HOW I WILL LOVE YOU

Our daughters, Beret and Anna, have become lovely women by the love of God and the gentle wisdom of their mother. February 17th is the anniversary of Anna's Arrival Day; March 22nd is Beret's Birthday. I wrote this many years ago for any parent preparing for the arrival of a child by birth or adoption. But, really, I wrote it for Beret and Anna.

HOW I WILL LOVE YOU

You will come through the miracle passage of birth

From somewhere in heaven to right here on earth –

Right here, where this family is waiting to start;

Right here – to these arms and this place in this heart.

Or maybe your journey will detour around

Till your own private angel-jet touches the ground,

And there I’ll be waiting to see who we’ll be,

And I’ll adopt you – and you’ll adopt me!

And how I will love you! When you are brand new!

When you are first finding out how to be you!

Of course you’ll be beautiful, handsome, and smart –

But that’s not the reason love grows in the heart.

You won’t have to earn it or prove it to me;

That’s just the way love is – love comes for free.

Free – but not easy – not every day;

Sometimes I won’t know just what I should say

When you are angry or tired or wild.

It’s then I will love you…

It’s then I will love you…

It’s then I will love you…

 Because you’re my child!

And every day you will grow just a bit,

And every day some more clothes will not fit.

All of that growing will take lots of food,

And of course it is my job to make sure it’s good!

And so we’ll have breakfasts and banquets and snacks,

And picnics with fortunate ants on our tracks.

But tables are more than just places to eat –

The family table is where you will meet…

…Uncles and aunties and grandmas and pas

And dozens of cousins who’ll love you because –  

Because you are family – because you are you,

And since they’re all family – you’ll love them too!

And how we will love you – as we watch you grow,

As you start to learn all of the things you will know.

And we’ll learn together! We’ll read lots of books;

You’ll soon know how all of the alphabet looks,

And how all those a’s  b’s  c’s and d’s sound.

Oh, how the words will go round and around!

Words in your eyes and words in your mouth,

Words flying east and west, words north and south.

Some words we’ll read in short stories and long,

Some words we’ll warble together – in song.

And how I will love you – as you sit in my lap

And we sing lullabies – till we both take a nap!

Then after our nap we will go out and play

Making up games for the rest of the day.

We’ll choo-choo with trains as we watch them go by,

We’ll stretch like the trees as we reach for the sky.

Some day, like the big kids, you’ll go off to school;

You’ll learn the latest grammatical rule.

Some day, but not yet. I’m glad that you’ll be

Still – for a while – right here with me.

And how I will love you when day turns to night,

And you hug your best blanket as we turn off the light.

Then I’ll sit by your bed and I’ll sing you to sleep,

Or I’ll try – ‘cause your plan will be that you’ll keep

Awake all night long and sleep all the next day

So the next night, again, you’ll be ready to play!

But finally you’ll fall asleep under a book;

I’ll turn at the door and I’ll sneak just a look.

You’ll be sweetly asleep, another day done,

And when you wake up you will be twenty-one!

I’ll think back and remember the first day you came,

And I’ll see that… you’re bigger! But, really, the same.

You’ll still be the one I loved right from the start –

All grown up! But always the child of my heart.  

And how I will love you …

I set out to write this as "How we will love you," but I wasn't smart enough to make the rhyme and the flow work that way.

Plus, I wanted it to speak for a single parent, too. But, for me, the "I' should be read to include both Caryl and me. Of course

Beret and Anna would agree.

(c) Richard Jorgensen

I FIGGERED IT OUT!

 A recent emphasis in parent education and child development studies—based on both research and common sense—is the idea that raising a child with the encouragement of “You can do it” is more nurturing and more lasting than a diet of “You’re so smart.” (Or so “special.” I once heard a speaker remind a group of parents that a child who grows up hearing how special he is may discover—upon beginning his first adult job—that he and his parents are the only people who share this view.)

This is another reminder of the power of words and word choices. Perhaps, even more than for a parent, it is spontaneously intuitive for a grandparent to want to blurt out, “You’re so smart!” to the grandson or –daughter who is the apple of his eye. Yet I am making the verbal shift from “You’re so smart,” to, “Hey! You figured it out!” as I interact with my (very brilliant) grandkids. I am convinced—by the research and the common sense—that there’s an important distinction in the developmental implications of those two phrases. And the second is no less loving than the first. (I suppose that a similar critique could be made of a childhood where one constantly hears, “You’re so beautiful!”)

In a parallel vein, the late child psychologist Haim Ginott emphasized the different messages conveyed (when complimenting a child's drawing, for example) by, on the one hand, saying, “You are a great artist!” or, on the other, “I like that drawing.” In the first instance, an adult has laid upon the child a burden (“great artist”) that she may or may not want to accept. (And, again, I’m thinking here of childhood-long patterns of communication.) In the second, she knows—somewhat objectively—how a grownup feels about her drawing, which perhaps has the effect of being more “encouraging” than having to live up to an imposed label of being an artist.

