Susiej

but I stopped myself from saying it at least a hundred. The greatest parenting books have one common theme: “The best thing you can do for your child is to let him figure things out on his own.” The quickest way, they caution, to cut the lines of communication is to use the infamous phrase that our own parents used, “I told you so.”

But I couldn’t help myself.

The assignment, adding to my son’s already overloaded homework burden, was to illustrate, write and bind a children’s book.

He was not content to do the minimum of 12 pages, my son decided to create 18.

Worse, rather than use easy illustrations for a concept book, like “How Many Soccer balls,” my illustrious artist choose to illustrate 18 different animals. 18 different animals. “So, how long do you think this will take you?”

“About 6 minutes per animal,” he said.

“OK, I’ll time you.” Twenty-two minutes passed, and he was still working on the first. So, I said, let’s multiply that by 18… “396 minutes just to do the book.” Plus, he added, that this was just the first draft… he would then re-do the entire book, so there are two books to make.

Undaunted by my pleas to “stop, re-think this,” and “let’s not make this so hard on yourself,” and of course, “I told you so,” he continued to work. It was Saturday night. I finally stopped him at 12:30 to go to bed. So far, he had managed to find a how-to draw video on the Internet for each animal. He still had six animals to go.

The next morning, I asked him if he was tired, and picked up my campaign where I left off last night to save my child. I got nowhere fast. If anything, I was making this far worse than the actual book production. Then I heard him say these words. “I just like doing this.” Finally, I left him alone and dropped it.

I did the only thing I could do. I started unwrapping the twisty ends on my Smarties, and started eating.

It didn’t take long… in just a couple of days, he said, “I wish I hadn’t made this book so long.” And no, I didn’t say it. I acted as if I didn’t even hear him. Parenting is oh, so tough.

He did finish the book, ahead of schedule.

But I did tell him how awesome his book was… at least 100 times. The books, by the way, made by each student, were given to children in a day-care facility the students visited.

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Filed under: Life, best shot, boy, parenting by SusieJ - 24 Comments →

“Mom. I’m thinking of 12 kinds of candy to get you for Mother’s Day. See if you can guess them.”
“Smarties are my favorite, so I know you’ll get me that.”
“Yessss, and what else.”
“Chocolate kisses?”
“Yes, and don’t forget Starbursts.”
“But I don’t like those.”
“Well, that’s why I’ll eat them for you.”

Isn’t this street gorgeous. I’m happy I grabbed a shot this year.

See more love shots at Shutter Sisters.

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Some of us pinched ourselves when we got the letter. First, the event signaled that the first year of Middle School is finally nearing its blissful end. Second, we learned from this letter, that that our children, in spite of all of the late-night homework struggles, long hours pouring over math puzzles, and relinquishing Saturday nights for special school projects, had earned 3-quarter honors. The school was inviting us to attend a ceremony to honor them.

Wow. This was not an accomplishment I could attribute to my own middle school years. Did they even have honors ceremonies in middle school when I was a kid? If they did, they didn’t invite me.

As we sat in the auditorium, I smiled at familiar faces of parents that I’ve only briefly seen since that day we sent them out of Elementary school, right after they made their fortunes, and when they promised us that , “Life is Good.”

“Get used to this place, ” I told myself. “You’ll be spending lots of nights here, God willing, as each of your kids file through the grades here for concerts, award ceremonies and plays.” I refused to let myself think of her, and how much I wished she was here. This kind of “wishful” thinking, I’ve learned, takes me away from the present; she is here. Something I just know now without even questioning. Oh, but please don’t make me analyze that, because under scrutiny, under close scrutiny my theory just falls apart, and I’ll feel alone as ever. Maybe I’m right.

While I waited for the ceremony to start, I remembered what I felt when I appeared in concerts and award ceremonies when Mom was in the audience, and how grateful I was to give her a reason to show off her daughter. I wondered how my son will remember these nights.

As the school administrators handed out their praise for such a hard work, they filled these these kids with accolades about their character, (pleasure to have in class, eager to help other students, and knows the difference between intramurals and math finals), and my wish is that they hold these truths within their souls until high school and beyond. I think a few of them gulped when the details of what they’ve achieved tonight were spelled out.

