At Least I’ll Be Able to Play the Damn Fiddle

I’ve obviously taken a little hiatus from writing and can honestly say that I’ve been suffering from a case of the blahs. Though there are various external circumstances that have been contributing to the blah feelings, I’m wondering if my sadness stems from something deeper. After reading a bit in a book my friend Katharine bought me called, “I Was a Great Mother Before I Had Kids,” I wonder if I’m not suffering as a result of simply not being able to be perfect.

I know that sounds ridiculous, but I really think it’s true that in modern-day parenting, that is this vague, unattainable goal that we subconsciously actually think we can achieve, which of course sets us up for terrible disappointment and failure. Where does this idea come from in the first place? Before we become parents many of us do think about the kind of parents we will be. I know that I consciously thought that I would be able to produce the most well-adjusted, well-rounded, kind kids the world has ever seen based on my marvelous parenting skills. I thought that if my husband and I could introduce things in positive ways and engage happily in various activities, that my children would not see anything in life as a chore and would be thrilled to try everything. Folding laundry is fun! Being nice to my brother is great! I love all sports! I can’t wait to take music lessons! I want to potty train! I want to try new foods! I just can’t wait to read! Of course I’d love ice skating lessons! I like the process of learning things and always give my best effort! I feel very comfortable shaking hands with grown men at age five! And the list goes on. And the list is absurd. And sadly, I must admit, I really, really believed deep down that this would all be true. Despite how unaware I was that this was the case. I never would have admitted that and would have said that it’s just important to accept the child as he is, that kids are all different, and it’s important to celebrate their unique qualities.

So, you might see where this is going. Kind of looks like a train wreck. Fast-forward a few years and I’m looking at two boys going on age 8 and age 5 respectively. I’ve learned a few lessons along the way. For example, when a child seems to walk to the beat of his own drummer and not be concerned with the mainstream, no amount of Star Wars and Speed Racer videos, Pokemon cards and other trendy toys will make any difference whatsoever. And I’m ashamed to admit it, but I brought these things home. What mother in her right mind says, “honey, why don’t we turn off that educational science video and put in Star Wars?” or, “Oh, I’m glad you’re enjoying that book. I see some boys your age playing with Pokemon cards, would you like some?” I have dragged home videos, sports equipment, tacky and poorly made plastic theme toys based on cartoon characters that are directly marketed at kids during commercials and are the bane of many parents’ existences, in the hope that my older son would suddenly see the light and start demanding this crap regularly and maybe fit in better with the kids at school. However, to this day, the only two purchases he has made with his own allowance money are an Audubon field guide to wild mushrooms and a Swiss Army knife. My younger son, however, likes all the gadgets I bring home and plays with them until they break. But then, he too loses interest. Star Wars had a life span of about 4 months in our house. It’s all but forgotten now. And I’ve learned that no amount of totally fun socializing events will turn a moody introvert into an extrovert.

I guess part of me wants to make sure that I’m not DENYING my children the stuff that will help them fit in. It’s very likely that I’m looking at my kids through a veil of my own insecurities. I think they’ll be great at something I’m not because I’m giving them the opportunity to try something early. I want them to fit in and feel “normal” the way I never really did. I worry that my husband and I somehow gave them inferior genes since we have two boys and neither my husband nor I are great athletes. I ache when my 7-year olds says, “I’m not really a fast runner.” Aaack, my husband and I are not fast runners, how could we even THINK of having kids? Then he says,  “and sometimes when I run I get stitches in my side.” I gasp again because I always got stitches in MY side as a kid. How could I do this to my poor little boy?

Despite all this pain and my personal realizations about how crazy I guess I really am, there seems to be a glimmer of light shining. After all these years of giving—of cooking and cleaning and cutting toenails and arranging play dates and filling out forms and picking preschools and arranging lessons and bringing home toys and books and giving pep talks, I asked for fiddle lessons for my 40^th birthday. For me. Why? Because I have always absolutely loved the instrument, but was too afraid to try. But I decided that if I do try, I may have 40 years or so to enjoy playing, and there is no time like the present. I’m enjoying the lessons. I think the instrument fits me (it’s small). It’s a relief to think that I’m doing something for me. I’ve done freelance work over the years and have found some time to paint, but painting takes a long time with set up and clean up. I can practice fiddle for 5 minutes at a time, so it’s perfect for now when I have so little free time.

I’m enjoying my Monday night fiddle lesson enough to not be willing to enroll the kids in an activity on the same night for fear I’d have to give the lessons up. If my husband has to travel for work, I plan to drag the kids to the half hour lesson with me. Dinner may not be so spectacular on those nights. But I’m thinking that ironically this may be one of the greater gifts I can give them. It will give them a chance to see that I respect myself enough to do something just for me. It will also give them both a chance to see someone go through the process of learning something new, being bad at first, working at it, and slowly improving. These won’t be lessons I will lecture them with, they will just learn by watching, if they choose to. And maybe they won’t notice it or think about it now, but it will inspire them to try new things and not be afraid of failure when they’re older. Or, maybe it won’t. But whether or not they love tennis or always remember to say “please and thank you,” at least I’ll be able to play the damn fiddle.

And They Are Who They Are

Before I had kids I would have told people that I’d have no problem with any kind of child I had: outgoing or shy, athletic or artistic, straight or gay. I enjoy all kinds of people and always have, as long as they mean well and are kind. I felt that I could accept any kid I got, and then help instill the values that my husband and I find important: being kind and honest, open-minded, hard working, and generous, etc. I figured that the reason some parents struggled with they way their child is was because they had rigid hopes for the child that didn’t necessarily fit with the child’s interests, for example, they would only be happy with a child who wanted to become a doctor or lawyer and captain of a varsity sports team. You get the idea. And I knew that would never be me.

