Flo Gascon

The Fulfilling Life Interview

I had so much fun chatting with Kelly Dahl as part of her Fulfilling Life interview series. It was an honor to be asked and a topic that I love. Like most speaking engagements, it’s impossible to cover every point and other details get forgotten. To introduce the video, let me tell you what I didn’t say:

I find fulfillment in simple things like taking care of my family.

When I do the laundry, I feel fulfilled knowing they can find their favorite shirt.

When I read to my daughter, I feel fulfilled knowing she feels important.

When I run errands to fill the cupboards, I feel fulfilled by providing and paying attention to their needs and desires.

When I fill the pets’ food bowls, I feel fulfilled by offering comfort and safety.

I love it when I write a blog post or a course that really helps someone. I feel fulfilled as I see myself on the page.

I love it when I host a conference. I feel fulfilled in the discussion, learning and people coming together.

Now, go watch the video to hear more about why I’m fulfilled by these examples, what obstacles get in my way and how I deal with them. Give Kelly some love, please, and thank her for having me! She really is the best.

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You and the Terrible Twos

For some bizarre reason, our culture likes to scare the parents of toddlers. As a new mother, I loved, loved, loved being with my daughter. Camille was sweet and fun and delightful. She came with me everywhere and our genuine shared happiness was obvious to everyone we met. So much so that others began to take it upon themselves to prepare me for what was to come.

Just wait for the terrible twos.

I heard it again and again and again. I didn’t believe it, though. Everyone had tried to scare me out of natural childbirth, exclusive/extended breastfeeding, not vaccinating and attachment parenting, too. How could our relationship change just because she hit this mystical age? I read about child development and milestones and continued to foster and enjoy our relationship. The people who initiated these conversations, though, were insistent.

When our twos weren’t terrible, I was then told to wait for the threes. Those were even worse!

Now this freaked me out. Maybe I had just gotten lucky and the worst was yet to come. I’m glad that I got pregnant that year to distract me from waiting for the worst.

None of it ever came to pass and you won’t be surprised to know that I have a theory about that:

I expected the best. I took responsibility for my own best behavior. I looked at my daughter as someone who was learning as best she could.

When you expect the worse, you see the worst. When you brace yourself, you cause injury. Not taking enough time to heal or interrupting the healing by removing the cast creates a problem. Rinse and repeat.

Now, this doesn’t mean that challenges don’t arise; of course they do. But how you live inside of them makes all the difference.

If you want help in dealing with the terrible twos, I have exactly one tip:

Stop calling them the terrible twos.

How does that possibly set you up for good times? Re-frame your perception. Don’t look for what you don’t like. Turn that negative quality you see into a positive attribute.

Parents tell me they want their kids to not give up, to keep trying. This is being persistent but when they’re two, it’s called stubborn.

We want them to talk to us about their problems. This is called communicating but when they’re two, it’s called acting out.

We want them to be confident and determined but when they are two, it’s called brattiness.

We want them to reach out to us but when they are two, it’s called just trying to get our attention.

We want to know how to make them successful but when they are two, it’s called manipulation.

We want them to express their feelings but when they are two, it’s called being whiny.

We want to give them every opportunity to learn how to fit into the world but when they are two, it’s called terrible.

Is that really want you want to think of your child? Is that really want you want them to feel from you?

How terrible!

When all you see is terrible, you’re missing the tender and the terrific.

The toddler years are full of energy, experimentation and emotion. It’s a big, necessary whirlwind of activity and change for growing bodies and minds. You can fight it or you can flow with it. Taking a battle stance is going to create a war. Instead, extend a hand and offer to dance.

Expect the best.

Your child already does and is waiting for you to join the party. I hear it’s pretty terrific.

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What my child wants you to know about yours

I write blog posts in my head every day but I don’t always make it to the computer to share them.I’ve finally made the time to sit here and all of these bits and snippets are rolling around me mind, eluding true form. It feels like too much effort to try to rope them back in as they have dispersed from the coherent structure of yesterday’s thoughts. The morning hasn’t gone quite the way I thought that it would as I welcomed back each daughter individually from sleepovers last night. Plans are being re-written and there’s confusion about who is going where, when with who and how we’ll meet back up this afternoon. The day has scattered, taking my thoughts and intentions with it.

