Don't apologize, don't defend

My niece-in-law, Michelle Cervo, who is the lovely wife of my nephew Brian and a wonderful mother to their one year old daughter, writes a blog called The Simple Bean. In her last post, she shared some of her parenting philosophy and ended by saying,

  "Note: I’m not a professional, I have no idea what I’m doing, I am definitely NOT a perfect parent. I just try to follow my instincts and do what feels right, and I document it to remember these special times. If you feel that another way to parent is the right way,  good. Trust your instinct and parent on." 

I read this with great interest because it confirms for me something that I've stated before and truly believe . . . no one really wants to be told how to raise their kids.  Period.  That's not to say that we don't read parenting books and take parenting courses and trade ideas with our peers, etc.  But when it comes right down to it, we don't want someone to tell us that there's a better way than the way we're doing it, even if there are some things that aren't working well for us.

I believe that this innate need for self-governance and choosing our own way extends to pretty much all facets of our lives.  We, as human beings, simply do not appreciate being told "what to do" or "how to do it".  

I've had a couple of interesting discussions with friends and family members in the past few months where I've been able to clarify for myself a kind of new relationship philosophy (for myself) which simply stated is this: Don't defend . . . don't apologize.  Have a plan, work your plan, gratefully acknowledge the feedback of those who truly care about you, keep working your plan, if facets of your plan aren't working well for you then reconsider your plan, be willing to accept the consequences of following your particular plan and resist the temptation to push your plan on someone else.  Don't defend and don't apologize (unless you do something that really needs to be apologized for like, for instance, passing gas in someone else's space).  It just seems to me that we spend too much time in life feeling insecure and indecisive because we're afraid of someone else's criticism or reproach.  Therefor, when someone offers some advice or a different point of view, it becomes an almost knee jerk reaction to start defending our own turf.  What would happen, instead, if we were to say something like, "Thanks for sharing that point of view.  It may prove helpful to me".  No defense, no argument, no apology for your decision-making process.  Just "thank-you for sharing".  

I'm certainly not suggesting that we can't benefit from giving honest consideration to someone else's point of view.  I'm simply suggesting that if we're constantly feeling defensive or insecurely apologetic that we'll never be open to another point of view anyway.

Don't defend . . . don't apologize.  I think that's going to be my mantra, at least for now, until I think of something that works better.

'Til next time . . . 

The Ultimate Guessing Game

I've been around babies a lot for the last few months.  Lots of babies.  Four new grand-babies, a great niece and a great nephew.  Lots. Of. Babies.  And you know what I've RE-discovered about babies, especially the new born variety? Life with babies is a constant guessing game.  The most frequently used word in reference to a baby is "maybe".  Maybe the baby is hungry, maybe the baby has a burp that needs to come up, maybe the baby needs to poop, maybe the baby is tired, maybe the baby is over stimulated, maybe the baby has a tummy ache, maybe the baby has an earache, maybe the baby just wants to be cuddled, maybe the baby just wants to be put down, maybe the baby is too hot or too cold.  Maybe the baby (fill in the blank).  This constant guessing game can produce a variety of responses in parents, everything from mild annoyance to huge amounts of insecurity about yourself as a parent.  It can be particularly unnerving for new parents and can really fuel the fear response in anxiety-prone parents. 

Consider the new father with a mewling newborn infant.  The closest thing he's ever done to babying anything is taking care of his car.  But here is a situation where you can't just throw the baby on a rack and have a look.  You can't look under the hood or attach it to a diagnostic machine.  There's no owner's manual and no bumper to bumper warranty.  You can't just trade it in if it develops some serious noises.  Worst of all, you can't fuel it up on your own.  If your infant is a nursing infant (as most are) you have to take it to the pumping station and let the mother do the fueling.  Exhaust, emissions, backfiring . . . these things are so much easier to diagnose when you're dealing with an automobile! 

The truth is that even "good" babies are an egocentric, burpy, fartsy, hungry, crying, grumbling, grunting, pooping and complaining lot.  They require attention in all of their non-sleeping hours, have no idea what gratitude means and are completely unconcerned that you may have other things you need to attend to (like sleeping, for instance).  Some of them aren't even particularly snuggly so you don't get that little bit of snuggling reinforcement that sometimes helps you to carry on.  I guess the key to all of this is to develop the maturity and patience to not personalize, catastrophize, awfulize, or dangerize any of this very typical infant behavior.  Infants experience distress and discomfort, just like the rest of us do and the best we can do is to soothe and comfort them as best as we can.  Try one thing and then another and try not to get into frantic mode.  Ask for help when it's overwhelming and savor the little smiles, coos and babblings that start to become the reward of hanging in there.  Never let resentment for lost freedom take a foothold.  Unless you're highly unusual, there will be moments of such resentment . . . just don't entertain those thoughts for too long.

