Papaw is still with us

It has been over a year since Papaw died, but he is still with us.
He goes with us nearly everywhere, actually.
I daresay he has gone more places after death than he went for at least the last 10 years of his life.

This is Papaw.

It is M's Papaw pillow that my MIL made for him after Papaw died.
We just call it Papaw.

M sleeps with Papaw.
M often takes Papaw to the basement after school to play video games.
At least a few times a week someone in the house will say,
"Where's Papaw?"
or
"Do you know where Papaw is?"
or
"I gotta get Papaw."
Every morning when he comes downstairs, M is holding Papaw.
Papaw often sits with M at the breakfast table.
M always leaves Papaw on the table beside the front door when he leaves for school.

Papaw went to Hilton Head with us this past summer.
Papaw often goes to music class and drama class and the store, although he sits and waits in the car until we come back out.

The rest of us--me, D, N, and G--also have Papaw pillows, but they stay in our rooms.

Only M keeps his right by his side.

M was the only one who didn't cry at Papaw's funeral, and he is the one who clings to this pillow like a little lifeline or security blanket.
This is how he grieves, and it makes me smile.

For the love of god, don't be cruel to the unwell

There is a woman in my neighborhood who is not mentally well.
I have spoken to her maybe one time, but I have heard that she was in a car accident and suffered head trauma. I do not know if this is true. She is probably my age plus or minus some years and lives with her mother.

We have a closed neighborhood social media group, and she posts really strange stuff pretty frequently, which gets deleted quickly, although sometimes not quickly enough.

You can tell that her mental state is not 100% by these posts, and it really doesn't matter whether it is due to trauma or disease.

I tell D about her posts, and I have commented on them to my neighbor who is also my close friend, but I never, ever respond to the posts themselves.
Because what is the point?
Based on the posts, the woman knows she has mental health issues, but she can't help her brain.

As a person who has had mental health issues, I, too, know that I cannot help my brain.
I try not to post uncomfortable things about my mental health on social media....things that make people cringe.
And there is a difference between posts about mental health that make people feel easier about their own mental health issues and posts that make people feel like you are exposing far, far too much of your soul to the world.

(I have crossed this line and been accused of TMI but usually when it involves me posting something about my sons and their nonstop freaking penis/poop/fart/digestive tract verbiage. My post was intended to be funny; I think someone I know also just likes to write TMI on my stuff.)

This lady's posts make people cringe, including people who also have mental health issues.

But what has galled me of late are the people in the neighborhood who have made comments to her public posts on the neighborhood page that poke fun at her.
Things like, "What in the hell are you talking about?"
And then a barrage of gifs from The Office and other shows, movies, and memes that are, perhaps, funny to them but assholish to me.

Don't get me wrong, I am totally thinking to myself, "What in the hell are you talking about?" when I read her posts.
I want her to stop because it makes me and everyone in the neighborhood uncomfortable.
I make a comment to my husband or to someone whom I trust in the neighborhood.
But to make a public cruel comment to someone who is clearly unwell is a whole lot of things but specifically: cruel and grossly immature.

I see people's posts on social media quite often that are embarrassing and cringe-worthy.

Posts about their relationship drama (the gal who got married and in less than a year had found another soul-mate and has now ended that relationship and will power through now and be on her own and strong and other stuff that perhaps she believes but I'm not buying.)
But I don't respond to her posts because.....it's not my business even if she is posting it.
And anything I say is going to make no difference in her life.
And to say something would be mean-spirited.

I am as much part of this problem as anyone because I don't say something like "Is cruelty really necessary?"
(Although in the neighbor's case the initial post and its replies are often deleted before I have an opportunity.)
I may need to make this phrase more a part of my dialogue.

The role of the parents?

I was reading last night about the Larry Nassar trial and his "pelvic adjustments" of young women, and I could not help but wonder about what was going on in the parents' minds during all the times when he was "adjusting" these girls.

This was not intended as an exercise in blame, but rather a "Would I be able to sniff out bullshit if I saw it?" type activity.

