Zombies, the Apocalypse, and Resurrection

The Walking Dead (season 2) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I'm embarrassed to say that I like the terrifying and grotesque zombie apocalypse tv show, The Walking Dead. My teenage sons began watching and with every gasp and groan of disgust I found myself drawn closer to the screen.  Decaying flesh and gunshots to the head in a seemingly endless stream of blood and gore are not my usual thing. What keeps me intrigued are the choices that the survivors make and by survivors, I mean the non-zombies. The obvious analysis for the show's popularity is, in my mind, that we are already living like zombies or fighting zombie tendencies on a daily basis.

In some ways I am a terrible, terrible cliche. Middle aged woman, wife, and mom walking on a treadmill of routine, numbing myself with food and (zombie) tv - longing for something but not really working that hard for anything.  I don't mean this as a debbie downer rant.  Whether it is work or parents or children, at a certain age most of us begin looking outward to what other people need of us, instead of inward to our own still unmet desires and interests.  So when someone started talking to me about The Walking Dead as  insanity, and asked, "Who would really be fighting so hard to live in that type of world?", my unexpected reply was, "We're doing it right now, all the time."

My most recent attempt to stave off zombie cooties occurred over the past month (one of my excuses for not writing here), as I applied to an alternative certification program for urban teachers in high need schools.  More than one person said, or thought, "I never knew you wanted to be a teacher?!"  Either did I really.  It emerged after a conversation where someone asked me if I had ever thought about a different career and if I did, what would I be?  I said teaching, in part, because the presentations and teaching moments I have in my current job, I enjoy quite a bit.  As a test I believe, the universe plopped an advertisement for the alternative program in my email the next day.  Instead of giving in to my routine (zombieness), I ran from the zombies that were chasing me and towards the application, and then the interview, and then towards the preparation for the basic certification tests.  It was the scariest thing I have done in about 16 years (birth of my first son) and it was exhilarating. Unfortunately, this week I found out that I did not pass one of the pesky math exams which means I can not be in the 2013 cohort and begin training. It is disappointing but I am grateful for the experience.  It's like the whole, "it's better to have loved and lost", type of thing.  For the past month I was not a zombie. For the past month I was more than just someone running away from zombies.  In fact, I was listening to my gut and trying new things.  I was running towards a goal. I was walking towards resurrection.

A Year In Review

I started this blog just under a year ago and took a walk down memory lane today, reviewing some of the thoughts and experiences that I decided to share here.  It's been strange to watch which posts become popular or resonate with "you" and which ones seem to fall flat.  The one that started it all, Little Men was a reflection on my son, on parenting, and a chance to feel wise about the hazy grind of raising toddlers.  The picture in this post will always be etched in my brain, my own Tom Sawyer painting the fence post image.

One that didn't actually get noticed much but that I found hilarious was Emergency , a humorous look at my younger son's trip to the ER and the constant struggles to discern when an emergency is actually an emergency and when I'm just being an irresponsible parent.

I dabbled for awhile with a writing prompt on other parents' questions/issues called "Asking the Village".  The one about when to leave our kids home alone was typical of my effort - a mix of what I had actually done and a recognition that there were lots of other approaches that could work too.  The title of the blog, This Will Be On the (Parenting) Test, was always meant as a poke.  None of us get to fully prepare or practice for parenting and yet we frequently assume that we are failing the tests that come every day.

Some of my posts became less and less about parenting and more about living in a very general sense.  A Season for Everything, Secure Your Airmask First, and Found Treasure were moments where I shared out loud some of my own emotional churnings, not specific to being a mom.

As I look back, I realize that some of my posts are time capsules for my sons. Minotaurs and Werebunnies, Dollar Store Wealth, or #!?&*%! Moments are pieces that I want to save for my kids to read when I am no longer a daily presence.  They are little snippets of my voice inserted in specific events of their childhood.  It isn't all cookie dough and kisses but a real life sample of my good and not so good days.

And some of my posts were leaps of faith where I shared some of my political or social perspectives.  These were always harder for me because I didn't want to alienate anyone. I wanted to create a space where the different approaches and perspectives could be honored.  ISAT Testing , Let's Talk Anyway , and If This Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right were attempts at being both honest about my own opinions while still respectful of very different ones.

I'm not sure what 2013 will bring to my writing.  I've toyed with the idea of changing the title since my focus seems to be less focused on parenting, specifically. It's clear that I don't have the amount of time and commitment that's required to become a notable blogger. For that reason, I am grateful for the encouragement that does come.  I can't fully explain it, but just knowing that you are reading, pushes me to stay engaged and the writing definitely helps me to be more present. 

Wishing you abundance and the awareness to see when it is present!

