Before church this morning

Learn to embrace the chaotic month of May

From today's Briefing:

It’s the middle of May. No mom needs a calendar to know this. She only needs a calendar to keep straight all of the stuff going on, including the stuff she’s going to miss because there’s too much going on.

Sure signs it’s the middle of May:

You take a brief moment of stolen time to look at Pinterest for ideas for end-of-the-year teacher gifts. After getting lost in a sea of impossible cuteness, you wake up to the realization that you’re never going to weave burlap or hand-stamp cards or glue crayons around a pencil holder or create a personalized ruler wreath. So you vow to pick up a few gift cards the next time you drive through Starbucks.

The kitchen table no longer affords space for eating. It’s covered with glue sticks, scraps of paper, random bits of cotton balls and ribbon. Somewhere, you’re certain, is the pair of scissors no one can find. Piled on top of that mess every afternoon are tattered, barely-held-together binders that you bought back in August. The binders for which you paid extra because they promised to be extra durable. The binders lied.

All the people in your house start to go to bed a little later than normal, as if they’re conditioning their bodies for the free-for-all that is summer break. Along with this, they all start to sleep in a little later in the mornings, creating increasing chaos as the last day of school draws nearer.

You’re washing, drying, folding and putting away twice as many clothes and towels than usual. Your people are still wearing school clothes and athletic clothes, plus they’re swimming as often as possible, creating piles of chlorine-soaked swimsuits and beach towels. They’re also dressing up for final recitals and end-of-year parties.

Your car/SUV/minivan becomes your family’s second home, offering shelter to and from games, programs, events, parties and spontaneous trips to the frozen yogurt shop. You fully expect that one day, perhaps in mid-June, you’ll clean out the vehicle and unload the springtime assemblage of books, flyers, graded papers, receipts, sunscreen bottles and granola bar wrappers.

Speaking of frozen yogurt, you might convince yourself that a tiny tub of frozen yogurt plus toppings is the equivalent of a healthy dinner, especially when fresh fruit is piled on top. (Ignore the bits of waffle cone.)

You temporarily forget your rocky relationship with Pinterest and scour the site for potluck ideas. You stare at beautifully lit photos of individual seven-layer Mexican dip, antipasto on a stick and dessert kebabs.

A few minutes later, you snap out of the DIY daze. You admit that you lack the patience for making 36 individual servings of anything. You chuck those ideas and buy pita chips, prepared hummus and olives and throw it all on a platter. Or maybe you purchase a package of cookies from the grocery store bakery, and serve straight from the plastic box.

There’s at least one event that you forget. Or an appointment for which you’re inexcusably late. Or there’s a Saturday afternoon that you mistakenly double-book, and now you’re desperate to figure out how to leave one event early and arrive beyond- fashionably late at the other.

You long for mid-June, when little is expected. When there’s no homework to check, no forms to initial. When you’re not packing lunches. When you’re not policing bedtimes.

Of course, by mid-July, you’ll be wishing for mid-August, when it all begins again. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For now, let’s embrace mid-May and all its frenetic, celebratory, mad-dash glory. And let’s pencil in a nap for when it’s all over.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Before church this morning

Giving kids space can lead to confidence

From Saturday's Briefing:

So much of parenting is balancing theory with reality.

Within weeks of verifying I was pregnant with our first child, I gathered every book deemed relevant and acceptable. I set aside novels for nonfiction, and I dived into pregnancy and baby-care manuals.

I formulated all kinds of plans for the birth, for feeding and sleeping, and for introducing music and books at a young age.

From that very first birthday, theory was thrown out in favor of reality. Cooper was more than 9 pounds when he was born, and his birth required two anesthesiologists and multiple use of forceps — never a part of our plan.

Ever since, I’ve been balancing as all parents do — making decisions with background knowledge and adjusting as dictated by real-time conditions, whims and moods.

I know without a doubt that my children are totally capable of doing their own schoolwork and projects without my advice or assistance. I know that when they do the work by themselves, they gain confidence and build their sense of self-worth.

I know that teachers want to see what their students know, not what their students’ parents know.

And yet, in reality, sometimes it’s difficult to step away, to stay quiet when there’s errant punctuation or a forgotten digit. It’s easy to rationalize that stepping in with advice or strong suggestions is simply a sign of support. It’s more difficult to evaluate my motives and words, to stop myself from stepping in where I’m neither needed nor invited.

Katie has completed two orbital studies this year (a fancy way of saying extra-credit projects). Her first study focused on anthropologist Jane Goodall, and I mostly stayed clear.

She gathered books, read selections on her own and wrote her own report. When she was considering how to put her poster together, though, I tossed aside worries about interference and chimed in.