We love, the most deeply, those whom we serve the most.  You'll never be the perfect parent but that fierce, unreasonable love that you develop for your little one will cover a multitude of mistakes. 

One more little thought that I've had lately about babies and mysterious bouts of crying.  Do you remember having growing pains when you were a child or a teen-ager?  Remember how painful those growing pains could be?  By the time you were a teen-ager you were growing at a much slower rate than you were as an infant when you were literally doubling your size in just a few months.  It occurs to me that sometimes these babies are just experiencing some crazy growing pains.  Just add it to the list of "maybes".  

Here some photos of the recent additions to our family. I love each of these little ones and I'm relishing every little bit of time that I get to spend with them.  Thank-you to their parents for letting me be a part of their lives. I wish I had more recent photos of Brighton and Charlie but I plan to remedy that in the next couple of months!

What are you lookin' at?

It doesn't get much cuter than me!

Here's what I think of babyfood peas.

This is my little great nephew, Adam.  He looks like he may be thinking "A little privacy please"!

Oh please oh please oh please!

Seriously?

Lose the 'stache, Dad.

Aren't I just beeoootiful in my sister's magnetic earrings?

Am I not the very picture of pathos?

I love my grammy!

And you are . . .?

Snuggles from Papa

Snuggles for daddy.

If you can't guess what I need I'm certainly not going to tell you.

Come on dad . . . guess what I need.

T Rex Hale

Sarah Elaine Hale

Okay . . . then find someone who CAN guess what I need!

I can't believe how big some of my grand babies have gotten!

Who's the interloper on my blanket?

Goo goo

Park City Baby Fest

"Til next time . . . 

Five new family members in six months!

Introducing (at least to this blog) . . . 

Sarah Elaine Hale born July 13, 2013

Parents: Mike and Erin McKasson Hale

Charlie Brent Walker born September 22, 2012

Parents: Jordan and Laura Hale Walker

  Tyler Rex Hale born December 25, 2012
Parents: Steve and Kalli Jo Lund Hale

Brighton Hale born January 8, 2013

             Parents: Scott and Rachel Taylor Hale

and . . . Joseph Brandt Jorgensen married to Andrea Elaine Hale on November 23, 2012!

It's been a busy few months . . . my cup surely runneth over. Til next time . . . 

Another "Life With Brent" memory

I've lived in Utah for the better part of 38 years and still am amazed at how quickly the fall changes to winter.  

I took these photos on October 29th and things still looked pretty much like this up until November 9th and THEN . . . 

Just. Like. That.  It's winter. . .

 Everything looks like it's been frosted with big dollops of whipped royal frosting (the stuff that you use to make gingerbread houses)

 I can't remember the last time that I got a ruler out to measure the accumulated snow.  This was measuring about sixteen inches.  Wow.

 I took these two photos this morning as the sun was coming up.  I just love that clear, smogless view of Antelope Island after a big rain or snowstorm.  It doesn't last long but I surely enjoy it for the few hours that it lasts.


Maybe it's because of the contrast of temperatures (65 degrees to 25 degrees) or the suddenness of the change but I'm FREEZING!  Can't seem to get warm.  Except when I'm having a hot flash.

Looking at the snowy scene out my office window, and blowing on my ice cold hands to try to thaw them out, I'm reminded of a winter story that's just begging to be told.  A "Life With Brent" winter story.  Most of you who follow my blog have heard this story... one of  many "Life With Brent" stories, but I don't believe that I have this one written down anywhere.  So without further ado . . .

