Ditching

I am sitting at work today and receiving hourly text messages about my son's unexcused absences. Oops, he missed first period. Darn it, 2nd and 3rd he's nowhere to be found either! Truth be told, I stopped checking my phone, knowing that he wasn't running late. He was ditching.

In an unexpected turn of events, I gave him permission to ditch. My husband gave a very formal and clear commentary about his reservations, but ultimately agreed. Yes, son, you have our blessing to ignore the rules and go to the beach instead. The reason I caved so easily is simple. It's the end of the year and evidently instruction of any kind is no longer necessary. Our son has spent the last week watching movies in his classes. He finished his finals and brings a healthy pile of books to read, not Shakespeare or a literary classic, but World War Z or a David Sedaris collection.

When I was a kid...(can you just picture the eye rolling) we worked up until the last day, finishing off every possible workbook page, catching up on art activities or creative writing assignments. We did spend more time outside in recess and gym but I never once remember watching a movie, let alone in multiple classes. We set aside a part of each day in that last week to clean our classrooms. Monday might be the washing of all the desks, Tuesday return textbooks to storage, Wednesday thoroughly wash the boards and sweep the floor, Thursday remove all papers and projects from the classroom and take them home, Friday hang out and relax and see our teacher as a pretty nice person overall, while daydreaming about swimming and street carnivals. 

The last week of school, for me, was fun. We got to be more creative, more physical, and more interactive than we'd been allowed the whole rest of the year. We were excited for summer and for being done, and we were relieved to learn our subjects without a grade attached.  

Instead, my son's teachers are cleaning their classrooms by themselves. Since no more grades will be given there seems to be no need for learning.  Practicing what they've already learned and integrating it into their life when the standardized tests are completed, appears pointless. Why bother taking up frivolous pursuits like relay races, jam sessions, or fun trivia games?  Is it really possible that on a certain day in June, everything there is to know about creative writing, jazz, physics, or Spanish was mastered so fully that there was just nothing left to do?  Have we trained our kids to only want to learn if a grade, an assessment from outside of themselves is given? Yikes!  

When my son said he wanted to ditch his last day and go to the beach instead, I said "yes". For one, how could I not reward such an honest kid with such a great argument? Secondly, I figured a cardio workout on his bike coupled with an "in the field" exploration of the natural environs of the Great Lakes was more productive and educational. 

Let Them Carry the Milk

English: Royal Mail rubber band, discarded in Alnmouth, Northumberland. (c) Tagishsimon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When our kids were two or three the temper tantrums came because they wanted to do things for themselves.  As parents, we wanted to do it for them because it was quicker, neater, better. How long should we be expected to wait for one little person to put on a pair of socks?!  Of course we needed to help.  There are more things to do in a day than dress one toddler, for Pete's sake!

Of course I wanted to scoop my son up and carry him like a baby when he was collecting ALL of the discarded rubber bands from the mailman's deliveries.  It was his latest collection but I just wanted to get some milk at the store.  Thirty minutes later we arrived at the store, one block away.  On the way home I wised up.  I gave him the gallon of milk to carry home (one block).  His hands were full, his muscles straining, he was too busy to collect rubber bands, or talk to neighborhood dogs.  He was too focused on his heavy load to walk the balance beams/sidewalk ledges along our neighbor's homes.  He didn't complain or feel punished.  He felt big.  Important.  Needed.

The danger with doing things for our wee ones when we want to go faster or be neater, is that we get stuck in that pattern of interaction, way past the time that it makes any sense.  I have seen 13 year olds have their food cut for them, their juice poured in the glass for them, their hair brushed, and clothes picked out.  This was not because of some household butler service.  It was because of a deep fear of spills and mishaps.  It was because of the involved adults' need for control or perhaps their own discomfort of seeing their "baby" growing up and not needing them anymore.

