Your Child’s Strengths is one of my favorite books, and my love for it really has nothing to do with children. Most “find your strengths” books come in Business Flavor, with strategies on leadership and how to energize your existing staff by identifying their strengths. While these books may allow you to narrow down if you’re “Analytical” or an “Ideation,” there you are, limiting yourself, and I’m not sure you’re learning all that much. I find it far more insightful to get a bird’s eye view of our lives, our decisions and habits, then to cull distinct strengths from observations across different pockets of our life.

Held within the pages of  Your Child’s Strengths are answers to who we are, each of us, and the answers aren’t written in paragraphs and inspirational stories of those often regarded as successful. The book, penned by Jennifer Fox, M. Ed. is loaded with prompts and exercises designed to reveal what your (child’s) strengths are.

It’s odd, don’t you think, that we are all too quick with a numbered list of our shortcomings, but we rarely have a quick answer to such a simple question: What’s special about who you are?

I’ve noted throughout the pages and posts of this Greek Tragedy blog that what makes us special is the fact that we’re here, that we’re born special, and I believe it. But we lose our way sometimes—I still feel my way through the dark wondering if I’m living my best life—and we’re not all striving to be our brightest selves each day, not when we become complacent and mired in our familiar.

The other night, I asked the beans to tell me one thing that was really special about who they are.

Lucas: My whole body is special because it lets me get stinky.
Abigail: My nose because it lets my boogies go in and out, in and out.

They were in a silly mood, a mood that lightened me. It wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind when I asked the question, but their responses made me realize how important it is for me to emphasize their unique qualities and strengths to them (focusing on things they can work on. Because saying, “you’re so smart” doesn’t give them pride. I think it starts to feel empty. I prefer, “I admire how well you were concentrating; what a wonderful quality you have of really paying attention during math games.” Strengths bloom and change with time, but what better gift can I give them than handing over my full attention, with a sharp focus on who they are, as originals, before they strive to become copies. It’s not just them, I owe it to myself to work through the same exercises, to really dig and reveal what my strengths are. One thing’s for sure, they’re not from my upper body.

Come, play along…
Your Child’s Strengths breaks strengths into four categories:
1) Activity Strengths
2) Relationship Strengths
3) Learning Strengths
4) Looking to the Future

Examine the activities you do at home. We have strengths often in one part of a sequenced activity but not in the whole. You basically do this simple thing, like washing dishes, and can extract insight from it, to apply to the rest of your life. Here’s an exercise from the book (I also love the idea of couples doing this exercise to learn more about each other).

Take two different colored pens or markers (for this example, green and red). Look at a list of household activities, and break them into at least 3 smaller parts. For example, “cleaning up after a meal” can be broken into clearing the table, washing the dishes, and emptying the dishwasher. So, you have a big list of things like: Cleaning up, cooking, grocery shopping, making the bed, doing laundry, decorating, organizing, dusting, etc… and you break each task into at least 3 parts… under the broad headlines of IN THE KITCHEN, IN YOUR ROOM, FOR THE HOUSEHOLD, FAMILY INTERACTIONS (Family Interactions: Shopping, wrapping gifts, entertaining guests, talking about problems).

Everything you list should either be underlined in red (hate doing it) or green (love doing it). Be Switzerland with nothing. Just pick a side, can you barely tolerate it or do you not mind it so much?

For everything underlined in green give no more than two sentences about what it is exactly that you like about the job. Do the same for red, what you DON’T like about them.

Now look at your green items. If you had to choose one job to do and you could stop doing all the rest, which is the one you’d choose to keep doing? Draw a PLUS SIGN beside it. Do the same for the red list, with one sentence about what you dislike most about this single job, adding a MINUS SIGN beside it.

Making The Connections
Make two columns on a page. WANT TO DO / DON’T WANT TO DO (here’s where it gets really interesting). Add the green items to the WANT list, reds to the DON’T WANT.

Now, fill in the following blanks with either an activity you said you enjoyed or one that you marked in green… repeat this with more than just that one (PLUS) activity. Perhaps choose your top three or five.

The part I like best is… (choose one of the three broken down elements)
If I could put what I enjoy doing about this activity into one word, the word would be….

Example:
I like this action: Grocery Shopping
Breakdown: Making the list, Choosing ingredients in the store, Arranging all the groceries at home
The part I like best is: Making the list.
One word that describes what I like best would be… Planning.

Now, look at the two words you came up with for that last part (because you did it with more than one activity. For brevity sake, I only included the one action: Grocery Shopping). You are going to use these to help you think of a few more things you do that you haven’t listed yet.

Next, fill in these blanks:
I feel energized when I am……….. BLANK.
Here is a list of other activities that involve using this word:……… BLANK.