The date was December 8, 1997.  I know this because I actually have dated photographic evidence of the story I'm about to tell.  The winter came early that year and it was really cold.  Our water heater chose to go into a dying process that spanned a couple of weeks leading up to December 8th, when we finally had a new water heater installed.  That couple of weeks was miserable, with the water heater sometimes working, sometimes not and then finally. just. not.  Brent was doing a lot of traveling with work, during that time, so he was never home long enough to completely take care of the problem and it seems like I recall that the water heater would just magically start working long enough for him to get a hot shower and discredit the stories that the rest of us were telling about freezing, cold showers!  Of course, he tried several "do it yourself" fixes on the water heater, between business trips.  We all let him know that his fixes weren't working and that we were tired of showering and washing our hands in cold water.  Steve (seventeen years old) was particularly vocal (shocker, I know)  about how tired he was of taking cold showers when he would get home from bone- crushing wrestling practices. Finally, the huddled masses prevailed and Brent made arrangements to have a new water heater installed on the aforementioned date.
So . . .  the water heater installer guy arrived (by himself) and proceeded to wrestle this beast of a water heater tank down our stairs and back to the water heater closet place in our basement.  It seemed like it took a really long time, but he finally came out of the basement looking exhausted but triumphant.  He proclaimed that it had been one of the tougher installations that he'd done . . . tough to get it down the stairs, tough to get it into position and hooked up but he was done and we would have hot water, again, shortly.  Joy!  No more walking over to the neighbor's house with my towel and shampoo.  No more listening to Steve whine about how the cold showers were stunting his growth. HOT WATER to clean the kitchen. A miracle.
However, several hours later, while I was in the kitchen fixing dinner, I realized that the water was STILL freezing cold.  WHAT?  The NEW water heater wasn't working?  It was just too cruel.  Brent came in the door from work, about then, and I proceeded to rant about the fact that there was STILL no hot water.  He said (calmly) "The pilot light probably just went out.  I'll just go down and relight it".  Okay, Brent, you do that.  And don't come upstairs until there's hot water coming out of this tap (I thought to myself).  In the meantime, Steve had wandered into the kitchen and was standing against the kitchen countertop chatting with me (a rare and always welcome event).

  I was standing at the stove, still chatting with Steve (with my back to the staircase) and attending to something cooking in a pot, when I heard Brent mutter the words that always brought dread to my heart ... "Well, that didn't go very well".  I turned around and there he stood, in all of his scorched glory.  Oh my. The photo that I've included really doesn't do justice to what I saw that day because when I took the photo (not sure why Brent cooperated)  I somehow managed to not include his comb-over hair sticking straight out from his head (you can get the idea from the hair standing out on the sides) or his scorched beloved Irish wool sweater (that he got in Ireland while on his mission).  His eyebrows had been blown off from about the midpoints to the sides, his eyelashes were melted to little stubs (tragic, because Brent has beautiful long eyelashes), his cheeks were a shiny red, and the little bit of thin hair that had been left on his forehead as his hairline receded . . . gone.  If you look closely, you can see little bits of white ash all around his hairline . . . the remnants of the few stalwart hairs that had survived until that point.  They never came back.

At this point, Steve and I were both just staring at this poor man in stunned silence. He explained that he had got down on his belly and lit a match to relight the pilot and was all of a sudden engulfed in flames.  Not funny . . . not really.  He could have been hurt really badly.  He was actually pretty lucky to come out of it with a slightly burned red face, a rearranged coiffure, melted eyelashes and blown-off eyebrows.  I found myself in the position (yet again) of working hard to stifle myself from laughing.  The poor man was obviously distressed and in pain (possibly in shock).  I said to him (with as much sympathy as I could muster while suppressing laughter), "Oh honey, that looks really painful (referring to his red cheeks).  Let's get some cold water on that".  Steve didn't miss a beat.  With a kind of deadpan (perhaps slightly annoyed) tone of voice he said, "Yeah . . . we've got plenty of that."   So much for sympathy and suppressed laughter.  I laughed so hard that I cried.  Tears. Streaming. Down. My. Face.  Brent wasn't amused.  Steve just stood there staring at Brent and didn't even laugh at his own joke.  Brent informed us both that he had to be in Reno, the next day, presenting to a group (leadership training or something like that) of about four hundred people. Looking like a total goober. I think he may have finally got a smile out of Steve with that thought!
The water heater installer guy was summoned back to our house, that very late winter afternoon, to relight the pilot light properly.  He went downstairs (clearly annoyed to have to come back) and came back up the stairs a couple of minutes later missing HIS eyelashes and eyebrows.  He had apparently spent the better part of his day installing a defective water heater.  He came back the next day, uninstalled the beast, hauled it  back up the stairs and then hauled a new one down.  Another difficult installation later, we finally had hot water.
Brent's eyelashes eventually grew back, although his eyebrows and his hairline were never the same (I don't know about the installer).  He was able to salvage his beloved sweater using some kind of lint cutting blade to scrape off the scorched fabric.  Steve was finally able to take a hot shower but I'm sure that he found something else to gripe about.  He was, after all, a seventeen year old boy.
Thanks, Brent, for being a good sport about my "Life With Brent" posts.  Generally speaking, after Brent has had a couple of days to work through the chagrin of a painful injury and/or expensive property damage he's  able to laugh at his adventures and misadventures!  One of the many things I love about him. 'Til next time.

