It's a well known fact to those close to me (and, most people who just met me) that I am a chocolate lover. I started out in my childhood eating all the sweet combinations of milk chocolate found in most grocery stores. As I've matured, so has my taste in chocolate. I prefer it dark these days. I always check the ingredient list. And, I love trying new flavors. So, when I glanced down the chocolate aisle of the grocery store this morning and saw wasabi infused dark chocolate . . . it became an essential need for the day.
Of course, my well-known household rule of 'Never waste chocolate' doesn't necessarily mean that all chocolate must 'go directly to my waist', either. So, I took my new found chocolate to my kids' school for the parent teacher conferences that were scheduled to be last week, but had to happen this week instead. (a little chocolate bribe never hurts)
The first conference, I have to fully admit . . . I was late to on purpose. I wanted to speak to the Resource teacher, and avoid the Regular Ed teacher (she's grumpy). And, what luck, the Reg. Ed. teacher was gone for the day by the time I got there. So, it was just me and the awesome Resource teacher. :)
I went in, went over the new I.E.P. (that's Individualized Education Plan, for those who don't speak Spec. Ed), signed my name of approval on the line, and offered chocolate and abundant "thank-you's" to the woman who inspires my son to call himself a 'nerd' because of how much he loves school. Truly, I wish all teachers had the time and talents to help each child on an individualized basis, like good Special Ed teachers do- it makes such a difference!
Next was my baby's P/T conference. Ok, ok, he just turned 8 . . . but, he's still my baby. Apparently, his teacher forgot about it and went home to check on her dogs, so I wasn't technically late to that one. I was able to help staple homework packets with the T.A. while we waited for the teacher's return.
Now, I have to admit before revealing what went down, that I really like this teacher. She is a good teacher for my son, and he really likes her, too.
"Oh, I forgot we scheduled it for today!" she says as she walks in the door.
"That's ok, I've been able to help do a little T.A. work while we waited."
(She grabs her paperwork.)
"How is his personality in the classroom?"
(awkward smile from her)
I continue- "I know he likes to be a jokester at home. Is it a distraction at school?"
"He is funny." (awkward smile/pause) "It's good to have a sense of humor." (awkward smile/pause) "It can be a bit distracting."
** [A quick discussion of what J has been working on at school, homework, what's coming up next, some samples of previous work, upcoming field trips, etc.]**
Everything is going rather well, so far. Then . . . it hits.
"Now, he really needs help getting his homework packet back to school every day."
"I know. He does all of his work at after-school and he keeps it here. I've been reminding him not to forget to turn it back in, so he can get credit for all his good work. But, I can help remind him more often."
(awkward smile/pause)
"It's really important that he does turn it back in . . . But, it's really your responsibility . . . you should be the one doing his homework with him, not anyone else . . . other people can help you, but ultimately you're responsible . . . he tells me that you don't do anything . . . I just feel like you need to be doing more as the parent."
(I just stare back at her. Shocked. Annoyed. I chew my gum a little as I mentally chew over what was just thrown at me.)
"Ha!", I finally say. (deciding to take this one as a joke.)
(She looks confused. Obviously wondering if her message got through to me.)
(I give her back one of her awkward smile/pauses)
(It seems for a few seconds that we are locked into an awkward stare- off with each other)
(She breaks first) "Well, I guess that's all."
Just to be nice, I share my wasabi chocolate along with a genuine smile before walking away.
(A little peace- offering chocolate never hurts, right?)
---
I guess I shouldn't have such a chip on my shoulder, but P/T conferences always annoy me. I don't need the teacher to tell me what my kid is capable of doing. We live together- I already know what he can do -duh! And, I have no inner burning desire to get off work and school, to willingly sign up for lectures about my personality defects as a parent.
And, even when there is no lecture involved, as a whole, P/T conferences are all just fluff to me. All the sweet and innocent fluff of how "special and wonderful" my child is (Oh, but, don't ask for specifics on how they are special and wonderful; there might not be an answer prepared for that).
And then, BAM! the lecture about how I "should be doing more as a parent" seems to sneak it's way into the conversation.
(Which always makes me wonder - who exactly wrote this book about what I 'should be' doing . . . and, shouldn't I have read it before coming to this meeting, so that we can at least all be on the same page?)
Just like my first bite of wasabi infused chocolate today, I knew the heat was probably coming at some point, but I still wasn't ready for it, when it hit me.
---
Honestly . . . I'm not sure I'll ever feel 'ready' for the heat that I always seem to get at these conferences since my divorce.
Like I said . . . I like this teacher. In fact, if I were my cute little stay at home mommy-self of 5 years ago, I'm pretty sure she'd really like me, too! I would be coming to the classroom to help out on a weekly basis, and going on all the field trips. And, I don't even blame her entirely for giving me the age-old "As a parent, you really should be (fill in the blank)" lecture.
Most experienced mom's and teachers can't seem to help slipping out of compassionate mode and into lecture mode (I should know. Oh, did I mention I am also a teacher?) ;)
But, really, if I've gained one major plus in my post-divorce life, it's that I have a new perspective on the important things. If I'd had this P/T conf. 5 years ago, I probably would have gone home crying about what a failure I am as a mom.
As it is . . . I'm not stressing myself out over this one (even if I might honestly be a failure according to many). I don't care to compare myself to all the other moms in the world, anymore. I'm ok with comparing myself to how I was doing 6 months ago, or a year ago. And, I still see improvements in my capacities, so I feel fine about how things are still far from perfect at this point.
I get the final say on what I 'should be' doing at this point. I decide what my priorities are. And, I decide if I'm living up to them, or not. Some things could definitely improve, that's for sure! But, at least I'm still trying.
So . . .
(awkward smile)
I'm sorry if I don't feel like accelerating my household stress levels by trying to squish another 2 hours of homework time into the 3 hours we get together before bedtime in the evenings. I'm sorry if I think it's a complete WIN for my kids to simply enjoy reading whatever they like on a daily basis, rather than saying to them "Oh, you can't read that, because it's not on the approved list!" And, I'm sorry if I don't seem to give a crap about how my kids compare to other kid's their age. All I care about is how they are doing now compared to how they were 6 months ago, or a year ago.
And, as long as I still see improvement, a general ability to complete grade level work, and a continued love of learning in my kids . . . then, triple checking homework packets at the end of every day is my last priority in life.
(awkward smile)
And, who knows, maybe by next year I'll be swept off my feet by some gallant, rich, handsome dude who's always wanted to live his life supporting me and my kids . . . and, I'll go right back to my perfect little stay at home mommy world of baking cookies and perfecting my scrapbooking skills, devoting all my time and efforts to helping my little one's turn out the most perfect looking homework packets you've ever seen.
(awkward smile)
But, don't hold your breath.
(awkward smile)
(pause)
(eats another bite of wasabi chocolate)
. . . And, don't even get me started on my lack of care or concern for if my kids know how to fill in the correct bubble on Standardized Testing Day- rolling my eyes.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
What's the Difference?
Last summer, I played outside with my boys a lot. They're getting bigger and need a lot more aggressive play time, these days. So, I kicked the soccer ball, tossed the football around, pretended to tackle them, and played catch with baseballs and mitts. Pretty good, I thought, for a known girly- girl. And, what was even better, I actually had a lot of fun doing it all.
It's not that I'm trying to be their dad. Even if their dad isn't the kind who you'd likely find outside playing catch (he's way more into video games). I'm still the mom. I know that. They know that. But, it doesn't mean we can't spend some good mother-son time of our own, playing catch in the yard.
And, as I found out last year, these times are also good opportunities to discuss the differences between boys and girls.
On one day, last summer, I was outside playing catch with my 9 year old. He threw the baseball a little too low, and too fast for me to catch it in time, and it hit me smack dab in my crotch. Luckily, he's 9, so even his fast ball didn't really hurt me.
But, I reacted in my girly-girl 'I felt a slight pain for a slight second' way, anyway.
"Oops!", he shouted out at me "Sorry." (looking a little embarrassed about where it'd hit me.)
"It's ok.", I said.
"What happened?", asked my 7 year old (Who had been playing elsewhere in the yard, but stopped when he thought his brother might be getting into trouble for something.)
"I hit mom in the balls."
(. . . uhhhh, I thought, did I hear that right?)
"I'm a girl", I replied. "I don't have balls."
"Oh.", he said. "Then, I just hit you in the wiener."
"No. . . . I don't have one of those, either."
He looked at me as if he was trying to decide if this was like one of those things that girls say when they don't want to admit the truth (like when girls say they don't fart.)