-eltee

Time is Flying

When I first started writing here, I began by reflecting on this early memory of my son helping his dad.  I talked about how we have to create ways to engage our kids and let them act big and important.  It was such a super cute moment, little boy with his little brush, and one super ugly, blank canvass to attack.  Whatever strokes he laid down on that garage door were going to help and the only thing that could really go wrong could be fixed with soap and water.  I miss those days.

Lately, I realize that I am more and more hesitant to encourage that former two year old's independence.  I'm spending more time thinking about all the messes that might happen if my sons "pick up the brush".  Bullying, random violence, troubled or stressed out friends, and just garden variety school pressure occupy my thoughts.  And more and more, I feel like all I can really do is worry.  I've checked, and I'm not allowed to lock them up until it's safe outside.  More and more, I feel emotionally torn between keeping them from the world and losing them to the world.  Choosing to either stunt their self-confidence and autonomy or release them to the possibility of real dangers.  Have I mentioned that I miss the toddler years?

I want to protect them from the friends that are cutting, desperately wishing that the depths of human pain won't be witnessed quite so soon.  I want to shelter them from the gangbangers looking to fulfill their twisted initiation rite - physical violence to another person, any person, as they wait at the bus stop.  I want to teleport them to a time past high school where their own ideas for themselves can be realized instead of the forced constructs of standardized tests telling them what is possible.  I could shelter them from the world, drive them everywhere, allow visits with friends only in our own home, and provide private tutors instead of public schooling.  They'd be safe(r).  The only problem with that scenario is that with that level of life experience, I envision them still living in our home, with me doing everything for them, well into their thirties.

So, instead I have this reality.  My son is still helping fix the garage except higher up and using power tools.  Just like here, I'm out of the picture but waiting down below, out of sight, picking up pieces of debris. Loving other people is gut wrenching.  Loving children is heartbreak, in all the good and bad ways you can imagine.

To Plan or Not to Plan

The only real, formal plan I had this summer was a one week reunion with my siblings.  Camping trips, a water park or two, barbecues, and house projects were just normal summer things that I assumed we would plug in before school started again.  We all know what happens when we assume. School starts in one week and none of our normal summer highlights have occurred.  I feel like an ass.

I have good excuses for how my summer derailed.  First off and most importantly, it felt cruel to go camping or to a water park when my youngest son would have to sit out with his broken leg.  Then, I had the super hot, killer temps that forced me into a fetal position, whining in front of the air conditioner, instead of painting, for big chunks of June and July. And of course there was the Olympics, that seemingly made it impossible to do anything except watch...and watch...and watch.

Missed weekend trips and lingering house projects are not the end of the world. I know this well. Some of the things that filled our summer could never have been known about even if we had sat around the dining room table intentionally plotting out a vacation adventure.  Since we had no plans (other than the fabulous week with my sibs) we were able to respond in the moment and travel to be with family when there was an unexpected death.  We spent other weekends helping my brother-in-law with a big out of state move.  Not planning -it's not a bad thing necessarily. 

Last weekend though, I had no plans except for a brief work commitment and an evening barbecue.  We got an invitation to join our friends at a lake house and I was so excited.  I'd have to move some things around but it could work.  Then a last minute update came through Facebook that my son's youth group was going to have an overnight lock-in.  I got frustrated, feeling the tug-of-war between my wants and my kids.  Just as I had my son agreeing that a lake house sounded better than staying up all night with other teenagers, I got a message from a friend who currently lives in England.  She was in town with her family and wanted to get together, you guessed it of course, during the lake house weekend. It's a great unexpected and rare opportunity to see a good friend AND it's backing out on my dearest friend who lives just miles away but who I see only occasionally. Yay! and Ugh! all in the same moment.

Do other people go through this?  Tell me it's not just me.  If I planned better would some type of firm clarity take hold?  Am I jerked around so much because I haven't pinned things down?  Or is my fluid planning allowing me to take advantage of  unexpected opportunities and the needs of people I love?  This weekend I know exactly what I'm doing and it's big.  We'll be hosting my brother-in-law as he helps us put a new roof on our garage, grilling most of our meals, and going school shopping for the boys.  Unless of course it rains...

Bucket List

Film poster for The Bucket List - Copyright 2007, Warner Bros. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I talked with my friend yesterday and she asked if I might like to help her escort her dying aunt to one of the local riverboat casinos.  These are the type of conversation we have lately, ah to mid-life.  "Yes!"  is how I responded immediately. She seemed to not hear my excitement and continued to tell me how other family members weren't all that jazzed to accompany a woman in the final weeks of her life on a field trip to the penny slots. She warned me that we might also bring her aunt's friend who has Alzheimers and who would also need supervision. The riverboat casino was on her aunt's Bucket List and seemed like one of the easier activities to help realize.  I've never been to a casino.  I'm in!