And it isn’t me…not really. My kids are very different from one another and I truly am amused, amazed, and delighted by them just for being who they are. But, I worry more about Jasper probably more than I ever will about Hugo, because I realize that his experience being a person that is a little different might be harder for him. I thoroughly appreciate him, that’s not it. What other child, upon hearing I brought home a DVD on the history of government, squeals with glee and wants to leave the dinner table to watch it right now? I love that about him. He just can’t get enough knowledge, and now I pretty much have to google every question he asks me because I don’t know the answers. But, although his lofty intellect far exceeds his years, his social skills do not. I cringe on the playground when he walks around by himself and doesn’t approach other kids. He does have friends, but he does much better with them one-on-one. If there is a group, he doesn’t know what to do. If a friend he usually plays with plays with someone else, he won’t go over to them. He just doesn’t know how. I see how painful this can be for him and my heart aches, and I find myself secretly wishing he were just a little different. Why can’t he be more outgoing? Why can’t he be more comfortable around other people or in groups?

I get angry at myself for having those thoughts. But I do see what a much easier time his little brother has. He’s not shy. If he wants something, let’s say a snack or a chance to try out a skateboard, he will march over to boys five or six years older and a foot taller than he is and ask them. His interests overlap with other boys’: ball sports, roughhousing and race cars, so it’s easy for him to find someone to play with. Fitting in, for him, is just never a problem. I remind myself that it’s my job to parent the kids I have, and that they do not enter the world fully formed. Everyone has challenges, and my task is to help my children navigate their way in the world and to give them tools to face their challenges.

As I walked my son to school this morning and he talked about his difficulty on the playground, I told him that lots of people feel shy. We talked about ways to start conversations, and how it’s just nice to say hello. After school we stayed to play at the playground to take advantage of the beautiful weather.  I saw Jasper wander around alone for a while. He didn’t go near any other kids and my heart just sank. An unfortunate mother on the playground got an earful from me as I unburdened my soul to her about how I worry about him. But then, Jasper found his friend, Hannah, and they played off to the side together. Then I noticed another shy boy see them and run across the field to hide behind a tree to watch them. In this moment I saw another painfully shy kid with no idea how to approach two other children he knew he liked to play with. I thought, here is a teaching moment! I need to tell Jasper to invite that boy to play. But, before I ever made a move I saw Jasper go over to him, and before long they were all playing together and soon after that a couple more kids joined in. Needless to say, I was overjoyed.

On the walk home Jasper told me that at the playground he saw someone behind the tree and he went to see who it was. He said that when he saw the other boy he said, “Hi Rowan, do you want to play with us?” And, sure enough, Rowan did. Jasper was so proud of himself, and so pleased with the positive result. I surged with pride then, just so happy that he tried out this new skill and that it worked. So tonight, I can rest a little easier knowing that we have made some progress on this hurdle, even though I know there are many more to come. 

Got Control?

It’s been a disappointing couple of weeks. First, there is just that winter gloom that appears in February in Maryland: weather with a tendency towards the raw and bitter, without a hint of the snowy winter-wonderland that can redeem the darkest months of the year. The gloom around here has been compounded by Jasper’s pneumonia, which finally released its grip two days ago and Jasper went back to school and felt well for the first time after 11 days. My image of the last few days of near-quarantine are of Jasper diligently carrying around a box of tissues, of which he has become a connoisseur (he prefers Kleenex; Puffs are too “creamy” and the generics too rough), and a plastic bag to deposit the contaminated ones in to keep them off the floor. His nose and cheeks were bright red from all the wiping and nose blowing, and are just starting to heal.

I find sickness so hard to deal with. Of course I feel so sad for my sick child. But I have selfish concerns too. If my child is sick, I don’t get to see anyone either. I have to put aside my plans and projects because suddenly any free time I thought I would have dries up. It’s hard playing nursemaid for days on end. And canceling all the plans is distressing. At age 7, Jasper knows just what he’s missing. The play dates get canceled, he missed the Valentine’s Day party at school and the 100^th day of school celebration. He missed his art class, and a play we were planning to go with friends. And we all missed a ski trip. The kids had been watching snowboarding, skiing, and “extreme jumping” videos on the web in preparation and couldn’t wait to try to slide down some little hills at our local ski slopes. No matter how much medicine and soup I fed Jasper, no matter how many times I took his temperature and had him nap, I just couldn’t make him get better. Perhaps the most disappointing aspect to the missed people and plans is the fact that dear friends of ours are leaving for Zambia on Monday and won’t return until the end of May. I couldn’t see them or help them at all with packing or childcare, and the kids couldn’t play together. We did finally get to see them today for a little while to say goodbye, but since I couldn’t be part of the process of seeing them off, it’s a little surreal to know now that I won’t have another opportunity to see them until we welcome them home in three months.

I can maturely and rationally realize that with all the grief and horror in the world, a sick child who will get better is nothing to complain about. But it’s not just the missed events that frustrate me. My job is to keep the family on a schedule and I essentially plan our lives. I make the doctors appointments, schedule the teacher conferences and play dates and dinners with friends. I make sure there’s enough time for homework and food shopping and meal preparation. I plan the date nights and visits with grandma and grandpa. I get the kids to and from school on time, make sure they have enough time to play outside in the fresh air and make sure we get to the library. And when I’m not doing that I have my own projects: volunteer and freelance work, and projects around the house. And when one of the kids gets sick, it all stops. I can’t do my job, or more precisely, my entire job description turns on a dime. I cancel everything that was planned and make new arrangements for trips to the doctor and pharmacy. I become aware that in this phase, my entire life is dictated by illness, and that any control I think I have over what happens is largely an illusion.

