ON RAISING TEENAGERS: I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING EITHER, AND I'M OKAY WITH THAT

Lately, I've been lamenting the fact that there is very little information out there about raising teenagers.  When it comes to babies and young children, information abounds.  Frankly, there's almost too much of it.  Starting with a plethora of opinions on what, exactly, is the best way to bring a child into this world.  And once you've gotten them here, there is plenty of information on how to feed them, clothe them, play with them, discipline them and educate them.

All you need is the Internet and you can learn all about the dangers of BPAs in your child's sippy cup, the benefits of homemade organic baby food, and saving the world with cloth diapers (frankly, I always preferred to use disposable diapers and save my own sanity).  And the list goes on.

And if you don't have the Internet, don't worry.  There's always another mother standing by to let you know you're doing it wrong.  For every mother who occasionally takes her child to McDonald's for a Happy Meal, there's another mother on the sidelines whispering "I would never let my child eat that."

Which is one of the downsides to all this information.  While it (supposedly) helps us raise healthier, happier kids, it's also ammunition mothers use for judging one another.  Until your children get to be about thirteen years old.

That's when the world goes thankfully, mercifully silent. 

Yes, I said thankfully.  I'm actually learning to be thankful that when it comes to raising teenagers, no one is lining up to give me advice.

I've had a teenager for two years now, and still can't seem to find much information out there on how to parent him.  Don't get me wrong, he's a great kid.  He's got good grades, a job, and never causes any trouble.  He helps out around the house and babysits his brothers so his dad and I can go out.  He's responsible and polite and clean (even if his room usually isn't).  But even then, I'm always haunted by an eerie feeling that, for the first time in my parenting career, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  At least when he was younger, I could browse through an issue of Parents magazine and fool myself into thinking I had a handle on this parenting gig. 

I've come to hope that this is because everyone else with a teenager is clueless, just like me.  At least with young children, you know what the options are.  Natural or epidural.  Breast or bottle.  Cloth or disposable. With teenagers, the options are less clear, and that makes it a lot harder to figure out what to do.

As the saying goes, "Small children give you a headache, older children give you a heartache."

But I've come to realize that instead of lamenting the lack of advice and information on this phase of my child's life, I should embrace my membership in this "Mother's of Teens" club I've been privileged to join.  No one in this bunch is going to judge me if my fifteen year-old eats at McDonald's, because they all know you can't tell a 15 year-old what to eat.  (I've never really believed you could tell a 2 year-old what to eat either, but a 2 year-old can't drive himself to McDonalds, so you've got a little more control in that sense).   I might even become comfortable enough around my new mom friends to admit that one of my teenager's first words, at 9 months old, was "fries."

Mothers of teenagers are refreshingly non-judgemental.  Or maybe it's just that at their current stage of parenting, they've learned to let things go.  They've learned that the long list of decisions the magazines and websites and other mothers convinced them they should agonize over has had very little impact on how their kids are actually turning out.  What mattered was that they loved them and spent time with them.

Even if it was time spent together enjoying a McDonald's Happy Meal.

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF

Yesterday the school called to tell me C wasn't feeling well.  For the fourth time this year!  Forgive me for being suspicious.  The other three times, he miraculously recovered in the time it took to drive the 3 minutes from the school to the house.  After his second performance, the health tech called and said he had a very red throat and was "just not himself." 

Believe me, he was himself.  Doing exactly what "himself" does so well.  Getting attention.

This time, it was the secretary calling to tell me C had hurt his neck.  He even made a convincing grimace when turning it to one side.  I think she was astonished by my "Yeah, right," response.  He was probably in a lot of pain though, seeing as he'd come home "limping" just the day before.  And just last week, he'd come downstairs wearing a Post-it note over one eye.  An eye patch, you see, for an unfortunate eye injury.  But wait! There's more! 

A few weeks ago he "hurt" is finger.  He wore a leather pen case over it as splint.  He went to school without it and asked to go to the nurse for a new one.  When the teacher suggested she call his mom to see if he'd left it at home, he decided he'd be just fine without it.

But yesterday, he had everyone fooled.  Even the principal.  I agreed to stop by the school to check on him, and even the principal was convinced.  I was not. 

When they suggested calling his mom, he decided he'd just go back to class with a pack of ice.  Suspicious.

Then I learned he had a substitute for the afternoon.  Suspicious.  Because he knew the regular teacher was already onto him.

I asked him if he could move his neck.  He turned it to one side and made "the face."  The one that had everyone so concerned.  I almost started to laugh.  Then I informed him he'd be staying at school, and suggested he take up acting.

I'm sure there is some sort of psychological explanation for this behavior.  But it would probably prove that I ignore my children to a much larger degree than I have led people to believe.  And we can't have that.

Instead, I'm going to write the school a note with the instructions not to call me unless C is puking, unconscious, bleeding profusely, or they can see actual bone fragments protruding from his skin.

FINALLY!

C's due date was September 20th.  The first thing I said to the doctor when I heard that was, "What? That's 5 days after the deadline to start school!"  When I went into labor 10 days early, the first thing I said to my husband was "Hooray! He can start school a whole year earlier!"

