Rockin' your (advanced) age...

I’m not particularly a gossip column kind of girl, but I am into facebook. As a result, I am exposed to all sorts of news, due to the variety of interests represented by my facebook friends. Recently, pictures of actress Renee Zellweger have been popping up like crazy. Why, you ask? Well, for those of you who don’t know, she suddenly appeared with a new face. Yes, a new face. The previously skinny face of the Bridget Jones has been replaced by a fuller and more “adult” looking version. She’s basically unrecognizable.

Some articles are taking this opportunity to soapbox the dangers of injectables and other media is commenting negatively on how “old” she looks. As unfortunate as it is, Renee was forced into making a public statement. Yeah, because everyone should have to make a public media statement about how their face looks. Right. 

I was intrigued, so I read it. She talks about how she has never been happier or healthier, and that she is finding a way to enjoy her life in a way that she didn’t find possible in previous years. I have no idea if she used injectables, as she didn’t address it in her statement, nor do I care. Here’s what I care about. 

Assuming she is telling the truth, she’s happy and healthy. This is good news.   

 

A few months ago, I had the opportunity to browse the bookshelves in a bookstore. As I rarely “browse” anything anymore (being with two 5 year old kids the majority of my time), this event stood out as noteworthy to me. As I ambled through the aisles, investigating titles and covers, I marveled at the sheer number of books written. If you really ponder that thought, it’s amazing. After all, there are only 26 letters in the alphabet and they have the potential form in so many combinations to create such potential for imagination. Books transport you to another place, another time, and another life. They are magic. Pure magic. 

The next day, I was at the gym on a treadmill with an attached TV. I was listening to music, but I glanced at the screen from time to time as it is strategically placed in front of me. Towards the end of my workout, a commercial came on that I hadn’t seen before. It began with Cindy Crawford and moved on to Debra Messing and was captioned as “Rocking the forties”. It was selling an anti-aging skin cream. Hmmm. Both ladies were interviewed on the product. I didn’t have the sound, so I didn’t hear their commentary, but I can imagine from their facial expressions and hand gestures that they were proclaiming its greatness. They then showed the before and after pictures. (Insert irritated sigh here). Debra Messing’s “before” photo was untouched by photo shop and she wore limited makeup. Her “after” shot was fully made up and most likely photo shopped as well. 

Hmm… No wonder there was such an improvement. Can you say “false advertizing?”

I found myself irrationally irritated by this commercial and I’m not at all confused as to why. I am turning 39 in June. Ok, I’m not 40 yet. I am, however, close enough to put myself in the category of women this ad is targeting so I’m going to take some mathematical liberties with my commentary. 

I fully intend to “rock my forties”, but it will have nothing to do with flawless skin and a perfect waistline. Sure, I wouldn’t mind looking cute in my bathing suit or taking a little better care of my skin, but that’s certainly NOT what will determine if my 40’s are rocking. 

My 40’s will be rocking if I am, in the grand scheme of things, doing well and continuing to make myself a better person. Am I finding the time to be a good friend, despite crazy life demands and hectic schedules? Am I good mom and wife? Do I find the time to hang out with my kids and husband? Do I make people laugh and smile? Do I spend time with my extended family? Am I using my brain? Am I continuing to use my experience in education to enhance the learning experience of my students?  Being a writer, I’d love to publish something one day. I would never object to “rocking my forties” including a published book with my name on it. 

And I’ll tell you for free that when my kids see me and their faces light up, it’s not because my anti- wrinkle cream worked. It’s because my face represents love, warmth and security. They love me just as much when my face is a mess and my hair is a disaster. 

I don’t know much about Cindy Crawford, but Debra Messing is someone that I have always admired professionally. That woman is hilarious. Her facial expressions are out of control. I remember her role on “Will and Grace” and she was a riot. She could cheer up my grumpiest day. And I don’t care if she has wrinkles because if she laughs at life as frequently as she makes others laugh, they will probably have more wrinkles. 

