Friday, January 4, 2013
Sisterhood of Motherhood
It has been a while. I know. Blogger of the year, here. What can I say? I've been living and learning.
I have been thinking a lot about my friends and just how important they are to me. As moms, of course our families are precious. But our friends keep us sane.
When my kids were babies, my mom would tell me how I needed to make time to nurture friendships with other moms because they are a support and a connection to the outside world. I can look back on this and see her wisdom, but then I was so annoyed at the prospect. At this time, I was the first of my dear college friends to have kids. I was in constant feed, diaper, and play mode. What was I going to do with these friends - play "Compare Babies" so that people could judge me as a mother based on the age my son learned his ABCs? No, thanks. I had friends who knew and loved me before kids. I am still that fun, interesting person, right? I am....right?
My kids started Mother's Day Out and I did reluctantly, but naturally, begin to make friends with other moms. I found women who had kids exactly the same age as mine, who shared in the glamour of potty training and tantrums. I am thankful for them. I needed them to give me perspective and help me to see that my children's blunders were their own and not necessarily mine.
My kids' elementary years have been much the same. New town, new neighborhood, new friends with the super duper bonus of my BFF from high school and college living a stone's throw away. I made PTA friends, baseball mom friends, dance mom friends - all of which have made mothering more fun. We share in the chaos, the hilarity, and the absurdity of our own lives as moms and wives.
This hits me now because this year, I will turn 40. My boy will become a teenager this year. I am suddenly keenly aware that life is moving faster that I prefer. My kids' lives are changing and taking shape all the time. Their firsts are my firsts, too. And a lot of the time I feel like I have no idea what I am doing as a mother! But I know today, more than any other time in my life, how much I need my girlfriends. I am so grateful to my friends who have shown me how important this is. They are the spice to an already blessed life. They give me laughter, advice, perspective, and hope. They make me better. In eight years, both of my kids will be off at college. I want to be interesting and fun now AND when they are gone.
We put so much energy into being moms and wives. Of course this is important and I want my kids to see the commitment that having a family requires. But I also want them to see how to be a friend; how to take care of their friendships, how to be there in times of trouble, how to forgive and ask for forgiveness, and how to open their hearts to people. We teach and model everything else. We have to show them how to do this as well. In a world of texting and social networking, our children probably need strong examples and direct instruction on real friendship more than any other generation in history. We invest in others to enrich our lives and to enjoy our experience on earth! Our kids need to know that and we need to live it.
The truth is, we as mothers often make our friends through our children. I fought this idea for some time. But now I see that God puts these people in our paths so that we are not alone. We have a sisterhood of motherhood. We travel this bumpy road together. We ease each other's burdens. We vent to each other without expecting anyone to fix it. We make each other laugh and remind one another that we ARE interesting people. We are, aren't we?
Monday, August 27, 2012
Middle School
Back to school today. Back to the grind. Back to carpool, busy schedules, and homework. Back to reality.
It is such a strange day. Aidan started middle school today. It just doesn't seem possible.
I am a believer that you can't prepare your children for life by trying to make everything perfect for them. Certainly my generation of parents spends a lot of time doing just that and I am guilty of it for sure. But middle school is such a rite of passage. Just the words "middle school" give you a feeling of awkward transition. Maybe because that's what it was for me. It is a time of enormous growth, change, and self-discovery. All kinds of social changes and fluctuating hormones rule and confuse the young mind.
And we can't warn them. We can't protect them from what is about to come. We know that they will inevitably have crushing moments of heartache and self-doubt. We know that they will encounter ugliness and feel left out. They may not make the team. They may not fit in with the crowd. We send them off to school today, knowing that they will have that moment of panic when they are looking for their friends at lunch and hoping that the table is not full when they get there.
We have all been there. We know this is about to happen to our kids. But we have to let them live through these awkward situations because they teach our kids to be resilient and strong. The hardest part for us is that we have to watch the train wreck. And those are our kids in that train wreck.
"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body". So, so true. My heart is at that middle school today. I can't wait for it to come home and tell me all about it.
It is such a strange day. Aidan started middle school today. It just doesn't seem possible.
I am a believer that you can't prepare your children for life by trying to make everything perfect for them. Certainly my generation of parents spends a lot of time doing just that and I am guilty of it for sure. But middle school is such a rite of passage. Just the words "middle school" give you a feeling of awkward transition. Maybe because that's what it was for me. It is a time of enormous growth, change, and self-discovery. All kinds of social changes and fluctuating hormones rule and confuse the young mind.
And we can't warn them. We can't protect them from what is about to come. We know that they will inevitably have crushing moments of heartache and self-doubt. We know that they will encounter ugliness and feel left out. They may not make the team. They may not fit in with the crowd. We send them off to school today, knowing that they will have that moment of panic when they are looking for their friends at lunch and hoping that the table is not full when they get there.
We have all been there. We know this is about to happen to our kids. But we have to let them live through these awkward situations because they teach our kids to be resilient and strong. The hardest part for us is that we have to watch the train wreck. And those are our kids in that train wreck.
"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body". So, so true. My heart is at that middle school today. I can't wait for it to come home and tell me all about it.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The Highly Competitive Child
Coach after coach has assured me that this is a great quality; that he just needs to "harness" and "channel" his intensity and my son's uber-competitiveness "will serve him well in life". Hmmm. All I know is that it has been a long, embarrassing, bumpy ride.
At 4, he was fielding the baseball and making outs all over the field. It didn't matter what his position was, or where the ball was hit. He would get the ball and run it in to make the out. He assumed the defensive responsibility for the entire team. Granted, he was the only 4 year-old NOT kicking dirt or watching butterflies (like his mother did many years ago). He was completely focused and engaged, ready to make every play. In T-ball.
At 6, he would yell at his soccer teammates whom he deemed "out of position" or "not paying attention". He would come off the field, frustrated with the many moving parts that he could not control. He was flabbergasted by the kids who didn't care as much as he did. He would say to me, "Why is he even playing?" Countless lectures went like this:
"Aidan, you're six. Not everyone takes it as seriously as you do. Everyone is there to learn and have fun. Just go out and have fun". He looked at me like I had nine eyes.
In the 4th grade, his baseball team played in the championship game. And lost. They won a pretty sweet 2nd place trophy, which thrilled all of the boys except Aidan. There is a picture of his team, each boy holding his 2nd place trophy and sporting a smile. Then there's my kid. Looking stone-faced, with tears streaming down. Like someone just ran over his dog.
When his team was winning, all was right in the world. The action on the field matched the plan in his mind. But when things got rough, oh boy! Drama.
I realize it is not the worst problem in the world. It really is quite small. But it was embarrassing and discouraging when he would throw a bat or lash out at me from the sidelines. This was not the otherwise intelligent, well-behaved, kid that I was working so hard to raise. There were so many times that I wanted to hide under the bleachers.
In his young mind, he just figured that if he played by the rules and worked hard, then things should turn out in his favor. Not so, young Aidan. Sometimes the other team is just better. Sometimes refs miss calls. Sometimes it's just not your day. You pick yourself up and you keep moving forward. This is why you play, son. Not to win. To learn about life.
Oh, the things we tried. When he was really little, we would bribe him with NASCAR replicas if he could keep his emotions in check when things didn't go well. Didn't work. We tried to give him consequences for poor sportsmanship. That didn't work either. I wanted to fix him, nip it in the bud. That just wasn't going to happen. It took a lot of time, experience, and talking.
Today, he is still extremely competitive. He's just wired that way. But as he grows and lives and plays, he has a better perspective and attitude. He still has his moments and he really, really likes to win. But I see more and more glimmers of maturity and composure on the field.
Much like he can't control all of the moving parts on the field, I don't have control over his development as a person. No matter how excruciatingly mortifying our children's missteps can be, sometimes it's just up to them to grow into it and figure it out. That's been a tough one for me.
He is fun to watch. His intensity has been a thorn in my side, but it is part of his passion as a player and a person. I hope he can use that passion for good in his life. And I think he is learning that the bumps in the road are part of the deal. Life is beautiful, complicated, messy, and miraculous. Just like my boy.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
A Mother's Voice
When we are very small, our mothers' voices are our life guides: "Eat your veggies; they are good for you", or "Don't play in the street or you could get hit by a car",or "Be kind". Their words teach us, warn us, fill us up, and calm us down.
As we grow into the semi-independent teen years, our mothers are not always right there with us to remind us to floss, use our manners, or wear a seat belt. But we still hear their voices in moments of peer pressure and times of self-doubt. We know what they would say in that moment because they have already said it a thousand times. By this time in our lives, our mothers' voices have been ingrained in us; they are the roots of a burgeoning conscience.
