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.

Why hormonal people are the best...

I love hormonal people. Really. I do. I’m not being sarcastic.

You want evidence? I voluntarily taught toddler and middle school girls in my past professional life. Oh yeah… middle school girls. Yup. I’m a glutton for hormonal punishment.

Did you know that the hormonal influxes of a toddler are the same (in relative size) as those for a teenager? I read that somewhere and I totally believe it.  One minute happy, the next in turmoil. A moment of perfection, then WHAM… total and utter devastation. And no, it’s not all women. I know plenty of women that are emotionally stable. I just don’t happen to be one of them. Wait, very few of my close friends are either. Hmmm… I wonder if that means something.

So, why do I love hormonal people? I’m so glad you asked.

1-      You never wonder where you stand with them. Really. This is huge. None of this “I’m fine” BS, followed by a passive aggressive consequence later, when you least expect it. Why wait when you could inform that person of your feelings right now? And while being the recipient of a hormonal person’s monologue may not be fun… at least you know what they think. It’s better than the alternative.

2-      Their emotion is a driving force unlike no other. Think about an untimed race. Do you hurry? No way... why would you rush? It’s not like there’s a reason. You’d take your time. But emotions are high stake and provide a fantastic incentive to a finish line, even if that finish line is only in your head.  Hormonal/emotional people are capable of achieving huge goals when they are driven by their desires. I’ve both seen it and experienced it.

3-      They make you feel more comfortable in your current, fabulous, flawed state. They are REAL. They flip out over events that don’t warrant the time and attention. They cry like hell at sappy movies. They make bad choices and have to apologize for them later. It’s much easier to be happy, just the way you are, when you are with them.

4-      They say the funniest things. And if they have sense of humor to appreciate it, you can tease them about it later. That’s so much fun… as long as you are willing to be teased back at some later point.

 Are you a fellow victim of the crazy hormones? You are? Great!!!!! Happy to know you!

Adieu extra pounds!

Recently, a friend and former colleague posted on her blog, announcing to the world that she had joined Weight Watchers. She poured her heart out, proclaiming that it wasn’t about looking sexy in the size 2 dress (although she wouldn’t complain if that happened in the processJ).  She talked about not feeling “right” in her own body, about clothing not fitting, and about not feeling healthy.

I was in shock.  Had I had the courage to write out my thoughts, I could have written that blog for her. Word for word. I sat immobilized for about 5 minutes and then I started looking online. I joined Weight watchers the next morning.

And I didn’t do it to look sexy in the size 2 dress. Really? When was I ever a size 2? In Middle school? I did it because I want to dance at my kids’ weddings. I want to chase them over rocks and play soccer with them, without losing my breath in 10 seconds. I want to fit into regular sized clothing. I want to live to 100 years old with my wonderful husband and meet our grandkids together. Maybe even dance at their weddings.

I also had to confess, out loud, that this is not just baby weight. Sure, giving birth to twins has an impact on your body, and it sure didn’t help. Sure, had I been a bikini model pre-kids; I might be switching to one piece for the remainder of my career. But I have always struggled with weight to some extent, and if I don’t come clean now there’s no chance of making it work.

I have lost 11 pounds in the last 4 weeks, and I still have a lot more to go… but I’m pretty psyched.  Let me tell you why.

1-      I can now fit into jeans that haven’t zippered in ages. It’s a great feeling. And they don’t even dig in when I sit down… which is fantastic.  Oh, and I have a chance of the jeans being the right length. Not too long because I have to buy the size that matches my waist. Cool, huh?

2-      I don’t sweat nearly as much as I used to. It’s funny what you take for granted until it’s gone, both positive and negative. I can’t wait to see how it will decrease even more as I lose more weight.

3-      I love that I can feel my body conscious behaviors disappearing, and that they may well be gone by the time my kids can copy them. It may sound terrible, but I think more of my daughter with this one. For some reason, we don’t think as much about boys and body issues.  My daughter copies me in so many ways, probably in more ways than I realize. Overweight people tend to smooth shirts over the tummy, cross their arms and check mirrors self consciously, just to name a few. I have no doubt that I am guilty of some such behaviors, and I do not want to pass them on to my daughter if I can help it. I want her to walk with her head high, whenever possible.