But, then I asked if he wanted to talk about the differences between boys and girls [again], and he said "Oh. Um, ok."
I keep thinking they get it every time I talk about the physical differences between boys and girls. But, then, something like this will happen, and we have to discuss it again.
I guess it's normal (if normal is ever a word that can be used to describe any aspect of parenting) to have to explain the physical differences to them over and over again. After all, they only have brothers, and it's not like I'm showing them naked pictures to really illustrate the solid differences (I wouldn't do that).
I did draw some crazy looking stick figures after that day last summer, to try to show them what I was talking about. And, they laughed hysterically, and talked about how 'mom drew inappropriate pictures' for days afterwards.
But, even if it's all funny and embarrassing to my boys now, I think it's good that we're having these talks when they are little. I'm realizing that it takes time to talk about things openly, and for them to really remember what it is I've told them. And, that's ok, because by starting now, we have time. And, eventually, I'm guessing they'll get it.
I just don't want them to end up like me, and get to 7th grade, not even knowing what the word virgin means.
I'm not saying my parents never had 'the talk' with me. I'm sure they did. I actually remember how upsetting it was for me when my mom explained that the period I just got wasn't just some teenager thing that I'd soon grow out of(something I was truly hoping was the case). When my mom told me that she, in fact, was still getting her period, I thought to myself "Oh no! She's old and she's still getting this? When does it ever end?!" (Funny how I still wonder that at times)
But, I'm starting to realize that just hurdling the initial fears of having 'the talk', and then doing it all in one big shot, isn't good enough. Truthfully, it takes many, MANY 'talks' before kids really understand things so foreign to them as the biological differences of the sexes, puberty, and then sex itself. And, I'm sure my boys won't really get any of it until they experience it, and our talks suddenly become relevant to them. But, I want my boys to at least be somewhat prepared with accurate information, before biology kicks in and takes them out of their innocent childhood.
So, I asked them again tonight. "What's the difference between boys and girls?"
The responses:
"Oh! Boys have pockets and Girls have purses."
"No. Girls have long hair and Boys have short hair."
"No, ummm, they have different (pointing to his crotch, then whispering) . . . wieners."
"Boys have muscles, and Girls wear dresses?"
(Then, they both look at me like puppy dogs waiting to see who got the 'right' answer.)
"Ok, I said, I was just checking what you thought. Girls don't have wieners, by the way. They have vaginas."
"Oh yeah!", they both say as I walked down the hall to finally let out the laughter that I'd suppressed so expertly while they were talking.
"We just forgot the word for it."
". . . And, that's how babies come out, right?"
Hmmmm . . . improvement, I think to myself.
"Yes, I say. That's where the babies come out."
Good enough for tonight, I think, as I look at the clock and see it is now past their bedtime anyway.
And, I'm sure we'll talk about it again soon. Like, perhaps this summer, when we're playing catch again.
It's not that I'm trying to be their dad. Even if their dad isn't the kind who you'd likely find outside playing catch (he's way more into video games). I'm still the mom. I know that. They know that. But, it doesn't mean we can't spend some good mother-son time of our own, playing catch in the yard.
And, as I found out last year, these times are also good opportunities to discuss the differences between boys and girls.
On one day, last summer, I was outside playing catch with my 9 year old. He threw the baseball a little too low, and too fast for me to catch it in time, and it hit me smack dab in my crotch. Luckily, he's 9, so even his fast ball didn't really hurt me.
But, I reacted in my girly-girl 'I felt a slight pain for a slight second' way, anyway.
"Oops!", he shouted out at me "Sorry." (looking a little embarrassed about where it'd hit me.)
"It's ok.", I said.
"What happened?", asked my 7 year old (Who had been playing elsewhere in the yard, but stopped when he thought his brother might be getting into trouble for something.)
"I hit mom in the balls."
(. . . uhhhh, I thought, did I hear that right?)
"I'm a girl", I replied. "I don't have balls."
"Oh.", he said. "Then, I just hit you in the wiener."
"No. . . . I don't have one of those, either."
He looked at me as if he was trying to decide if this was like one of those things that girls say when they don't want to admit the truth (like when girls say they don't fart.)
But, then I asked if he wanted to talk about the differences between boys and girls [again], and he said "Oh. Um, ok."
I keep thinking they get it every time I talk about the physical differences between boys and girls. But, then, something like this will happen, and we have to discuss it again.
I guess it's normal (if normal is ever a word that can be used to describe any aspect of parenting) to have to explain the physical differences to them over and over again. After all, they only have brothers, and it's not like I'm showing them naked pictures to really illustrate the solid differences (I wouldn't do that).
I did draw some crazy looking stick figures after that day last summer, to try to show them what I was talking about. And, they laughed hysterically, and talked about how 'mom drew inappropriate pictures' for days afterwards.
But, even if it's all funny and embarrassing to my boys now, I think it's good that we're having these talks when they are little. I'm realizing that it takes time to talk about things openly, and for them to really remember what it is I've told them. And, that's ok, because by starting now, we have time. And, eventually, I'm guessing they'll get it.
I just don't want them to end up like me, and get to 7th grade, not even knowing what the word virgin means.
I'm not saying my parents never had 'the talk' with me. I'm sure they did. I actually remember how upsetting it was for me when my mom explained that the period I just got wasn't just some teenager thing that I'd soon grow out of(something I was truly hoping was the case). When my mom told me that she, in fact, was still getting her period, I thought to myself "Oh no! She's old and she's still getting this? When does it ever end?!" (Funny how I still wonder that at times)
But, I'm starting to realize that just hurdling the initial fears of having 'the talk', and then doing it all in one big shot, isn't good enough. Truthfully, it takes many, MANY 'talks' before kids really understand things so foreign to them as the biological differences of the sexes, puberty, and then sex itself. And, I'm sure my boys won't really get any of it until they experience it, and our talks suddenly become relevant to them. But, I want my boys to at least be somewhat prepared with accurate information, before biology kicks in and takes them out of their innocent childhood.
So, I asked them again tonight. "What's the difference between boys and girls?"
The responses:
"Oh! Boys have pockets and Girls have purses."
"No. Girls have long hair and Boys have short hair."
"No, ummm, they have different (pointing to his crotch, then whispering) . . . wieners."
"Boys have muscles, and Girls wear dresses?"
(Then, they both look at me like puppy dogs waiting to see who got the 'right' answer.)
"Ok, I said, I was just checking what you thought. Girls don't have wieners, by the way. They have vaginas."
"Oh yeah!", they both say as I walked down the hall to finally let out the laughter that I'd suppressed so expertly while they were talking.
"We just forgot the word for it."
". . . And, that's how babies come out, right?"
Hmmmm . . . improvement, I think to myself.
"Yes, I say. That's where the babies come out."
Good enough for tonight, I think, as I look at the clock and see it is now past their bedtime anyway.
And, I'm sure we'll talk about it again soon. Like, perhaps this summer, when we're playing catch again.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Parenting Socks
This summer, I got hired for my first real job since my divorce. Not to brag or anything, but I get to work as a Teacher's Assistant in a Preschool. Pretty prestigious, I know. :o)
So, starting in a few weeks, I'll be full time in school, part time in work, and full time in single parenting.
I know it sounds crazy, but I'm really excited to start this job! Something I've noticed about parenting is that it brings the most long lasting, deeply felt rewards that outweigh any kind of paycheck. BUT, it's hard to really notice those rewards or remember how, or even if we're doing well in the job of parenting without the very tangible and concrete reminder that an actual paycheck brings. *sigh* I want a pay check again!
It's sad, but true, that I still consider my personality to be somewhat of a "puppy". I look up at the people around me to see if I did good and I LOVE getting the rewards of positive response to my work. School has done wonders in boosting my self-esteem in this aspect. And, I can only expect work to do the same. I'm sure it will be a horrendous jump in the amount of work I'm used to doing during the semester, but I know I'll adjust. I know I'll rise to the challenge. I know I'll find a way to get those "puppy treats" for my work. And, I'm excited for that!
Parenting, on the other hand, is something that I have to remember I really love. I don't think about it every day, or get excited about it the same way I do about a job, or school. I think it's because I consider my parenting to be like socks.
This analogy works perfectly for me because I'm originally a Beach Girl. I grew up on the California Coast, just 5 min inland from La Jolla. And, I moved to Utah just after having my first son, in February, during a Winter with particularly heavy snow fall. So, I had to adjust to wearing socks at the same time I was adjusting to being a mom.
