Helping my kids embrace their "fuck thats"

If you ask my mother, she would probably tell you that even as a young child, I was very in tune with my "fuck thats." (Suffice it to say, I wasn't always the easiest kid to handle.) 

I had (and have) strong opinions and wasn't (and am not) scared to tell anyone what those opinions are. I don't try to knock people over the head with what I think, but if a discussion or debate comes up, I'm not a shrinking violet. 

When I was a kid I hated going to church and made zero effort to try to shut my mouth about it. I let Mom, Dad, my brother, the priest, god, and the devil know how I felt. But I kept going until I was 24 years old (which is about when I learned not only to say my "fuck thats" but also act on them). 

As a teenager, I hated messing with my hair so while other girls had their long locks, I got mine cut at a barber shop. I said "fuck that" to looking like every other teenage girl. 

Despite coming out the way I was, when I had my own children, for a short time I thought of myself as an artist, rendering in clay what my children would become. I would shape, mold, and produce these amazing kids.

I quickly learned that 1. I don't know what I'm doing and 2. they are who they are from the moment they are born and while I can do some things to guide them and provide them a solid basis on which to form, I am not the artist that creates a child. 

At the same time, I also began to resent the idea that my child was an extension of me, both for myself and my kids. Just as I was a person beyond being a mother, my children are not little Carries or little Ds running around. They may have similar things in common with us because they share our genetic code, but they are not us. To not see them for who they are is as wrong as people seeing me only as a person who has produced children. 

N loves to shop, and I despise shopping. It isn't an activity we do together. But we both love reading, so we talk books.

G loves to play video games, and I have zero interest in them. It isn't an activity we do together. But we both like films, so we watch them together. 

M loves.... I'm not sure, exactly. We're still working on activities we do together, but he enjoys being snarky, and I love his snarkiness. 

Recently N and G have been in situations where they have felt like someone is trying to make them into something they aren't or get them to do something that doesn't align with their desires. 

For the past several years, the popular thing is for college students to do "study abroad" for an entire semester or multiple semesters. It can be a cool opportunity, but N doesn't want to do it, yet she feels some pressure from classmates and even some teachers to do it. So we talked about why she shouldn't feel badly that this isn't something she is interested in doing. 

She would rather travel after college when she can feels like she can have total fun and not worry about fitting in schoolwork between visiting new places. Doing a semester abroad is her "fuck that," and it is totally fine if she doesn't do it. 

I had encouraged G to join Beta Club or National Honor Society this year since before long he will apply to college and for scholarships. I figured these groups are the least time-consuming things he could probably get involved in at his high school. He thought about it for a couple days and asked if I was going to make him join one of these organizations. 

"I'm not going to make you do anything beyond go to school and work to the best of your ability which is A and B work," I responded.

Forcing him to join an organization that he has zero interest in doing (his "fuck that") would cause both of us endless grief, so why do it? I was president of my school's NHS when I was a senior, but he isn't me. Would it possibly be beneficial to him to join? Maybe, probably. But would it be beneficial for him to be forced to join when he absolutely doesn't want to? No. 

It has occurred to me on occasion that when my kids ask me a question, and I respond with "I don't care" they may take it as "My mom actually doesn't care," but I try to help them understand that things like what clothes they wear or hairstyles they have or interests they pursue (provided they are legal) doesn't matter to me as long as they are doing what they like and not hurting others in the process. I didn't care about field hockey one iota but I supported N when she played (and complained about it too if for no other reason than to emphasize how much I freaking loved that kid because I did "the sports thing" to support her). 

I think they have learned that mom "not caring" about a lot of trivial things means that I do care about who they are an awful lot. 

Apparently, I am intimidating (according to my family)

It has come to my attention that I am intimidating. 

While I don't know that this is a fact, it is an opinion that several members of my family---like all of them who live with me---agree on.

And it took me by surprise. 

I guess if I get out of my own head for a minute, I can see how they might be right. 

I am not intimidating to myself. And I don't think I'm intimidating to people once they talk to me a little bit, although maybe that's entirely wrong. I hope that my humor breaks any ice.

But I can see how a person who doesn't know me might be a little taken aback by my inability to not express an opinion. I'm very "out there" with what I think. As a general rule, I'm not going to just sit back and take it from anyone. 

I usually think I'm pretty self-aware, but my family's recent discussion of my intimidating personality threw me for a loop. How much else do I not perceive about myself?

I suppose that my ability to be intimidating (or to come off that way) is something I need to be a little more aware of, although I think my family gets the "unabridged version" of me that other people don't get. 

Do most people who meet me cower in fear or feel threatened by me? I don't think so.

Does my husband? Yes, that might be accurate. 

Does he expect me to bend him to my will? Of course. He's been letting me do that for almost 25 married years. 

And my two oldest kids have been scared to tell me they have boyfriends/girlfriends when I have been pretty open about "I don't care who you date. Race, religion, gender, whatever. As long as the person treats you with respect, I'm good." 

I think my family's view of me being intimidating is because I lose my absolute shit when they don't do something I've asked them to do 800 times. 

And what woman out there doesn't know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. 

Like all people who need outside input, I called on the hive mind of Facebook to ask people who know me. Some know me only online or knew me way back when or work with me or still talk to me every week or month. 

And I think the general consensus is that MY FAMILY IS WRONG.

Really, that's all I needed confirmation of. 

In all seriousness, it did do me good to step outside of what I thought I knew about myself and actually try to be objective. And getting feedback from others was helpful in that it helps me understand what aspects of who I am may come off as intimidating. 

I have always taken pride in being smart. Making sure I know what I'm talking about. Being well-read and prepared. I have always had high expectations of myself but this can, I'm sure, make others feel a little uncertain about what I will be like. Will I be judgmental? Am I exacting to the point of being unbearable?

I do have high expectations, but I have also learned to be much less judgmental over the years. I strive to put myself in other people's shoes and see the other side. 