The reality of parenting is how little control we have so much of the time. We can’t control what our children like or want to do or how they feel. We can’t control our own schedules because so often a tired or sick child will force us to change our plans. In my case I realize that at times, I just feel helpless.

I remember hearing about a study of Centenarians. The researcher wanted to discover what traits these long-lived people might share. One trait that seemed to appear in person after person was an ability to manage stress and roll with the punches. I don’t think of myself as particularly controlling and still love doing things spontaneously. But as I find myself having less control in my life, I find myself wanting more. For now I am grateful that Jasper is healthy and that life is back to a more predictable pattern. I appreciate that now, at least for a little while, I can once again feel that I have some control. 

And We’re Competitive About Cupcakes?

I recently received one of my alumni magazines (about which I’ve written before) and read the following article: http://www.colby.edu/colby.mag/issues/current/features.php?issueid=48&articleid=906

To be honest, I wasn’t really sure what the point was. I think, though, that it was about how these incredibly high-powered women who sound like they chew nails for breakfast wish their husbands would help pack lunches and make kids’ doctors appointments, and then they would have perfect balance in their lives. However, their ideas of parenting (I am paraphrasing here) include taking turns relieving the nanny and taking the 4-year old to school once a month (I’m serious). How can they think they will ever find balance? And they are sad that they will never be able to compete with moms who bake gourmet cupcakes and attend their kids’ sporting events. Whatever. And why do I feel like I will be viewed anti-women because I wrote this? I think of myself as a feminist and think men and women are equal in their abilities. I do think the women mentioned in the article are crazy though. 

I included my response below: 

I was confused by the article “Double Duty” in the winter 2009 issue. Was the point to say that these women would be having an easier time if their husbands took on more domestic responsibilities, or was it a celebration of what these women are achieving in business? I found it depressing. Every educated, two-career couple must make hard decisions when they bring a child in to the world. That child arrives with a 24-hour a day need for care. Two parents with two full-time jobs suddenly have three full-time jobs, one of which comes with strong emotional needs. Every family must decide what will work for all of them as individuals and as a unit and usually both parents need to make sacrifices and compromises.

The careers these high-powered women have chosen typically do not allow time for family, a condition that was at one time reserved for men. If both members of a couple choose these types of careers, then there will never be enough family time, whether the husband does his fair share of laundry and appointment-making or not. I’m not saying the women should not pursue these careers, but I believe that families find more balance when one or both members of the couple put the brakes on their careers for a while when they have kids at home. In choosing to push the careers forward full-throttle at a time when kids need you the most is not taking their needs into consideration. It is a selfish decision, and an imbalance is an inevitable result.

The fact that these women feel they are competing with moms who bake gourmet cupcakes, volunteer at school and attend sporting events is sad. What child cares about gourmet cupcakes? Where people spend their limited time is a reflection of their values, whether it’s at work, the gym, volunteering at the homeless shelter or at the tanning salon. And parents, mothers and fathers, who volunteer at school and attend sporting events, are there because they want to be—they value time with their children. No trophies are handed out, but the families that spend time together benefit by having a strong bond, shared memories, and a connection to their community. Relationships reflect the amount of effort that are put in to them and this is true with colleagues, a spouse, friends and kids, and we all have the difficult decision of deciding where we will put that energy.

I know many women (and men) who are proud to strong models for their children by bucking society’s obsession with status, money and egocentrism, and performing one of the most undervalued jobs in our country: raising our kids. 

Sibling Relations

One of my favorite things about my kids getting older is watching their relationship develop. Jasper was really excited when I was pregnant with Hugo, anxiously awaiting his new sibling. Unfortunately, for unknown reasons, he was positive that he was getting a little sister, and he was disappointed at first with a little brother. He soon came around though once the baby was born and generally adored the new addition to the family. That is, of course, until Hugo became mobile. Once the baby could get into Jasper’s toys and projects, knock down Lego towers and scribble on his drawings, Jasper wasn’t so thrilled about a little brother any more. I remember saying at one point a couple years back, “if they’re together, they’re fighting.”

Fast-forward two years and I would genuinely say that my boys are best friends.  At ages 4 and 7 they can spend hours playing. They still fight of course, but there are long stretches of time when they can visit imaginary lands together, build forts, and truly enjoy each other’s company.

Hugo has long admired Jasper, but recently his worship of his older brother has grown almost comical, with his desire to imitate Jasper’s facial expressions, clothing, and jokes. I will ask the boys what they want for breakfast and Hugo will stare silently out of the corner of his eyes at Jasper until his big brother responds, “I’ll have a waffle.” Hugo will look at me right after that and say, “I’ll have a waffle.” The copying has become so blatant that Jasper, Jim and I will often say, “Hugo, you are your own person. You can choose whatever breakfast/activity/color crayon you want.” This does not seem to be helping. Even when it comes to a discussion about their activities we might propose, “boys, you have time to watch a video or draw before dinner.” Hugo will stand there, not knowing what to do, until Jasper answers, “let’s watch Prehistoric Park,” immediately followed by Hugo happily yelling with conviction, “yeah, Prehistoric Park!”  

