Discipline

I grew up in a home with set behavioral expectations and fairly consistent punishments for offenses. I spent many post-smart-mouth-remark bedroom quarantines brooding and vowing to discipline my future children completely differently. Never would I have a child who would sit in her room staring daggers into her parents' souls. Not my child. No, I'd be my child's best friend and never turn her against me!

As fate would have it, that wasn't completely unrealistic. Brooding preteen removed from this equation, of course--I'm not still holding onto any resentful thoughts toward my parents because I turned out pretty okay and have a strong sense of right vs. wrong. I have still retained my strong will, and I still speak my mind, though I kinda-sorta have a grasp on when to bite my tongue and when to speak up a little better than I had as a kid. (Hey, I said "kinda-sorta," right? I didn't claim to be an expert, HAHA!)

I've found myself in the role of a single parent, and I serve as both my daughter's sense of comfort and her reinforced conscience/disciplinarian. It's important for me to instill in my daughter a sense of right and wrong. But, it's even more important for me to be her friend through it all. I know a lot of people disagree with this stance, as is evident in the endless discipline advice I get from friends, family, and acquaintances alike.

(Seriously, guys, stop giving me advice. About anything. About everything. Especially about my child. I hate it. I would ask if I wanted it. I don't. Frankly, I'm sick of repeating myself on this front, too. Just stahp.)

Truth is, I know what I'm doing. My daughter doesn't have another parent to run to for comfort. Siblings either. She has me. I have to think very carefully about discipline, or I risk damaging the most secure human relationship my daughter has on this earth. Our trust and teamwork means absolutely everything and is our core mother-daughter value. I intend to never jeopardize that bond.

Someone once suggested to me that I fix my daughter's slower-than-mine pace and sense of time when we're getting ready for school and work in the mornings by locking her outside of the house in anything she could manage to clothe herself in in 5 minutes.

Let me be very clear: NEVER would I subject my child to such brutal humiliation. Discipline by humiliation is completely out of the question. I would absolutely risk every bit of trust she has in me to take care of her and help her through our differences if I made her feel humiliated, especially by something internalized and natural over which she has very little control.

Discipline by physical harm is completely out of the question, too. Discipline by silent treatment: no. Discipline by slave-style chores: no. Discipline by removing basic needs like a meal, clean and prepped clothing in the morning, etc...never ever.

I have never once laid a hand on my child, and I never intend to. I have never once purposely added the burden of shame to my child, and I don't plan to start now.

Discipline by words is plenty. Discipline by very small punishment (timeout or a prompted sincere apology) is enough.

As an only child (yes, she has a half-sister, but she lives as an only child in actual lifestyle articulation), and especially as the only child in a single-parent home, my daughter is critically sensitive to how I perceive her. If there is tension in our relationship, we both feel it. If Kimmy has even the slightest sense that I am disappointed in her actions, she is devastated. Absolutely shattered and torn to pieces.

This morning when I dropped her off at school, I learned that Kimmy had had 2 timeouts at school yesterday for sassy behavior to her teacher upon being corrected on something. While I deeply appreciate her strong will and ability to speak up for herself, there is a time and a place for such behavior, and it is not at school to her preschool teachers, whose judgment I trust. (When she's older and has a difference of opinion or fact with a teacher, then we'll talk. I remember the first time I corrected a teacher and was absolutely right in so doing...in 2nd grade.)

As her teacher was telling me what happened, Kimmy's entire posture changed. Her shoulders sunk. She turned her face from me. Huge crocodile tears welled up in her eyes instantly, and she bit her bottom lip. She was sobbing 15 seconds in. When I hugged her as I was leaving, she didn't want to let go. The thought of me being disappointed in her is just about too much for her to bear, and this is a consistent observation. That feeling is so shameful to her that just by her knowing I could potentially think badly of her, she wouldn't dare repeat a bad behavior.

