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Present Tense. With Danielle LaPorte

Today is day three of Present Tense, an exploration of how various wonderful, wise women work to be more present in their daily lives.
It is my privilege to share with you today the words and insight of Danielle LaPorte. I bought Danielle’s book, Style Statement, when it came out, and I have been a devotee of her writing and her thinking since before she launched White Hot Truth. It was an absolute thrill to meet Danielle in person in September at a Firestarter in New York. The session at Aidan’s house overwhelmed me, in the best possible way.

Then I was lucky enough to have a one-on-one with Danielle in early November. Much like at the firestarter, I found myself fighting back tears (not always successfully) during that session. So I’m concluding that Danielle is one of those people who, both intuitively and gently, accesses the vulnerable and volatile core of other people. She’s a sage in snakeskin leggings. I’m serious. She is soft-spoken but intensely charismatic, and she sees into the heart of things. And of people.

I wish I could be more specific about Danielle’s gifts, but they are as ineffable as they are undeniable. You can get a real sense of her through her writing on White Hot Truth, though. I love her words and her voice: she is funny and straight, deep without a whiff of grandiosity. She writes about provocative topics in a compelling way and shares quotations that inevitably make me cry with their wisdom. As far as I can see, her approach to the world is honest and brave; she tolerates no bullshit and accepts nothing but her heart’s true path. She makes me want to live the same way. Danielle fills me with inspiration and hope that is tangible: talking to her makes me feel like there’s a balloon in my chest. When I’m not crying I’m gasping, unable to quite believe the beauty of the life she dares me to imagine for myself.

I’m delighted and honored that she agreed to participate in this series (which, truth be told, was pretty much her idea!).

1. When have you felt most present? Are there specific memories that stand out for you?

I was in a car accident a few years back and it was amazing how much “information” I received in nano-seconds – the cause, the state of mind of the driver, the future physical implications, the whereabouts of my husband and child, the depths of personal issues I was going through at that time in my life, a certainty of human inter-connectivity. It was so holographic, I was astonished at how much I knew-saw-felt-smelled in that crash-bang-crack-flash.

Luckily there have been less traumatic moments of presence. Birthing my son at home was one of them, for sure. But in terms of everyday kinds of Presence…my awareness is most piqued when I’m not looking to get anything from the exchange. I let the moment, the friend, the circumstance be free to be itself and I listen with all my cells. Sure feels good.

2. Do you have rituals or patterns that you use to remind you to Be Here Now?

This is so incredibly new age cheesy, but…candles. I only burn honey beeswax which I order from this crazy place in small town Ontario (did you know that real beeswax candles clean impurities from the air? the petroleum based wax is nasty shit…I digress…) Fire reminds me to focus. Ditto for some old mantras and chants that I pull out once and a while, especially before a speaking gig.

3. Do you have specific places or people that you associate with being particularly present? Who? Where? Any idea why?

Some of my girlfriends have a huge presence to them – you feel like they have all the time in the world for you, even though they don’t. My Jew-Bu shrink is like, Shamanic in his capacity to hold space and see everything floating in the air, I’m grateful for that, to say the least.

4. Have you ever meditated? How did that go?

I’m meditating right now. And when I do the dishes. And walk the dog. And read to my kid. And wander an art gallery. It doesn’t have to happen in lotus position. I try to be my own temple, that way, I’m always home. But yah, I’ve logged many hours cross-legged and watching my in-breath, out breath. And much of my prayer transcends into meditation for me. For me, the learning has been to mediate without attachment to what the meditation will “produce” or do for you. In terms of meditation, I’m more interested in observing my mind than trying to control it. Easier said than done, because there are soooo many others things that I’m also hooked on controlling.

5. Has having children changed how you think about the effort to be present?

Absolutely, positively. When my monkey-boy came along almost six years ago, I got FOCUSED. I wrote a poem about it in which I said, “my world became the size of a seed” so focused, so massively full of possibility. My greatest heartbreak is noticing when I’m not present with my kid. It’s what he wants and deserves the most.

6. And just cause I’m curious, what books and songs do you love?

I’m currently loving Pema Chodron’s latest book, Taking the Leap.
Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clariss Pinkola Estes changed my life.
The Soul’s Code by James Hillman is one of the few books I’ve read more than once.
And I never leave home without some Red Hot Chili Peppers or Serena Ryder.