4-      I love that I am potentially extending my healthy life span with every pound I lose. That I am adding one more life event that I can potentially attend and one more activity that I will potentially be fit enough to complete with the younger generation. It feels great to think about it.

5-      I love that I am already less inclined to hide from a picture. Come on, those of you who struggle with weight know exactly what I’m talking about. “Oh no, that’s ok… I’ll take the picture”. Right. Like you have no ulterior motive. Guess what? I don’t believe you. Would you be more willing to jump into the photo if you liked how you looked in your outfit? I’ll bet you would.

6-      I love that my kids are living a healthier diet, giving their little bodies an even better start to life. Lots of veggies and lean meats. Less cake and ice cream. (Note, I did not say NO cake and ice cream. J) One must have yummies too…

I’ll keep you posted when there’s more to say. In the meantime, happy eating everyone!

My top ten rules for life in general

Ever since I was relatively young, I have loved Robert Fulghum. Those of you that know his name and my style won’t be surprised in the least. Those of you that don’t know him, well…

Robert Fulghum is a writer and his writing takes the form of multiple short vignettes. He spins stories of fascinating people, connecting them with the world at large in bizarre and unconventional ways. I love it.

One of my favorites discusses the game of “hide and seek”. He describes the game (which you already know, I’m sure) and then talks about that person who hides too well. So well, in fact, that nobody finds them and they are forced to give up their location when people stop looking. He correlates this behavior to those people who “hide” in life. Those who are diagnosed with terminal illnesses but don’t’ tell anyone until the very end. Those who suffer in silence. Those who don’t share their victories or woes.

My very favorite vignette, however, is his list of rules for life.  His most famous vignette claims that the most important rules in life were learned in kindergarten and are forgotten by most adults. He claims that if most adults followed these very basic rules, the world would be a much nicer place.

For example

-          Play fair

-          Clean up your own messes

-          Say you’re sorry when you hurt someone

-          (And my FAVORITE!) Always buy lemonade when a kid is selling it.

So… in the spirit of Robert Fulghum, I would like to present you with MY top ten rules for life.

1- “Always buy lemonade from a kid who’s selling it!”- My apologies, my dear Robert, but I stole this one because I love it so very much. I agree with you. A child selling lemonade is not just selling lemonade and frequently could not care less about how much money he/she makes. They are taking a risk, putting themselves out in the world. Asking their community to take a chance on them. When you buy their lemonade, you tell them YES. Your risk was worth your time. Take a bigger risk next time. Oh, and when the lemonade tastes like crap, don’t pour it out until you are out of sight.  

2- “Always apologize to kids in situations where you would ask them to apologize to you”. – I’m a klutz. As a result, I frequently bump into things and people. Including my kids. I always apologize to them, while looking them in the eye. I also have the memory of a goldfish. When I promise them something and forget, it’s the same deal. And then I deliver something even better, just to make a point. If they are taking notes, they will learn the value of keeping promises.

3- “The individual items of a young child’s outfit don’t have to match each other; they each need to match the child.”-  My daughter is now smack dab in the toddler years. And yes, she has many opinions. Right now, she loves her dresses and gets mad if I wear a skirt and don’t put her in one. And you should see the outfits she chooses. She’s the cutest clown I’ve ever seen by the time she’s done. But her skirt matches HER. So does her shirt. And so do her shoes. Most of the time, the socks match each other, but that’s no guarantee either. But you should see her smile! That is one proud little girl!

4 - “Don’t question mom when she has ‘that’ look on her face.” – Especially a stay at home mom. If she looks like she’s being rigid, assume she’s tried it other way before. And it failed. ‘nuff said.

5- “Learn what the people you love sound like when they’re not ok.”-  People whine and fuss all the time, people of all ages. Sometimes we need to tune them out and ignore them, for their own good, because we love them. Sometimes, however, their obnoxious behavior is a cry for help. Listen well enough to know which is which so that you don’t ignore the cries for help, whenever possible.

6- “Pick your battles wisely”- Not everything that pisses you off is worth fighting about, especially if you are a strong willed woman like me. If it won’t matter in a day, a week, a year… let it go. Is it really worth the time and energy? Aren’t there more important places that energy could be spent?

