Parental Anger

Jillian over at Petite Gamine wrote a really great post yesterday about her father's, um, disciplinary tactics; I am not going to give it all away, but will encourage you all to head on over there and read it. And this is why: because the point wasn't a "poor me" post about how she was raised, but how it affected her as a parent, and I though it was a very powerful piece. It resonated with me on several different levels, which inspired me to post about my own thoughts and feelings and how my parenting skills have been influenced by my own parents.

See, I made a vow when I had kids that I would never do the things my parents did. I would never expect them to be perfect in all things, or ground them for 9 weeks if there was anything less than an A on their report cards. I would never treat them as my personal slaves, expecting them to have dinner on the table and the house spotless when I get home from work. I would never manufacture work (not chores, but WORK) for them to do the exert my control over them. I would never make them pull down their pants and spank them with a belt. I would never force them to eat their dinner warmed up three days in a row because they didn't finish it the first night. I would never....you get the hint. Some examples: we used to have a fireplace, and we had a huge stack of wood. One memorable summer, my sisters and I had to move the stack four times. Not for any reason, not because it was not in the right place, but because my parents could make us. My stepfather was in the Air Force, and we were in charge of ironing his shirts. If he pulled one out of the closet and it was wrinkled, he pulled every item out of the closet-hundreds of items-and make us iron them all again. I clearly remember being in first grade, standing on a chair and crying while I ironed-because I knew that no matter how carefully I did it, the shirts would wrinkle as soon as they were hung back up. One of many lessons in futility I learned at an early age.

I could go on and on about the travesty which was my childhood, but one thing I have learned as an adult is that you make whatever peace with it you can, and move on. Part of moving on has been, for me, therapy at different times in the past, my recovery from alcoholism, and my firm desire to raise happier, healthier kids than I was. The problem as I see it is not that I want better for them, but that I don't always know how to go about doing things differently. I was raised to believe that The Adults were always right, even when common sense dictated otherwise; how do I encourage my own children to question me when there is a legitimate reason for doing so? And how do I effectively say, "This is non-negotiable and I don't need to give you my reasons," without having it be heard as "Because I am the boss?" How do I tell them it is okay to question some things I do or say without also giving them permission to run amok and not have respect for me? I was also raised to handle anger by watching my sisters and I become the whipping post for very adult fears and frustrations and angers; how do I handle my own feelings of anger and rage and inadequacy and hopelessness without my kids bearing the brunt of it? Because God knows that in MY house, it was "Hit first, ask questions later," only later never came. Of course we got the lecture "This hurts me as much as it does you," or worse still, "Why are you such a fucking baby? I will GIVE you something to cry about!" All of this and more, disguised as discipline or teaching respect or whatever euphemism came to mind first.

There are things I have learned over the years that work, though. One of them-maybe the biggest one-is that when I am genuinely angry, I do NOT touch my kids. Period. If I have to spank-and I have-I reserve it for the times when they were doing something clearly unsafe about which they had previously been warned. Like running out into the street (ahem, and sticking the their tongue out at me). I have popped all three of the bigger kids on the mouth one time each, all three for letting some unspeakable obscenity come out of their mouths at very young ages (and despite my language elsewhere, at home? We don't say bad words much.). But if I get furious enough to really spank, I know that if I touch them, I might hurt them.

I also believe in time-outs. Not for the kids, but for ME. I refuse to pretend to my kids that I don't ever get angry; I refuse to tell them they can't get angry. But they have to have an opportunity to see an adult handle anger before they know how to, so I think it is important to verbalize: "I am so angry right now that I need to take a time out." Screaming into a pillow, or hitting a punching bag, or taking a run-I think they work, thought some may not agree; in fact, one of the comments on Jillian's post likened such behaviors to an adult temper tantrum. I respectfully disagree; because anger is a human emotion, it SHOULD be felt and dealt with, and whatever it takes for each of us to deal without hurting ourselves or someone else is okay in my book. Because I learned well how to hide what I was feeling and thinking and going through, until I thought maybe drinking and fucking strangers obsessively would somehow mask those feelings. Not so, my friend, not so.

And it helps to have people to talk to; people who can say "I have been there!" It helps to admit that we have those feelings of anger and also the desire to act on them. It helps to be in a place where we can say, "I just can't do this and I need some help," and then take it one step further and listen to the advice. I mean, we don't like to admit we are anything less than perfect, so our first reaction tends to be, what? Anger? Defensiveness? "How DARE you tell me what I am doing wrong!" But, well, isn't that why we say we need help? So for me, I have to not only swallow my pride and admit that I am fucking up, and then I have to really humble myself and listen to some solutions. Maybe, if ten people tell me something, I might get one good nugget out of it, and that one bit might make a huge difference in how I do things.