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Danielle … thank you.

In September we spoke briefly about birth and I know it’s something that we are both interested in. I believe devoutly that birth can be a defining and deeply spiritual experience for women, an opportunity to be present almost unlike any other. I love your other examples, though. I think the idea of not needing anything back from the other person or the moment is profound. What I wonder is if we can wish or think ourselves into this or if that is in direct opposition to the goal?

I love the expression about your shrink “holding space.” Oh, there is something to that. Are there people whose spirits have a stillness that allows us to relax into the space we share? Somehow certain people can create for us the conditions where we are present. What an extraordinary gift. Danielle, I suspect you hold space for a lot of other people.

Your comments about meditating everywhere you are remind me immediately of the work of Thich Nhat Hahn, whom I’ve long loved. Your words seem to echo the understanding I have of his teachings: the point is to be present in your daily life. To make a meditation, a celebration, of washing the dishes. Of waiting at a red light. To be aware of your breathing in and breathing out. To hear you say that letting go of attachment to what the meditation “produces” is a revelation. I think I get caught on that, every single time, and I can’t get past it. This is one of those aha moments that I suspect you create all the time for others: it seems so blindingly obvious now that you say it, and is utterly revolutionary. Just stop worrying about what the end of the meditation is. Just take a breath. Let go. Wow.

As usual, with all things Danielle-related, I am full to the brim, blinking back tears, my mind full of thoughts and questions and hope and horizons heretofore never imagined.

Thank you. Thank you.

Five Years!

With so much love to Hils and T – five fabulous years.
Can’t imagine life without HMG and MMG.

Love. xoxo

Present Tense. With Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary.

Today is day two of Present Tense, an exploration of how various wonderful, wise women work to be more present in their daily lives.

I am honored today to share the words of Heather of the Extraordinary Ordinary. Heather’s blog has become one of my most cherished. She truly does as the title says: she celebrates the extraordinary in ordinary life. She highlights small moments, like dancing in the kitchen with her sons, that, while seemingly minor, are in fact the very stuff of Life. Heather’s posts are pure poetry: she identifies, with lucid and lyrical prose, the beauty in the everyday. She has an incredible ability to hone in on the stuff that really matters, to speak of the mystical as expressed through the mudane, to radiate gratitude even when talking about normal everyday life. She reminds me, every single time I read her, to look around and see how fortunate I am.

Heather commented on my post last week, sharing her own difficulties with being present. To me, as a reader, her writing radiates presence – isn’t that where the luminous details come from? – so I was surprised to hear that she felt this way. I wanted to learn more. And, lucky for us, she agreed to participate in my project.
1. When have you felt most present? Are there specific memories that stand out for you?
I’ve been most present during my life’s greatest trials and greatest joys. I can so vividly remember these moments. Intense emotions due to tragedies or joys, their imprint is so vivid.I do think emotion has so much to do with being present. In times of trials or tragedies or great joys, you can make the choice as to whether or not you’re going to feel, it’s so powerful. To be present in the daily grind would mean being in touch emotionally all the time, and that’s terribly difficult. At least for me.
You know, something like:Life + emotional connection = being present (seeing life for the beautiful thing it is meant to be for your heart and soul)
2. Do you have rituals or patterns that you use to remind you to Be Here Now?
I put notes around my house that speak to that. I also carry around a little binder of recipe cards. They’re filled with quotes and scriptures that renew me, remind me to live fully, etc.I don’t know if this applies, but I also use a timer. It helps me stay on track with my ADD/busy mind. I set it for a certain amount of time and when it goes off, I stop what I’m (frantically and sporadically) doing that doesn’t really matter and I play with my boys. It’s hard for me, this being present in play thing, so I have to be disciplined about it in order for it to ever happen. Funny thing is, I always feel the most joyful about life when I do it even though it doesn’t come naturally to me.
So I guess: Life + discipline = being present
3. Do you have specific places or people that you associate with being particularly present? Who? Where? Any idea why?
Yes. One example is my friends, Kyle and Kelly. Their home is incredibly peaceful (and not just because they don’t have kids). I don’t know exactly why, but I’ve attributed it to their choice to live that way, simply. No clutter, clean lines and spaces, etc. But it’s also THEM. They are the most approachable, understanding, unconditional people, and the sense when you go to their house is that they genuinely want you there. Because they don’t do things out of duty or obligation or people-pleasing, but instead they follow their hearts and gladly spend time with people who they connect with. I want to be like them when I grow up.
From them I’ve learned: Life + being completely authentic = being present