At first, I really struggled with it. I wasn't comfortable, I felt cramped, I didn't think I looked like myself anymore, and I felt like I couldn't breathe with socks on. But, eventually, I started to get used to the idea of wearing socks. I adjusted my wardrobe, I found practical applications, and I started noticing all the other sock wearing people around me with whom I now fit in.
Now, I'm completely comfortable in socks. I don't even notice them on my feet. I can't imagine my dresser without them, but I don't have to. I open the top drawer, and there they are. And, even though I don't wear them all the time, I know where they are. I don't think about it at all. I'm just content with having socks in my life, now.
And, so it is with parenting for me. I am so comfortable, and adjusted in my role as a mom. I feel like I'm totally in this group now, with so many other amazing parents. And, I can't imagine life without my kids. But, I don't have to, either. Even if my boys aren't with me all the time now that I'm divorced, I know where they are. And, surprisingly, I've grown extremely content with my post-divorce parenting self. Even if I'm not a wife anymore, I am still first and foremost, a Mom. I have grown so comfortable with my role as a mom, that I don't even notice the difference anymore.
I guess that's good. It means, I'm adjusted and happy and all that other good stuff. But, it makes me wonder sometimes why even every now and then, I can't get as excited about parenting like I get about a job or about school.
Why can't I? Oh, that's right, it's because my Treat Seeking Puppy Mentality only works when I have someone else around to give me the rewards I'm after.
And, while I think most parents would willingly offer each other a good pat on the back from time to time, it isn't really healthy for me to start Trick or Treating door to door for personalized parenting compliments on a bi-monthly basis, in place of a pay check. For one thing, I'm too busy to do that! for another, I'd probably wear out my friends.
I won't even think about asking my kids for feedback on my parenting skills. I know what they'd say already . . . And, if it were my goal to constantly get their good approval ratings, I'd have some of the fattest kids in town from all the chocolate bribes I'd be handing out for a good review in return!
No, the answer, I'm concluding, is that I have to just remind myself from time to time that I love my comfortable sock parenting self. And, no matter how exciting other jobs can be with their concrete rewards and feedback that parenting doesn't constantly dazzle me with, I still love it.
And, even if I don't always think about it, remember, or get excited over it, I know I'm doing a good job because
I'm good enough,
I'm smart enough,
And, gosh darn it, my kids like me.
(I think) ;o)
So, starting in a few weeks, I'll be full time in school, part time in work, and full time in single parenting.
I know it sounds crazy, but I'm really excited to start this job! Something I've noticed about parenting is that it brings the most long lasting, deeply felt rewards that outweigh any kind of paycheck. BUT, it's hard to really notice those rewards or remember how, or even if we're doing well in the job of parenting without the very tangible and concrete reminder that an actual paycheck brings. *sigh* I want a pay check again!
It's sad, but true, that I still consider my personality to be somewhat of a "puppy". I look up at the people around me to see if I did good and I LOVE getting the rewards of positive response to my work. School has done wonders in boosting my self-esteem in this aspect. And, I can only expect work to do the same. I'm sure it will be a horrendous jump in the amount of work I'm used to doing during the semester, but I know I'll adjust. I know I'll rise to the challenge. I know I'll find a way to get those "puppy treats" for my work. And, I'm excited for that!
Parenting, on the other hand, is something that I have to remember I really love. I don't think about it every day, or get excited about it the same way I do about a job, or school. I think it's because I consider my parenting to be like socks.
This analogy works perfectly for me because I'm originally a Beach Girl. I grew up on the California Coast, just 5 min inland from La Jolla. And, I moved to Utah just after having my first son, in February, during a Winter with particularly heavy snow fall. So, I had to adjust to wearing socks at the same time I was adjusting to being a mom.
At first, I really struggled with it. I wasn't comfortable, I felt cramped, I didn't think I looked like myself anymore, and I felt like I couldn't breathe with socks on. But, eventually, I started to get used to the idea of wearing socks. I adjusted my wardrobe, I found practical applications, and I started noticing all the other sock wearing people around me with whom I now fit in.
Now, I'm completely comfortable in socks. I don't even notice them on my feet. I can't imagine my dresser without them, but I don't have to. I open the top drawer, and there they are. And, even though I don't wear them all the time, I know where they are. I don't think about it at all. I'm just content with having socks in my life, now.
And, so it is with parenting for me. I am so comfortable, and adjusted in my role as a mom. I feel like I'm totally in this group now, with so many other amazing parents. And, I can't imagine life without my kids. But, I don't have to, either. Even if my boys aren't with me all the time now that I'm divorced, I know where they are. And, surprisingly, I've grown extremely content with my post-divorce parenting self. Even if I'm not a wife anymore, I am still first and foremost, a Mom. I have grown so comfortable with my role as a mom, that I don't even notice the difference anymore.
I guess that's good. It means, I'm adjusted and happy and all that other good stuff. But, it makes me wonder sometimes why even every now and then, I can't get as excited about parenting like I get about a job or about school.
Why can't I? Oh, that's right, it's because my Treat Seeking Puppy Mentality only works when I have someone else around to give me the rewards I'm after.
And, while I think most parents would willingly offer each other a good pat on the back from time to time, it isn't really healthy for me to start Trick or Treating door to door for personalized parenting compliments on a bi-monthly basis, in place of a pay check. For one thing, I'm too busy to do that! for another, I'd probably wear out my friends.
I won't even think about asking my kids for feedback on my parenting skills. I know what they'd say already . . . And, if it were my goal to constantly get their good approval ratings, I'd have some of the fattest kids in town from all the chocolate bribes I'd be handing out for a good review in return!
No, the answer, I'm concluding, is that I have to just remind myself from time to time that I love my comfortable sock parenting self. And, no matter how exciting other jobs can be with their concrete rewards and feedback that parenting doesn't constantly dazzle me with, I still love it.
And, even if I don't always think about it, remember, or get excited over it, I know I'm doing a good job because
I'm good enough,
I'm smart enough,
And, gosh darn it, my kids like me.
(I think) ;o)
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Third Grade Heartbreaks
We are always so busy at our house right after school. Everybody has homework to do. Today, I have my mind set on finishing my math homework, so I send Ethan to the kitchen with the instruction of finishing his homework packet on his own. I’m hoping this seclusion will decrease any distractions from his brother, who is happily reading rather loudly on our couch.
I am just logging on to my online math course when I hear it. Its Ethan . . . crying, that kind of genuine cry that comes out of proud hearted souls so rarely that I know it is deeply felt. Even if I wanted to, my heartstrings won’t let me finish a single math problem now. I walk into the kitchen and without a word between us I take Ethan by the hand and lead him down the hall into my room. We sit on my bed and I wrap my arms around him as he wets my shirt with tears and snot.
Finally, he is calm enough to talk.
“Mom, I tried really hard. I did my work careful. I even wrote it all out on a piece of paper. I don’t know what I did wrong. I thought I did good but all I got was fifty seven percent!” I thought I was good at math, but I’m not. It took me such a long time. I was sitting there for almost an hour . . . just fifty seven percent!”
He starts to cry again and all I can think to do is hug him. It takes several more moments like this before I realize he is talking about a math test he took- and failed at school today. As I hold him closely, stroking the back of his head, I search my memory for the exactly right way to comfort a third grade heartbreak. It is at this moment that my own third grade heartbreak makes a dramatic shift in my brain from rosy childhood memory to front line perspective. In a flash, I am brought back to my own moment in time way back in the third grade. . .
_ _
There I am, sitting in the van next to my mom as she drives to Baskin Robbins. She’s asking me what flavor I want, then, with no reply from me, she guesses it will be chocolate. Normally, I’d be bouncing up and down in my seat in anticipation - envisioning my first lick of that sticky sweet chocolaty ice cream, but not today. Nothing, not even chocolate ice cream, can cheer me up. My heart has completely broken. I have lost my best friend.
I didn’t actually lose her. I know where she is. She is in her house, the same house I’d been to over 50 times in my young life. We had been best friends since Kindergarten.
_
Even back then, we were wildly imaginative creatures. We’d made a map of the Kindergarten playground with all the possible exit strategies for sneaking out of the school. The goal was to sneak away and walk to Laura’s house where we were sure we could convince her mom to let us play in her room all day long instead of going back to school. Once, we actually did get past the guard and out the playground, but we were caught before turning the last corner and promptly returned to Kindergarten. Rats!