And he did.  Just a mere five days before the deadline.  Believe me, I heard from plenty of people how that was a big mistake.  Especially since, you know, he was a boy.  The trend is definitely to wait, even if your child turns 5 well before the cut-off. 

Which is a-okay, if that's what is best for your child.  And as excited as I was to get that last one out the door and off to school, I would have waited if that was the right thing for him. As it is, he's at the top of his grade in math and reading, despite being the youngest. I think he would have been bored silly if I kept him home for another year. I don't mean to brag (well, maybe I do a little bit), I'm just sayin' that academically speaking, he's done all right.

What I did not expect was the emotional and psychological trauma my child would experience by being the last child in his entire grade to lose a tooth!  I don't even know if he really is the last child to lose a tooth.  But when your friends have been showing up with missing teeth since day one of kindergarten, and you're practically half-way through the second grade, it sure feels like it.  And that's what you tell your parents. Every. Single. Day. For. Two. Whole. Years.

But finally, on Sunday morning, he caught up with the rest of his classmates.  Hallelujah!  His dad pulled the tooth out in the bathroom at church.  For safe-keeping, he put it in one of the envelopes we use to pay our tithes and offerings.  Which worked out well, seeing as we came home with the tooth and gave the envelope with the offerings to the bishop.  Because that would have been awkward, trying to explain to the bishop why we'd donated a tooth, and trying to explain to a 7 year-old that the tooth fairy didn't mean to leave him that much money.

But all is well in the life of this very happy, and very mature, second grader.  Now, let's hope it's those silver teeth that start falling out next.....

WHY BOYS NEED PARENTS

A friend of mine, who is also the mother of three boys, recently shared this with me.  Believe me, I could add a few reasons of my own to this list.

A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.

If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.

A 3-year old boy's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.

 If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape.

It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20x20 ft. room.

You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.

The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.

When you hear the toilet flush and the words 'uh oh', it's already too late.

Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.

A six year-old boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36 year-old man says you can only do it in the movies.

Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old boy.

Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.

Super glue is forever.

No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can't walk on water.

Pool filters do not like Jell-O.

VCR's do not eject 'PB & J' sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.

Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.

Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.

You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is.

Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.

The fire department in Austin, TX has a 5-minute response time.

The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.

It will, however, make cats dizzy.

Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.

80% of Women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids.

80% of Men who read this will try mixing Clorox and brake fluid.

EVERYBODY'S GOT SOMETHING

About 8 years ago, if memory serves me well (which, let's face it, it probably doesn't) I was talking with a group of moms.  Several of them were older and wiser, more seasoned at parenting.  One of them said, "If you think there's nothing wrong with your kids, just wait."

I know, it sounds a little harsh.  At the time, my oldest (now 14) was about 6 years old.  There was nothing wrong with him.  Or any of my other kids, thank you very much.  I didn't realize it then, but "if you think there's nothing wrong with your kids, just wait," turned out to be some of the best parenting advice I ever got.

Our late pediatrician put it this way: Everybody's got something.  He got something.  Cancer.  He's been gone for awhile now.  I still haven't found a suitable replacement.  When you're looking for a doctor, try and find one that understands that everybody's got something. 

Fast forward five years.  Our oldest son is being life-flighted to the hospital because he had a massive seizure on a school field trip in the mountains.  Yes, of course I was distraught.  Panicked at times.  But in the hours after the seizure, I remembered what those wise mothers had shared with me all those years before.  If you think there's nothing wrong with your kids, just wait. 

Don't get me wrong.  After my conversation with those women, I didn't spend nights lying awake, trying to figure out what my kid's something was going to be.  Health problems?  Dyslexia?  Autism?  Depression?  Bullying?  Don't  worry and wring your hands over that.  It's a waste of time.  Because chances are you'll never guess right.  I wouldn't have come up with seizures in a million years.

But when that first seizure happened, in a strange way, it didn't surprise me.  The actual seizure surprised me.  But the fact that my son had something didn't. The idea that everybody's got something was strangely comforting to me. 

I know, some kids have multiple somethings.  Some are born with them.  Some of us don't find out what our something is until we're old and feeble.  Maybe you don't even know what your something is yet.  Which means your parents are still waiting to find out what's wrong with you.

Even now, when I start feeling stressed out about this seizure problem, it helps to remember that I'm not the only parent out there dealing with this sort of thing.  The sort of thing that makes you anxious.  Really anxious.  That makes you want to seal your kid up in a bubble and never let him leave the house again.  I get past that by remembering that every parent in the world feels that way at some time or another, and if they can deal with it, so can I.

I'm not going to lie.  Seizures scare the living daylights out of me.  I hate them.  But I wouldn't trade seizures for any of the millions of other somethings that could be wrong with my son.  And if you had a choice, you probably wouldn't trade your kid's challenges for any of the million other challenges that kids face in the world today.  It's funny how it works out that way. 

