Happily Ever After: The Life-Changing Power of a Grateful Heart (12 page)

F
INDING
Y
OUR
S
AFE
, H
APPY
P
LACE IN A
C
RUEL
, C
RUEL
W
ORLD

I will never forget what Ryan’s elderly grandmother, Norane, said to her great-grandson when she first met him. As she cradled our tiny baby in her arms, she said, “Maxwell, it’s a
cruel, cruel world.” As a doting new mother, I instantly feared that her gloomy words would find their way into my son’s spirit and cause a wound that would fester from the inside out (as I may have mentioned, I have a tendency to be a dramatic worrywart). As a realist, though, I knew that no matter how much I worked to protect my family from the iniquities around us, she was right.

As time has gone on, I’ve found that on a pretty regular basis I have to comfort my tiny tots for any number of hurts small and large (of course, I am more than happy to oblige). It may be on the second day of one of Ryan’s forty-eight-hour shifts, and they start to miss their daddy. It could be when they are lethargic and blowing snot bubbles thanks to the latest virus that has invaded our community, or when their feelings are hurt because things didn’t go their way on the playground. The possibilities are endless—just like the almost nightly reassurances that Blakesley required around the age of three.

Without fail, just as I would go to close the door and blow her goodnight kisses, she would tearily say, “Mommy, I don’t want it to rain and funder.” For most adults, thunderstorms can be calming, or at least negligible, unless of course they are watching one out of the window of an airplane (been there, done that, and I do not recommend it). For my daughter, one especially loud night when she was almost three years old developed into a fear that we were unable to resolve for about six months. At first, I thought she was using it as a stall tactic, conjuring up anything she could to put off falling asleep for a few minutes more. However, when the tears started flowing, I realized that she was either genuinely frightened or an extremely talented actress.
Either way, she clearly needed more mommy time. I always gently reminded her that even if it rains and “funders,” she is safe and sound in a warm and cozy bed with a roof over her head and a house full of love.

I felt those moments were perfect opportunities to change negatives to positives and build the ideas of trust and safety inside her head, and I do the same for Max when the occasion arises. I know the ideas alone can’t keep my precious children out of harm’s way, but it’s definitely a start—an important foundation to lay down before they are able to understand the news reports and the live discussions about the tragedies of the world that they may overhear. Tragedies, such as those in Westminster, Colorado, and Newtown, Connecticut, that don’t involve anyone we personally know, but that have been incredibly persuasive in compelling me to put on a positively focused parenting hat.

The first rocked our nation on October 10, 2012, when authorities found the body of ten-year-old Jessica Ridgeway. Five days earlier, Jessica had left her house to meet friends at a nearby park to walk to school together. She never made it. Somewhere along the short walk between her home and the park, a predator plucked her off the street. I can only assume from the news reports that what happened afterward was heinous.

Until this unspeakable crime happened just hours from our home, I’d always considered the mountains to be somewhat sheltered from the ugliness of the world. There are, of course, unlawful things that happen in the Vail Valley, but compared to the gruesome murders and abductions in the big cities I have lived in, they always seemed so trivial.

Not anymore.

That’s even more true after the second tragedy in Newtown. On December 14, 2012, this town, described in reports as quiet and scenic, was terrorized by a disturbed twenty-year-old. Within five minutes of arriving at Sandy Hook Elementary School that day, he had unloaded 154 rounds of ammunition with an assault rifle and caused a lifetime of irreparable psychological damage to the survivors, as well as their families and friends, the larger community, and even to our nation as a whole. He took not only the lives of twenty innocent six- and seven-year-olds, but those of six heroic adults, most of whom dedicated their final moments to protecting the children within their reach.

The Newtown gunman made that school his target of terror, and just as Jessica Ridgeway’s predator made us question the safety of a short walk to the park, he tainted the sanctity of schools around the country. For a person with the heart of a mother, these barbaric deaths immediately stirred up deep sadness, worry, and anger. Just the thought of anything remotely like that happening to Max or Blakesley made me want to take up residence in a barricaded fortress and never leave.

But I realize that giving in to the fear would be giving in to the bad guys. To keep my head in the game of life, I had to keep moving forward and not allow the weight of others’ evil actions to take me down . . . at least not all the way. Sorrow and fear can be overwhelming, but as parents we have to stay strong and brave for the pint-size people who continue to look up to us for guidance. More than ever, we need to ask how we can help ensure the safety of our most precious gifts—our babies.

Since we can’t always guarantee the security of our surroundings or be with our school-age children every minute of every day, our job is to shape their impressionable minds through a balancing act between acknowledging the existence of darkness so they can do their best to keep themselves safe, and helping them focus on the far more prevalent light and love of the world. As Fred “Mister” Rogers once said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers—so many caring people in this world.”

Yes, tragedy brings families and friends and communities together, but I would rather live in peaceful naïveté than lose a young angel to heaven too soon. My hope, like all caring parents around the world, is to keep my angels around as long as possible, to shelter them from pain, and to give them a life happier than my own. The world may fall short at protecting them, but I will always remain steadfast in my love for them and my determination to not end my years telling my great-grandchildren what a “cruel, cruel world” it is.

I believe in the beauty of the human spirit and I want my kids to as well.

A
N
A
PTITUDE FOR
G
RATITUDE

When Max was three years old, Ryan explained to him that he couldn’t go to ski school because he was sick. Max replied, “Yeah, but I’m happy!” In his mind, it didn’t matter if he could spread viral germs all over the mountain, including to his ski
buddies and instructor. It mattered that he had awakened on the right side of the bed and
really
wanted to go. That’s the mentality of a preschooler: innocent egotism.