Expect my family's side. They don't know what they're talking about.

Just kidding.

Please don't mistake my bitching for ungratefulness

It has taken me many years to realize that a person can bitch about things in their lives and become aggravated with the people and/or situations in their lives while still also recognizing that they are beyond fortunate in all the ways that really matter.

I don't know if F. Scott Fitzgerald actually said it or if it is just obvious, but intelligence, and dare I say wisdom, is being able to hold two diametrically opposed ideas in your head at the same time and still function. I didn't need to watch Pixar's Inside Out to know that maturity in one's emotional life comes from being sad and happy at the exact same time. Or how you can hate your child and love your child in the same moment. 

Black and white have always been gray. 

I have long been a Debbie Downer, a complainer. I can find 10 trillion things I don't like in the world. And sometimes people, especially those who don't know me well, think this means I'm just a whiner. Like I'm oblivious to how good I have it. 

It occurred to me today after interviewing a woman near my age with leukemia that I talk to a lot of people who have been through it. 

I've interviewed people whose children have terminal illnesses. I've interviewed people who have dealt with some kind of trauma (former sex workers, drug addicts, etc.). I've interviewed people who have suffered debilitating medical conditions or who themselves have terminal conditions. I've been in neonatal units and talked with parents whose children are struggling to live (pre-COVID). 

And when what you do to make a living means listening to people tell these often devastating stories, it makes you fundamentally understand the "there but for the grace of God" thing. 

What I know though is that even these individuals don't savor every moment in the way that movies make it out or the way people think they might. 

Being grateful doesn't mean thinking every single thing is perfect and wonderful and good. We have a name for that condition and it's called batshit nuts.

I personally think being grateful is much deeper and more involved that simply glossing over everything as if it is wonderful. Gratefulness is about looking frustration and aggravation and suckiness and pettiness clear in the eye as you bitch about it. And that doesn't happen out loud; that is an internalized process. 

You can bitch and be grateful AT THE EXACT SAME TIME. 

I can think my 13-year-old is a phenomenal asshole (which he often is) while at the same time knowing that he is smart and funny and that I'm so fortunate his issues are minor compared to so many other children's issues. I can be thankful that we have the ability to get consistent treatment for his issues. 

But being grateful doesn't mean he is not a royal PITA and that I don't have feelings of frustration.

Being grateful doesn't mean I feel less or should feel less. 

It means having feelings and stating feelings while deep down knowing that even in the midst of relatively NBD suckiness, things are still pretty ok. 

Things change, people

I tend to be a pretty carpe diem person.
I don't dwell on the past, nor do I think a whole lot about the future (except daydreaming about places I'd like to travel).
I pretty well live in the moment.

The moment of me hating summer break IS OVER.
I no longer hate it.
Please take note of that if you know me or if you've ever read my FB posts or you've ever read this blog.

Today is Aug 6, and while I am mostly ready to get back into a routine, I'm not wishing the days away and pining to send my kids off next week.
This is because when they go back, I go back with them.
I'm subbing the 2nd day of school.
I'll be doing observations at two high schools to complete my secondary certification.
I'll start up my cottage school teaching in September.

Life will once again be a hectic mess of confusion and carpooling between Aug-May.

It's kinda funny how humans think things don't change.

I mean, I'm guilty of it, too.
I see people in person that I knew in college and think to myself, "Dang, they got wrinkles and grey hair."
As if instead of living they have been hovering in suspended animation for the past 25 years.

It is pointless and probably heartbreaking to try to force yourself or those around you to stay the same.

I know folks who cannot wrap their heads around their kids growing up.
They fight it with every ounce of their being.
They expect their preteens and teens to want to spend time with their parents.
I did not want to spend time with my parents when I was that age, so why would I expect my own children to want to spend time with me?
I'd be concerned if they wanted to, in the same way that I'd be concerned if my teenager still needed diapers (unless she had a developmental disability in which this need was normal).

I wouldn't want to spend my entire parenting existence in the baby stage or the toddler stage or the preschool stage or the elementary stage or the "any particular stage."

I am no longer in the "I hate summer because my kids drive me bonkers" stage.
Let's move on, then.

You ain't grown

This statement comes out of my mouth on the regular...with my children and when I substitute teach.

Now, I realize that children push boundaries. That is what they are supposed to do.
But as an adult, I know that my job is to hold the boundaries in place.
This does a number of things for the child.
It reminds her or him that I am consistent, that some things in the world are consistent.
It reminds them of the power of consistency.
It makes them feel secure and safe.
It helps them regulate themselves.

It is also a nice preview of what being an actual adult is like.
Adulthood is not about getting to do whatever the hell you want.
I do not usually ever get to do whatever the hell I want.
I get to do more things than I got to do as a child, like eat 3 cookies at once if I choose to and stay up later than I should.
I often wish I had someone regulating me better than I regulate myself.
To allow children to think that adulthood allows them absolute freedom is a cruel trick.

So when my own children buck me or when students buck me, I determine if it is an issue that I can ignore or if it is an issue that requires me to remind them that "they ain't grown."

Many, many, many issues do not reguire the big bazookas.
But sometimes, I have to open my mouth and allow my own mother to come on out and give my child a little what-for.

G frequently needs reminding that he ain't grown, but the other two usually don't.

Yesterday, however, N forgot.
She forgot that she doesn't have a job, doesn't contribute to the household or her phone bill.
She forgot that she doesn't have wheels to get her anywhere.
She forgot that she is 14 and most certainly ain't grown.
So I had to remind her.

She wasn't happy.
AND I WASN'T HAPPY.
Providing structure and consistency is much, much, much, much harder than just letting a child do what she/he wants.
Walking away and allowing the structure to cave is easier than standing around, holding the danged thing up while the kid pushes against it over and over again.

