Ornaments

A family member recently asked on her Facebook page if people let their kids decorate the family Christmas tree, or if they did it themselves, because they wanted it to look "picture perfect."

The majority of her friends who responded said that they had the kids help. Some admitted to tweaking the placement after the kids were in bed, but only slightly. I remember doing that; I have a photo of my two year old hanging every ornament that she had on the same branch. We told her what a big helper she was, and moved them after she was asleep. I'm not going to have a discussion about ideal placement (and branch strength) with someone in diapers.

The discussion made me think of a conversation that I had with a friend, years ago. She wanted a perfect living room, so she put up a tree in another room, not visible to visitors, and, in her words, "made it a junk tree." I looked really confused, so she explained - "You know - hanging up all those crappy looking things the kids made." Oh. Well. Those are some of my favorite ornaments. My daughter was thrilled at 5 when I used the angel she made out of a paper plate for the top of our tree; at 15, she was mortified. I still loved it.

I admire trees with matching, themed, color coordinated ornaments. I really do. They're lovely. But I want my tree to hold memories.

Every year, we got the children a new ornament. When they got old enough, we let them choose their own. We end up with ornaments like this on our tree:

We get a little grief for it. "Oh, yeah," one visitor said. "Nothing says Christmas like Darth Vader." Hey, that Vader makes my son happy, and it makes me happy.

So does Darth Maul; he's from the year that my son dressed as Darth Maul at the Disneyland Halloween party.

You can tell a lot about my childrens' interests by the ornaments they chose.

These came in children's meals at a fast food place one year; all of my kids got the full set of 4 (there's also a Whoville house, and Max the dog with a tied on antler).

My son made this one at Scout camp.

We generally commemorate events of the year with ornaments. This is from the year that my youngest daughter danced in "The Nutcracker" on a local showroom stage.

These were actually on an onstage tree the year 4 of us were in "A Christmas Carol." That's a laminated ticket tied on when the ornament came home after the show, and went on our tree.

Years ago, we decided to start collecting ornaments when we travel. Most of these were bought on vacation; sometimes, we buy something after we've gotten home that reminds us of the trip. (There's no shortage of Eiffel Tower ornaments in stores!) The photo is from the Big Island of Hawaii, commemorating our hike in to the island's green sand beach. We've also printed wedding photos onto metal ornaments.

 

These are from Germany. My maternal grandmother's family emigrated from there; I bought these when I visited Germany for the first time. The visit helped explain some of my grandma's taste; there were red geraniums everywhere.

Sometimes, we go with things that aren't actually designed to be ornaments. The one from Hawaii is supposed to be a bookmark; the Minnie hat is an antennae ball. The swordfish was just what my son chose one year when he couldn't find an ornament that he liked. Hey, we can adapt.

Until this year, when our immediate family reached 9 with the addition of spouses, we tried to add a personalized family ornament every year. Sometimes, they're travel reminders, too. We got the orca the year we went to San Diego at Christmas.

Some of our ornaments are more traditional. I cherish my mother's delicate glass ornaments. I remember breaking many of them during my childhood.

All together, they make for a beautiful tree that makes me happy every time I see it.

Making Time

"Is your family close?" a classmate once asked me.

"Like, am I close to my siblings?"

"No, the rest of your family, like aunts and cousins."

"Oh, yeah, my family is really close!" I said with enthusiasm. "We get together every holiday, at my aunt's house." I looked forward to those family parties.

"Every holiday?"

"Yeah. You know - Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July - holidays." The girl who'd asked was looking really puzzled; I thought that the concept of "holiday" was pretty clear. "All my relatives on my dad's side are there. Not the ones who live really far away, but the ones who live an hour or two away all come, too."

"That's when you see your cousins?"

"Yeah, usually." There were a couple of cousins that I saw more often; we'd go to my cousin Lynne's cabin for a week in the summer, for instance. But if you asked, "When do you see your cousins?" the answer would be, "On holidays."