Those women who tipped me off about the fact that something was going to be wrong with my kids are the women I look up to the most when it comes to parenting.  Sure, they worry and pace and lie awake at night, just like the rest of us.  But because they understand that everybody has something, they handle things with the kind of wisdom and grace that I want to have as a mother.

So love your kids.  Spend time with them.  Don't worry too much about what challenges might be in the future.  Just prepare (in the most calm, reasonable manner possible for a mother) for what surely lies ahead.  Remember, everybody's got something.

And most importantly, remember this:  One of the wonderful things about being a mother is thinking your kids are absolutely perfect, no matter what their something is.

FUN AND AMUSEMENT AND A BIT OF HELICOPTER PARENTING

On Saturday, E performed with his orchestra at an amusement park in Denver.  In light of his seizure at school Wednesday, there was not way he was going all the way to Denver without me.  So we spent the day at the amusement park too. 

Don't ya think the sign should say Band, Choir and Orchestra Fest? Just sayin'.

Don't worry, we didn't follow E around all day.  He hung out with his friends while the rest of us did our own thing.  I don't think C has ever been to an amusement park before.  Such is the life of the deprived youngest child--at least, that's what he'd tell you.  Did he enjoy it, you ask?  I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

The kid's roller coaster was his favorite.

T had fun too!

By 2:00 pm the rain was coming down.  The rides stopped running.  Everyone went home. 

Good thing the orchestra director had four extra tickets so we'd gotten in for free.

THE INVISIBLE MOM

A few months ago, my mom emailed me something and I've been saving it up just for Mothers Day.  Happy Mother's Day to all the invisible mothers out there, including my own!

Me, mom, grandma, and great-grandma.

 One of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask

to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'

Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping

the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can

see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more! Can you fix this? Can you tie this?

Can you open this?? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.

I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number

is the Disney Channel?'

I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'

Some days I'm a crystal ball; 'Where's my other sock?, Where's my phone?,

What's for dinner?'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the

eyes that studied history, music and literature - but now,

they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She's going, she's going, she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a

friend from England. She had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and

she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there,

looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not

to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic,

when she turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package,

and said, 'I brought you this.'

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly

sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'With

admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book.

And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths,

after which I could pattern my work:

1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals -

we have no record of their names.

2) These builders gave their whole lives for a

work they would never see finished.

3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

4) The passion of their building was fueled by their

faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A story of legend in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the

cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny

bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man,

'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be

covered by the roof, No one will ever see it.

And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me,

'I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day,

even when no one around you does.

No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on,

no cupcake you've baked, no Cub Scout meeting,

no last minute errand is too small for me to notice and smile over.

You are building a great cathedral, but you can't

see right now what it will become.'

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder.

As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished,

to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went

so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime

because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend

he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving,

'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies,

and then she hand bastes a turkey for 3 hours

 and presses all the linens for the table.'

That would mean I'd built a monument to myself.

I just want him to want to come home.

And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, he'd say,

'You're gonna love it there...'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals.

We cannot be seen if we're doing it right.

And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel,

not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been

added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible mothers.

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY

A LITTLE QUIZ

We had a little "incident" last night.  A certain 6 year-old wanted to watch an old school episode of the A-team before he went to bed.  However, his getting-ready-for-bed behavior left quite a bit to be desired.  His plan, to both his and Colonel Hannibal Smith's dismay, did not come together.

And so, he was sent to bed without watching anything.  After much crying and tantrum throwing, things became strangely quiet.  Shortly, we were summoned to his bedroom.  He had shut himself inside, but posted this on his door.

Anybody know the answer?

OUR KIDS ARE WHO THEY ARE, AND IT IS ENOUGH

Several years ago, one of my wise and wonderful college roommates (we'll call her Michelle) shared an article on parenting from the San Francisco Chronicle.  It was written by a woman named Joan Ryan. 

Joan often felt like an incompetent mother to her adopted son with developmental challenges. She researched and took notes and kept binders of information in an effort to help him succeed.

When he was 16, he had a skateboarding accident that resulted in a traumatic brain injury. The experience completely changed her style of parenting. 

Her article contains some of the best parenting advice I've ever come across. I re-read it often.  Usually after I've been too hard on one of my kids about something relatively unimportant and I need to be reminded of how fabulous they really are.

Perhaps you can relate . . .

The embarrassing truth, as I look back on it now, is we felt kind of smug and maybe even a little superior, like buyers who had gotten the inside track on a house before it hit the market. Our triumph was in landing the final open slot for the professional pitching coach. Oh, believe me, there was competition. But our son, barely 12 years old at the time, became the lucky beneficiary of Sunday night, one-on-one pitching sessions for which we paid an hourly rate once earned only by lawyers and therapists.

The lessons, we thought, would be a hedge against abject Little League failure, a shell of protection from the hundred small humiliations visited upon boys who can't turn double-plays or hit fastballs. Our son left baseball the following year. It wasn't his sport. We had known it wasn't his sport. Yet we still felt compelled to hire an expert who could shore him up, boost his skills, maximize his potential.