As children grow older, biological egotism doesn’t need to continue into developed egotism. Yes, confidence is healthy, but a confident kid without altruistic tendencies can turn into an ungrateful and selfish adult. No parent I know wants that. Parents want to do everything in their power to put their children on a path to generosity and goodwill, and as a recent study showed, they can, even with babies as young as fifteen months old.

In an effort to examine whether twelve- to fifteen-month-olds had yet developed an understanding of fairness, Jessica Sommerville, an early childhood development expert and University of Washington researcher, observed whether they shared toys selfishly or unselfishly. What Sommerville found was that in the participating infants, there was a close alliance between sharing and expectations of what was fair. The children who were sensitive to inequalities were able to share in an altruistic way. More important, though, Sommerville concluded that the behaviors stemming from comprehending fairness likely are learned at a much earlier age than previously thought.

If we can start to teach our children how to be fair and caring in the second year of life, I would surmise that we can also begin to teach them how to appreciate being cared for or being shown kindness, as well. And there is no better way to get into the gears of mini minds than by personal involvement. As Benjamin Franklin said, “Tell me and I forget. Teach me and I remember. Involve me and I learn.”

I take that idea to heart.

After a tragic local event, I was spurred to help members of our community while involving Max and Blakesley (then four and three years old) in what I felt could be a valuable lesson in altruism and caring. It was an especially windy and dry day during a season of wildland fires that had destroyed hundreds of thousands of acres of land. I was sitting in a parking lot trying to calm myself down after an argument with Ryan (yes, we do argue, and no, it isn’t important what we were arguing about) when I heard the rare sound of emergency vehicle sirens. Curiosity got the best of me, so I drove in the direction of the crowds and commotion and ended up parking with dozens of other cars across the highway from the largest blaze I had ever seen in person. It had engulfed a four-unit condominium complex and was gaining power thanks to excessive wind and the drought that had overtaken our tiny valley.

After hours of working hard, firefighters (including Ryan, who was on duty that day) contained the flames. What was left: blackened rubble (thankfully, no one had been seriously injured). The residents of these homes that we drove past every day had lost everything, and it broke my heart. To this day, whenever we drive past, the kids, without fail, comment on “the broken house.” After hearing that one of the families had a little person, just like them, and another on the way, I knew my children would join me in doing what we could to get them and the other victims back on their feet.

I spent weeks sending e-mails back and forth to companies I had worked with, asking them to send anything from clothing to shoes, diapers to baby bedding, toiletries to toys. Even in our tough economy, most of them came through. I was thrilled!

At home, the kids and I gathered items we knew the little girl would love, including Max’s old Bratt Decor crib. We talked about how lucky we were to have a home and a bed, shampoo and Band-Aids, sweatshirts and sneakers, and lots and lots of toys that we could now share with a family who had lost all of theirs.

We scheduled a day to bring boxes of what we had gathered to a local church where the mother of the little girl worked. The woman got her daughter out of child care, and I had Blakesley hand her a headband and bow that she had picked out herself. Meanwhile, Max sorted through the supplies and brought our attention to everything he found to be interesting (which, at four years old, was just about anything). Blakesley’s new little friend wasn’t as taken by hair bows as my older girly-girl, but that didn’t take away from the joy of giving that Blakesley experienced.

For the rest of the day, we talked about what Max and Blakesley had done, especially when we drove by the burnt remnants of the condo complex. I reinforced how that family was just like us but a bad accident had left them without many of the things we are blessed to have at home. By bringing those supplies to our new friends and openly discussing their situation, I was hoping to teach my kiddos a bit about the art of giving as well as the concept of gratitude, and I think it worked.

Six months later, I knew it had . . . at least for Max.

One night in November 2012 as I was getting in the Thanksgiving spirit, I pulled Max’s covers up and asked him what he was grateful for. His answer: “My bed, because not everyone has one.”

My heart smiled.

Throughout my kids’ childhood, my husband and I plan to continue to teach them any chance we get. It needn’t be after the devastation of a fire, of course. Hopefully that will never happen to anyone we know again. On any day of the year, they can learn to be grateful for something as minor as their daddy taking the time to put batteries back in their favorite toy, or as major as getting an extra-long hug from Mickey Mouse himself.

So, do your little ones a favor: don’t assume that a grateful and gracious person is born that way. The job of a parent or caregiver is even more important than providing a safe, warm, happy place for children to grow (and we all know that can be difficult enough at times). Not only should you strive to give them the basics of survival, but you should also make it a priority to teach them the art of appreciation and gratitude. Both their lives and all of our futures will be set on a more hopeful course to happiness.

K
IDS
A
RE
G
RATEFUL FOR THE
D
ARNEDEST
(
AND
M
OST
P
ROFOUND
) T
HINGS

Just like the kids who appeared on the television shows that aired in the 1950s and late ’90s, my children tell it like it is. That holds true for the things they say about gratitude.

To (shamelessly) show how insanely adorable my kids and their friends and my friends’ kids are, I wanted to share what some of their responses were to the question: “What are you grateful for?”

It doesn’t get much cuter than this:

       
•
  
Maxwell (Sutter), age four: “I am thankful for my family and Batman. They help me.”

       
•
  
Reese, age six: “I’m grateful for my brother because he gives me someone to look up to. I’m also grateful for sparkles in nail polish.”

       
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Will, age eight: “I’m grateful for my life and my family . . . and my Xbox360. I’m also grateful that I know how to read and write because it is a very good skill to know. It’s gonna make me rich one day.”