We discuss bad behavior. We apologize when we get snippy or loud-mouthed with each other. I apologize constantly for getting impatient and raising my voice. I hold my daughter's hand. I tell her I love her. I hug her. I kiss her goodnight and good morning and goodbye for the day. I give leniency when leniency is due and can deepen our trust in each other. We forgive. We forget. We grow together.

This works for us. This process isn't broken. There is nothing to be fixed. Kimmy behaves exceptionally well for a child her age. She has a good heart and tries her hardest to make right decisions all the time. Best of all, she trusts me. She knows she can always come to her mother for any reason under the sun. She knows that I value her honesty. Some kids turn into snakes at age 4, but my daughter rarely even utters a lie. I intrinsically know that I am raising my daughter right. I'm not looking for a parenting overhaul.

So, please, leave me alone to discipline my child in the way that's best for her, for us, for our household, for our relationship. It's not your business. If there comes a time when I need to adjust, trust that I'm a grown-ass woman and can manage to do so just fine all on my own.

Kimmy and Mommy's house is peaceful, healthy, and happy. Is yours? #checkyourself

Peace,
-Kels

People

Have you ever uttered the phrase, "I hate people"? I have. And it's actually not true. Yes, I hate certain traits and tendencies that certain people have.

But I love people.

I love them. I want to base my whole career on people (human resources). I love how people are all different. I love how people make me laugh. I love how everyone brings something unique to the table. I love how people all have their own lens through which they see the world. I love how I have something to learn from every person on this earth.

Lately I'm obsessed with people who make me feel alive...people who set my spirit alight and make me see, think, and feel things I wouldn't all on my own.

Last night I got a text from someone I love hearing from, but someone whose work schedule and unique job keeps him off the grid for weeks at a time. This is someone I went to college with and worked with and was friends with, but was not super close with because we were pretty different. Over the past 5 years, we've each been on our own journeys of self-discovery and growing up, and our paths have somehow crossed again, this time with much more in common and a really cool blossoming friendship.

This is someone who gives me that alive feeling. (Yes, he's male; no, the point of this is not about a crush. This is about a person-to-person connection with someone who has a fervor for life. Lots of people make me feel alive like this, male or female, crush or no crush.) When this side of my mind/heart are ignited by a person, I find myself wanting to discuss every subject under the sun, travel more, listen to all the music ever made, write until my hand cramps and tempts me to switch hands, and never stop trying/learning new things.

There's a lot to be said for being passionate in this life. I think Roald Dahl worded it best:

Give me fiery white hot over lukewarm any day. People who can get on that level with me are my favorite people in all the land. People who aren't afraid to live, to do, to feel. I want as many passionate people in my circle as I can get.

Full steam ahead!

-Kels

The great outdoors

Being wanderlust and all, I fantasize about being outside and on the go constantly. I spend 40 hours/week strapped to a desk, and though I love (adore, actually) my job and the people I work with, I still find myself dreaming of being out in the world as much as possible. It fuels me. I work to travel. Travel fuels my motivation at work. As soon as I get back from one adventure, I brainstorm my next. It's a cycle that I hope I never outgrow.

My entire childhood, we camped and hiked and played in creeks and roughed it in the great outdoors. Those were our vacations. (We even camped at Disney World!) It was overkill for me because I felt like I didn't have a say in those decisions--I was outdoorsy by birth and not by my own choice. I compensated by shunning the outdoors for many years of my young adult life and even tried to convince myself that I was a city girl.

These past few years that I've spent in deep introspection, though? I had an epiphany and found a gaping hole in my life: outside, fresh air, mountains, patches of earth few humans have ever trod, nature sounds, endless skies of stars and clouds. I would rather be away and separate from than included in any day of the week, any week of the year. I'm a mountain momma through and through. It's in my blood, deep down in the very cells of my being.