4. Have you ever meditated? How did that go?

I could seriously copy your exact same answer here. Monkey brain to the max. And they keep switching branches and it’s so overwhelming and distracting. So meditation is hard for me too. I consider my hopeful thoughts to be prayers though, and I do have a whole lot of visionary thought. But to sit still and completely leave it all in peace…nope. When I sit down to pray, I mostly just sit there thinking. Sometimes putting myself in a position of prayer helps, like kneeling by the bed, but even then I forget what I was doing there. (I realize I’m thinking of prayer while thinking of “meditation,” but I guess that’s what it is for me.)
I have no little formula here, except for perhaps:Monkey brain + medication = being present 🙂
5. Has having children changed how you think about the effort to be present?
OH MY YES. On many levels. I want to be present so badly WITH THEM. I have a friend whose Mom was and is always really good at being present. Her brain could multi-task. So she’d be folding piles of laundry while having a meaningful connection with her daughters, rather than acting a tad annoyed at “having” to do both. Being present with my boys looks like that, I think…peaceful and safe, open and understanding.
I don’t know how much it even has to do with playing with them, but it has more to do with exchanging my fear of being vulnerable (yes, even with my own children) for the ability to remain in intimate connection with them, rather than fearing it a bit, like it means I’m going to get hurt. That’s my pattern in human relationship, that became clear through having kids. I pull back to protect myself and it makes no sense to me, and it breaks my heart.
Yes, Love + vulnerability = being present
6. And just cause I’m curious, what books and songs do you love?
OH BOY. Ready for a list? Some of my favorite books: While I Was Gone by Sue Miller. Anything Anne Lamott has written. A book called Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers (I was so moved by this book because it paints such an amazing picture of God’s love, but through a fiction couple. I needed that book because I had a very skewed perception of God, and believed a lot of things I had done left me unworthy or ugly somehow. This book started the journey toward NOT thinking that way, which helps me make strides toward being less shameful and more present.)
As for songs, there are many for many different reasons. Along the lines of being present, there’s one called I Just Showed Up by Sara Groves “I just showed up for my own life, and I’m standing here taking it in and it sure looks bright.” It’s about spinning your wheels, unless you’re being present of course :)Another one of her songs I love that applies to this is called Kingdom Coming. It’s about the purpose of life being more about the little things we do in love, opening our hearts and our homes…”it’s a little stone, it’s a little mortar, it’s a little seed, it’s a little bit of water…in our hearts” It’s about choosing not to live in fear of loving, basically.

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So, Heather. I love your concrete suggestions, like the timer. I’ve just started reading Harry Potter to my daughter, a couple of chapters a night and I am finding, truly, for the first time in my life as a mother, that the minutes melt away. Part of it is my excitement at the way she is falling for the story’s magic, but I am also letting myself lean into the moment, glancing at her earnest little face, seeing the words on the page, hearing them again for the second time as I read aloud. I imagine the timer sort of functions like this: removes the immediate checking-of-clock because you know that it will go off. For the time within the timer, you can be fully present, as I am at Hogwarts.

I also like the way you keep notes and a binder of quotations, words, and scripture with you. Similarly, I treasure a handmade, hand-written book of poetry and quotations; whenever I feel sad or lost I open it at random and immediately find myself somewhat comforted.

You say two things that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. The first is that you cannot always be completely engaged, that that would mean “being in touch emotionally all the time, and that’s terribly difficult.” I’ve been thinking about this, and even described a similar feeling myself this week.

I am heartened to hear you not only admit that you wouldn’t want to be fully present every single minute , but to embrace and normalize it. It is supremely encouraging to hear someone I respect so completely say this. Perhaps some of us are sensitive enough that full-blown presence is like staring into the sun. We can’t do it all the time. And, to hear you say it, that doesn’t have to mean anything bad. Maybe it’s just that for us, “presence” means something really open, and that is not feasible all the time.

