A love letter to my air conditioning

If I were to compose a love letter to my air conditioning, it would sound something like the following…

Dear blessed chilly air,

I may not have shown you proper appreciation in the past. In fact, I may even have complained at moments when you were doing your best. For that, I am sincerely sorry. I will never take you for granted again.

I love you, chilly air. You make my life complete during the warm, sticky summer months.

Love,

Me

We lost our power last night, shortly after bedtime. Shockingly, the loud storm didn’t wake my kids up. Or at least it didn’t cause them to tell us they were awake. They woke up in the morning, looking refreshed and happy. When I asked them if they had heard the thunder, they looked up at me, smiled and said “yeah!” with excitement. When I inquired as to whether they had been afraid, my son looked up at me and shrugged nonchalantly. “No”, then he went back to playing. My daughter looked at me wide eyed and stated, with sincerity and confidence. “No, mommy. I wasn’t. It’s just a loud noise.”

Oh how I love knowing that they have been listening.

And the kids did a pretty good job, even though the house got pretty warm. We have a generator that allowed us to have one basement light and use of one kitchen appliance at a time, so it wasn’t even really survival. Our refrigerator and downstairs freezer had power so we didn’t lose food. Not bad. I have my husband to thank for that.

But we didn’t have AC and wow… it felt sticky. The kids didn’t even go upstairs for nap because it would have been useless. No way they would have been comfortable, and it wasn’t worth the fight.

Around bedtime, my husband lightly commented that he didn’t envy those that that lived through summer pre-air conditioning.

But did they really know the difference? I mean, really… did people know that dinner took too long to heat up before having a microwave was standard? Not really. Did they know that phone books were inefficient before the internet? Did people recognize the inconvenience of having to develop rolls of film and sift through the crappy ones before digital cameras? Uhm, no…  Do people know how much free time they really have before they have kids? Absolutely not.  

I wonder what my kids will ask me about when they are adults. Which inconveniences they will identify as they pity me?

Lisa and the terrible, horrible, no good very bad birthday

Today was my birthday. I turned 37. I fully intended to blog about my birthday, cite examples of why I feel so fortunate. Talk about hugging and kissing my kids, ooze about a lovely day with them in the summer sun. Show appreciation for my friends and family who sent me well wishes. You know…. Be sappy.

And don’t misunderstand. I did get many well wishes from friends and family. All of which were highly appreciated.

But then, today happened.

And I have to tell you… I had the day from hell. Starting at 7:30 am, my kids started in on me. They took turns being the “bad guy”. By that, I mean that they took turns being total monsters. They cried, whined, fussed, kicked and tantrumed all day. And while it was never both of them, it was ALWAYS one of them. He napped, but she didn’t. And wow, did she need that nap. When she came downstairs post not napping, she was in quite a mood. The tantrum she threw when I had to go up and wake him up for dinner was spectacular. And as it turns out, I shouldn’t have wasted my time and energy.

5 minutes into our drive for dinner out, my husband and I realized that we were inviting disaster. Our beloved daughter‘s intentions were not consistent with a successful dinner out. And I hate discipline in public. So not my thing. We turned around and drove home. Plan B went into place. The kids ate mac and cheese and we ordered Chinese after they went to bed. With a lot of wine. I would love to lie to you and tell you that I hid my resentment and annoyance. That I didn’t let my daughter see that her behavior was the reason we turned around and drove home, instead of going out to dinner. Oh, but I did. I still can’t decide if I feel guilty about it.

So, after the kids were in bed, I took a deep breath. Probably my first of the day. We ordered Chinese, opened a bottle of wine and sat out on our porch. By the time dinner was done being consumed, the bottle of wine was history and I was a more than a little tipsy. I had refilled my glass more efficiently than my husband. After all, I needed it more.

But I was fine. Breathing easy. Happy again. And this is why.

Because I still have a great relationship with my husband.