7-  “Hugs rule the world”- Sometimes I find myself fighting with my kids. Sometimes they deserved it. Sometimes they didn’t.  Recently, I had a really good head to head with one of my kids and he stomped into the other room. I took a deep breath and realized that I hadn’t picked my battles very well (see #6 above), so I went into the other room and hugged him. No words. Just a huge hug. He wrapped himself around me like a monkey, sighed contentedly, and all was right again. My daughter frequently gets herself all worked up. When words are no longer progressing us, I open my arms to her and ask “Is it time for a hug?”.  At least 80% of the time, she runs into my arms and the battle is over.

8- “Get dirty”- Yes, I mean you adults too. There is a reason why ice packs, baths/showers and washing machines were invented. Use them. Eat messy food, even if it gets on your shirt. Wash it later. Play in dirt and don’t whine about it. Seriously. What’s the worst thing that can happen?

9- “Don’t compare yourself to others so much.” – Whenever you think that somebody else has got it covered, think again. You don’t know what happens behind closed doors and you certainly are not in their head. Every time I meet someone who seems perfect, that illusion fades as I get to know them better. And don’t misunderstand, this is a GOOD thing. A GREAT thing. Imperfection is the best. Those hilarious pet peeves and bizarre niggles are what makes you special. So don’t compare yourself too much. You might be tempted to eradicate one of the fantastically endearing “flaws” that everyone loves so much about you.

              10- “Don’t take it for granted”-   By “it”, I mean everything. The good stuff… because you never know what’s going to happen next. Just ask the mom whose kid has an accident and is in the hospital, wondering if he’s going to be ok. She took her boring plans for the day for granted that morning. She would do anything to take it back.  

A real reality check

I’d like for you to bear with me, on this blog. I’m going to repeat some of the sappy sentiments that I have dealt with in previous blogs. But I have a good reason, and I do have a point. So please bear with me and read on.

 Today I feel very grateful for my whiny, difficult and healthy children. The 3’s have brought about a whole new set of challenges and my capacity to tolerate high pitched, incessant whining is not admirable. I snap more than I should. Sometimes I downright yell when I should be managing or employing parenting techniques that would have avoided the ugly situation altogether.

 But that’s not my point.

 My point is that I feel grateful for their healthy status and simply thinking about it is choking me up.

 Why, you ask?

 Because a fellow preschool mom of mine is currently sitting outside a pediatric ICU, her 5 year old son sedated inside. He fell out a 2^nd story window. Headfirst. Onto concrete. The next 48-72 hours are going to be potentially the longest of her life, as they determine what damage has been done.

 He may be ok. They have reason to be optimistic. But at this point, they don’t know and I can’t even allow myself to imagine how she feels because it might break me in two.

And not that matters, but she didn’t do anything wrong. She let her kids play upstairs alone. Haven’t we all done that? This terrible accident was just that, an accident.

 And suddenly I feel very petty, very silly, for my annoyance at my children’s whining. Because really, what’s the big deal? Right?

So tonight, I ask you for two favors.

1-      Please pray for my friend and her precious child. Even if you don’t usually pray.

2-      Hug your kids. Hug them tight. Try to be nicer to them when you and they are both tired.  I know that I plan to try.

… and to all, a good night.

This is a test, of the system called life.

Many religious people will tell you, if asked about a particularly difficult or trying time in their life, that they felt God was testing them. You know… checking out what they were made of. Making sure they didn’t get too comfortable.  They claim that the situation mandated a complete introspective overhaul. Made them come to terms with some thoughts and feelings that they had been avoiding, either accidentally or intentionally. They claim that they emerged better; stronger… more prepared to take on the world ahead of them. They swear that it was all for the best, in the long run.

 I’m not particularly religious, as many of you know. I do, however, have a strong sense of faith. And fate. Not in the sense that we are powerless to make change or that free will is just an illusion. Not in that way. But in the sense that some moments were not meant to work out, because something better was waiting in the aftermath. Or that some problems were meant to be presented, because your current mental state needed a boost and this problem was ideal to fuel that particular brand of growth.  

Adults talk about breaking up with a partner they thought would be their spouse, and the devastation of the loss, only to meet someone who makes them even happier than they imagined they could be. Medical diagnoses that provide a reality check, allowing someone to make their health a priority before it’s too late. You know… the silver lining of the crappy situation. It could’ve been worse…

My husband and I find ourselves in the process of making a big decision. Well, ok… it feels like a big decision to me right now. Who knows how I’ll view it in the rear view mirror. But right now, it feels huge. The solution is in progress, and the process of putting the details into place has made me think, really and truly think.

