Book: 'The 7 Stages of Motherhood'

Sept. 13, 2004 -- In The 7 Stages of Motherhood, Ann Pleshette Murphy, a mother of two, explains what parents should expect, and how they can deal with it, as their journey through parenthood begins.

Continued …

Of course, just as my mother was predicting that Nick's Oedipal passions would cost him years of psychoanalysis, he entered first grade, took one look at the adorable assistant teacher, and decided she could do no wrong. The year was punctuated with "Guess what Miss Thompson did today" accounts of golden afternoons, special games, even an excited announcement that he had invited her to dinner. "I think I'll make my black-pepper fettuccine," he said with a sigh as I tucked him in one night. And he did! Countless moms have told me similar "Oedipus wreck" stories of being displaced by a teacher or "best, best, best friend" or by Dad, who suddenly rules Olympus. Happy and sad describes the universal ambivalence moms experience when the child who wouldn't go near "the big swings" a year ago dares his pal to "race to the moon," or when a child whose voice rarely exceeded a whisper performs in the preschool show, or when all the kindergartners line up for graduation. By the time Nick turned five, the way he thought about me had developed along with his ability to communicate how he was feeling. Just a few years before, he would throw a fit because I couldn't read his mind; now he could express what he wanted using the hundreds of words in his ballooning vocabulary. But letting Nick do that, not trying to read his mind, was a challenge because it ran smack up against my desire to be needed, to maintain my place as the center of his universe. When he insisted on making his own snack, teaching me a card game, calling from a pal's house to ask if he could spend the night, it was more difficult than ever to celebrate these strides, not experience them as marginalizing my importance in his life. The key for me—and for many mothers of preschoolers—was to stay connected to or to develop other roles that were meaningful and gratifying. For some that meant a return to work at the time their children entered kindergarten. For others, their children's increased separateness signaled a chance to connect with their husbands more often. But for all of us, the preschool years should include plenty of time to step back and take note of the fact that had it not been for our constant, caring presence in our children's lives up until now, they would not be ready and able to move ahead with confidence, to take risks, to develop friendships, and to learn.

Stage 5 Reading the Compass to God-Knows-Where: Years Six to Ten

Stage 5 Summary

The "expert" take on this period in a mother's life is that her child is now more independent and self-reliant, and although that can bring up issues of separation, it's basically good news. Also, because the scary adolescent era seems miles away, and the stormy toddler years are long gone, moms breathe a sigh of relief, perhaps indulge in a little more introspection, confident that not much is supposed to happen between ages six and ten. Hmm. I found this period in my kids' lives one of the fullest and most challenging, especially once they started "real school." When our kids spend a full day or more in activities we are rarely privy to, we lose a certain version of ourselves. They're on their own and so are we. Handling this shift from the pitcher's mound to left field is one of the central challenges of this phase of motherhood. Feeling excluded from your child's school day, cut off from what she may be thinking or feeling, and less involved in her increasingly ornate life, can make you wonder, "What am I doing with my life?" At the same time, because this stage is comparatively problem-free, it's often tough to remain vigilant, to fight the tendency to ignore blips on the screen. If your child has been happily skipping off to school, developing friendships, sleeping and eating well, enabling you to live your life in a way that just wasn't possible a year or two ago, it's natural to breathe a sigh of relief. But then when problems do arise, as they inevitably will, it's sometimes hard to accept them, to really listen to what's behind the whining or complaining. Voltaire once said, "The road to the heart is the ear." This tender bit of wisdom is never more apt than during the school years, when we may be tempted to rush in and pick up the pieces or simply sweep them under the rug in an effort to get through the day. But as important as it is when they're toddlers to let our kids solve their own problems, to work through frustration and weather minor storms, it's even more critical when their primary developmental task is to validate the motto "I can do it!" Read more.