We were in the same classroom for 1st and 2nd grade too, and our bond had just strengthened. We planned our outfits so that we would always match each other and then conveniently pretended it was completely accidental when everyone noticed. We made secret traps to catch leprechauns behind the bushes. We were positive it was just a matter of time before we caught one. We’d successfully defended the girl’s jungle gym from being taken over by the boys and we’d even made up our own secret handshake.
By second grade, our daily routine was ingrained into best friend law. We walked together, played together, stood in the lunch line together. And, even though we sat across the room from each other, to keep connected during class time, we passed secret notes back and forth. We wrote all our notes in made up languages that changed so frequently, even we forgot how to decode them. We always made our recess plans in the morning so we knew exactly which spot on the playground to secure as soon as the bell rang. Our favorites were usually jump rope, jungle gym, hopscotch, and four-square.
Third grade was the first year Laura and I were not in the same classroom. This new separation made the school day seem painfully long. I missed the bond we shared when we could pass notes, talk and share funny looks about the lectures all day in class. The absence of my constantly arm linked companion during class time made me realize that I really didn’t have any other friends at school. So, far, I hadn’t worried about anyone besides my best friend. That all changed today. _
Laura was not on the playground this morning. Not only do we not have a set plan for where to meet at recess, I don’t even know if Laura is coming to school today. As I walk inside my class, a girl asks me if I want to play hopscotch with her and another girl at recess. “Sure”, I say, without really feeling confident in my decision yet. I’m hoping that when Laura meets me on the playground, I can convince her to play hopscotch with us, too, but I know I am taking a gamble because we haven’t even talked about today's plans yet. When it comes time for recess, Laura is not thrilled with my surprise request.
“Hopscotch?” she says, “With them?”
“Yes. Can you play with us, too?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because, I’m going to go play foursquare with the girls in my class, that’s why not.”
Each of us, a little too shocked and proud to back down now, go our separate ways on purpose for the first time ever. I play hopscotch and Laura plays foursquare. I am surprised at one point with how wrapped up in the game I get and that I’m actually enjoying myself without my best friend. This realization makes me miss her and I start to think that maybe I should check on how Laura is doing. Just as I’m thinking this, the bell rings and we have to go inside. Even though we haven’t ever separated ourselves on purpose before, I figure we can still figure it out later. Like at lunch time, maybe.
Waiting the last 15 minutes in my seat for the lunch bell to ring takes almost as long as it does for the last bell to ring on the last day of school before summer. I am almost certain that the longer I stare at the clock, the slower the second hand tics in response. Finally, I see that there is only one minute left. As soon as I hear the sound of static fuzz that’s always followed by the loud sound of the bell, I dash out of my seat. Going down the sidewalk, I am half running/half walking. This way, I will get to Laura’s classroom as fast as I can without being slowed down by a lunch guard. Unfortunately, it still takes me two whole minutes to get to her classroom and by the time I get to her door, she isn’t there.
Letting out a sigh, I walk to the lunch line by myself, while other kids run, trip and laugh all around me. I am annoyed at this, but I tell myself that Laura is probably in the bathroom and will be glad when she sees that I’ve saved her a spot in the lunch line.
I get to the line and place my hands on my hips. I bow my elbows out from my body so they look like arrows pointing behind me. This way I can keep the kid behind me from bumping me forward. I can stand alone, yet conveniently save room for Laura whenever she arrives. I am twisting around in my spot now, slowly swaying my pointed elbows back and forth, as I search the playground for Laura. I want to call her over to her spot next to me in line as soon as I see her.
Then, to my surprise, I twist around towards the front of the line again and see Laura talking to another girl, standing about twenty kids ahead of me. Without even thinking, I leave my spot to go stand with her. Walking up to Laura, I’m hoping for the usual hugged greeting before we each take our turns explaining what happened earlier. As I get to her, however, she just keeps talking to the other girl.
“Hi.”, I say, trying to announce my own presence, since she had failed to do so herself, and also trying to butt into her conversation. She keeps talking. I try again- “Hi”, this time adding a wave rather close to Laura’s face so she will be sure to acknowledge me.
With this, she does stop talking to the other girl. But, she immediately turns to me and says, “No cutting in line” and then pushes me away from her.
My heart drops and my stomach twists into a giant knot. Did my best friend just push me? Were we actually fighting? Are we no longer friends? My eyes start to water and I realize that I don’t want to be standing there anymore.
Sad and rejected, I walk to the very back of the lunch line where I finally let my tears fall silently to myself. We don’t eat lunch together. We don’t play during the second recess together. We don’t even wait together for our mom’s to pick us up after school.
_
Now, as I’m trying my hardest not to re-live this fresh memory over and over, I find myself dragging behind my mom into the Baskin Robbins. I feel like the gloomiest 8 yr old on the planet about to eat chocolate ice cream. And, then, to add insult to my emotional injury, as we walk inside, I see Laura and her mom seated at a table with their own freshly scooped ice cream cones in hand.
My first instinct is to hide, but it’s too late. Before I can even think of an excuse to go home, our moms see each other and decide we should all sit at the same table . . . great.
So, here we are, stuck sitting across from each other in polite silence, holding chocolate ice cream cones, and letting them drip down our fingers before finally giving a reluctant lick or two.
As Laura and I are busily glancing at everything else around the room except the people at our table, I can feel the memory of standing alone after being rejected returning to me. My ice cream gently greets my fingers again, so I take a few more licks, but I can feel my throat swelling up more and more with each swallow. I’m sure my face is getting red now, and I’m trying hard not to cry again. Finally, I look at Laura. She looks at me, too.
And then, for no real explainable reason, as if the time to start over just magically appears, Laura and I instinctually hand our mom’s our ice cream cones, slide underneath the table, do our secret handshake and decided to stay best friends forever –again.
It isn’t until much later in life that I learn that our mom’s had totally conspired and set up the ice cream encounter at the Baskin Robbins, knowing we would work it all out and stay friends if given the opportunity to just start over.
_ _
I had forgotten all about my third grade heartbreak until today. Raising children provides the best lessons in empathy and full circle perspectives available. If someone else in my family or circle of friends feels sad, I feel bad for them. But, when my sons feel hurt, I hurt too. Now sitting here, holding my sweet boy, my heart is just breaking for him too and I want to do anything to help him feel better again.
After several more minutes of his own bitter tears, he stops crying and gets quiet. I know he is waiting for my wise words that will make it all better. My mind races with the best way to put my thoughts in order for him. How can I validate him but let him realize that all is not really lost? I start with the most basic things first.
“You really are good at math.”, I say. “It was just one test. Remember the other day when you got a ninety eight percent on your math test? I bet you just need to try again . . . “
Then, like magic, before I can even finish the sentence, he gets up and goes back into the kitchen to work on his homework. Knowing better than to press the issue with him further I change the subject, and my shirt, and get back to my own math homework. Now, my only distraction from my work is the occasional sound of Ethan humming to himself in the kitchen.
Later, at dinner, we are all taking turns saying what our favorite things were from the day. When it’s Ethan’s turn, he looks right at me and says “My favorite thing today was hugging mom and having her help me calm down.” If appreciation is a mother’s pay check, I just got a bonus.
Everyone is happy now, swallowing down spaghetti in such ways that make me feel glad we aren't in public. I look at my little Ethan who is all smiles again and I know, just like me, his third grade heartbreak is already a thing of the past.
And, at the end of the day, I have to admit, helping my son realize that he is not solely defined by one experience is my favorite thing, too.
I am just logging on to my online math course when I hear it. Its Ethan . . . crying, that kind of genuine cry that comes out of proud hearted souls so rarely that I know it is deeply felt. Even if I wanted to, my heartstrings won’t let me finish a single math problem now. I walk into the kitchen and without a word between us I take Ethan by the hand and lead him down the hall into my room. We sit on my bed and I wrap my arms around him as he wets my shirt with tears and snot.
Finally, he is calm enough to talk.
“Mom, I tried really hard. I did my work careful. I even wrote it all out on a piece of paper. I don’t know what I did wrong. I thought I did good but all I got was fifty seven percent!” I thought I was good at math, but I’m not. It took me such a long time. I was sitting there for almost an hour . . . just fifty seven percent!”
He starts to cry again and all I can think to do is hug him. It takes several more moments like this before I realize he is talking about a math test he took- and failed at school today. As I hold him closely, stroking the back of his head, I search my memory for the exactly right way to comfort a third grade heartbreak. It is at this moment that my own third grade heartbreak makes a dramatic shift in my brain from rosy childhood memory to front line perspective. In a flash, I am brought back to my own moment in time way back in the third grade. . .