There is just something so thrilling and cathartic about conquering a trail, a mountain. For me, it's like I'm climbing over all the gunk in my brain to a place of serene mental clarity. Like when I'm so small--this teeny tiny cog in the great wheel of the planet--that I somehow become immense in power and assuredness. Flashy and grandiose? Nah, keep it. I am a speck out there in nature, but I am sure and steady and totally content.

The blisters, the screaming muscle groups, the sweat, the cool/sharp/humid/dry/hot air hitting my lungs, the soreness, the dull drone of too much uphill/downhill trekking all at once, the fact that I'm fairly certain I'm going to lose my left big toenail--none of it matters because what I'm chasing on that trail is so intrinsically worthwhile that it supercedes all the setbacks.

This summer I hiked to Rainbow Falls in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It's a relatively simple hike, though physically taxing. 2.7 miles up a mountain; 2.7 miles back down--about 3.5 hours in all. I hiked it all by myself at a time when I was desperate for some time to soul-search. My daughter was visiting her family in Pennsylvania, and I was all alone with a mess of thoughts to contend with and make sense of. I spent a handful of hours on the trail, but I took home heaping buckets of insight into myself, my life, where I want to go, what I want to see, the person I want to be. I stopped to take a swig of water from my Nalgene at one of several creek crossings, and I was so overwhelmed by my clarity against the sounds of birds in the trees, rustling leaves, and the trickling creek that I burst into tears. It's a feeling I can't even begin to describe. It may even sound stupid to anyone reading this, but I don't even care. It was so meaningful to me that I've thought of this hike--this exact moment--every time I've felt down in the dumps since then.

4 days ago, my dad and I hiked Rainbow Falls all the way up to the top of the mountain (Mt. LeConte), where we saw the sights from LeConte Lodge. Though it had only been 3 months since I was last on the trail, I felt like I was an entirely new person. The same path that was covered in fallen pinky-white rhododendron blooms just months before was now coated in a vibrant splay of purple, crimson, green, orange, and golden autumn leaves. The same change that I could feel within myself was literally visible on the ground beneath me...a blossoming to a prounounced deepening and maturation. It's amazing to me how nature mirrors the phases of our lives.

On this hike, I knew I would be tested. I recently made a vow to myself to always hike with the Ten Essentials, even on day hikes, so I had a pack of at least 10 lbs on the way up and 15 on the way down (I had some t-shirts and snacks we purchased at the top and newly refilled water bottle/bladder). I knew we would have at least a 13-mile day. I knew it would be unrelentingly uphill to the summit and just as steadily downhill on our return. I knew we would have a very full day and would be physically and mentally tired. Despite knowing what I was in for, there were still surprises and adrenaline rushes. That's something else deeply beautiful about being outdoors: you can be as prepared as all get out, and nature will still have unexpected fortunes in store for you.

All that being said, I reached my actual physical limit on this hike. I think better-quality boots would make a slight difference for me, but I can confidently say that for now, 16.5 miles is my limit. I think that's a pretty cool thing to know about myself. Maybe the AT is in my future as a section hike series, and I'll gladly accept that challenge if/when the time comes. But for now, I'll keep seeking out these day-hike mini adventures; they are enough.

Adventuring outside is no longer an option for me, but an absolute necessity to my being. Life, time, thought, perception, emotion, and expectation all take on completely different meaning when you're in an environment over which you have no control. And all the creature comforts like hot coffee, ice cold beer, cars, steamy showers, lotion, deodorant, mascara, warm socks, and dry clothes all take on different comfort when you return to them from the great unknown. This will never not be worth it.

Until next time, Mother Nature.

Peace,
-Kels

A new phase of motherhood

The last few months have been really hard for me as a mom and just for our household in general.

Kimmy and I have had a huge routine adjustment. We've transitioned from having our awesome babysitter and her 2 sons in our home every day to earlier mornings of getting ready for school and work together and rushing out the door. In addition to preschool, we've added in dance class (and an inevitable fast-food dinner) on Thursday nights. We don't get home until 5:30pm most days and 7:15pm on Thursdays. Dinner happens soon after we get home. Then it's bath, books, and bedtime with lights out at 8:00pm. We're exhausted. We're cranky. We have a hard time listening attentively. We lack patience with each other. There are lots of apologies. Days are long and full.