Use your green pen to circle the activity you enjoy the most of the ones you just listed. Recall the last time you were involved in the activity. Then write five sentences describing what you were doing and when it was. Repeat these steps using the other word. These statements are the beginnings of understanding your Activity Strengths.

As a parent of young children, it’s my job to take notes of the activities my child naturally likes. For each activity, try to isolate the part that s/he most enjoys. I’ll know this by the amount of time spent on a task or by a visible sense of joy or deep concentration (like when they’re involved, faces contort, tongues stick out).

Another activity included in Your Child’s Strengths would make such a fun date night, and you can add alcohol (it’s also fun to do with kids). Bring a camera to a public place where lots of jobs are going on. The grocery store, train station, shopping mall, a school, sporting event, etc. Take 10-20 photos of all the various activities and jobs you see.

Look at the photos at home and write down all the tasks you can think of that are involved in each different job you photographed. For example, if you took photo of an umpire, list all the things you think an ump has to do, aside from constantly adjusting his balls. Then arrange the photos into groups of jobs that seem to have similar activities associated with them. Choose which jobs have the most activities that you think would appeal to you. Then discuss or write why, and which would NOT appeal to you.

I love introspection and learning about ourselves, revealing patterns in our lives, and I love that this is a gift I can give to myself and to my children.

Work brings Phil to New York for the next two weeks. He left yesterday, so today was day one as single mom. I’m happy to report that I avoided both wine and drugs—aside from the hormones I’m taking that make me want to yank people to the ground and kick them in the labia. It’s actually, and I’ve felt this before, liberating. I feel slightly guilty for having these giddy feelings, enjoying so much not having to compromise. I feel free. I don’t think this is how I’m supposed to feel, relieved. That can’t be good. But it feels like pudding time.

First thing I did when Phil left was sat the beans down for a chat about rules. With Papa gone for two weeks, things are going to change. Mama has her own way of doing things, and one of those things involves “no TV.” I was wholly surprised that I was met with no resistance. I’ve placed all the remotes in a high cupboard and it’s understood that we as a family won’t be watching television. They in no way feel it’s a punishment. In fact, I think they’re excited. Instead of their nightly “just one quick show?” it’s become “you mean I get to choose whichever book I want, no matter how long it is for a bedtime story?” And I love it. I feel like I’m nourishing their souls. It just feels right. It’s night two, mind you. I might want to drop-kick them on night thirteen.

After breakfast, I scrubbed floors and cleaned toilets. Very chic. Wiped noses, packed lunches, wiped an ass, washed hands. Did a French braid twice. Other accomplishments today: I researched kids lunches because they need more variety. Unsuccessfully shopped for jicama (really Whole Foods? Get it together). Fruit skewers. Bento buddies. Laptop lunchboxes. I’m giving Lucas an ice cream cone with a scoop of peanut butter, swirled with fresh sliced strawberries. He asks for peanut butter on everything; he’d eat it off a napkin. Tomorrow, they’ve chosen “Breakfast for lunch,” so we packed their lunches together. Granola, Greek yogurt, strawberries, waffles and the faintest trace of syrup, just enough for them to think they have a “side” of maple syrup instead of what it is: a single lick. Tomorrow night’s breakfast? Omelets and bacon. Dinner? Spaghetti tacos. Also up tomorrow: L&A begin gymnastics classes at Twisters after school. We’re all really looking forward to it. The place is truly kid (and parent, given their weekend drop-off hours) paradise.

I reorganized the fridge. It might not sound like a thrill ride, but I can tell you this much: it had me yodeling. Well, no. But I was likely singing show tunes as I rearranged, not needing to justify why I hauled all the fruits out of their bin, so they could be in plain sight for me (because I always forget shit is in there). With everything in it’s Stephanie-appointed place, I feel like I can breathe. Order, odd bits tucked away. It feels peaceful, and here’s this word again, freeing. No cluttered night table (I moved all of Phil’s stuff off his bedside table, so I don’t need to look at stacks of mail and work papers). It feels restful.

Without him here, I realize that I sometimes take Ambien because I resent always being the last person to fall asleep. What a strange thing to realize about yourself. I get irritated that he can fall asleep so easily, and that I toss and turn, with a day running through my head, thoughts pinging. And maybe I just want to avoid the TV/computer/iPad existence we’ve co-created. There was a time in my life when slipping into bed meant music and talking and sweetness, but maybe that’s just the beginning of things. Because all relationships start that way. Then eventually you’ve already heard their stories and fears and thoughts, or you don’t want to ask about them because they involve you and why they’re frustrated. This sounds sad, feels mean, feeling this. But without Phil here, bedtime feels delicious. I can slip under the covers, burn a candle and read a book. No fcuking sitcoms or channel surfing or basketball game in the background. If I’d like, and I do, I can fall asleep, as I used to do so long ago, to one of my favorite chick films, the ones I watch over and again, to the point where I don’t need to look up to know what’s happening on the screen. I’ve memorized every gesture and eyebrow. And I hope he’s enjoying not having to compromise, that he’s relishing his “Phil only” time.