She gave me a look like she'd give to spoiled fruit. "If you only see your family on holidays, that means that you don't really like each other."

What? That made no sense to me. "No, it doesn't! We get along great!"

"I see my cousins at least three or four times a week," my classmate said. "Sometimes, every day."

What? I couldn't imagine that. Not because I didn't like my cousins, but because I couldn't quite imagine seeing anyone that often, unless they lived on the same block. Who drives to other people's houses several times a week?

Turns out, lots of people do. More power to them; I think that's great. I just come from more solitary people.

(Once my husband asked me, in aggravation, "When you get older, are you going to become a complete hermit?" My brother was visiting, and he answered for me: "It's inevitable; it's hereditary.")

I feel like I have a lot of friends, and a lot of close friends. I feel like my extended family is close. That doesn't mean that we see, or talk to, each other frequently. I always thought that "being close" was about how comfortable you felt with people, how much you liked them - not how often you were in contact. One of my long time friends said it well: "I don't have to see my friends every day to know who they are." You know that "pick up right where you left off" feeling? That's pretty much how I define "close."

I am often baffled by other definitions. "If you're important to someone, they'll make time for you," people say. Well, sure, but how frequent does that time need to be?

I once upset someone who was telling me how ignored by their sister they felt. Their examples were making little sense to me; it wasn't "She won't answer my phone calls," it was, "She doesn't call often enough." When I was, I guess, less sympathetic than she wanted me to be, she snapped, "How would you feel if you went weeks without hearing from your sister?"

"I do go weeks without hearing from my sister. I routinely go months without hearing from my sister. Sometimes, I hear from her twice a year - my birthday and Christmas."

She looked aghast. "Have you had a fight?"

"No! I adore my sister! She adores me!"

"Are you sure? It doesn't sound like it."

"Yes! I'm sure!"

Truly, the sister in question - I have two, one who lives near me and one who doesn't; I was speaking of the one who lives hundreds of miles away - is one of the nicest, most considerate people you will ever meet. I feel positively cherished by her. I don't think that I have to hear from her frequently in order for that to be true. She loves me, she'd be here in a heartbeat if I said, "I need you," she'd give me her internal organs if I needed them. And she calls every few months. This is OK! And if I needed to hear from her more often, I'd call her - it's not healthy to put my needs on her (or anyone else). I'm responsible for meeting my own needs.

I have four siblings, none of whom I see frequently, or call frequently, or go out to lunch with regularly. There are no festering resentments, no issues, no "grit your teeth and get through obligatory contact" on anyone's part. This makes sense to me. It makes sense to them.

It's the same with my friends. At least, it is on my part. Honestly, the last time I had a friend who felt that we had to get together, or at least talk on the phone, two or three times a week, I felt absolutely oppressed. I found it excessively clingy and needy. I also found it weird that she'd approached me in public just because our kids were roughly the same age. I mean, I liked her, but I was glad when a move meant that she needed a new, in the neighborhood, buddy. I can only be readily available for so long, and then I'll start hiding in the bathroom, and feigning illness.

I hear about women feeling alone and isolated, desperate for mom friends, and I know that they really are in pain, but trust me, I am not. We can't expect everyone to want what we want.

Two of my close friends are the kind of person I honestly thought was a myth before I met them. They are the kind of person who strikes up a conversation in line at the grocery store, in line at amusement parks, with the people at the table next to them in restaurants. They often walk away from meeting new people with names and phone numbers. Just the thought of it makes me exhausted enough to collapse into a puddle on the floor. If I thought that I had to not only make conversation but forge a lasting connection with someone who stood next to me waiting for Splash Mountain, I would just stop going places.

And, of course, they would be unhappy living my life.

I think that's the key - are you happy? If so, OK. If not, then you do what you need to do to fix it.

And if you think that someone's ignoring you, don't take it personally. They may be happy as a clam, thinking that you're best buddies.