But today, N was back to her old normally responsible self.
I had emailed her teacher last night. This is part of what I said:

Since she is providing me zero information, could you please let me know whether this work was from her absence, whether she is still able to turn it in, and if so, what the penalty is for late work?

Also, should I murder her? (Because that is what I feel like doing.) ;)

Her teacher emailed me this morning to let me know the issue had been resolved because N had returned to her normally responsible self and thanked me for being an awesome mom. She also thanked me for offering to kill N but said she preferred I didn't because she is fond of my daughter.

If this is what being an awesome mom is like, it really, totally blows.
But the alternative---a kid who does what she/he wants, with attitude, without respect, without limits-
blows much, much more.

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."

Be sure the person you're complaining to is not the person who is inconvenienced by the thing about which you're complaining

I could probably scroll through my blog and find links to all the crap I wrote about three years ago when N wanted to go to her middle school, but then I wouldn't be able to basically rehash it all right now as she applies to high school.

The high school, like the middle school, is not our resides, which means I'll be shlepping her for at least 3 years.
The high school promises amazing things like her middle school did (Note:  I'm not distracted by shiny things and sports teams).
A large portion of the people she knows and is friends with are applying there. (But so are a swath of the fakey people she complains about constantly....)

Let me back this train up to explain why she started complaining to me before I'd ever picked her up when she texted me her complaints.

Last week, she asked me if she could aide for a teacher, and I reluctantly agreed.

My general feeling about student aiding is as follows:
1. Kids do it to get out of classes they hate.
2. Teachers do it to have someone do grunt work that they don't have time to do--which I completely understand as I was once a teacher who had student aides.
3. As a parent, I feel much differently about kids aiding than I did as a teacher.

I had never allowed N to aid, so when she asked to do so for this 12-week period, I signed the paper last week.

On Thursday, she turned the form into the counselor.

On Friday, she went to class because she wasn't certain if the roster sheets showed her as being an aide.

On Monday, she went to the teacher (who happens to be a former colleague of mine) to aid.

On Monday afternoon, N gets into my car at the end of the day and bawls. BAWLS.
An SRT member came to her while aiding and told her the other teacher said she was cutting. She was embarrassed.
Then she found out that the principal said no one from that particular class can aid because like half the class wrote a note to the counselor begging them to get them out of this class.
N was pissed because "she followed the rules and directions and is being punished."
But I get why the principal made that decision. He can't have half the class bailing to aid (although it makes me wonder what sucks so bad about this class that so many kids want to jump ship).

So on Monday, she bawled....and then bitched.
Today she just bitched.

And all the while, I'm thinking to myself:

Sister, this is where your ass wanted to go, not where I wanted you to go. You can just go whistle Dixie and deal with that class because YOU made this choice, so live with it. And because I'm still resentful about driving your butt there every.stinking.day, I am probably not the person who is going to give you the sympathy you seek. 

And my daughter knows me....and I also might have said, "You know what I'm thinking?" to which she got to hear a slightly nicer version of the aforementioned statement.

But here is what I didn't say:

What in the holy hell makes you think I'm happy about going along with sending your butt to another school that you think is so spectacular when I may have to listen to you bitch about shit once you're there. Did you learn NOTHING from sixth grade when you and your BFF's relationship went caput and you've never had class together or even been on the same team? What makes you think you and your friends from middle school are going to stay friends in high school? What if you have classes with all the fakey ass kids you dislike? Am I going to have to listen to you bitch about it every day? I would have an easier time listening to you bitch about going to the high school you don't want to go to because I can listen to you once your ass gets off the danged school bus. 

Sometimes I think I'm nuts for not putting my foot down and saying, "We did this crap for middle school, but I'm not doing it again for high school."
But she is hell-bent on wanting to go to the high school she has selected, and she is all about doing what friends are doing. (If memory serves, I wanted to also do a lot of stupid shit because of my friends when I was a teen, too.)
And then I feel guilty for telling my boys: "You will go to THIS middle school and THIS high school and THAT is the end of the story so get used to it."

And then I remember that I am a mother so I'm going to have to listen to somebody bitch about something for the next....oh hell, until I'm dead.....because that is what mothers do.

The "high school decision" (drum roll and a poem)

She wants to go to EHS.
For all the wrong reasons.
I don't even care anymore.
I've been driving her,
hither and yon.
What's 4 more years?
Three more, if I'm lucky.
She'll have wheels.

I don't think I'll give
The boys a choice.
I'll funnel them where
I want them to go.
Whichever school is close
And has a bus.

Now we wait.
I clicked the button.
Application sent.
Forms will be mailed.
Horse and pony show
Of her awesomeness.
But is someone else
More awesome?
How many slots of awesome
Are there?
Can you tell me?

All of this...
Stewing...
For what?
What's the point?
I'm not sure.

I suspect the same thing
That happened in middle
Will happen again.
The friend(s) that she followed
Will not be the friends of
The future.

Can't we figure this out
At a school that offers
A bus ride?

Not a helicopter parent, but an "unable-to-let-go" parent

I try very much not to be a hovering parent.

Part of this is because I don't think it serves the best interests of my children. My goal is to have them become fully independent of me. If I am over their shoulders for everything they have no incentive to learn to be fully independent.

The other reason is because why in the world would a fully grown adult want to be all in their kids' interests?  Yesterday, N asked if I would take her and two friends to Target, and I obliged. In the 10 minutes it took for me to drive the three of them to Target, I had to put in my earbuds. The earbuds were not attached to music; I just needed something to dull the noise. We stepped into the store, and I immediately said, "I"m going to get my stuff; ya'll go do what you need to do," and I made a beeline in the opposite direction of them.

I appreciate my daughter and her friends, but under no circumstances do I want to hang with them. They are 13; I'm 44. Sometimes our interests briefly intersect, but most of the time, they do not.

