I can’t stand to hear my daughter cry. It was different when she was a baby because crying was her only form of communication. But as she transformed from a babbling infant to a talking toddler, she clung to crying as part of her repertoire and I grew less tolerant. If she protested one of my decisions for too long, I told her to go to her room and return when she was done crying. This seemed to help.

            As her crying jags grew less frequent, they affected me even more. They made me realize how deeply she felt about things. Sometimes they made me question my own judgment. I hated myself for allowing her tears to weaken my resolve. If she were being punished for a poor choice, then cried, I reminded myself, “Lesson learned.” But it was still difficult for me.

            Once she entered school, I wanted her to control her outbursts better. I didn’t want her to crumble into tears over hurt feelings and be teased by the other kids. If she started to cry at home over a minor disagreement, I’d tell her to pull herself together.

            Just last week, her tutor told me that she had done well, but at one point, had disobeyed. When my daughter was instructed to write with a pencil, she kept writing with a marker. A permanent marker. The tutor told her it would soak through the paper, so my daughter continued writing. I nodded and walked my child out to the car.

My daughter smiled up at me, “Do I get a treat?” Often when she does well at tutoring, she gets a chocolate Frosty from the Wendy’s drive-thru.

“Not today,” I said. I lectured that she needed to show respect to the tutor and do as she says. This is when I got the explanation about how she was careful not to let the marker soak through the paper. I was torn, since most of the hour-long session had gone well. I drove past Wendy’s anyway. I didn’t want to reinforce her poor listening skills. And so she began to cry.

And cry. My shoulders clenched. My head throbbed. Fifteen minutes of sobs from the backseat felt like hours. I wondered if I’d made a mistake. I then worried if I caved, I’d teach her to cry even more. I considered telling her to pull herself together. But I decided to let her continue. Even when she ratcheted up the volume.

I turned on the radio to distract myself. Soon, the music soothed her, too, and she quieted. We were almost home when she said in a calm voice, “I have to tell you something weird, Mom.”

“What?” I asked, my body still tense.

“Crying made me feel better.”

I hadn’t expected that. All of those times I’d tried to stifle her tears, maybe I’d been denying her some kind of catharsis. Then I remembered an old “Everybody Loves Raymond” episode where Debra said sometimes she just needed a good cry. She’d put on the theme from Ice Castles and give in to her emotions.

“Isn’t that weird, Mom?” my daughter asked again. She seemed pleased with her discovery that tears can actually work like salve on a wound.

I don’t understand it, but what matters is that she does.

How about you? Do you believe in the healing power of tears?

If you're on the verge of tears, treat yourself to On the Verge, which tells of a single mom whose wonderful new husband hits his head and changes personalities. How long should she wait for her true love to return? What if he never does? Click here to learn more about On the Verge, which is "highly recommended" by the Midwest Book Review. (If nothing else, it'll distract you from your own problems). Please pass this along by clicking the buttons below. Thanks!

Have you already watched Miracle on 34th Street and It’s a Wonderful Life and every other Christmas movie you can think of? I love the classics, but I also enjoy discovering a family film I’ve never seen before. If you’re like me, longing for a heart-warming story in which you don’t have all of the lines memorized, check out Prancer.

Sam Elliott plays a financially-strapped widower who spends more time scolding his precocious daughter, Jessica, than talking to her. He’s at such a loss, he’s planning on sending her to live with her aunt. Before he can go through with his plans, his eight-year-old daughter finds an injured reindeer that she’s convinced is Prancer. Hiding and stealing food for this reindeer puts Jessica even more at odds with her gruff father.

This precious movie reminded me of the innocence and unconditional love of children. It almost made me cry while leaving a big, Santa-inspired smile on my daughter’s face. For a Christmas movie that speaks to the reality of hard times and the magic of the season, treat your family to Prancer.

