The teenage years in the rearview mirror...

The other day I was in the car with my kids and a friend. She was spending some of the weekend with us, hanging out and helping me with the kids. My husband was smack dab in the middle of time consuming house repairs, so the company and the help were quite welcome.

 This friend is one of very few in the category that she inhabits. She’s 15 years younger than me and a previous student. Actually, I was her middle school French teacher, about 10 years ago. We always got along well and when she moved on to high school, she remained at the same K-12 school, so she remained on the same campus. She would come back for the occasional visit. When she went to college, we stayed in touch. It’s a pleasure, for me, to see her come into her own. I can’t wait to see what she’ll do next, as she just graduated college and is already finding her footing in the “real” world.

The age difference, while noticeable, isn’t really a barrier. She’s mature enough to have a slight grasp of what my life looks like and I’m young enough in spirit to not be too old fogey for her. It’s a nice place in the middle, our common ground.  I sort of feel like an older cousin sometimes, if that makes any sense.

 But I digress.

So, we were in the car. I recently bought the kids a Disney Jr. CD that has all kind of Mickey Mouse songs. It’s cute; at least it was the first 10,000 times. The kids are addicted to it and I now know exactly which song is which track so I can go to whichever song they want on demand. I can only imagine how much useful brain space this knowledge is taking up. It terrifies me, to be totally honest. No wonder I can’t keep track of so many other details in my life.

My daughter objects if the music isn’t loud so I get the constant “Make it louder” from the backseat. In theory, I don’t mind. It is summer, however, and the AC makes a lot of noise so she is always asking for it to be so loud that I can’t hear myself think.  Funny how I can tolerate that volume with bass pumping dance music, but not Donald Duck’s squeaky quacking.

So, I’m in the car with my friend and my daughter requests the volume to be turned up. I turn to my friend and sigh. “There’s got to be a way to make this louder in the back than the front”. She looks at me sideways for a long moment and replies “There is. You want me to do it?” The level of joy I felt at that moment is embarrassing. I actually did a little dance. She laughed at me, openly. Then, she fixed it and showed me how so that I could do it on my own next time.

Is that how my parents feel when we show them how to do something on the computer that’s a no brainer for us but beyond solution for them? Hmmm… I must remember that and be more patient about it in the future. 

And so I find myself in a moment of self reflection. I am truly getting older. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown woman with two little kids. “New” technology has to be explained to me. Sigh. Fortunately, this pleases me. I like where I am and who I am. My self- inflicted criticisms aren’t too harsh.  I really enjoy the freedom I have to make my own choices, that’s for sure.

 Maybe this getting older thing isn’t too bad after all. J

The slow painful death of manners... or is it?

When our kids were really young, I read an article in a parenting magazine about manners and how they are dying a slow death. If you were to believe the author, kids today have no sense of fair play, no respect and are allowed to run wild. The recommendations for correcting this problem were consistent with the earlier point of view. Bring back some of the old fashioned values.

And this author, while a bit extreme in my opinion, is not totally wrong. It’s true that kids are more “kid like” than they used to be. At least in overt behavior. They are more likely to throw a tantrum in public without fear of big punishment, as our culture’s view of appropriate punishment has changed dramatically. Better or worse? I guess it depends on who you ask.

If you ask me to assess myself, I am somewhere in the gray area. I have a certain amount of patience for age appropriate (albeit annoying) behaviors, but I also don’t hesitate to discipline that which I am not willing to tolerate long term. To be brutally honest, I do it for me and the kids. They need the structure and I need the occasional quiet. I don’t pull my car over to pick up the toy that my kid threw out of frustration, and is now out of his/her reach. I don’t care how much they cry. Maybe next time they won’t throw it and I am not going to set the expectation that this is ok. Do I really want to stop the car every 10 feet? No way! If it drops by accident and I am on a road with red lights… then I can probably help.

A few months ago, we were at a pizza restaurant with a few other families. 4 moms and 7 kids. Kids ranging from 1 year old to 5 years old. The 5 year old, a beautiful little girl, was the center of a great big “hug pile” for lack of better expression. Picture tackling in a standing position with more giggling than ever heard before. Yup, you got it. Then I saw my son. He was standing off to the side with a hesitant smile on his face, trying to figure out how to join in. My son is a shy kid sometimes, and he usually shies away from this kind of game, so I was surprised. Before I could say a thing, the 5 year old girl threw him a big smile and called out, “Come on, we’re waiting for you!” His whole face lit up and he ran into the group joyfully. I could have cried. I still get teary thinking about it.

