Aj Schwanz

Today I was watching my son play with his Fisher Price Noah’s Ark and noticed something: he would pick up two animals, put them nose to nose, have one animal tell the other that they were in “big trouble go timeout now,” and then facilitate an apology and resolve by having the animals eat from his play trough. Over. And over. And over. And I thought, knowing full well the answer, “Hmmm: why would he be saying that with his play animals?”

See, he’s been having a hard time as of late: new baby brother, turning three, starting preschool, starting MOPS, starting soccer, dealing with sleep-deprived parents, etc. The developmental stuff is enough on its own, but throw in all the other whirlwinds, and you have yourself a perfect storm. So, it’s natural that he would be talking about time out because, well, he’s fairly familiar with the timeout corner.

Being the researcher that I am, I turned to my small arsenal of recommended parenting reads, one being Playful Parenting. The author starts off by talking about the two towers of isolation and powerlessness: when kids retreat into these, misbehavior is a biproduct. The remedy is connection, and play is one of the best vehicles with which to connect.

But Judah couldn’t possibly be feeling isolated or powerless. He’s in my face *all* *day* *long*, cajoling me to read another book or sing another song or go to the store, etc., etc., etc. Isolated people retreat; powerless people slump over.

Correction: isolated *Aj* retreats; powerless *Aj* slumps over. Isolated *Judah* runs around and throws toys and bounces off of walls; powerless *Judah* talks nonstop and tries to coerce everyone into doing just one more whim of his.

He’s been telling me in a thousand different ways that he wants to play with me to the point that he put my stuffed bunny (yes, I still sleep with a stuffed animal; if you sleep with an object for so many years, it because a necessity – how well would you sleep without your pillow? Hmm?) in my hands and asked me to throw it at him and knock him over. Because once a couple months ago we played the game “throw the bunny at Judah and knock him over.” Once: that’s all. But he remembered it as a time where he felt connected to me, and he was asking for that connection again. However, I saw it as him needing to roughhouse and thought playing outside would better meet his needs . . . or my needs . . .

It makes sense that this desire for connection is so great, not in just a practical every-day-living sort of way, but in a grand scheme “God dreamed of us and knew before the foundations of the earth that we’d biff it and God would have to send His Beloved Son as the perfect atonement to bring us, the Bride of Christ, back into relationship with Him” way. It’s all about relationship. Connection broken; connection restored.

I just listened to a fascinating podcast from “This American Life” talking about the importance of love, of connection, and what happens when it’s lacking. In the fifties(ish – I think) a psychologist studied baby monkeys to show that love does indeed matter. He set up two “mother monkeys” for the babies: one was very mechanical and stiff but provided milk; the other was comfy and cuddly but lacked food. The babies would go to the food provider to eat, but then returned to the comfy “mothers” and tried to cajole them into demonstrating affection: they would pet them and snuggle and cuddle and make happy noises. In a variation (I think this is how it goes: I was trying to fold laundry and bounce a fussy baby while listening) it was just the food provider and the baby: the provider’s “nipples” were sabotaged to hurt the babies by jabbing barbs into the babies whenever they fed (not serious pain: just a brief shock). The babies would cry, turn away, but in the end try all sorts of tricks to put themselves back in the good graces of the “mom,” abusive though she was.

Love. Connection. Amazing to see where it shows up, how it is manifested.

So needless to say, I’m working on playing more with Judah, noticing the ways he’s trying to connect with me and the ways I’m answering his requests. Which in turn causes me to look for areas where I’m feeling isolated and powerless in my own life and acting out, all with the hope and belief that God is giddily excited to connect and wanting to play a game of “throw the bunny at Aj and knock her over.” Or something like that.

[And no wonder Bloody Wink'em is such a popular game, especially with anxty teens: who knew camp was facilitating inner healing? Or, again, something like that. . . ]

Four+ years ago I stood in a chapel in Jacksonville, OR, and said my vows to my soon-to-be husband. I started off with the above quote from one of my most favorite authors, an incredibly wise woman who has shaped some of my most formative thoughts and beliefs. She passed away last night. Thank you, Madeleine, for sharing your words, your imagination, your questions, your self.

It was 4:30am; Abel was awake, and therefore, I was awake. He wasn’t hungry: he was just fussy-hey-I-don’t-sleep-your-hours-woman-come-entertain-me awake. To let me know, oh so subtly of course, that he was aware of the goings on (or lack thereof), he would grunt. And sigh. And flop. And wriggle. In return, I would grunt, and sigh, and flop, and wriggle as I kept popping his pacifier back into his mouth. He was doing it out of hope; I was doing it out of annoyance and desperation. As I started to get really mad (seeing as how rational one is at 4:30am), I found myself muttering things about “why won’t you sleep?” and “this pacifier should make you happy” and “you’ll regret this when you’re a teenager.”

But before I got too mad and wound up, I started to laugh. Because a thought crossed my mind: if an alien was watching me right now, who would they think was in control? And who would they think was the sane one? Somehow I doubt I would be the answer to either of those questions.

The reason I thought of this is because I was listening to a Mark Driscoll podcast (no mention about male/female dominance/subservience stuff to get riled up about – phew), and he posed the question: if aliens were watching us, who would they think was in charge – dogs or dog owners? Dogs walk out in front of their owners. Their owners pick up their poo and carry it around on a walk. And the dogs get to stay home all day while the owners go out and work to keep up the home. Being a dog owner, I had to say: ouch.

The reason Mark brought this up was in the context of worship: do we worship creation or the Creator? Aliens might think that we worship dogs as evidenced by our actions. Some people do take pet ownership to unhealthy levels: there is a fine line between worshiping the creation and being a caretaker as an act of worshiping the Creator.

Same thing goes for parenting. I can worship my child: put all my resources, money, time, energy into this person. Or I can recognize that I can be the best caretaker/facilitator/host while on this mortal coil out of love, adoration, worship of the child’s Creator. A fine line, indeed.

Abel finally fell back asleep, and I did as well. But I couldn’t help thinking that if aliens were ever watching, they would be thinking that humans must get stupider and more subservient as they get bigger: with one tiny “thooey” of the pacifier, and he had me up in a heartbeat. Why would a little person actually *want* to have plastic in their mouth when they could have personal interaction? And what better way to get constant interaction than to use the plastic object as a projectile? Over . . . and over . . . and over?

Oy.