When my husband and I first met, fell in love, and got married, we were nuts about each other. We were “that couple”. Yeah, that couple that made people nauseous.  Having kids had its impact, and we started arguing more often, but not often enough that I worried about our relationship. We still managed to talk enough to keep the lines of communication open and maintain the image of impenetrable for the sake of discipline.

 And tonight, as I look back on my day, my birthday, I do feel true appreciation mixed with the unavoidable frustration.  I appreciate that my day ended with the companionship of my best friend.  My husband.

 And the kids will live another day.

Heaven?

I recently met up with a friend of mine for a play date. Her son is 5 and her daughter is almost 2. The kids had a wonderful time. My kiddos adored having a big kid to watch and imitate and he’s such a good boy that I had no concerns when imitate him they did. The entire time.  It was hilarious, actually. Watching two 3.5 year olds trying to do something a 5 year old is doing… very clumsily and with tremendous giggling. It’s enough to make you know that everything is ok in the world.

During the play date, sat in the middle of the sandbox, the 5 year old looked up and me and asked me, “Do your kids have a daddy?”

Let me fill in the background…

My friend’s friend lost her husband recently and this 5 year old knew about it. He knew that a child, approximately his age, had said goodbye to his daddy. And while he wasn’t showing any significant overt signs of distress (my friend’s son, that is), he was clearly processing it and trying to figure it all out. Hardly shocking, if you ask me.

Me: “Yes, They have a daddy.”

My friend (to her son):  “Honey, why are you asking?”

Kid: “Because I’ve never seen him. “

Ahhh… it’s all starting to make sense. The concrete thinking of a child. I explained that he had, in fact, met their daddy. It’s just that it was a long time ago and I would have been very surprised if he remembered. Basically, my friend and I tend to get together when the dads are at work, during the week.

But still, his face rested in that uncomfortable place. And for this kid, the uncomfortable place is not common. He’s a happy kid, relaxed, content. His face’s standard resting place is one of comfort, not discomfort. Clearly, his question had not been answered. So I asked him. “Do you want to see a picture of their daddy?”

His whole face lit up. Excellent. That was the missing piece of the conversation.  I took out my phone and showed him a picture. He glanced at it for maybe a second and then went back to playing.  Then a moment later…

“Mr. David is in heaven”. 

And here we are. At the center of the real issue.

“Yes honey. I know.” We looked at each other, smiled. Locked eyes.  And then we moved on.

And I made a decision at that very moment, despite not being a religious person. The first time my kids have to endure losing someone they love, I am going to teach them about Heaven. It might be hypocritical, especially given my lack of decisive belief in god. But, for me, that’s not the point.

When my kids lose someone they love, I don’t want them to feel lost or more confused than they need to be. I don’t want them to feel as if that person is lost. And really, how would a kid comprehend the atheist belief that a person just dies. Goes away. To nowhere. All done.  It wouldn’t make sense in their young, concrete little minds.

When my kids lose someone they love, I want them to picture that person encased in happiness. Maybe eating their favorite food or listening to their favorite music. Wearing their favorite shirt or hat. Enjoying a sunny day. You know.... Content. AT PEACE.

Wouldn’t it be nice if that were really the case? If the ones we have loved and lost are really just free of worries in their favorite place?

Perhaps they are…

Why I envy my son...

I am totally envious of my son. I’ll tell you why.

In our house, we have an expression. It emerged, sort of by accident. By this, I mean that I didn’t introduce the sentiment by accident, but I didn’t quite plan on it making camp in the form that it did.

I can be tough on discipline sometimes. If I ask my kids to stop a certain behavior and they don’t listen, I’m not hugely sympathetic or soft when the undesirable consequence happens. If I ask the kids to stop playing with their cups (oh, let’s say… 10 TIMES IN A MINUTE) and then the full cup of juice goes flying across the room, I don’t hold back in letting them know how I feel about it. That said, sometimes things just happen.  Elbows can bump a cup with the best of intentions, and I don’t want my kids afraid to make an honest mistake. I want them to be comfortable being human. After all, their parents are.