I also have people I look to for help; friends, other people's families, books-not just about how to deal with my own anger and how it affects my kids, but other things, too. I look to my friend Janet for strategies that allow my kids to express their individuality (blue hair? It's just hair; it grows back. Tattoos? Not while you are in my house, it's permanent) without my own perceptions and judgements getting in the way. I look at the woman in my office who has excellent relationship with both her grown children, and I ask her what worked for them and I listen. I have learned how to give a genuine apology when I have been wrong, because that is another thing I have learned from another friend who is a really great parent.

Another thing that has worked for me is to use the tone of voice I use in public; pretend that someone is listening and watching me interact with my children. I would no more yell or chastise or scream at my kids in public than I would pick my nose and eat it. We all know the voices we use around teachers or in bookstores, where other more progressive, more gentle, calmer mothers hang out with their literary kids; I talk to my kids so far as is possible the same way I speak to them there. For one thing, if I talk quietly, even when I am reprimanding, the kids respond a lot better, and also, I never want the kids to see the same kind of hypocrisy that I saw-presenting one face to the public and unleashing the monster behind our closed doors.

And I cannot demand respect from my kids if I don't respect them. I can't expect them to behave like normal productive human beings if I can't show them how to do with that. I can't expect them to learn how to deal with negative emotions if I don't know how to do it myself. I fail-often. I sometimes say things to my kids that I can't believe, and I yell so loud at times that my throat hurts. I look at myself in the mirror sometimes and just can't stand what I see, because for however brief a moment, I was my mother. It is so hard sometimes to be a parent, and it seems to me there is a lot of the "one step forward, two steps back" going on.

Still, I know that as long as I am aware of what I am doing and how I am feeling, as long as I keep making an honest effort, we will be okay. In the dark of night, I question my abilities as a parent and worry that I am harming them irreparably, but somehow I get up in the morning and start again. I also think that is an important lesson the kids can learn from me; that we make mistakes, we react badly, we say things we don't mean, but we keep trying. We try every day to make the world a better place, to walk in peace and calm. When we are around people who genuinely love us, we want to do better and be better, and this is what I strive for. Not perfection-I would be crazy if I thought I would NEVER YELL again, never say something that hurt someone. But it is progress, and that makes all the difference.

Back to Work

It is a Tuesday that feels like a Monday, since I was off yesterday. And what a good day it was! Sam had Bible School all day, so he was gone from 9-3, but Owen and Eli and I hung around the house all day together and it was pretty neat. Mowed the lawn, filled the pool, basically just putzed around, but it was good putzing. Then when Sam got home, we went swimming with Jacquie and her boys to a place called Bishop's Hole. It was so much fun; the boys are all different ages: mine are 14, 9, and of course the baby is 2, and hers are 16 and 12, so there is just a good mix. The big boys all ganged together and had a great time (and as a mother, I pretty much just had to ignore what they were doing. Because I worry too much about them getting hurt, and I hate to ruin their good time. Actually what I ended up doing is taking my glasses off; that way I could neither really see nor hear them.), and Jacquie and Owen and I hung out on the sand. Owen is fearless, which is both a good and bad thing; he has a life jacket that he has to wear AT ALL TIMES when he is near the water, because he thinks nothing of just jumping in. So we swam for three hours, and it felt really lovely to sit out there and watch the pelicans, hear the roar of the water and the kids laughing and yelling, and talk with a friend. I also felt like I was doing something very decadent, going swimming and playing on a work day! And getting paid for it!

And the childcare thing has kind of worked out. I say kind of, and it has been worked out, but not as well as I would have liked. I admit to being somewhat of a control freak, and I LIKE to have a plan, need to have a plan, so any type of uncertainty is hard for me to deal with. For example: "Well, we are going to be doing this, this, and this, but I am not entirely sure where we are going to be when you get off work. Want me to call you?" This is totally NOT okay with me. When Tammi told me that this morning, it was all I could do to stop myself from plugging my ears and singing Jesus Loves Me in order to not hear those words, "I am not sure but..." I did well, I think. I told her to talk to Steve when he got there with the boys, as he is the one picking them up. It's funny; I trust her, I trust any of the family to watch the kids, I just don't like not knowing exactly what is going to happen. Like, I need to know tonight what the plan is tomorrow. This is a major character defect for me, in all honesty, and it sounds crazy and a little laughable from the outside, but it really isn't. So I have had to let go of some of the control and trust that things will work out. Now if Steve would just grow up and try to make a fucking plan, we would be in good shape. We could, you know, compromise.