In adulthood, we hopefully emerge as responsible people with a fully developed moral compass. Maybe we still hear our mothers' voices from time to time. Maybe we hear our own inner voices. Maybe we hear God. Whatever it is, it was our mothers who planted the seeds of intuition and good judgment all those years ago.
These thoughts dominate my mind as I think about a sweet family in our small community that lost a wife and mother just yesterday. Three young boys and their devoted father are now faced with a life without the heart of their family. She was amazing, striking a truly admirable balance between work and family. She gave those boys her time, love and humor every day. She knew she was raising young men and she actively worked to build strong, kind individuals.
Now that she is gone, I pray that the boys will listen closely and continue to hear her strong and certain voice. They will hear her and feel her. She will continue to guide, console, and love them because the groundwork she laid is so stellar.
I cannot imagine the pain of a young child losing his mother. I still get to see my mom, talk to her, and hear her voice every day. I benefit from her wisdom and friendship in my adult life. I know I will reach a point when I must try to remember the sound of her voice and when I can only speak to her in my heart. I dread that day.
This loss reminds me that, every day, I breathe my love, my faith, my morals, and my attitudes into my children. My voice builds their character and lights their way. I am so humbled to be charged with such an awesome responsibility. I must never, ever forget that my words today will be whispers on their hearts tomorrow. I need to make them count.
As we grow into the semi-independent teen years, our mothers are not always right there with us to remind us to floss, use our manners, or wear a seat belt. But we still hear their voices in moments of peer pressure and times of self-doubt. We know what they would say in that moment because they have already said it a thousand times. By this time in our lives, our mothers' voices have been ingrained in us; they are the roots of a burgeoning conscience.
In adulthood, we hopefully emerge as responsible people with a fully developed moral compass. Maybe we still hear our mothers' voices from time to time. Maybe we hear our own inner voices. Maybe we hear God. Whatever it is, it was our mothers who planted the seeds of intuition and good judgment all those years ago.
These thoughts dominate my mind as I think about a sweet family in our small community that lost a wife and mother just yesterday. Three young boys and their devoted father are now faced with a life without the heart of their family. She was amazing, striking a truly admirable balance between work and family. She gave those boys her time, love and humor every day. She knew she was raising young men and she actively worked to build strong, kind individuals.
Now that she is gone, I pray that the boys will listen closely and continue to hear her strong and certain voice. They will hear her and feel her. She will continue to guide, console, and love them because the groundwork she laid is so stellar.
I cannot imagine the pain of a young child losing his mother. I still get to see my mom, talk to her, and hear her voice every day. I benefit from her wisdom and friendship in my adult life. I know I will reach a point when I must try to remember the sound of her voice and when I can only speak to her in my heart. I dread that day.
This loss reminds me that, every day, I breathe my love, my faith, my morals, and my attitudes into my children. My voice builds their character and lights their way. I am so humbled to be charged with such an awesome responsibility. I must never, ever forget that my words today will be whispers on their hearts tomorrow. I need to make them count.
Monday, March 5, 2012
The Dance Mom Handbook
Frankly, I have always been much more comfortable as a sports mom. But when Madeline gave up soccer and tried out for the dance company, I rode a huge learning curve.
You see all kinds at these dance competitions. You see mothers pulling in giant chests of drawers on wheels, complete with pink leopard print and a prominently bedazzled "Britney". You see the chaos of the dressing rooms with frantic dancers making quick changes. You see mothers and daughters sniping at each other under the stress of time constraints and nerves. But I have learned some things as a "dance mom" from my own mistakes, as well as watching some train wrecks that have become cautionary tales. So I find it incumbent on me to devise a brief handbook of sorts for fellow and future dance moms.
Rule #1. Organize. Participating in dance competitions can be an organizational nightmare. With quick changes involving different tights, costumes, shoes, hair, and multiple accessories, it behooves the dance mom to embrace the Ziploc bag and group everything according to performance.
Rule #2. Invest in a steamer. Travel and tulle do not mix. Learned that one this last weekend.
Rule #3. There is no quitting on your kid. Yes, our daughters get snippy with us under the pressure. They get nervous and flustered. We are their safe, easy targets. We teach them to manage the situation by sticking with them, showing them our own grace under pressure, and seeing them through the chaos. Their young brains cannot keep all of the proverbial balls in the air. They need us. We nip their griping in the bud and we stay and help. The only "lesson" you teach your kid by leaving her to flounder is that she is not worth the trouble. You signed her up for this. Step up.
Rule #4. Dance moms are not doormats. With rule #3 in mind, we dance moms are not "the help" and our daughters are not "the divas". I may be doing her hair and handing her earrings, but she is not the boss of me! Her dad and I make this all happen for her. And that is all I have to say for her to step back into herself.
Rule #5. They are more than dancers. Our girls work hard at this. They train, practice, and rehearse all year. They are dancers, but that is not all they are. They are daughters, sisters, friends, students, athletes, writers, etc. We must remind ourselves and our daughters that they have talents, skills, and value beyond the dance world. It is not who they are; it is what they love to do. There is a tremendous difference.
Rule #6. Be nice. Help other moms and/or their children who are new or who appear distressed. Honestly, we are grown-ups. Let's show our kids how NOT to be mean girls.
Rule #7. Follow Rules 1-6. This experience can be unbelievably fun for the dance mom and her daughter if they observe these rules. Set your daughter up for success, be an example of kindness, and let her have some fun. Make these memories good ones. She'll be grown before you know it.
You see all kinds at these dance competitions. You see mothers pulling in giant chests of drawers on wheels, complete with pink leopard print and a prominently bedazzled "Britney". You see the chaos of the dressing rooms with frantic dancers making quick changes. You see mothers and daughters sniping at each other under the stress of time constraints and nerves. But I have learned some things as a "dance mom" from my own mistakes, as well as watching some train wrecks that have become cautionary tales. So I find it incumbent on me to devise a brief handbook of sorts for fellow and future dance moms.
Rule #1. Organize. Participating in dance competitions can be an organizational nightmare. With quick changes involving different tights, costumes, shoes, hair, and multiple accessories, it behooves the dance mom to embrace the Ziploc bag and group everything according to performance.
Rule #2. Invest in a steamer. Travel and tulle do not mix. Learned that one this last weekend.
Rule #3. There is no quitting on your kid. Yes, our daughters get snippy with us under the pressure. They get nervous and flustered. We are their safe, easy targets. We teach them to manage the situation by sticking with them, showing them our own grace under pressure, and seeing them through the chaos. Their young brains cannot keep all of the proverbial balls in the air. They need us. We nip their griping in the bud and we stay and help. The only "lesson" you teach your kid by leaving her to flounder is that she is not worth the trouble. You signed her up for this. Step up.
Rule #4. Dance moms are not doormats. With rule #3 in mind, we dance moms are not "the help" and our daughters are not "the divas". I may be doing her hair and handing her earrings, but she is not the boss of me! Her dad and I make this all happen for her. And that is all I have to say for her to step back into herself.
Rule #5. They are more than dancers. Our girls work hard at this. They train, practice, and rehearse all year. They are dancers, but that is not all they are. They are daughters, sisters, friends, students, athletes, writers, etc. We must remind ourselves and our daughters that they have talents, skills, and value beyond the dance world. It is not who they are; it is what they love to do. There is a tremendous difference.
Rule #6. Be nice. Help other moms and/or their children who are new or who appear distressed. Honestly, we are grown-ups. Let's show our kids how NOT to be mean girls.
Rule #7. Follow Rules 1-6. This experience can be unbelievably fun for the dance mom and her daughter if they observe these rules. Set your daughter up for success, be an example of kindness, and let her have some fun. Make these memories good ones. She'll be grown before you know it.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
To My Daughter on her 10th Birthday
My Dear Madeline,
Happy day to you, my sweet girl. I can't believe how quickly ten years have passed. Time flies when you are having fun!
Ten years ago today, I held you in my arms for the first time. I was in awe of you. I just knew you were going to be a boy. And there you were - a little bundle of pink sweetness. All of a sudden, I had a thousand hopes for my precious girl.
And already, in your first ten years, you have surpassed my wildest expectations. You are wicked smart and fantastically funny. I adore your energy and enthusiasm for life. You always find the funny and you share it. I love that.
You have such drive. I marvel at your work ethic and determination at such a young age. You set goals and you almost always exceed them. This will serve you well, as long as you allow yourself to slip up every now and then. Take it from your long-suffering perfectionist mother. You will never be perfect, my love. But you are perfectly human; capable of achieving greatness, but bound to mess up along the way. Give yourself some slack, girl.
You are a writer, a doer, a dancer, a risk-taker, a dreamer, a performer, and a lover of life. You do it all with great gladness. It's like you know a secret that the rest of us have yet to learn.