_ _
There I am, sitting in the van next to my mom as she drives to Baskin Robbins. She’s asking me what flavor I want, then, with no reply from me, she guesses it will be chocolate. Normally, I’d be bouncing up and down in my seat in anticipation - envisioning my first lick of that sticky sweet chocolaty ice cream, but not today. Nothing, not even chocolate ice cream, can cheer me up. My heart has completely broken. I have lost my best friend.
I didn’t actually lose her. I know where she is. She is in her house, the same house I’d been to over 50 times in my young life. We had been best friends since Kindergarten.
_
Even back then, we were wildly imaginative creatures. We’d made a map of the Kindergarten playground with all the possible exit strategies for sneaking out of the school. The goal was to sneak away and walk to Laura’s house where we were sure we could convince her mom to let us play in her room all day long instead of going back to school. Once, we actually did get past the guard and out the playground, but we were caught before turning the last corner and promptly returned to Kindergarten. Rats!
We were in the same classroom for 1st and 2nd grade too, and our bond had just strengthened. We planned our outfits so that we would always match each other and then conveniently pretended it was completely accidental when everyone noticed. We made secret traps to catch leprechauns behind the bushes. We were positive it was just a matter of time before we caught one. We’d successfully defended the girl’s jungle gym from being taken over by the boys and we’d even made up our own secret handshake.
By second grade, our daily routine was ingrained into best friend law. We walked together, played together, stood in the lunch line together. And, even though we sat across the room from each other, to keep connected during class time, we passed secret notes back and forth. We wrote all our notes in made up languages that changed so frequently, even we forgot how to decode them. We always made our recess plans in the morning so we knew exactly which spot on the playground to secure as soon as the bell rang. Our favorites were usually jump rope, jungle gym, hopscotch, and four-square.
Third grade was the first year Laura and I were not in the same classroom. This new separation made the school day seem painfully long. I missed the bond we shared when we could pass notes, talk and share funny looks about the lectures all day in class. The absence of my constantly arm linked companion during class time made me realize that I really didn’t have any other friends at school. So, far, I hadn’t worried about anyone besides my best friend. That all changed today. _
Laura was not on the playground this morning. Not only do we not have a set plan for where to meet at recess, I don’t even know if Laura is coming to school today. As I walk inside my class, a girl asks me if I want to play hopscotch with her and another girl at recess. “Sure”, I say, without really feeling confident in my decision yet. I’m hoping that when Laura meets me on the playground, I can convince her to play hopscotch with us, too, but I know I am taking a gamble because we haven’t even talked about today's plans yet. When it comes time for recess, Laura is not thrilled with my surprise request.
“Hopscotch?” she says, “With them?”
“Yes. Can you play with us, too?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because, I’m going to go play foursquare with the girls in my class, that’s why not.”
Each of us, a little too shocked and proud to back down now, go our separate ways on purpose for the first time ever. I play hopscotch and Laura plays foursquare. I am surprised at one point with how wrapped up in the game I get and that I’m actually enjoying myself without my best friend. This realization makes me miss her and I start to think that maybe I should check on how Laura is doing. Just as I’m thinking this, the bell rings and we have to go inside. Even though we haven’t ever separated ourselves on purpose before, I figure we can still figure it out later. Like at lunch time, maybe.
Waiting the last 15 minutes in my seat for the lunch bell to ring takes almost as long as it does for the last bell to ring on the last day of school before summer. I am almost certain that the longer I stare at the clock, the slower the second hand tics in response. Finally, I see that there is only one minute left. As soon as I hear the sound of static fuzz that’s always followed by the loud sound of the bell, I dash out of my seat. Going down the sidewalk, I am half running/half walking. This way, I will get to Laura’s classroom as fast as I can without being slowed down by a lunch guard. Unfortunately, it still takes me two whole minutes to get to her classroom and by the time I get to her door, she isn’t there.
Letting out a sigh, I walk to the lunch line by myself, while other kids run, trip and laugh all around me. I am annoyed at this, but I tell myself that Laura is probably in the bathroom and will be glad when she sees that I’ve saved her a spot in the lunch line.
I get to the line and place my hands on my hips. I bow my elbows out from my body so they look like arrows pointing behind me. This way I can keep the kid behind me from bumping me forward. I can stand alone, yet conveniently save room for Laura whenever she arrives. I am twisting around in my spot now, slowly swaying my pointed elbows back and forth, as I search the playground for Laura. I want to call her over to her spot next to me in line as soon as I see her.
Then, to my surprise, I twist around towards the front of the line again and see Laura talking to another girl, standing about twenty kids ahead of me. Without even thinking, I leave my spot to go stand with her. Walking up to Laura, I’m hoping for the usual hugged greeting before we each take our turns explaining what happened earlier. As I get to her, however, she just keeps talking to the other girl.
“Hi.”, I say, trying to announce my own presence, since she had failed to do so herself, and also trying to butt into her conversation. She keeps talking. I try again- “Hi”, this time adding a wave rather close to Laura’s face so she will be sure to acknowledge me.
With this, she does stop talking to the other girl. But, she immediately turns to me and says, “No cutting in line” and then pushes me away from her.
My heart drops and my stomach twists into a giant knot. Did my best friend just push me? Were we actually fighting? Are we no longer friends? My eyes start to water and I realize that I don’t want to be standing there anymore.
Sad and rejected, I walk to the very back of the lunch line where I finally let my tears fall silently to myself. We don’t eat lunch together. We don’t play during the second recess together. We don’t even wait together for our mom’s to pick us up after school.
_
Now, as I’m trying my hardest not to re-live this fresh memory over and over, I find myself dragging behind my mom into the Baskin Robbins. I feel like the gloomiest 8 yr old on the planet about to eat chocolate ice cream. And, then, to add insult to my emotional injury, as we walk inside, I see Laura and her mom seated at a table with their own freshly scooped ice cream cones in hand.
My first instinct is to hide, but it’s too late. Before I can even think of an excuse to go home, our moms see each other and decide we should all sit at the same table . . . great.
So, here we are, stuck sitting across from each other in polite silence, holding chocolate ice cream cones, and letting them drip down our fingers before finally giving a reluctant lick or two.
As Laura and I are busily glancing at everything else around the room except the people at our table, I can feel the memory of standing alone after being rejected returning to me. My ice cream gently greets my fingers again, so I take a few more licks, but I can feel my throat swelling up more and more with each swallow. I’m sure my face is getting red now, and I’m trying hard not to cry again. Finally, I look at Laura. She looks at me, too.
And then, for no real explainable reason, as if the time to start over just magically appears, Laura and I instinctually hand our mom’s our ice cream cones, slide underneath the table, do our secret handshake and decided to stay best friends forever –again.
It isn’t until much later in life that I learn that our mom’s had totally conspired and set up the ice cream encounter at the Baskin Robbins, knowing we would work it all out and stay friends if given the opportunity to just start over.
_ _
I had forgotten all about my third grade heartbreak until today. Raising children provides the best lessons in empathy and full circle perspectives available. If someone else in my family or circle of friends feels sad, I feel bad for them. But, when my sons feel hurt, I hurt too. Now sitting here, holding my sweet boy, my heart is just breaking for him too and I want to do anything to help him feel better again.
After several more minutes of his own bitter tears, he stops crying and gets quiet. I know he is waiting for my wise words that will make it all better. My mind races with the best way to put my thoughts in order for him. How can I validate him but let him realize that all is not really lost? I start with the most basic things first.
“You really are good at math.”, I say. “It was just one test. Remember the other day when you got a ninety eight percent on your math test? I bet you just need to try again . . . “
Then, like magic, before I can even finish the sentence, he gets up and goes back into the kitchen to work on his homework. Knowing better than to press the issue with him further I change the subject, and my shirt, and get back to my own math homework. Now, my only distraction from my work is the occasional sound of Ethan humming to himself in the kitchen.
Later, at dinner, we are all taking turns saying what our favorite things were from the day. When it’s Ethan’s turn, he looks right at me and says “My favorite thing today was hugging mom and having her help me calm down.” If appreciation is a mother’s pay check, I just got a bonus.
Everyone is happy now, swallowing down spaghetti in such ways that make me feel glad we aren't in public. I look at my little Ethan who is all smiles again and I know, just like me, his third grade heartbreak is already a thing of the past.