A little update: Crazy Stalker Guy is gone. He came back the next night, and all of us went outside with our phones in our hands and he took off; hasn't been back since. That was just too strange, though. Strange enough that even though it was at least 190 freaking degrees in my house last night, I didn't feel comfortable sleeping with the door open, which two weeks ago I would have.

Also, I talked to the boss this morning to verify that I could, in fact, have the week off at the end of July for the vacation. And I can. Which is good, since my friend called on Sunday to tell me that she already had the hotel rooms booked. Now for the extra money: I am thinking about the whole E-Bay thing; like I keep saying, I have a bunch of baby stuff, even some really nice clothes that don't fit my fat ass any more, so have any of you guys had good luck selling things on E-Bay? It would help, of course, which is my primary motivator, but damn, this stuff is way to good to donate, you know?

The woman, M., about whom I posted? Whose house we went to for a 12-Step Call? She has been sober for about two weeks now. She was at the meeting last night (and I hadn't seen her since the Monday after our call, when she showed up at the Monday meeting drunk), and looked really good. Meaning, you know, clean. And sober, because I think it takes us a awhile to start looking really good; we lived hard, we alkies. Anyway, she had in her car a little post of pansies for me, which I thought was very, very kind-for helping her in her time of need, she said. I felt vaguely uncomfortable, but also delighted at the same time.

Sam has been dancing with a group during the intermission of a melodrama they are having all week here in town. The dance is this very simple little Western dance, and Sam is the star. Last night, Steve took him down to his performance, and he told me that he overheard someone say that they had been to every single show just so they could see Sam dance (although they didn't know his name and said, "That little boy," which can only BE Sam as he is the only boy dancing). How cool is that? This kid is a born performer, and practiced on one foot while he had the stitches in. What a trooper! The first night, at the dress rehearsal, I teared up watching him, I am so sentimental about some things. He is such a funny kid, though. Odd, yes, but also funny as in he makes me laugh. At the dress rehearsal, everyone in the theater laughed when he did his solo, and afterward he said, "So, um, everyone laughed. What I was doing was supposed to be funny, right?" What a kid. I think next year I am going to find out who to talk to so he can try out for the actual play; it would be so great for him to find something he is good at, so he can embrace his individuality now so it doesn't kill him in high school. Now if I could only get Eli to stop telling him that only guys who are faggots dance, all would be well (and rest assured, that is HIS word, not mine). He is so mean sometimes, and the two of them fight so much, that I often feel like I am in a locked room with two people from enemy camps, and I am the United Nations. I struggle.

So it was a busy but good weekend, and I am looking forward to another long weekend over the 4th. I get my Hannah back from her dad's early, on the 5th, so I am excited about that, and then we have the vacation to plan for. And then before I know it, summer will be over and school will start the second week or so of August. The time sure does fly, doesn't it?

No Flashback, Just a Rant

You know, I just don't have it in me to do a flashback Friday post today; I will be back with one next week, but when I try to think of something in the past about which to write, I get stumped. When I remember things, lately anyway, the memories tend to be not-so-great, and I am tired of dwelling in the past.

And what I am in a general sense is also tired. It has been one of those weeks where the days have flown by, and before I know it is time to get up and start another day. My daycare is closed all next week for the 4th, too, so here at work I have been frantic with trying to get my desk cleared; I am taking Monday off, and with hope the childcare for the rest of the week will fall into place, and I am feeling basically frazzled and annoyed,

But this is part of my annoyance, the fact that this closure of the daycare is next week, and I don't have childcare lined up yet. Why, you might ask? I will TELL you why: because Steve did not follow through. Before I get any further, let me tell you that when Owen was born, I was responsible for finding and approving a daycare, with no effort or input from him at all. When our sweet Owen was getting abused at that daycare, it pissed Steve off, sure, but he also left it to me to research and find another one. I had all of the verbal support in the world from him, but no practical help. When Owen was so sick the first year of his life, it was I who used up every minute of my sick and vacation time in order to take care of him, take him to the doctor, etc...as well as completely changed my diet (still nursing at that time) AND Owen's in order to accommodate Owen's food allergies when they were diagnosed. When this daycare was also closed last year at this time (it is her vacation every year), my Hannah stayed home with Owen, but this year, Hannah isn't home and Eli is not EVEN responsible or patient enough to deal with a toddler for 9 hours a day. Anyway, so I have done approximately 90% of all of the caretaking and arrangements and such up until now. You have to know that going in so I don't come across as just another bitch.