Keep soaking up life. Keep your heart and mind open to new things. You will learn volumes about yourself. Keep sharing your gifts. God gave them to you to share. Keep being bold, but also keep your grateful heart. It is what holds your feet on the ground and your eyes on God.
You are halfway to twenty! Between now and then, I am sure we will lock horns more than once. You may disagree with me at times. Never doubt my love and devotion to you.
Ten years ago today, I looked at your face for the first time and I wondered what your life would hold for you. Today I am excited to see what YOU have in store for life; the trails you will blaze and the lives you will touch. It will not be boring and I am thrilled to watch it unfold.
I love you, sweet girl. I am enormously proud to be your mother. Enjoy this day and every day. God bless you and keep you always.
Love,
Mom
Friday, January 27, 2012
Boy, Oh Boy!
When we were kids, my brother bet another boy that he could pee over a hedge for the right to ride the kid's bike. And he did it. No qualms about it. Hey, it was a cool bike.
When Aidan was in Kindergarten, he and a group of boys would bust out of the school doors at the end of the day, dump backpacks with their mothers, and just run. They were like Labrador retriever puppies escaping their cages to run free and pounce on one another in a heap of restless energy.
Now that he is older, it is the same energy - just channeled in a different way. When Aidan is with friends, everything is a competition. They constantly challenge each other to wall ball, football, basketball, Nerf duels, and video games. They rate each others' ridiculous jumps into the pool. They interact with one another through head-to-head competition.
Boys are such interesting creatures. I grew up watching my brother, so I kind of "get" boys. When I became a teacher, I had a soft spot for those active, boisterous beings. I ended up having classes comprised disproportionately of boys and they clicked with my energy. Little did I know then that my need to move and sing and be silly especially benefited my boys.
When I was teaching, I went to an inservice on teaching boys. It was based on Dr. Bill McBride's discussion of gender differences in brain-based research, which shows that the male and female brains are structurally different and develop in a different order.
Girls and boys process and think about their emotions in different parts of the brain. Think about how you and your husband react to any given situation! Girls have more neural connectors, a larger corpus collosum, and more blood flow to the brain. All of these features make girls better able to sit still, listen, multitask, and sense nuance in language. Why does this matter, you ask? Teachers love this behavior and structure their lessons to match it.
Boys are hard-wired for action - doing and constructing, straight talk, and loudness. They learn by moving and building and they respond to big voices. As the kids get older, how many opportunities do they get to engage in their own learning? To build and problem-solve instead of sitting, listening, and taking notes?
Boys develop spatial awareness much sooner than girls, while girls develop language and abstract meaning earlier. So by middle school, when both groups still have a long way to go in brain development, boys think they stink at writing and girls think they stink at math.
Boys have way more testosterone, which is the aggression and risk-taking chemical. How many times have you said to your son, "Good Lord, child. What were you thinking?". They are driven to find out, "I wonder if I can jump from the roof into the swimming pool".
Meanwhile, girls have more serotonin, the calming chemical; and more oxytocin, the bonding chemical. They tend to be more measured, placing higher value on building relationships and connecting with people.
Of course there are exceptions and not every boy or girl falls into these general characterizations. But my children are terrific examples of these differences. Both raised very similarly; both very bright, well-behaved students. My son comes home from school and immediately needs to let off some steam after sitting much of the day. He shoots hoops or rides his bike before he can even think about doing homework. My daughter comes home and needs to reconnect with me, recounting her day in detail while she gets to work on her homework. On birthday cards, Aidan writes, "Love, Aidan", whereas Madeline writes a novel. I could go on.
It is no wonder that most teachers are females, who naturally nurture and relate to children. So the school is a predominantly feminine institution in which boys must navigate and negotiate their education according to the female standard. It would be interesting and exciting to see what would happen if educators really used this brain research to benefit both girls and boys.
Let me say that I do not subscribe to the "boys will be boys" sentiment. I don't think that boys are just created to be aggressive thugs who can't sit and listen. Of course they need to be attentive, respectful, and productive in school. I just wonder if boys would still make up the overwhelming majority of discipline problems, the learning disabled, and high school dropouts if we applied this brain research to our teaching approach. I think there is so much untapped potential in each gender for many reasons. But school tends to be better suited to girls' behavioral and linguistic strengths. Imagine what we could accomplish by tailoring boys' learning to boys' brains. And if we properly channel and value their energy and competitive drive, wouldn't that also send the message to our girls that it is okay to be assertive, eager, and ambitious?
My kids' elementary school has been pretty great. For the most part, their teachers have been enthusiastic, smart, creative, compassionate people. There are terrific male teachers at our school, which is fantastic for our girls and our boys. It is refreshing to see men teaching, reaching, and understanding boys.
Boys. They are funny, active, complex and intense. They do things we don't get. But they make life exciting. Hopefully our boys will leave their schooling with their restless, industrious spirits intact. Their assertiveness and exuberance should be valued and used in the classroom so that they can carry it into a fiercely competitive, ever changing workplace that demands such qualities.
When Aidan was in Kindergarten, he and a group of boys would bust out of the school doors at the end of the day, dump backpacks with their mothers, and just run. They were like Labrador retriever puppies escaping their cages to run free and pounce on one another in a heap of restless energy.
Now that he is older, it is the same energy - just channeled in a different way. When Aidan is with friends, everything is a competition. They constantly challenge each other to wall ball, football, basketball, Nerf duels, and video games. They rate each others' ridiculous jumps into the pool. They interact with one another through head-to-head competition.
Boys are such interesting creatures. I grew up watching my brother, so I kind of "get" boys. When I became a teacher, I had a soft spot for those active, boisterous beings. I ended up having classes comprised disproportionately of boys and they clicked with my energy. Little did I know then that my need to move and sing and be silly especially benefited my boys.
When I was teaching, I went to an inservice on teaching boys. It was based on Dr. Bill McBride's discussion of gender differences in brain-based research, which shows that the male and female brains are structurally different and develop in a different order.
Girls and boys process and think about their emotions in different parts of the brain. Think about how you and your husband react to any given situation! Girls have more neural connectors, a larger corpus collosum, and more blood flow to the brain. All of these features make girls better able to sit still, listen, multitask, and sense nuance in language. Why does this matter, you ask? Teachers love this behavior and structure their lessons to match it.
Boys are hard-wired for action - doing and constructing, straight talk, and loudness. They learn by moving and building and they respond to big voices. As the kids get older, how many opportunities do they get to engage in their own learning? To build and problem-solve instead of sitting, listening, and taking notes?
Boys develop spatial awareness much sooner than girls, while girls develop language and abstract meaning earlier. So by middle school, when both groups still have a long way to go in brain development, boys think they stink at writing and girls think they stink at math.
Boys have way more testosterone, which is the aggression and risk-taking chemical. How many times have you said to your son, "Good Lord, child. What were you thinking?". They are driven to find out, "I wonder if I can jump from the roof into the swimming pool".
Meanwhile, girls have more serotonin, the calming chemical; and more oxytocin, the bonding chemical. They tend to be more measured, placing higher value on building relationships and connecting with people.
Of course there are exceptions and not every boy or girl falls into these general characterizations. But my children are terrific examples of these differences. Both raised very similarly; both very bright, well-behaved students. My son comes home from school and immediately needs to let off some steam after sitting much of the day. He shoots hoops or rides his bike before he can even think about doing homework. My daughter comes home and needs to reconnect with me, recounting her day in detail while she gets to work on her homework. On birthday cards, Aidan writes, "Love, Aidan", whereas Madeline writes a novel. I could go on.
It is no wonder that most teachers are females, who naturally nurture and relate to children. So the school is a predominantly feminine institution in which boys must navigate and negotiate their education according to the female standard. It would be interesting and exciting to see what would happen if educators really used this brain research to benefit both girls and boys.
Let me say that I do not subscribe to the "boys will be boys" sentiment. I don't think that boys are just created to be aggressive thugs who can't sit and listen. Of course they need to be attentive, respectful, and productive in school. I just wonder if boys would still make up the overwhelming majority of discipline problems, the learning disabled, and high school dropouts if we applied this brain research to our teaching approach. I think there is so much untapped potential in each gender for many reasons. But school tends to be better suited to girls' behavioral and linguistic strengths. Imagine what we could accomplish by tailoring boys' learning to boys' brains. And if we properly channel and value their energy and competitive drive, wouldn't that also send the message to our girls that it is okay to be assertive, eager, and ambitious?
My kids' elementary school has been pretty great. For the most part, their teachers have been enthusiastic, smart, creative, compassionate people. There are terrific male teachers at our school, which is fantastic for our girls and our boys. It is refreshing to see men teaching, reaching, and understanding boys.
Boys. They are funny, active, complex and intense. They do things we don't get. But they make life exciting. Hopefully our boys will leave their schooling with their restless, industrious spirits intact. Their assertiveness and exuberance should be valued and used in the classroom so that they can carry it into a fiercely competitive, ever changing workplace that demands such qualities.