And, at the end of the day, I have to admit, helping my son realize that he is not solely defined by one experience is my favorite thing, too.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Armed Forces
Here’s a quick parenting tip that might help you out on those trips away from home with the kids. If you are like me, it seems most of the week days are spent driving here and there and taking care of things during every last minute of open business time. Of course, this is exceptionally fun to do with little kids in tow. Oh, wait . . . no, it’s not. Our kids get tired of our “pointless” errands (like grocery shopping) that get in the way of their much needed play time so when we are stuck in a situation where they aren’t getting that time to unwind, we get stuck with a lose-lose situation trying to balance kids and errands without somebody losing an eye-ball (or going mentally batty) in the process. So, what are we to do?
Well, today I heard an idea that I just might try in the near future! I was in a parenting class and the teacher said that one of the moms in a previous class had come up with a system for rewarding her children’s good behaviors (you know, the theory that noticing all the positive attention will decrease some or most of the negative behaviors). Kids between the age of 6 and 10 will respond particularly well to a points system where desired behaviors are rewarded. This mom has a series of good behavior points that her kids can earn throughout the day that translate into various rewards at the end of the day when cashed in. They earn things like an extra 15 min of television, or playing outside, or playing video games. I’m not exactly sure how she rewards, but I think she gives points according to good behaviors such as doing chores, doing homework, and behaving respectfully. **Side note, if you’re like me, you notice that systems like this rarely work for very long because we get lazy, or the kids get wise to our game and start finding ways out of it. I find a helpful way to keep success going is to change the rules often. Still reward for good behaviors, but maybe focus on different goals every few weeks or don’t reward EVERY time, keeping things difficult for the children to know exactly what behavior will get them a reward. At the same time, reward often. Positive reinforcement really does work better than any negative discipline- I promise!
Ok, so this mom was a busy mom, with four kids, who spent a lot of her time with her kids outside of the home. It became impossible for her to keep up her home reward system without coming up with a way to track positive behaviors in public, too. I don’t know if you are like me, but I will forget almost every and anything I say to my kids when I’m in the middle of a grocery shopping trip. I can barely think straight about what we need to buy, let alone discipline and enforce what I said later on. It’s an exhausting job, this whole parenting thing. So, the solution this mom came up with is to carry in her purse a variety of permanent markers (yes, make sure your children are old/mature enough to handle this one before trying it). Every time she caught them doing something well, she would put a little mark on their arm as a reminder to be tallied up with the rest of their points at home later. I don’t know what colors meant what, but she had different colors for different things. I do know that a black mark meant that they had to lose a point. Don’t know if I would do that one, but sometimes, we need a way to provide a consequence, so if it worked, why not, right?
Anyway, I just thought this was really cool. Kids respond so well to tangible and immediate consequences. A visual reminder that you appreciate good behavior from them in public, as well as a trust building reminder that they really did earn those points later on at home is bound to be a great discipline tool as well as a relationship builder. Let me know how it goes if you try this one- I want to know how it works! :o)
Well, today I heard an idea that I just might try in the near future! I was in a parenting class and the teacher said that one of the moms in a previous class had come up with a system for rewarding her children’s good behaviors (you know, the theory that noticing all the positive attention will decrease some or most of the negative behaviors). Kids between the age of 6 and 10 will respond particularly well to a points system where desired behaviors are rewarded. This mom has a series of good behavior points that her kids can earn throughout the day that translate into various rewards at the end of the day when cashed in. They earn things like an extra 15 min of television, or playing outside, or playing video games. I’m not exactly sure how she rewards, but I think she gives points according to good behaviors such as doing chores, doing homework, and behaving respectfully. **Side note, if you’re like me, you notice that systems like this rarely work for very long because we get lazy, or the kids get wise to our game and start finding ways out of it. I find a helpful way to keep success going is to change the rules often. Still reward for good behaviors, but maybe focus on different goals every few weeks or don’t reward EVERY time, keeping things difficult for the children to know exactly what behavior will get them a reward. At the same time, reward often. Positive reinforcement really does work better than any negative discipline- I promise!
Ok, so this mom was a busy mom, with four kids, who spent a lot of her time with her kids outside of the home. It became impossible for her to keep up her home reward system without coming up with a way to track positive behaviors in public, too. I don’t know if you are like me, but I will forget almost every and anything I say to my kids when I’m in the middle of a grocery shopping trip. I can barely think straight about what we need to buy, let alone discipline and enforce what I said later on. It’s an exhausting job, this whole parenting thing. So, the solution this mom came up with is to carry in her purse a variety of permanent markers (yes, make sure your children are old/mature enough to handle this one before trying it). Every time she caught them doing something well, she would put a little mark on their arm as a reminder to be tallied up with the rest of their points at home later. I don’t know what colors meant what, but she had different colors for different things. I do know that a black mark meant that they had to lose a point. Don’t know if I would do that one, but sometimes, we need a way to provide a consequence, so if it worked, why not, right?
Anyway, I just thought this was really cool. Kids respond so well to tangible and immediate consequences. A visual reminder that you appreciate good behavior from them in public, as well as a trust building reminder that they really did earn those points later on at home is bound to be a great discipline tool as well as a relationship builder. Let me know how it goes if you try this one- I want to know how it works! :o)
Friday, June 17, 2011
Summer Fun – And, some are not so fun.
In the long days of summer that are now upon us all, we’ve all probably already experienced some of the most FUN days with our kids, as well as some extra LONG/miserable days. Most parents (and maybe even kids) have secretly already counted the number of days left until school gets back in session. Not me, though. As much of a challenge it can be, I LOVE summer! Call me a Yellow or a White personality on the color code spectrum (something I’m told by virtually every therapist, isn’t a real way to determine someone’s personality), but I just don’t like being told what to do. And, while I love school and learning and I am working on a degree for myself right now, having the summer off from school scheduling and the related overbooking of our precious little family time together, feels like one of the biggest relief to me by the time summer finally rolls around each year. I like to be the master of my own destiny- and schedule book. I wake up most every morning thinking “What could we do to make today really fun?” I am such a fun-seeker, in fact, that it genuinely surprises me every time my kids do things to get themselves grounded (and, not just because they don’t like being grounded) because of how much fun we all know we could be having if they were not grounded. I mean, why should we have to stay inside all day when there are so many adventures we could be on?
That being said, instead of my eyes being too big for my stomach, I would say that my visions of fun have always been a little too big for my body. Kind of like my favorite childhood movie character would say “So much time, so little to do. . . . Strike that; reverse it.” Yes, we are usually a lot more hopeful than actual in our adventures during the week. And, we have our fair share of pouting and grumbling in the evenings over not being able to do something we really wanted to get to do that day (ok, so I’m usually the one pouting and grumbling, but the kids started it, I swear!) Still, I’ve learned something about parenting that can make the days a lot more adventure-some, and therefore fun for us all. And, with summer time providing longer days to fill, figuring out what to do together, it’s even that much more pertinent. Do you want to know what it is? :o) Ready? Ready? Ready? :D
It’s a mixture between Submission, Attitude, and Imagination. I call it “Attimagimission”. No, just kidding. I totally just made that up. I don’t have a word for it! (Haha) BUT, it is a real thing, even if it doesn’t have its own word.
I think it might be easier to explain what it is, if I first explain what it is not. It is not a “bigger or better” concept. I know that most single dad’s get labeled “Disney Land Dad’s” because they tend to spend the (typically) shorter amount of time that they have with their kids cramming as many bigger and better fun activities in as possible, in order to build fond memories. I think we’ve established that I’m the atypical “Disney Land Mom” in my divorce, because it really doesn’t matter how much time I have with my kids, I’m constantly on the search for fun things to do with them (which is admittedly challenging, with how motivated I can be in wanting to spend as little money as possible, too). But, I think that is why I love this concept so much! Even though it can happen in the middle of the most expensively laid out plans, it can also happen in the middle of a dirt road on a rainy day, with no umbrellas in sight. Money and thrill are not the determining factors in this concept.
It doesn’t always happen easily for me, but when I realize that I am in the place where it is happening, I just go with it, like a good thought or action just flowing down the river. I know from past experience that I’m going to enjoy that ride, so I just let it carry me along. I can’t describe exactly what it feels like when you are “there” either, other than, you’ll know when you are. And, I know it happens all on its own because I’ve tried to re-create it later, exactly how I remembered it; and it still wasn’t ever the same. I’m not sure, but I think this might be the same explanation for why “mom’s recipes” never taste exactly the way they did when she used to make them, or why every Christmas or birthday can hold completely different memories for us, even if our rituals in the way we are experiencing them never change. To me, this describes the submission part. You’ll know you have submitted, when you have decided to engage in an activity that, while you’re expecting to find joy in for one reason or another, you don’t know exactly the way it will turn out.