But we're happy.

Kimmy is learning so, so much at school. She knows all her letters and can count to 20 (higher with my help). She asks me to spell every word under the sun, and she's starting to read beginner sight words with repetition. We read all the time, and she's so very interested in it. I love watching the gears turn behind her eyes. Oh, and she gets a TON of playtime. I really love her school.

Our life is filled with book fairs, kids' birthday parties, stacks of preschool artwork, playdates with school friends, long Saturdays of errands, and a messy house we're never in, except to sleep.

I guess I didn't realize how quickly it would happen once Kimmy started school and new activities, but I'm finally making friends in this town. This has been my biggest challenge in Bloomington--since it's a college town, people come and go and move on to different states and places in their lives. It's hard to make and keep friends because before you blink, they're done with this town and off and away. I haven't clicked with anyone in a close friends type of way until now. It's such a relief! Our next door neighbor and her kids rock; we have a ton in common. I know a few dance moms. I know a handful of school moms. I don't feel so isolated anymore! It's really nice to have a few people who are in the same phase of life with me. The introduction and hand-shaking phase is awkward at first (just like networking, which I suck at), but the rewards are great. I'm really excited to ride this wave.

Anyway, I'm just thankful for this phase of motherhood. My heart has been wavering a bit lately between trying to pull me back home to WV (where my friends and family and the great outdoors are, but where jobs and good benefits and a liberal mentality are not) and staying here. Now that the dullest part of my life is filling out a bit, I think I'll stay awhile--at least until I'm done with grad school.

Bloomington will forever be the place I remember as my growing place, no matter where I end up. This is where I found myself again and where I chose to plant my feet firmly, even when the soil was slippery wet. One day I'll look back on these challenging few years and smile knowing that I got to a place where the stress isn't quite so heavy, all while taking it in stride. If I've got one thing going for me, it's grit.

Now if I could just find the time and motivation to get in shape. Or maybe that's in a season up ahead, too.

Peace,
-Kels

Introspection

I'm an introvert. As if anyone didn't know.

Sometimes I can't function in an out-loud fashion. I have these bouncing, fleeting, swirling thoughts that I need complete quiet to assess. I have to hole up and retreat inside myself and connect the bigger picture in my head. I'm always searching for profundity in all things, big and small. (There are actually a bunch of cool words for this phenomenon.) It's just my thing. I have been this way for as long as I can remember.

I holed up on Saturday.

When I go into myself like this, I just stop talking to my peeps for days on end. I avoid small talk at all costs (but let's be honest: I do this all the time because if I have nothing worthwhile to say or think that I'm responding to something that has no depth, I would rather not talk at all). It's like I can't come back out of my shell until I'm defragmented on the inside.

Until recently, I couldn't even put words to what this process is like, but here's my crack at a semi-articulate version. It's kind of like the 5 stages of grief as I weave back and forth through the different steps until I'm at resolution.

Step 1: Self-analysis. I like to see if I can boil traits and characteristics and flaws I have down to the events or people in my life that may have caused or shaped them. Basically I try to figure out why I am the way I am...why I do things, think things, and interpret things as I do.

Step 2: Complete radio silence. As little speaking as possible. Lots of reading. Lots of sleeping (well, as much as my hectic schedule will allow). Lots of calm and quiet surrounding my in-process thoughts.

Step 3: Synthesis. I start to think in essay-like structure about the dots I've been connecting, and then I write in my journal a lot. Though last night I couldn't find my journal ANYWHERE. I tore my house apart. I am so bummed. But I absolutely had to write in that moment to get clarity on a few things, so I made due with another notebook. It's amazing how cathartic it is to purge onto the page.