I share this today because I am facing up to the fact that, as my son heads into high school, the expectations of success and the consequences of failure are ratcheting up. I listen to the anxiety in the voices of parents who are waiting this week to find out if their children were accepted in the high schools or colleges of their choice. I know that over the years, many of these parents -- like me -- have hired any number of specialists to "enhance" and "enrich" their children's development.

We have justified the constant molding and shaping and restructuring of our children by telling ourselves it's a different world from the one in which we grew up. The competition is almost medieval. One San Francisco private high school warned a parent she ought to get her son a tutor ASAP: His grade in algebra had dropped to a B-. And we know so much more about child development and brain function than our parents did. We immersed ourselves so fully in reading the books, attending the workshops and subscribing to the magazines that we intimidated ourselves into believing that we are not even close to having the skills necessary to be parents.

So we became the first generation of Americans to outsource the job, creating a booming new industry of educational therapists, college consultants, study-skills experts, college essay editors, nutritionists, personal trainers, social-skills instructors. We fear our children will fall behind and end up wearing a blue vest with a name tag for the rest of their lives and it will be our fault.

Stop the hamster wheel, I want to get off.

I'm taking my meddling hands off my son's life because I am realizing, as I watch him mature into a full-fledged teen, that he is who he is. For all my ham-handed tinkering, I didn't mold him into the person I envisioned. What I got instead, miraculously, thankfully, is the person he is.

"For a country that so values the individualistic spirit, we're stuck in this one-size-fits-all mind-set," said Alvin Rosenfeld, a former Stanford psychiatry professor, the father of three adolescents and author of the 2000 book, "Hyper-Parenting: Are You Hurting Your Child by Trying Too Hard?"

"We think everybody should go to Stanford or Harvard and be athletes and get 1600s on their SATs," he said by phone from Stamford, Conn., where he is in private practice. "Everybody's looking for the same stupid stuff. But it's the quirky kids who are the innovators. They're the ones who created Silicon Valley. The future in the global market is in innovation and creativity. And that kind of creativity isn't in the universities."

His years of studying and treating children have led him to believe the most enriching experience parents can provide children is what seems like the simplest thing: Be with them. But it is not always easy, considering they might not want to be with us, especially when they are teenagers and would rather pull their hair out by the roots than be seen in public with the likes of us.

It's also not easy just to "be with them" because our little gerbil minds are so accustomed to moving, moving, moving that, just as we settle in together to watch "Pimp My Ride," we hear the crazy lady's voice inside saying, "Do something productive! Rent a foreign film! Visit the Lichtenstein exhibit! Explain metaphysics!"

I have been slapping my hand over that crazy lady's mouth. I have been trying to breathe and let my son struggle and stumble and get bored and get frustrated because, as Annie Lamott says, "It's good (for children) to do uncomfortable things. It's weight training for life."

I wonder sometimes if we have put so much emphasis on the things that the experts can provide that we haven't provided enough of what only we can. Values. Unconditional acceptance. Refuge. Quiet. Love. Our job, it seems to me, is to spackle the cracks and shore up the foundation of our kids, not to rebuild them with Greek columns and turrets. Our job is to light up when they walk into the room.

The hardest part of parenting might be letting go of the prefab image you had in your head of what your child would achieve and what his personality would be and how he'd look when he thanked you from the podium at Stanford. I'll give in to the siren call of the experts, I know. My own insecurities run too deep to resist all of them. But I also know that my son has done a better job of molding himself than all the professional tinkerers could ever do.

For a generation of educated parents that believes with enough expertise, hard work and money just about everything is in their control, it comes as something of a shock that our kids can't be bent into shape like pipe cleaners.

They are who they are. And it is enough.

PUNISHING IT FORWARD

The other night, G and I were watching television.  The t.v. mother was lamenting the fact that no one ever tells you how hard it is to raise children before you actually have them.  The t.v. father agreed.  He had a name for this tendency parents have not to mention the difficulties of child-rearing to those who aren't parents yet.  Punishing it forward.

So in an effort to better inform those who have yet to embark on the path of child-rearing, I wanted to share this Eleven Step Program for Those Thinking of Having Kids by Amy Lawrence. And yes, #7 is absolutely true.  If you cannot manage to grocery shop with a herd of goats, you definitely should think twice before having kids--which coincidentally is what baby goats are called.

Lesson 1

1. Go to the grocery store.

2. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office.

3. Go home.

4. Pick up the paper.

5. Read it for the last time.

Lesson 2

Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who already are parents and berate them about their...

1. Methods of discipline.

2. Lack of patience.

3. Appallingly low tolerance levels.

4. Allowing their children to run wild.

5. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child's breastfeeding, sleep habits, toilet training, table manners, and overall behavior.

Enjoy it because it will be the last time in your life you will have all the answers.

Lesson 3

A really good way to discover how the nights might feel...