The other thing you say that has lodged in my head is the notion that perhaps you shy away from authentic presence out of a fear of being vulnerability. This resonates strongly with me. Do we avoid being really conscious and engaged for fear of true intimacy? Perhaps. I have been called on that before by a close friend, and I fought it for a while before realizing it was true.

Heather, this is a place where your words on the page belie your own self-description. Your blog posts are so intimate, so open, speaking of and from your heart with a clarity and candor that is tremendously moving. And yet you say you fear vulnerability. Is it easier to be that way in words on the page than in person? I think that is true for me.

Can we be afraid of intimacy even with our own children? Yes, I think so, as you say. Maybe theirs is the most terrifying intimacy of all, because it is threaded, from the very beginning, with their departures.

Heather, thank you for your comments, both specific and supreme in scale. I have much to think about. And I am grateful every day for your presence in the blogosphere – and in the world! – your voice sings often in my head, reminding me of the kind of mother and person I want to be. Thank you.

Present Tense. With Kelly Diels.

Today is the inaugural day of a new project called Present Tense. I want to explore through interviews with wild, wonderful, wise women the way we all grapple with the tension we feel about being present in our lives. I am fascinated by the way that some peoples’ lives are both splintered into pieces and refracted into beautiful lightshows through the variety of identities they assume on a regular basis.
The struggle to be really present in my life defines me. Every day I walk through many different worlds and juggle responsibilities to many people and places. Integrating all of these selves into a consistent lens of identity through which I can really see my life and be present in it is the challenge of my life.

I’m delighted to kick off this series with my interview with the marvelous Kelly Diels. Kelly has been one of my most favorite discoveries in the wilds of the ether. Her blog, Cleavage, showcases her marvelous voice, which is hilarious and insightful at the same time, and her penchant for digging into complicated, multilayered thinky thoughts. Please visit her blog, and then read on to hear her responses to my questions and my thoughts on them. Thank you, Kelly. For this and for the thousand other ways you both support and inspire me every day.

1. When have you felt most present? Are there specific memories that stand out for you?

I have a couple of moments where I had the feeling: this is it. Don’t miss it. Be here. You’re going to remember this. My first-born daughter, Sophie – a tiny, perfect baby far too small for a name that means knowledge and wisdom – was only hours old. Her father was cradling her in his arms, glowing, talking to her.

Suddenly, he looked at me, and asked: What day is it? When I told him, he looked at Sophie, marvelled, and whispered: You are my freedom. Sophie was born exactly five years, to the day, after her father escaped his country and awful, violent, terrifying persecution with his life, a small valise, an address book, and an extra shirt. Freedom. Wisdom. Yes.

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Last week, while making dinner, I played the fool. My eager-beaver babies were sitting at the island while I chopped vegetables and held court. I was ridiculous. I spanked myself with the spatula. I said things that were wildly untrue. I pretended I couldn’t see them and wondered where those little hungry voices were coming from. They belly-laughed and they shone and my little one nearly lost control of an activity that she most firmly has control of, most of the time.

Then, after that crisis was averted, she said: You’re the best mommy in the whole wide wo-wode. Tears rushed my eyes, and I thought: why don’t I do this more often? Why do I rush them from activity to activity and really, try to minimize our interactions so that I can get things done, faster? Nobody enjoys that. Not even me. I need to slow down. I need to be with them. Not just for them – and they deserve a present, engaged mommy – but for me, too.

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I had a moment like this last June, too. I drove from Vancouver to Whistler – a windy, mountain road that I have never enjoyed driving. But it was a day stroked with sunshine and good feeling and good music and the road had been renovated and wow, what a drive. Eagles. Ocean. Cliffs and trees and blue sky. And while winding my way through paradise in highway form, clarity kissed me hello.
I was on my way to a workshop (a firestarter with Danielle LaPorte) and was thinking about who I was and how I was going to introduce myself (my elevator striptease). I mentally ran through all my titles: proposal writer, contract manager, single mother, commuter, sex goddess, writer, woman, blogger and realized, fuck it, I’m an artist. And I said it out loud, too, to Danielle, while we poured ice tea. And I teared up a little. Because the truth is now and searing and hot happysad tears can result.