And I have some opinions that I didn’t know I had. Really. I’m not lying, at least not to you. Lying to myself… now that’s entirely possible.  But if you had asked me a year ago, I would have fervently denied such beliefs. I have fears I wasn’t entirely aware of because they were never called out. I have strengths I didn’t perceive the depth of because I had never been asked to draw upon them.  I have pre conceived notions that are not, in fact, a reality. Some of them are even too embarrassing to admit out loud. I am in the process of discarding them. Right now.  

So maybe I am being tested. Hmmm...

What makes this particular issue even more profound for me is that it isn’t about me. It’s about one of my kids. And he’s too young to contribute, so we have to think and act on his behalf. Attempt to read his mind, assess his needs, and react in a way that will give him what he needs.  I hope that we make the right choice. I’d hate to let down such a precious and innocent little soul. I’d never forgive myself.

 I have had the blessing of talking this decision out with a few wise and perceptive people. My parents, who are doing a great job standing back and keeping it our choice.  My husband, the wonderful man and best friend that he is. Friends that have tolerated my ramblings patiently, waiting for the essential and interesting content to emerge, eventually. It’s a blessing, not living alone in your stress. I will never take that for granted.

And as I write this, I am struck by a revelation. An epiphany.

I am not going to let my son down. If fact, I have already NOT let him down in the time, energy and love that I have invested in him and his needs. We may not be done solving this particular issue, but we are actively searching for ways to let him be himself. Just himself. And we adore him. And he knows it. Beyond a doubt.

All is well. Maybe this was a test of my calm. Or rather, a message telling me to calm down and maintain focus. For him. Because he deserves my best work and there’s no way he’s NOT gonna get it.

Thanks, whoever you are. I heard you. Message received.

Time traveling back to the 80's

Beautiful spring weather has hit early this year and we could not be happier. The kids are playing outside and I am in a tank top. Oh, and flip flops. YES!!!!! My toes are finally liberated. It’s about time. They were seriously feeling confined, my poor little piggies.

We have a screened in porch that is my own personal heaven. It’s lovely. The air moves through but the bugs stay out. I dare you to beat that.  It’s big enough for a big table (for the adults) and a little kid’s picnic table. The kids eat at their little table and dinner feels even more humane. Making a long story short… it’s awesome.

My husband, the techie geek extraordinaire, set up speakers on the porch and the TV streams music outside.  Last night, he put on an 80’s station. That man must really know that the way to my heart is through my musical memories. It was just what I needed at the end of a long day.

And I tell you this. Whoever said that time travel is impossible was not on our porch for what happened next. Anyone there would have known, beyond a doubt that I traveled back in time, landing smack dab in the middle of my teenage years. As I danced like a zombie to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”, my husband laughed at me and the kids just eyed me curiously. Their eyes were clearly saying, “Mom… whatcha doin’?  You ok? “It didn’t get any better for them when Cindy Lauper started singing “Girls just wanna have fun”. I totally rocked out and they just observed, eternally amused. Song after song, my soul immersed deeper and deeper into the 80’s. When they played Flock of Seagulls, I was a goner.  I implore you. Just go away and leave me in the revere of my retro place. I’ll be back by bedtime. I promise.

It reminded me of an incident, years ago.

 During my high school years, I spent one fabulous summer at a theater camp. We stayed on a college campus and my dorm had one long hallway that cut the building in half. One side of the long hallway had balconies that backed onto the woods, while the other looked out onto a particularly boring view of campus. That particular summer there was an enormous amount of rain, so the woods always wafted a wonderfully damp smell. You know… wet leaves on a chilly night. My room was on the side that faced out onto the campus.  After lights out, I used to sneak out of my room and go across the hall to my friend’s room. We would sit on her balcony and talk all night. You know, the way high school girls talk all night about the most important “nothings” of the world. We would burn incense and listen to Enya. (I didn’t it was Enya at the time. I just loved the music. ). We would blow bubbles and watch them pop, moonlight shimmering on the fragile, mystical balls. By high school standards, some of my most profound and enlightening conversations took place on that balcony. Not that I remember any of the content, mind you. I guess the content wasn’t what was meant to travel with me after all.

