What makes your heartbeat feel good?

Valentine creating, Feb. 2015


Yesterday, Owen asked me to give him a kiss. I did. Who could resist?

After, he put his little hand in the middle of his chest, looked me in the eyes, and said:

That made my heartbeat feel good.

Does life get any more complicated than that?


Two of My Favorite Parenting Books

Screen Shot 2014-07-14 at 9.39.44 PM When I first found out I was pregnant and for the entire nine months afterward, I spent hours a day pouring over every pregnancy, baby, and parenting book I could get my hands on (does every first-time parent do this?). Instead of tossing and turning with my big belly and sciatica (okay, I did a lot of this too), I was mesmerized by my bright iPod screen and the Kindle app reading books like Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child and The Baby Book.

Those books were great for preparing for my baby’s physical needs, but didn’t do much for preparing me for raising him, especially for dealing with “the terrible twos”–which I actually didn’t believe existed. It does. The books also didn’t help much with dealing with postpartum depression. After studying and reading a variety of books, blogs, and exploring different parenting paradigms, I’ve discovered a truth that my father-in-law, who taught family psychology at BYU-Idaho for 30 years and holds a PhD in Educational Psychology, had already tried to teach me:

Parenting books should be about the parent, not the child.

A majority of parenting issues arise not because a child misbehaves, but because the parent holds negative energy from his or her own childhood that prevents real connection, connection with the self and by that same token, connection with the child. And while I am certainly no expert on this subject, the lessons I’ve learned from these two books have helped me immensely to learn how to protect and honor my child’s spirit while discovering my own. It’s an amazing and difficult journey to recognize that your child has a soul. He (or she) does not belong to you. He is his own being, his own person, that you have the privilege of teaching and your child will teach you.

If you are interested in exploring these ideas further, check out Dr. Shefali Tsabury’s website and her Ted Talk. I’ve posted a clip from her interview with Oprah before. Watch it if you haven’t already. I believe the things she teaches are key to discovering your own self and by doing so, to helping your child discover his.

Here are two books that have helped me on my journey of self-discovery and in turn have helped me become more aware as I discipline and teach my own son.

comp childrearing

Compassionate Childrearing by Robert W. Firestone “It is vital for us to remember that children are not our possessions; they are not ours in the proprietary sense of the word; rather they belong to themselves and have the right to an independent existence” (17).

Perhaps the most painful book I’ve ever read, Compassionate Childrearing continues to be my teacher. My father-in-law recommends it as the one and only parenting book you ever need.

conscious parent

The Conscious Parent by Dr. Shefali Tsabury

“It’s no surprise we fail to tune into our children’s essence. How can we listen to them, when so many of us barely listen to ourselves? How can we feel their spirit and hear the beat of their heart if we can’t do this in our own life?” (read more quotes here)

I plan to write an in-depth book review of this eye-opening book, but until I do, let me just say that Tsabury’s ideas are transformative. They focus on bringing awareness to not only the parent-child relationship, but also the relationship you have with yourself.

As a mother of a two-year-old and an expert at research, I am certainly no expert at parenting, but the above books have given me tools that I had been completely unaware even existed. If you are a struggling parent–or just want to learn more about yourself–I recommend them because they’ve helped me delve into myself in ways that continue to change me daily.

That said, I am always looking for more books to read. Comment below and recommend some for me.

The above post contains affiliate links.

Peach Pit

The sweet juice dribbled
down his chin
and his soft blue eyes blazed
with a new flavor.

I took bites around the center,
the velvety skin tickled my tongue
and the soft flesh melted
between my teeth.

He ate the bottom and top edges,
where I’d already removed the skin–
what if he choked?
Making “Mm”ing sounds
and clapping his hands together,
he begged for more and more,
each time biting off a larger chunk,
the gold juice squirted
out of his pleased lips.

Sitting on the front steps of our little home,
under the warmth of the sun,
eating the sugary fruit,
the gold pit with dark pink veins
arrived all too soon.

I will buy more tomorrow.

His Eyes: A Poem for my Grandfather

St George098

I listen to another story—
about the war
or Granny,
maybe it’s a joke,
a mission miracle,
or John Tanner’s legacy—
And as his lips move,
voice a little hoarse,
his blue eyes sparkle.
Bright eyes like the azure pools in Yellowstone
right next to each other.
They always shine
but this time they shimmer.
His hoarse voice
become a whisper.
A single silver tear
slides down his broad nose.
His eyes are distant now,
caught in the image
of his own story,
caught in the moment
he recreates,
bluer than the bluest sky
on the clearest day.

Eyes illuminated by life—
baptismal water,
the Army,
the looming trees of Georgia,
a diamond on his girl,
potato fields and swimming pools,
bacon, eggs, and salamander mud,
births of eight babies,
the burial of one,
orange sparks through a welding mask,
the yellow lined black road,
white temple stone
and Celestial rooms—
brightened with the faces
of hitch-hikers,
strangers, friends,
children, grandchildren,
and great-grands,
And softened by
his wife’s beauty and talents.

This story I may remember,
I may not,
But as I gaze into
the eyes
that have lived so much
I consider my own hazel eyes
And what they see.
Through my papa’s eyes,
the blue pools of wonder,
I am starting to see
that life lives on
in every person who
has seen them—
every single one.