I am not a trusting person by nature, and I'm not sure why.
Most people haven't given me a reason to not trust them.
Perhaps it is the anxiety?

I do know that when my kids were little, and I was looking for a pediatric dentist, I wouldn't even consider taking them to a dentist who refused to let parents come back to view the cleaning and whatever else the dentist was doing. A friend told me about a male dentist in my area who had this policy, and I knew there was no way in Hades I would ever take my kids to such a place.

Until or unless my kid doesn't want me in the exam room and says it to my face, my butt is in the room.

I also know that when I was in college, I went to a male gynecologist who very quickly made me decide I would never, ever so long as I lived, see another male ob/gyn again.

He did not assault me.
But I distinctly remember looking down when he was getting ready to examine me, and he was looking in the wall mirror next to him and fixing his hair.
Now, I was in college, but I had the good sense to think to myself, "Are you trying to impress my vagina with your hair? Because my vagina doesn't give a shit."
It felt perverse to me, and so it was the first and last time I ever saw that doctor.

A cousin of mine worked for him for a time, and she loved him.
I remember her saying he was "smooth as silk."
I'm not sure what that meant, and I didn't care to ask.
It didn't sound like a descriptor I wanted for any gynecologist.
(This cousin also started asking me when I was 17 when I was going to marry my high school boyfriend, so I have never thought she had much sense on the whole.)

Anyway, this memory makes me think that I've got a pretty good "skeezy" radar, an ability to know when things just don't pass the sniff test.
And this makes me wonder whether any of the parents of these girls also had their skeezy radar dinging away.
And if they did, I wonder why they didn't quickly get their girls the hell away from this situation.
And this makes me think of Shakespeare because Shakespeare was all about ambition and the stupid things that ambition makes people do.
I wonder how many parents' radars were dinging, but they didn't listen because of either their ambition or the ambitions of their daughters.
Or perhaps there was another reason, although ambition seems the most obvious.

Perhaps fear? A fear of accusing people who have "authority" of not doing something right and then, perhaps, as a result, their daughters not being allowed to compete (which takes us back to ambition).

I had a recent situation when I might have allowed the fear of accusing someone of doing something wrong to keep me from saying something.
No one wants to come across as a troublemaker, but sometimes you just have to be THAT PERSON.

At D's work, there is an on-site clinic that recently switched from one provider to another.
The first time I took the boys there for their allergy shots, they gave M G's allergy serum which, had it been more potent, could have sent him into anaphylactic shock.
(Fortunately, it did not, and you better believe they were johnny-on-the-spot calling the allergist to figure out what to do.)

I didn't say anything then, but when I went back again, they gave the boys the correct serum but not in the correct arms (and I know this because I paid close attention and made sure to say, "THIS IS M" and "THIS IS G" as I stood right next to them and watched them get their injections.

I wrote a letter to the provider letting them know what had happened and that they were playing with a big honking liability issue. I was contacted by some big-wig in Nevada, who apologized like crazy.
I told myself I would give it one more chance.
The office is now following the procedures to.the.letter, and I am fully prepared to let them know if they do not.

So I said this was not an exercise in blame, but as I write this, thinking about my kids getting an allergy shot mix-up and how infuriated I felt about that, I feel myself wanting to say to the parents, "What were you thinking?"

It is just so tragic.

Update: the app is in / auto correct and voice / The Mamas and Papas / John Green / immigration

The app is in

I took N's high school application to the school on Monday.

On Tuesday morning, when I was trying to get her out the door early so I could get to my subbing job, I threatened to go back over to the high school and ask for it back because I am tired as hell of driving her butt to school, and the idea of doing this for another four years makes me want to cry.

So now we wait.

Autocorrect and voice

I both love and hate autocorrect.
I hate typing on my phone, so anything that reduces fingers pressing on buttons is great.
Except when the phone thinks it knows more than me, which it doesn't.
At least not in the way of spelling most words.
And don't even get me started on voice dictation.
Yesterday I ran into an accident on Finchley (a street near the school), so I dictated a text to send to N. Instead of Finchley, it said something about "sensually."
I cannot send my teenager a text about anything sensually.
I hate technology, especially in my car.