So last month, I told told Steve that the daycare was going to be closed, and that I would need his help finding care for Owen during the week (there are oodles of Steve's family here, any of whom I would feel comfortable in having watch Owen). Two weeks ago I reminded him again, he said he was working on it, then last week I asked him what the plans were and he still didn't know, and finally, last night, I said, "Who is going to watch Owen next week?" Steve's response: "I don't know, I haven't really talked to anyone about it yet." WTF? Does he not get the fucking concept of NEXT WEEK? As in four days from now? He DID talk to one sister about Sam, and she is going to be taking Sam to Bible School with her two kids all next week (they are all three of an age), which I think is great and cool, but then, Sam isn't the one I was worried about.

And last night, this was my night: in addition to work stuff, there was a church picnic at 6:00. I get off at five, so there was a rush to get kids and dessert and such all gathered up. I called Steve and asked him if he could please help me out by coming over after work (he gets off at 8:00) and getting Owen bathed and in bed for me, because after the picnic, Sam had a dress rehearsal for his dance performance. I didn't want to have to deal with O. at the rehearsal, so I prevailed up Eli to watch him for a half hour until Steve got there, and then Steve would take over. We got home at just after 9:00, and Owen had NOT been bathed, and was sitting on the couch hanging out with Steve eating Cheetos. It just annoyed me, because I would not have asked Steve to come help had I known that he wasn't, in fact, going to actually help.

It is frustrating to no end sometimes. It is a vicious cycle, too; I mean, I do a lot. An awful lot. And I didn't plan for the advent of my Owen in my life any more than Steve did, yet somehow I managed to suck it up and deal, and it has not been easy. I take responsibility for making sure Owen has everything he needs, and I am there every night to do all the bathtime/bedtime stuff. I also work really hard at keeping some semblance of a normal routine for him all of the time, because it is important to make sure he gets the sleep, etc...that he needs. I am a huge believer in and practicer of consistency, and it just bugs me that Steve knows this about me and just doesn't DO it. I was so frustrated and tired when I walked in last night, because I had specifically asked him for help, I TOLD him what I needed, and he agrees-but didn't follow through. So I got home and O. did NOT get a bath last night, I did NOT brush his teeth for once, and I just out him to bed in a t-shirt and diaper.

Is the whole situation last night the end of the world? No, not at all; it isn't even a minor glitch. Owen is not going to be irreparably ruined going to bed late one night, nor are his teeth going to rot out from not being brushed one night. But when I look at it as a whole, all of the good things, the small steps toward growing up Steve is attempting to make, are overshadowed by the fact that I specifically asked him for help (last night and regarding the daycare situation), I told him exactly what kind of help I needed, and he STILL can't follow through.

Ugh. No wonder he thinks I am a bitch; I FEEL like a bitch. I know I am sometimes, often, usually, unreasonable, but this doesn't feel unreasonable to me. It feels hurtful, as well as annoying. And it makes me that much more reluctant to ASK him for help, which creates an even greater resentment, and it is a vicious cycle. With hope, he will have started taking the whole thing pretty seriously and will have made daycare arrangements, or else I am going to take Owen to his house at 7:00 on Tuesday morning and say, "Here you go, you told me you were going to make arrangements and you didn't, so I guess you will have to take the day off."

The Evil TV

We listen to a lot of music in our house/car; we don't watch television, so we read and listen to music (I am doing my best to make sure all of the kids are Social Outcasts by having such a freaky mom. Because I am course THE Freakiest, as well as The Meanest. And they say these things like they are really turning the knife, but I am actually quite pleased with the titles myself). But I had no real concept of how pervasive this really was, had no idea the complete and utter brainwashing I am doing to these poor beleaguered children. No idea.

Picture this: Owen, on the floor wearing a diaper and some of those fuzzy socks that look like Grinch feet, only purple, pulled up to his thighs, looking at his Goodnight Moon book. He was singing. Loudly. And here are the words: "Bikicle, bikicle, bikicle, I mon nof neo mine bikicle." Any ideas, folks? Yeah. "Bicycle." By Queen. God, that has got to be one of the proudest moments in my life so far. Even more tear-jerking that his assertion that he wanted to pee on (I mean IN) the potty last night. I thought later on tonight I would start with a little "Hell's Bells" and maybe go on to "Suicide Solution", and maybe wind it up with the heart wrenching ballad "Tuesday's Gone." Metallica version, of course. While wearing the socks, of course, because he ALSO has a pair of hip sunglasses and we could totally go for the Freddie Mercury look.