So, I started saying “it happens” at those moments when unfortunate human errors occur. Cups or plates that accidentally fall. Toys that accidentally break. Accidentally making a brother/sister cry during playtime. Both of my kids got it, but my son REALLY gets it.

A few weeks ago, I went in to his room in the morning and found a huge mess. His diaper hadn’t quite contained its contents overnight and there was a pretty nasty mess on the carpet and bed. When I quickly asked the kids to back up, so I could clean up, his eyes cast downward in shame. Oh crap… no. No way. I was not letting this go. No kid should feel shame for a leaky diaper.

I took my hand and lifted his chin up, making his eyes meet mine. I smiled and told him, “It’s ok, honey. It happens”. He paused, smiled slightly and asked me (in a concerned tone), “It happens?”  “Yes, honey” I said. “It happens. And I love you. Don’t worry. It happens.”

His smile broadened into an outright grin. “It happens!” he exclaimed triumphantly. He backed up and let me clean up, no longer feeling sad.

Yes! He got it!

And here’s why I envy my son. Because he embodies the spirit of “It happens”. It’s his mojo. His way of being. His sense of self is strong, secure. He doesn’t torment himself for every mistake. He just keeps on trucking. I wish I could do that half as well as he can. He’s awesome at it.

Maybe he’ll teach me.

The rules for being "orderly"!

I read an article the other day, about a mom getting arrested at her daughter’s graduation. The brief article did not go into detail, but the short version of what I could find is the following.

1-      Friends and family were asked (ok, TOLD) not to clap and cheer between names being read while graduates walked across the stage.

2-      They were informed they would be escorted out if they did not oblige.

3-      Mom did not agree (or wasn’t listening…) so she cheered. She was escorted out.

4-      Once outside, she was put into handcuffs and charged with disorderly conduct.

I don’t know what she cheered, or how loudly she cheered, or for how long. I also don’t know how she treated the authorities that escorted her out, if she really was “disorderly”, whatever that means. I guess we all have our own definitions of what orderly looks like. I know that what I considered orderly before children has changed dramatically. I also know that culturally, “orderly” can differ dramatically.

I read the comments after the article. Oh, the joys of online reading. Not only do you get the information presented to you, but you get exposed to everyone’s opinion on it. Sometimes this is a blessing, other times a curse. This time, it was insightful, if not a bit disturbing.

Some of the comments criticized the mom, telling her that a graduation is not about her. It’s about her kid and the other graduates. If she needs to keep her mouth shut for them (all of them) to get their moment of glory, she should do so without question.  Some comments even went so far as to recount their own tales of recent graduations, where they were unable to hear the name of their own beloved graduated, due to loud families in the audience.

Other comments criticized the school, claiming that a graduation is a moment of joy. Triumph. Banning proud families from cheering is a travesty. A decline of celebration in our society.

Some comments fell into the gray area between, noting that they didn’t entirely agree with the school’s policy. They did, however, believe that we model acceptable behavior for our children and we teach them how to respect authority by how we behave. If the school asks the audience to behave a certain way, we follow the rules out of respect.  Period.

Personally, I find myself sad. I’ll tell you why…

As a classroom teacher I frequently found myself implementing and creating rules that, in an ideal world, would have been irrelevant. Research shows that antsy kids benefit from chewing gum or eating, as the jaw movement keeps them more alert. I also believe that letting a person eat when they are hungry, as opposed to on a schedule, enhances a person’s ability to think clearly. It’s logical. But most schools don’t allow kids to eat at will in school because of the mess it causes. We can’t trust them to eat cleanly or clean up after themselves, so we ban the food and gum entirely. Those that would have handled it properly, tough luck.