The Mamas and the Papas

Sometimes I remember things that I've forgotten.
But I don't mean the important stuff, like where I put the safe deposit box key which I hid somewhere in the house.
I remember stuff like how I read Michelle Phillips' autobiography about 60 times when I was a kid, which then led me to listen to The Mamas and the Papas music.
Sometimes I think that seems like a pretty weird thing for a kid to do. Read a book like 60 times, but I did. I read Judy Blume books like that too. Over and over and over.
Everytime I ate a snack, I'd sit down with one of my most read books and just open it anywhere, picking up wherever, because I'd read it so many times it didn't matter where I started. I knew everything by heart.

John Green

Speaking of books, I'm both liking and disliking Green's latest book, Turtles All the Way Down. It resonates with me because the main character has OCD, and the way her thoughts spiral is completely accurate. I like her confusion as to who is the captain of her ship, which is language I've heard Green himself use in interviews. We all like to think we're the captains, but the brain is a wacky thing, and we really aren't.

I've been looking at school and church and different places where people congregate as versions of pods of bacteria. Humans do the same things as bacteria---live, eat, produce waste, reproduce and try to survive. This book has made me consider just how much we are not the higher/greater species. We aren't nearly as adaptable as bacteria.

Immigration

I listened to this interview today, and I realized, once again, that even though I think of myself as being pretty left-leaning, I don't disagree with this senator's proposal about not giving DACA residents automatic citizenship. I'm a person who tends to be a rule-follower, who tends to go about things the "right" way. I'm the type of person who pays attention to the flight attendant every time I get on a plane when they go over the safety rules. Yes, I'm that person on the plane who rolls my eyes at the people who don't pay attention and will be the first ones to f*ck everything up when a crisis ensues because they don't know what to do because they didn't pay attention.

I mean, I work in middle schools. I see how this goes down every.day.

And if I was going to think about this scenario in a grocery store, then I would have to admit that I get pissed off at the people who don't read and follow the 15 Items or Less sign. The people who drop 35 items on the conveyor belt. The people who don't do things the "right" way, the way that everyone else who has groceries is supposed to follow. And maybe it is a teenager, who watched his or her parents drop 35 items on the conveyor belt and so that is all he or she knows. I can understand it, but I would still get pissed off if I (and when I), in the grocery store, followed the instructions to the letter.

I can understand why someone who follows the "right" process for citizenship would be miffed by the prospect of people who came illegally just getting a pass.

And I know that this doesn't account for the fact that it takes so long to get citizenship (which maybe is too long), and maybe costs a ton of money (I don't know because I've never actually researched it, and maybe those people came because they were desperate and in dire straight (which makes me think of Jesus and do unto others and then things get super complicated in my heart), and maybe those things need to be addressed.

What I'm saying is that I can see both sides of the coin.

1. Shut your shit-hole and 2. Working towards character-building

Part I: Shut Your Shithole

The president is a toxic person. I would like to tell him to shut his shit-hole, that not every thought that dashes through his head is correct or relevant or worth giving air to. I don't think he's a genius. I think that what you see is what you get.

There is a part of me that would like certain politicians to say out loud what all of us know to be true, that the president is a dick, but I understand why they do not.

I have worked with assholes. They are simply assholes, and even if you called them out on it, they would still be assholes, and perhaps even bigger assholes than they were to begin with. Everyone who works with them knows they are assholes.

When I taught full-time, there was a teacher in my department who was one of these "honest" speakers (as the president is considered to be). I never told her off, even though I thought she was crass and annoying and bitchy. She made people feel small, and she was intimidating. She wasn't warm and fuzzy or welcoming or even nice.

I never called her out on her crassness or bitchiness because it really didn't matter. That is what and who she was. I felt sorry for her in many ways. Perhaps she lived in a bubble and didn't know or suspect what people thought of her, but I suspect she knew and either 1. didn't care or 2. did care but convinced herself that she didn't care and couldn't really change her personality anyway.