1. Get home from work and immediately begin walking around the living room from 5PM to 10PM carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 pounds, with a radio turned to static (or some other obnoxious sound) playing loudly. (Eat cold food with one hand for dinner)

2. At 10PM, put the bag gently down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep.

3. Get up at 12 and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1AM.

4. Set the alarm for 3AM.

5. As you can't get back to sleep, get up at 2AM and make a drink and watch an infomercial.

6. Go to bed at 2:45AM.

7. Get up at 3AM when the alarm goes off.

8. Sing songs quietly in the dark until 4AM.

9. Get up. Make breakfast. Get ready for work and go to work (work hard and be productive)

Repeat steps 1-9 each night. Keep this up for 3-5 years. Look cheerful and together.

Lesson 4

Can you stand the mess children make? To find out...

1. Smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains.

2. Hide a piece of raw chicken behind the stereo and leave it there all summer.

3. Stick your fingers in the flower bed.

4. Then rub them on the clean walls.

5. Take your favorite book, photo album, etc. Wreck it.

6. Spill milk on your new pillows. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?

Lesson 5

Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems.

1. Buy an octopus and a small bag made out of loose mesh.

2. Attempt to put the octopus into the bag so that none of the arms hang out.

Time allowed for this - all morning.

Lesson 6

Forget the BMW and buy a mini-van. And don't think that you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don't look like that.

1. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment. Leave it there.

2. Get a dime. Stick it in the CD player.

3. Take a family size package of chocolate cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Sprinkle cheerios all over the floor, then smash them with your foot.

4. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car.

Lesson 7

Go to the local grocery store. Take with you the closest thing you can find to a pre-school child. (A full-grown goat is an excellent choice). If you intend to have more than one child, then definitely take more than one goat. Buy your week's groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goat eats or destroys. Until you can easily accomplish this, do not even contemplate having children.

Lesson 8

1. Hollow out a melon.

2. Make a small hole in the side.

3. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side.

4. Now get a bowl of soggy Cheerios and attempt to spoon them into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane.

5. Continue until half the Cheerios are gone.

6. Tip half into your lap. The other half, just throw up in the air.

You are now ready to feed a nine- month-old baby.

Lesson 9

Learn the names of every character from Sesame Street , Barney, Disney, the Teletubbies, and Pokemon. Watch nothing else on TV but PBS, the Disney channel or Noggin for at least five years. (I know, you're thinking What's 'Noggin'?) Exactly the point.

Lesson 10

Make a recording of Fran Drescher saying 'mommy' repeatedly. (Important: no more than a four second delay between each 'mommy'; occasional crescendo to the level of a supersonic jet is required). Play this tape in your car everywhere you go for the next four years. You are now ready to take a long trip with a toddler.

Lesson 11

Start talking to an adult of your choice. Have someone else continually tug on your skirt hem, shirt-sleeve, or elbow while playing the 'mommy' tape made from Lesson 10 above. You are now ready to have a conversation with an adult while there is a child in the room.

*Lengthy disclaimer: I love all of my children and except for the time C pulled the curtains (rod and all) from the wall, and that other time when he colored all over the new carpet with markers, and those times they all pooped in the bathtub, I don't regret having them for one second.  As the author of this 11 step program said, "this is all very tongue in cheek; anyone who is parent will say 'it's all worth it!' Remember, a sense of humor is one of the most important things you'll need when you become a parent!"

ON MY HONOR (SOCIETY)

You're looking at the newest member of the National Junior Honor Society. 

It's so wonderful to see E following in the footsteps of his parents.  Well, one of his parents.  I bet you can't guess which one.  I'll give you a hint.  It's not his dad. 

He had to fill out an application and get a letter of recommendation and everything.  Luckily, we found someone who was willing to recommend him.

His former 6th grade teacher, Mr. E (who is one of our all-time favorites), wrote a lovely, heartfelt letter on his behalf.

Among other things, Mr. E said, "In my twenty-five years of teaching, I have rarely seen a young person accomplish so much, with such humbleness and gentle humor."

I'm sharing so I can come back and read that when I'm having one of those Mom of the Year (sarcasm) moments.

Even if E hadn't been chosen for the National Junior Honor Society, it would have been worth the application process just to have Mr. E's letter.  Because I don't know about you, but sometimes most of the time I wonder how I'm doing as a mother.  

I know I can't take all of the credit for E being "a wonderful young man," who "embodies many excellent qualities."  Truth be told, that's just the kind of kid he is.  Still, I must be doing something right.  And now I have it in writing.

LIVING IN THE PAST

I had an interesting conversation with C yesterday on the pros and cons of modern day living:

C: One hundred years ago was better than our years.
(Apparently they've been learning about old fashioned living at school)

Me: Really? Why do you think that?

C: Well, there was just one store in town, and it had everything. (I think he was envisioning how much easier it would have been to run errands back in the day)

Me: Yes, but what else would have been better?

C: There was just one school.  If you were going to be in 8th grade, 7th grade or 5th grade, you all went to the same class.

Me: What else was different?

C: They didn't have cars, bikes, scooters, skate boards, roller skates . . . nothing with wheels.

Me: So how did they get around?

C: In a wagon that was pulled by horses.

Me: And you think that would have been better?

C: Well, maybe not.

Me: How did they watch t.v.?

C: The teacher didn't talk about that.

Me: That's because they didn't have t.v. 100 years ago.

