Children, Living, motherhood, parenting

Good and Awesome like It Is

I’m going to keep a folder of notes from my daughter, notes that are so poignant, so ‘heart-on-the-sleeve’ emotional that I see through the difficult behaviors to the core of our love, the elemental mother-daughter bond at the heart of our relationship. For the days when she thinks she hates me and I think I hate my life. When I forget the soft little heart beating in that proud little chest. When I forget the absolute honor of mothering fragile little beings.

In the eyes of my daughter, I am loved just because I am. And simply being makes her life good and awesome like it is. If only I could live such affirmation every moment of my waking and breathing.

Children, Humor, motherhood, parenting

Dinner with Kids: A Play Written in One Act

Setting: dining table; random art projects, crumpled mail, and broken toys strewn about the periphery

Time: Witching hour

Mom: Time to eat!

Children [from other room in front of TV]:

Dad: Let’s go. Shut that off.

Children [from other room in front of TV]:

Dad: NOW

Oldest child: Okay

Five minutes later

Mom: If you want to eat, get in here now.

Children enter stage right

Dad: So what did you do today?

Mom: Well, I eoifagnioen foin

[Mom’s last words garbled by sounds of the youngest singing ‘Skinnamarinky-dink’]

Dad: I’m sorry, what?

Oldest [in an English accent]: Hello, Governor. How are you today?

Middle Child: erupts in infectious roll of giggles

Dad: Girls, would you –

Youngest Child: AAAAAAAHHHHHH!

Mom: What the hell was that for?

Youngest Child: I got milk on my princess dress.

Dad jumps up to get paper towel as he and mother just noticed milk cascading through crack in table onto floor

Middle: Mom, she’s looking at me.

Youngest: sticks tongue out at both sisters.

Oldest [in English accent]: Would you cut it out, Governor?

Dad: returning from kitchen with wad of paper towels. If you girls aren’t going to eat, leave the table and let your mother and me eat in peace.

All three children: Okay!

Middle: Can we watch TV?

Mom: Fine, go.

All three children tear from the room. Sound of laugh-track mindless teen sitcom comes from off-stage.

Dad: So how was your day?

Oldest [from other room]: Mom, she won’t shove over.

Middle: She keeps kicking me.

Youngest: AAAAAAAHHHH!

Mom: I’ll tell you tomorrow.

Children, Humor

Riddle Me This One

A zebra walks into a bar – no wait, that’s the beginning of another type of story entirely.

Imagine this if you can.

Nine children invited to a birthday party.

Nine (different) stuffed safari animals hidden about the yard.

Nine children loosed upon the camouflaged beasts.

In a perfect equation, each child would find one animal and go home with said animal.

In reality, there are any number of permutations:

Overzealous child with 20/20 (or x-ray) vision finds more than one (or all) animal(s)
Each child finds one animal, but it is not the one he or she wants
An all-out brawl, not unlike a lion mauling a zebra on the savannah, ensues over who gets which animal

Now imagine you’re taking one of those standardized tests that are all the rage these days and solve for Z (which is for zebra, by the way). What is the solution? What say you?

Well?

anxiety, Children, Mental Illness

Vantage Point

An exploding moment.

One that stretches out inexorably like a slow motion sequence in film.

When tragedy occurs at breakneck speed, but your body cannot catch up; cannot speed up to stop it.

My four year-old teetered on the edge of a boulder that stretched in a line of them on the causeway. My mind was already fast-forwarding to the next scene, the one where her battered and broken body lay below or plunged into the icy depths of water beyond.

My voice exploded from my lungs in a staccato screech more piercing than that of the gulls above.

“Michael, the baby, the baby, she’s going to go over the edge, get the baby!”

Stuck to that spot by fear, I didn’t spring forward; I shook my arms, I stamped my feet. I screamed for her father to do it.

He saved her, while reprimanding me for just standing there. If I were going to have such a violent reaction to it, surely I’d do something about it . . .

In the instant replay, she hadn’t been teetering on the edge. She’d been dancing on the top, but not close to falling below. From my vantage point, it looked like she’d surely fall away from me.

