Lost Dog, Lost Kid, and a Lesson in Calm Parenting
Years ago, my wife and I had the good fortune of watching my brother’s three kids for a couple of days. We stayed at their home since the older two were in school and needed some sense of routine. I’ve babysat for family before, but this was the first time I had done so for my brother—and the first time I learned something I still carry with me today.
It started with a moment I’ll never forget. I was mid-sentence, typing away at my computer, when I heard my wife’s voice from another room:
“I need your help.”
That was it. No passive comments like, “It’d be nice if you helped,” or sarcastic remarks like, “A little help here…” Just clear, direct, respectful communication. And because I know my wife—how responsible and capable she is—I knew she wouldn’t ask unless it really mattered.
Turns out, it did.
My nephew, the youngest, had slipped out the front door with our dog, Ginger, and both were now missing. We called out. No answer. A few anxious minutes later, I spotted them near a busy road. They were fine, but that short walk back home gave me time to think about how I wanted to handle the situation.
How do you discipline a child in a way that teaches rather than punishes? That builds trust instead of fear?
That very morning, I had seen a Facebook post about Dr. Dan Siegel’s book No Drama Discipline, which challenges traditional ideas like time-outs. While I’ve seen time-outs work in some cases, I agree that isolating kids can sometimes do more harm than good—especially when connection is what they need most. Disciplining in a way that disconnects the child from us emotionally misses the point.
So instead of launching into a lecture or issuing a punishment, I tried a different approach.
First, I acknowledged what my nephew was trying to do: he wanted to go to the park. Then I calmly explained how worried my wife and I were when we didn’t know where he had gone. At first, he resisted. He was quiet, squirmy, and tried to wriggle off my lap. But I stayed with him—literally and emotionally.
I told him he could go to the park, but only when he was ready to promise he’d let us know where he was going next time. When the rest of the family started heading toward the park, his discomfort grew. I gently repeated the question:
“Will you just let us know next time so your aunt feels safe letting you go?”
He nodded. That was the turning point. I praised his choice and told him I trusted he could do it.
That whole experience reminded me how powerful communication can be—not just in parenting, but in all relationships.
Here are five principles that guided me in that moment and that continue to shape how I work as a therapist, parent, and partner:
Be clear, concise, and direct. Say what you mean. Don’t make people guess.
Acknowledge emotions and intentions. This builds understanding and keeps people from getting defensive.
Ask for commitment. Don’t just talk at someone—invite them into the solution.
Be willing to follow through. I was prepared to miss out on writing so I could sit with my nephew. Kids (and adults) need to know our words mean something.
Reassure and repair. After conflict, reconnect. Praise effort. Rebuild the bridge.
Now, it’s your turn.
Think about a recent moment of conflict or misunderstanding in your life—whether with a child, partner, co-worker, or friend—and ask yourself:
Where could I have been clearer or more direct in my communication?
Did I acknowledge the other person’s emotions or intentions—or just push my own point?
What kind of commitment or follow-through would help build trust in that relationship?
Pick one principle from the list above that resonates with you. Practice it this week. See what changes.
You don’t have to be perfect—just intentional. That’s where real connection starts.
Slowing Down Isn’t Failing: Lessons from a Leash and a Jog
Not too long ago, I went for a run. Now, to be clear—I don’t run often, and when I do, it’s slow and short. But I always feel better afterward. This time, I had some special companions: my daughter in a stroller and our dog, Ginger—a golden retriever/lab mix who lives for moments like these. Just the sight of my running shoes sends her into a tail-wagging frenzy.
We headed into the canyon near our home, the river running alongside us and the air just the right kind of cool. Everything felt perfect. Downhill stretches always trick me into thinking I’m an athlete, so I was feeling great after the first mile.
But as we began climbing back uphill, I noticed Ginger falling behind. She wasn’t physically tired—not yet—but she kept looking over her shoulder. Cyclists whizzed by, and every one of them seemed to rattle her. Instead of focusing on me and our direction, she got caught up in everything happening around her. When I could get her attention, she’d visibly relax and catch back up. But the more she fixated on potential threats, the more she lagged behind, anxious and unsure.
And then it hit me: we're all a little like Ginger.
We start out strong, full of good intentions and energy. But along the way, anxiety creeps in. We start looking sideways—at what others are doing, at what might go wrong, at past missteps—and suddenly we lose momentum. Fear starts calling the shots.
Sure, Ginger was a little tired. And so are we sometimes. As Vince Lombardi once said, “Fatigue makes cowards of us all.” When we’re worn down, fear has an easier time convincing us to stop, to play small, or to turn around. Anxiety thrives when we’re tired and distracted.
That night on the trail, I realized how often I do the same thing—how often I let fear of failure, rejection, or disappointment slow me down. Sometimes, we don’t even realize we’ve hit pause. We just keep scanning the horizon for what might go wrong instead of looking ahead to where we want to go.
Like my brother-in-law, who once told me he never washes his car because every time he does, it rains. It sounds silly, but don’t we do this too? We avoid doing things that might not “last.” We don’t clean, write, create, or grow—because what’s the point if it’s just going to get messy again?
But life is messy. And we’re meant to keep moving through it anyway.
That’s why we need regular refueling—not just with food, but with encouragement, perspective, and tools to stay focused. You wouldn’t skip meals just because you’ll get hungry again. So why skip the habits that energize you just because the boost might not last forever?
Here are a few simple practices that help me stay focused on the run:
1. Use positive language.
Instead of saying, “Don’t forget,” say “Remember to…” This small shift helps your brain focus on what you want to do, not what you’re trying to avoid. It works wonders with kids—and with your own inner dialogue.
2. Add the word “yet.”
“I can’t do this” becomes “I can’t do this yet.” One little word can turn a dead end into a detour.
3. Think small.
Don’t try to clean the whole house. Just dust the bookshelf. Shrinking the goal helps build momentum.
4. Use music.
Upbeat music can give you a boost when you’re dragging. Gentle tunes can help calm anxiety. Choose your playlist with purpose.
5. Chew gum.
Seriously. It’s weirdly effective. Sometimes your body just needs a simple, sensory reset.
So here’s the big takeaway: Focus on where you’re going, not everything that might go wrong along the way.
You might not move fast. That’s okay. Just keep your eyes forward—and keep going.
Questions to Reflect & Take Action:
What distractions or fears are pulling your focus away from the direction you want to go?
Where can you use the word “yet” to reframe a limitation in your life?
What’s one small step you can take today—just dust the bookshelf—to build momentum?
Want help staying focused? Share what’s holding you back in the comments—I’d love to hear your story.