A few years later, my freshman year of college, I was sitting in my room studying when I heard it. Enya. My window was open and the music was coming from another open window, not far away. It was like an electric shock. I closed my eyes, and magically, there I was. On that balcony. Surrounded by the combination of incense and damp woods. I could practically touch the bubbles. I was there. Transported to the past by some simple notes.

 It shouldn’t surprise you that I spent the next half hour walking down the hallway, knocking on doors. I was determined to find out who was listening to that song and learn the name of the artist. I was successful and have listened to Enya ever since. It still relaxes me in a way I can’t quite define or justify.

 I guess we all just need a little time travel sometimes.  It’s good for the soul.

Priorities...

I took a day off recently, got a sub for my teaching. Those of you that teach know what a project that is, getting ready for a sub. When you teach the class yourself it’s a ton of work, as you know, but at least you don’t have to write out every little detail. After all, you know what you’re thinking. An outline will suffice.

 Your sub, however qualified he or she may be, needs details. Lots of them. A lesson plan triples in prep time when someone else teaches your class for you. This is precisely why so many teachers go to work sick. It’s easier than staying home unless you are truly on death’s door.  

 This day, however, was a special occasion. My kids go to a Jewish preschool and it was Purim. A Jewish holiday. For those of you not well informed on Jewish holidays, it’s the Halloween of Jewish religion. It’s a carnival. Even the service in the synagogue has noise makers in it, no joke. I think it was the only one that didn’t put me to sleep all year when I was a kid.

 The preschool teacher did a fabulous job teaching the kids about the holiday. Enough detail to cover the basic story. Not so much detail to confuse spongy little 3 year old minds.  The language used by the teacher was hilarious. She reminded me of a great kids’ movie. The kids thought they got all the jokes but the adults heard every adult joke they missed. Everyone was paying attention.

 At first I wasn’t planning to go. But then I saw the signup sheet on the wall and I counted the names. Oh crap! My kids were going to be the only ones without a parent there. Talk about motherly guilt. It took about 3 seconds to write my name on the signup sheet. My kids were not going to be the only ones with parent involvement. No chance in hell.

 That was when it ceased to be a difficult choice. I found the sub. I wrote the sub plan. I even raced around to get the copies made and drop it off in time for the class. And I didn’t resent one second of the chaos.  My kids will never have to know how close they got to being disappointed.

As a mom of young kids, many of my friends are in the same boat. It’s no coincidence. After all, we hang out with those that understand our daily lives.

A friend of mine called me the other day, upset.  Basically, she felt like a terrible mom. She’s not a terrible mom, for the record. She’s an awesome mom. Her kids are proof of that. They are adorable. Sweet.  Funny. They love to play and laugh. They behave well for mostly everyone but her. You know, typical great kids. 

But she doesn’t see it that way. She doesn’t see the glimmer of curiosity in her kids’ eyes. A curiosity that she is fostering beautifully, by the way. She sees the tantrums and whining. And of course she does. She’s the one who manages these unfortunate (although age appropriate) behaviors and it overwhelms her perspective. Especially since she spends all day every day with them and getting in the car to go out is an event that requires multiple strategic steps. 

 I face the exact same predicament. After all, my kids are 3. So very 3.

But this pinpoints the essence of what it means to be a mom. Priorities and perspectives. What we see doesn’t always line up with others see. And we don’t always make the decisions that we wanted to make.

But sometimes we do.

Last week, my daughter threw the monster of all tantrums. Really. It was diaper and pajama time and she threw herself on the ground instead. She was pretty mad, to put it mildly. 10 minutes later, she was naked and still totally unwilling to get dressed. 5 minutes after that she was daddy’s job. Mommy’s restraint was gone and the temper I had lost up until that moment was going to look tiny when I really exploded. I walked away, tucked my son in instead.

But as I left his room, I walked back to hers. Daddy was about to sing her a song. She was content. Then she saw me. The lip pouted out and she got mad all over again. I leaned over her and kissed. I stroked her face. I told her that she was my beautiful girl and that I loved her. I told her I was sorry and that I knew she was sorry too. I told her that we would both be nicer tomorrow.

She let me sing her to sleep instead of daddy and she smiled at me when I kissed her goodnight.

I guess, in the end, I did the right thing. Sigh. Priorities…