The same goes for strict seating charts, book checks, and inflexible policies on daily classroom behavior. Just consider the zero tolerance policy in schools. How sad that a child who hits in self defense is considered equally guilty. And I understand why the schools have to implement such a policy, as getting the whole story can be so difficult. But it still saddens me. I’ll have a hard time being angry at one of my kids if they ever get disciplined for fighting back, even though I don’t believe violence to be primary solution.

As a teacher, I always struggled, watching my well behaved students get restricted by rules that were ridiculous for them. Punished by the behavior of their less well behaved peers. I wanted to tell them that THEY didn’t have to follow that rule. THEY would know how to behave properly without the enormous restrictions.  

As for that mom at the graduation…I would be interested in being a fly on the wall in that situation. See what REALLY happened. At least my perspective on it. And, although I may be an optimistic fool, I hope for the future and a better balance of rules. In life in general.  For me and my kids.

This is your brain on drugs...

NOTE: I wrote this blog back in September, but life took over. I am finally getting around to posting it now. Sorry for the time delay.  J

 So, it’s that time of the year again. The start of a semester. Those of you that read my post at the start of the previous semester know how much I love the startup meetings. And that’s not meant with a sarcastic tone, it’s sincere. While many educational institutions use that meeting to discuss copier codes and changes in paperwork regulations, we talk about the good stuff. The intellectual stuff. Brain functioning and its impact on learning, how to best address the diverse needs of our students… that kind of thing.  Good, juicy brain food.

This meeting was especially interesting to me, as I love to think about the brain. It fascinates me beyond words. The fact that we are able to do and understand so much is incredible. And the fact that our brain allows us to do it… even more fascinating.

So, the presenter puts up a PowerPoint slide with a picture of a brain. She pauses. She then states, “This is your brain”. And half the teachers in the meeting say “This is your brain on drugs”. I thought it, but didn’t say it out loud. Everyone cracked up, and I mean really laughed. Getting refocused wasn’t easy.

 And it got me thinking about the brain and what we know. And how we learn it. And why we think it’s funny or sad… or whatever emotion it may be at that moment.

When I traveled overseas, I functioned pretty well. Sure, my language skills were pretty below par when I arrived, but I worked hard and studied hard and I progressed quickly. I began my experience surviving and ended it functioning pretty well. But the hardest part, for me, was the loss of my sense of humor. I’m no comedian, but I can hold up my end of a funny conversation with the best of them. My timing for one liners isn’t bad when I’m focused, especially in situations where sarcasm is appropriate. But sense of humor in a foreign language is an entirely different ball game.

 I remember sitting on the plane when I returned from one of my trips, watching Frasier on the little screen in front of me with headphones. Under normal circumstances I find this show extremely funny, but on that day it was more than funny. It was a taste of home.  A lifeline. I hadn’t watched any American sitcoms in months and I found myself laughing so hard I was annoying the person next to me. I tried to stop, but all I could do was muffle the giggles and produce a snorting noise. My body vibrated violently against the force of attempting to control the laughter.  If I weren’t having so much fun, I would have been irritated.

Even my husband, who was raised in the UK, loses humor here in the US because he misses cultural references. (Less now than before, but if it’s an 80’s reference, he doesn’t stand a chance.) When I told him about the meeting and the brain comment, he just looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. His English is just great, but he wasn’t in the US in the Nancy Regan war on drugs era. He didn’t see the commercial. Even when I showed it to him… he found it interesting, even somewhat amusing. But the joke was lost. He barely cracked a smile. And he’s got a great sense of humor.

 Interestingly, even within families this rift exists. My parents and I don’t share a sense of humor on many levels and I attribute it mostly to being a generational issue. Sure, it could be personality differences, but it is certainly not limited to personality.

 Did you know terminally ill patients who are exposed to high levels of “funny” TV have a better prognosis and a better quality of life? I guess laughing is healthy. Go figure.

 Make sure you laugh today. It just might save your life. Or at least your day.