I haven't created a Bucket List. I saw the movie with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman but never took up the obvious project of making my own.  Part of my hesitation is that I'm just not all that creative about travel or adventuresome activities.  I kinda just go along and see what happens.  My friend's attempt to help her aunt transition out of this life is inspiring me a little.  I'm also currently listening to some talks from Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun, and her words are in my mind.  At one point she asks a basic question.  If we know that death is certain and we also know that the time of death is unknown, are we doing the thing that we really need to be doing right now?  If you were to die right now, would you be ok with your life choices? The interesting thing about that question is that your answer could be that you want to eat chocolate cake or that you want to meditate. Both might make you feel more ready to let go of this world. Your answer probably isn't going to be that you want to be mean to someone or to yourself or that you want to watch more tv.  A lot of her comments are about how humans are trained to avoid pain and so seek pleasure or activities that will numb pain.  I'm not a heroin user but my tv habits often feel like anesthesia.

So, at long last I'm thinking about a Bucket List.  So far it includes: a wilderness camping trip, Hawaii, Alaska, a train through Europe, ball room dance lessons, an extended conversation in Spanish, building my own bookshelf (carpentry skills), and playing blackjack in a casino.  Some of these could be considered straight forward pain numbing, pleasure activities but most are ways to live consciously, actively, that is, as an actor in my own life.  Blackjack will get checked off the list in short order.  It's probably the easiest item on my new little list but I'm surprisingly excited to make one.  Numbing pain or living life fully - we can make the choices at any time in our life.

Space and Sharing

My post, Attachment Parenting, left me going down memory lane a bit.  I realized, as I looked back, that our early decisions to practice attachment parenting extended to many more intentional decisions even as our kids started to grow up.  Shared space in the form of a sling or a bed turned into a shared bedroom, shared toys, one family computer, and one television.  Interestingly enough, these very simple choices sometimes felt just as counter cultural as having a home birth.

For Christmas one year we made the earth shattering decision  to purchase a Game Boy for the boys.  It felt like a life changing moment for our family.  Choosing to buy only one and have both boys share it was our way of keeping our little team in balance.  I remember the day after Christmas when they told their friends what they had gotten.  I felt a twinge of guilt for not giving them each their own and then I heard my son say, "It's ok, cuz I'm good at the jumps and he's good at finding the treasures.  So we are going fast through the levels."

Pokemon and Game Boy of the past. (Photo credit: heath_bar)

Those stupid video games had them going to the store and negotiating which new game they would purchase, returning to trade old, conquered ones for a new challenge.  They needed to come to consensus on each acquisition or spend 100% of their own money on a game that they could only play when the other person was otherwise occupied. Even with our imposed limits they managed to be obsessed by the images on the four inch screen.  We were far from Amish and yet I still felt like I was out of the normal range of accepted U.S. parenting practices.  I felt out of sync because I was resisting the consumption driven culture.  How dare I not purchase as much as possible for my children.  How dare I make them wait for the latest game until they could buy it for themselves or find it used or for trade, 6 months later.

We bought the Game Boy because we wanted to do something special for our children. We wanted to indulge one of their kiddie desires. We minimized how much it could control our lives by insisting that our sons shared it and by limiting when they could use it - 10 hour car rides to South Dakota -YES!; parties at friends' homes - NO!  We aren't carrying them in a sling anymore but we are still trying to find ways that we can share space and stuff as a family.

It changes over time but there is always something, at every developmental age, that ends up forcing us to decide what is right for our family.  Now, there are nights when we are all within 10 feet of each other but on a different screen -, tv, computer, ipod.  I'm grateful that we decided to have the screens only on the first level of our house and I'm grateful that we have one tv that requires us to negotiate/talk/argue. Now that we have teenagers it feels like we are starting to reap the benefits of our families' counter cultural revolution.  I'm glad that we are still attached and sharing space.

Attachment Parenting

Let The War Begin! (Photo credit: dog.happy.art)

When I was pregnant for the first time, I knew one specific thing was going to be a part of my role as mother and that was breastfeeding.  My own mother had breastfed all of her five children and it felt very normal, almost a non-issue.  We bought many things in preparation for the new baby, a crib, car seat, and stroller, but no bottles.  To my surprise and deep frustration, the one thing that I had no worries or insecurities about, became a huge struggle.  My son would not nurse for any significant amount of time for the first month of his life.  The most natural part of mothering, for me, turned into a torturous routine of prepping and prodding, ultimately failing with my son only taking a small fraction of what he would need, and then pumping to offer later via a bottle.  There was intense fatigue, infections, and numerous consultations with our midwife and lactation specialists.  It was humbling to say the least.   Breastfeeding was the one thing that I had been calm and confident about.  Instead, I was left wondering what I was doing wrong.

