Real Parents, Real Daughters is a unique opportunity for a weekend workshop on girls’ relationships and the best practices in communication, emotional intelligence and healthy conflict. This is not a three-day lecture! We blend our trademark sense of humor with games and activities that keep participants laughing as they learn about themselves and practice new approaches to old habits. You will not get lost in the crowd; with only 30 participants, every participant is guaranteed attention to his or her individual goals.

Who:
Girls in grades six – eight and one parent

Program:
Participants will

• Explore how “pleaser” behaviors limit your strength and interpersonal relationships
• Identify your difficult conversations and practice new skills to change them
• Discover how to model empowering behavior
• Learn the importance of emotional intelligence and how to increase it in your family
• Bond with your daughter and have fun!

Price:
$350 per parent-daughter pair

Location & Dates:

May:

Eastside Preparatory School
10635 NE 38th Place
Kirkland, WA 98033
May 4, 5, and 6, 2012
Friday: Workshops 6:00 PM – 9:00 PM
Saturday: Workshops 9:30 AM – 5:00 PM
Sunday: Workshops 9:00 AM – 1:00 PM

Click here to register for Seattle!

Testimonials

Parents Say:

Dear GLI,
I can’t find the words to adequately describe my gratitude to you for the Mother/Daughter Retreat. Your workshop is a gift to the mothers and daughters who attend. The skills we learned from you are invaluable and will be the key to diffusing contentious moments in the future.

The workshop was the perfect blend of important concepts and hands on work, mixed with humor and fun. Your feedback after our last dialogues were presented was so valuable. It was honest, precise and insightful. The exercise was the perfect way to crystallize all of the work we had done over the weekend.
– Coni Frezzo, NJ

Girls Say: 
“I would definitely recommend this workshop. It is really fun and a life changing experience.”
“I liked meeting new friends, and the food. It was not what I expected, because I thought it would be boring.”
“Because of this workshop I will now be able to talk to my friends about a problem that I have with them.”
“Don’t change anything!”

FAQ

How should I explain this weekend to my daughter?
We would say, “This is a chance for the two of us to have a weekend where we get to hang out, have fun and learn new skills that will help us in every relationship in our lives – with each other, our friends and other family members. You’ll also meet other girls there and make some new friends.”

Can I come to the workshop and leave early?
We don’t recommend it. We begin the workshop by building community, then accumulate new skills throughout the weekend. We close on Sunday morning with an exercise that draws upon all the information learned over the three days. The workshop is designed to be experienced from start to finish.

Can I bring two daughters?
You can! Many folks have done this over the years. It requires a little juggling back and forth between the two girls, but we can help you make it work. We charge you half the normal cost for your second daughter. If possible, the ideal way to work with two daughters is to also have two parents present.

Is there food?
Yes, snacks, beverages and lunch are provided.

Cancellation Policy

Full tuition refunds are available up to 60 days prior to the start of the program. If you cancel more than 30 days, but less than 60 days prior to the program, we can offer you a 50% tuition refund. No refunds are available within 30 days from the start of a program.

by Janell Hofmann

I am sitting, cross legged, on the bathroom floor trimming my five year old daughters’ toenails.  My nine year old son showers his muddy body as I lean against the tub.  My three year old daughter wrestles herself into pajamas in her bedroom.  My eleven year old son bursts in from football practice and hollers upstairs about reheating leftovers and having a sore throat.  My husband is out dropping our minivan off for a tune up.  The sun has set and we’re putting another day to rest.  In the confusion of this typical weeknight, I glance up from the floor at my seven year old daughter, standing on the step stool, completely undressed, brushing her teeth.  I don’t like the way she is looking at herself in the mirror.  I don’t like the way she pokes at her belly and frowns at her profile.  I watch her for another minute and step in.

“What’s up, girl?”  I ask.  “I’m fat.”  she responds without hesitation.  I’m instantly weak.  She continues, “My stomach jiggles when I run.  I want to be skinny.  I want my stomach to go flat down.”  I am silent.  I have read the books, the blogs, the research.  I have aced gender studies, mass media, society and culture courses in college.  I have given advice to other mothers.  I run workshops and programming for middle school girls.  I have traveled across the world to empower women and children in poverty.  I am over qualified to handle this comment.  But in reality, my heart just breaks instead.  I am mush.  Not my girl.

I rally some composure and stay cool.  “You are built just perfect – strong and healthy.”  And she is.  But this doesn’t soothe.

I flounder.  This child – my first and wildly celebrated daughter – was breastfed girl power.    I read picture books with only central female characters, I insisted she wrestle her big brothers, demanded family call her words like smart and brave as much as cute and adorable.  I tell her we are all different – straight and thin to round and plump and millions of ways in between.  I tell her it’s what makes us all beautiful.  Unconvinced.

I send all the other kids away.  I shut the door and we sit face to face on the floor.  There is more here and I need to see it through.  I tell her I looked just like her when I was seven.  I tell her she will grow to be tall and strong and fierce, like me.  Not good enough.  I reach and scramble.  I tell her how fast she runs.  Remind her of the goal she scored in soccer.  What an expert she is on her bike and the amazing balance and tricks she does on her scooter.  I remind her of her high level reading, her artwork, her mastery of math facts.  “Fat.”

I grow desperate.  “Child!  What is the first thing everyone tells you when they meet you?”  She sighs, “I’m beautiful.”  Beauty is not helping me here.  I’m failing.  Pleading, I ask her why.  Her blues eyes meet mine.  She tells me on two different occasions friends have called her “kind of fat” when they were talking about bodies this summer in their bathing suits.  And she felt sad.  But she also felt good because finally she confirmed that what she thought about her body was “mostly true”.

I think a few bad thoughts about her peers and their mothers and wonder what messages are being sent.  I am out of tools.  And now twenty minutes later, I’m out of patience too.  I feel powerless to what seems certain to her.  And I cannot understand how she does not see all of life’s perfection in her reflection.

I stand her up on the step stool in front of the mirror.  I strip off my yoga pants, my tee shirt, my bra and underwear.  We are side by side completely naked together.  She laughs.  I start singing a song that I’m making up as I go.  It’s rap meets Raffi with lyrics like “We are perfect, just the way we are.”  It’s wild and silly, but I cannot be stopped.  We’re shaking everything, and she’s belly laughing and totally thrilled.  I pick her up.  We are a ridiculous and magnificent pair.  The other kids hear the commotion and barge in.  They are confused and horrified.  I carry her to the bedroom raving about all the ways we are powerful and naked and women.  We settle into comfy pajamas and read a story together.  Fat is not mentioned again.

On this night, I have no idea if I have succeeded.  I’m not sure if what I said and did had an impact, if I fixed anything, or even if I changed her mind.  But I do know that I must continue to infuse myself and my children with bold confidence.  I must check in, ask questions, take the time.  I must build and undo.  I must be open and genuine.  I must but willing to dance naked in the mirror, resist the urge to see all the ways five babies have changed me, and stare straight into my reflection with love.  Then together, with a twinkle in our eyes, we only see radiance shining back.

Janell Burley Hoffmann is a writer and modern day abolitionist who leads empowerment programs for girls on Cape Cod.   She is a lover of life and enjoys the wild ride with her husband and five children ages 12, 9, 7, 5, and 4.