Canning Time

Several years ago, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, Craig and Jamie Hale came from Tennessee to spend Christmas in Utah.  We enjoyed the time we spent skiing, shopping for Christmas gifts, playing cards, visiting, attending the Hale family Christmas party, etc.  While they were with us, Jamie gave me a lovely gift, a small book of poetry by Edgar A. Guest titled A Heap o' Livin' and published in 1916.  I really hadn't heard of Edgar Guest so I "googled" him and found out that he was an English-born American poet who was popular in the first half of the 20th century and became known as the People's Poet.  I picked up my little book of his poetry the other day and was enchanted by his sentimental and

optimistic poems. 

   Edgar Guest doing his radio show.

Reading his poems, for me, is a little like looking through a book of Norman Rockwell paintings.  Lots of Americana, patriotism, holidays and seasons, family, old-fashioned values, kitchen-table philosophy, etc.  His collections of poetry have names like Just Glad Tidings, Poems of Patriotism, the Path to Home, When Day is Done, Harbor Lights of Home, and Faith, to name a few.  He wrote some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in some 300 newspapers and collected in more than 20 books.

One of Edward Guest's poem, titled Canning Time, really captures how I feel about preserving my home produce, at this time of year.  This year, our grape arbor actually produced a variety of sweet, beautiful grapes that I spent a couple of days harvesting and then a few days, juicing and canning.  If I'm not feeling hurried or I don't have a lot of irons in the fire, I actually enjoy canning.  I love to see the bottles of peaches, salsa, applesauce or grape juice lined up on my kitchen counter.  I feel accomplished, resourceful, prepared, creative, even artistic!  I love the rich jewel-like colors of the produce and the wonderful aromas of spice, sugar-syrup, peppers, etc.  I particularly love the rich, perfumey smell of

concord and other varieties of grapes as they're steaming in my old steam juicer.  Mmmmmm!  Sometime, try hot grape juice simmered with a few cardamom pods (same idea as apple cider simmered with cinnamon stick and cloves).  So delicious.

Canning Time by Edgar Guest

There's a wondrous smell of spices
In the kitchen,
Most bewitchin';
There are fruits cut into slices
That just set the palate itchin';
There's the sound of spoon on platter
And the rattle and the clatter;
And a bunch of kids are hastin'
To the splendid joy of tastin':
It's the fragrant time of year
When fruit-cannin' days are here.

There's a good wife gayly smilin'
And perspirin'
Some, and tirin';
And while jar on jar she's pilin'
And the necks o' them she's wirin'
I'm a-sittin' here an' dreamin'
Of the kettles that are steamin',
And the cares that have been troublin'
All have vanished in the bubblin'
I am happy that I'm here
At the cannin' time of year.

Lord, I'm sorry for the feller
That is missin'
All the hissin'
Of the juices, red and yeller,
And can never sit and listen
To the rattle and the clatter
Of the sound of spoon on platter.
I am sorry for the single,
For they miss the thrill and tingle
Of the splendid time of year
When the cannin' days are here.


So while I'm extolling the virtues and joys of the fall season, I have to include these photos of Scott and Adelaide from a BYU football game day.  BYU's win-loss record may not make you smile (unless you're a Ute fan) but these photos WILL make you smile!  Love them!  Til next time . . .

Lake Powell 2012

Lake Powell . . . family, friends, food, fun.  Fantastic.

 Lucy and Adelaide on front deck with very vigilant Grandma.

 Some of the girls, hanging out in the "living room".  

 Building a giant sand castle together.

 Daddy daughter tube ride.

 Building a slide with a tarp.

 Papa with Lucy and Adelaide.

 Sun screening assembly line.

 What would Lake Powell be without the famous Elaine Cervo coiffure?

 Eating and watching a movie . . . favorite Lake Powell activity.

 Our great friends, Bob and Julie May.

 Incomparable Lake Powell scenery.

 Len and Elaine and Elaine's hair.  Just the three of them.

 Annie and Joey got engaged on our Lake Powell trip this year!  A fun and memorable evening that we celebrated with a dance party on the top deck of the house boat.  Magical.

 The Ursaki girls hanging with their granddaughters.

 Laura, Jordan and Lucy.

 Steve and Kalli.

 Captain David Cervo.

 I noticed that every time I was around the Canadian crowd, I ended up with a picture of a toilet bowl on my camera.  Finally figured out that it was Elaine practicing her still life photography.

Brian and Michelle Cervo and Madeleine.  We were so pleased that this little family joined us from Portland.  And that's a wrap on Lake Powell 2012.  Til next time.