Friday, January 6, 2012
The Good Life is Not a Birthright
"Hey, guys. I need you to bring down your dirty clothes." No sound or movement from the children. Five minutes pass.
"Aidan and Madeline, please bring me your dirty laundry." Nothing.
"Now!".
"UUUUUUUGGGGHH", they moan in unison.
So for the bazillionth time I say to them, "Did I ask you to dig a ditch? To pack up and go to war in the barren desert?"
They bring me their laundry, but their attitudes stink. Clearly my attempts to draw sharp contrasts to their cushy lives are ineffective.
Time to reassess my expectations and tactics. So, the goal is to raise happy, kind, productive, self-sufficient people. We're doing pretty well on happy and productive. Both children are hard-working, devoted students who are also happily committed to their after school activities. We need to work on kind and self-sufficient. They are good, respectful, loving kids. But, like most kids, they will do the bare minimum around the house. And only when asked. Several times.
Part of it is me. Well, a lot of it has been me. At first I didn't feel like they were old enough to help out around the house. Then I didn't think they would do it to my satisfaction. Now I see that these kids, who for all practical purposes are living the good life with their noses buried in their ipods, need to contribute more to their household. They need to take personal responsibility for their space. They need to value their home. They need to know how to clean a toilet, fold laundry, and do some dishes for Pete's sake.
Sure, this lightens my load a bit. But it's bigger than that. Isn't this what I want my kids to do when they are grown? Lift someone's burden? Show compassion? See beyond their own noses and help others? I want them to grow up feeling that they are important, helpful, dependable members of this family. My hope is that they carry this sense of duty into their friendships, their churches, and their own families.
I believe that in the real world, when you want something, you work for it. While we talk a lot about the value of money and putting material things in proper perspective, I don't think I have done enough to show them the amount of work that goes into running the household. After all, the house has to be in running order so that we can eat, have friends over, and have clean dance clothes and team uniforms ready to go. I'm pretty sure they don't appreciate the connection there. Not yet.
In a world where you can get your meal as soon as you order it and you can Google your homework answers, I need to teach my kids that "the good life" is not a birthright. It is not easy and it is not served on a silver platter. Our children will not go to college and be handed a diploma without some measure of work. They will not graduate and just fall into their dream jobs. They will not build their families on selfishness and things. They will arrive at these milestones through work and persistence. How will they learn this monumental lesson in self-sufficiency if my husband and I are doing all of the doing and all of the giving?
So I am changing some things around here. I am handing over the vacuum and the Pledge. More important, I will actively teach my kids to be aware of their capacity to help and serve others. To offer their aid even when no one has asked. To contribute to a happy home, not just to be its benefactors.
I do not want my kids to ever feel entitled. They need to know that they are blessed with a head start in life - a loving, supportive family that helps them study and cheers them on every step of the way. They need to know that anything worthwhile takes work. I want them to know that we are here on this planet to learn from one another and to give of ourselves. It starts in this house.
"Aidan and Madeline, please bring me your dirty laundry." Nothing.
"Now!".
"UUUUUUUGGGGHH", they moan in unison.
So for the bazillionth time I say to them, "Did I ask you to dig a ditch? To pack up and go to war in the barren desert?"
They bring me their laundry, but their attitudes stink. Clearly my attempts to draw sharp contrasts to their cushy lives are ineffective.
Time to reassess my expectations and tactics. So, the goal is to raise happy, kind, productive, self-sufficient people. We're doing pretty well on happy and productive. Both children are hard-working, devoted students who are also happily committed to their after school activities. We need to work on kind and self-sufficient. They are good, respectful, loving kids. But, like most kids, they will do the bare minimum around the house. And only when asked. Several times.
Part of it is me. Well, a lot of it has been me. At first I didn't feel like they were old enough to help out around the house. Then I didn't think they would do it to my satisfaction. Now I see that these kids, who for all practical purposes are living the good life with their noses buried in their ipods, need to contribute more to their household. They need to take personal responsibility for their space. They need to value their home. They need to know how to clean a toilet, fold laundry, and do some dishes for Pete's sake.
Sure, this lightens my load a bit. But it's bigger than that. Isn't this what I want my kids to do when they are grown? Lift someone's burden? Show compassion? See beyond their own noses and help others? I want them to grow up feeling that they are important, helpful, dependable members of this family. My hope is that they carry this sense of duty into their friendships, their churches, and their own families.
I believe that in the real world, when you want something, you work for it. While we talk a lot about the value of money and putting material things in proper perspective, I don't think I have done enough to show them the amount of work that goes into running the household. After all, the house has to be in running order so that we can eat, have friends over, and have clean dance clothes and team uniforms ready to go. I'm pretty sure they don't appreciate the connection there. Not yet.
In a world where you can get your meal as soon as you order it and you can Google your homework answers, I need to teach my kids that "the good life" is not a birthright. It is not easy and it is not served on a silver platter. Our children will not go to college and be handed a diploma without some measure of work. They will not graduate and just fall into their dream jobs. They will not build their families on selfishness and things. They will arrive at these milestones through work and persistence. How will they learn this monumental lesson in self-sufficiency if my husband and I are doing all of the doing and all of the giving?
So I am changing some things around here. I am handing over the vacuum and the Pledge. More important, I will actively teach my kids to be aware of their capacity to help and serve others. To offer their aid even when no one has asked. To contribute to a happy home, not just to be its benefactors.
I do not want my kids to ever feel entitled. They need to know that they are blessed with a head start in life - a loving, supportive family that helps them study and cheers them on every step of the way. They need to know that anything worthwhile takes work. I want them to know that we are here on this planet to learn from one another and to give of ourselves. It starts in this house.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Find the Joy!
This weekend my girl danced in the Nutcracker ballet for the third straight year. She was a beautiful snowflake and a spunky gypsy. I teared up as I watched her in each performance. I think I saw her grow up a little.
Madeline loves to dance. She loves everything about it. She is always excited for class. She loves her instructors. She enjoys the costumes and makeup. She values the camaraderie of the girls and lives for the thrill of performing on stage. She is an upbeat, artsy kid. Dancing suits her. She takes pride in it and derives such joy from it.
So, after months of preparation and rehearsal, we arrived at the theater for her first of four performances. It was then that I learned that one of her 3rd grade teachers from last year had passed away earlier in the day. We knew she was sick and I was aware that her passing was imminent.
Mrs. Kuhlmann was Madeline's math and reading teacher - a sweet and happy spirit who clearly loved to teach. I suspect Madeline was one of many who quickly connected with her and grew to love her over the weeks and months of the year. I knew I had to break the news to her before the weekend of shows was over. So many people already knew. She needed to hear it from me.
She danced beautifully that first night. I told her the sad news afterward. She was inconsolable. She was mourning this very special teacher. But she was also terribly sad for Mrs. Kuhlmann's young daughter, whom all the kids knew and loved. When a child learns that another child has lost her mother, it strikes at the heart of her very own sense of security in the world.
Madeline slept on it and continued the weekend of shows with a fresh perspective. She remembered that it was exactly one year before that Mrs K brought her daughter to see her students dance in the Nutcracker. She told Madeline that she loved watching "her girls" dance. What a gem in Madeline's memory chest.
As Madeline finished the remaining performances this year, she was definitely sad. But she seemed to dance with a determined joy that I think Mrs. Kuhlmann would be proud of.
By the time of her last performance on Sunday, I knew Madeline would be all right. She will keep dancing, perhaps with a new understanding of worldly things. But always with joy. She learned something from her teacher; a priceless lesson far beyond reading and math. She learned by watching Mrs. Kuhlmann to live every single day doing what you love and to find joy in the moment even if the joy is not so evident.
Thank you, Mrs. Kuhlmann. Your passing hurts. But your work, your joy, and your spirit live and breathe in many, many children. God rest your sweet soul.
Friday, December 9, 2011
A Mom's 12 Days of Christmas
Maybe you can relate . . .
On the first day of Christmas my children gave to me
a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the second day of Christmas my children gave to me
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the third day of Christmas my children gave to me
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the fourth day of Christmas my children gave to me
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the fifth day of Christmas my children gave to me
FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the sixth day of Christmas my children gave to me
six hairs a-graying
FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the seventh day of Christmas my children gave to me
Seven sighs and eye-rolls
six hairs a-graying
FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the eighth day of Christmas my children gave to me
Eight sibling scuffles
Seven sighs and eye-rolls
six hairs a-graying
FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the ninth day of Christmas my children gave to me
Nine hours dancing
Eight sibling scuffles
Seven sighs and eye-rolls
six hairs a-graying
FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the tenth day of Christmas my children gave to me
Ten jump shots sinking
Nine hours dancing
Eight sibling scuffles
Seven sighs and eye-rolls
six hairs a-graying
FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my children gave to me
Eleven times a-griping
Ten jump shots sinking
Nine hours dancing
Eight sibling scuffles
Seven sighs and eye-rolls
Six hairs a-graying
FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my children gave to me
Twelve errands running
Eleven times a-griping
Ten jump shots sinking
Nine hours dancing
Eight sibling scuffles
Seven sighs and eye-rolls
Six hairs a-graying
FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips
Three friends to feed
Two giant hugs
And a mountain of dirty laundry.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
The Nativity . . . From Mary's Perspective
Mary has just been visited by the Angel, Gabriel.