I texted N and told her she had until 3:30. When I didn't get a text back from her, I texted, "Where are you?" Fortunately for her, she located me. Had she not, I would have texted her one more time to say, "I'm going to check out. If you don't text me back or meet me at check-out, I am having them call your name on the loudspeaker and ask you and your friends to come to the front of the store."

N knows full well that I will do this because I did it to her when she was younger and refused to leave the toy department. I left her, walked to the front of the store, started checking out, and asked the cashier to call my daughter over the intercom.

What I find difficult to reconcile within myself is that I refuse to helicopter my kids, and yet I am seemingly unable to emotionally disengage from them. I'm not even certain that they are aware of my emotional entanglement, but I certainly am.

On Thursday night, I had my graduate class, and the teacher discussed missing her children's open houses because she was at her own school's open houses. She talked about her husband attending with them but said he didn't know what to look for. She talked about being dedicated to teaching, and she is. Decades in the profession, a ph.D., and now teaching soon-to-be teachers at the college level.

I observed a teacher on Thursday morning/afternoon who teaches, does workshops and is clearly highly dedicated.

I have never, ever been able to split my dedication, and it is why when my children are 10, 8 and almost 14, I still cannot do it. This is why I am ever-so-slowly pulling away in my chaotic juggle of part-time employment. I cannot let go just yet. I tell myself that in four years when M starts middle school that I will return to work full-time, and I may.....but I also may not because I don't know what four years from now will bring.

Will G's OCD be out of control? Will he and M adjust ok to middle school? How will N handle high school? Will my parents or my MIL need care or help that I can assist with? Will I need the flexibility that my current situation allows me?

I think about not only the teaching, but the faculty meetings and the grading and the IEP meetings during planning, and all those extras that pull one's mind away from just planning and instruction and keep one busy and distracted beyond the measure of 7 hours.

I wonder sometimes if this inability to disengage is harming my kids. I don't think so; it is probably harming me more than anybody because I keep stewing over it.

The kids are alright (or massive f**k-ups).

Whether my children are alright or massive f**k-ups really just depends on the day of the week.

There has been a slow-build to a situation involving G that came to a head yesterday morning. Technically, it came to a head on Friday afternoon when I was conveniently at the grocery store, so I wasn't aware of it until yesterday morning.

It doesn't take much for G to become confused in relationships with others. In his mind, he thinks if you like someone, you like them forever with the same amount of enthusiasm and gusto.

(This kid is not meant to have a long-term marriage, I think).

In third grade, he had a falling-out with a boy with whom he had been friends since kindergarten.  The friend stopped talking to him and didn't explain what was going on. He felt uncomfortable with G's hugging but wouldn't ever tell him, and G just didn't get it. He wrote the friend a note and said, "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Now, I know that there have been many, many times when I have told G something, and he just doesn't listen. It's not what he wants to hear so he doesn't hear it. However he thinks something should be is the way it should be, regardless of reality. So it is entirely possible that his friend DID tell him.

Whenever I worry that I am siding too much with my own child, I usually respond to myself with, "Bitch, PUHLEASE. You know your kids and every downfall they have."

A similar situation has occurred again with a different child.

Last week, he wrote a sweet note and gave the child a flower. I read that note, and it said something like, "I want to be friends. Why did you say I was rude and mean?"

(My response to his was, "Because you are rude and mean.")
Helpful, I know.

This time, G drew a picture of the child stabbing him in the heart and calling him a loser. He then  wrote something on the order of, "This is me in the future. I thought you would like it because you f**king hate me."

The person he wrote it to is a 6-year-old girl.

G has been playing with her older brother. It bothers G that she avoids him now, so he questions the brother who gives his spin on the situation.

Sigh.

My feelings are all over the map on this one.

On the one hand, I'm glad G is drawing/writing his feelings, but I feel angry at him for writing it and leaving it for the girl to read.
(And when I say leaving it, I mean taping it to her front door. Way to be a stalker, son.)

On the one hand, I feel sympathetic to G because it is maddening to have someone like you and then decide they don't like you without explanation.
(Hello, my dating life from ages 13-22.)
And he internalizes it. He is a loser rather than the other person just doesn't realize how good of a friend he can be. (It takes a whole lot of time and wisdom to get to a point where you realize that if someone doesn't like you, it is their problem. Not yours.)

On the one hand, I feel Mama Bear because my kid has been hurt and is confused, but I feel like murdering my own kid because YOU DON'T WRITE SHIT LIKE THIS AND GIVE IT TO PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE 6.

So, we had a talk in which I told him it is a good idea to draw and express his feelings, but when he does it he needs to share it with me or D so we can help him. Giving it to the person who upset you does not help the relationship.

And we talked about how you should be friendly to everyone, but that doesn't mean you are friends with everyone.

And we talked about how even if one person doesn't like him, think about all the people he knows who DO like him and think he is special.

And I saved the drawing/note, and we'll be discussing it with his psychiatrist and possibly increasing his medication dose if his obsessing continues.

I saw a college friend yesterday who commended me on "living out loud," which I took to mean sharing my life....good and especially bad....in this blog and on Facebook. Sharing my mental health demons, and now my son's mental health demons.

Sometimes I am really proud of this because I do think it helps people, and I know talking about it helps me.

But sometimes, especially for G, I worry that he gets labeled as "troubled" because of his medication and OCD.

All kids, in their own ways, are troubled.

I have tried to deal with G's issues head-on and proactively, just as I do my own issues because time often doesn't make them less problematic. You try to cope as best you can and sometimes develop some rather unhealthy coping mechanisms because you don't know what the f*ck you're doing.

G's issues are made public by me, but I know that the other kids whom he has had relationship problems with have their own issues. Divorced parents, living in grandparents' basements for a time due to financial issues, new siblings, deaths of grandparents.....

G is not the only kid who is struggling with growing up, and I try to remember that.

Unfortunately, as a parent, you not only get through your own childhood crap but then you have to wade through the muck and stink of your children's childhood crap.

Tell us about your child. Um.......duh.........

