth. Or maybe it’s not something you do in person but you feel this way after a particularly personal email or Facebook exchange.

I want to say, though, that we shouldn’t be ashamed of being human. We shouldn’t feel embarrassed for being real or for needing to cry or for sharing our hearts with our friends. We don’t need to bear the weight of perfection and strength. Because guess what? We know it’s a lie. We all know you aren’t perfect. We all know you don’t have your life all together. Knowing that you are human makes me want to be more human, too.

Maralee asked the other day for people’s perceptions of foster parents. I emailed her privately to say “sexy” because when I think of foster parents that’s the first word that comes to mind. You know… now that Jeremy and I are part of this community. Incredible sexiness aside, we avoided foster care for years because of our misconceptions—misconceptions related to foster parents, foster children and definitely related to our state. Maralee then came up with 10 Ways to Ruin Your Fostering Reputation. I highly encourage reading this post and soaking in the information because it is very very good and contains a lot of wisdom.

As we care for foster kids, I’d like to acknowledge, in an effort towards vulnerability, that there are challenges involved. For me the biggest challenges are emotional ones, like how does someone with a huge desire to adopt care for a child who will be reunified with her parents? The struggle to parent well, as in life with your adopted or biological child, is hard. What I find to be exceedingly important at this stage is a support group. Because going down this path alone might just derail me.

To hold in all the frustrations of foster parenting, to never say a cross word about it, isn’t going to help me out in the long-run. As you can see in Maralee’s list, a foster parent needs to be careful about what is said publicly. But privately? That’s another matter. In a small, supportive and confidential community, one is allowed to vent. Gripe. Complain. Acknowledge the hardships. Share the sadness. Confess the feelings of angst. And at the end of the day, such vulnerability makes everyone a better parent. Being known, exposing one’s soul, and knowing others? This is important. It is valuable. And it is nothing to be ashamed of.

A few friends have inquired why Livia chose to study yeast for her science experiment, because clearly most people don’t ponder the how’s and why’s of yeast. What’s worse is that “yeast” is typically followed by “infection” and that’s pretty gross to the average mind. No, Livia chose the topic based purely on the fact that she could use a balloon in her experiment. Yeast, when fed with sugar and kept warm and moist, produces carbon dioxide as a by-product. To test this fact, you can do what we did: add yeast and sugar to a bottle with a balloon placed over the bottle’s mouth, place bottle in a bowl of warm water, and 20 minutes later the balloon will be inflated. Cool!

In addition to the balloon experiment, our science experiment book gave instructions for bread-making. Again, you give the yeast the right conditions for growth (food, warmth and moisture—Livia could tell you all this) and it’ll produce carbon dioxide. The elastic dough traps the gas, which essentially creates little bubbles, which causes the dough to rise. Again, pretty cool! What gave me a bit of pause was the instructions for making the dough. They were very hands-on, as in, the child mixed and kneaded the ingredients entirely by hand. Perfect for Liv and pretty messy for the kitchen. Have I mentioned Livia likes to eat flour and puff out clouds like a dragon? Who wouldn’t really? Making bread is also a lengthy process. After the dough was kneaded it was left alone to rise. By the time we could make rolls with it, we were off to another activity and I placed the dough bowl in the refrigerator to be dealt with the next day. Perhaps this is why Livia told her first science fair judge, who asked how long the bread took to make, that she really didn’t know—her mommy did that part. The bread was a side experiment, not Livia’s main feature, and I bet our young judge wasn’t aware of the in’s and out’s of bread-making either.

In the end, despite the flour that dominated my kitchen for a brief time, I loved watching Livia in her element. Up to her elbows in ingredients, absorbing new concepts, sharing this learning with others. In the process of literally forcing her to write observations on her display board, I was reminded that for some kids, the experiment will always be the fun part and writing it down isn’t as interesting. Liv came home with a shiny red ribbon for her efforts though. And that’s something to be proud of.

Maralee was invited to give positive parenting tips for a television segment sponsored by Nebraska Children and Families Foundation at NET last week. As any friend-tographer would do (am I spelling that word right, Maralee?), I volunteered to come along and document the experience with my camera. The morning began with makeup and hair by the beautiful Emily Lovelace at Tangled Up Salon, and from there we continued on to the NET studio on UNL’s East Campus.

Look for Maralee’s parenting spots on NET in coming weeks. I’ll put out more information on air times as soon as I can.

(Title sung to Bill Nye’s theme music.)

Our school’s science fair is optional, but I long knew the experience would be a great one for Livia. She’s got a natural passion for science. I thought she’d create a presentation on animals and gently tried to nudge her towards learning more about how dogs sense of smell works, but nope. We opened an Usborne book on science experiments, she saw one that used a balloon and she was sold. So yeast it was! If you want to find out how yeast and a balloon work together, you’ll need to ask Livia. She can tell you more than you’d want to know about yeast now.

I wrestled with towing the line between walking Livia through this learning experience and doing too much of it for her. Clearly this optional science fair involves parental guidance and aid—everyone understands a second grader doesn’t know how to find resources or walk through the steps of the scientific method. There was a real balance to be found, and I think we did a good job in the end. As I looked around Livia’s school last night and observed the other students at work, I felt proud of all these parent and children working together to learn something more about science. What a cool thing! It inspired me to consider all the new ideas and experiments Livia and I can do together this summer. Now for the execution part…

A friend who is a counselor once told me you shouldn’t ask your kids, “What’s wrong with you?” when you are frustrated with them because, really, they don’t know what’s wrong with them. And furthermore, that thought—not a constructive one whatsoever—can lodge in their young minds in damaging ways.

So I never said that phrase again. In fact, I keep my lips shut tight when running late or dealing with babyish behavior or cleaning up spilled milk. I’m pretty much perfect now.

Uh, no. Back to reality.

I have still uttered that phrase, even though I don’t appreciate the message it conveys. I’ve said far worse. Time and time again I’ve said far worse. And, after my flash of anger has died down, it grieves me. My kid isn’t fully grown and we, her parents, are the chief role models responsible for raising her in a right fashion. It’s remarkable to me how I can be responding to her lack of self-control with my own lack of self-control. Not wise, to say the least.

It is in this vein of self-confession that I’m wondering what catch phrases we should banish from our collective parental mouths.

Here’s the latest to make me absolutely crazy:
DON’T KNOW, DON’T CARE.

My kiddo picked it up from another 2nd grader and it is high on my list of punishable phrases right now. Liv says she’ll ask this classmate if he knows where her pencil or eraser is and he’ll come out with the quip, “Don’t know, don’t care.” (Now before all judgement reigns down on him, please know being asked to locate yet another missing item by my daughter might test the patience of Mother Teresa.) I understand that “don’t know, don’t care” rolls off the lips in an easy-breezy fashion, but man alive, it’s downright rude. I’m not a giant WWJD bracelet wearer, but seriously, can you imagine Jesus saying, “Don’t know, don’t care”?

Me: Jesus, I pray that you would help me find that important paperwork for our taxes.
Jesus: Don’t know, don’t care.

Me: Jesus, will you watch over my daughter at school today?
Jesus: Don’t know, don’t care.

Me: Jesus, I am so worried about getting all this work done.
Jesus: Don’t know, don’t care.

Clearly it’s not something Jesus would say. It’s not something I should say. It’s not something my 8 year old daughter should say. What else should we watch for? What other phrases have popped out of your kids’ mouths and surprised you? What phrases do you toss around that you’d like to stop saying? What phrases might you need to tweak to make less objectionable as you parent?