Still, when they called the name of the boy who’s Father died so quickly and unexpectedly this year, I felt such a pang of sorrow for him. His name was followed by sniffles from other Moms who sat around me. So young for this boy, and to know he will have to work so hard to fill in the spaces where his Father could have stood, for so many years ahead.

The stage swelled with after kid after kid, boys in ties, and the one ballerina in the white skirt with red tulips and black tights who I half expected, and hoped, would Fouetté jeté on the stage. These kids stood looking back at us, beaming, holding their certificates and medals. I remembered them as little girls and boys when I volunteered in the first grade classroom when they were cautiously learning how to fill in the number line. And look at them now. Blink. Where did five years go?

And then, they called the name of the boy who had such a hard time in elementary school, and believed he was a nothing but a loser. “This is the year,” his Mom said, “That I’m trying to build his confidence up.” And there he was… walking on stage to collect his honor. Hat’s off to that Mom.

I looked over and happened to catch a glimpse of a man weeping. Joy for his son, and sorrow, I’m sure. He recently lost both parents. I knew what he was thinking. I looked around more and relished the unique human experience in this room, as it boiled down many years of life into this one microcosm of time.

As we left the school together, Mother and son, I was aware of how close I felt to him. The words flowed easily between us, and he listened to everything I said, the first time, when we got home. People can scare you into thinking that closeness will go away once they start to grow up; the same rumor that causes so many tears on the first day of kindergarten. Closeness deepens as our children grow; and we have more events to share between us.

No more pinching myself; the presence of these kids on stage exudes power and confidence. This is just the first of many award ceremonies, for various interests, they’ll have over the years. I’m honored to know them. Oh, yeah, and so PROUD that my son is one of them.

Three Word Wednesday: Cautious. Human. Maybe. I LOVE these challenges!

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If it’s there — it must be jumped…

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When the leaves begin to turn in the Fall in 2008, I will be sending my third boy to first grade. Full-day, for the first time in our lives.

• Gone will be the long hours of play on the floor with his younger brother as they build their wooden train set.
• Gone will be the mindless conversations between brothers over lunch about which cereal bowl holds the most grains.
• Gone will be the friendly ballad, “You’ve Got A Friend in Me,” while both transform into either Buzz Lightyear or Woody.
• Gone will be cape crusaders quest as they fly up and down the stairs with their utility belt to capture the villainous Joker, Penguin, or Cat Woman, as they speed through the house in their imaginary Bat Mobile.

With Mother’s Day approaching, the boys already have a plan in action. They have the perfect gift in mind for Mom, as she assumes her new role as the primary play mate of the youngest brother. We’ll get her this:

Because, around here, everyday is Mother’s Day.

As part of their responsibility to the global community, Johnson’s has hand-selected dozens of charities around the world that mirror their deep commitment to caring for the health and well-being of mothers and children through Johnson’s Baby Cause - not just on Mother’s Day, but every day of the year. To learn more about this global charity work, check out PBN. Be sure to check out their celebrity e-Bay auction — a chance to win Matt Damon’s diaper bag.

Also, check out my post at Midwest Parents, on how to spot a fake smile.

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The boys were spraying each other with the hose, my least favorite of the messes they make, when the phone rang. Officially, puberty has yet to affect the vocal chords of many of my son’s friends, so I assumed the high-sounding voice on the other end of the phone was just a guy from his class. I handed my son the phone, and soon, I heard him say, “No,” and then hang up, and put the phone down.

“Who was that?”

“Some girl.”

I assumed it was for homework, but this was not to be. I should have guessed, as the first time the phone rang… no one was there. I can imagine the conversation now, on the other end… “It was his MOM!” Actually, no, I want to say in my mind, I’m just as curious as your are about this whole thing, and how to react and how it will all turn out. I’m not the MOM. Mom implies you know everything. I know little.

“She was calling for a friend,” he said, after I questioned.

“Her friend wanted to know if I wanted to go out with her.” (Go out, today means go steady… you don’t go anywhere or do anything.)