Okay. I need to sit down. Am I crazy? I think I just had a conversation with an angel. So, I am going to have a baby. Didn't see that coming. And the child will be the Son of God. Sheesh, no pressure.
Jesus is a fine name. Although it would have been nice to have a say in the whole name thing since I am carrying the baby. Just sayin'.
I am scared and troubled, but mostly honored and humbled that God has chosen me. Why me? Of course I will do what He asks, but can I handle such a huge responsibility? Can I raise the child that will be the Savior of the World?
And what will Joseph say? We just got engaged! How am I supposed to tell him this news? "Um, honey. I'm pregnant. Of course you know that you are not the father, but no other man is the father either. It is God's child." He is going to think I'm on the cannabis! This is not going to go well.
Joseph now knows that Mary is with child.
Well, that went better than expected. Joseph is such an honorable man. He chose to marry me, knowing that this is not his child. I thank God for sending that angel to tell Joseph that our marriage is God's will and that he will be Jesus' earthly father. Whew. God comes through again.
Mary Learns of the Census.
Seriously? Really, Caesar Augustus? I am about to burst here. I will have this baby at any time and we have to travel to Bethlehem to register for the Census? Now? Fantastic. There's nothing like bouncing around on the back of a donkey when you are full term. Oh, if Caesar Augustus only knew that I am carrying the Messiah, then maybe I wouldn't have to hurl myself onto a donkey and travel for days. But this is for me to know and the world to find out. And I am God's servant. I know that he will keep me from harm.
The inn is full. Nowhere to go. Mary is in labor. The couple find themselves in a stable, where she will deliver.
You have got to be kidding me. People are so rude. The innkeepers could not find a tiny space for me to HAVE A BABY? I was clearly in labor and they turned me away? Nice. Now, how am I going to have a baby in this barn full of animals staring at me. This is not how I pictured giving birth to the King of Kings. Not that I expect anything fancy; just maybe a more sterile environment is all.
Mary gives birth to baby Jesus.
Oh, he is beautiful. Look at this precious baby! He IS a gift from God. This child will spread the Word of God's love. This baby in my arms will save us all from our sins and give us eternal life. And soon the world will know. My heart is full. I will love him always. God give me the strength to be his mother.
Oh, great. No crib for a bed. I guess this manger will have to do. Honey, let's swaddle him and lay him in the hay. We all need to get some sleep. Raising the Savior of the World is going to be a tall order. Besides, I think we will have some visitors soon.
Okay. I need to sit down. Am I crazy? I think I just had a conversation with an angel. So, I am going to have a baby. Didn't see that coming. And the child will be the Son of God. Sheesh, no pressure.
Jesus is a fine name. Although it would have been nice to have a say in the whole name thing since I am carrying the baby. Just sayin'.
I am scared and troubled, but mostly honored and humbled that God has chosen me. Why me? Of course I will do what He asks, but can I handle such a huge responsibility? Can I raise the child that will be the Savior of the World?
And what will Joseph say? We just got engaged! How am I supposed to tell him this news? "Um, honey. I'm pregnant. Of course you know that you are not the father, but no other man is the father either. It is God's child." He is going to think I'm on the cannabis! This is not going to go well.
Joseph now knows that Mary is with child.
Well, that went better than expected. Joseph is such an honorable man. He chose to marry me, knowing that this is not his child. I thank God for sending that angel to tell Joseph that our marriage is God's will and that he will be Jesus' earthly father. Whew. God comes through again.
Mary Learns of the Census.
Seriously? Really, Caesar Augustus? I am about to burst here. I will have this baby at any time and we have to travel to Bethlehem to register for the Census? Now? Fantastic. There's nothing like bouncing around on the back of a donkey when you are full term. Oh, if Caesar Augustus only knew that I am carrying the Messiah, then maybe I wouldn't have to hurl myself onto a donkey and travel for days. But this is for me to know and the world to find out. And I am God's servant. I know that he will keep me from harm.
The inn is full. Nowhere to go. Mary is in labor. The couple find themselves in a stable, where she will deliver.
You have got to be kidding me. People are so rude. The innkeepers could not find a tiny space for me to HAVE A BABY? I was clearly in labor and they turned me away? Nice. Now, how am I going to have a baby in this barn full of animals staring at me. This is not how I pictured giving birth to the King of Kings. Not that I expect anything fancy; just maybe a more sterile environment is all.
Mary gives birth to baby Jesus.
Oh, he is beautiful. Look at this precious baby! He IS a gift from God. This child will spread the Word of God's love. This baby in my arms will save us all from our sins and give us eternal life. And soon the world will know. My heart is full. I will love him always. God give me the strength to be his mother.
Oh, great. No crib for a bed. I guess this manger will have to do. Honey, let's swaddle him and lay him in the hay. We all need to get some sleep. Raising the Savior of the World is going to be a tall order. Besides, I think we will have some visitors soon.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Dear First Born Child (An Apology)
My Dear First Born Child,
What a gift you are. You were our first; our only for a short while. You were a guinea pig for two first-time parents who had a lot to learn. We had to learn on you. We are still learning.
I know that I stuck to your sleep schedule like a prison guard. I dressed you in too many clothes on cold days. I rushed you to the doctor with every sniffle. I wiped your face and changed your clothes every time you had a spill or dribble. I'm sure I did too much for you as you got a little older. I tied your shoes for too long and cleaned up after you too much.
I overreacted (and still do) to your missteps, knowing your intelligence and forgetting your age. I protected you way, way too much. I tried to prevent you from falling down so that you wouldn't get hurt. I avoided germ-infested, yet fun places like mall play areas. There was always that one kid there running around with a giant snot bubble expanding and deflating with each breath. She was a major deterrent. Perhaps my overprotectiveness also contributed to your distaste for walking barefoot in the grass at 18 months. You really hated that feeling. I am glad you overcame that!
Thankfully, your sister came in the nick of time to help me loosen my grip on you. She was God's wonderful and hilarious surprise. She was His not-so-subtle whisper to me. "Kaylee, lighten up. Leave the worrying to Me. Enjoy these two blessings I have given to you. Give them love, teach them about Me, and delight in them".
So I got the message. Your sister was a little dirtier and a bit more snotty-faced. And you were right along with her. I had two of you now. I could not possibly worry and dote over two like I did with one. And thank goodness. I had to let some things go. I had to hand over my worries and show you how to really live. I had to let you fall down so that you could learn to get back up. I had to let you mess up so that you could learn to recover and move on. I could not protect you from the world. I needed to teach you to live and thrive in it.
Since the day you were born, you and I have been in a constant state of letting go. You are learning, growing, and becoming more independent all the time. All of this can make a mother feel uneasy. We constantly juggle the urge to protect and the need to encourage self-reliance. So forgive me when I just want to wrap you up in my arms and shield you from everything.
I have learned so much from you. Your every first is my first as a mother. I am sorry when I overreact or overprotect. It is my first instinct. Give me a minute and I will step back and try to be reasonable.
It gives me great joy to see you do the things you love. I love to watch you dive for a baseball or fly down the sideline on the soccer field. Because I know this is when you are the most alive. I can't protect you from the disappointment or hurt out there. You are putting yourself all the way out there and it is a thrill to watch.
I love you. I adore your kind and passionate spirit. I hope it soars. I hope you always remember to really live and, every now and then, to walk barefoot in the grass.
Love,
Mom
What a gift you are. You were our first; our only for a short while. You were a guinea pig for two first-time parents who had a lot to learn. We had to learn on you. We are still learning.
I know that I stuck to your sleep schedule like a prison guard. I dressed you in too many clothes on cold days. I rushed you to the doctor with every sniffle. I wiped your face and changed your clothes every time you had a spill or dribble. I'm sure I did too much for you as you got a little older. I tied your shoes for too long and cleaned up after you too much.
I overreacted (and still do) to your missteps, knowing your intelligence and forgetting your age. I protected you way, way too much. I tried to prevent you from falling down so that you wouldn't get hurt. I avoided germ-infested, yet fun places like mall play areas. There was always that one kid there running around with a giant snot bubble expanding and deflating with each breath. She was a major deterrent. Perhaps my overprotectiveness also contributed to your distaste for walking barefoot in the grass at 18 months. You really hated that feeling. I am glad you overcame that!