I composed a kale, swiss chard, white bean chicken chili with curls of Parmesan. And Abigail devoured it without a single complaint of too many greens. Lucas didn’t want dinner−sweet boy has a cold, and he opted for bed, early. He is such a love, just sugar. After reading him his choice of bedtime story—and he did manage to find the longest book we own—he slipped beneath his covers and sighed. Abigail crouched beside him and pet his head before giving him a good night kiss. Then I sighed. Then Lucas said, “Your turn Mama because I could use more kisses.” Swoon.

Then I assembled the trash, yanking up garbage bags, at the ready for tomorrow’s AM collection. And then, quite catastrophically, the garbage disposal crapped out on me, stuffed and swampy, with floating strawberry greens and general nastiness. So I phoned Phil to complain, which no doubt made him sigh, if only to feel needed or useful from even far away. Though, he might say “There’s always something; why must you involve me? Can’t you just take care of it?” Or his favorite line, “Why when I have to do something, I do it, but when you have to do something, Stephanie and Phil have to do it?”  But he said none of these things. He texted me the handyman’s contact information, and that was that. Just shows that my “intuitive knowing”—those back and forth conversations I play at in my head—have to add to the shackled dynamic, the one I feel (mostly) free of when I’m alone. We all play a part, even when we pull double duty and play both of them.

I don’t want to be this mother, and I caught myself doing it, adding to the very atmosphere and co-created relationship I hate. I heard myself competing with another mother.

I’m a Montessori psycho. I actually went to Michael’s, sorted beads, bought jewelry supplies—clippers that resemble medieval torture devices—and am teaching them the decimal system. (I heard myself do it the other day-exactly what I hate!) I was bragging about MYSELF, not my kids. I was beyond obnoxious.

“Yeah, I’m teaching them odds & evens.” What is wrong with me?! Why would I do that? Clearly, I’m insecure. I feel like there’s some race, and I want to win it, but of course there’s no race. In fact, it’s the opposite, right? “It all goes by so fast,” so savor it, don’t race through it.

When conversations like that happen between mothers, it’s not even about the kids. It’s about the parenting. I want to believe I’m doing all that I can, but why would I say it aloud? I know I do what I can, know what I do, and that should be enough. I shouldn’t need to broadcast it on the bragging channel.

Why would I offer that up in conversation? Yes, she was telling me how her daughter reads full books, and it—I hate to admit this—hit a nerve. An old nerve. Because I’ve already made peace with this. Or have I? It’s amazing I can walk at all when I’m always tripping over my ego.

Hey, at least I’m aware. Next time I hear myself starting in, I’m going to ask my poor victim to smack my ass, to remind me that I’m being one. Because, truly, I don’t want to be this. I refuse to turn into this.

I will say this though. I genuinely enjoy teaching them math. Let me rephrase. I enjoy teaching them anything hands-on, anything visual. While I try to make practicing writing their letters and numbers fun, it’s hard work, and it takes a lot of patience, on everyone’s part. I try window crayons and markers, drawing in sand, finger paint, chalk, oil pastels, colored soap on bathtub walls. I try, my God, I try. But math is easier for me to teach—oh, the irony!—because it usually involves food. Baking is math heaven. So, there’s my excuse. By the way, evens & odds are very easy to teach to twins. I’ll post a video. Or not.

Pin It

Sir Luke surprised me this morning. I wasn’t drilling, just probing, assessing how much these sweet beans know. What do yellow and red make? “Orange,” he said without looking up. Blue and yellow? “Green.” Scoop of vanilla, scoop of chocolate, don’t waste my time, lady. Red and blue. “Yawn.”

Only he said “purple” in lieu of “yawn.” When I asked Abigail the same questions, she looked up at me. Guilty. “I don’t know my colors as well as I should,” she said in a way that kind of broke my heart. It doesn’t matter if she knows them or not, that’s not what hit me. It was that tone of apology. I know how hard that is, to admit—and make no mistake, that’s what it feels like, a huge confession, strung up in a net of shame—what we don’t know, what we’ve done or got wrong. I wonder now, only briefly really, if it’s a learned tone, something she hears in my voice when I speak with Phil. I doubt it, not because the tone isn’t knit into my sentences—it has to be, and even now I can hear it in my own mother’s voice, a voice I can replay from childhood—but because I’ve seen it everywhere for as long as I can remember. The problem is, I associate that apologetic choke of words with “knowing better,” an understanding between right and wrong. I don’t want my children to associate not knowing something with degradation.