Fourteen years later, the Time magazine cover, "Are you mom enough?", hit a nerve. I struggled to understand what the cover and subsequent flurry of public commentary meant to me.  When I was bleary eyed and brain dead from exhaustion the last thing that I needed was public scrutiny and judgement.  It felt like that cover photo was landing a blow on breastfeeding in general, not just those who breastfeed past the cute, defenseless time of infancy.  I have my own opinions about breastfeeding older children but my biggest theory is that as Americans, we are becoming more and more uncomfortable with lifestyles that promote emotional closeness, reject excessive consumerism, and allow for individuality.  It doesn't matter that a large part of the world shares a bed or at least a bedroom with their child(ren), in the U.S. it's suspect.  It doesn't matter that children all over the world are able to live with very little resources, in the U.S. our children's greatest gift is to help us stimulate the economy with purchases for "healthy development", "enrichment", and "stimulation".  Less is more is heresy.

Sleeping Angels (Photo credit: Cavalier92)

One of the big issues for our family around attachment parenting was the use of a sling for carrying and our (various mutations) shared sleeping quarters.  My boys were toddlers and walking competently when we stopped using the sling. The toddler moved to a sidecar bed when the new baby came and then they shared a bed in their own room as they both transitioned out of our room at two and four. We received many comments, even from people we love, about how we needed to stop babying them. I was resentful at the time that we could be judged for damaging our children or limiting their capacity for independence when they were notably smart, creative, and very confident.  When I would evaluate whether we were doing the right thing, it was never the boys that gave proof that we should change course, it was me. Attachment parenting was hard for me.  There were many days when I wasn't sure how much longer I could stay healthy and maintain the routine of physical closeness.  The choices we made were never as planned out or as calculated as I may have liked.  We moved one day to the next, loving our kids and trying desperately to do what seemed right for them.  What was good for one wasn't the same for the other, and our plans and intentions were always being tweaked. 

So the cover, and the public debate, stirred those early years up for me.  My own experience tells me that what I think will be easy or least manageable, frequently becomes a surprising struggle.  Other things that I never even planned can come to feel natural.  The one thing that remains constant is the love part.  There are happy kids who were fed formula and "Ferberized" and there are happy kids who were breastfed and slept in a family bed.  The happiness comes from families who are genuinely doing there best to meet their child's unique needs and doing that in love.  We don't need to pick sides and label one group of families as "normal"  or "ideal" and demonize others.  A different style of parenting doesn't need to feel like a challenge to your own.  Make the choices that meet the needs of your child, your family, and you.  Making choices based on what works or doesn't work for someone else may be a fun debate topic but it's not good for families.

Turning Points - uno

I was thinking yesterday about pivotal moments in our family.  We had dinner with some new friends and the getting to know you conversation turned to children.  Theirs are grown and as we spoke they kept reflecting on their own memories.  I was touched when the father started talking about the trip he had taken to Paris with his daughter to celebrate her 40th birthday.  "I wanted to do something special with each of my children when they hit that age.  Something that they would remember.", he said.  He's planning an Alaska trip with his second daughter for next year, on her 40th. 

His story helped me relax a little and note that there will be a lifetime of opportunities to develop, teach, share, love, and nurture.  I don't have to squeeze it all in by the age of 18.  So many times I've thought that maybe one certain moment is the one that's going to make the difference, for good or bad.  I was convinced that on the day that I let my youngest son quit piano lessons, I was securing his place in a life of hardship.  I thought for sure that this had the power to create a life habit of giving up when things got hard, which would then lead to poor academics and hanging out instead, which of course would lead to him becoming an immediate gratification junkie or maybe just a drug addict in general.  He was 9.

Music guitar (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

He's 13 now and I've been listening to him play his guitar for the last hour or more, for pleasure.  Letting go of the piano was a turning point for him.  It was one of the first times that he asserted himself and articulated what he did or didn't want on anything of real importance.  It was also a turning point for me as a parent.  It was one of the first times that I had to figure out what the real issue was and articulate what the family values were that I was protecting.  We came to the realization that it wasn't piano that was important but rather having some type of arts training, something that wasn't available in their school at all.  I let him choose what would come next - dance?, guitar?, painting?  He chose guitar.  He's still had moments where he wanted to quit guitar but they have been moments of frustration, wishing that he could master a certain skill that's still out of reach.

I wonder where he would be with music now if I had dug in my heels and insisted on having him "hang in there".  I wonder how I would be feeling now if I had insisted that pressuring a 9 yr old into "my plan" was the most important, make or break parenting decision I was going to make.  These turning points are not moments where we make the "right" or "wrong" decisions but rather places where we turn, move, evolve.  There will be more chances to correct or improve on what we've chosen - long after they are 9 or 13 or 18 or 40.

Found Treasure

Obverse of United States one dollar bill, series 2003. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

"I had a great day!  I found two dollars and a penny today!"  My son was giving me the quick summary of his school day during our 1 minute phone conversation when he checks in and tells me he's home.