Step 4: Music. I go on a total music binge. I will stay awake hours past my bedtime to soak in as many tunes as possible in this phase. Last night I was up until 2:30am listening to Wild + Free on Spotify.

Step 5: Revamp. When I'm almost done cleaning up my insides, I start to goal-set and focus on a handful of very particular things. This week I've been hyper-focused on homework, clean eating, and drinking tons of water. My goal has been 1 gallon of water per day, and today will be the 3rd day in a row I've hit it. I tend to be kind of chronically dehydrated all the time (a bizarre holdover from my aversion to drinking water when I was pregnant with Kimmy), so it's good to feel hydrated and refreshed!

Once I'm revamped and in a groove, I re-join society.

Kinda weird, right? But it's me. Introvert through and through.

Peace,
-Kels

Ladies, don't apologize

I see so many women apologizing all over themselves all the time.

Men don't do this. Many men don't ever apologize, even if it's something big that they're clearly wrong about. I'm not saying we should never apologize or turn into assholes, but there has to be a limit. We're not indebted to society just by being female, yet I see these powerful, independent, wholly beautiful females continually caving to society's standard of being meek, demure, polite, quiet, subdued little creatures who are expected to not live their lives out loud when men are clearly not held to that same standard.

I think it's time we stop.

I'm my happiest me these days, and a large part of it has come from taking care of myself, especially mentally and emotionally. Yes, read between those lines: I've been putting myself first. I don't owe anyone anything, aside from owing my daughter a great childhood with a great mother...which in turn comes from me being a good, stable, happy person all on my own. And so we're right back to that mental and emotional health piece. See how that works?

I'm done feeling like my happiness comes from others. It comes from within me. I find it by paving my own way, following my heart, listening to my own head, and making my own damn mistakes--not from seeking out my next steps from other people.

Here is a list of things I've generally stopped apologizing for:

• my emotions--if I feel something, I am perfectly valid for feeling it
• missing someone's phone call
• not immediately responding to someone's text or IM
• speaking my mind or stating an opinion, whether it conflicts with someone else's or not
• how I spend my money
• where I choose to travel and when and with whom
• who I choose to talk to
• the clothes I wear
• what I eat
• what I drink
• my body/weight: I'm proud of this mom body because it's a freaking gold, chubby trophy of all the trials and tribulations I have endured over the last 5 years. It is what it is, and no one else is entitled to an opinion.
• my faith (okay, I've never apologized for this and never will, but I'm listing it anyway)
• the music I like
• laughing too loudly or too much
• crying, no matter the reason
• forgetting to tell someone something that they could just as easily have found out on their own
• not knowing if I want things like marriage, more kids, etc.
• my decision-making process on any topic under the sun
• not wearing makeup on any given day
• my timeline...for life, an activity, a goal, whatever
• the way I parent my daughter
• being good at something

It basically boils down to this: If you're a kind person with good intentions who generally does her best to treat people well and with respect, you've got nothing to apologize for. Your friends and family know you and know what you're all about--if they happen to disagree with something you do, you still don't have to apologize for it. Own it and prove them wrong! Do what makes you happy!

If you do something hurtful or wrong, sure, unleash an authentic apology and own your mistake; be the first to speak up and make it right. But if you've done nothing wrong and have simply encountered a personality or values clash, zip your lips. You don't owe anyone an explanation! If someone is offended by the way you live your life, that's on them. Free yourself.

Peace,

-Kels

P.S. Yesterday a really close friend inadvertently did something that hurt me, noticed it may have upset me, and took the time to reach out to me to verify that I was indeed upset. Then he sincerely apologized to me, and he even let me ramble on about all the reasons why it upset me and got on my level and listened to me. It was the best feeling I've had in a while. Who does that? Not many people. We're so busy blundering our way through apologies over the stuff that doesn't matter that it dulls the apologies for the stuff that does. Make it count when you tell someone you're sorry.

To the mom who jokes about being a temporary single mom

This has bothered me for 2 years, so I'm just going to get right to it.