One of my favorite parts of growing older is that I am growing continually less concerned by how I am perceived by strangers and non essential people to my life. Not to say that I don’t feel it’s important to present yourself well in the world. Quite the contrary, I believe it to be extremely important. I believe that when you do a job, you should do it well. I believe that you will be noticed for how you treat the people around you and for the respect you command. I believe that it’s essential to be kind, classy and professional in your daily life.  I believe that “looking good” is part of how you present yourself to the world, and that presenting well tells others that you put value in being classy. This is especially true in a professional setting.

But wrinkles? Really? That’s the BIGGEST problem I’m going to face in my forties? Oh no. Someone might notice my WRINKLES? Crap, man. My forties are officially unrocked! No saving me now! 

And I find myself wondering about Cindy Crawford and Debra Messing (and the women they represent). I don’t mind if they want to take good care of their skin to feel good about their appearance, but are they nice people? Are they fun? Are they nice? Do their friends know that they can count on them in a pinch? I hope so. Otherwise, really, what’s the point?

Our time on earth...

NOTE: I WROTE THIS BLOG BACK IN JUNE, AND DIDNT HAVE THE CHANCE TO POST IT... I FIGURED IT WAS BETTER LATE THAN NEVER...

A wonderful woman passed away last night. She was young, early forties, and she left behind a husband and two young children. It was cancer. Stupid cancer.

She wasn’t a close friend of mine. She was a colleague of my husband. We spent time with her and her family socially on several occasions before they ventured overseas for work. At that point we lost touch, both families busy with life in general. The cancer hit her quickly and we were made aware when she was already headed to hospice. Have I mentioned how stupid cancer is? Yeah, I thought so.

Despite not being close, I really liked her. She was warm and passionate. She was smart. She was sincere. She loved art and appreciated beauty. She worked hard. She loved fully.  I witnessed her being a great mom and, if the outpouring of love at the end of her life was any indication, she was a devoted friend. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

She will be sorely missed by so many.

This week is an unusual week, as I am in a training course all week. It ends late, making it possible for me to miss my kids’ bedtime most of the week. I don’t love missing bedtime but I also don’t see it as a tragedy, as my husband is on duty and daddy is pretty cool. My kids are in good hands. Tonight, however, it hit me as I got into my car to drive home. It wasn’t a panic, really, more like urgency. I had to kiss my kids goodnight. I had previously considered running an errand on the way home, as to avoid messing up the calm bedtime by arriving mid event. As I started driving home, however, I changed my mind. I had to get home.

When I arrived home, I went directly upstairs. When I walked into my kids’ rooms, they lit up. I crawled into bed with each of them and asked them about their day. I snuggled them in my arms and I kissed them until they made me stop. I reluctantly obliged. I also brought my neighbor’s little niece her finished art project that she was anxiously awaiting. Luckily, she was still awake and I got the pleasure of seeing her joy at the finished product. 

Moments of sadness are funny that way. They remind you of the value of beauty.

Kristin, you will be missed by so many people and I feel honored to have known you. May you finally feel peaceful watching over your family.

All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten...

My children are in Kindergarten. This means that they are (finally) in school all day, allowing all of us to begin that time in our lives when our days aren’t spent entirely together. That time in life when I am not the main source of information for them. That time of life when I begin to lose touch with what they are seeing and hearing for 7 hours every day. 

Yes, I know. This is only the beginning. 

I was ready for this. By the time that school bus came to pick them up for the first time, I had been worn down. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids. It’s just that spending all day with them, every day, was not ideal for me or them. We were getting tired of each other. They were craving more independence from me, and I from them. We needed each other to “go away” so that we could miss each other and appreciate each other upon return. I suspect that I am not the only mom who feels that way, although many struggle to admit it out loud. There’s a stigma that admitting such feelings makes you guilty of loving your kids less, even though that is simply not true.