I kiss her on the crown of her head, smelling her shampooed hair, a floral clean. Then I crouch to meet her eyes and explain, “Don’t ever feel bad about not knowing something, okay? I don’t know a gazillion million things! Know what you should feel good about? Wanting to learn, asking questions, and being curious. It’s one of the things I love most about you. Never stop asking questions.”

“Mama,” she asks, now smiling and full of sass, “Are we going to learn our colors or what?” Her hands are now on her hips. She is my rainbow.

In the shower today, I thought about what I’d want my New Year’s resolution to be. In the past, I would’ve planned for this decision and not left it until the DAY OF to decide, “Who do I want to be this year?” Clearly “stop procrastinating” has never made the cut.

That is the question though. Who do I want to be? Because who I’ve been is behind me; it doesn’t dictate who I am now any more than the wake steers the ship. So, with the opportunity to dream big—and the belief that the promise matters more, as if there’s some magical universe listening especially hard today—I don’t want to fritter away my choice. I want to make it count.

I kept circling the idea, “Post a blog post every single day in the year 2012.” But in good conscience, I can’t land on it. Not only is it wholly unrealistic, but it also won’t satisfy the right feelings. Last year my three feelings of choice were WISE, GIDDY, and…and I can’t remember the third without cheating (carefreedom – also I just re-read and love this post!). This year the feelings I hope to experience most are:

1) Productive
2) Proud of myself
3) Peaceful (free from anxiety or distress)

The Triple “P” Threat. I wouldn’t feel proud of myself posting just anything only because I resolved to.

That’s a lie.

Because I have, on many occasions, done just that—given this blog quantity instead of quality, and you know what? I think I’m better off sticking with quantity, letting the universe course through me, touching the posts of this blog and the pages of my writing with quality.

As people age, usually around the time of retirement, we start to think about our legacy, what we’ll leave behind. Not just what we’ll appropriate, but we want to know that something of us is left behind. Basically, we want something to show for the life we’ve lived. That’s what I want for my days, for there to be “something to show for it” every day. That’s what I resolve to do this year, have something to show for it. For me that likely means something creative, or teaching something specific (not just indirectly through modeling behavior) to my children. And I need to document it. With a camera, a blog post, a video, a journal entry. At the end of this year, I want something to show for it.

I also know this year holds a LOT of change for me. It’s why I’m including “Peaceful.” It’s a lofty goal, one I might rarely reach, but I like the aim. Here’s to my year of not giving a shit about most things and focusing the care on what I actually care about: making memories (and meals), teaching my children to cook, documenting my everyday with more photographs and journal entries, leaning into new wisdom and showing something for what I’ve learned, in a quote, in a painting, in a flow chart–I don’t care what the form is, so long as it’s there, a history of my year of 2012.

Being disorganized has its merits. Today, for example, while combing through my GSD (Getting Shit Done) list, I stumbled upon this blog post, one I never posted, and it brought some insight into my December…

I owe Phil. Something big, a pass on all the times he’s short-tempered. No, wait. That might be getting ahead of myself. I owe him because today I came home with a mood you could taste. Like, when you inhale your perfume or eat too much garlic. I was at least aware of it, warning everyone in my wake to lay low. Because TWO HOURS in a HALLOWEEN STORE will do this to a person.

Every last costume we wanted has already been snagged up. Originally, we thought Abigail would dress as the Wicked Witch of the West, Lucas as the Cowardly Lion, Phil as the Tin Man without a heart, and me, Abigail insisted, as Dorothy, “looking everywhere to find home,” blind to the fact that home is always with you.

I owe Phil because when I walked into that house, I was wearing his mood, the one I see more often than I don’t. Only at my wits end moment, I at least made enough room to ask for some.

… And my December insight is this: the wake doesn’t drive the boat. What’s in the past, the ripple that pulls away from our boat, isn’t going to propel us forward. We need to let go… whether it’s letting go of an earlier part of our day, or it’s loosening our grip on the stories we’ve held onto that have made us right. Just because I’ve allowed certain behavior in the past, doesn’t mean I have to live it now. You can let go of the labels you’ve been giving yourself; you don’t have to be a disorganized mess. You can up and suddenly be absurdly on top of things. I can choose to react differently, to change my mind, or to truly see a different point of view. And, right now, the view from here looks bright. Or maybe I’m just happier because Phil hasn’t lost his temper in a really long time, and it has been a joy, he has been a joy more often than not.