From my vantage point.

My nine year-old watched me in the moments that followed. I caught her studying me. Sizing me up. Not like a cruel critic, but as if she might be wondering just what my vantage point was. What would make me screech like holy hell at a threat that no one else perceived. Like she’d just had her first cognizant look at her mother’s mental illness.

I felt shamed. I felt like she’d seen the ugly underbelly that, between my disguises and her naivete, I’d managed to hide until now. That now she had seen the irrational powers that ruled me.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t think I should explain it away – and didn’t have the words even if I thought I should. I returned her gaze and pulled her into a hug.

A little while later, I watched her as she stood at the shoreline, hands dug deep into her pockets, jeans tucked expertly into her boots. She is becoming a young woman. Yet, in the wake of the waves crashing upon the shore, she looked so small.

And I thought – is that why we come to the ocean? To be reminded of how small we are? How insignificant in the face of the universe? Comforting to think that our worries are but grains of sand. But suffocating to think of the press of dangers and concerns able to crush us out in one single second.

Which vantage point will my daughter take? Will she recoil from the threat around every corner, refusing to turn and meet it? Or will she refuse to be frozen by fear and tackle her problems head on? Will she see my struggles as problems or failings on my part? Or will she see that I soldiered on in spite of them?

This screenplay is an on-going saga. If only I had the control.

Children, Education

Education and Learning: A Mutual Understanding or Mutually Exclusive?

Believe it or not, I came home from a presentation on common-core requirements for kindergarten with a positive outlook on my child’s education.

“Surely, you jest,” you say.

No. I don’t.

The woman who facilitated the workshop, an early childhood educator with a masters in education, reminded me of the education professors I had in college, who were so excited about the learning process. Every moment was the teachable moment; every question or observation the origin of a journey they were willing to follow to its completion. It wasn’t about quantifiable results, but the complex ways in which our brains learned to work.

And this was the same thinking this presenter offered us. While children are expected to be able to name and recognize twenty letters of the alphabet upon entering kindergarten, that does not mean we should be drilling them with flashcards if they do not. Letter sounds and shapes are all around us; we can identify them on signs as we take a drive we needed to anyway. A lesson in classifying objects is as close and natural as mixing two boxes of puzzle pieces together on the floor. See the different ways your child separates them and make note of it. Basic math skills can happen at the dining table. If there are four people, but only three napkins on the table, ask your child how many more you need.

While all of these examples are seemingly ‘no-brainers’, it’s easy to lose sight of them during the course of a busy day. If we as parents are on our game, though, these are things we do innately every day. Likewise, all the insanely scripted tasks and goals of common-core are things good teachers do innately. People in charge of children with a true love of learning embed meaningful experiences into every activity.

This was what got me excited as I left that workshop. That there are still people, in the face of such crushing paper chases, who still marvel at making connections, flipping on the light bulb of learning, making that ‘a-ha’ moment happen. That is why people become teachers. That is what makes learning absolutely magical and powerful.

Unfortunately, that is not the direction in which education is moving. The hopeful feeling I had was tempered by the reality of the high stakes environment my daughter will experience upon entering school. She may not feel the pressure in kindergarten, but her teachers will and it will eventually filter down to her as she moves up in grades

I get it. We need to ensure that the millions of children across our country have an equal chance at quality education. We therefore need standardized language to articulate what that quality education will look like across the board. To assess adherence to and progress toward, we need quantifiable goals as part of this standardized language. All great ideas – in theory.

Essentially, the pie-in-the-sky learning process I described from my education classes in college was theory, too.

The future of education in America depends upon which theory will win.

Children, Humor, parenting

Cabin Fever

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can you hear it? The sound of parents everywhere in cold climes screaming in agony. The agony put upon them by their darling dears who turn into a pack of wild screaming mimis when the mercury dips below a certain point and there is no chance of booting them outside.