N brought this inventory home the other day for me to complete.

It is for the "gifted" program, but I'm not even sure what "gifted" means anymore.

I looked at this paper and sorta began to drool. Basically, I felt like this guy.

I often feel like a moron when people ask me to describe my kids, especially in terms of how they are as students. G is a little easier to describe because he has more of the "odd-ball gifted" type kid. He's dramatic and has always asked a zillion questions and has always used bigger words than other typical kids.

N is a "good student" in that she makes As and Bs, but I had a hard time answering the aforementioned questions. She's 13, so she isn't particularly motivated to do anything besides watch YouTube and listen to weird music.

She's sometimes a big ding-dong, but they didn't ask a question about that.

I could write about how she told me the name of a song I liked from the radio was by Port 2 Gull, the man. I didn't understand what she was saying until I finally figured out that it is Portugal, the Man. As in the country. As in phonetically pronounced Por-chu-gul.

I'm still ribbing her about that.

I'm still trying to figure out the question about sensitive to the aesthetic. N has a keen eye for photography and takes some cool, artistic photos so I checked often on that one. And she plays viola. Is that what the question meant????

I checked often for enjoys being a nonconformist---wearing eyeglass frames without lenses since 4th grade qualifies for that.

I had to fill out a questionnaire about M, too, and I really didn't know what to say. I actually have no clue what he actually likes and dislikes because whenever I ask what he wants to eat or drink or wear or go do he says, "Same thing as G." Sometimes when I ask what he wants to eat or do, he asks, "What did G say?"

He complains about having to go to school every single morning, which N and G don't do, so I assume that means he's not keen on school. His teacher last year told me he is often in la-la-land, so I put that down too.

Forms like this make me wonder how well I actually know my own kids...and if I am, indeed, a moron.

Things I did that I enjoyed even though I don't normally enjoy them

Sometimes I wonder if I spent the early years of motherhood in an invasion of the body snatcher-type scenario since I volunteered to coordinate class parties and be a room mom, and I enjoyed it.

When N began preschool, I eagerly went to planning meetings and parties.  I took photos at every party.  I even dressed up for parties to be festive.  Same for G, although with decreased enthusiasm.  By the time M was in his second year of preschool, when parties were on Fridays, I was working at the cottage school and wasn't able to attend them except for the one in December.  And I didn't entirely mind.

For awhile, I hesitantly told teachers that if they were absolutely desperate I would be room mom (or preferably, share room-mom duty), but if someone else wanted to do it, I was happy, thrilled, ecstatic to let them have at it.  I am not, nor have I ever been, a room mom who aspires to Pinterest-greatness.  I have far too much party-related crap in my house to want to be the person who gives kids party-related crap to take to their own homes.  I think this is one of the reasons I'm more suited to middle school---give 'em pizza and let them listen to music or watch a movie.  End.of.party.planning.

This school year, for the first time, I didn't even put my name on the lists as even possibly being interested in helping with parties or being room mom.  I'm happy to buy icing and stickers and send them in, as well as attend the party if I'm able, but I don't want the responsibility for the party or the room decorating or the door decorating or the anything entertaining/festivity-related.

I am not a person who enjoys entertaining.  I never rarely invite people to my home.  I invite my brother, my parents, my MIL, and my SIL to the kids' birthday parties, and I host bookclub one time a year.

I don't just invite friends over for brunch or a party.  D and I don't invite couples over for dinner.  Maybe once every other year we meet another couple for dinner at a restaurant.  That's it.  I cannot imagine ever traveling with another couple on a trip.

I enjoy visiting with one friend at a time.  I enjoy going to bookclub but especially when there are only about 5 people in attendance, when we can have one single conversation that stays on track and doesn't end up being 2-3 separate conversations around the room.

For someone who likes to discuss things with other people, I really hate socializing.  If you are one of the five people on the planet (my mom included) whom I meet with for coffee or to take a walk or something....well, you are pretty damned special.

Anyway, the point of this whole thread is how I enjoyed doing things that I don't, when other opportunities abound (like teaching or writing), enjoy doing.  I'm not sure what to think about this....I ask myself, "Was I faking?"  I don't think so....I did really enjoy doing these things, and I wanted to do these things.  But my preference, especially after I've done them for years and years, is to do something else that I naturally enjoy (and it helps if I'm getting paid to do those other things).  

To have to bury a child

My thoughts today are with one of my best high school friends, who will bury her youngest child, a 12-year-old son, this morning.

There were 6 of us in this particular nerd herd.  We had pretty much all our classes together for four years, although a couple of us took Spanish instead of French.  In a graduating class of only 69 girls, it wasn't strange to be with the same group of people constantly.

If memory serves, three of us went to the same college in town, two went to the state university, and another went out of state.  Two live out of state and have for years.  The remaining four still live in the same city, although in different areas of town.  All but one have married.  Four have children.

Yesterday, I went to the visitation to pay my respects, to attempt to offer in presence the words that I cannot sufficiently express verbally.  We hugged so, so tightly, in an embrace that makes me hope that my friend knows just how much I ache for her.  I like to think her hug of me suggests how much she appreciated having someone from her younger life be there.

One of the things we discussed, in the brief way you do at wakes, is whether we ever would have dreamed we would 1. be middle-aged mothers with kids and 2. be in a position where one of us would be dealt the greatest of parenting blows.

As teenage girls in our uniforms, traipsing through the halls, we never, ever would have dreamed it.  It doesn't feel real now, and I am not even in the midst of great suffering.
It is difficult for me to try to understand the pain she is experiencing.

I have found myself thinking the thought, "No one should have to bury their child, " and while I do think that, I also know that many, many parents, both now and in ages past, have had to suffer that fate.  For all I know, I may one day suffer that fate.

As much as modern American life has removed us from the commonality of child loss, with surgeries and antibiotics and accessible health care, I have been thinking about the people I know who have watched their children die.