I have been doing some research on Outward Bound (and yes, I know about the hikers who got lost. I also know grown men who get lost in the parking lot, so I don't want to hear about it, thanks) for my Eli to perhaps participate in next year. We were talking about it last night, and I was going on and on about how great it would be for him, how he could just really have the opportunity to learn and grow and blah fucking blah, and as I was going on and on about how he would be isolated in the wilderness with no television and no radio, he just looked at me as if I had grown a third head. "Mom. Wait. I mean, wouldn't being in a tent in the backyard be the same thing? Because, you know, no TV?"

The funny thing is that I LIKE TV, I really do. I like select channels and shows, I love PBS, but I hate commercials. I hate them so much that I will turn the radio station every time I hear one come on, which is what ultimately led to the addition of Satellite to my life; I kept pissing the passengers off by constantly hitting the seek button. I am so anti-advertising that people around me know that if they want to really set me off, all they need to say is, "Oh, have you seen the commercial...."

I also think that somewhere inside me there is an extremely conservative Fundamentalist Christian hiding (and believe you me, I am really trying to choke her to death. And am up to the task), because a lot of the stuff that I see online and in magazines offends me. Which is funny, because all joking aside, I do consider myself a liberal person, very liberal, but I hate the fact that I am not allowed to nurse my baby without public censure, but I can look up and see some Victoria's Secret hootch with her tits falling out. I hate that there is nothing sacred anymore; I hate the "If you buy/drink/eat/wear this you will immediately become cool" mentality that advertising naturally consists of. I hate the fact that advertising people completely play on our insecurities, and that WE KEEP FALLING FOR IT.

So. We read, we listen to music, we play games, and only when we are at a hotel or someone else's house do we indulge. And yes, I am freaky, I get that, but I also think that the kids are all better off for having been somehow forced to look for other sources of entertainment. I love how they are just as likely to pull out the Scrabble game as they are to turn on the GameCube, and I love how they have re-enacted the Lord of the Rings sword fights before the movies even came out. I don't think that people who allow or watch TV are evil or anything like that, please don't get me wrong. I just know that for us, it is better.

Musings on a Tuesday

My mind is scattered and completely unfocused this morning, for a variety of reasons. There are a ton of different thoughts and feelings swimming around up there, so forgive me for putting them down just as they float to the surface.

1. Sam had his Pinewood Derby race on Saturday; he put forth a lot of effort, with the help of his brother and a man who is the husband of one of the women with whom I work, and made his car look like a shark. There were 18 cars, and Sam got Second place. In fact, the ONLY heat he lost, and I think I counted 9 heats he was in, was to the car who ultimately came in first. It was so neat, to see how proud he was of that car, and how excited he was about having won Second Place. The very first thing he did was call Scott to let him know, which I thought was very sweet, and also rather sad. Sam really struggles with the absence of his father in his life, and he and Scott bonded last year when Scott helped him with his Pinewood Derby car then (last year, he came in 6th). We also spent a lot of Sunday afternoons at their house when Sam was getting ready to be baptised. So no, Scott certainly does not take the place of Sam's dad, but I love that he thinks Sam is the bomb and makes it clear to Sam how special he truly is. On Monday after his dance practice, Sam went over to Scott's office (right across the street from my office, and right next door to where the practices are) to tell him about the race; 45 minutes later, he came back to the office talking about how they are going to come in 1st next year. So yes, my boy has a piece of shit loser for a birth father, but he has lots of other really awesome men in his life who can help fill in some of the empty spots.