Camille walked by as I opened this blank post and I asked her what I should write. Ping-pong! since she had a paddle and ball in her hand, of course. I reminded her: I write about parenting, remember? So what do I know about that that other people need to know?

“That kids are important.”

Now obviously, I agree with that and I would bet that all of you do, too. I would take it a step further and argue that it’s critical that kids know it as part of their core beliefs. They are important, even if they are smaller, younger and less experienced than the adults in their lives. With this as a bedrock truth, their sense of wellbeing and strength grows. I thought it might be interesting, though, to find out what Camille thought and asked if I could interview her for this post. She agreed and made the point very clearly and simply. She said in just a few words what I would have tried to demonstrate in a few paragraphs.

Me: Why are kids important?

C: Because they’re fun. Because we can influence other kids, like my sister.

(This is not at all what I expected her to say. It’s very profound as I have discovered the fun my kids bring improves both my mood and our relationship. It also propels them towards learning and finding their interests and place in the world. It’s also true that their values, feelings and actions have an impact on everyone in their lives, especially those little ones who admire the big kids. It’s in this way that they do influence me and others and how we interact, the plans we make and change, the perspectives we gain. Can you see the productive, uplifting cycle that this creates? But what does it mean when a child knows they have this power? Hint: it has nothing to do with them feeling “like the world revolves around them.”)

Me: You know that you are important to me, right?

C: (nods)

Me: What do I do that makes you feel that way?

C: You play with me, you give me lots of attention, you take me to parties and activities, you let me do things, you buy me stuff, you sign me up for things, you take me places, you help me do things, you listen to me.

Me: How does it make you feel to know that you are important to me?

C: That you love me, you will cooperate with me and don’t think that I am annoying when I ask for something.

Me: How does that make life easier or better for you?

C: I know that I can just ask you, you won’t get mad at me, that you will be there for me and I can ask you for help. I feel safe.

Me: Can you think of a time that I made you feel important?

C: Right now.
Me: Really? Why?

C: Because it’s just me (here with you) and you are asking me what I think.

It’s that simple.

Kids are important. Know that and don’t be afraid to let them know it. Don’t be afraid to see the power in small gestures- elegant feats of securing relationships now and in years to come.

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It’s not Just a Moment, It’s All there Is

Today she asked me to read to her.

She’s seven and busy as a bee most of the time. Not a lot of time to sit still. Except for a moment today and she wanted me to read.

I felt busy as a bee and didn’t have a lot of time to sit still. Except she won’t be seven much longer and my other stuff will always be there.

So I sat in the corner of the couch by the sunny window and she handed me her book. “Make Way for Ducklings! I love this book, mama!” As I opened its pages she closed the blanket around her, nestling into my lap. I made a silent vow to anchor myself like a kite in the hand of a little girl running along the beach. Everything else slipped away. I took my time with each word and spoke with enthusiasm, as if reading it for the first time myself. I saw her eyes light up as I explained to her that she had visited the very park the book portrayed. The time that I took was not spent; it was invested. As I read on, I could feel her sinking deeper into me, relaxing more, feeling the moment as much as I offered it.

I closed the book and she closed her eyes. My hand found itself stroking her round-for-a-short-time cheek, outlining her ear and marveling at her shape. I spent so many hours like this when she was a baby- just looking at her and wondering how anything could be so perfect. Taking in her softness, her innocence. Time was so quiet and so still and I could have spent forever in that place, just holding her head in my lap, cradling her youth. Being her mama. Being her mama. Her continued rest with me affirmed that she was feeling it, too. Remembering how it felt to be held, admired, so purely loved. Nothing had changed and I was still here. Her mama. Her mama. Oh, the love we both felt in that moment.

She finally broke the spell. Lifting her head a bit she said, “There was something I was going to do after this and now I can’t remember.” I told her my truth: that I couldn’t remember what it was that I had been planning to do either. We were lost in our connection; nothing else was as urgent, nothing else was as satisfying. So we sat together for a while longer. Snuggling and chatting about nothing in particular. It was an unremarkable scene in a world of seven wonders yet traveling the world couldn’t bring a thrill such as this.

Together we had all there is to have in a gasp of time: each other.