And it is a word choice. The words we use are not just a matter of dry verbiage; they are the building blocks of the emotional environment in which relationships thrive or wither. (As someone has said, “Remember—it is you who makes the weather.”) I’ve discovered that one can even catch oneself and make a word-choice shift in mid-sentence: “You’re so sm…. Hey! You figured it out!”

(Of course there are variations on “You can do it:” “You figured it out;” “Let’s sit down and see if we can figure this out;” “Let’s try again;” “This is a tough one, but I think you’re on the right track;” “You used your thinker!”)

I had the practical veracity of this concept demonstrated for me, personally, just yesterday: My handyman skills are just slightly beyond knowing which end of the hammer to hold. This is why my favorite tool is my iPhone, with which I take a photo of the project at hand so I can text it to my brother-in-law, Jeff, with my question. In this case, I was trying to make a simple repair to the tailgate of my utility trailer. Simple, but I ran into a bit of a poser, so off went the photo/text to Jeff. Then, just after I sent it, that cartoon light bulb came on over my head: an insight that enabled me to complete the repair. Before he could respond, I sent Jeff a follow-up text, “I figgered it out!”

I haven’t heard back from Jeff yet, but I know what he’ll say. Dearly though he loves me, he won’t say, “You are a brilliant mechanic;”  he won’t say, “It’s because you’re so smart.” He’ll say, “Good for you; you figured it out!” I could receive no greater encouragement—or higher praise.

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BONUS for parents: Doing some reading for this post, I came across this very practical article about some everyday ways to apply the principles of "You can do it."

NOTE: I think of this blog as part of a conversation. I realize that the "Comment" section of this site is unwieldy. For the time being, the only alternative is to share your responses to this essay on Facebook, either to my page, or as a private message. I value your part of the conversation.

GRANDMA OLIVE AND THE STRAWBERRY CIRCLE

I wish I were a poet. If I were, I could make something of this snippet that’s been running through my mind the last few days,

Grandpa, can I

Yes

Grandpa, will you

Yes

Grandpa, can we

Yes

Yes Yes Yes, my boy

Yes

That’s inspired by grandson Sam. A few days ago his almost-three-year-old sister, Violet, snuggled with her blanket in a chair and then said, “Grandpa, now I need a snack and my milky and my num-num” (pacifier—yes, yes, she’s being weaned). “Yes, princess,” I replied. Not a minute later she disensconced herself from her cozy throne and appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Grandpa, are you doing it?” “Yes, your majesty.” Of course it occurred to me that Violet’s parents would no doubt disapprove of both sides of that exchange. But I’m Grandpa.

As a parent, I was a slow learner in regard to grandparental rights, privileges, wisdom, and VALUE!, especially in regard to my mother-in-law, Olive Nasby. A few days before Beret (Sam and Violet’s mother) was born, Caryl told me that her mom was going to come and help out. “Gee,” I said, “I thought it would be nice to just be our own little family.” Beret was born; Olive came. After about ten minutes I was on my knees saying “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” (Of course now I understand that you moms might greet my quaint idea about doing it by ourselves with, “Easy for you to say, dad!”)

A year or so later we were visiting Caryl’s parents at their farm. Beret, now a toddler, was sitting in her highchair in Olive’s homey kitchen, and I had given her a big juicy strawberry, which sat, untouched, in the middle of the highchair tray. “Put a little sugar on it,” advised Olive. “No,” I said (I think my nose might have even raised itself a bit into the air), “no, we’re raising Beret without added sugar.” (For most of our daughters’ early childhoods I would sneak around the corner to put the tablespoon+ of sugar on my Cheerios—which I had grown up with—while they ate theirs sugar-free.). “Come on, “ repeated my mother-in-law, “try it with a little sugar.” “No thanks, “ I said. The conversation—and our attention—turned elsewhere. A few minutes later I noticed that the strawberry was gone. Where it had stood on the tray there was now only a small circle of sugar. (And a sweet strawberry blush circled Beret's mouth.) At that point I gave in completely to my mother-in-law.

And she treated me like a king. Absolutely every time we visited, I would open the refrigerator and there would be a brand new unopened pint of half-and-half, because she knew I liked it on my cereal. (I know there’s a kind of sugar-and-cream theme going on here, but we’re talking about the daughter and grandson of Norwegian immigrants.

Olive Nelson Nasby
Would you tangle with this woman?

)* And Beret's sister, Anna (who came along later), reminds me that it was for me--and not necessarily for them--that Grandma always had freshly made donuts ready at our arrival.

Olive is also the person who taught me not to fear death. But that’s another story for another time.

She is remembered in love. She rests in peace. Try a little sugar.

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*I am aware of important recent reports about the dangers of too much sugar; Caryl and I have changed our habits somewhat, and try to help our grandkids with theirs. But this isn't a story about nutrition. (Although I should point out that the same studies have restored  to some degree the reputation of cream!)