C: WHAT!??!!!?

Me: How did they go to the bathroom?

C: In Johnny houses?

Me: You mean outhouses?

C: No, Johnny houses.  That's what we call them in first grade.

Me:  And you think that's better than using an indoor toilet?

C: No.

I'm glad I could talk some sense into that boy, because one hundred years ago was not better than today.  C didn't even bring up all the other obvious reasons why today is so much better, like dishwashers, washing machines and pizza delivery. Sure life was simpler back then, but we also have one store that has everything.  It's called Super Target.

I'M A HELICOPTER PARENT

No, not the metaphorical kind that's always hovering over her children. If you asked my kids, they'd probably tell you I ignore them most of the time. I'm talking about a real helicopter here.  Let me explain.

T left for Eco Education this morning.  It's a three day school camp that's part of the elementary science curriculum.  The last kid we sent to Eco Education came home in a helicopter.  Well, not home exactly.  He went to the hospital.

You can read all the details of that traumatic day here and here.  But to make long story short, we made a 90 minute trip up to Eco Ed expecting to pick up a "sick" kid.  On our way, E had a seizure.  At first they called an ambulance. Then they decided it was more of a helicopter sized seizure.  We were driving through a canyon with no cell phone reception, so no one could call and tell us to go back to the hospital.  We arrived just in time to see the helicopter take off with E inside. 

Yes, that meant another 90 minute drive back to the hospital before we knew for sure that E was okay.  Believe me, when your child's been taken away in a helicopter and you have 90 minutes to think about it, the worst does cross your mind.

So, to say I'm nervous about T going to Eco Ed would be the understatement of the year.  I kept telling myself I would be okay.  I tried positive affirmations. I tried deep breathing. I tried praying for strength. The minute I walked into the school, I saw one of E's former teachers and started to cry.

But of course, I had to let T go.  He's never been so excited about anything in his young life.  I couldn't make him stay home because his mother is scared to death.  That's no way to raise children.  Of course, a lot of the things I do as a parent are probably no way to raise children.  I just don't always figure that out ahead of time.

Even now, when I'm out running errands and I see one of those helicopters fly by, I get a big lump in my throat.  Sometimes a tear or two might even leak out. 

You can tell me not to worry all you want.  I'll still worry.  I probably won't sleep for three days either.  I can't help it.

I'm a helicopter parent.

I AM MAD

Isn't it fantastic when the kids learn to read?  Last night, C was reading aloud from a book he'd brought home from school.  One of those early reader type stories. The young female character in the story said, "I am mad."

C paused in his reading.  He seemed confused.  Why would a young girl say such a thing? Then he turned to me and said, "She's not even a mom."

Apparently, I'm the only person he's ever heard say, "I am mad."

I didn't feel too bad though.  He's made similar comments about his father.  Like the time G was headed out the door to work.  C asked him where he was going.

"To the office," his dad replied.

"Oh, you're going to the grumpy office." 

Always observant, C had noticed that whenever dad came back from the office, his mood seemed a little sour.  I hate it when my kids point out the truth.

I'm sharing at Wordful Wednesday @ Parenting by Dummies and Wordless Wednesday @ A Beautiful Mess and Communal Global.

BOYS

A boy is a magical creature - you can lock him out of your workshop,
but you can't lock him out of your heart. ~ Allan Beck

LOOK WHO'S COOKING

Yes, my children have jobs around the house.  But I confess, I usually only assign them tasks that I know they can do well, and more importantly, do on their own.  Then I read an article by someone named Kristine Manwaring, who is obviously a much smarter mother than I am.  She said:

I began walking in the mornings with a wise neighbor who grew up in a large, loving family and first became a mother at the age of forty-four. From her long perspective as a daughter and her more recent experience as a mother, she has come to believe that the work of feeding, clothing, and nurturing one another is every bit as spiritual as it is physical. She feels strongly that when ordinary, life-sustaining tasks are done together as a family, they bind family members to one another in small but critical ways. She speaks of chopping vegetables and cleaning bathrooms with her sons with something akin to reverence . . . 
 
Realizing something of the spiritual value of homemaking has made me more aware of the need to more fully involve my family in these tasks. My husband and I no longer simply delegate chores to our children each day. We wash dishes and make beds alongside them. By doing so, we have been blessed with opportunities to teach our children and be taught ourselves with a frequency and a depth we previously never imagined. A year ago, I spent most of my dishwashing time muttering under my breath and trying to jam too many dishes into the limited dishwasher space. Now, every time I invite a child to thrust their hands into the warm, soapy water with mine, I learn something new about their spirit and their life. It is only when doing dishes together that my twelve-year-old son, who mostly speaks in monosyllables about his experiences at school, reveals who his friends are and why he has chosen them, the pressure he feels about his grades, how much he likes math, and what he thinks about his teacher.

Wow!  I have a twelve year-old son just like that, I thought.  When I ask him how school was, he says, "Schooly."  And so I decided to start a new tradition.
 