Thankfully, your sister came in the nick of time to help me loosen my grip on you. She was God's wonderful and hilarious surprise. She was His not-so-subtle whisper to me. "Kaylee, lighten up. Leave the worrying to Me. Enjoy these two blessings I have given to you. Give them love, teach them about Me, and delight in them".
So I got the message. Your sister was a little dirtier and a bit more snotty-faced. And you were right along with her. I had two of you now. I could not possibly worry and dote over two like I did with one. And thank goodness. I had to let some things go. I had to hand over my worries and show you how to really live. I had to let you fall down so that you could learn to get back up. I had to let you mess up so that you could learn to recover and move on. I could not protect you from the world. I needed to teach you to live and thrive in it.
Since the day you were born, you and I have been in a constant state of letting go. You are learning, growing, and becoming more independent all the time. All of this can make a mother feel uneasy. We constantly juggle the urge to protect and the need to encourage self-reliance. So forgive me when I just want to wrap you up in my arms and shield you from everything.
I have learned so much from you. Your every first is my first as a mother. I am sorry when I overreact or overprotect. It is my first instinct. Give me a minute and I will step back and try to be reasonable.
It gives me great joy to see you do the things you love. I love to watch you dive for a baseball or fly down the sideline on the soccer field. Because I know this is when you are the most alive. I can't protect you from the disappointment or hurt out there. You are putting yourself all the way out there and it is a thrill to watch.
I love you. I adore your kind and passionate spirit. I hope it soars. I hope you always remember to really live and, every now and then, to walk barefoot in the grass.
Love,
Mom
Saturday, November 19, 2011
My Mom is a Person!
We celebrated my mom's birthday this week. As we tend to do on our loved ones' birthdays, I thought about how blessed I am to have her in my life. I began to think about the amazing journey we experience as mothers and daughters.
We begin completely dependent upon our mothers. They absolutely define love for us by meeting our most basic needs, gaining our complete trust, and keeping that trust unbroken and sacred. They are our first protectors and teachers. They are our everything. They are the prisms through which we will see our world.
They support and guide us through school, learning to ride a bike, and making friends. They make our bloody knees and hurt feelings all better. They reluctantly let us become more independent in the big world.
Then suddenly our mothers become stupid. At around 13, our bodies are taken over by estrogen-feeding aliens. Our minds can only focus on boys and clothes. Our girl drama consumes us. And our mothers are clueless. They don't get us. They don't understand us. They don't let us do the things we want to do, like stay out all night or date the "boy" with the five o'clock shadow. They give us the earliest curfew of everyone we know. They are so uncool. We roll our eyes, slam our bedroom doors, and let out the most exasperated sighs. We say things we don't mean. It's the alien talking.
They embarrass us with their singing and small talk with our friends in the car. At this age, we prefer that people think we have no parents. So we have them drop us off a block from the movie theater.
We emerge from that particular hormone haze with a tad more appreciation for our mothers. At around 15, we figure out that they hold the power. They have the keys to the car. They are the arbiters of our social lives. We need them on our side and we know that now.
We go to college. We have some space and distance from our mothers. We begin to learn about ourselves at an alarming rate. We go home for Thanksgiving and we see our mothers in a whole new light. They are fun, interesting, knowledgeable, charming people. We can see that they have layers. They have history. They have wisdom to share. What a revelation! It took growing up and moving away to truly value our mothers. We realize that this new friendship is like no other. It has a depth and a bond that are unmatched.
We survive the craziness of wedding planning with our mothers. We really appreciate the sacrifices they have made so that we can build our lives. We begin to "get" that, all this time, they were not just our mothers. They were wives as well. And we respect them even more.
Oh boy - when our first babies arrive - this is the moment our mothers officially become geniuses. I mean, they know everything. They know how to bathe, burp, and soothe these frighteningly helpless little bundles. When we are overwhelmed, questioning our mothering abilities, or are just plain overcome with exhaustion, our mothers know just what to say. They have been there. They hug us, wipe our tears from our weary eyes, and stick around so that we can take a nap. They still know how to make it all better.
If we are blessed enough to have our mothers around when our own daughters are growing up, they remind us how awful we were at that age. They impart their wisdom and tell us that "this too shall pass". One day our daughters will come out on the other side, just as we did. My sincerest hope is that - after all of the eye rolls, tears, and battles - my daughter will look at me and see a dear, true friend that has been with her all along.
We begin completely dependent upon our mothers. They absolutely define love for us by meeting our most basic needs, gaining our complete trust, and keeping that trust unbroken and sacred. They are our first protectors and teachers. They are our everything. They are the prisms through which we will see our world.
They support and guide us through school, learning to ride a bike, and making friends. They make our bloody knees and hurt feelings all better. They reluctantly let us become more independent in the big world.
Then suddenly our mothers become stupid. At around 13, our bodies are taken over by estrogen-feeding aliens. Our minds can only focus on boys and clothes. Our girl drama consumes us. And our mothers are clueless. They don't get us. They don't understand us. They don't let us do the things we want to do, like stay out all night or date the "boy" with the five o'clock shadow. They give us the earliest curfew of everyone we know. They are so uncool. We roll our eyes, slam our bedroom doors, and let out the most exasperated sighs. We say things we don't mean. It's the alien talking.
They embarrass us with their singing and small talk with our friends in the car. At this age, we prefer that people think we have no parents. So we have them drop us off a block from the movie theater.
We emerge from that particular hormone haze with a tad more appreciation for our mothers. At around 15, we figure out that they hold the power. They have the keys to the car. They are the arbiters of our social lives. We need them on our side and we know that now.
We go to college. We have some space and distance from our mothers. We begin to learn about ourselves at an alarming rate. We go home for Thanksgiving and we see our mothers in a whole new light. They are fun, interesting, knowledgeable, charming people. We can see that they have layers. They have history. They have wisdom to share. What a revelation! It took growing up and moving away to truly value our mothers. We realize that this new friendship is like no other. It has a depth and a bond that are unmatched.
We survive the craziness of wedding planning with our mothers. We really appreciate the sacrifices they have made so that we can build our lives. We begin to "get" that, all this time, they were not just our mothers. They were wives as well. And we respect them even more.
Oh boy - when our first babies arrive - this is the moment our mothers officially become geniuses. I mean, they know everything. They know how to bathe, burp, and soothe these frighteningly helpless little bundles. When we are overwhelmed, questioning our mothering abilities, or are just plain overcome with exhaustion, our mothers know just what to say. They have been there. They hug us, wipe our tears from our weary eyes, and stick around so that we can take a nap. They still know how to make it all better.
If we are blessed enough to have our mothers around when our own daughters are growing up, they remind us how awful we were at that age. They impart their wisdom and tell us that "this too shall pass". One day our daughters will come out on the other side, just as we did. My sincerest hope is that - after all of the eye rolls, tears, and battles - my daughter will look at me and see a dear, true friend that has been with her all along.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Heroes and Villains (Not So Funny)
The hideous allegations surrounding the Penn State scandal are yet another sobering reminder of the evil in the world. We needed that reminder like a hole in the head.
There is nothing worse than this disturbing victimization of children, especially under the guise of mentoring and teaching the local youth. It angers me to think about how those boys suffered; how these sick acts must have brought darkness and shame to their innocent lives. I certainly have sat around, speculating about who knew what, who turned their heads, and who should go down for this. Frankly, all they need to do is get these kids' moms in the room with the perpetrator(s) and it's a done deal.
But I am trying to focus on more productive things - things I can control. I pray that the children involved can find peace and healing after this firestorm subsides. If nothing else, this incident calls attention to our need to talk to our own kids. Tell them they can tell you anything. There is nothing they can't tell you. Tell them that no amount of clout or power will keep you from listening to or believing them. Tell them until they know it in their bones.
This is Veterans' Day. Today we honor those who served you and me without knowing our names. They fought, and many died, for the noblest of causes. They are the heroes that remind us that there is goodness in the world. There is light. There is selflessness. There is hope. I will fix my mind on honoring the good guys. After all, their virtuous work makes it possible for those boys to find justice and maybe even a little renewed faith in humanity.
There is nothing worse than this disturbing victimization of children, especially under the guise of mentoring and teaching the local youth. It angers me to think about how those boys suffered; how these sick acts must have brought darkness and shame to their innocent lives. I certainly have sat around, speculating about who knew what, who turned their heads, and who should go down for this. Frankly, all they need to do is get these kids' moms in the room with the perpetrator(s) and it's a done deal.