I “consulted” on the layout and design. I offered advice on where to place her headline, drawing and facts. There was what I considered an awkward gap, so I suggested she write a poem about Goodall to fill it in.

She took and followed all of my unsolicited advice without complaint. The final poster was tasteful and polished.

But what message did I send? Were my suggestions subtly telling Katie that her ideas, her creativity, her work wasn’t good enough?

On the next project, I assumed a role of complete silence.

Katie chose to study the Canada lynx. Again, she conducted her own research.

She wrote and edited her own paper (punctuated by a plea for humans to take care of the earth and animals like the lynx).

This time, the presentation was 100 percent her own. I saw nothing — not a rough draft or a sketch of the diorama — until she was finished. Not once did she seek my help or ask for my approval. She didn’t run out of her room and ask, “Do you like this?” or “Do you think this is OK?”

She gathered everything she needed from odds and ends around the house and her vast collection of art supplies.

She laid white paper on the bottom of a shoebox to re-create snow, then added a few paper snowballs here and there. She used blue clay and strips of pink paper to represent a northern sky at sunset. Green clay became an evergreen tree.

She sculpted the lynx from white clay mixed with gray. The giant wild cat was stalking a snowshoe hare fashioned from Styrofoam.

Now this was the work — the slightly messy, completely authentic work — of an 8-year-old.

As she gingerly carried the diorama to the car Tuesday morning, she told me, “I like my work on the lynx a little better than on Jane Goodall.”

In theory, those are the words I’ll remember for every other assignment that comes home. I’ll work on making it reality.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Before church this morning

Magic Porridge Pot

Katie is trying out again for the Lone Star Storytelling Festival.

This time last year, she recorded "The Three Billy Goats Gruff," and was selected as one of 12 student tellers for the festival.

(The 2013 audition video is here.)

Today she recorded "The Magic Porridge Pot." (Click here for the 2014 audition video.)

We're hoping she makes the cut again this year!

After church this morning

Photo is a precious reminder

From today's Briefing:

Happy new year! Well, happy new year for me. I’m now 42 and one day.

My middle-age birthdays tend to steer me toward introspection with a healthy dash of gratitude, all wrapped up in joy.

Joy because I’m celebrating another year not promised. Because I get to continue to be mom to Cooper and Katie. Because when I consider all that I’ve learned in the past 12 months and all that’s still out there to experience, I can’t help but feel a little giddy.

Introspection kicked in early this week, when dear friends found and shared a photo of baby Katie and her daddy — my late husband, Steve.

The image was snapped at a bowling alley birthday party. Katie is nestled in an infant carrier, covered in a floral receiving blanket, grasping Steve’s right index finger with her tiny hand and staring at his face.

Steve, in turn, is totally focused on Katie. His profile is turned away from the camera, but you can still glimpse his smile and unadulterated delight in his chubby-cheeked daughter.

I love these little post-Steve discoveries, for me and for Cooper and Katie. The photo offers tangible proof of Steve’s devotion. And yet, the great thing about their dad is that we don’t really need a photo. We carry with us — all the time — all the love Steve poured out. And he didn’t even make it to 41.

The photo is remarkable to me now because it’s a snapshot of our everyday lives before cancer and death. Steve wasn’t posing. He was just caught in the act of doting.

How many of my everyday moments would be so flattering? Am I kind to strangers? Do all — or even most — of my interactions reflect the care and affection I feel toward my colleagues and students? Do the people I love the most know truly how much I love them?

I’m afraid the answer isn’t yes often enough. The good news, though, is I have the gift of today and tomorrow. There aren’t do-overs, but I get fresh chances with each new day of my 43rd year.

What does that look like? I’ve started a list.

Less multitasking when I’m with people. Resisting the urge to check my iPhone every few minutes. Being fully engaged in conversations.

Editing words and tone before I speak. Choosing sincerity over sarcasm more often. Lavishing my children and my students with encouragement.

Expressing thankfulness. Sharing more. Judging less.

It’s an ambitious list. Results may be sketchy.

Yet I can’t wait to get started — because I get to be 42, because I’m thankful for the years I’ve had, and because I might have another 42 years in me. I don’t want to waste a moment.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Before church this (rainy) morning

What's the answer? A little creativity

From Saturday's Briefing:

Children all over Texas have just finished a round of stand- ardized tests that hold them accountable for finding the best answers to math and reading questions.

While there’s currently healthy debate about how many tests are appropriate, how effective they are, how much they cost and how much weight they carry, there’s no question that in real life, there are moments when finding the best answer is necessary.

At the same time, there are plenty of moments when there’s no one best answer, when a person’s value isn’t measured by A, B, C or D. There are plenty of moments when we need to innovate, manipulate, rethink and create.