We hit the teacher jackpots, with both teachers. They are quite different from each other, both the teachers and my kids, and it seems that some “all knowing” intervention put them each where they needed to be. My son’s teacher is older, quieter, and calmer. She has been doing this for years and she meets my son’s need for absolute structure and reliability. She is warm and loving, infinitely patient and careful with her words. My daughter’s teacher is lively and young, more “fun”. She walks with a dance in her step and I can imagine that she is prone to laughing out loud when something is funny. Her classroom management strategies involve singing and movement, artful distraction. When one of her students became uncooperative, she set her other students to a productive task and then gently coaxed the child to cooperation. They held hands gently on the way to recess. Now that I have had the opportunity to volunteer in both classrooms, I can see how successful both teachers are, albeit with very different approaches.

 As I am not back to work full time yet, I have been volunteering in the school. It’s been very educational. They are learning about letters and numbers, how to follow directions and how to put their knowledge to work. They are also learning to be citizens. They are learning to share tables and supplies, and how to wait their turn with their bodies and voices. 

They are learning how to live in the world and make it a better place. 

My husband would tease me at this point, as he likes to tease me about how anti-competitive I am. He’s right. I am anti-competitive.  Back in April, I  attended a “kindergarten readiness” session, offered by the county.  I figured it would help to go into the summer informed, so that we could all be prepared for the upcoming details. I suppose the session met the needs of some parents but it wasn’t quite what I envisioned. Perhaps this is due to the fact that I’m a teacher, or perhaps it’s due to the fact that my kids have already been part of the public school system. The information session included the logistics of registration, but it also focused on “kindergarten readiness”, with a huge focus on academics and curriculum. I involuntarily glanced down at my phone a few times, as the picture of my kids that is my screen background. Was academic really the main focus for my kids, still so very little? 

 I understand that others see the race, but I do not. My view is not about a glorious finish line; it’s about finding the next bend in the wood and picking a path. Sometimes I find myself calmly admiring the view while making this decision, and sometime it makes me feel nervous and panicky. Regardless, my figurative view does not include a big red banner and a restart. It’s much more fluid.  I stopped perceiving this as good or bad a long time ago, it simply IS the way I think. As it works for me, I make no real efforts to modify it.

Back when I read for pleasure more frequently, I loved reading Robert Fulghum. I probably have a post or two about him in my past. I’m not sure how old he is, but he would feel completely at home with a hippie commune. He lets his grass grow long and daydreams about the beauty and complexity of life. He perseverates on the “simple things” that are not actually simple.  

One of his most famous works is “All I REALLY NEED TO KNOW I LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN”.

"All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten"

By Robert Fulghum

Most of what I really need
To know about how to live
And what to do and how to be
I learned in kindergarten.
Wisdom was not at the top
Of the graduate school mountain,
But there in the sandpile at Sunday school.

These are the things I learned:

Share everything.
Play fair.
Don't hit people.
Put things back where you found them.
Clean up your own mess.
Don't take things that aren't yours.
Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
Wash your hands before you eat.
Flush.
Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
Live a balanced life -
Learn some and think some
And draw and paint and sing and dance
And play and work everyday some.
Take a nap every afternoon.
When you go out into the world,
Watch out for traffic,
Hold hands and stick together.
Be aware of wonder.

I love this poem from the depths of my soul, because I do truly believe that it’s all completely and totally right. What makes me even happier is that I perceive my children to be learning exactly that in Kindergarten this year. Of course, they are learning numbers and letters, and that’s important. Being an academically educated person is quite important for long range life success. But so is manners, waiting your turn and helping a friend. I adore that my son’s class earned a pajama day and that my daughter’s class earned a “dance party” for their great community choices. YES! The joy of earning happy rewards for good choices.