We have choices. In a fast and busy life, we can make it faster and busier. We can chase an elusive dream and plot all the ways we will rise to the top. We can organize our minutes by task and to-do, fret over the piles and the paperwork.

Or we can stop and make space. We can let go of worry and succeeding lest we fail. We can let the ends be loose and free without apology for not stressing over it. We can open to the possibility that single moment holds. That precious, solitary moment when our child comes to us, (to us!), and asks for some of our time. “Just a moment” is what you might say as you glance back at your work, asking her to wait. “Yes,” she might reply, not understanding your meaning. (All I’m asking for is just a moment.)

Give it.

What will it give back?

And how many more moments will there be?

As many as you give.

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Happy Spring!

It’s the first day of Spring! I feel like I haven’t earned the right to celebrate as much as all of my friends and family who have endured so much snow this long winter. It has been a particularly cold and overcast season for us here in San Diego, though, so I am so happy to see my yard coming to life. When the buds are on the cusp and the green is so tender as it pushes skyward, I can’t resist a few photos. This morning I inhaled the beauty I’m fortunate to have. So for all of you with snow on the ground today, know that a colorful season is close. This is for you:

In the side yard, our nectarine tree is on its way to fully exploding with pink. This is a Double Delight.

The neighbors flowering vine climbs over the fence to mingle with our trumpet vine.

The artichoke plants are always growing it seems. Soon we’ll have more buds than we can eat.

Pomegranates are doing extremely well.

Along the back fence, the Anna apples are already appearing and lots of blossoms promise many more.

Next up is the pluot tree. It flowers a lot but hasn’t produced any fruit yet. Need to investigate…

The front yard is where our waxflowers live between roses, strawberry groundcover, and a decorative grass.

The other side of our house is where my favorite redbud graces our entrance.

To greet your feet near the front door:

I love to lie under this little tree each season. It’s spring, though, when it offers the most hope.

And if you made it all the way here, I want to point you in the direction of a wonderful course, Spring Soul-Practice that begins on Monday. Chock full of self-discovery activities, creative projects and yoga practices, this session is offered by Becky Swanson of Bloom and Shine. I’ve taken a class with her and absolutely loved it. I highly recommend that you check out what she has to offer and register now before you miss it! Happy Spring, everyone!

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Witness to Life

These are the hands that held the promise of new lives and first breaths.

The hope of let me help you back up and let me take you there.

The fear of one frozen last touch.

The hesitation of reaching out and letting go.

The nudge of encouragement and showing the way.

These are the hands that baked the cakes, gave the gifts, made the moments.

These are the hands that caught the tears, wrapped the wounds, comforted the cries.

These are the hands that felt the clutch of a baby’s fingers

and feel smaller as her grasp grows in mine.

They anticipate waving the goodbye, releasing the veil, opening the door.

They remember the softness, the goodness, the grace

and offer the spirit, receive the glory.

And these are the feet that were scuffed and stung answering the call of bare ground.

Marched into unknown lands and paved new paths.

Danced under stars, danced into dreams.

Swelled under the weight of childbearing changes.

Pushed the limits on hills and in rain, delivering cherished surprise.

These are the feet that paced the hospital hell, the newborn darkness, the edge of daring and discontent.

These are the feet that splashed in the rain, walked in trust and jumped for joy.

These are the feet that felt the solid shake beneath their soles

and now crackle and snap with age.

They anticipate the challenge to stand, the miles to walk, the rest they’ll receive.

They remember the tickles in bed, the crunch of the leaves, the warmth of the sand

and lead me to love, carrying me home.

Witness to extremes of black and white, standing on a foundation of all my delight.

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She matters more

She’s getting so tall. I lose her in the crowd sometimes because I can’t easily recognize her. The long, blonde ponytail catching the sun. Those giant eyes that are now swallowed by thickening eyebrows, deeper cheekbones and adult-sized pearly whites. Those amazing breastfed rolls forgotten as lean muscle shapes her lengthening frame. My baby is still in there somewhere.

I feel her when my girl, perched on adolescence, buries her face in my shoulder still. When she grabs my arm and pulls herself in. When she sits as close to me as she can and leans on me. When she hugs me, her head is again just beneath my nose, like it always was when I held her as a tiny little thing. We share that space again; the one where I can feel the weight of her, smell the essence of her, know her like no other.