I’ve tried to encourage a healthy balance with Cooper and Katie, emphasizing the importance of the right answer when necessary (even if it takes dozens of tries to get there) and the importance of seeking questions and situations with multiple answers — none of them wrong.

With that in mind, I quizzed some of my mom friends — creative women who’ve already raised their children as well as those who are still in the middle of the joyful mess. Of course, there is no one “right” answer for nurturing creativity.

Here is a glimpse at some of what works in our homes.

1 Less structure: Kids who have every afternoon booked with tutoring, lessons, practices, games and meetings have less time to explore the world on their own.

Katrina says, “Let kids roam ‘free range’ outside.” Another mom shares, “When you schedule every minute of every day for kids, there isn’t a lot if room for exploring ideas or creating.”

At Angela’s house, her two children “get lots of unstructured time after school and on breaks, where they have to rely on their imagination to play together.”


2 Less mass media: Be willing to take away screens and force your kids to interact with the real world.

“I enforce boredom, meaning I make them take down time,” says Tracey. “No screens. They are allowed to read, or draw, or go outside, but that’s about it. That’s when I see them get creative.”


3 Access to supplies: Keep the house stocked with tools that encourage creativity — blocks, paints, clay, piles of wood, paper, pipe cleaners, popsicle sticks, empty cardboard tubes, scissors and glue.

“We always had plenty of art supplies around and allowed my kids both the time and place to create when they wanted,” Ami says.

Melissa encourages a range of media to play with — art supplies, open-ended and pretend-play toys, books, blank notebooks and music.


4 Embrace the mess and the mistakes: Creating isn’t neat work. Don’t be afraid of clutter, spills or errors.

“Creativity can be messy,” Renee says. “Nurturing creativity requires that I hold my children with an open hand, encourage them to take risks, and provide support when they fail.”

Jenny adds, “A ‘failure’ isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It opens up the door for looking for better or different ways to solve a problem or learn something new. We tend to only celebrate victory, but honestly some of the best or most lasting lessons are learned through difficulty.”


5 Embrace their passions: Allow them to pursue their interests and provide extra support when you can.

“When they want to try something new, I support them,” Angela says.

Suzy finds lessons that match her daughter’s interest in art, music, singing and dance. Most are for a fee, of course, but there are free options (such as studio time at the Dallas Museum of Art, Saturday mornings at Guitar Center and monthly events at the Nasher Sculpture Center).

Liz takes cues from her daughter. “I just give her the space when I can to follow whatever inspires her and march to the beat of her own drummer.”


6 Give creative gifts: For birthdays and holidays, consider gifts that encourage participation, engagement and problem-solving.

Every year for Christmas, Patti would give her daughter, Sarah, a game board and pieces but no rules. Sarah could then create her own games. She’d give her son, Wesley, a cookbook.

Melissa believes in “experience” gifts — a date to paint ceramics or an afternoon of ice skating.

Many moms mentioned books, books and more books. Buy as many as you can. Borrow as many as you can. Read them aloud for story time. Read them aloud while the kids are playing quietly. Give them time to read on their own.

Liz listens to her daughter’s requests. “If she sees an everyday object (paper towel roll, empty box, etc.) and wants it for a project, I almost always indulge it. She often asks for string, and one day when she was home she built an entire spiderweb across the entryway to the dining room.”


7 Don’t give too much: Allow children the opportunity to create their own playthings.

“Tonight I got my reflexes checked with a toothbrush, and that was all Laney’s idea,” Emily says. “I think it’s important to leave play up to their imagination and not give our kids every possible real-life prop, even though all those dramatic play kits sure are cute.”

Kristin agrees: “Can’t find something that is exactly what we are looking for to house Lego or doll accessories, decorate our room or costume our dog? Let’s figure out what materials we might have around the house to make it.”


8 Ask and encourage questions: Ask children open-ended, what-if questions, and invite them to do the same.

Laura says, “When we talk about things — what they learned in school that day, something we see during the day, something we hear — I ask them why they think something is the way it is, how things could be different or problems could be solved or managed.”


9 Get outside: Open up their world by sharing nature and multiple styles of expression.

Sharon, now a grandmother, is a big believer in the great outdoors. “‘No kid left inside’ is the motto.”

Ami remembers, “When we were out in the world, I always pointed out the beautiful clouds, colors in the sky, flowers, structures, things of beauty that I admired.”


10 Let go: Relinquish control of what they’re wearing. Don’t dictate what they’re playing.

“I think the greatest thing I can do to nurture creativity in my children is to be aware of my tendency to desire that they do what I think they should do,” Renee says.

Emily’s stance: “You want to wear a Christmas shirt in March? Go for it.”


Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. Email her at tyradamm@gmail.com.