Also, and this is a great one for me to remember, although this concept I’m talking about can’t exist while in the middle of a bad-attitude-storm, it can and almost always does exist directly after the bad-attitude-storms are over. And, while I haven’t yet figured out how to force my kids to stop being upset over not having an expectation for themselves met, I can help them snap out of those times more quickly by leading the way and, fixing my own attitude. I know this because I have this bad habit of sometimes looking back at my bad attitude after I’ve let it go, as if to welcome it to follow close by in case I need it again, and if I let it catch back up to me, then nobody is having any fun anymore. So, I’ve had to learn to kick it once it’s down . . . stomp on it a few times and then let it lie, because I’m going to have some fun now! The correct attitude is always, always, always, always necessary- no exceptions. Without it, you will never get to experience what I am talking about.
Lastly and possibly most importantly, is the use of an imagination. This is important to remember for adults, because unless we are actively exercising our imagination muscles, we lose the ability to go there on our own when we want to. For kids, it’s almost first, rather than second-nature to them. They are already willing to be there, so if you’ve forgotten how to imagine, watch them . . . and re-learn. Our imaginations are important because that is what use to transform us from being in a typical, miserable, mundane, annoying day, into being in a vibrant, exciting, new, and humorous day (in the same exact place, at the same exact moment in time). It’s the same concept of always being able to find what you are looking for, only it takes things a step or two farther than a good-attitude would take us. It creates a surrounding that literally exists in order to amuse and enlighten us and we aren’t just choosing our reactions to the things that are acting upon us, we start choosing everything. We start thinking one step ahead of ourselves, and we anticipate what we want to happen next as much as we would anticipate seeing a best friend after a long time apart. Because of this active interaction, we become very aware of our surroundings within the moment we are experiencing them, which is a great thing! So often we live life just swerving around all the pot-holes and road bumps that get in our way. When, if we opened our minds a little wider than we could open our eyes, we’d be amazed at how many interesting, windy roads are laid before us that we can choose from.
So, go ahead and be present with your kids this weekend. Make a plan if you need or want to, but don’t schedule a “fun-time”- BE a “fun-time”. Let it happen whenever, wherever, why-ever it wants to exist. Take your little ones by the hand and show them that you aren’t too old to enjoy the moments in life that other people don’t even know how to appreciate the way you do. I know you’re up for the challenge. And, you’ll be glad you were.
That being said, instead of my eyes being too big for my stomach, I would say that my visions of fun have always been a little too big for my body. Kind of like my favorite childhood movie character would say “So much time, so little to do. . . . Strike that; reverse it.” Yes, we are usually a lot more hopeful than actual in our adventures during the week. And, we have our fair share of pouting and grumbling in the evenings over not being able to do something we really wanted to get to do that day (ok, so I’m usually the one pouting and grumbling, but the kids started it, I swear!) Still, I’ve learned something about parenting that can make the days a lot more adventure-some, and therefore fun for us all. And, with summer time providing longer days to fill, figuring out what to do together, it’s even that much more pertinent. Do you want to know what it is? :o) Ready? Ready? Ready? :D
It’s a mixture between Submission, Attitude, and Imagination. I call it “Attimagimission”. No, just kidding. I totally just made that up. I don’t have a word for it! (Haha) BUT, it is a real thing, even if it doesn’t have its own word.
I think it might be easier to explain what it is, if I first explain what it is not. It is not a “bigger or better” concept. I know that most single dad’s get labeled “Disney Land Dad’s” because they tend to spend the (typically) shorter amount of time that they have with their kids cramming as many bigger and better fun activities in as possible, in order to build fond memories. I think we’ve established that I’m the atypical “Disney Land Mom” in my divorce, because it really doesn’t matter how much time I have with my kids, I’m constantly on the search for fun things to do with them (which is admittedly challenging, with how motivated I can be in wanting to spend as little money as possible, too). But, I think that is why I love this concept so much! Even though it can happen in the middle of the most expensively laid out plans, it can also happen in the middle of a dirt road on a rainy day, with no umbrellas in sight. Money and thrill are not the determining factors in this concept.
It doesn’t always happen easily for me, but when I realize that I am in the place where it is happening, I just go with it, like a good thought or action just flowing down the river. I know from past experience that I’m going to enjoy that ride, so I just let it carry me along. I can’t describe exactly what it feels like when you are “there” either, other than, you’ll know when you are. And, I know it happens all on its own because I’ve tried to re-create it later, exactly how I remembered it; and it still wasn’t ever the same. I’m not sure, but I think this might be the same explanation for why “mom’s recipes” never taste exactly the way they did when she used to make them, or why every Christmas or birthday can hold completely different memories for us, even if our rituals in the way we are experiencing them never change. To me, this describes the submission part. You’ll know you have submitted, when you have decided to engage in an activity that, while you’re expecting to find joy in for one reason or another, you don’t know exactly the way it will turn out.
Also, and this is a great one for me to remember, although this concept I’m talking about can’t exist while in the middle of a bad-attitude-storm, it can and almost always does exist directly after the bad-attitude-storms are over. And, while I haven’t yet figured out how to force my kids to stop being upset over not having an expectation for themselves met, I can help them snap out of those times more quickly by leading the way and, fixing my own attitude. I know this because I have this bad habit of sometimes looking back at my bad attitude after I’ve let it go, as if to welcome it to follow close by in case I need it again, and if I let it catch back up to me, then nobody is having any fun anymore. So, I’ve had to learn to kick it once it’s down . . . stomp on it a few times and then let it lie, because I’m going to have some fun now! The correct attitude is always, always, always, always necessary- no exceptions. Without it, you will never get to experience what I am talking about.
Lastly and possibly most importantly, is the use of an imagination. This is important to remember for adults, because unless we are actively exercising our imagination muscles, we lose the ability to go there on our own when we want to. For kids, it’s almost first, rather than second-nature to them. They are already willing to be there, so if you’ve forgotten how to imagine, watch them . . . and re-learn. Our imaginations are important because that is what use to transform us from being in a typical, miserable, mundane, annoying day, into being in a vibrant, exciting, new, and humorous day (in the same exact place, at the same exact moment in time). It’s the same concept of always being able to find what you are looking for, only it takes things a step or two farther than a good-attitude would take us. It creates a surrounding that literally exists in order to amuse and enlighten us and we aren’t just choosing our reactions to the things that are acting upon us, we start choosing everything. We start thinking one step ahead of ourselves, and we anticipate what we want to happen next as much as we would anticipate seeing a best friend after a long time apart. Because of this active interaction, we become very aware of our surroundings within the moment we are experiencing them, which is a great thing! So often we live life just swerving around all the pot-holes and road bumps that get in our way. When, if we opened our minds a little wider than we could open our eyes, we’d be amazed at how many interesting, windy roads are laid before us that we can choose from.
So, go ahead and be present with your kids this weekend. Make a plan if you need or want to, but don’t schedule a “fun-time”- BE a “fun-time”. Let it happen whenever, wherever, why-ever it wants to exist. Take your little ones by the hand and show them that you aren’t too old to enjoy the moments in life that other people don’t even know how to appreciate the way you do. I know you’re up for the challenge. And, you’ll be glad you were.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
I Love You Forever
One of my all time favorite children’s books is titled “Love You Forever”, written by Robert Munsch. It is such a sweet story about the trials of raising a child and how in spite of all the heart ache and chaos that becomes your life in the process of being a parent, the love that you feel for your child is forever present and eternally constant. At the end of the book, it shows how this lesson in expressing unconditional love is passed down to the next generation. I am not a very big crier, but I admit, I cry when reading this simple children’s book.
To me, right now though, I’m not at the end of my story. I’m still in the middle of raising my kids and I’m not exactly sure how everything is going to play out, or if my kids will ever truly understand the love that I have for them. But, I know this. Every morning, I feel like I’m waking up in a zoo, complete with wild animal noises and dreaded new messes for me to face. I try my best to express my love after, or better yet, BEFORE I’ve lost my temper like the wild Ape mother who’s in charge of all these little monkeys, and I try to spend at least a few minutes really talking to my kids about anything that’s on their minds, during the day. But, I’m not ever sure if there is enough time in a single day to overcome all the chaos that we face as a family. “Have I done enough?” is a question I find myself asking when I’m looking into the fridge trying to decide what kind of meal I can get to fit my dueling desires to provide something healthy as well as something quick.