I suspect that everyone in Washington who works in any capacity with the president does what my former colleagues and I did with this teacher. We knew what we were up against, we did what we had to do to get through the day, and we rolled our eyes at each other behind her back, knowing full well that we wished she would shut her shit-hole.

Some people are simply assholes. It is unfortunate that one of them is in such a respected seat of responsibility and power.

Part 2: Working towards character-building

John Wooden's quote, "The true test of a man's character is what he does when no one is watching," is certainly true, but there are some who would argue that it is also what you do when everyone is watching. Character is who you are, and character is tested no matter how old you get.

I had a situation this past week in which my character was tested.

My Girl Scout troop met at our local school for one of our bi-monthly meetings. In the past, when it gets close to cookie booth time, I have used some of the tools in the teacher's workroom to help make letters for our booth poster. I know how to use these machines, and I have instructed my girls in how to use them. I bring my own paper so I'm not using school resources.

This past week, the girls accidentally cracked two of the plastic pieces that are used with the machines. These pieces aren't expensive, and they are certainly well-worn. Perhaps they would have cracked no matter who used them. But I felt terrible about it.

I could have just let it go. There are lots of people, including parent volunteers, who use these plastic pieces. Anyone could have cracked them, and no one would have been the wiser.

But I could not do that and, to be honest, I could not do that out of fear.

If I didn't acknowledge that our troop had done it, I wondered all the "what ifs." What if the custodian who saw us in the room overhead someone talking about it and "told" on us? I would much, much rather take my knocks and face whatever consequences than be "found out." How mortifying would that be? Much more mortifying than admitting that we'd cracked a piece of plastic.

It reminded me of a similar situation that happened to me in the 7th grade.

I cheated on a religion test (there is some irony there, eh?).

And some people in class saw that I cheated and told me they saw me.
They never told on me because before they did, I told on myself.
I could not abide the idea of knowing I did something wrong, hiding it, and then being found out. That was worse than just taking my consequences and getting a zero.

How funny that I haven't changed that much since the 7th grade.

I was scared to send that email to the principal. Scared because I don't know how much the pieces cost. I didn't think they would be that much, but Girl Scouts troops generally aren't rolling in piles of money. Scared because I didn't want her to think badly of me for not supervising the girls as closely as I should have.

But I was willing to have her think whatever she thinks and for us to pay whatever we have to pay in order not to feel bad about myself. In order for me to feel at peace on the inside, even in the midst of feeling fear.

And I like to think that even if the person is disappointed in me, they know that I don't lie or hide. They know that I try to have a solid character even when I could have done otherwise.

Part A: Thinking the worst first / Part B: Goals or lack thereof

Part A:

I don't know what I did, but I have apparently reinjured my knee. When I was around 36 or 37, I did a burpee. It was the first and last time I did a burpee because I blew out my left knee. It took months for the pain and then the discomfort to subside. I think this injury was my introduction to meloxicam.

Anyway, today I was in the basement cleaning up Christmas stuff and decluttering. I have recently returned to more regular exercise after my autumn of not doing anything but trying to survive work and class. That may not have been a good idea.

Even though I am much improved with my anxiety most of the time, my go-to feeling whenever I am sick is that whatever I'm feeling is never, ever, ever going to improve.

When I had a stomach bug last month, I was temporarily convinced that I would spend the rest of my life running to the bathroom constantly. (I do have a genetic predisposition for irritable bowel disorders/colitis, so this fear is not totally without merit.) But I knew I had an actual stomach bug that had gotten my system off-line. I knew chances were pretty good that I would improve. But if this bleeds through with high doses of medication, I cannot imagine what a ball of trembling I would be without it.

Today, with the knee thing, I have already jumped towards knee replacement next year, even though the problem isn't likely bone rubbing on bone but a pulled muscle. I have already had a mental consultation with an orthopedist who has told me that my allergies make it likely that my body will reject a knee replacement. (I did actually have special studs made for a pair of earrings and whatever metal that is--niobium perhaps?---bothers me.) And I will die or be in terrible pain for the remainder of my life due to my knee. (Also, my minister had hip replacement yesterday, so I could possibly have created this injury with the power of my own mind.)