What I love most about Robert Fulghum’s rules is that are so vague. He tells you to hold hands and stick together, but he doesn’t tell you with whom. That’s your choice. He tells you to clean up your own messes but he doesn’t tell you where to get messy or to apologize for having made that mess. I think that’s HUGE. He believes in the power of cookies and milk to restart your smile. (Personally, I go for a cup of coffee in lieu of milk, but luckily good old Robert allows for interpretation.) He endorses the need for down time, a need that is sorely neglected in our frantic lives. AMEN! And as for saying sorry when you hurt someone, well… I think adults could use a refresher course. We seem to have forgotten or lost our desire. 

And so, as you shut down your computer (or other technological device), I ask you to make a point of not forgetting what YOU learned in kindergarten. You simply never know when it may help you in an unexpected situation.

How are YOU smart?

As an educator, the whole concept of multiple intelligences has always been a hot topic, at least somewhat recently. We think about it when we lesson plan and when we evaluate students, both formally and informally. We keep it in mind when we approach a student who is struggling with a concept taught in class, hoping that we can draw on what they DO know to teach them what they DON’T know. 

As I currently work in an academic setting that services students with struggles, this concept of multiple intelligences is paramount. It’s commonly known that people of all ages, diagnosed with Dyslexia, have difficulty reading. There is a misconception that it’s because they switch the letters around in their heads. I won’t go into details (for the sake of time and energy) but I will tell you this. That is not true. Some dyslexics have visual issues, but not all. Dyslexia is much more complicated than a simple vision issue. Many people believe that the inability to read is an indication of lower intelligence or intellectual capacity. 

This could not be further from the truth, and we damage the self esteem of the dyslexic person when we allow them to believe it. 

This past week, I have been part of a training course. My fellow students and I are learning how to implement a reading strategy that is well known for teaching dyslexics how to read. It seemed bizarre at first, because it was so different than anything I had seen. Once I got used to the base premise, however, it all made sense.  

The introduction to the course was a brief explanation of Dyslexia and how the use of multiple intelligences is essential for the teaching of reading. Simply looking at the letters again and again will not teach them to read any more than listening to a song multiples times will “fix” a person with no musical rhythm or sound perception.  

Today, as my husband and I were in the kitchen talking, my daughter’s little voice piped up. 

Her:  “Mom, what does smart mean?”

Whenever my kids ask me what a word means, I always try to determine where and when they heard it, so that I can answer their question properly. Words do not have meaning in isolation; they have their true meaning in context. They lose their power when applied incorrectly and I (the language snob) will not promote that in my house! 

Me: (after a moment of pause to think and locate the word in the conversation she had just overheard) “It means being good at thinking. “

Her: “Hmmm… Mommy, are you smart?”

Me: “Yes, honey. I am smart. So are you. Everybody is smart, but we are all smart in different ways. Some people are smart at drawing. Some are smart at singing or dancing. Others are smart at math, reading or writing. Some are smart at building.  Everybody is smart in a different way. That’s what makes us special.”

Her: (thinking quietly). “OK”. (Then, after a pause) “Mommy, I can be smart at anything I want!”

Me: (smiling proudly at her) “Yes, honey. You can be smart at almost anything you are willing to work hard at practicing.”

My son had been sitting next to my daughter during this conversation, but hadn’t spoken. Some might take this to mean that he wasn’t listening, but I know better. My son, very much like my husband, is a thinker. He’s naturally introverted and he likes to process his thoughts completely before he shares them. I learned to manage this by watching my husband. If I need him to discuss something with me, I have to bring it up a few days before the “deadline” with no expectation of him responding immediately. I tell him what we need to think about and what I have considered so far, and then I drop it. I give him a “conversation deadline” for lack of better term, so that we can talk about it in time to follow through on schedule. I don’t nag and I don’t bring it up again. 99% of the time, HE is the one who brings it up next, and he’s ready to talk because he knows what he thinks. He’s had time to process. 

My son is like that too, so I gave him some time. A few minutes later, I called over to my son. 