Because, hey, if my cousins don't like me, well, I'm blissfully unaware, and what we have going is working for us. I like them, I think that they like me, and they don't have to hang out with me every week. Bam! Success.

Praiseworthy

Someone posted an article recently about the latest Young Adult in Hollywood Behaving Badly, and a friend of mine commented with a sentiment that I've heard many times before - "There aren't enough adults in (his/her) life saying no."

We all know this - we recognize it to be true. Give a young person fame, money and few boundaries, and chances are, it will turn out badly. Very few people can handle that kind of constant indulgence without turning into a self involved jerk with no reasonable decision making skills.

Sometimes, though, we seem to feel that it's about the money and fame more than it is about the lack of boundaries. "You've got to support your kids," people say, when what they mean is, "I'm afraid to tell my kid 'no.'" We worry so much about our kids' self esteem, and obsess that we might hurt their feelings or squash their dreams, that we find ourselves unable to set boundaries.

I know people who are just terrified to think that their children will ever be upset, hurt or disappointed in any way. While I adore my kids, and it pains me when they hurt, I have never thought that they are, or should be, exempt from the human condition. It is not my job to tell them that everything they think and do is amazing, or even correct.

My mother, and any parent of her generation or before, would have laughed herself silly if someone told her that her that her job, as a parent, was to make her kids happy. My mother was not perfect, believe me, but you criticize her parenting at your peril.

Mom was a very sensible, logical person. She was not stingy with praise, but it was always earned and matter of fact. If she said, "You worked hard on that project; you deserved an A," she said it the same way she said, "It's time for dinner," or, "You have a dentist's appointment on Tuesday." It was simply a fact.

That was also how she delivered criticism. "You can do better," "You made a mess; now clean it up" or "That's not going to work" were also delivered as a fact, not a value judgment. She knew when I'd thrown an assignment together, even if I got an A on it. Then, she neither praised or discounted the result, just observed, correctly, "Well, (that subject) has always been easy for you." Sometimes, I was annoying, disrespectful, lazy, unorganized, neglectful, hostile or any number of other "negative" things. She never hesitated to call me (or my siblings) on it, but I never, ever felt that she didn't love me because she was angry or disappointed. I also never felt that she loved me more when I was easy to parent - obedient, helpful, focused on my schoolwork. Her response to any action on my part depended on the action. Her love for me - for anyone - was entirely separate from behavior.

She did not gush over my every effort, no matter how tiny, assuring me that I was so much smarter, more talented, more worthy than other people. She also never put me down and made me believe that I'd never be good enough, no matter what I did.

At church, they told us that we were all children of God, and therefore, special. So, I felt special; but, I recognized that everyone else was special, too.

I never really thought that the balance of praise to criticism, "yes" to "no," was that hard. For one thing, Mom made everything she did look effortless. For another thing, the fact of the matter was what was important. If she'd told me that my crayon scribble was better than Picasso and it deserved to hang in a museum, that didn't mean that someone was going to come pay me millions for it and put it on display. If she'd told me that my "A" schoolwork was worthless, and that a chimpanzee could do better, it wouldn't suddenly change my correct answers to incorrect ones. Luckily, I never had to look for hidden meaning. If she pointed out that my room was a mess, it was a mess. If she said that my grandmother really appreciated the letter I'd sent, then Grandma was glad to get the letter. Simple.

Watching other people, though, it doesn't appear to be that simple. I see parents who feel that their child is never in the wrong, ever. Did the child get a citation for fighting at school? The other child involved is clearly in the wrong, and their angel was only trying to avoid being a victim. Did the child fail a test? The teacher didn't teach the material correctly. They didn't get the position they wanted on the sports team, or the solo they wanted in the chorus? It's because the coach or director doesn't like them, and favors another kid. These parents never ask their child to sit down and be still, to say please or thank you, to have a bedtime or to wait their turn, because the child doesn't like to. It causes the child to be unhappy, and that must be avoided at all costs!