I periodically stumble across a status here or there on Facebook during my late-night mindless scrolling that says something along the lines of, "Well, hubby is away for 2 weeks, and I'm home alone with the kids. Time to be a single mom," or, "After my afternoon trip to the mall alone with the kids, I don't know how single moms do it."

I can't begin to tell you how deeply offensive this is.

Even if it's followed by a "kudos," it's not a compliment. It stings even worse, actually, because it proves that you don't see us. If you did, you'd never say that.

Being a single parent is not something you choose. It's not something you can turn on and off. It's not something you set out to be. It is thrust upon you, either by person or by circumstance. If you love your child, you'll do it. That's "how we do it." We have to. There is no other option.

It is not a life I would ever wish on anyone. I love my daughter more than life itself, but being a single mom is the hardest job I will ever have. I am physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially stretched 100% of the time. I truly worry that I will die of a heart attack before I'm 40 from stress. I honestly worry about this. I am exhausted day in and day out. I dream of naps I will never, ever get to take. I dream of an empty sink and clean carpets and plenty of washed and folded clothes to choose from on any given day. I dream of a shower.

[Fun fact: I probably only shower 4 times a week at the most. Why? I need sleep more than I need a full shower. I opt for a soap-and-water washcloth wipe all the other times.]

While your little "single mom" charade is temporary, mine is not. Where you have a light at the end of the tunnel (husband, fiance, boyfriend), I have nothing but endless days of sole-responsibility monotony with my highest expectation being that of merely keeping my head above water.

While you may bicker with your significant other about child-rearing, I have to pay a lawyer thousands of dollars several times a year in order to have assistance having a civil, productive conversation with my daughter's father in a courtroom.

While you get to pick and choose when you get solo time away from your kids, I only get it as it is thrust upon me by court-mandated visitation. This is not time I spend in blissful solitude; this is time I split equally between worrying about/missing my daughter and engaging in morning-to-night activities to try to distract myself from such loneliness.

While you get breaks from certain tasks (chores, errands, being "on" as a parent, etc.), know that I never do. Even if my child is away, I'm the only other one who lives here, and I have to do every bit of it.

While you get a literal pair of arms to sink into on tough days, I get only beautiful toddler arms--they are my favorite arms, but these are hugs in which I have to be the strong, sturdy, consoling one. I don't ever get to fall apart.

When you get to unwind sitting next to another human body each evening, I sit silently by myself and marvel at how I've simply made it through another day.

It's not glamorous. At all. I'm a joyful person who seeks out happiness and adventure, despite (and in spite of) this single mom role, and I find it and share it--that's what you see. That's what I get complimented on, and I can't thank you enough for that.

But you don't walk in my shoes on the days when everything around me seems to be an obstacle in my path. The days when I trudge through mud all day long only to go to sleep and do the same thing all day the next day. When I'm one straw away from feeling like I have reached my final limit, and I may actually self-combust from enduring so much stress.

So when someone jokes about being a single mom, yes, I take offense. And, no, I'm not overreacting.

I'm not in the slightest trying to say that I deserve congratulations for parenting all by myself or that I'm better than any other type of mom for it. In fact, I'd argue that I'm a worse mom. My daughter gets the butt end of my lack of patience every single evening when we're both exhausted and fumbling through our bedtime routine. She misses out on a lot of great experiences because we can't afford to do them with our extremely limited household budget. When we're bickering, she can't just go to the other parent for comfort. We're all we've got, and it's not just me doing all the struggling on rough days.

This is not about comparison. This is simply about understanding. If you're lucky enough to be parenting your kids with a partner, I just want you to understand that, no, you don't actually know what this is like. You don't feel what I feel. You couldn't. And I truly hope that you never have to.

But the next time you're about to vent about not knowing how a single parent does it because of your very small glimpse into what it's like to have to do everything all by yourself with no end in sight, I hope that you'll keep that thought to yourself and post something else on Facebook instead.

-Kels