Be sure to treat yourself to A Sister’s Promise which provides a Happy Ending with a Twist. For a chance to win a free autographed copy of “What Happiness Looks Like”, click here. Please "like" and "tweet."

How did I miss “the best film of 2005” according to the Los Angeles Times? Oh, yeah. I had a baby. I probably didn’t go to the theater more than once that year. But I don’t even remember hearing about this film. I'm so glad I stumbled across it at my local library.

Now my baby is seven and she loves to watch movies. In fact, if I let her eat popcorn in the living room while watching a DVD, I’ve elevated the event to something special. She still likes animated films, but I especially enjoy a movie that entertains us both. (You know—one with actors, not cartoons). That’s why I’m writing about “DUMA.”

Duma is the name of a cheetah that wanders into the road in South Africa where a father and son find him. (All we ever find in the road where I live are squirrels and skunks!) Since the cub is orphaned, the family takes him home to their farm miles away. The gentle squeak that comes out of that cheetah’s mouth is not what you expect. Soon the cat grows bigger than the boy and proves to be better than a watchdog. Unfortunately, the father dies and the boy, his mother, and Duma must leave the farm. (Be aware that the sad parts of the movie are off-screen. We do not see how the father dies, which works well for my sensitive daughter and me.)

Before the dad died, he told his son, Xan, that Duma needed to return to the wild. (What a great name! I think I'll name my next kid Xan, although he'll probably have to explain to everyone that it's pronounced Zan.) Xan decides to fulfill his dad’s wishes and runs away with the cheetah. African deserts, lions, crocodiles and a suspicious stranger provide plenty of obstacles for the twelve-year-old boy to overcome. He is amazingly resourceful, reading a compass and making a canoe out of sticks. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have fared nearly as well as he did, but I guess it is fiction. There was drama, but no tears until the very end when Duma finally remembers what it means to be wild.

This film would entertain children from ages seven on up and I highly recommend it! 

What’s your favorite family film? I'd love to know, so I can watch it! Would you like "Movies you Might've Missed" to become a regular feature?
 
If you're looking for a "sweet read with depth" after the kids go to bed, check out my 99 cent novella, Made for Two. 

I blame my husband. He’s the one who so casually said to our six-year-old, “If you’re good at tutoring, maybe we can get a donut afterward.” The problem was this would be the first of three-times- a-week tutoring sessions. That equaled a lot of donuts. Was this the kind of habit I wanted my daughter to form?

            My dilemma was not only about the sugar. It was about rewards, AKA bribes. I wanted my child to behave because I told her to not because she wanted a prize. That’s how I was raised. (Is it just me or is it harder to raise kids these days?)

            I hesitate to offer bribes because I want my daughter to be prepared for the “real world”--where every effort doesn’t result in an instant reward. Besides, a donut may motivate her now, but as she gets older, she’ll demand more expensive prizes. I’d rather not go down that road.

            But thanks to my husband, we were already there. I switched the after-tutoring treat to fruit smoothies, thinking they were healthier. Then on the way to get a smoothie in Kroger’s, my daughter spotted balloons. Another time, she wanted a potted flower instead. My husband had the nerve to complain that the rewards were growing in price. I balked, but secretly agreed. We were spiraling out of control.

            I hate to admit, I was both disappointed and a little pleased when my daughter didn’t earn a reward one time. I was tired and wanted to get home for dinner. She apologized later for “letting me down” and I told her it was okay; she just needed to do her best next time.

            Fortunately (or unfortunately--depending on how you look at it) my daughter’s good days outnumber her not-so-good ones. Neither my waistline nor my bank account can take much more of this, though. Someone please help me--I’m trapped between a donut and a smoothie! 

YOUR TURN TO COMMENT: What rewards do you feel are appropriate for kids? Do you ever reward yourself?
**Treat yourself to a zero-calorie reward: A Sister's Promise or What Happiness Looks Like e-books are cheaper than a smoothie and they'll last longer than a donut.