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.

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.

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
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.

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