Posts Tagged ‘kids’
This will not be a rehash all of the blog posts you’ve read about how women don’t get sick days, especially if they’re moms.
The topic of this post is trying to write while staying home with a sick kid. Most writers I know, (know = have read about their writing habits) shut out the world while writing. Some close the door, some play loud music, some claim better writing through the use of biochemistry.
None of these things are possible when you are tending to a cranky kid with a cold. Some will say power down the laptop, take care of the child. Take a day off. And I would, if she needed me to. I’d toss the laptop out of the window if she asked. But she’s engrossed at the moment with Tinkerbell and her vaguely mean girl friends acting out their latest melodrama. Still, despite her interest, it’s taken me over an hour to compose this paragraph, having run to fetch tissues, to take her temperature, to refill a juice glass, and just to check on her to see how she’s doing.
Each time I’ve come back and reread what I wrote and have thought about it differently. I’ve broken my “hash out a first draft” rule by sneaking in some editing, and changed the tenor of the post twice because my train of thought switched to another track.
I haven’t even tackled any of my science writing yet. I read over an assignment, and the generally familiar and friendly scientific terms look like gibberish.
I recognize that the end of this post “should” read with language akin to “but I know what’s really important in life, and so, I will take that day off.” But sometimes that’s not reality. Sometimes reality is deadlines. Is not getting paid if you don’t make them, is losing the job altogether. Reality is losing the story if you’re writing fiction.
So I brush up my balancing act, and press on. And kiss my coughing baby. And hope she sleeps.
Nature philosopher Henry David Thoreau knew the value of time spent outside. “An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day,” he wrote. Although this thought has been used to generate enthusiasm for exercise and weight loss, Thoreau meant a walk in a natural setting, not on a treadmill or around a track – or even, apparently, through an urban area.
Over a century later, science has finally caught up with Thoreau. A study headed by Stephen Kaplan at University of Michigan’s Psychology Department, “The Restorative Benefits of Interacting with Nature,” offers some clinical evidence that walking in nature is more than good for the circulatory system and the waistline: it’s good for the mind.
How so? The brain (specifically the pre-frontal cortex) constantly assesses our surroundings. It’s a reflex designed to keep us from harm. The pre-frontal cortex also performs a process called executive function, essentially defined as the brain’s ability to plan our actions based on incoming stimuli. Is it necessary to run away from that car that just blew its horn? To duck or turn away from the exhaust from the bus? Is it okay to just keep going and ignore that dog barking at us from the parked car? In an urban or electronically “plugged-in” environment, the prefrontal cortex is constantly stimulated, and the brain has to work hard in order to sort out the stimuli. When we walk in the city, we have to avoid fellow pedestrians, dodge cars, pay attention to traffic signals, and so on; the brain, calling on our memory, also tunes out ambient city noise, buses going by, etc., since they’re (in general) not harmful threats. Hence, a walk in the city is good for the muscles, and may alleviate stress, but the brain really doesn’t get a break – it’s constantly being bombarded with the sights and sounds of potential danger.
Consider the alternative. While walk in a natural setting may have interesting sights and sounds such as a soaring eagle or magnificent view, psychological research has suggested that these stimuli are perceived as a whole. For example, the prefrontal cortex receives a gorgeous sunrise as a stimulus, but it doesn’t require much of an executive decision. There is no reason to act upon it (except to maybe take a picture.) The brain doesn’t have to process it any further. According to this research, a walk in the woods is like a vacation for the mind: it allows the prefrontal cortex to relax a bit, restore itself, and then be able to function better when we do go into a more exciting environment.
It’s interesting to note that giving the pre-frontal cortex a rest may be even more beneficial for children. As I mentioned in an earlier article, executive function allows for kids to “self-regulate,” essentially to exert self-control and discipline, and to respond appropriately to their surroundings and peers. When my kids seem to be better behaved after a nice long hike, I used to think it was because I wore them out. Maybe it’s because I gave their brains a break.
The first time I ever gave my daughter Betsy, now three and a half, an Oreo cookie, she pulled it apart, licked the center clean of icing, and then ate each half cookie separately. I was baffled. This is a kid who’s never seen a commercial for Oreos in her life, nor had she ever seen anyone eat one. “Another,” she declared. I gave her one. The same process ensued, after which, with some cajoling, she drank the rest of her milk, and left. An ordinary snack time experience, but one worth considering; why do young humans explore, and old ones accept? What makes us bite into the cookie instead of pulling it apart?