2. You all know that Owen is two; not the easiest age to deal with under the best of circumstances, and I have been feeling frazzled and annoyed often lately. He won't get in the tub, but then once he is in, won't get out. Last week he ran into the road, and when I told him to come back (as I was heading toward him), he stopped, put his hands on his hips, and stuck his tongue out at me. He earned a swat on the bum for both those offenses-one swat to his diapered little bum and he shrieked as if I had broken his arm, then clung to me like a little sea monkey. So when we went to dinner at Red Lobster on Saturday night, after having been in the car for two hours and then having to say goodbye to his sister at the airport, plus having dinner with Steve's brother and HIS wife, well, to say I was reluctant was an understatement. However, he behaved beautifully all the way around; he sat and colored, we read his books and he flirted with the waiter and whomever walked by, and he actually ATE. I took him out to look at the lobster tank, and one of the servers took one out for him; it was very funny, because even though their big claws are banded shut, the little tiny legs aren't and are still capable of grasping. She gave Owen a sugar packet and showed him how to get the lobster to grab it, at which point he said, "No! Mine!" and yanked it right back. It was very sweet, and very funny. It is such hard work sometimes, with little or no recompense, but that night, I got this from Steve: "He was really good tonight, wasn't he? And I know you did all the work, so thank you." And from the people we were with: "Gosh, Keegan was never that good! In fact, he still isn't." (I wanted to tell them that with name that sounds like someone trying to hawk a piece of cat hair out of their throat, maybe Keegan just doesn't have a choice, but I managed to keep my mouth shut). So I got to have a great dinner that someone else paid for, I got to watch my sweet Owen see and fight with his first lobster, and I also got public acknowledgement that I do a damn good job. It was a good night.

3. We have what appears to be a stalker roaming our neighborhood. Last night, this man was driving down our street really slowly, three or four times in a row, and then he parked right in front of my house. I was laying on the couch reading a book with the door open, and I swear he was looking right in at me. I very hostilely got up and pointedly closed the door, and he drove off. However, not long after, he drove back around the block and parked in front of the across-the-street-neighbor's house. Still, it appeared, watching my house. Between "visits," Eli came in from the back yard and said, "There is a really creepy guy in a white truck driving down the alley, and he slows down like he is looking at our house." Is he? I have no idea. Apparently he was also in the hood on Sunday night, but I was inside early and didn't notice it; the neighbors did, though. We all had a pow wow after the last time he left, the neighbors and I, as they had obviously noticed him as well, and we are all in agreement that if he shows up again, daylight or dark, we will call the police. It is not so much scary at this point as it is unsettling, but definitely bears watching.

4. I got to work this morning to find that I won two things. One is an International Snack Cookbook, which has some really great recipes I want to try out. Since Owen is a non-meat-eater, I need to try to find some things he can/will eat, and there were a couple of recipes for hummus in it, so I am looking forward to getting that. Also, Amanda over at Shamelessly Sassy was having a Nintendo DS giveaway, and I won that as well. Not long ago, BusyDad (who is back from China, BTW, but clearly did not remember the souvenir I requested. All I wanted was one little Asian baby; that's it. Was that really too much to ask for?) had a drawing for a Snapfish gift card, and I won THAT. This winning streak is very, very unusual for me, and I am hoping it continues on to the lottery; I might even spend $3.00 on Wednesday instead of $2.00, just in case.


5. I might actually be taking my kids on a vacation of sorts in July. You know we are poor, but a friend of mine wants us to come see her and is paying for the gas and hotel room (one night coming and going). See, she has never met the kids (long story), and really wants to, and I have never actually taken them on a vacation. It will be back to Seattle, and since she is willing to pay for the basics, that means I will just have to come up with some money for fun things. I have, still, about 50 hours of vacation coming, so when Boss gets back, I will talk to him about taking some time. (I still have all of that baby stuff, too, if anyone is interested in purchasing some. You know, from the bust of a yard sale we had a couple of weeks ago. I could really use the extra $$). It is a lovely idea to think about; there are a lot of places I would like to see with the kids, to show them some of the places about which they have heard me speak, and I would really love for them to meet these people who are so pivotal to my mental health and happiness. I hope it works out.

Basically, life is just going along as it is wont to do. I seem to have reached a place of calm just lately, which is a very welcome event, and one which I am aware enough to be grateful for. I haven't been wildly thrilled with things in a general sense, but neither have I been deep in despair. For the moment, it feels like there is a balance between good and not-so-good, and more importantly, there is a balance in how I react, emotionally, to any given thing. This is a good thing, and I will take it for what it is. I will keep breathing, in and out, and smiling, and trying to live in the moment. Isn't that really what life consists of, is moments?

BlogBlast For Education: It Starts Here

A big thank you goes out to April for coming up with this idea; education seems to have taken a back seat to other issues in the last years, and I think it is time that we all took a stand to talk about why, in fact, it IS so important. I am honored to be able to participate, and I encourage all of you to go visit April's BlogBlast For Education and read all of the posts linked to hers. Then go write your own.