Recently, we went to dinner at another friend’s house, where there is a lovely 6 year old girl. When my daughter’s little dress got all wet playing at the water table, we changed her out and popped her dress in the dryer. The 6 year old girl took her upstairs to her room to dress her in one her own princess dresses while the dryer was on, because my daughter didn’t want to wear shorts.  (Didn’t you know that princesses don’t wear shorts? Ahhh…) Watching my daughter prance in that beautiful dress… such a joy. The fact that a “big girl” had helped her only made it better.

I also notice that “big kids” on public playgrounds are almost always careful of my young kids as they dash around at full speed. I have never had to pick up an injured child due to one of these kids and when I have had to say something, it has only been once. A gentle reminder to a kid busy being his/her own age. I can handle that.

And so I send a message to this author. The one who believes that manners are slowly dying. Look around you. Manners may be transforming, but they are not dead. Not if you look closely!

The blogger's connection...

My son is a huge fan of moving vehicles. All of them. As often as possible. Car rides are a blast. As a result, I find myself unconsciously noticing all the trucks on the road as I drive, even when I’m alone.

 Which is why I noticed the tow truck. Normally tow trucks don’t spin my wheels but this one struck me as ironic… because it was towing another tow truck. I guess even helpers need help sometimes.

 It was about the same time that I came to a realization. It seems like more and more people I know are keeping blogs these days. Everyone has their angle, too. Some focus on their kids while others focus on politics. Some focus on gourmet food, while others discuss boast their newest bargain hunt.

Mostly, however, they talk about their lives. Their thoughts. Their hopes. Their dreams. Their concerns. If they don’t do so directly, they do it indirectly. If it’s worth writing about, it’s because it represents a segment of their life that occupies enough territory to warrant substantial thought. Right?

 One of my favorite bloggers recently featured a posting about the professional dilemma that is looming in front of her as her kids go to kindergarten and she is willed back into the work force. Another of my favorites posted about finding the strength to join Weight Watchers and finally do it right. That making excuses about how hard it is to lose weight is not going to grant her the long healthy life she deserves with her two beautiful children and wonderful husband.

 And here is what I’m learning.

We all harbor the same concerns, if you boil it down to the central issues. Sure, the peripheral details vary but we all really live the same life. We worry about our choices and if we made the right ones. We distress over what we could have done differently when plans go awry. We wonder if our successes are significant enough to make our lives successful.

And why do we all blog about it?

Because we want to reach out, put our thoughts out into the universe. We don’t want to feel that way alone.

At least that’s my opinion.

Military grace

We took the kids to a local air force base recently for their annual air show. To say that they loved it would be a gross understatement. They were in heaven! It didn’t hurt that parking was a decent distance from the actual event and the shuttle busses were school buses. That may well have been one of my daughter’s favorite parts.

That morning, when I got the kids out of bed, they were straggling a bit. Not cooperating on the getting dressed process.  I reminded them that we were going to see airplanes today and their eyes lit up! Down the stairs, clothing on, breakfast eaten, teeth brushed… let’s go!

I’m not really a sir and ma’am kind of person. This is not to say that I don’t believe in showing respect for those around us, it’s just that I tend to take a less conservative approach. I firmly believe in opening doors for those with full hands, I just don’t care about the gender of that person. I do, however, believe that you follow someone else’s rules when you are on their turf. Given that we were on THEIR base, ma’am and sir seemed like a good idea. I even got the kids to say “Good morning Ma’am” and “good morning sir” to the soldiers who greeted them. You should have seen the smiles on the soldiers’ faces. Priceless.

The weather was perfection. True and utter perfection. Warm enough to feel comfortable in a tank top but cool enough to not sweat. A perfect breeze. I’m not sure why, but a windy day at an air show just feels right. Like a slight wind at the beach.  It just fits.

We walked through helicopters and planes. We looked at the cockpits and sat in the seats. We drove fire trucks and posed in front of race cars. We munched on popcorn and French fries, sipped fresh lemonade. It was awesome.

At various times throughout the day, there were general announcements. Some were related to upcoming events, directing visitors to a certain location. Others were more like advertizing and I couldn’t help but smile at the “hoo-rah” tone. It’s not something that I have much exposure to on a regular basis.

What I did notice, however, was the sense of honor. The discipline. It was fascinating. It’s not hard to imagine that the military draws people in. Provides them with a sense of purpose. Makes them stand taller.  It is such a stark contrast to the life I live, where order is terribly hard to find.

And I, for one, am grateful for these people. They protect us, keep us safe. They deserve to be called ma’am and sir. After all, they risk their lives for us every day.  Isn’t that one basic way to show our appreciation? Don’t they deserve it, at the very least?

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.