Part B:

I used to have goals a long time ago.

I used to think about getting a Ph.D.

I'm not sure I have goals anymore. Not professional ones, anyway.

I recently contacted another local magazine about possibly doing some occasional freelance work, but the only reason I did that is because someone I know emailed me about how to get into freelance work. Nothing like the possibility of a little healthy competition to motivate me. The one good thing to come of chatting with this other magazine is I realize that the pay I get from my other freelance jobs is not half bad. I'm not gonna get rich, or even middle class, through freelancing.

Not that I want to.

A friend of mine asked me recently if I would want to write full-time, and I don't think I would. But at this point, I don't want to teach full-time.

Being a stay-at-home mom has spoiled me in having a lot of flexibility, and this is why I do it. I don't make much money in any of these pursuits. I just sorta totaled it all up--what I made this year assuming I work five days a month subbing---and it ain't much. Of course, I do get June and July off from subbing and the cottage school, and half of August. (And the cottage school job is only 28 weeks for the year, so I have the entire month of December off, AND it is only 1 day a week.) I do write for the magazines during the summer months when they ask me to write stuff but there isn't any rhyme or reason to what I write or when.

Each of these snippets of jobs allows me time to do the other snippets of jobs.
And my time has value.
Sometimes I spend too much of that valuable time on Facebook, Twitter, or getting suck into an Alice in Wonderland hole of interwebs.

I try to look at this stage of my life as a networking opportunity....many years of developing relationships---principals seeing me in their halls, teachers seeing me as responsible and not completely inept with kids, editors seeing me as eager to write and turning in quality work. So that when I do decide to have less flexibility in my life, I can say, "Hey....who wants me?" and hopefully I'll have people calling or putting in a good word for me or letting me know of jobs.

When N complains that everyone wants her to know in 8th grade what she wants to be when she grows up, I say, "Yeah, I KNOW. I don't know what I want to be either."

How I catch myself not raising an adult (and also how I lie to myself) Or maybe not??

Today I was able to listen to a little snippet of this Hidden Brain podcast, which got me thinking about how people lie to themselves.

I like to think that because of my exceptional ability to not.get.out.of.my.own.head I do not have a problem with lying to myself, but maybe that isn't really the case.

Today I saw someone I've known since our kids were preschoolers. We were discussing N's application to EHS, which she received in the mail yesterday.

While discussing the application packet and process, I think I actually said, "We're applying." I did catch myself and correct my statement, but it bothered me that these words came out of my mouth.

In one sense, it is just how I speak.
When I am out to dinner with anyone and the server asks, "Are you doing ok?," I always respond with, "We're fine," even though the truth may be that I am fine, but my dinner buddy is not fine and needs cocktail sauce STAT.

This Freudian slip of the tongue made me wonder whether I talk a good game but am totally guilty of being the helicopter parent I don't want to be.

Based on my recent reading of How to Raise an Adult, I decided to put it to N that I could either help her 1. not at all or 2. just a smidge (and by a smidge, I meant getting her envelopes for the teacher recommendation sheets).

I had no intention of filling anything out for her, but as a writer, it is hard for me to not to want to edit someone to within an inch of their lives. About a week or so ago, I had her write down her "accomplishments and activities" of the past three years so she wouldn't forget anything when she began completing the application. She used this yesterday to complete the information sheet.

She wrote, and I sat next to her reading a book, answering questions she had, like "Should I put field hockey in 6th-8th grades or put the years?"

As I sat there, I wondered if this was too much "assisting?"

If she writes her one-page essay and asks me for feedback do I give her real feedback to actually help her improve her essay or do I just say, "I'm sure it is fine," and have her send it off without looking at it?

To be honest, the latter option seems a bit irresponsible, especially since I'm a professional writer and know full well that nothing very good (including this blog) happens when someone hasn't had someone else proofread their stuff.