“So you said, No, just like that?”

“Yeah. I don’t like her.”

Why now do I think back to my own adolescent time when I was the one with the crush. The days I would spend agonizing about whether or not to call, asking for advice from my friend again, and then actually getting the courage to make the call, and to find it ended, right here, shattered, over, in a million pieces?

Looking back now, I know, this was where I learned my most important life lessons.

• If you had to ask someone else what to do, save yourself some misery and do nothing until it feels right, from your gut, and you know what to do.
• If you felt weird, scared or sick about something — probably means it isn’t right for you.
• If the whole thing depends on you, and no other forces in the universe seem to be helping you out, you’re wasting your time. You cannot force anything.

If you would have told me this at age 12 or 18 even, I would have been tempted, but I wouldn’t have, to spit on you.

“I’m glad you were honest about your feelings,” I say. “You certainly don’t have to go out with anyone you’re not comfortable with. But I just want you to know that she’s crying now. ”

“She wasn’t the one who called.”

“I know, but sweetie, she was right there beside her friend, listening in. She’s crushed, and she’s probably got a few tears. There’s nothing you can do to help her, but I just want you to know how she feels.”

Love Thursday

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Picture by Mike Esterl, for the WSJ.

As I sit by the light of the computer, with my 12-year-old at my side, who is still laboring over his homework, long after his brothers are asleep, I stumble across the slide show of the fortunate little kindergartners featured on the front page of the April 14, 2008 edition of the Wall Street Journal (German Tots Learn to Answer Call of Nature.) This kindergarten class (the US-equivalent of preschool) is held in the woods, following the original philosophies of the original kindergarten opened over 150 years ago by Friedrich Fröbel, the German educator. “Playing in nature, rather than focusing on letters or numbers, was best for young children,” he said. That’s a sure-fire antidote to our stressed-out preschoolers.

My favorite line in the WSJ article is this quote from one of the kindergartner’s teachers, Ms. Schnaar, when asked about the children outside, four hours each morning, in 40 degree weather. “There is no bad weather, just bad clothing decisions.” Interestingly, the fresh air seems to keep them from getting sick as often. (The German children wanted to know also, if the American reporter, Esterl, was a cowboy, or an Indian.)

Quite a dichotomy I feel as I watch these young children play in the woods in the slide show, exercising their imaginations, while I worry that the only tree my 12-year-old experiences lately is our wooden kitchen table. As his mother, watching him suffer to keep his eyes open, while the pending doom that he may miss a homework deadline looms. I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach.

But he’s a big kid now. Right? He no longer needs to play, explore and to have enough free time to decide he wants to make a lance out of a stick, and then to make one.

Still, I can’t help but wonder, did I stuff his time with enough moss, tree stumps, and dried leaves in the small allotted time I was given? Or has the onslaught of homework wiped out all the nature that was poured into his soul?

Another time, I will write about the house I left behind, the fairy-tale house in the woods that my two older sons relished in. They’re running here in this photo below. Can you tell this was years before I got my new camera? Can’t help but notice our little lovely Max there, down in the right hand corner.

True, we do have the lake, but I’m starting to wonder if even that’s a “sure thing.” Strange, how we have school vacation in the summer, yet the coaches are already mandating sports schedules that start in July. Don’t these people ever take vacations? Ever heard of them? A three-hour commute may be tough. Will there be a summer at the lake?

Inspired, and a bit “scared straight,” after reading this article about the importance of the outdoors to our children’s emotional well-being, I vow to take the kids to the woods everyday after school. Through sleet, snow, ice and rain. My oldest can do his homework there in the woods, sitting on a tree stump. As if it were real, I can almost hear the pain in my son’s voice as he proclaims how “embarrassing it will be to do that.”

Still, knowing that fresh air and green grass, is so beneficial to the mind, I’m sure that doing homework outside, while his brothers build tee-pees and castles around him, could probably help him get the work done so much faster. This will be a tough sell. Especially if it is sleeting, and his homework does get wet, and ripped, and I have to write nightly notes to his teacher, “I’m sorry, but the homework got beaten up in the hailstorm yesterday afternoon. Again.” I guess, I could just give him a stack of notes, pre-signed, that he could keep in his backpack and whip out whenever needed.