At times I worry that Hugo will end up not being the person he is destined to be because he is so influenced by Jasper. He has certainly adopted many of Jasper’s interests I think, purely because they’re Jasper’s. He can identify obscure dinosaurs and birds because of time spent with his big brother. However, in this regard, I see more balance. Jasper has been very much influenced by his little brother too. As a really little kid Jasper showed no interest in roughhousing with other boys, ball sports, race cars, and other “typical” boy behavior. But, he got a tough little brother, and I love watching them fight over who has the better, faster race car and then laugh gleefully as they play-smash the cars in a demolition derby. Jasper had no choice but to learn to wrestle with a little brother that was constantly flying through the air and landing on his back. These new skills have served him well and I now see him playfully tussling with his classmates after school and feels proud when he can “take down a fourth grader.” As much as Jasper introduces Hugo to the wonders of how mushrooms reproduce and the fascinating shapes of various crystals, Hugo has made his brother current on the cool factor of Star Wars, Speed Racer and monster trucks.

I just hope, as their mother, that they can always find common ground and appreciate each other. We foster this relationship by pointing out that having a brother is like having a best friend for your whole life.  Whether they always feel like best friends is yet to be seen, but for now I loved seeing them give each other a huge hug this evening and in the spirit of their much-loved book, “Guess How Much I Love You,” hear Hugo tell his big brother “I love you outside the universe and back,” and hear Jasper respond, “I love you outside the universe and back too.”

 

 

 

Those Alumni Magazines

I recently received my alumni magazine. You know what they’re like, filled with news of renovations, new endowments new faculty, and of course, all the gossip listed at the back, graduation year by graduation year. To be honest, I rarely read it when it comes. Frankly, it’s just not as interesting as all the other reading that I don’t have time for. I never send in information about myself, either. I did a couple times years ago, but I remember painfully trying to figure out what to write to “keep people up to date,” but at the same time not sound boastful, or boring, or like I had something to prove. I remember seeing the information about me in print and realizing with horror that they printed it all, word for word. It was too long and seemed boastful and boring at the same time and I definitely sounded like I had something to prove. I mean, what do you write? “Gosh, I am anxiously awaiting the birth of my second bundle of joy! Meanwhile, I am getting my masters’ degree and just returned from a fabulous trip to Cuba!” Or, “I am still working at my same job and living in the same place. I like to catch a movie now and again.” See what I mean? It’s hopeless.

 

Anyway, my magazine arrived last week when I was recovering from the stomach flu and suffering from a respiratory infection. My husband was traveling and both my kids were as sick as I was. Even though I felt like hell I had no choice but to nurse my two children back to health. Because they were sick they were both in horrid moods all week: irritable, whiny, clingy, argumentative and overly sensitive. I dragged myself through the week, coughing up phlegm and applying lots of cover-up to my red, sore nose to try not to look sick. I could not exercise, had little interest in cooking and could not seem to keep my calendar straight and consequently missed appointments and felt I was letting people down. For some reason, I thought it would be a great time to read through my alumni magazine.

 

There was a movie featured on the cover. “Wow,” I thought to myself, “I’ve heard of this movie!” Then I flipped the magazine open and learned that a fellow alum had been nominated for an Oscar for directing this award-winning film. I looked at the photo of my fellow grad, standing on the red carpet at the Academy Awards ceremony, glowing, in a designer dress. I know her. She graduated the same year I did. I read all about her and the movie and proceeded to read about another grad from my year who is CEO of a really cool environmentally responsible company based out of Alaska. He is also an accomplished tri-athlete and dog-sled racer or something like that. Oh, this is not the first time I’ve encountered a very successful former classmate. I’ve gotten used to hearing one former classmate’s voice on NPR every time I turn on the radio. I see another one’s name in the New York Times Bestsellers list, and see that a television show is coming out soon, based on her books.

 

I decided to read news from different class years and stumbled on a profile of one recent alum who just ran multiple legs of a 189-mile relay race, was a math/art double-major, ended up at Harvard for grad school and now has an incredible job—and she only graduated four years ago. Needless to say, at that particular moment reading about these alumni, I thought, “how on Earth did I get in to college in the first place?”

 

I feel like the world is just filled with uber-people. Some successful people can chalk it up to hard work and a little luck to get their big break. People like the recent grad though blow me away. How does she manage to accomplish so much in so many areas at once? I read about them and get kind of sweaty (and having a fever didn’t help one bit last week). I wonder if I should be doing more, though I don’t know how that is even possible when I can’t keep up with the laundry.

 

I think about my approach to life, and maybe there is just some deep fundamental part of my character that separates me from the people glowing on the pages in front of me. Maybe I’m not that ambitious. I don’t really drive myself hard. For instance, many people talk of the days they were on a sports team of some sort and “ran until I puked.” Yuck, I always viewed that as some kind of disorder. I would run until I was sweaty and a touch out of breath, and call it a day. Then maybe another day I’d push a little more and then stop. When I was old enough I would push a little more, stop, then meet friends for beers which felt so well-deserved after getting sweaty and a little out of breath. I didn’t just have that approach with athletics, I remember in college that some friends would pull all-nighters to cram for exams or to write a paper. I would work a bit late, get sleepy, decide a “B” grade isn’t so bad and go to bed. I tend to work until whatever I’m doing is “good enough” and then call it quits.