Then there's the other end of the spectrum. I know (otherwise reasonable) people who believe that any praise is bad. It will cause the child to "get a big head." Compliments of any kind are also bad. They also believe that pointing out strengths, or things the child does well, are immaterial, and will prevent any improvement. In order to improve, the child must focus exclusively on what they do wrong. If you do ever pry a compliment out of them, it always has a "but" attached - "That was good, but it could be better." This is being "helpful," they're sure.

Both philosophies are well intentioned, but I believe that both are wrong. Balance is necessary.

The best Little League coach that my son ever had was the one who recognized each player's strengths and weaknesses, and tailored his praise and correction accordingly.

I try to do the same with the speech and debate team that I coach. I would never say to the kids who compete in the impromptu and extemporaneous events, "That's just lazy. You could memorize a piece if you wanted to. Why don't you do one of the events that takes actual preparation instead of taking the easy way out?" I would also never say to the kids who do events that require writing a piece, memorizing a piece, or both, "Anyone can do a decent job if half the work is done for them, and the piece is already written. Anybody can remember something they wrote themselves. Why don't you do something that's actually a challenge, and makes you use your brain on the spot? Are you too stupid to speak off the top of your head?" Each kid needs to figure out what they, personally, are good at, then do that thing. That may be the same thing their teammates are good at, or something vastly different.

I praise them when they do a good job, or even make an effort, and let them face the consequences when they don't do a good job. I've let my own kids walk into competition unprepared, knowing that they'll score badly (or completely crash and burn), because it's not my job to make sure that they never fail. It's my job to provide them with information and opportunity, and then let them learn. What cause equals what effect?

I have always tried to follow my mom's example and keep the same balance with my kids. I try to keep it very factual. Sometimes, they do a great job. Sometimes, they don't. I let them know that sometimes they'll win, and sometimes they'll lose. That's not a reflection on them, personally; it's how life works.

Anyone who's a parent, though, knows that children are not miniature adults, with fully formed reasoning capacity. They are irrational beings. They have no sense of scale - how big or small a problem is - and have undeveloped coping skills. Their brains are not done forming, even if they're intelligent.

My middle daughter has loved her persecution complex for her entire life. She clings to it like a life preserver in a stormy sea. When she was a child, good heavens, she spent most of her time simultaneously angry and depressed. In other words, she was a stereotypical adolescent.

She was about 14 when she informed me, sulkily, "You're always telling the baby, 'Good job!' You never say 'Good job' to me."

This was not the time to point out that when I did praise her - and it happened frequently - she would tell me, vehemently, why I was wrong. After a band concert, for instance, I'd tell her what a good job she did, and she'd snort in derision. "I screwed up the (musical term I don't understand)! I played the wrong note at least six times!"

I would say, "A performance is not measured by whether or not it's perfect. Professional musicians still make mistakes. A performance is measured by whether or not the audience enjoyed it, and they did."

"No, they didn't!" (Her knee-jerk response, the entire time she was growing up, was to disagree.) "Nobody liked it! They're only here because they have to be. Their kids are playing." She "corrected" me if I complimented her appearance ("I look stupid!"), schoolwork ("I didn't even try hard"), attitude ("Big deal"), helpfulness ("You make me do this stuff") or anything else. This is the child who informed me (repeatedly), "I'm obviously not as smart as you think I am."

Instead of pointing out how often I complimented her and was told that I'm wrong, I pointed out another obvious truth. "Just today, I said to the baby, 'You put your shirt on all by yourself! That's great!' The days when I would say that to you are long gone. No one will ever again say such a thing to you until you're 90 years old and in a nursing home. If you want me to say 'Good job,' you have to actually do a good job at something."

This is why humans do not have magical powers. If she could have reduced me to a pile of ashes right there on the spot, she would have.