"Where did you find two dollars?", I asked.

"In my wallet." He cuts me off as he hears me start laughing a little, "Well, it was like I found it because it was in a hidden spot in my wallet and I forgot it was there."  I told my husband the story later in the day and I laughed all over again.  What a silly, goofball of a kid we have.  Where does he come up with this stuff?!

Indeed.  His words hit me today in a different way.  I've mentioned here that I've been in a funk.  It's been a low time for me and a frustrating time.  I want to feel different, more motivated, but never seem to find the secret key to unlock or unblock my malaise.  Today, I asked my son if he wanted to go to the gym with me.  As I became soaked in sweat on the spinning bike, cranking the music in my ears, and letting the endorphins kick in, I remembered my son's found treasure. 

Part of me was annoyed with myself for not going to the gym earlier.  I felt so good, why didn't I do this sooner?  What took me so long?  My son could have done the same too but he didn't.  He just reveled in the moment. We always have the choice to be present in the here and now or dwell on the missed opportunities or the broken pieces.  We can waste time looking at what others have that we don't.  We can look past our life in hopes of finding some future great thing.  I want to look for more of the hidden spots in my life.  As an insurance policy, in case I backslide, I'm also going to tuck two dollars in a secret spot in my wallet.

Some of Us Have to Work

I was at a party yesterday and several of the guests had traveled from out of town.  I asked them if they were returning home later that day (Sunday) or staying through the week.  One of the women said that they were leaving on Monday but they couldn't stay much longer because, "Some of us have to work."  She said this as she looked over at her mother and sister (who has 7 children).  On the heels of  Anne Romney, current poster girl for stay at home moms, facing the media, I flinched a little.  I chose not to follow the story in the news this week of whether or not Anne Romney has ever worked a day in her life.  I chose to not listen to the political banter about what ends up being a huge personal struggle for many people. I chose not to listen to the defensiveness and forced expressions of empathy from both sides of the debate.  I've been there and it wasn't fun.  Thirteen years ago I decided to stay at home with my two sons.  My sister, my best friend, and hosts of other friends and family members pursued paid work and exemplary motherhood in tandem.  We spent lots of conversations reassuring the other person that their decision for their family was right for them.

Save them this fate. Don't stay home from Work^ - NARA - 534711 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What I know about this debate is that both sides are filled with self-doubt, feeling judged, worried about their children, lonely, misunderstood, and tired.  Hopefully, both moms at home or in the paid work force, also feel pride, accomplishment, and engagement. Many of my conversations with friends, during those early parenting years, were about whether we were making the right choice or not.  Would it be better for my kids if we had extra money for organic food or music lessons?  Was I really offering enough to them in my sleep deprived state?  Was I just tired or mildly depressed from limited interactions with other adults?  I would frequently come to a place where I was convinced that I should look for a paid job and then talk with one of my working mom friends and change my mind.  They would share the host of questions that they had.  Would the feelings of guilt ever lessen?  What was going to happen to their children from their limited contact?  Was the child care provider the right fit?  Were they going to be fired anyway because of the sleep deprived state they were in?  I'll insert here that these questions came up among men that I knew who were struggling with staying home or going back to work as well.

I think the stay at home vs. working parents debate heats up when people project their own internalized doubts onto others.  When I say, "My work is just as important as paid work.", I believe that part of the statement is coming from my own doubts about whether or not what I'm doing every day is making a difference or not.  The bottom line is that all the choices in our life, especially parenting choices require a delicate juggling of variables.  On the work decision, we're evaluating our child's specific needs, available child care resources, our own earning capacity, our own health, the family support system, and of course the little issue of our family budget.  We are the only ones that can judge all those elements and discern what will be sustainable for our unique family.  It would be great if our culture, our corporations, and our government actually offered programs and policies that made some of these decisions easier.  For now, I'd be happy if we could just all agree that families need more support, period.  Whenever possible, let's give each other encouragement instead of judgement, we're all being hard enough on ourselves most days anyway.

Drugs and Alcohol - What Would You Do?

A Kranz (wreath) of Kölsch beer. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was visiting with another mom yesterday and she asked me about teenagers and drinking.  "You've got teenagers.  What are your rules about drinking?  I have a friend who tells her kids it's simple, 'You can't do anything in our house that is illegal in society.'  I don't know that it's that black and white for me."  As a parent with a 13 and 15 year old, I feel like I should have had  a ready answer for her.  As with most things though, I make things up as I go and so far legal or illegal altering substances have not been an issue with our kids.