 

Overall, when I’m not feeling sick and awful, I think my approach to life seems fairly balanced. Maybe I’m not destined for greatness, but I’m also probably not going to have a nervous breakdown. I don’t think my approach is very American though. I sometimes think it’s more “European” though I’m sure many Europeans would be very insulted to read that. I just don’t think that they tend to be as extreme as us, that it’s not necessarily part of European culture for everyone to constantly strive to be the best at everything. Maybe I’ll live abroad for an extended period in the future to test my theory. But for now, it’s getting late and I’m feeling sleepy, so I’m off to bed.

Mother Pain

What a title, right? Oh, but I felt it today, and it’s so real. I’ve felt it before, but it keeps changing. Basically, I think that after the pain of childbirth, “mother pain” becomes whatever pain your child might be feeling, magnified inside you, the mother, one hundred times more. When kids are really tiny you feel the pain of their cries when they are uncomfortable and you don’t know why, or when they are toddling along and fall and get hurt. You want to take that pain away from them. Now I know that as they get older and can explain things to you and don’t really fall and get hurt so much, that their pain is often emotional. And the last thing you want is to see your sweet little child feel that kind of pain, because that kind of pain takes away little bits of their innocence.

 

My oldest son is very, very sensitive. He is self-conscious and moody and hard on himself. I’ve seen him in mental pain from early ages because he is a perfectionist. If he can’t get something right he just loses it. He’s torn up drawings and said he hates reading, his bike, the piano, and everything else he hasn’t mastered the first time he’s tried. It’s a difficult trait and one I still struggle with to handle as delicately and helpfully as I can. But today I saw him in a different kind of pain. He’s the kind of kid who makes friends slowly and carefully and doesn’t just bond with everyone. He can count on one hand the kids he views as his close friends, his little posse. And one member of that posse is moving away.

 

Up until now I wasn’t sure how he was handling it because he would say in an offhand way that their moving adventure, “sounds fun.” But he and his friend have been constant companions for several years. He has grown accustomed to seeing his dear posse of friends regularly, and counts on them being available to play on an almost daily basis. When the weather is nice he can count on running around with these friends after school. But that is changing. Recently, on sunny days after school, the crowd thins pretty quickly. The friends are unavailable to play for various reasons—they are busy packing or are sick or have some other commitments. This is normal, this is life. But, it is incomprehensible to a child who likes his routine.

 

After school today my son ran around with some classmates for a few minutes. Then, suddenly, everyone was gone. The usual posse was not available and even the acquaintances just weren’t around. My son suddenly said he didn’t feel well and wanted to go home. He got weepy, but when I asked what was wrong he wouldn’t talk. Then I asked if he missed his friends and he just broke down, crying that everyone used to play after school on the pretty days and they don’t any more and he doesn’t see his friends as much and his grief just sank to the depths of his soul as he cried. I could feel the loneliness seeping out of his pores and there he was: the loneliest, saddest boy in the whole world. It was gut wrenching, and as sad as he was, I felt like my heart had just been wrenched from my chest and smashed in to the ground. I could explain that sometimes your best buddies just aren’t available, but it’s hard to explain that from time to time, one of those friends might move away and you won’t see them regularly any more and it’s part of life. I know he knows his friend is leaving and I know he is beginning to realize that he will experience the sadness and loneliness of missing someone for a long time to come.

 

I know this is all part of growing up. There is no way to shield a child from the sorrows of life, and I don’t even think it would be good if we could because we will have to send them out in to the world some day and they need to develop skills to survive there. But children are so beautiful in their innocence and every experience, painful or positive, that takes away that innocence and leads them one step closer to being a regular person with baggage, is hard to bear.

 

I also learned today that I am DOOMED regarding all the mother pain I will be feeling in the years to come. Having a friend move away is sad, but that is just one of the many sorrowful experiences my children will have until they one day can relate to their mature peers about all the difficulties in life, learned by experience, that I can talk about with my peers.

 

As it was today we returned home and decided to bake a new kind of cookie to cheer us up. Then my boys and I played baseball in the yard, followed by a game of tag. When we finished, my oldest son hugged me and said, “I had a nice day, did you?” I was touched that he could say that after how deeply sad he’d been only a couple hours earlier. I had to agree with him, it was a nice day, in the end. We had a good talk about what made him sad. We found ways to make some fun for ourselves, and we got to eat some tasty new cookies. I hope we can weather the next storm so well.

Paradise Lost

Not so long ago I wrote a post singing the accolades of living in my idyllic town and feeling like part of a real community. Did I mention the weeping willows in that post? I can’t quite remember. There are lots of weeping willows in my town, and on my son’s first day of kindergarten they were all swaying to a gentle breeze next to the creek on our walk to school in balmy, 70 degree weather. I was so excited on that day to send my child to a small neighborhood school where he would meet kids that live only a few blocks away from us. I looked forward to extending my already wonderful social group by meeting my son’s classmates’ parents.  Did I talk about how I never feel lonely in that post? About how I run into friends and neighbors everywhere from the grocery store to the gym? Did I mention how friendly everyone is? How important it is to remember everyone’s name the first time you meet them because they will surely remember yours the next time you meet? Did I talk about how it’s nice to live somewhere with a slow-ish pace, not too much “keeping up with the Joneses” activity?  

But, change is inevitable. Isn’t there a saying that the only thing you can count on is change? Of course, change can be good. I often embrace change, and on many occasions I have instigated change. Change is what I know. Throughout my life I have moved homes or cities or states or left the country altogether every five or fewer years. I’ve never kept a job for more than a couple years (yikes!). I don’t really have “roots” anywhere, though I’ve thought on a few occasions that I might sink some. Parenthood has changed that for me though.  