Mr. B, whose three-year-old son died from cancer.
EV, whose 4-month-old son died from a virus.
M and T, who endured the loss of two children--both sons--one to stillbirth and another at 9 hours of age as a result of Trisomy 18.
And now SB.

And these are the deaths of children, but even if a person watches an adult child die, that adult child was their child.  The child they birthed and adored and watched grow.  My aunt has lost two children in the past few years---one to suicide and another to cancer.  She is old and tired and has experienced much in her life, but I do not think she will ever get over these losses.

It is a loss that you somehow move on from and yet never move on from, or at least this is how I perceive it.

I am not a prayerful person.  I do not go to God to ask for pain to be removed or a miracle to be performed.  I do not give God all the credit and say "God is good" when things go the way I like,   nor do I say "God sucks" when things do not go my way.  I do not understand God or the ways of life in its great big wideness.

What I do understand and believe in is that powerful interconnectedness of people, which may be the hand of God that we all expect to be bigger and greater and more awe-inspiring.

Maybe God is in the tighness of a hug, when one friend from long ago is holding another friend from long ago and wishing there was something she could do to reduce her friend's sadness, give her comfort, offer her peace, in the face of her worst nightmare.  

It's official......I love Girl Scout camp

As a kid, I went to Girl Scout camp once.  I think I spent about 98.3% of my time in the nurse's station.  I had terrible allergies then and, knowing what I know now, I expect I had a considerable amount of anxiety that made me feel sicker than I actually was.   The only good thing to come out of my experience was Camp Chili (one can chili with beans, Fritos corn chips, shredded cheddar cheese=little slice o'heaven).

This summer is N's 5th year doing Girl Scout day camp, and it is also my 5th year of volunteering at camp, although it is my 1st year volunteering at camp all week.  Prior to this summer, I've worked in the kitchen twice, helped with fishing once and hung out for a couple days with a unit of girls.

Both G and M got to go to Girl Scout camp, too, which is a benefit of volunteering.  I get to help with Girl Scouts, and my boys get to experience camping with me nearby in case of emergency (or minor emergency, like "I miss mom.")

I was worried about how they would do, especially G who, as a general rule, avoids the outside and hates any kind of physical activity. He, however, did beautifully.  He caught a fish.  He made friends.  He wants to go back next year.  M had a good time, too, although it wore his little 6-year-old butt out!

N complained on Monday, saying she didn't want to be there and this was her last year of day camp.  By Thursday, though, she said she wants to come back next year when she will be an aide.  She doesn't love the early morning wakeup, but she really enjoys camp.

I am not a camper or a fisher or a creek walker or person who enjoys roughing it (although my personal appearance gives the impression that I do but that is because I am 1. lazy and 2. without shame), but I did love this week of camp.  

I loved it because I learned a lot, as I have every year that I've been.  I loved it because my own kids had fun.  I loved it because I felt a camaraderie with other women who were exposing girls to the outdoors, to being bold in the face of darkness, spiders in latrines and lost underwear.  It forced me to be brave and to try new things because I had 15 little girls watching me and waiting for me to set an example.

It was sometimes hard and sometimes hot and sometimes annoying, but there were also moments of great hilarity, like when our unit leader asked the girls if they knew the song "I've Got Something in My Pocket" (Brownie Smile Song).  One of the girls yelled out, "You mean 'I'm gonna pop some tags.  Only got $20 in my pocket.'"

Or the day after sleepover when one of the aides and I ate our lunches off of plastic bags because we either didn't have (me) or didn't feel like retrieving (her) mess kits.  It isn't funny to write it here, but we thought it was hilarious that we were so tired we were reduced to eating off of bags.

It was a great experience with my kids and one I hope to repeat again next summer!

                         This is my group creek walking today.  I'm in front with the purple shirt.  

And here is N with her friends doing the canoe tip-test

Performing flag ceremony

and having fun doing the Teams Course.

And then the boys....who got to roast marshmallows

and use knives

and catch fish

and make friends

Being a mom of a girl means reliving all your sh*tty preteen friendship crap

I try to ixnay my commentary as it concerns N's friendships, but sometimes it takes every ounce of my strength to not throw a complete duck fit.

Like when a very good friend of N's texted her today to say she had too much to do and couldn't make it to N's party today.  This is such a good friend that I would expect her to come unless she was dead or bleeding out the eyes.....so it seems a little fishy.

It could be that she really did have too much to do, although I wish she could have told N that long before an hour before the party.  Like on Monday.

This is N's business, but I did say that I thought a very good friend who said she would come to your party should come to your party unless she is very sick or very dead.  I left it at that.

But inside, I'm roiling.  It has churned up the waters of my own childhood friendships.  My own girlfriend drama.

The occasions when a very good friend of mine would put me on hold when I asked her to come over and do something with me.  When it seemed like she was waiting for something better to come along.  I remember my mother feeling rather aggravated with this friend of mine because I would be upset when she turned me down or didn't follow through.

As a kid I couldn't understand my mother.  Now, I wish I didn't understand my mother.  I wish I didn't understand that anger that comes when my own child is confused by, disappointed in, hurt by or frustrated with a friendship.

Me and Marmee

I am teaching Little Women to a small group of 9th grade boys, which sounds a little weird, but I suspect they are enjoying the book more than they thought they might (and probably relate to it more than they expected).

In the first section of our reading, Marmee explains to Jo that she is angry nearly every day of her life and has to work very hard to manage this feeling.  Upon reading this, both the first and second time, I  wondered what Marmee had to be angry about.  Even when I discussed this passage with my students, nothing really smacked me with understanding.  I mean, I got that she is a woman and struggles under the limitations of her gender given the time of the novel, but I didn't feel it.

Until these past two weeks during which I, myself, have felt very angry.