It is a slippery slope balancing act, this raising a child. Because they don't just require a parent to say something once, and then they'd got it.
You've got to say the same shit over and over and over and over.
This, to me, seems like it is the essential act of parenting---saying the same junk ad nauseam until the kid finally, at like age 25, has it inside his/her head.
Is that helicoptering? 
Or is the problem really doing it FOR the child? Saving the child FROM every mistake he or she makes? Pulling the child out of school so she can avoid the class guitar recital she doesn't want to do because she hates the class?
(She asked, and I responded, "That is not gonna happen. You suck it up and get through it."

Maybe I'm not lying to myself because of the simple fact that I was aware enough of my speech to catch myself and to reflect on what I'm thinking and doing regarding this whole high school application.

I took a survey about substitute teaching....

and I laughed and laughed.

Now, I don't hate substitute teaching but that is only because I was a teacher before.
I'm not sure how or why anyone who hasn't been a teacher does it.
Summers off are nice, but I'm not sure it is nice enough to warrant subbing.

I don't think I'm an especially good sub unless you compare with me some of the other subs I've seen with my own two eyes.
I am not on a walker.
I do not use a cane.
These two things aren't problems unless the people who use them are subbing at a middle school, in which case I cannot help but think of an injured gazelle and a pride of hungry lions.
I swear I know of one sub who might be a very good sub, but she uses a cane and has a gimpy arm (maybe from a stroke?).
I just hope that if I ever have a cane and a stroke-paralyzed arm, I do not have to resort to subbing to generate income.
There has to be an easier job.

I do a couple of things well:
1. I show up.
2. I dress appropriately.

The questions on the survey were general ranking-type questions---1 being never and 5 being always.

The question that made me absolutely cackle was about being escorted by staff to the room where I'm subbing.
As in "Are you escorted by school staff to the room where you will sub?"
I asked my computer, "Is that an actual expectation that the district has for school staff?"
Because that has never, ever happened.
Most of the time I have to specifically ask what room I'll be in and "Could you please point me in the direction of the room."
In schools where I regularly sub, I give directions to other subs wandering around the building.
(I'm not dissing anyone about this; office staff has their hands full in the morning. I just wondered if this was an actual policy by some wonk who never sets foot in an actual school building.)

On the comment part of the survey, I said that I outright laughed at question # whatever it was about being escorted. "I laughed out loud at question #4," is what I wrote.

I said that I wish teachers wouldn't leave just busy work, although I understand why they do.

Some of the best subbing days I have had is when the teachers 1. knew me and 2. left actual work in their week's lineup because they know that I will actually get through the lesson or as much as humanly possible. The kids took it seriously, and I could actually teach them something rather than just being a breathing adult in the room.

I said I wish the district would hire part-time permanent subs so that I could be at one school three days a week rather than bopping all over. That is probably the thing I hate the most about subbing---the lack of regular routine.
I'd feel like I could make more of a difference and develop relationships with kids.

I said I was glad the new sub system has a "no telephone" option because my husband was about ready to rip our phone out of the wall, and what is the point of having an online system if you still have to get phone calls?

Of course, as I write this and lament that I don't make a difference with kids, I think about the kindergarteners I subbed for in December who made a ring around me during recess and thought I was the funniest thing ever when I tried to escape the ring (which wasn't actually me being funny; I wanted to be left alone, but they thought I was hilarious).

And I think about those occasional students who, for whatever reason, take a liking to me and treat me with more respect than they do some of their "real" teachers.

And I think about the students who start out like shits in a class but then figure out that I'm really actually wanting to help them and then allow me to help them and quit acting like shits in the course of 50 minutes.

I guess there are worse jobs than subbing.

Trying to raise adults

I am nearly finished reading a book that has been on my radar for a while: How to Raise an Adult: Break Free of the Overparenting Trap and Prepare Your Kid for Success by Julie Lythcott-Haims.