Every Friday, the boys will take turns choosing the dinner menu and helping me fix it.  They were much more excited about this than I anticipated.  C went first.  I figured with a five year-old in charge, we'd either be having macaroni and cheese, or pizza. 
 

Being the smart boy he is, C decided we should each have our own little pizza.  That way everybody's happy!  You can see our awesome idea for easy individual pizza crusts here.  For dessert, I convinced C to try a new recipe.  Crunchy Caramel Reeses Cookie Bars.  Yeah, they were good.  And doesn't he look proud of them?
 
There's just one rule for this new dinner making tradition.  We have to actually make the dinner.  Buying a frozen pizza and sticking it the oven is not allowed.  I'm not saying I've never fed my family frozen pizza from a box.  Rarely, of course.  I prefer frozen lasagna.   But I'm hoping if I teach these boys to cook a few things before they head off to college, they won't feed themselves out of a box every single day for the rest of their lives.  Plus, making dinner from scratch forces me to spend more quality time with them. 
 
Stay tuned.  T has already decided he'll be making salmon this week!  Pretty fancy for a nine year-old, isn't it?

And no, I'm not about to start making beds alongside my children.  They still have to do that themselves.

WORRY: IT'S WHAT MOMS DO

I let E go camping with his scout troop last weekend.  Only because his dad went with him, and only because they were camping in someone's backyard.  Last time he went camping, he came home and had a seizure. 

Although he was sleeping in a tent in sub-freezing temperatures, he probably slept better than I did that night.  Can you say ANXIETY? 

Honestly, I've had it pretty bad since the second seizure.  I haven't been able to close his bedroom door at night (or mine) for the last 3 months.  Everytime the phone rings, I jump.  It might be the school calling to tell me he's had a seizure.

On Thursday I was certain he went to school without taking his medicine.  I seriously considered driving over to the school, marching into his class and giving him his medicine right then and there.  Oh sure, he would have been mortified, but I would have felt better. 

I managed to convince myself that he would be okay for the next seven hours. Well, not really.  I just managed to convinced myself that it wasn't worth embarrassing him over it.  Surely no good medication would give you trouble after missing only one dose.  The FDA wouldn't approve of that, right?

I like it when he's here, sitting at the table doing homework, or sitting on his bed reading a book.  I wouldn't care if he sat here all day and did nothing, as long as I could keep an eye on him 24/7.  Of course, that would probably be a serious hindrance to his grades and social life, and someday I really would like him to go to college.  A local college, of course. 

I was so looking forward to the day he could babysit his younger brothers.  Now he's old enough, but I'm afraid to leave him in charge.  And I don't have the heart to explain seizure first aid to T, review when to call 911, then say, "See ya later!" and walk out the door.  That just seems like a lot to burden a nine year-old with.

Driving?  I might have to go on medication when that happens.  I want him to drive.  I really do.  I don't want to chauffer him around forever. But if he is allowed to get a license, I'll be a nervous wreck every time he takes the car out. 

I know worrying doesn't accomplish anything.  But I'm a mom.  I can't help it.  You can tell a mom not to worry about this or that, but I'm not sure there's really any way to stop it.

I came across a quote once by Arthur Somers Roche.  I figured he must be some kind of psychologist, but apparently he was an actor in the 1920's.  I'm not sure what went on in his life, but he must have had some experience with anxiety.  He gave the best definition of it I've ever come across. 

Anxiety is a thin stream of fear, trickling through the mind.  If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained.

That guy knew what he was talking about.

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS . . .

. . . of the chess tournament.  Well, they actually came in second. Which apparently is still good enough for a three foot trophy. I could have told you they came in first and you would have believed me based on trophy size alone!

T and C played too.  Their school came in fifth, which is also good enough for a trophy!  I didn't have my camera ready for their team photo, so you'll just have to take my word for it.  Plus, I would have had to Photoshop C in.  After five rounds of chess he was ready to go home and didn't hang around for the awarding of trophies.

Yeah, chess is kind of geeky (not to be confused with nerdy), but I'm okay with geeky.  Geeky keeps you out of trouble. "But," you say, "don't you worry that the cool kids always make fun of the geeky kids?" 

Nope, because geeky is the new cool.  Just turn on your television if you don't believe me.

First off, you've got Chuck, who is both geeky and handsome at the same time.  This is the genre of geeks that I believe my children fit into.

Then of course, you have Dwight Schrute, Assistant (to the) Regional Manager.  Okay, he is the kind of geek people make fun of.  Technically, he might be considered a nerd.  But his knowledge of ninjas and Battlestar Galactica is impressive.

Kenneth, from 30 Rock.  Dedicated to his job, and his mother, and a little scared of girls.  Just the qualities I am looking for in my boys!

Adam and Jamie from Myth Busters.  These guys are quite possibly the coolest geeks on television.  What boy (or grown man, for that matter) doesn't want their job?

And we can't forget Leonard and Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory.  Rock-paper-scissors-lizzard-Spock!

Geeks are everywhere these days.  There is a website I kind of like dedicated to the raising of geeks.  It's called, appropriately, Bringing Up Geeks.  It's full of good advice, like this . . .