But I am trying to focus on more productive things - things I can control. I pray that the children involved can find peace and healing after this firestorm subsides. If nothing else, this incident calls attention to our need to talk to our own kids. Tell them they can tell you anything. There is nothing they can't tell you. Tell them that no amount of clout or power will keep you from listening to or believing them. Tell them until they know it in their bones.
This is Veterans' Day. Today we honor those who served you and me without knowing our names. They fought, and many died, for the noblest of causes. They are the heroes that remind us that there is goodness in the world. There is light. There is selflessness. There is hope. I will fix my mind on honoring the good guys. After all, their virtuous work makes it possible for those boys to find justice and maybe even a little renewed faith in humanity.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
I Have Been to the Muffin Top!
Something happened a few years ago when I turned 35. My metabolism, which had always been a trusted and faithful friend, quit on me. Well, it didn't quit. It just got very, very, very lazy.
It felt like it happened overnight. I woke up one morning and got dressed. And there it was, plain as day in all of its bulging glory - a muffin top. I'm not complaining too much. I know my cup runneth over with many blessings. But apparently my mid-section runneth over as well.
I partially blame the lower-rise jeans we all wear to avoid the dreaded "mom jeans". But honestly, it's because I am not 20 anymore. I can no longer eat whatever I please without exercising. Those days are over. Hello, Reality. Nice to meet you.
After spending some time mourning the loss of my waistline, I finally did take action. I already cooked pretty healthy dinners for my family. I needed to do better when they weren't around. I started eating breakfast and choosing healthier snacks. I began exercising, which I don't love (wish I could say I do). Turns out when I treat my body better, my aforementioned faithful friend comes out of hiding and gets to work. So this is the way it's got to be.
The holidays are drawing near with all of the family gatherings and culinary goodness. See, where I am from, everything we eat over the holidays has heavy cream, cream-of-something soup, butter, cheese, or all of the above. Of course I will partake in our delicious traditions and I don't want to talk about "skinny stuffing" or "guilt-free mashed potatoes". I just need to remember not to eat like I am going to prison on December 26th. Easier said than done. Maybe I'll just wear sweats from now until February. Denial is such a healthy, underrated emotion.
But really. I have been to the muffin top. I don't want to go back. Moderation is everything. I will enjoy and then get my butt on the treadmill. I'm not 20 anymore. And that's just fine with me.
It felt like it happened overnight. I woke up one morning and got dressed. And there it was, plain as day in all of its bulging glory - a muffin top. I'm not complaining too much. I know my cup runneth over with many blessings. But apparently my mid-section runneth over as well.
I partially blame the lower-rise jeans we all wear to avoid the dreaded "mom jeans". But honestly, it's because I am not 20 anymore. I can no longer eat whatever I please without exercising. Those days are over. Hello, Reality. Nice to meet you.
After spending some time mourning the loss of my waistline, I finally did take action. I already cooked pretty healthy dinners for my family. I needed to do better when they weren't around. I started eating breakfast and choosing healthier snacks. I began exercising, which I don't love (wish I could say I do). Turns out when I treat my body better, my aforementioned faithful friend comes out of hiding and gets to work. So this is the way it's got to be.
The holidays are drawing near with all of the family gatherings and culinary goodness. See, where I am from, everything we eat over the holidays has heavy cream, cream-of-something soup, butter, cheese, or all of the above. Of course I will partake in our delicious traditions and I don't want to talk about "skinny stuffing" or "guilt-free mashed potatoes". I just need to remember not to eat like I am going to prison on December 26th. Easier said than done. Maybe I'll just wear sweats from now until February. Denial is such a healthy, underrated emotion.
But really. I have been to the muffin top. I don't want to go back. Moderation is everything. I will enjoy and then get my butt on the treadmill. I'm not 20 anymore. And that's just fine with me.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Overheard at the First Authors' Meeting for No Child Left Behind
All right. Let's call this meeting to order. Are all of my cronies, politicians, bureaucrats, and various other non-educators present.? Good. Let's gather around this conference table and fix education.
First, let's itemize our problems.
1. Students, especially low income ones, are not achieving at acceptable standards in reading and math.
2. Many American schools are underperforming, widening our performance gap with China (and many other countries).
3. The cycle of substandard education is perpetuated and kids fall through the cracks because there is no teacher, school, or district accountability for failure to perform.
Okay, roll up your sleeves, people. I haven't seen the inside of a classroom since 1984, but I want to hammer this out by lunchtime. First of all, we need a way to measure student performance so that we can hold educators accountable. How about this? Let's mandate standardized testing for each grade level. Teachers will teach the skills and the test will measure the students' proficiency. Then we will know how well the teachers are teaching. We can withhold funding if they underperform.
That's perfect. I mean, kids are all the same, right? They learn the same way. They have the same strengths and weaknesses. They all have a "Leave it to Beaver" home life. There are never extenuating life circumstances like hunger, illiteracy, poverty, or violence that inhibit or slow learning. Teachers will teach one way and the students will learn it for the test. It all comes down to numbers. It's very simple.
Sure, teachers might have to spend extraordinary amounts of time and resources preparing the children for the tests. Okay, so maybe teachers may not be able to use their wealth of training and professional discretion to individualize instruction and teach the whole child. Teachers don't need that kind of power anyway. For Pete's sake, it's not like they are doctors who make life-changing decisions for their patients. Bottom line: we need someone to point the finger at when kids don't perform.
The kids? Well the special needs kids and kids who struggle may be underserved because the focus will shift away from their own challenges and onto test-taking strategies. The average and above-average children might be drilled and unchallenged, with little time for out-of-the box thinking. This high stakes testing could lead to student apathy and increased drop-out rates of struggling kids. But, hey. Survival of the fittest, right?
In order to pay for these mandates, states and school districts might need to make monetary cuts in untested subjects like foreign languages and technology. You know, the areas of dire importance for competing in a global economy. But whatever.
This will sufficiently drive away future quality educators - those who nobly enter the field to inspire, challenge, create, and make a difference in kids' lives. We will be left with supervisory adults who specialize in test compliance. Fantastic.
We can aim to have 100% proficiency by 2014. That is not unreasonable or unrealistic at all! We will set standards so unreachably high that even the academically successful schools will be deemed "failing". Then our bureaucracy can sweep in and save the day, instituting new red tape and handing out waivers like candy.
Sounds like a plan. Let's skill 'em, drill 'em, and kill 'em for sub-par scores. Meaningful curriculum, student collaboration and problem-solving, teacher autonomy and innovation - they're all overrated. Especially in the inner-city.
What should we call this new proposal? Hmm. What is a good, touchy-feely catch phrase that will demonstrate our good intentions and garner bipartisan support? I've got it! "No Child Left Behind". It is genius! Who wants to leave a child behind? No one! This will be a bipartisan blockbuster! Look, even Ted Kennedy likes it!
Well, that was easy. Good meeting, everybody. Now let's all put our hands in and on the count of three, say, "Mediocrity"! Very good, now let's grab lunch.
First, let's itemize our problems.
1. Students, especially low income ones, are not achieving at acceptable standards in reading and math.
2. Many American schools are underperforming, widening our performance gap with China (and many other countries).
3. The cycle of substandard education is perpetuated and kids fall through the cracks because there is no teacher, school, or district accountability for failure to perform.
Okay, roll up your sleeves, people. I haven't seen the inside of a classroom since 1984, but I want to hammer this out by lunchtime. First of all, we need a way to measure student performance so that we can hold educators accountable. How about this? Let's mandate standardized testing for each grade level. Teachers will teach the skills and the test will measure the students' proficiency. Then we will know how well the teachers are teaching. We can withhold funding if they underperform.
That's perfect. I mean, kids are all the same, right? They learn the same way. They have the same strengths and weaknesses. They all have a "Leave it to Beaver" home life. There are never extenuating life circumstances like hunger, illiteracy, poverty, or violence that inhibit or slow learning. Teachers will teach one way and the students will learn it for the test. It all comes down to numbers. It's very simple.
Sure, teachers might have to spend extraordinary amounts of time and resources preparing the children for the tests. Okay, so maybe teachers may not be able to use their wealth of training and professional discretion to individualize instruction and teach the whole child. Teachers don't need that kind of power anyway. For Pete's sake, it's not like they are doctors who make life-changing decisions for their patients. Bottom line: we need someone to point the finger at when kids don't perform.
The kids? Well the special needs kids and kids who struggle may be underserved because the focus will shift away from their own challenges and onto test-taking strategies. The average and above-average children might be drilled and unchallenged, with little time for out-of-the box thinking. This high stakes testing could lead to student apathy and increased drop-out rates of struggling kids. But, hey. Survival of the fittest, right?
In order to pay for these mandates, states and school districts might need to make monetary cuts in untested subjects like foreign languages and technology. You know, the areas of dire importance for competing in a global economy. But whatever.