I am so glad I didn’t listen. To all of them that wanted to tell me that the terrible twos were coming. Then the threes. And that school was looming so I’d better get us both used to being apart. That there were so many battles to come, punishments and I hate yous, testing limits and talking back. That I’d better establish my authority before she got out of control, that she needed to know who was in charge so she’d always listen. That I’d better not get too close so she wouldn’t cling to me, ask for too much, or never learn to do anything for herself. There is deep relief that I listened to my own best intuition from the very beginning.

Have I made mistakes? I know that I have every time it felt wrong. Every time it felt bad. Every time a part of me felt like it was screaming or crying or dying. Every time I listened to experts and authors; random strangers who create earworms of doubt. They wanted to confuse and convince me that what I was doing was bad. But every time I followed their advice, I felt bad.

But when I listen to the goodness I feel? Our connection grows, our understanding deepens, our willingness is heightened. Relationships need to be cultivated, not complicated. It’s over-simplication to say that we make things harder than they need to be but that doesn’t make it any less true. Beauty and grace stands before us and we block it out with our belief we can control the outcome. How’s that for irony?

It doesn’t feel wrong when it’s right. It feels good to hold my daughter close. It feels good to listen to her. It feels good to watch her do what she loves for no other reason than she loves it. It feels good to make her bed and her breakfast. It feels good to buy her trendy clothes and see her move in them confidently. It feels good to say yes more often than I say no. It feels good to let her stay up until she’s ready to fall asleep. It feels good to let her rapidly growing body rest and not rush. It feels good to let her off the hook, to quit, to move on. To grow up at her own pace. To give her space, to not insist, to forgive and forget. It feels good to love her freely and befriend her fully. It feels right.

My gut hasn’t steered me wrong yet. Now I’m standing on the brink of changing bodies, shifting moods and the wildly experimental landscape that is adolescence. This is what I know: this is the same path we’ve been walking all along. All of life is change and experimentation whether we’re 4, 14 or 40. As I enter this adventurous phase of ushering my daughter into young adulthood, I’m not changing course.

One of the most pervasive messages we’re sold is that teenagers are difficult and parents better brace for the impact. When parents are sold the idea of controlling two year olds the tag line is, “Just wait until they’re teenagers! groan groan wink wink” We swallow the hook so deeply that we can’t comprehend the negative impact of our own negative expectations. It just feels bad but normal. Don’t take the bait.

I expect the next several years to feel good. I expect to hold my daughter close. Listen to her. Watch her do what she loves. Take care of her. Give her space. Befriend her. Because when it does get bumpy? I want her to feel loved, taken care of and heard. I want her to know that I have her back. That she doesn’t have to figure out big messy things on her own. That she always has a safe place to turn without fear of judgement and punishment. There will be no lost privileges, only found hope.

With every counter-culture parenting decision I’ve made, I felt courageous, if nervous. It can be lonely to be the one who doesn’t issue threats on the playground or offer bribes to put on the pink dance tights. It can feel scary to see the sideways glances when you nurse a three year old or soothe a meltdown rather than dragging out the door. I don’t feel nervous nor courageous anymore but my motivation is the same: She matters more than anyone’s opinion of my mothering.

Amongst the popularity of time-outs, I offered my lap. Nothing has changed and although that space feels a lot smaller now, the options have only broadened. The richness of the comforting and deepening of the discussion catapult us into a maturing relationship- one that we would have missed if I had done it the mainstream way. As my daughter grows older it’s only getting better. The prophesied pre-teen tension and angst have not come to pass despite the ubiquitous watercooler anecdotes and the certain just you waits and you’ll sees. After a decade-plus of doing it my way I know better. Parenting feels good and it’s the best job in the world. It doesn’t have to be fraught and I don’t have to invest in the doom-n-gloomers.

When the hurts become bigger than a simple bandaid and a kiss will cover, I breathe deeply and remember what it feels like to be finding your way in the big wide world. I have the privilege to hold a hand and be the calm, steady center my growing babies need. It’s not a miracle and yet it feels nothing short of heaven on earth.

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Flo Gascon

The Fulfilling Life Interview