This is a hard one for me; not because I don't have anything to say, but because there is too much to say. I initially thought that I would write about a teacher who inspired me, and there were more than one, but then I thought I would write about how important education in general is, and then I thought I would bash George W. for his No child Left Behind act...and the truth of it is, all of these things are so intimately linked that I can't write about just one of them without touching on all of them. So this is what I will tell you:

I have three children in school; all three are completely different, not just in temperament but in intelligence and how they learn. All three of them, for different reasons, are at risk for falling through the cracks, which is a terrifying realization at this point in time.

Hannah is the oldest. She was diagnosed with some mild learning disabilities early on-kindergarten, in fact-and has had an IEP in place for her entire educational career. This served us all well until the No Child Left Behind Act went into force, because suddenly, Hannah was passing (barely) the Standardized Tests and therefore was deemed At Grade Level, which meant that she no longer qualified for any special services. Her first year in high school, last year, was her first year without any kind of accommodations for her learning problems, and her last report card was nearly all D's and two F's. She passed; not only did she not have to go to summer school, but she also gets to go on to the 10th grade next year. I have seen the work that Hannah has put forth this last year, and couldn't be prouder of her. She spent at least two hours nightly working on homework, took a Study Skills Class, and also stayed after school every Friday to participate in the tutoring offered. However, these classes were geared toward kids who couldn't pass the ISAT's. and therefore Hannah was pretty much on her own-even though they were supposed to be there to help her achieve success. What we have seen happen is that no matter how hard she works, Hannah needs additional help, and she can't get it because too much time and resources are going in to make sure everyone can at least pass the ISATs. What happens after that is, it seems, not the school's concern. Hannah knows at this point in her life that she is NOT college material; she will never get in to a mainstream school, and worse, no longer cares. No matter what I tell her at home, no matter how much support she gets from other people, her school has said, "You are smart enough to pass the test, you are no longer worth spending time and effort on. You are on your own."

Eli and Sam are falling through the cracks for the exact opposite reason: they are both so far beyond their grade level that it would be funny were it not so sad. Eli has been IQ tested and is in the 140-150 range (the average adult is 100); he took the high school level ISAT last year (in 8th grade) and scored higher than average on all levels. Sam is following in his footsteps, having taken the 8th grade ISAT last year and scoring higher than the average 8th grader. He is 9. You would think that the boys would be better off, school wise, since they are obviously gifted, but in fact the opposite is true. Our district no longer has an elementary school gifted program available due to budget cuts. Eli is in the honor's program and will be taking Advanced Placement classes as well as getting dual credits (high school and college) IF he continues to perform well, so that is a plus, but it isn't enough. Both of my boys have been labeled as behavior problems, because there simply isn't enough for them to do. It is a cliche, and one that until I experienced it first hand thought, "What EVER," but it is true: bored kids get in trouble. Period. The problem is that teachers are so set on getting each child to where they can pass The Test that they don't have any extra time to spend with the kids who might not be getting enough challenge.

It is a struggle to know where to take my stand, because there are no easy answers. We do not have access to private schools here (there is one Catholic school which goes only to Grade 6), and even if there were, that could not be an option due to finances. Also, despite the obvious problems and fears, I have NO DOUBT that the teachers with whom my kids are in contact are quite simply doing the best that they can with the resources they have to work with. My frustration has nothing to do with the School District or even the teachers, but with the educational crisis that is sweeping our nation due to No Child Left Behind. Budgets are being cut right and left, leaving our kids not just without things like Music and PE and Art but also without basic tools to live in everyday life. For example, we have known that Hannah isn't going to do the college thing for some years; last year she had her study skills class, this year she was supposed to take a Strategies for Success class, where it was about balancing a checkbook, budgeting money, etc..which ALL kids should take, but which got cut due to budget restrictions. We have a predominately Hispanic student body, but we also had all of our Jr. High and High School ESL classes cut. And we live in a country where our President is more concerned with spending billions of dollars on a war to help a country that doesn't WANT our help than with opening his eyes to the lack of quality education for everyone, regardless of economic or social status.

Parental involvement is part of it, but that means different things to different people. I refuse to allow my kids to participate in fund-raisers, because what that really means is that I sell things for them, or I take them door to door; I don't have the time or the inclination to do that. I am also not part of the PTA, I don't volunteer in the classrooms, and I don't chaperon field trips. What I DO is go to every parent-teacher conference. I talk to the teachers (high school is not structured the same way, however, so I am not sure the best way to go about this is!), and I try to enlist them in my own campaign to help my kids excel. So far, I have been lucky in that every single year, I have found teachers willing to work with me collaboratively in order to provide my kids the things they need, even if it means not following the designated curriculum. I have found the teachers here be so excited and thrilled about a parent who actually wants their child to succeed that they are also willing to go above and beyond in order to help make that happen. It isn't perfect; we have had issues, personality conflicts, out and out head butting contests, but all in all, I have been able to make the teachers see my children as individuals with different needs and different goals. And I am lucky in that for the most part, we have a great school district with teachers who are willing to see each child as a person, and are also a little more liberal-minded so far as what the term "Parental Involvement" means.