This will sufficiently drive away future quality educators - those who nobly enter the field to inspire, challenge, create, and make a difference in kids' lives. We will be left with supervisory adults who specialize in test compliance. Fantastic.
We can aim to have 100% proficiency by 2014. That is not unreasonable or unrealistic at all! We will set standards so unreachably high that even the academically successful schools will be deemed "failing". Then our bureaucracy can sweep in and save the day, instituting new red tape and handing out waivers like candy.
Sounds like a plan. Let's skill 'em, drill 'em, and kill 'em for sub-par scores. Meaningful curriculum, student collaboration and problem-solving, teacher autonomy and innovation - they're all overrated. Especially in the inner-city.
What should we call this new proposal? Hmm. What is a good, touchy-feely catch phrase that will demonstrate our good intentions and garner bipartisan support? I've got it! "No Child Left Behind". It is genius! Who wants to leave a child behind? No one! This will be a bipartisan blockbuster! Look, even Ted Kennedy likes it!
Well, that was easy. Good meeting, everybody. Now let's all put our hands in and on the count of three, say, "Mediocrity"! Very good, now let's grab lunch.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The "Judgy" Mom
We've all dealt with the "judgy" mom. You know her. She's not overtly judgmental, but just enough so in a passive-aggressive way that makes you feel like America's most inept mother. I don't claim to know the judgy mom's intention, but she has a way of leading you to believe that her kids are perfectly behaved and way more advanced than yours.
You get, "Oh, is he not speaking in full sentences yet?" at Gymboree and "She's still on training wheels, huh?" at the park. In my days of errantly aspiring to be a perfect mother, such snarky darts struck right at the heart of my insecurities.
My 11 year old son, Aidan, was born embarrassed. He has always had an uber self-awareness that makes him very reserved and cautious. I was a new, self-critical, exhausted mother when Aidan started his 2 year-old half-day preschool class 2 days a week. He was a young 2 and first-born. So hitting the social scene at the preschool was both exciting and overwhelming for him.
So one day I was standing outside of his classroom with the other moms, waiting to receive my 2 year old at the end of the school day. Through the giant viewing window, we could see that the teachers had turned on some music (of The Wiggles variety, I think) and were dancing with the children before they dismissed them. Holding my very squirmy 6-month old, I watched the kids excitedly shaking, marching, turning and grooving . . . except Aidan. He stood completely still, with only his eyes shifting. He looked at everyone in the room like they were bananas. I watched him, looking disturbed by these ridiculous people. I wanted him to join the fun. But he didn't.
In this moment, I was wondering why he would not participate. He is 2. Why won't he just dance a little? Just then, another mom turned to me and said in a sarcastically sympathetic tone, "I guess you don't dance at home with Aidan?". My immediate, defensive response: "Um, I don't know. I guess he dances in the car to the music on the radio".
I mean, what kind of garbage is that to say to a woman with dirty hair and her hands full with the hungry, cranky baby? Come on. My self-defeating inner monologue went a little something like this: "Feed him? Bathe him? Play with him? Read to him? Sing to him? Kiss and hug him? Yep, all those things I do every day. Apparently I need to build dancing into the schedule so that he knows what to do in these situations at school. Is he behind? What if he never dances? What kind of mother am I? I must be no fun. I suck."
I cried all the way home from the preschool that day. So maybe there was a little exhaustion mixed in with the feelings of inadequacy, but this was my first major moment of self doubt as a mother. This woman probably had no idea how much her comment affected me. But it did. It was a judgy thing to say and I let it get to me.
It took me a while to come to terms with the ridiculousness of that entire exchange. First, kids do things in their own time and in their own ways. As adults, we can only guide them on their individual paths. We must not forge the paths or judge their pace. Second, that small moment taught me that moms are very powerful and influential in each other's lives - for better or for worse. You can use that influence to demean another mom, or you can lift her up with supportive words or a funny story about your own kid's quirks. I choose to lift and support! :)
I have had a thousand run-ins with "judgy" moms and self-doubt since then, but I am better at letting the snide slide right off of me. I trust my instincts and I trust the people that I trust. Everything else is peanuts.
Judgy mom stories? Spill it!
You get, "Oh, is he not speaking in full sentences yet?" at Gymboree and "She's still on training wheels, huh?" at the park. In my days of errantly aspiring to be a perfect mother, such snarky darts struck right at the heart of my insecurities.
My 11 year old son, Aidan, was born embarrassed. He has always had an uber self-awareness that makes him very reserved and cautious. I was a new, self-critical, exhausted mother when Aidan started his 2 year-old half-day preschool class 2 days a week. He was a young 2 and first-born. So hitting the social scene at the preschool was both exciting and overwhelming for him.
So one day I was standing outside of his classroom with the other moms, waiting to receive my 2 year old at the end of the school day. Through the giant viewing window, we could see that the teachers had turned on some music (of The Wiggles variety, I think) and were dancing with the children before they dismissed them. Holding my very squirmy 6-month old, I watched the kids excitedly shaking, marching, turning and grooving . . . except Aidan. He stood completely still, with only his eyes shifting. He looked at everyone in the room like they were bananas. I watched him, looking disturbed by these ridiculous people. I wanted him to join the fun. But he didn't.
In this moment, I was wondering why he would not participate. He is 2. Why won't he just dance a little? Just then, another mom turned to me and said in a sarcastically sympathetic tone, "I guess you don't dance at home with Aidan?". My immediate, defensive response: "Um, I don't know. I guess he dances in the car to the music on the radio".
I mean, what kind of garbage is that to say to a woman with dirty hair and her hands full with the hungry, cranky baby? Come on. My self-defeating inner monologue went a little something like this: "Feed him? Bathe him? Play with him? Read to him? Sing to him? Kiss and hug him? Yep, all those things I do every day. Apparently I need to build dancing into the schedule so that he knows what to do in these situations at school. Is he behind? What if he never dances? What kind of mother am I? I must be no fun. I suck."
I cried all the way home from the preschool that day. So maybe there was a little exhaustion mixed in with the feelings of inadequacy, but this was my first major moment of self doubt as a mother. This woman probably had no idea how much her comment affected me. But it did. It was a judgy thing to say and I let it get to me.
It took me a while to come to terms with the ridiculousness of that entire exchange. First, kids do things in their own time and in their own ways. As adults, we can only guide them on their individual paths. We must not forge the paths or judge their pace. Second, that small moment taught me that moms are very powerful and influential in each other's lives - for better or for worse. You can use that influence to demean another mom, or you can lift her up with supportive words or a funny story about your own kid's quirks. I choose to lift and support! :)
I have had a thousand run-ins with "judgy" moms and self-doubt since then, but I am better at letting the snide slide right off of me. I trust my instincts and I trust the people that I trust. Everything else is peanuts.
Judgy mom stories? Spill it!
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
We're Not Done With Them Yet!
Come on. Spill it. Let’s tell the truth. All of us are muddling through this endeavor called motherhood. It is an incredibly daunting undertaking – the task of raising kind, confident, competent, productive citizens of the world. Yet any among us is free to take a crack at it.
Most take the job seriously, driven by the insane amount of love we have for our children. I am certain God instilled such enormous love to keep us from killing our young. We do whatever it takes to heal them, console them, and protect them from an often cruel world. We want everything for them. And we often lose our minds and ourselves trying to get it for them. Consider me guilty on this one.
Moms are funny creatures. We can go to the school to volunteer in our little sweater sets and cute, sensible flats. We can attend a party in our tasteful little black dresses, making charming adult conversation. But if we think one of our kids is in danger, in pain, or mistreated in any way, we can become ruthless, rabid dogs. We are complex, comical, and often crazy.
Even funnier are these little people that we are charged with molding into honorable humans. They mess up. They make bad decisions. They embarrass us. But it is because we still have work to do. As my own mother often reminds me when I am in a tizzy about one of my kids' antics: we're not done with them yet. And they are not done with us.
In response to their missteps, moms can really further botch the situation by overreacting, ranting, lecturing, and over thinking. I am a serious repeat offender on this one. We forget what a painstaking process it was for us when we were growing up … because we were so busy growing up. Like most other worthwhile ventures, parenting is a marathon and not a sprint. And we still have time. Thank God, because I’m not done with mine yet.
The purpose of this blog is threefold (Did I just say “threefold"?):
1. Create a forum for the truth about raising kids. I am not a perfect mom and my kids can be turkeys. That’s what you’ll see here.
2. Hopefully we can laugh a little at ourselves and our families (they give us so much material!).
3. Share tips and hard-learned lessons from my own teaching and parenting experiences.
We need to laugh about this job. We need to share our struggles and successes. We should support each other in this most rewarding, difficult role of our lives. It is serious work. But we need to stop. Breathe. Laugh. Enjoy the ride. We will blink and they will be grown.
Live. Share. Laugh!
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