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Paved with good intentions

November 25, 2013 / Michele Minehart

One Thanksgiving day when I was in high school, my mom’s family didn’t gather because grandma & grandpa were in Florida. My dad’s side kept to a “Sunday After” date, which left us extended-family-less on the celebrated 4th Thursday. I’m not sure who brought it up, but it was decided we would spend the day serving Thanksgiving dinner to the less fortunate in downtown Columbus.

We had zero experience interacting with, let alone serving, the urban poor, but my mother called around and found a shift that we could assist a church soup kitchen for a few hours. We arrived to the overly crowded building, stuffed to the brim 50/50 with homeless and volunteers. We shuffled from here to there. I think my dad helped set up a few tables. I handed out some butter. We generally felt useless and questioned our good intentions. Then we went out to eat.

Looking back, I still want to honor our pure hearts and motives. We did the best with what we knew. But now I can see that we were more a part of the problem than the solution.

This season brings out the best in people, despite what Hallmark and common sermon series might tell you. People put on their A game. They might fight you over the last turkey or stampede to a new gaming system, but by-and-large the collective hearts of our society swells in our final calendar month. And then the donations pour into Goodwill centers and Salvation Army sites.

But can we call a spade a spade? We’re not giving out of the goodness of our hearts. We’re making room for more. I toss myself into this collective accusation. We narrow down what stays in circulation, we clean house, not because we believe that someone needs this scuffed up plastic toy barn this Christmas but because we know something bigger and better is being built at Santa’s workshop.

I read today about the top 7 ways our good intentions cause headaches for others and I found myself both nodding and cursing my own tendencies. I want to do good. I want to help. I believe “someone could use this” but let’s be honest: no one, no matter how poor, needs my broken, stained, battered crap.

I’ve wondered many times before – aloud, even, to KLM – what it would be like to give more than my leftovers. What if I went shopping and gave away from that pile, not the worn last-season*, small tear in the elbow pile. Isn’t that where I might find what true generosity looks like?

What if we went to the store and purchased for these “angel tree” families as if they were our own, instead of going to Dollar General and buying the cheapest of everything so we can buy more for the amount of money we’ve allotted? (Now I’m really stomping on my own toes). Would we do that for our mothers-in-law? Our favorite cousin?

I want to be giving. I want to be kind. I want to think of others. But when it comes down to it, it seems I’m really looking for a way to rid myself of the guilt for the large pile of presents that await on the 25th.

*Let’s be honest. “Last season” is a tad trendy for me. I need to stop giving from the wore-it-in-high-school pile.

Our fear of growing wings

November 21, 2013 / Michele Minehart

When I don’t get dinner on the table until late, the kids devour whatever is presented. So I shouldn’t be surprised when H Boy eats 2.5 large pieces of chicken. He had just asked for another half a piece and I remarked, “you’re going to turn into a chicken!” He looked at me funny, so I ran with it.

“Oh, look! Your nose is turning into a beak!” He ran to the bathroom to check.

When he came back out I could tell he was concerned, so I let the gig drop. “I’m just teasing, honey, you’re not turning into a chicken.” But it was lost on him.

“I’m not going to eat any more chicken. My belly’s full,” he said.

And my heart kind of broke a little.

Not necessarily because we were teasing, (I asked later and he said it didn’t make him feel sad or scared.) but because tonight was an induction into something I have dreaded to experience with my little ones.

He walked into the cold, lonely world of covering his inadequacies with falsities.

He covered his nose with his hands but he declared that it was his belly that was speaking. He used his words as protection, even when they weren’t true.

Maybe there’s a little guilt at the fact his own mother brought this on, but mostly I’m sad for the world that awaits him. I’m the first to admit the joys are bigger and stronger and brighter than the sorrows – I believe that with everything that is in me. But man, the world is far from perfect and the battle to navigate it with dignity and grace can be a painful one.

Little man, you are enough. I’ll sing it ’til I’m blue in the face. You’re enough and you’re loved and you’re beautiful. Even with a beak and wings and chicken legs, you’re worthy of love. This world will try to convince you otherwise and that’s when Satan will whisper in your ear, “You’re all alone. No one else has ever felt this way. Everyone else is normal.” And it’s simply. not. true.

We all cover our nose and talk about our bellies when all we want is someone to love us when all the imperfections show.

I promise, I will. I always will.

How not to use bribery to change the behavior in small children

November 20, 2013 / Michele Minehart

Lady C brings with her a whole new world of “firsts.” She’s just not like the other kids (which, I hear, is normal and expected, but completely inconvenient) so as she moves through these familiar stages, I’m met with new challenges. She’s the first of my 3 children to take sooooooooooooo long to potty train (my fault, not hers – I went and had a baby right when we were on a roll) thus she’s the first that I’m resorting to OUTRIGHT bribery. We’re in a one-for-one relationship with the peanut M&Ms.

It works in a mediocre manner. She understands what it is I want. She does not, however, remember to go the potty more often, like I’d hoped. Yes, I suppose that I could try to remember to put her on the potty more often and that has been discussed and even considered. It just hasn’t happened. I forget, okay? I have all these other children running – or sitting, in the case of Baby M – around and I cannot remember how long it’s been until the pee is dripping down her leg.

So I give up and put her in a pull up. I’m sure she’ll grow out of it by her senior prom. Or we’ll just have to buy a dress with a very full skirt.

And then she asks for her chocolate.

In other bribery news, Miss M, though she puts up a good fight right before bed, has recently been scoring buku bonus points for kind and thoughtful behavior. She’s rocking my world the way she’s considerate and forgiving even when it’s clearly undeserved (*clears throat and looks at oldest boy*). Just the other day I asked if she would let the dogs out/in, as they’re constantly asking for one or the other about every 5 minutes (I think they have a conspiracy). She immediately did it. No asking why, no “in a minute”, no straight up “no”. (I HATE THAT. I work VERY hard to whittle “no” from my vocabulary in favor of the nice smokescreen of redirection. They should have to reciprocate.)

Miss M just did as I asked without my needing to repeat, beg, bribe or threaten. It was like a breath of fresh air. (I looked at my imaginary friend with my Incredulous Look. She nodded excitedly in affirmation.)

So I gave Miss M an m&m.

(Now when she’s 500 pounds from overeating because she rewards her kindness with chocolate, she can tell her therapist it’s my fault. She’ll even have internet proof.)

Immediately, H boy wanted one. I explained why Miss M got one – because she was helpful – so he brilliantly offered to let the dogs out.

We’re missing the point here, buddy. (In fairness, I think they might have wanted out already. They hate me.)

Not lost on his memory, the next day he offered to let the dogs out. Pavlov didn’t need dogs, he needed toddlers and young children and 5 M&Ms. He has been incessantly offering to let the dogs out for days now. He finishes his task and looks at me and bats his beautiful eyelashes. Then I have to repeat once more that Miss M enjoyed that m&m not because she let the dogs out, but because she was helpful. And she didn’t do it because she wanted a treat, she did it because she had a good heart. She wants to help people and mommy appreciates this about her and mommy wants her to know that it’s the right way to live.

Mom, I’ll be helpful and let the dogs out, he says.

So, I gave myself an M&M for creating this whole train wreck. Why should they be the only ones to reap the benefits of my foolery?

Michele Minehart

Page 98 of 312

Paved with good intentions

Our fear of growing wings

How not to use bribery to change the behavior in small children

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