And I think what we parents need to remember is that it isn't JUST the school's job to provide all of the education our children will ever need. We still have to be parents; school is there to teach them the basics so far as education, but what I see a lot of here is that too many parents think school should teach them everything, from how to add two and two to how to behave to how to approach sex; I think it is important that all of those things are addressed, of course, but isn't it our job as parents to teach our kids the basics so that teachers can actually teach?

Beyond the basics like a roof over their heads and food to eat and an abundance of love-be it from a parent or a grandparent or two parents-and security, I believe that education is the single most important thing for our children. I believe that huge changes need to be made to our entire educational system in order to provide the best for every child, regardless of race, religion, gender, or economic status. I believe that we as parents need to take a page out of April's book and stand up and say, "Hey! This is not right!" And I also believe that without us, nothing will ever change, but will instead go from bad to worse. We have been entrusted with these children; it is our job to work with and for and against when necessary the system that our government has put into place that is supposed to ensure each of them the chance at success. And I also believe that it starts here, with us, right now.

Summer Has Arrived

Summer is officially here. Not because the weather went from 38 degrees and snowing two weeks ago to 90+ and not a cloud in sight, not because we bought a new kiddie pool, not even because I am finally able to hang clothes out on the line every day (I have four kids. Yes, I do at least one or more loads of laundry in a day.). No, it is officially here because I had to take Sam in to get stitches in his foot yesterday afternoon. The child was blessed with my grace (and I say that very much tongue in cheek), and when he was feeding his rabbit, he tripped. And dropped the glass jar, which shattered all over the patio. And in turning around to start picking up the pieces, he stepped on one. The cut itself is about the length of my index finger, but the whole thing didn't need stitched-just half of it. 5 stitches, the poor little guy.



Much to be proud of here. Eli called me AFTER he had gotten the bleeding stopped and got a good look at it, at which point he called and very calmly said, "Mom, I really think you need to come look at this." I got home and Sam was laying on the couch with his foot elevated and a cold compress on it, which impressed me to no end. And when we got to the doctor's office, Eli worked really hard at entertaining Sam to take his mind off of the pain, and Sam was very brave and held very still, even when doc. was putting the Novocaine in. He cried really hard, and kept hold of both Eli's and my hand tightly, but he didn't movie his foot AT ALL. What a big boy! It is just a relief to have concrete evidence that they can handle any of the garden-variety type emergencies that might come up.

And why does this signify summer for me? Because in the past 7 years, we have not had a single summer in which at least one of the kids hasn't been injured, and it usually happens at the end of May or the first part of June. We have had split-open heads, stitches in between eyes, broken teeth and teeth that have gone through lips and tongues...there was a terrible four wheeler accident, one of the kind where you just look at the wreckage and think, "Oh my God, how is it possible that only this happened?"...and one memorable summer, I had to take Sam in to have STAPLES put into his head, and Eli in to have his ear stitched up in two places-in the same week. Even Sam very cheerfully said, over ice cream last night, "Well, summer's here!"

Things like this don't throw me, though, which is a relief. And I know that girls get into just as many scrapes as boys do, but MY girl doesn't, so I have just learned that in our house, with three boys, these things are inevitable. They aren't exactly careless, even, just-I don't what word I should use to describe it. Fearless, perhaps? And this shitty thing about it is that there isn't much I can do about it. All evidence to the contrary, the kids are pretty safety-minded...they know to go swimming in pairs, they don't get on anyone's four wheeler or motorcycle without helmets, or without wearing jeans and shoes, they know which side of the road to walk or ride bikes on. I think both of them (and Owen shows all signs of being the same) just seem to be the kind that are accident prone.

So now that we have had our first (and hopefully last) injury, summer can begin. We are going to celebrate tonight by barbecuing hamburgers and seeing if we can't either a. start part of the porch on fire (yep, it has happened) or b. singe some hair off of ONE of us. Hell, maybe I will even be really brave and make some fries in the deep fat fryer.

****Also, everyone, remember that tomorrow is the BlogBlast For Education, brought to you by April. This is going to be really, really awesome, and I encourage you all to participate; it isn't too late, and we all know how important education is.****