It’s all in my head, right? I’m looking at the calendar and thinking enough time has elapsed for the end of winter to be here. It’s a whole time warp thing. I’m not literally trapped in the house. They’re not any more annoying than usual. But like Guns n’ Roses screeching toward Noriega at the sound of speed, I am cracking under the pressure. The sonic wave is too much to bear.

The fact that it’s all in my head really is the point, too. But not in an imaginary sort of way. Cabin fever most definitely is a psychological phenomenon. I am going out of my head. I have reminded, cajoled, spoken sternly, screamed, and threatened to throttle. I have asked my husband if all the rules I’ve taught them oozed out of their ears. “Do I have to retrain them?” actually passed my lips. I gesticulated wildly that the area surrounding the back of the couch/occasional table/armchair is not a “trick zone”. I started singing the Coke commercial song, as in “I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony”, perhaps deliriously hoping for just such a scenario in my house.

I may just have to buy a case of something with a bit more punch than Coke and sip and bear it – until hibernation is over.

Children, Education, parenting

To K or not to K

That is the question.

Whether tis nobler to stay home one more year,
gnoshing on animal crackers and coloring,

Or to load those neuron capacitors with ammo
so they may fire sooner and surer,
to better achieve their full potential.

Will planting you in the garden of kinder now make you blossom
or make your fragile shoot wither in the face of social corruption?

Will another year of playschool keep you pure, wondrous, awe-some
or hinder your thirst for knowledge as it’s satiated too easily?

Am I second-guessing the educational policy-makers-that-be
or my prospects for the next year –
my last with you
or my first of freedom
?

Children, Living, motherhood, parenting

Moms in Toyland

I assembled a trebuchet
Luke Skywalker slingshot ready to take out the dark lord
Ponies and Barbies and zebras, oy vey
Puzzles and playing cards
Flashlights, fleece, painted fingernails
A few minutes by the fireside
before I fill out the Christmas cards that just came in the mail today

Have fun assembling your Christmas treasures!
(Image from Mathworks.com)

Children, Literacy, Poetry, Weekend Write-Off, Writing

Sky Magic

I grew up with many students who hated poetry. Talented students. Intelligent students. Students who could write well themselves. But understand what a poem was really saying? And enjoy the process? No way.

And then I became a teacher. I worked with many teachers who avoided poetry, either because they had experiences similar to my former fellow students or because they figured their students would react in much the same way.

Somewhere between the playful lyricism of picture books and class study of extended texts, readers lose the magic of words, metaphor, and imagery, which is a missed opportunity for all. Poetry uses words in beautiful and economical ways, providing teachable moments for literary terms and succinct expression.

That’s why when I find a children’s anthology of poetry, I am more than happy to check it out. The latest one I’ve discovered is Sky Magic, a compilation by Lee Bennett Hopkins. His volume, My America: A Poetry Atlas of the United States, with lovely illustrations by Stephen Alcorn, once part of my classroom library, is now part of the special collection I plan to share with my own children. So I was eager to check out this other volume, illustrated by Mariusz Stawarski.

Every poem in Sky Magic evokes the dreamy nature of stargazing and sunny mornings. Every one is accessible, even those written by ‘adult’ authors. An excerpt from Tennessee Williams’ The Rose Tattoo mixes well with a poem by children’s author and poet Rebecca Kai Dotlich (whose poems in There’s No Place Like School, compiled by Jack Prelutsky, I love). All are accessible because they use sparse language to tell stories. All good poetry does so, through phrases and symbols, examples and metaphors. And there is no child – young or old – who cannot appreciate a story. Poetry anthologies made specifically for children have the added bonus of illustrations to add yet another dimension to the story. Stawarski’s paintings are so evocative of dreamy days and nights, they bring figurative language to literal life.

Share a book such as Sky Magic with the young readers in your life – or the poetry phobes – and usher in the dawn of a new era: another form of storytelling and verbal vision accessible to all.

Legends

In the language of stars
lie stories of old
brilliant legends
told; retold.

Spelling out sagas,
spilling out light,
a mythical manuscript
filling the night.
– Avis Harley

Children, motherhood, parenting

The Elf on the Shelf: Blessing or Curse?