Me: “Hey honey. What are you smart at?

Him: (casually, confidently, without stopping his game or looking up) “Loving.”.

Yes, I cried. He’s right. He’s awesome at loving. The best. Clearly, he had been thinking about it, as he was completely ready to answer, confident in his thoughts. I walked over to him, hugged and kissed him. 

Me: “You’re right. You are smart at loving, but you are also smart at singing, dancing, drawing and climbing.”

Him: (with a proud smile) “oh yeah!!!”

I’m going to remember this day, this conversation, every time I teach a child to read or conquer a problem area. I’m going to remember this conversation every time my children are feeling down or less than spectacular. I’m going to remind myself of this conversation when I, myself, am feeling less than confident in my own life.  We ALL deserve to know that we are smart at something, more than one something. We ALL  deserve to know that we are smart.

 How else would we find the confidence to make brave choices?

Go out and play!!!!

NOTE: This blog was written last year, about this time of year. Due to life distraction, it got lost in the shuffle and never got posted. So… in the spirit of the season, I thought I would post it now. Enjoy! 

We took the kiddos camping for the first time. 

My husband and I were campers before we had kids. We would plan 2 to 3 week long trips, predominantly camping, in fantastic locations like series of national parks out west of the U.S. We booked camp sites in locations where we couldn’t afford hotel rooms and cooked our own food. We slept in tents and hiked miles a day. It was wonderful. Not glamorous but a wonderful way to reconnect to life and each other.

When we had our kids, however, the camping stopped. It’s not totally irrational. Having young twins is no laughing matter. We would have cleared a campsite with our sleep issues because, man, our kids could scream. Thank goodness we have a single family home because we would have had problems in a townhouse.  Teaching my daughter to sleep independently was not a quiet process. 

Now that the kids are 4.5 years old and sleeping is not really an issue anymore, camping started to seem more reasonable. That, combined with their love of the outdoors and their physical independence, persuaded us to try a camping trip, so we collaborated with friends. We set our tent up in the backyard a few days prior, with two purposes. Primarily, we wanted to be sure it was in good shape and wasn’t missing any pieces. We purchased it about two years ago in a good sale and moment of optimism. Between then and know, it sat in the basement collecting dust. 

Insert sad sigh here. 

We also wanted the kids to see and experience the tent for the first time on their own home soil, on familiar turf. They took one look at it and squealed with delight. They called it their “castle” and decided to run around inside. And yes, it is big enough for them to run around. It’s also tall enough for an adult to stand up. Awesome! 

When we arrived at the campsite, the kids bounded out of the car and headed straight for the woods surrounding the site. They picked up sticks and ran around giggling. They dug in the dirt and searched for bugs and worms. They searched for animals in trouble (Thank you Dora and Diego…) and rescued them triumphantly. This play continued as my husband and I set up our campsite and found all the items that were necessary to put out bedding and cook that evening’s dinner. It didn’t take us too long and the kids never stopped playing long enough to notice that we were busy. They were filthy in no time and we took them down to the local lake for a swim once we were settled. 

Childhood at its finest. 

Recent research has examined and addressed the need the for free playtime, in reaction to the sheer lack of it in today’s society. Kids play more sports, take more after school classes and are significantly more scheduled than ever before. This statistic is undisputed. 

What is frequently discussed, however, is the impact of this scheduling. Some claim that the benefit of the activity outweighs the stress of the schedule. Others firmly disagree, stating that kids no longer understand the command “go play”. They need more distinct directions. Play what? Studies have shown that this lack of ability to fill free time successfully is not beneficial to brain development. While I don’t doubt the studies are probably biased, I also don’t doubt that there is a central truth to their findings. 

 Many find themselves in the gray area between the two camps. I am firmly in that gray area majority.

That said, words cannot express the happiness I felt at observing my kids “just playing” in the woods. They were so happy, so content. Not a care in the world.  

What a wonderful childhood moment.