Now that I am married with kids I want to give my kids a life I always thought would be so secure and wonderful. I want them to grow up in a town seeing the same kids grow up with them. I want them to feel connected to a community and surrounded by the love of friends and extended family.

Lately I have been feeling my fantasy crumbling away a little. Oh, the willow trees are still here, and they are growing delicate little green leaves now after a short but still chillier-than-I’d-like Maryland winter. Jasper still goes to his cute school on the hill. But I have recently been made to realize that even if I manage to not have MY life change, I can’t control the lives of others. Dear friends of ours here are moving away for a year or two, and I feel as though I have been hit by a truck. What do you mean you are moving away because of a job? As though I can ask such a question after being forced to move from our last beloved home for lack of a job (and know a job could force us to move again some day). I realize my little fantasy requires more than just me staying put, to keep it together I need everyone around me to stay put too, or our little community is vulnerable to dissolution. 

I have also noticed that the parents at my son’s adorable school are not so terribly friendly. They seem entirely different from everyone I met before who, after I met them once, would be sure to honk their horn and call my name as they drove by. No, the parents at my son’s school, inexplicably, don’t say hello even after numerous meetings. There is one woman with whom I have worked on a project who would not look my way and say hello when we were literally the only two people in a field walking toward each other, close enough to hold hands. I found myself awkwardly looking up and smiling, trying to catch her eye, and only after 5 or 6 attempts did I realize that she was not planning to look my way. That’s okay, I thought generously, she must have some shyness disorder that makes her break into hives when talking to people socially. My theory was disproved when I saw her hugging and laughing with other parents–many other parents–at pick-up time at school.  

Well, maybe it’s just her I think. But no, my son’s teacher won’t talk to me either (see earlier post). “She doesn’t like parents,” I am told. I feel alright with this comment until I see her chatting freely with a few other parents and even really hyucking it up with parents that had older children go through her classes. Again and again I introduce myself to other parents while our kids play outside after school or after I meet them at a few functions. Again and again they walk by without saying, “hello.” My favorite example (how can I pick a favorite example, you ask, when there are so many?) is when I walk my son to school and pass by 3 other moms from my school who have already dropped off their children. Two are acquaintances that definitely know my name and one is someone I know well. One of the acquaintances gives me a weak smile, one never even looks at me and the one that I know well gives me a nod or grunt, depending on her mood. 

Do I smell, I think? Do I just give off bad vibes? Finally it dawns on me. These people are not new to this town. Many of them are not new to this school because they have older kids. These people are not open. These people are cliquey! Ugh, why does my perfect little school in my perfect little town have to have cliquey parents? What’s the point of going to a neighborhood school if no one in the neighborhood will talk to you? 

I had lunch with a friend today and I vented endlessly about my anxieties and we also commiserated how it’s gotten harder to get together with all the people in our community due to growing children and busier and incompatible schedules. Venting felt good, chatting over lunch felt good and my spirits were lifted. I gathered my younger son into the car and we started the drive home and, what was that smell? Then I remembered that I didn’t put on deoderent this morning and the shirt I was wearing doesn’t breathe at all. I had to laugh. I thought that maybe it’s all because I really do smell after all! I

 hope this is just a bad phase and that like most cycles in nature and life a new one will swing up again and restore my contentment in this town. I truly hope so. Maybe that is all part of living in one place and sinking the roots–you go through the good and bad phases and wait them out. I will work on the things I can change. I can continue to be friendly and get involved in things. I can decide I don’t care about cliquey people. And I will definitely make sure I don’t forget my deoderent again, just in case!

Public School Blues

I know I have written in the past about how hard it is to keep up with what’s happening in your child’s life. Once you learn how to handle new behaviors or circumstances, then something changes again and catches you off guard. Even when you try to anticipate things coming up, they never turn out the way you expect them too. I just hate how from time to time I feel like I am just bumbling around in the dark with no guidance whatsoever, meanwhile I look around at the other parents who all seem to have navigated their way through new situations without too much trouble. Or maybe that’s just my perception, and they feel just as lost as I do.

 

My most recent cause for restless nights spent plagued with self-doubt and frustration, is sending my oldest child off to public school for kindergarten. I knew it would be different. I knew the day was longer than preschool (kindergarten here is a 6 ½ hour day). I knew the class sizes would be bigger. I knew I’d miss my son even though I thought he could handle the longer hours and could use more stimulation. But, naively perhaps, I though I might still be able to be involved in his day.

 

“Schools need parents to volunteer!” I read in the papers all the time. You can count on me I thought, I would volunteer at the school.

 

“Kids do better when their parents are involved in their learning, how can we expect them to learn if parents aren’t helping and working with their kids at home?” No problem, I would know what’s going on and work with my child at home!

 

“Kids like to see their parents in the classroom and school, it makes them feel cared for and a part of the community.” Okay, my child will see my face!

 

I thought it was so nice that the teachers walk the kids to the front door for parents to pick them up.  I thought how delighted they must be to see the group of involved, helpful parents out there picking up their kids. I was sure I would get to know his teacher a little and have an opportunity to discuss a concern or hear a funny anecdote from time to time. I thought there would be some communication between parents and teachers so that we know how our kids are doing.

 

There I was, an eager mom, willing to be a do-gooder. Gosh, I will volunteer at that school and do whatever they need: read to kids, button coats, help the kids cut out shapes, bake cookies, you name it. Schools may not feel the support of parents in some areas, but I will not be part of that problem. So, I attended the volunteer training and joined the PTA. I offered to volunteer in the classroom. I did volunteer in the cafeteria. My son started kindergarten and really liked it from day one.