Children all over the world have been scared into submission by Santa for centuries. Starting with December 1, if not sooner, parents have had a disciplinary lever in Kris Kringle to shove their little ones under their thumbs. And then came the Elf on the Shelf. Holy holly berries! Now there was tangible proof of Santa knowing each child’s every misdeed. Never mind the millions the mother/daughter team likely made exploiting their family tradition and the warped fun parents can have placing their elf in compromising positions each day, this was parenting gold.

Image from mommyofamonster.com

We could scare the shit out of our kids with that freaky little face and make them work for their gifts, putting the merry back into a season usually packed with mania.

Until the morning you wander downstairs, still in a fog of sleep, and are met by the faces of your little cherubs who want to know why Mikey is in the same spot. Because Mommy has more important things to do than move a felt-covered elf with his hands and feet sewn together, that’s why! But, no, that’s not what you say. You weave some elaborate story about how he must have been so tired from all his work that he had to rest last night instead of flying back to Santa. Or you just feign ignorance. Oh, I don’t know! Maybe he’s really cozy there. You don’t tell them that Mikey had too much eggnog and couldn’t find his way back to the North Pole.

Or until he shows up for the first time this season and uber-scares the shit out of your sensitive child. Perching him above the newly acquired bunk beds so he can check them out may not have been such a good idea as he appears to be giving her the hairy eyeball as she tries to sleep mere inches from him on the top bunk. Her younger sister alights the bunk to stare lovingly into his rosy-cheeked face, agog at this Christmas marvel. But as bedtime approaches, the sensitive one dissolves into tears and you want to rip the friggin’ thing off the ceiling fan and fling it. But then he’d lose his magic! Luckily, your husband has the brilliant idea of rotating the fan blades to avert his gaze.

About fifty times between dinnertime and your little ones’ bedtime, you look at Mikey and say, Must remember to move him before I go to bed, and wrack your brain for some creative spot for him (with the new added stress this year of one that won’t cause your sensitive child irreparable psychological damage). Once the children are in bed, like the magic that flies Mikey back to the North Pole and that allows the Weeping Angels to sneak up on us, some memory sweeping phenomenon takes place and Mikey doesn’t get a new home.

That is, until 1:41 AM when you bolt upright in bed and realize you didn’t move him. After the obligatory mid-night bladder deballast that occurs in all mothers, you drag a dining chair to the foyer and remove Mikey from the chandelier. You manage to complete this feat of physical prowess while still half-asleep and live to see your pillow again, but you wake with no recollection of it. When your child asks you where Mikey is this morning, you freak out all over again. You raise your eyes reluctantly to his perch from yesterday, dreading that your child has already seen that flash of flannel. But he’s not there. How can it be? Oh, you did move him. Imagine that.

Sometimes, the elf on the shelf hides so well, no one can find him. Not even the mommy who placed him in the Elf Protection Program so his ruse of returning to the North Pole upon hearing Santa’s bell wouldn’t be blown. Mommy rips apart the bins of Christmas shmagma in the basement while Daddy keeps the cherubs busy upstairs – after she forgot to locate and place the elf while they were out of the house – surprise, surprise.

All those elves perched on the shelves of holiday houses throughout the land aren’t really keeping mischievous kids in line; they’re slowly driving parents crazy. Instead of scaring the shit out of misbehavers, they’re scaring the shit out of memory-challenged mothers and fathers. The shock of coal in the stocking is nothing compared to that early morning shock of parents who forgot to move the elf! In a world where parents can’t even go to the bathroom by themselves, stealing a spare minute or two to feign a flying elf is a Christmas miracle in and of itself.

And that’s really why we do it, isn’t it?

Preserving the childlike wonder of Christmas is part of all these machinations. Seeing the awe in their eyes makes it all worthwhile. If we can get them to behave – while avoiding nightmares – it’s all good. Just don’t ask me how I feel about it at 3 o’clock tomorrow morning.

Chopping Potatoes

and other metaphors for motherhood

Category Archives: Children