As we talked further, I realized that I have shared some real life opinions on the topic of drugs and alcohol.  When the boys were very little and riding the bus with me, I would make sure that they understood the likely reason why someone was being so strange, rude, or scary.  I remember describing how using drugs and alcohol doesn't mean the person is bad but rather that we couldn't predict their behavior.  I detailed how one of my favorite uncles had a drinking problem and how different he was sober vs. drunk.  I've also come home and openly shared about my sadness for a resident at the shelter - a person who is funny and smart and kind but who can't get a decent job.  He got involved with drugs when he was young (19) and a felony charge has followed him ever since.  At age 48, a moment of poor judgement still defines his opportunities.  They also see a bottle of wine on our counter on a daily basis.  They know that there is a difference between drinking, being drunk, and being an alcoholic.

As I talked with my friend, I realized how I rarely (as in three times, at weddings) saw my parents drink.  Alcohol was never a part of meals or celebrations.  I saw abstinence as a model and I vaguely heard about alcoholics.  I don't know if I would have made better choices in my late teens if the model in my home had been different.  I do know that when I first started drinking, it was unhealthy.  There were moments where my life could have been permanently damaged because of the choices I made and the situations I put myself in while "altered".  It's not how I want things to be for my boys.  Is it possible to prepare our teens for drinking in a safer way?  Is there anything we can do to prevent the excess and experimentation and subsequent risk?

Is it enough to say, "It's illegal so I won't condone it in my house/presence?"  We spend so much time teaching our kids about life, sharing skills, imparting values, and guiding their choices.  It doesn't feel consistent to leave this part of their life to some fraternity or sports team.  And yet, am I sending a message that the rules should be ignored if I allow for a drink at the dinner table?  Am I assisting their entrance into adult activity before they are ready?  Help me out here.  What have you done?  What are you planning to do?  What do you wish someone had done for you?  HELP!

Blessed Lamb Cake

In the midst of this Easter weekend, I'm reminded of the family rituals that linger in spite of significant changes in my life.  Since I am no longer a practicing Catholic, my Holy Week schedule is pretty light.  No Palm Sunday procession. No stations of the cross each day.  No Holy Thursday service where we imitate the washing of the disciples feet.  No Good Friday services with the passion play and the congregants reading the parts of the mob (shouting "crucify him").  No snuffing of candles and stripping the altar of all decoration to honor the time of Jesus laying in the tomb.  No Holy Saturday plans to go to church with our lamb cake and jelly beans, to be blessed by the priest, in preparation for our Easter celebration of Jesus' rising from the dead.  So many things that aren't a part of my life or my spiritual practice anymore.

And yet today, I am thinking about all of these things.  I am remembering the house rules of no electronics on Good Friday afternoon - my mother's way of observing the huge sacrifice that was done for us.  Our home was silent, dark, and without the comforting hum of most everything except our refrigerator.  I'm preparing for a big Easter dinner and gathering the ingredients for my lamb cake.  Why?  It's strange to me and also very comforting.  Every Easter since I left my parents' home I have had lamb cake.  A couple times it was mailed to me by my mom.  Other times the cake was purchased at a chain store bakery.  For the last decade, I have made my own, in my very own, lamb cake mold.

Anyone who has ever had Easter with me knows that eating the lamb cake is NOT my favorite thing.  It doesn't really rank very high on the yummy cake chart.  I make the cake and it sits on the table as a little Easter centerpiece, surrounded by jelly beans and green cellophane grass and I feel happy.  I've never been sure why but I think it's because it was always the one "nice" activity of the otherwise scary and confusing holy week.  All week long I would be told the litany of abuses and betrayals and outright torture that makes up the details of Jesus' last days.  It was vivid and brutal and seemingly without end.  On Saturday morning when we returned to church to have our cake blessed, there were no gruesome stories.  There were prayers and holy water sprinkled about and there were wonderful smells.  Other families brought their eggs, fancy breads, and even hams.  I was never sure how it related to Jesus' death and resurrection but I was grateful for the reprieve. 

Why have I let go of so much that was important to my family as a child and embrace other elements so fiercely?  As I've gotten older, I realize how few people there are that share these holy week/lamb cake memories with me.  Maybe the lamb cake is just one of the threads I'm not willing to cut -one of the threads that ties me to my unique family and keeps me a part of them no matter how much I change.

What's your lamb cake?

Secure Your Air Mask First

MD-88 (Photo credit: grahamwetzler)

I'm about to travel on an airplane later this week and it couldn't come at a better time.  I don't need the trip to escape from anything or to have a break.  I need the flight attendant instructions, specifically, the clear expectation that "...in the event of a disruption in cabin pressure, secure your air mask first and then assist the children in your care."