Then the fighting and the screaming and the whining and the tattling suddenly kick up to a level 10 on the emotional-overload-scale and I swear I could go cross-eyed just counting down the last few hours until bed time so that I can send the children to their rooms (for their own well-being), so that they can stop making noise, and finally fall asleep already, and so I can finally RELAX! *Metaphorically pulling my hair out* (sigh)
And, even though the very act of hearing my children wind down and FINALLY entering that deep breathing stage of sleep makes my daily burdens of anxiety and stress that I place on myself during the day dissipate instantaneously, not to be re-awakened again until morning, my first thought really isn’t a pressing urge to crawl into their bedroom, pick them up and start singing lullabies in their honor. No. Unfortunately, my first thought is usually “Now, where did I hide that treat I wanted all to myself?” *hangs head* Yes, I know, shameful.
On the other hand, maybe I’m doing pretty well after all. If I think back just one year, I realize that the progress we’ve made as a family is outstanding! One year ago, I was moving out of a shelter and into the home of some friends of mine who would be gone for a year and decided to bless our lives with renting to me at an incredible rate. One year ago, my kids wanted nothing more than to run away at every chance they got because they instinctively couldn’t feel safe or secure after the maddening marriage, separation, and final divorce we’d all just barely survived. I wasn’t spending any real time with them during the day; I was looking straight through them as I tried everything I could to just keep my head above water, let alone plan for our future together. One year ago, we couldn’t say “I love you” as often, or as sincerely as we say it now. We didn’t cry, either. Which, might seem like a good thing, but it isn’t when compared to the previously constant battle of extreme emotions (anger and elation) that fought within each of us individually and as a whole family on constant replay throughout every day. One year ago, most days were absolute hell. I honestly don’t know how we survived it at all.
With a son who also within the past year and a half was finally diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, the feeling of barely surviving last year gives me the tinniest perspective on how difficult his life has been for him, and it certainly provides me all the motivation needed to make sure he is taken care of emotionally (with therapy) and mentally (with good medications). Unfortunately, we often still face moments of hell together as a family because of the chaos that, if it had its way, would relentlessly attack his seemingly over-developed logical and reasoning brain and remain unsuppressed by medications in its desire to reign with horrific terror. It is actually a miracle in and of itself that at the age of 8, my oldest son was finally able to tell me over and over “Mommy, I feel happy. Not, like I want to jump around kind of happy, just good, calm, happy”, as if he was discovering this sincere emotion for the first time in his life. I want to cry just remembering that moment in time. I am so glad that he has been able to discover this kind of calm happy feeling and I want that feeling to stay for him for as long as possible.
I want that for our whole family, too. My other boys have been through their own versions of hell and they have survived with such power and grace. I am not exaggerating when I say that my kids could put most adults to shame in the way that they have been able to forgive and grow and change in the midst of the hell that we called our every-day life for so long. I am certain that most adults would undoubtedly crumble, have a mental break down and end up hospitalized if they had to go through what my kids have been through. They are the reason why I keep trying to do better. It might be difficult for me to remember this inner motivation on most days, especially when I’m in the middle of an “I want to shoot myself in the foot” moment of grocery shopping at 4 pm with all of them in tow, but they really are my reason to keep pushing to be better. They deserve all that a loving mother could give them.
And, while I can’t yet muster the courage to give them personalized lullabies in their beds every night, I’m giving them the gift right now, of a persistent mother. I will keep trying to do better. I will keep going to school and attempting to get a degree. I will keep pushing them to be as wonderful as I know they are. I will keep making them do their chores and read books and brush their teeth. I will make myself sit down to a meal with them and ask “What was your favorite thing about today?”, even if what I really want to be doing is turning on the t.v. and letting my mind take a break for a minute from the maddening noise level that is any house with three small boys living in it. I will keep forgiving myself when I totally mess everything up. I will keep forgiving them. This is how I will show my boys . . .
I Love You Forever.
To me, right now though, I’m not at the end of my story. I’m still in the middle of raising my kids and I’m not exactly sure how everything is going to play out, or if my kids will ever truly understand the love that I have for them. But, I know this. Every morning, I feel like I’m waking up in a zoo, complete with wild animal noises and dreaded new messes for me to face. I try my best to express my love after, or better yet, BEFORE I’ve lost my temper like the wild Ape mother who’s in charge of all these little monkeys, and I try to spend at least a few minutes really talking to my kids about anything that’s on their minds, during the day. But, I’m not ever sure if there is enough time in a single day to overcome all the chaos that we face as a family. “Have I done enough?” is a question I find myself asking when I’m looking into the fridge trying to decide what kind of meal I can get to fit my dueling desires to provide something healthy as well as something quick.
Then the fighting and the screaming and the whining and the tattling suddenly kick up to a level 10 on the emotional-overload-scale and I swear I could go cross-eyed just counting down the last few hours until bed time so that I can send the children to their rooms (for their own well-being), so that they can stop making noise, and finally fall asleep already, and so I can finally RELAX! *Metaphorically pulling my hair out* (sigh)
And, even though the very act of hearing my children wind down and FINALLY entering that deep breathing stage of sleep makes my daily burdens of anxiety and stress that I place on myself during the day dissipate instantaneously, not to be re-awakened again until morning, my first thought really isn’t a pressing urge to crawl into their bedroom, pick them up and start singing lullabies in their honor. No. Unfortunately, my first thought is usually “Now, where did I hide that treat I wanted all to myself?” *hangs head* Yes, I know, shameful.
On the other hand, maybe I’m doing pretty well after all. If I think back just one year, I realize that the progress we’ve made as a family is outstanding! One year ago, I was moving out of a shelter and into the home of some friends of mine who would be gone for a year and decided to bless our lives with renting to me at an incredible rate. One year ago, my kids wanted nothing more than to run away at every chance they got because they instinctively couldn’t feel safe or secure after the maddening marriage, separation, and final divorce we’d all just barely survived. I wasn’t spending any real time with them during the day; I was looking straight through them as I tried everything I could to just keep my head above water, let alone plan for our future together. One year ago, we couldn’t say “I love you” as often, or as sincerely as we say it now. We didn’t cry, either. Which, might seem like a good thing, but it isn’t when compared to the previously constant battle of extreme emotions (anger and elation) that fought within each of us individually and as a whole family on constant replay throughout every day. One year ago, most days were absolute hell. I honestly don’t know how we survived it at all.
With a son who also within the past year and a half was finally diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, the feeling of barely surviving last year gives me the tinniest perspective on how difficult his life has been for him, and it certainly provides me all the motivation needed to make sure he is taken care of emotionally (with therapy) and mentally (with good medications). Unfortunately, we often still face moments of hell together as a family because of the chaos that, if it had its way, would relentlessly attack his seemingly over-developed logical and reasoning brain and remain unsuppressed by medications in its desire to reign with horrific terror. It is actually a miracle in and of itself that at the age of 8, my oldest son was finally able to tell me over and over “Mommy, I feel happy. Not, like I want to jump around kind of happy, just good, calm, happy”, as if he was discovering this sincere emotion for the first time in his life. I want to cry just remembering that moment in time. I am so glad that he has been able to discover this kind of calm happy feeling and I want that feeling to stay for him for as long as possible.
I want that for our whole family, too. My other boys have been through their own versions of hell and they have survived with such power and grace. I am not exaggerating when I say that my kids could put most adults to shame in the way that they have been able to forgive and grow and change in the midst of the hell that we called our every-day life for so long. I am certain that most adults would undoubtedly crumble, have a mental break down and end up hospitalized if they had to go through what my kids have been through. They are the reason why I keep trying to do better. It might be difficult for me to remember this inner motivation on most days, especially when I’m in the middle of an “I want to shoot myself in the foot” moment of grocery shopping at 4 pm with all of them in tow, but they really are my reason to keep pushing to be better. They deserve all that a loving mother could give them.
And, while I can’t yet muster the courage to give them personalized lullabies in their beds every night, I’m giving them the gift right now, of a persistent mother. I will keep trying to do better. I will keep going to school and attempting to get a degree. I will keep pushing them to be as wonderful as I know they are. I will keep making them do their chores and read books and brush their teeth. I will make myself sit down to a meal with them and ask “What was your favorite thing about today?”, even if what I really want to be doing is turning on the t.v. and letting my mind take a break for a minute from the maddening noise level that is any house with three small boys living in it. I will keep forgiving myself when I totally mess everything up. I will keep forgiving them. This is how I will show my boys . . .
I Love You Forever.
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