When they were younger, my older two children complained bitterly when we made them clean up after themselves at fast food restaurants. They had to pick up anything they dropped, throw away their trash, wipe up spills and put away the tray. They both found this to be victimization of the highest order, and a clear violation of child labor laws. The complaints were loud and frequent. "Why do we have to clean up? Everybody else gets to just leave their stuff. It's not fair. They pay people to do this. This takes forever (a perennial favorite, no matter the job or how long it actually took). Why don't other people have to clean up their own mess, but we do?"

(Answer: "Because it's the right thing to do." This was not met with enthusiasm.)  The caterwauling reached a crescendo if we ever had them pick up a stray piece of trash along with their own.

When she was 16, my oldest went to work at a fast food restaurant. Almost from the first day, she came home complaining about people who didn't pick up their own messes. "People are pigs!" She resented having to do her regular duties and clean up after sloppy and lazy patrons. (I don't blame her.) She was especially scathing about parents who watched their kid(s) make a mess, then just got up and walked out.

I kept waiting for the mental light bulb to go on, and for her to make the connection, but it didn't seem to be happening. After 2 or 3 weeks, she was still complaining when we made her clean her own mess, as well as complaining about people who didn't pick up after themselves. All she had internalized at that point was, "I have to clean up whether I'm the customer or the employee. It's not fair!"

Then one day, she came home especially furious. A frequent customer had come in with his child, whom she described as "obnoxious" and "a filthy pig." Apparently he made considerable messes, and just walked away from it every time. "No one's ever going to want to be around that kid! No one's ever going to want to date him, or even be his friend."

Time to point out the obvious. "Now do you see why your dad and I always make you clean up your own mess? We don't want you to be one of those obnoxious people that nobody likes."

I swear to you, I actually watched the synapses fire in her brain while she finally connected the two thoughts, and her eyes grew wide. It was obviously the first time that this had occurred to her, yet she could see the truth of it. What decent parent wanted other people to feel that way about their child(ren)?

I don't think that we ever again heard "It's not fair!" complaints about having to pick up her own trash. My younger kids have done less complaining than the older ones because the older ones not only provide a good example, they're the first to let the younger ones know what's OK. "Pick that up! Nobody else needs to clean up your mess!"

In fact, one of the joys of this stage of my life is being around my adult children who are delightful, considerate people. "I used to be so jealous of those kids who got away with anything," my middle daughter said to me. "Then I got older and realized, those people are just obnoxious to be around. Nobody likes them."

It was never my job to have children who were happy every moment. It was my job to create functional adults. To a point, I agree with people who say, "We need to build up our kids, before the world tries to tear them down," but I sometimes disagree with the ideas others have about how that's done. I don't think that you "build up" a person by constantly telling them that everything they do is right and praiseworthy and good. You build them up by giving them the actual skills they need in order to function independently, competently and happily. You teach them how to work, how to cope with frustration, how to hear and respect the word "no," how to practice self control and how to consider the feelings of others as important. Those qualities are what will lead to them being happy. They won't be happy if they expect to always get their way and hear how amazing they are, no matter what they do. No matter who you are, those are unrealistic expectations.

I am not a perfect person or perfect parent. My kids are not perfect. Still, three out of my four kids are adults now, and if I do say so, they've turned out to be pretty great. So, yeah, I feel qualified to hold opinions on what's a good idea and what's not.

Young Hollywood: talent does not excuse rudeness. Everything you do, or consider doing, is not OK, funny, amazing or even justifiable. Sales of albums or movie tickets or mentions in the press do not equate to your worth as a human being. People around you, especially the ones telling you that you can do no wrong, are not "supporting" or helping you. Often, they're actually keeping you from reaching your potential. There's a reason for the term "spoiled rotten."

Those boring, outdated, out of touch people who tell you to knock it off, to tone it down, to dial it back - they're onto something. You might want to listen.

But only if you want to be actually happy instead of just indulged.