I need that metaphorical image because I've had one of those weeks where my fully grown, adult person has internally morphed into myself at age 14.  We all have those terrible days where we become filled with doubt or flirt with an ugly self-hating loop.  The thing that I have going for me (and that I hope you have), that I didn't have as my younger self, is the faith that these feelings will pass.  In order for these type of days to pass I have to focus on the basics.  It's the time for me to get good sleep instead of doing another load of laundry.  It's the time for me to read a book instead of worrying about the list of errands.  It may be the time to go see a friend instead of planning something fun for the family.

The flight attendant instructions are key guidelines for every parent, every son or daughter, or every good friend - we have to take care of ourselves first, just a little, before we can tend to others.  Secure your air mask first. 

Asking the "village" - Home Alone

Home Alone (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I loved hearing from people about my question, "What's on your parenting test?"  It confirmed my assumption, which is always gratifying, that our concerns are similar and that by talking honestly, we could all start to feel better about our choices.  Enough thoughts were shared that I will use it as a theme for the week.  Here's today's - leaving kids home alone.  When is the right time?


The question was specifically worded this way,   "My biggest concern is I just don't feel ready. If something were to happen I think I would blame myself for letting them stay home alone when they weren't ready or too young. Our daughter is 11 and our son is 10 and she is probably mature enough and responsible enough that I wouldn't have any concerns. He definitely is not ready which brings up all the competition and fighting they get into when anything isn't fair or equal. If she can stay home "IT ISN'T FAIR!!!!!" if he can't."

First off, I realized (after the fact) that there were actually rules about kids being left alone in my state, so check that.  No need to worry about sibling rivalry if you should really worry about the Department of Children and Family Services showing up at your door.  Next, it was helpful for me to sort out my fears about strangers breaking in hurting my kids and my fears of my own children setting the house on fire, hurting themselves, or just not being confident enough to go to a neighbors house if they were scared.  Random violence is impossible to control for, in my opinion.  We can make ourselves sick about it but random is random.   Random has just as much chance of touching kids who are sheltered their whole life as kids who were raised by wolves. It's terrible and life-changing and if we only live our lives waiting for it to come, perseverating on that fear, then we have allowed "Random" to actually become a very predictable and routine presence. 

Thankfully, most of my fears were things that I could teach and that my boys could practice.  I think the Free Range Parenting movement is about teaching those independent living skills and teaching them earlier rather than later.  (Editorial note: I have not read the aforementioned book.  I did hear an NPR story on it once though.)  For me, my big fear and question was when to let my kids ride public transit by themselves.  Thankfully, we are a one car family so we had plenty of chances to ride the bus together.  Over time, our rides turned into lessons.  "You tell me when our stop is coming.  I'm going to read my book.  You're in charge."  The trick with that is that they really have to be in charge.  I had to be willing to overshoot our stop and have them problem solve the solution.  I also gave a lot of quizzes, "What do you think we should have done when that man who was screaming came on the bus?"

These choices are absolutely going to be unequal, child to child, but they don't have to be unfair.  Each person is capable of different things at different times.  If we have our list of the issues and values that are important to us - the things that our kids must agree to if we are to trust them alone, then we can have them practice that even when they are with us.  Using the phone to ask a neighbor a question, locking up the house for you when you leave for school, and following directions in general, are great litmus tests.  "I can't leave you by yourself if I can't see that you know how to handle yourself.  Show me."  That comment seemed to bring surprises.  They did know more than I thought.  When they realized I was paying attention, they could be more than just silly goofballs who were trying to make sibling arguing an Olympic sport.

Eventually, we all find a way to run to the store for some milk, and then maybe a lunch date in the afternoon, a dinner at night, and then one day, find our little ones are amazingly, in a regular schedule of after-school independence.  We figure it out.  We also get used to multiple calls at work or on our commute.  Calls that help reassure us, frustrate us, and maybe most importantly, calls that help fill the silence for our child, alone at home.

Asking the "village" - background check vs. gut check

This blog emerged, in part, because I felt like I needed a place to be honest about all this parenting and general life stuff.  We've been told to avoid politics and religion as conversation starters in mixed company, but for me the list was much larger.  School choices, chore schedules, organic food, fast food, sleepovers, and even Christmas presents are some of the innocent topics over which I have imposed self-censorship in some way or another.  If I'm honest, will the other parent think I'm judging them?  If I'm honest, will they judge me? One of my hopes for this blog is that those conversations might happen honestly.   If we are all honest we might find some comfort in the simple reality that we are all struggling with choices, filled with regret and pride, and doing our very best to care for our loved ones.

Yesterday, I asked you all what questions were on your "parenting test".  What are the choices that pick at you?  One response came that I'm calling the background check vs. gut check dilemma.  Here it is:

"I just had a question in my mind today and thought 'I wish I could ask other parents about this.' so here it is: We just moved and our new neighbors kid invited our son over to play and we just let him go to their house for a few hours. All I know about them is what the parents do for a living, that they have a dog, and they brought us cookies the first day we moved in. Shouldn't I have had the parents over for dinner or done some more investigating before I let our son go over there? Without overreacting and looking paranoid, how do we keep our kids safe in a world where even trusted teachers and family members end up hurting children?"