"Parents of geeks remember to keep the focus on raising kids for long-term success -- not for popularity as children."

And this . . .

"Exhibiting strong character and ethical behavior can get kids labeled as 'geeks.' But when we support kids in their moral and ethical choices, we send a strong message about their good character. And this is the path to genuine self-esteem and long-term success."

And how about this advice for kids on what's really cool in middle school . . .

"Don't worry about what the cool kids think of you. Be true to yourself -- do the things you enjoy and pursue your own interests, even if other kids don't get it. You don't have to advertise that you love classical music or you watch the History Channel with your dad. Let's face it -- some kids won't understand! But don't give up the stuff you love just to be considered cool. It's REALLY cool to be exactly who you are."

Amen.  Let's play some chess!

2009: THE YEAR IN REVIEW

As 2009 draws to a close, it seems an appropriate time to look back and reflect on all the happenings of the past year.  Barack Obama was inaugurated as the country's first black president, we lost the King of Pop, found Balloon Boy, and became engrossed (or in my case, just grossed) with Tiger and his shenanigans.

But what am I talking about?  You're here to reflect on the highlights of our 2009.

Normally, I wouldn't remember much past last week, which makes reflecting difficult.  Luckily, I've kept track of the year's events (and quite a few of the non-events) right here in this handy-dandy blog.  Just in case you missed something along the way--or were so amused by it the first time that you'd like to read it again--I've provided convenient links back to all our top stories of 2009.

We attended our share of musical performances this year, but none can compare to T's performance in Destination Rock and Roll, that rousing elementary school medley of rock and roll classics by Bon Jovi and Queen.  If you think his musical talents rock, then you'll be blown away by his literary skills. The best evidence of this being his publication of The Gendle World Field Guide, featuring favorite characters like Sir Farts a Lot and Carnivorous Pants.

Of course, who can forget the old fashioned family vacation to Canada, where we sang O Canada, ate our share of donut holes, and discovered the best ice cream shop (or was it a shoppe?) in the world, Ye Olde Lick and Nibble. 

Back-to-school time was exciting this year, as happily with great sorrow and much crying, we sent our youngest off to Kindergarten.  Truly, the most traumatic back-to-school experience was sending E off to middle school, that awful place where tattooed, scantily clad, drug-addicted 8th graders roam freely through the hallways.  Actually, I'm pleased to report that he's had a wonderful time, is getting straight A's, and has not seen  told me about one single scantily clad girl. 

Not so pleasing was E's second seizure, followed by a second EEG, followed by medication that will hopefully prevent any further seizures.  Despite the overwhelming urge to never let him out of my sight again, I have let him out of the house for important reasons like school, church, and even camping.  Okay, I let him out for camping before the seizure.  He's never going camping again! 

Speaking of medical bills, we spent an awful lot of money on dental work this year.  E got braces, C got a shiny new silver tooth, G had a tooth pulled (as it turns out, one that was giving him a chronic sinus infection) and C got another silver tooth to match the first one. 

All in all, I'd say it's been a good year.  If any of us ever did get discouraged, G just put on his ridiculous golf pants and that cheered us right up!  Despite too much time spent in ambulances, dental offices and elementary school performances of Bohemian Rhapsody, it's hard to deny that we've been blessed.  Hope you have too!

Here's to a happy, healthy 2010!

BLING BLING

Remember the silver tooth?  Look closely. Yep, there are two silver teeth in that little mouth now.  Can you imagine what this kid will look like in 20 years?  He might as well move to England now.  This might be a good time to call in T for a vocabulary lesson.  Just the other day he was asking me what a stereotype was.

But back to the tooth.  On Saturday, a big white bump popped up on C's gum.  I've never seen an abcessed tooth before, but in my imagination, an abcessed tooth looked just like the thing in C's mouth.

We took him over to our dentist neighbor/friend who confirmed my diagnosis.  He was the very dentist who filled a cavity in the same tooth that was now abcessed.  He was kind enough to blame himself for the big puss-filled lump in C's mouth. 

I appreciated that, because having a 5-year old with TWO capped teeth can be a great source of shame and guilt for a mother.  I'm not sure why, because when you think about it, there are a lot of successful people with mouths full of capped teeth.  Like Flavor Flav, for example. Who doesn't want their child to grow up to be like Flavor Flav?  According to Wikipedia, "His childhood included legal trouble.  He set a house on fire as a small child while playing with a lighter and, by the time he dropped out of school in the 11th grade, he had been in and out of jail for robbery and burglary."  Yeah boy!

Unfortunately, C is not terribly fond of the dentist.  Probably because most of his dental visits have involved THE SHOT!  Lately, we've been taking him to a pediatric dentist who specializes in being "firm" with children like C who refuse to sit in a gigantic moving chair under a huge blinding light and let strangers stick needles, drills and other sharp objects in their mouths. 

Of course, to a child, "firm" is synonymous with "mean" so I was very nervous about how our visit today would go.  Apparently C didn't like the firmness displayed during his last visit and decided to be 100% cooperative.  What a relief! 

And at least now his dental work is symmetrical.