Stage 5 Summary, continued

The good news is that school-age children are actually amazingly competent and their eagerness to be good at things, to satisfy what Erik Erikson called "a sense of industry," makes them enthusiastic helpers. But there's often a disconnect between what they think they can do and what they're really about. One of the most difficult aspects of this stage of motherhood is accepting the fact that we can't be there to make it all better when our children stumble at school or when they simply lack certain skills. As mothers, we want to help a child who is in obvious pain, whose problem is fixable, and we should. But sometimes our motivations are less altruistic and more narcissistic, and our desire to provide the best veers dangerously into the neighborhood of "Whose life is it anyway?" The mother who holds her child back because he's not ready for first grade may have only the best of intentions, but there are countless others who retain their children simply to give them a better shot at quarterbacking the high school football team or leading the pack early on. Knowing when to push and when to coddle is particularly difficult at this stage; there seems to be a lot at stake, yet there's also plenty of time ahead to adjust the course. I've met so many mothers (andfathers) who simply can't step back. Their clashes over homework or violin practice or sports betray their own need to have a child who "does them proud"; ironically, such tensions only serve to undermine their children's motivation. Some of the most interesting research on children's motivation and self-esteem comes from work on optimism. Whether you're an optimist or a pessimist depends on your explanatory style. A pessimistic person feels victimized by setbacks. She sees them as an extension of some flaw in herself, one that dooms her to a life filled with problems. More important, she's not motivated to do something about her lot in life, because she sees negative events and situations as unchangeable. But what's really problematic is how easily pessimistic thinking rubs off on children. This is especially true during the early school years, when they're developing new skills every day and measuring themselves against their peers. A child who believes he stinks or who consistently blames his "dumb teacher" for his problems or who announces emphatically that "no one likes him" needs to learn how to dispute his negative thinking. But he can't do that if his mom is constantly blaming herself for the problems in her life. If you tend to blame yourself unfairly, to see the glass as half empty more than half the time, then devote the other half of that time to really questioning your own explanatory style. As psychologist Martin Seligman wisely suggests, "To beat pessimism, your own opinion of yourself needs to become the target of skepticism. Don't blindly accept your own insults. Take a step back and consider them with an open mind. If they turn out to be true, fine. Then you need to work on changing the aspects of yourself or your world that bring discontent. You may find that your beliefs about yourself aren't true, that they tend to be catastrophizations — interpretations of bad events in extremely permanent and pervasive terms. If this is so, you need to correct them." Taking a Child's-Eye View of Yourself Ironically, one of the best ways to change your perception of yourself for the sake of your kids is to try to see yourself through their eyes. On at least one occasion Nick's tendency to hold up a mirror to my life, to point out in his affectionate, slightly avuncular way that I was missing the point entirely, had a radical impact on how I saw myself. It was toward the end of a day during which I had run frantically on a squeaky wheel to nowhere, feeling a little like the kids' gerbil, that Nick treated me to a critical It's a Wonderful Life moment. I was keeping him company as he took a bath, sitting with my back to the bathroom wall, rewriting one of several to-do lists I had read and refolded so many times it was falling apart. I was not a happy camper as I stewed over my lack of productivity. When an audible sigh escaped my lips, Nick asked, "What's the matter, Mom?" "Oh, nothing, honey," I lied. "I'm just frustrated because I didn't get anything done today." "That's not true," he countered energetically. "You did lots of stuff." "Like what?" Looking at me as though I had forgotten his birthday, he said, "Don't you remember, Mom? You found Lego Man's hair." "Lego Man's hair?" I asked, stalling for time. Then it came to me: the fifteen-minute search on hands and knees under his bed and behind his chair and in his sneakers for a yellow, lentil-sized Lego piece. When I found it, Nick rejoiced like some crazed archaeologist celebrating the discovery of the Rosetta stone. I was still with the Lego excavation when Nick added, "And you made us macaroni and cheese even though you think it's yuck." True. I'm convinced that the orange cheese powder you mix with milk and a pound of butter is a not-too-distant relative of Agent Orange. "And now you're helping me take a bath, but you don't have to 'cause I'm bigger than yesterday." At that moment I felt as though I was soaking in a warm bath myself. My image, as reflected in my son's eyes, was decidedly brighter than the frustrated, frowning face I'd seen in the bathroom mirror earlier. Like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life, I had been given an opportunity to see how different Nick's day would have been had I not taken the time to provide these seemingly random caring gestures. The problem was that I never bothered to put "Find Lego Man's hair" on my daily agenda. I didn't think twice about treating the kids to a side dish I happened to loathe, and I certainly never gave myself credit for keeping Nick company, even though, as he pointed out, he had learned how to swim when he was five. The countless acts of kindness that filled my day and pushed everything else sideways never made it onto my to-do list. Inspired by my little sage to take another look at that list, I tore it up and started over, this time including everything I had actually done that day; then, with a satisfied grin, I crossed off the top twenty to-dos, starting with "Find Lego Man's hair." The Entitlement Trap As wonderful as it had been for Nick to show me the light that night in the tub, I can't say it happened very often during their early school years. My children were sweet and loving, relatively well behaved and appreciative—most of the time—but the bitter taste of feeling taken for granted, underappreciated, and overworked often burned at the back of my throat. There were many mornings when my resentment and anger spilled over as I raced around the house before work, picking up discarded clothes, tidying the kitchen, cajoling the kids into their