Now, I think about that house we looked at five years ago, just a few blocks away from this one, that sat directly in a woods. We turned that house down. Terrible floor layout. How I wish we had it now. Who cares about the floor plan, when the kids get to spend time outside building sofas out of tree stumps and twigs; what they would call a “wald sofa.” How much happier we’d be. Ahhh, but yes, the kids wouldn’t be able to walk to school from there, like they do here. And, sure, our houses may be piled on top of each other over here; but we have those chicks.

Seriously, about this homework problem. Here’s a story about starting a revolution. There’s a book, The Case Against Homework: How Homework Is Hurting Children and What Parents Can Do About It, that lays everything out.

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No I didn’t move. Yes… I still live in the “city.”

They’re my neighbors. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them either.

Kids seem to enjoy them.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

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A post in the form of a bridal announcement

The young man (age 6) was wearing these dainty, although soiled socks, at the end of the school day; and he’s not talking about where he got them. The unveiling of the socks took place in the backyard of the boy’s best friend at 4:30 in the afternoon of a school day. The walkway through the garden was paved in red brick; lilac’s were beginning to present their buds; and cardinals could be spotted on tree branches. Present at this unveiling was the boy’s Mother, two of her other two children, the boy’s best friend and at his side, the best friend’s Grandmother. The day was sunny, bright and unseasonably warm, and all were wearing spring attire, all appropriately soiled from a full day’s work of play.

The accompanying music was a chorus of whines and cries as the boys had “tired themselves out” in the unusual show of sunshine, and were basically at the end of their ropes. During the walk back home, the boy did pick one of the Mother’s first blooming Daffodil’s in the front yard and presented it to her.

It is believed that the socks were initially soiled at a playground, not too far from the school. When asked “where on earth did you get these socks, and where are yours?” The boy responded that he didn’t know. He left the house at noon, late from a busy morning of playing, as usual, wearing his plain white socks with HANES clearly spelled out in red letters.

The mother of the boy is guessing the sock-exchange occurred sometime during afternoon kindergarten between 12 and 2:50. The mother of the girl of the missing lavender-trimmed socks has yet to be identified.

The mother of the boy is considering rounding up a few Knights who can canvass the school, asking the little girls to try on the socks to see which foot the socks belong to. Once found, she’s considering taking the two out for a celebration Banana Split, the boy’s favorite dessert, at the play area of the local Grater’s Ice Cream.

Anyone with information regarding the rightful owner of the sock can respond in the comments section below.

This is for BSM, and Painted Maypole’s Monday Mission. This mission was to write a post in the form of a bridal announcement. I hope you can do better. Mine seems to be part bridal announcement part crime-scene report!

Also, April is poetry month, and I have just the perfect poetry book that will excite every boy.

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Invented by native North American Indians in the 15th century, it has been said that the game of Lacrosse is to be played “for the pleasure of the Creator.” Me, as the Mother, perhaps? Because, I really like this sport. This spring, I have two boys to cheer for on the field.

I’m purposely ignoring its dark place in history when the Indians played from sun up till sun down, sometimes for days as the game traveled for miles with players gravely injured or killed. Now, the goal carries much less religious and spiritual significance.

The goal? Simple: Use the stick and its attached pocket to scoop, catch, carry and pass the small rubber ball to get it in the net. Also, stop your opponent from getting the ball in the other net. Think soccer revved up with sticks. Because of those pads, Lacrosse naturally promotes “team building.”

The coach said, “I don’t care what the score is. My goal is to teach the kids to play as a team.” He even added this; “If I see a kid that is hogging the ball and is not giving it up to the rest of the players, I’ll pull him out — regardless of how many goals he’s scoring.” He looked to one parent, with a player on the HS lacrosse team for validation and said, “Isn’t that how they do it in high school?” Sadly, this parent, with all of us looking on, disagreed with the coach. Her goal is to teach her child to win. The co