English: Gallon milk jugs – This photo is dedicated to a great wikipedian and an innovator in milk juggery. You know who you are. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have heard of college students who have no idea how to live within a budget because every bill is paid for by mom and/or dad.  A credit card for one set of expenses (bill going to the parents), a mortgage or rent check sent every month on their behalf, family cell phone plan with unlimited use, and of course a vehicle that comes mysteriously without any car or insurance payments. If you are doing these types of things, STOP.   Treating our young adults like children will leave them feeling hollow and unproductive.  If our high school or college or even adult children are gaming into the wee hours of the morning but unable to focus their abilities on keeping a paying job, it's time we hand them the metaphorical gallon of milk. 

Big changes can't happen overnight.  Some sort of change can happen immediately though. Find some thing to hand back over, to let go of, to make the "child" figure out.  Stop giving spending money.  Announce that the car will need to be retired and replaced by a fleet of public transit buses and trains. Give a time frame when bills and responsibilities are going to be handed back over for them to control.  Help develop a budget. There will be frustration and confusion at first.  It may be hard to watch the choices that get made initially.  Messing up or failing is not a crime. Let them try so that they can test their own abilities.  Let them fail so that they can learn how strong they truly are.

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!

The Project

Image via Wikipedia

I sit here typing with the telltale signs of my least favorite part of parenting displayed all around me.  The dining room table (and floor) is a mess of books, paper scraps, and colored construction paper.  One large display board sets it all off, mocking me from it's perch in the living room.  Tomorrow is the deadline for my seventh grader's history fair project.  It used to be that we just had to deal with science fair (which I loath even more than history fair).  Now the stress and anxiety come twice a year. 

Tonight is the night.  There is usually some last minute drama, often related to a small logistical detail to which I never paid any attention.  "On the third paragraph of the summary statement, underline all the words that relate back to your hypothesis.  Make sure that all photographs are labeled in italics and placed in the left corner of the display board."  I'm of course being fictitious.  It's not that hard for me to understand the details of their teacher's requests.  My problem is me.

It's very important to me that my kids learn how to be responsible and be able to handle themselves, take care of the stuff that is their business.  I don't hover.  I ask if their homework is done and when I'm able, I answer questions.  That's pretty much what I offer.  When they were in second and third and maybe even fourth grade, I would offer to help type up their essays for school.  Mostly because I wanted to use the computer before the next month had passed and their own typing was so slow it verged on torture.

So, during science and history fair preparation my values butt up against my sanity.  Do I correct all the typos, grammar mistakes, weird phrasing, and undocumented facts or do I encourage them to check their work again and let the quality of their own effort be reflected in their grade?  Do I let them struggle with the typing and the making of charts when it would take me half the time?  I know that other parents are probably going to help out (does a 7 yr old really know how to run those color graphs with the attached video feed?).  Am I really just putting my kids in an unfair situation - being compared to students who have a design team from their parents pr firm offering support?  As is the case with so many of my dilemmas, they are rooted in my real values vs. my own adult fears of judgement.  I don't want them to turn in a project that isn't really theirs but I also hate the idea of their tilted, glue smudged display standing next to the matted, black and white photographed project, all printed on archival quality paperstock.

In the end, I am going to do what I've done the last seven years.  Tonight, I will brace myself.  I will be calm and wipe away any tears of frustration that may come.  I will model deep breathing and patience.  I will affirm and encourage.  And maybe, just maybe, quietly suggest that the summaries should be glued neatly onto the board instead of the "pin the tale on the donkey/willy-nilly" alignment that is my son's preferred method.  He will turn it in, even though I know that I would do it differently.  He will get a grade that provides relief or frustration and that grade will be all his.

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.

"As Long As I'm Alive..."

I work for an organization that helps stabilize people who are homeless or on the verge of homelessness.  At an event last night, where we were talking with potential board members, a woman said a very surprising thing.  During the introductions she shared, "My son is about to complete college and I told him last night that one of my gifts to him is a promise.  As long as I'm alive he will never be homeless or hungry."