 

I was a little discouraged at first that his teacher would walk the students outside but not make eye contact with the parents. I waited with anticipation for the day that parents were invited into the classroom to observe. I came, I observed, I offered again to volunteer. His teacher looked at me coolly and distantly and said a vague, okay….but did not take me up on my offer. I waited anxiously for conference day. I wondered, how is my son doing? Is he trying? Making new friends? Following directions? Does he seem happy? Is he learning new skills? Does his teacher seem to like him and get a kick out of some of his quirks the way his preschool teachers did? Conference time rolled around, and we were not assigned a time. I called and left the teacher a message. No response. I approached her after school at pick-up time. She seemed annoyed and said, “do you really want a conference? I can’t think of anything too terribly horrible that needs to be discussed.” My stomach lurched. Terribly horrible? She doesn’t want me to come in because my son doesn’t have any terribly horrible problems? I have to say, I was expecting a very different response. I assured her I did want to come in. She eventually found me a time. She delivered little information at the conference. She didn’t talk about my son much as a person, but did seem aware of his interests and seemed very competent as an educator, which was somewhat reassuring.

 

A month or two passed. I volunteered more in the cafeteria, the only place in the school that I felt welcome. My son loves it when I come and it’s fun to see him during the school day. I asked the volunteer coordinator if there’s any other volunteering I can do, and she suggested that during recess the teachers can always use help because the kindergartners can be so unruly. I went out to the playground and went up to his teacher and said I’d be happy to help watch the kids. She said, “we don’t need any help but you’re welcome to stay.” Then she turned her back. I watched for a while as the kindergartners ran around aimlessly and sort of played together but not really. They looked so little. I left.

 

My son came home from school and announced he was advancing in reading groups—how neat! I encouraged him to read to me at home, but he refused, saying it was boring. I thought about the fact that he really only enjoys non-fiction books. He loves facts and figures. Birds’ wingspans, dinosaurs’ running speeds, plant identification. He wakes us up in the morning by poking us with the pointy corners of books and saying thing like, “mommy, the peregrine falcon is the fastest animal on earth!” I know he likes books, but it’s hard to find beginner-readers that have information he’s interested in reading. I looked in the library and asked the librarian, but didn’t find much. I thought his teacher, who has been teaching kids to read for 30 years, might have some suggestions. I thought, how can she mind if I just ask her for a recommendation and take three minutes of her time? I thought I could fold in a quick question about how he’s doing socially, as he tends to be reserved and only plays with girls. I have been worried about whether or not he is accepted by and mixes with boys and figured that someone who’s with him 6 and ½ hours per day might have some idea. Well, apparently she found those questions offensive because she couldn’t come up with any titles for books for him and glared at me regarding the male playmate question responding with one boy’s name. Then she said, “that’s it. Sometimes they choose each other as a partner, but he’s the only one, that’s it.”

 

I like to think that my reaction was natural—I ended up more worried. Not only is my son reserved, but, by the way she said it, he has social problems. He only interacts with one boy, and then, only to partner up occasionally.

 

Anyway, by this point you get the idea. The two notes I had sent in (in four months) were ignored. I suspected she felt pestered, but also couldn’t really figure how I could be perceived as a pest, since I contacted her infrequently, and then, only had a specific question or hoped for a few minutes of her time.

 

And this leads me to the present. We returned from Christmas break. I was still shocked and angry by his teacher’s cold and odd behavior. I thought maybe I had it all wrong—that teachers never speak to or deal with parents of 5 and 6-year olds at all, and that I am the one at fault. I asked the principal what I should expect regarding communication with his teacher, and how to best go about it. I could tell by her look that she was frustrated with this teacher and topic too. She made it clear that she doesn’t like the way this teacher is with parents at all, and suggested I send in a note requesting a meeting. Then she said she wanted to know if the teacher responded, and how that went.

 

After my interactions with my son’s teacher, I was not eager to deal with her horrible interpersonal skills again, but alas, a couple of new developments arose that did make me want to speak with her. The first was that my son said there was a kid bullying and harassing other kids at recess behind the playground equipment where the teachers couldn’t see him. The other was that my son was complaining of being bored and I wanted to know if she thought this could be true and if there was anything that could be done about that. More specifically, my son started doing some advanced math computations while calculating different attributes of the various creatures he’s interested in. I sent in one last note. It was brief, explanatory, and deferential. I filled it with things like, “does this seem possible?” and “what would you recommend?” I said I could be reached by phone, email, or could talk after school, and would accommodate her schedule. No response. Every day the principal asked me if I’d heard anything. Finally, when picking my son up from school, I asked her if she received my note.

 

Well, nothing new here. Regarding the bullying, she said that my son is rough too, and she avoided altogether the question about whether my son might be bored and if we may want to consider more challenging options for him. She simply didn’t want to talk to me.

 

So, what’s my role? So far I feel as if I’ve been given a shove. I’ve been shown that they own the kids when they’re in school, and they don’t want to have to answer to parents or even talk to parents. How can we advocate for our children? It’s my job to do the best I can for my kids. I don’t expect the teachers there to particularly care about my kids, but I sure as hell do.

 

I don’t feel I’m asking for much—just a quick check in now and again to make sure all is well—that my child is doing fine socially, is progressing well in all areas of development, is challenged, etc. I don’t expect detailed accounts of his day, that would be overkill and ridiculous, but it’s unacceptable to think that I’m expected to just toss my kids in there for 6 and ½ hours every day and have no idea what’s going on. What if they miss something? I don’t want to find out too late that there’s a problem that could have been corrected if detected early.    