Marmee is probably angry that her husband felt compelled to participate in the war and left her and the girls to find himself or act for social justice or soothe his conscience.  Maybe she resents a system where she doesn't get to do what inspires her soul?  Maybe there are things she would want to do but she can't because she is a woman and a mother?  Maybe she is mad at herself because even if she had the opportunity to do something, she might not act on it because she is a mother and would feel like she was neglecting her children and family?

I am not angry AT anyone.  I think I am angry at life, at the nature and structure of things, at the complications I didn't consider when I made decisions (like the slug of having to drive N to the middle school.  Three years didn't feel like a long time to do this until I'd spent half a year doing it.)

So what am I angry about?

I'm angry that it is SO EFFING HARD for a woman to find part-time work (not 30 hours a week part-time, either.  Like 15 hours a week during her kids' school hours) that uses her skills and intelligence and still allows her to live a life that doesn't feel hurried and rushed and overwhelmed.  I'm angry at the system.

I'm angry that because of my mom brain, or because of being a SAHM for so long, or because I am a ridonkulous control freak, I feel like I have to manage everything.  Why is it so hard to just turn it over to someone else and accept help without feeling like I'm shirking my duty as a mom?

I'm angry that I can't just be perfectly content shopping or staying inside my house and cleaning or doing laundry or cooking wholesome meals for my family.  I'm angry that I feel like I need more because wanting and doing more complicates everything.

Even though this is not my "someone hand me a perfect 1-2 morning a week scenario," I am going to apply to be a substitute teacher at my kids' schools.  I plan to sub one day a week.  Word has it I have to sub 5 days a month to stay on the preferred list.  I am nervous about the whole process because I've never been a sub before.

Every time I am at the boys' elementary school, and I see someone whom I know is not a certified teacher subbing, I think to myself, "Why am I NOT DOING THAT?"  I know I am a good teacher, and I know I would make a good substitute.  This is what I trained to do.

I love teaching at the cottage school, but that is one day a week.  Writing for the magazines takes maybe, and I'm stretching here, 5 hours a month.  That leaves a WHOLE lot of time for me to not do something productive.

With that being said, the idea of subbing at my daughter's middle school feels scary.  I haven't worked with public middle schoolers in over a decade.  My amygdala is yelling at me, "They are going to eat you alive," while my pre-frontal cortex says, "B*tch, please."  (I try to remember that I thought all of my homeschooled students were going to be more brilliant than me, and that has yet to materialize.  They are bright, but not smarter than their teacher.  Experience does count for a lot.)

And then there are the.....complications.  The picking N up from school if I sub at the elementary school.  Will D be able to leave work and get her?  Can I dial a friend to grab her for me?   How will mornings run if I sub at N's middle school?  Will it wear me out completely because I'm so unused to having to be and do and go with a functioning mind and in appropriate clothes?

It would be so much easier, both logistically and internally, if I could be 100% satisfied with what I have and what I'm doing.

But that would, I'm afraid, make me not of humankind.  

Ermagerd! I hate Mother's Day.

I do not have a legitimate reason to hate Mother's Day.

I have a lovely relationship with my mother, as well as my mother-in-law.
I am a mother to three pretty great kids, and all things considered, I have a good relationship with them.
I didn't struggle to become pregnant.
I never lost a pregnancy.
I tell my husband exactly what I want for Mother's Day, and he buys it for me. (This year....a chainsaw.)
I refuse to get up during the night with the middle child or get up in the morning with him on Mother's Day, and my husband does it.
The is nothing for me to dislike about this day.

But I loathe Mother's Day as much, if not more than, Father's Day.

I hate it because it is a day to celebrate, to sentimentalize motherhood, an experience that is, at least for me, all full of conflicted feelings.
Motherhood blows at least 70-80% of the time (sometimes 99.9% of the time if it is a really bad day or week).
And yet, I wouldn't change it at all.
How f*cked up is that?
It sucks, but I wouldn't change it?????

It is a day in which, because it is a thing, I feel like I should, maybe a little bit, be worshipped.  And I am, sorta, with the cards and the gifts.  But I don't want to be worshipped because 1. that is ridiculous and 2. that means tomorrow, when I'm not worshipped, I'm just gonna be pissed off.  I will be thinking to myself, "Yesterday you were all sweet to me and today you're screaming at me because I put the corn flakes into the pink bowl instead of the orange bowl." Mother's Day is false worship.  It is worship because someone, somewhere, in some office noted the date on every calendar that is printed in the country.  My family doesn't thank me because they feel honestly compelled to do so.  They do it because a date on the calendar makes them feel obligated.

This is why I hated attending church as a kid.  I did it because I had to, not because I wanted to.  Which is a lot like motherhood.  I do it because I signed up for this, even though I didn't know what I was getting into, and now I have to do it.

Celebrating Mother's Day is like saying, "Thank you mom for falling into the same trap everyone does which is thinking motherhood will be different for them.  Thank you for not walking out on me when I was a complete pain in the butt.  Thank you for not murdering me in my sleep and screaming at me any more than you did.  Thank you for not allowing your resentment of how I stifled your life in various ways to boil over and completely eff me up as a person."

Do you see why I hate a day honoring this?  For me, it brings up all kinds of weird feelings about how society thinks I should feel about motherhood and how I actually often feel about motherhood and how, in spite of all those feelings, I can't imagine my life without being a mother to these kids.

Preemptive empty-nest thoughts

No one would ever accuse me of procrastinating.  If I could get something done three days before I even realized it needed to be done, I would do it.

So it is no surprise that a full year before my youngest starts full-time school I am already reflecting on and missing what will have been my 11-and-half years as a stay-at-home mom.

This past weekend, in an effort to make more room for new photographs, I began going through our cache of photos on the computer, deleting blurred ones or those in which someone's eyes are closed.

My entire life of the last decade is in these pictures.