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So, those moments: they’re about love and truth and epiphany. And they’re almost always a surprise. We can’t predict them and I think that’s why we’re so afraid we might miss them.
2. Do you have rituals or patterns that you use to remind you to Be Here Now?
Your yoga/running is my sex. Really. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
3. Do you have specific places or people that you associate with being particularly present? Who? Where? Any idea why?
I wrote about this, this summer. For me it is anywhere near oceans, lakes, rivers (but preferably the ocean). Fresh, simple food. The time to think. Help with my girls. More time to play and enjoy. Cuddling. And a lap top and wifi.
4. Have you ever meditated? How did that go?
Oh, Lindsey, I think we are the same person. I can’t meditate. I also can’t understand Eckhart Tolle. I read The New Earth and The Power of Now and was like what? I don’t get it. He’s way too zen. I would only get to that state if induced by mediCATion not meditation. My brain is like a streaming, rushing faucet. Or a waterfall. Or something. I despair of it sometimes.

(Have you seen Before Sunrise? There’s a line that Ethan Hawke says, with great greasy-haired earnest yet lacksadaisackal angst: “It’s just usually it’s myself that I wish I could get away from. Seriously, think about this. I have never been anywhere that I haven’t been. I’ve never had a kiss when I wasn’t one of the kissers. Y’know, I’ve never, um, gone to the movies, when I wasn’t there in the audience. I’ve never been out bowling, if I wasn’t there, y’know making some stupid joke. I think that’s why so many people hate themselves. Seriously, it’s just they are sick to death of being around themselves.” )
YES. With this line, it’s painful, overthought truth – hello, me – and the soulful delivery – and despite the fact that he and shampoo and razors just don’t get along – I fell in love with Ethan Hawke. And then he went and cheated on Uma Thurman. Who cheats on Uma Thurman? These are things I wonder. So I trailed in Uma’s wake and broke up with Ethan Hawke, too.)

To recap: my brain will just not turn off, except during sex. Sex works for me quite well. (Apparently, contrary to what I answered in #2, I am going to say more about it.) I wish it was something socially appropriate like yoga or running (although running has worked a little for me in the past. I don’t get a ‘runners high’ but I do start to daydream about 30 minutes in) but it is not. It is sex. But yes, you’re right – when the body is engaged, the mind is free of the clutter of little thoughts. And focused. Very, very focused.
5. Has having children changed how you think about the effort to be present?
Yes. Definitely. It has also engendered in me a paradoxical, pathological need to escape.
6. And just cause I’m curious, what books and songs do you love?
I’m fickle. These things change all the time. My favourite book of all time, though, is To Kill A Mockingbird. And maybe, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. I also recommend Girl by Blake Nelson. Ok, there’s a pattern there. Apparently I’m a thirty-six year old who likes YA fiction. If it has a Newberry medal on the front of it, I’m in. (I swear to you that I have read books in the years intervening between 16 and 36. Really, truly.)

Favourite song of the moment: Clear by Kardinall Offishall. I can’t get enough of it.
*****
Ahhhh, Kelly. Your words are a balm. You make me laugh and you make me wipe tears away from my eyes with that shimmering sense of recognition. Oh, yes.
The story about being with your girls and wondering, after a few moments of humor and – gasp! – being really present, why you don’t do it more often? Yes. I know it well. I ask myself that after every interval where I find myself able to let go and really be there, with the laughing and the giggling and the mess.
And I just finally admitted to myself I’m going to stop listening to the Eckhart Tolle book on CD I was listening to on my commute. It’s just over my head. I can be as sad and melancholy as the next guy (maybe more), but I like good top 40 or a cheezy murder thriller to get me through my drive.
Your answers make me think. A couple of what I suspect will be themes are emerging already. The first is that I think many of us have touchstones that viscerally remind us to be here. You mention water, the ocean. I have a similar reaction to being near the shore. There are also certain people with whom I am for some reason more likely to be present, less distracted, less preoccupied. Certain people just pull me back to the moment, with a distinct tug whose presence I recognize but whose source I cannot yet define. There will be richness in understanding what these touchstones are for others, and, even more, in unpacking the contents – the who, what, and why – of that tug. If we understand it, maybe we can replicate it. At least we can invite it into our lives more often.
The second is that some of us require our bodies to be occupied in order to have a prayer of a quiet mind. For us meditation feels like a battle, and the only way out of the monkey mind is, maybe, turning the traditional rubric upside down. Instead of trying to still the mind and the thoughts through a still body, perhaps some of us need to approach it the other way: through engaging our bodies utterly we can, perhaps, tune into our faintest and most profound thoughts. Maybe.
There will be more trend lines to draw, more patterns emerging from the vast chaos, after I’ve interviewed more people. But for now let me just say that much of what you say resonates with me at the deepest level. And, thank you.