I was surprised because she is a very accomplished business woman who lives in a relatively wealthy area.  My assumption for someone with that brief bio would be that they would feel safe.  It turned out that she was a much wiser person and much more sensitive person than I realized.  She is wise in my mind because she understands that life is fragile.  Money, education, connections, and enriching experiences can't protect us from all of life's challenges.  Medical and mental health problems, car accidents, and natural disasters, to name a few, touch people of all backgrounds.  Her promise to her son was a reassurance -  I can't control everything for you but I will be here for you.

It touched on one of my key parenting motivations.  Teaching self-reliance.  I learned early that life is unpredictable.  It's why I feel that the greatest gift my mom gave me, beside her unconditional love, was responsibility.  By high school I knew how to change tires and oil, do laundry, budget, cook, and maybe most importantly, delay gratification.  She died soon after I became a legal adult and I have lived my life without her hands on support and guidance ever since.  She wasn't able to give me every material item that I desired as a child.  Instead, she gave me the things that I needed in order to succeed without her.  As parents, that is absolutely in our control, for as long as we are alive.

Big Boys

Garage Roof - launch pad during Snowmaggedon

**Before anyone starts calling child protective services, let me just say that no animals (or children) were harmed in any way during the filming of these stunts.**

The boys had finished hours of shoveling after a huge snowstorm last winter.  They were having snowball fights and shaping a large igloo in our front yard.  They wanted more.  There was so much snow and it seemed to be calling to them.  We asked for their help with one more project - shovel out the garage door.  The snow had drifted and packed up against the door into a nice, firm, wall of white.   Ingeniously, they filled their sleds with snow and carried it to other areas of the backyard to dump.

Just when I thought that I heard a cup of hot chocolate beckoning, I looked up to see my sons on our garage roof.  The high packed snow made the trek not only possible but very easy.  Then, I saw it.  The little orange, plastic, disc was on the roof too.  My son's butt was in it and perched at the edge.

Air time

We negotiated for awhile, laughed an anxious laugh, checked the snow padding at ground level, and said, "O.K., Go!"

They were thrilled.  They were also scared (had they been secretly wanting us to say, "No?").  It was truly a wonderful moment.  They felt larger than life and couldn't believe how cool we were for letting them take on these feats of daring.  It wasn't enough though.  "Dad, Mom, you have to try it!"  As I was insisting that my role was to keep a firm hold on the phone so that I could call "911" at a moment's notice, my husband climbed up to the roof.  What!?!  Unbelievable.  Earth-shattering.  "DAD'S going to do it!" 

We had spent a big part of the day with two boys who were offering tremendous help to us and to our neighbors.  They were in fact, acting like little men with a very high level of responsibility and an intense work ethic.  My husband reminded me and them that hard work only feels good when it is balanced with hard play.  Teaching my sons how to be little men happened best when my husband showed that he is still just a big boy.       

Little Men

I thought of this picture soon after I decided to start the blog. It feels like a good way to begin.... Thirteen years ago, we had moved into an old house and had a massive list of projects, very little money, AND a two year old. Our answer to most of the flaws in our new, "home sweet home", was paint. The actual needs of our garage included an electronic opener, new door, replaced trim, service door, and roof. We managed to do most of those things over time (still waiting on the new roof) but slapped on a coat of whitewash immediately.

My memories of the garage painting are helpful lessons still:

1. Everybody in a family can help and pitch in.
2. Even the smallest kids like to feel big and important.
3. Patience and zen-like calm are transformational.
4. Things don't have to be perfect to be pretty great, and-
5. You can't build skills and self-esteem and confidence without a little mess.

Our son got to think of himself as a little man, taking on a big job for the family. The other side of the story of course is that it probably took longer to wash all the latex paint out of his hair than he actually spent painting. The garage painting project may have only taken off when naptime kicked in, but for our son, dad helped him paint the garage.