coats. Like many baby-boomer parents, Steve and I had been eager to provide the kids with all kinds of opportunities, from private school to piano lessons to day camp. We applauded every accomplishment, framed countless crayon creations, boasted about their many talents, but we demanded very little on the responsibility front. What worried me during this stage of motherhood was that too much giving, praising, doing for our children might sabotage their need to learn from their mistakes, to suffer a bit of pain in order to gain perspective on themselves and their place in the world. Many child development experts have written persuasively about the insidious effect overindulgence has on our children. When—with the best of intentions—we give too much and expect too little, we run the paradoxical risk of jeopardizing our kids' happiness. I say "paradoxical" because it is often a desire to make our children happy, to avoid disappointing them, that drives our behavior at this stage. I've heard many moms sing the same tune when it comes to discipline and demands during their children's early school years: "He's in school and at sports so much these days, I hardly ever see him, so I don't want our limited time to consist of nagging and whining, which is what often happens." As psychologist Dan Kindlon, author of Too Much of a Good Thing: Raising Children of Character in an Indulgent Age, warns: "The desire to form a close bond with our children should not come at the expense of not being able to set an unyielding limit or rule when a child needs it." It should also not come at the expense of asking our children to take on increased responsibilities. One of the healthiest ways to gratify a school-ager's natural desire to be treated like a "big kid" is not to let her dress the part but to expect her to walk the walk. Values That Last One of the mistakes we all make is that we don't stop to ask what values we hope our school-age children understand now in order to practice them later. Teaching our kids to make good decisions when the stakes are really high is much easier if they've had practice stating their beliefs and standing firm on non-life-and-death stuff. But the only way they learn to do that is to have us model and articulate the values we believe are most important. Of course, teaching good values isn't something we can do in five easy steps, despite the promise of parenting-magazine headlines. You can rely on lectures, literature, or the litany of your particular faith to instill a sense of right and wrong, but unless you demonstrate caring, compassionate behavior, your kids won't absorb much. Even then you're usually left wondering if your children understand the importance of education or the gift of friendship or the importance of hard work. At an age when the "gimmes" can hit with a ferocious tenacity, it's often difficult to see past their obsession with stuff to the stuff inside. One way to do this is to take an active interest in our children's lives, to participate in the activities they enjoy. This is the time of life when your child is likely to become infatuated with something you're just as likely to find excruciatingly dull. It could be bugs or basketball or Britney Spears. It will involve hours of cataloging of inventory, mind-numbing recitation of stats, and a seemingly insatiable appetite for more. Why kids this age collect is intimately connected with their effort to define who they are and what provides them with a sense of mastery or control. Your response to their passions can send important messages about respect, motivation, and the value of finding something in life that really lights your fire. If you can't connect with your seven-year-old on the nuances of Nintendo, then it's critical to find some common ground, some way of opening up your life to him. One mom I met at a party recently described how cut off from her son's life she felt when his obsession with baseball became all-consuming. "I just couldn't get into it," she admitted. "I tried for a while, but all the stats about so-and-so's batting average or the team's latest trade made me want to throw myself down the stairs." Then she discovered that her son loved to garden. "I was very fussy about my flowers. I didn't want James to mess with the plants too much, but I realized that I had been handed a wonderful opportunity. The first time he yanked out a seedling, instead of a weed, I just took a really deep breath and showed him again what to look for. We've had one of the best summers in years planning and planting—and now waiting—for our vegetable garden to bear fruit. He swears he'll actually eat the broccoli!" My friend Jane felt that "latency is the best." Not only did she enjoy hanging out with her son, traveling with him, talking about the books he was reading or the friends he was making at school, but she discovered how proud she was to meet the parents of his friends and introduce herself by saying, "Hi! I'm Jesse's mom." Being the mom of this exuberant, bright, funny boy was a big part of how she defined herself. But as his ninth birthday approached, Jane experienced a deep and familiar sorrow. "My mom died when I was nine," she said. "So I do find that I look at Jesse and remember how it felt; I just can't help reliving that pain, even as I recognize how blessed I am to have my health and the promise of many more years as his mom. That's something my mother never experienced." Our tendency to reexperience our childhoods and project our memories of the school years onto our kids intensifies during this stage in part because the memories are so much more accessible and vivid. Many of us can't recall much about our preschool-through-kindergarten years, but I'm certain you could rattle off the names of your second-, third-, fourth-, or fifth-grade teachers. More important, you can summon the thoughts and feelings, the joys and pain, that characterized your relationships with your own parents and siblings; trace how those relationships shaped who you are now; and consciously decide to mother your children in ways that re-create, recast, or reject the mothering you received. Sometimes the ghosts that haunt our relationships with our kids are benign. We welcome, even strive to rekindle—through holiday rituals, family stories, "in" jokes—the positive connections we felt with our parents and siblings. Just as often, we remember painful times, when our parents' sins of omission or our siblings' cruelty left darker shadows that trigger complicated reactions to our own kids' behavior. There's a reason we refer to skeletons in the closet, and even more cause to leave them there. But it's far better to take advantage of this relatively easy phase in our children's development to work on our own issues than to wait until the preteen or adolescent years, when life gets, well, decidedly more interesting.