It has made me look at what we (D and I) are doing to raise our kids.
I saw "we," but the truth is that I am, in most ways, the captain of this child-rearing ship.
Partly, this responsibility lands on me because I am more of a control freak than D.
Also, he hates conflict more than anything, and conflict is part of raising children.
Conflict comes from saying to your children, "No, you cannot do whatever you want" or "No, I'm not giving you whatever you want."
Conflict may also come in the very real need for children to assert independence from their parents: "No, I do not believe whatever it is you believe."
Partly, the fact that I was a stay-at-home mom for many years means I had the bulk of child-rearing decisions and input. He deferred to me then and still does.
Also, I think he thinks I know stuff about kids because of teaching.

One of my great fears is that I will die before our kids are grown, and D will be left to parent alone. I worry that his desire to avoid conflict would mean he does more for our children than he should just to avoid listening to them whine, bitch, and moan.
I don't mind conflict, and I especially don't mind conflict when I am the mom and the risk of me not engaging in conflict is having children who grow up thinking they can walk over others, do whatever they want, not work hard, and so on.

When I was a kid, I always had a distinct feeling that my parents didn't like me very much.
I now realize that my parents loved me very much but did not indulge me. They didn't think I was all that and a bag of chips to the point where I knew they thought I was all that and a bag of chips.

I seem to have that same ability to know that my kids are pretty great but keep it under wraps fairly well. My kids probably sometimes think I think they are "meh."
I hate it when my kids are disappointed, but I do not ask for special favors or try to pull strings or anything like that.

Based on this book, I think we're mostly doing ok with our kids.
Not perfect, but we're trying to teach them responsibility and empathy.
We're not trying to make everything wonderful all the time, to remove any obstacles in their way.  We are trying to help them become resilient and be able to apply grit to their lives.

I have been wondering whether I'm completely screwing up M lately because of piano class.

He has been in this class for 4 years; G has been in it with us for 3 years.
It is an amazing program to help children learn to read music, play piano, play recorder and play a little guitar. (It has helped me learn all these things as well, so really it is a 3-for-2 deal.)

With that being said, we are all ready to be done with it. We need a break, but we are in our last 2 months of class. The boys have their recital at the end of February, and it is like a lifetime until the end of February because M hates.hates.hates practicing.
G, on the other hand, just sits down and practices without tears or fighting or fidgeting.
I have been making M do it, and he complains.
I finally reached my breaking point and said he didn't have to perform in the recital, but he did have to go and watch G perform in the recital.
He complained about that, too.
I finally just said to him, "If I tell you to practice, you throw a fit. If I tell you you don't have to practice and will play in the recital unprepared, you throw a fit. If I tell you you don't have to perform in the recital at all, you throw a fit. I can't win."
After this, he decided to practice on his own without too much trouble, so we'll see how the next few weeks go.

(G "gets" music better than M does. I just don't think M has any natural ability or interest the way N and G do. I'm not even going to bother M with taking an instrument in middle school. I really just don't care anymore and don't feel like fighting him over it. I'm not sure what M's niche is, but I don't think it is music.)

I have told M he never, ever, ever, ever has to take another music lesson for the rest of his life after the recital, and then he cried because I said that, and he says he wants to take guitar one day.

Wall. Meet My Head.

There is a part of me that wonders why I'm doing this to him and me, but I knew when we started in late August that we were on the final stretch, and I think there is something to making your kid stick out something relatively short-lived just to finish it up.
Of course, short-lived to 40-something me is very different than to an 8-year-old child.

But there is another part of me that thinks I'm a complete idiot for making him follow through because he is just really done.

So am I helping him develop grit and stick-to-it-ness?
Or am I being a ruthless, short-sighted Tiger Mom?
The fact that I gave him an out to not even be in the recital but he opted to practice on his own and had a better attitude about it makes me think maybe it's a power struggle and when I gave up power, he was ok again.
Of course, we haven't practiced today so he may lose his damn mind this evening.

I don't always always don't know what I'm doing to raise these kids, but I'm glad there are books like the one I'm reading that help me feel good about the things I'm doing well and give me ideas for how to handle the stuff I'm uncertain about.
This book, in particular, is a reminder that I could do everything "right" (whatever that is), and my kids are their own people who have designs for their lives that may not be anything like what I envision. There is a whole lot I cannot control.
All I can know is that I tried my best and turned to experts to guide me.