Money and Lots of Questions

Yesterday afternoon Grace and I went to the American Girl store (aka, mecca) to accomplish several things. Yes, Mum-Grace time. Yes, dinner with a couple of special friends to celebrate (yet again, another celebration, the price Grace extracted for sharing her birthday party – good manipulator, this little brunette in Gap 6 slim jeans is). But most of all, way most importantly: spending the gift card a friend gave her. Oh, yes. We had spent the days leading up to the outing leafing through the American Girl catalog, poring over items and prices and doing lots of math. And by “we,” I mean Grace, with occasional math-checking or opinion-sharing by me.

Originally she wanted to spend her whole gift card plus all of her tooth fairy money on one big thing. Then she decided to buy two smaller things instead, and save all of her tooth fairy money. This was accomplished with a lot of agonizing and earnest staring into my eyes, begging for guidance. She was so sweet, and so serious, and it seemed as though this was the very last time she’d ever get to buy anything, ever.

As we drove home, with the two boxed American Girl purchases in the car, we talked about money. About the meaning of it, about having it, about not being able to have everything we want. She was impressively realistic about how she coudn’t buy everything she wanted, but she also evinced some very age-appropriate frustration about this fact. This was a heart-rending conversation for me, so serious and real. I thought of the quotation that Catarina sent last year that still says best of all the way I think about this:

I want my children to thrive without being acquisitive, to have enough prosperity that they can be generous, to feel self-sufficient enough that they may never be bought. Let them be sensible enough to care for themselves – and one day, perhaps, for children of their own.

My strong instinct is to be fearful of not having enough, to save to a sometimes irrational degree. I am wired that way, myself, and recognize both the pros and cons of this orientation. I’d like to impart this general frugality to Grace, while also giving her, as the quote says, a sense of prosperity. A feeling of having enough, that is another extension of the all-important feeling of being enough.

While I want Grace (and Whit) to have a healthy respect for the importance of saving and being careful with money, I don’t want them to have the feeling of always being right on the edge of not having enough. I think this creates unnecessary fear, contributes to a sense of instability and unsafeness that I want very much to protect them from.

But then, I wonder, am I over-protecting them? Come with me, all of you, into the maze of my thoughts, where one concern turns over to reveal another, and then back again, and wheeeee before you know it you’re in the center of the labyrinth with the minotaur.

Perhaps – shocking! – I am overthinking this. Still, I do think that how I address money will frame the whole topic for Grace and Whit, will frame its meaning, its value, its importance. Of course I don’t want money to become more central than it is – I don’t think it’s all that matters, absolutely NO WAY, nor do I think it’s the only way to feel prosperous or to offer generosity. Aboslutely. So, the challenge is to create a healthy respect for money as a means to an end, as an entity to treat carefully., without over-imbuing it with import or creating either fear or obsession. Part of this includes sharing valuable investor tips that can help them understand the importance of investing wisely, showing them that money can work for them while still maintaining a balanced perspective. Novice traders may take advantage of technology like a forex robot to help them better analyze the market and manage risks.

As we neared home, my conversation with Grace turned to allowances. The furthest we got was talking about how the most important thing to learn about an allowance is how you decide what to spend, what to save, and what to give away. That much I’m clear on. Otherwise? This is a topic I have no idea how to handle. I don’t know when I am supposed to start giving her an allowance, I don’t know how much to give her, and I don’t know if it should be associated with chores. Furthermore, I suspect, like most of these questions, there is no right answer. Oh, annoying, prickly parenting questions with no simple answer or resolution. Grr. I don’t know. Help?