 

Well, it’s been about two weeks since I began writing this. I had decided to back off for now because I don’t know what else to do. My son continues to enjoy school, so, since he is only in kindergarten after all I decided I may as well get some sleep and relax a little. At pick-up time I kept my distance. Lo and behold, wouldn’t you know it? My son started coming home with extra assignments. His teacher was asking him to do “reports” on some of the creatures he’s so fond of. Now he comes home, glowing with excitement, because he’s been asked to draw an anaconda and a reticulated python, or a gibbon, or research which snake is the smallest in the world, and then must write a couple sentences about them. His teacher even walked up to me after school yesterday to talk about his love of the natural world. Miracles never cease.

 

And so, I am left with a sense of satisfaction that his teacher is recognizing some of his abilities and needs, and also with a sense of happiness that I did the right thing in helping call her attention to them. I don’t want to be an annoying parent, but I also don’t want my children to wander anonymously through a system that may just try to push them to the middle. I want to support public schools (and don’t have an option anyway as private schools are too expensive), and am among the many parents I know that will volunteer our time to help make our schools better for all children. I am cautiously optimistic that I will have an opportunity to do so. I truly hope that I don’t find out that our public schools don’t really want us parents around at all—that we’re not dealing with a local school, but rather a government and union-run institution that has little regard for the individual.

Maybe I Should Stop Seeing Movies, Especially in the Fall

I was starting to suspect that new thoughts are not constantly popping in my head, that every time I think deeply about something and think I get closer to some great truth that really, my brain has been there before and I’m just rehashing the same old thoughts. The thoughts clogging my head in the last week seem too familiar; the words jumping in my mouth have a stale taste. I decided to look through my old blog entries and realized with surprise that I have been writing articles for almost exactly one year. Imagine my surprise when I realized that I was about to write a VERY SIMILAR entry to the one I wrote one year ago. Not only do my thoughts recur, but, can it be, that they come to me at the same time of year? Is it just a cycle? Oh, it’s early summer, I must be very concerned about politics. Golly, it’s February, so I’m very concerned about global warming?

Well, last week I saw a movie in a theater with my husband, “The Bourne Ultimatum.” Yes, I know that movie has been out of theaters for a while, but we caught it at the second run theater in town for about $2.50 each. It doesn’t matter to us as we only see a couple movies in theaters every year. They’re all new to us. Inexplicably, because it’s a gray, unsettling movie shot with weird, eye-straining camera angles, I was carried away by the excitement of it all. I became slightly enamored by Matt Damon. Afterwards my life seemed dull.

A couple days later we turned the clocks back and lost an hour of daylight. The weather grew chilly. I felt tired and noticed a few dark circles under my eyes. I yearned, YEARNED for a glamorous and exciting life. I said to my husband, “I want to be beautiful, glamorous and important.” He looked at me very sweetly and offered, “you are beautiful (bless his soul!) and very important to many people.” He paused, looked thoughtfully and said, “about the glamour part, I don’t know, hmmm, what would that be exactly?” I assured him that there was no glamour in my life so he wasn’t missing anything. I cast a cursory glance in the general direction of my closet which contains several pairs of flat-soled shoes and boots in neutral colors, lots of jeans, corduroys, comfy tee-shirts and warm sweaters. Not a lot of glamour in there. I glanced in the mirror at my messy-need-to-cover-gray-roots air-dried hair. At my un-made-up tired-looking face. Nope, he’s not missing the glamour part, it’s just not there.

It’s times like this, with my 40th birthday approaching (okay, in two years) that I realize that if I don’t have an opportunity to wear a fancy gown soon that if I ever do I will have missed the chance to look really good in it. I mean, I think many older women look AMAZING, but I don’t really want to wait until I’m all wrinkled and worn-looking to wrap myself in sequins and sparkly things. Maybe all my years of looking more earth-mama than diva have been a denial of some kind? Like when I was in college and didn’t shave my armpits or legs because I thought that was better for some reason even though I always hated how it looked on me. Tan women with pale blonde underarm hair? You go girl! That looks fine. Pale-skinned woman with jet-black underarm hair? Yuck, shave that shit off. I finally did.

So, maybe it’s something about the fall that makes me feel this way? It is the season of dying, truly, on our way to the season of death (well, at least dormancy). Everything is asleep; the trees have no leaves and bears are sleeping. Plants lost their blossoms long ago and everything is waiting. Everything is past its prime. I feel like that too. So, maybe my life isn’t really dull, maybe it’s just the natural effect of the seasons, the natural rhythm and cycle of life, on my senses? I hope so. But I really hate feeling this way. I want to hop on a plane to where the sun shines all the time and the palm trees never stop swaying in the breeze. I want to dance.

Perhaps I should just see different movies in the fall. Maybe I should see slow-moving, melancholy French films or just watch documentaries, and save the action-adventure-with-hot-lead guy for spring. Maybe when I don’t feel so old and worn out, because I think mixed with the juxtaposition of exciting action-adventure film vs. my dull life I am also disturbed by the idea that the lead hot guys, who are both roughly my age, probably are dating/married to women ten years younger.

Changing the movies I view in the fall might be helpful, but it doesn’t really solve the cyclical-thought dilemma. Am I nothing more than a reflex box that just responds to the changes around me? Are my thoughts and feelings predictable based on how close to the winter solstice or autumnal equinox they occur? Maybe I should stop thinking so much and just watch the Colbert Report. Or, come to think of it, I guess I can just pour myself a martini. It worked last year.