Now one way we could approach this is to recall all of the CSI/Criminal Intent/ER/Law & Order/ episodes we've watched and definitively respond that the world is a dangerous place beyond measure.  Therefore, you are stupid beyond measure to ever leave your child with someone who hasn't been thoroughly background checked and drug screened, checked for gun ownership and parental screens on their cable, and had the home scoured for violent video games and pornography.  If your kids are older, you can add checking for proof of any adult presence whatsoever and the size of their liquor cabinet. 

What I think actually happens, is that we ruminate on all of the stuff above and then give in to reality (how busy or tired we are or how embarrassed we are to ask our neighbor if they own guns) and let our children do many things that still leave us feeling nervous.  We are always going to be a little nervous.  What is important is that we pay attention to our gut.  When the next door neighbors handed over the plate of cookies and talked to us for 2 minutes, how did we feel?  Were there any immediate red flags?  Are our kids excited about the play date or quiet and anxious?

For me, the problem was the safety of the home and specifically hand gun violence.  I live in a big city and it seemed like a possibility that weapons might be present and in the hands of very nice, yet defense-minded people.  It also felt really gross to ask the parents of my kid's friends if they had guns in their home as a conversation starter.  My sons were excited to go visit, but I would feel like my worrying about other people's feelings was putting my kids in danger.  I did let them go to visit new people who were very, very new to me.  I also said "no" at times.  After picking up my son at one friend's house I spotted the little discarded nub of a joint on their porch. I assumed that it was not left by a postal carrier but never confronted the family about it. The kid wasn't a close friend so we just planned for their time together to be at school events or public places after that.

Here's the thing, if you do the gut check and you let your kids leave your sight without the level of screening that you think is ideal, it's not a permanent, set in stone, for all time decision.  We can't keep our kids safe from all bad things or bad people, but we can listen to them and their experiences and make adjustments based on that.  You are still going to talk about what they did at Johnny's house and evaluate how they behave when they return home.  You can still thank the family that first extended the invite by having them over for coffee or dinner and serving up your own batch of cookies - maybe in the shape of handguns and peace signs, just to help get the conversation going.

What's On Your Test?

Question mark (Photo credit: Ciccio Pizzettaro)

A quick question in lieu of a regular post, "What questions/issues are on your parenting test?"  I know what pecks at me, how about you?  How do you keep the self-doubt demons at bay?

Emergency?

Pg 197 Xray of Adult hand (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Last night I took my son to the emergency room.  You know the one, the juggler.  Two weeks ago he was running, fell, and then landed on his hand.  Nothing was poking out and he was able to move it so we applied ice, gave him Ibuprofen, and went about life.  A week later he left the same hand in a door jam while he closed the door.  Still, after ice and TLC he seemed fine.  Fast forward to last night and he can't practice guitar because applying pressure on the frets hurts too much....

You can imagine the string of bad names I called myself.  What kind of mother lets her child's injury go untended for two weeks?  How many doctors are going to give me the stink eye when I take him to the emergency room (I called his pediatrician and he agreed that x-rays were the only way to tell what was going on)?  So we trotted off to the ER, just in time for the evening rush.  This is not about ER drama or frustration though.  The staff were all great and we were even offered free sandwiches by a Pastoral Care intern!

This is about self-doubt.  My first instinct was to trust my gut and say that he needed time to rest and heal.  It turns out I was right.  The x-rays came back and showed healthy and whole digits.  They did stabilize his fingers with a nicer splint than what I had in the first aid kit and referred us to a Pediatric Bone Doctor/Surgeon!  That's right, they told me he was ok and then referred me to a specialist.  Here's how the conversation went,

Doctor: "So x-ray doesn't show any breaks.  We're going to put it in a splint and have you follow up with a specialist in a week.  Sometimes in young kids their bones are still growing  (something about a growth plate) so everything doesn't show up on a regular x-ray."
Mom: "So what will the specialist recommend for treatment if there is some trauma to the growth plate?"
Doctor:  "They'll put it in a splint and have him rest it more."
Mom:  "So he'll go to a specialist and have a fancy x-ray and then be told to do the same thing that you just did?"
Doctor: "Right."

How can we ever be expected to trust our guts when it comes to our own kids?  The conversation above is not made up and the entire message was given with a straight face, on the doctor's part, at least.  I don't know what I'm really trying to say here except this - do your best.  Sometimes we make the wrong call but even when we're right, there will be someone dropping little bits of doubt in you. 

I don't plan on taking him to the Pediatric Bone doctor (unless someone gives me some good reasons) but I'm sure I'll be wondering the rest of the month if I made the right decision.