Every pregnancy, every birth.
Every MOMS Club event.
Every preschool party.
Photos of N and G playing in the rain with their umbrellas and boots before all the construction was done near our house that eliminated all those fine puddles.
Photos of family walks with the kids decked out in their ball caps and sunglasses.
Photos of visits to a local nature preserve, hiking through its trails, petting the horses, flying kites.
Photos of sledding and snowmen and visits with grandparents.
Photos of babies asleep in their high chairs.
Photos of first smiles, first crawls, first walks.
And I have been here for it all.
I have seen every milestone first-hand.
I have missed nothing.

I don't know if that matters to my children.  They probably take it for granted because I have been around for it all.  Having mom near is just no big thing.  It is the way it has always been.

But it matters to me.  It fills my heart to the tip of its brim to have all these wonderful memories, to have written down all the sweet sayings and milestones and moments in the journals I keep.  To have photos of so many random days, so many simple activities that weren't trips or outings or anything monumental.

It is the best thing I have ever, ever done and will ever, ever do.

Summertime....and the living is....

just not as easy for me as I'd like.

I spend most of my time running along the seesaw, back and forth between these two trains of thought:
"Just let the kids enjoy themselves and quit fretting over how much time they spend dorking around on the computer/video games"
and
"So help me g*d I am going to light all the technology in this house ON FIRE if they don't find something else to do."

I've written about how I very much need the schedule of days dictated to me by school or work or children's naps, something....anything....outside of myself, otherwise I sort of bumble around.

These two weeks of summer have felt like this:

See, that is what happens to my sense of humor with too much unscheduled time.

I took the time to make a very detailed schedule for each child with 1/2 hour increments allotted for activities of their choosing.  If they wanted to do something for an hour, like play Legos, that is fine, but limits on screen time.  That lasted about 2 days before I realized that it is impossible to plan a schedule when my kids wake up at all different times of day....from 6:00 am to 9:30 am.   And mom cannot be expected to follow a schedule when she wakes at 6:00 am, but her coffee doesn't fully kick in until sometime around 8:30.  I can do many things, but coordinating 4 different schedules for 4 different people is out of my range of skills.

So then, I tried making a more general schedule, with the times of 10-12 being screen-free and 1-4 being screen-free.  But this system posed more questions and stress.  Like, we are sometimes out of the house from 9-11, so do the kids forfeit their one hour or do I add another hour and make screen time until 1?  And how does this affect lunch?  And if it rains all day, then having endless hours of no screens might be impossible (for me, I mean, because my kids aren't terribly good at entertaining themselves without pestering the heck out of me).

Two schedules, neither of which work very well, which has me sorta just wanting to throw up my hands and say "forget it."

And maybe that is what I should do....

Maybe I should just really lower my expectations of what I think my kids should do during summer?   I'm not a very good judge of whether my own expectations are realistic and actually achievable or so strenuous and pie-in-the-sky as to result in my hospitalization if I continue trying to push the impossible.

Would it be the end of the world to just stop fretting over this junk?  Would I then be able to be around my children in a state of semi-enjoyment rather than semi-anxiousness because I "should" be having them do other more productive things with their time?

Because right now I have thoughts like this:
"Last week I took the kids to 2 different parks for playtime and a botanical garden with friends and the pool once, but I really should have N and G select an author and have them compose a letter to said writer, and make them do a math skills website, and N should really work on learning a new song on piano."  Stew, stew, stew, stomach discomfort, blergity-blerg.

Or maybe I should just think thoughts like this:
"Hmmmm, this week I WANT to go blueberry picking and to the pool and get to the gym at least once.  And unless the kids tell me something specific they want to do, I'm going to just let them do whatever, provided it doesn't involve alcohol, knives and/or pedophile midgets."

It is like fundamentally changing my entire personality to think such things.
But perhaps I should try anyway?

Strawberry picking....and parenthood

I have a weird love for picking fruits & vegetables.

For a long time I have tried to understand this love, since I tend to be a pretty lazy gardener who plants lots of perennials because they require so little work but provide lovely payoff.  I have grown strawberries and tomatoes in the past and have put in eggplant and watermelon this year, but I treat them like my perennials, which means they aren't terrific producers.

But few things make me as happy or provide me with as great a calm as picking produce.

D's grandpa, Papaw Chester, puts in a garden every year at my mother-in-law's house but tends not to be too interested in doing much with what is grown, so every Sunday I stroll back to the garden and harvest okra, green beans, tomatoes, and peppers.  When the apple tree in her yard
 produces, I can be counted on to climb a ladder and get whatever is within stretching-on-tiptoes reach.

Last year I took the kids blueberry picking, and the year before that it was peach and raspberry picking.  This week my parents, M and I went strawberry picking.

As I was picking, I thought about why I enjoy it so.

Maybe I'm too steeped in The Grapes of Wrath and My Antonia, having just read them in recent weeks, but I think harvesting makes me mindful of not only where my food comes from, but where I come from (a long-line of vegetable growers) and where other people come from.

I pick for enjoyment, but many people pick out of necessity, and there are few jobs as physically demanding as harvesting by hand.  I think of migrant farmers who come to this country and willingly do the work that so many Americans would think beneath them to do.   I think of the movie The Butler, which I watched this weekend, and its reference to cotton-pickers, the heat, the nicks on fingers and the back-breaking ache of bending over.   When I'm harvesting I think of pioneers, struggling daily to make enough food to survive.

When I'm picking I think of the hope that goes into gardening.....any flower but especially fruits and vegetables.  It is very much an act of faith, so much like parenting.  You tend and water and care and sometimes, months later or many years later, as in the case of orchards, you are rewarded with the reassurance that you helped produce something that can sustain others.

Sometimes, even when you care and nurture and do everything you are supposed to do as a gardener, things beyond your control keep the fruit or vegetable from being all that it could be.  Weather.  Deer.  Rabbits.  Disease.

Like parenting.

Gardening and picking fruits and vegetables is a meditation on serenity, doing what I can, knowing what I can't and understanding the difference.