tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-345415972024-02-06T21:49:40.537-05:00milk:shakenI mother, therefore I write. These are the days of my life.Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-88429424965876850692017-10-18T10:50:00.003-04:002017-10-18T10:50:43.903-04:00Being Me Being Forty Being MeIt's a wonder 40 can even stand on its own, given all the things we have managed to attach to it. <br />
<br />
Forty.<br />
<br />
It's so- <i>Significant. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Even though - technically speaking - 35 is more mid-life, 40 has managed to be the shining beacon. The flag in the rock. The all-too-cliché 'top of the hill'. <br />
<br />
There hasn't been a birthday I had, was aware of, and didn't love. LOVE. (Did you catch that? I love my birthdays.) Older people would wearily tell me that I would soon tire of birthday joy; it would wear off as I got older. I would <i>mature</i> and my birthday would become drudgery. <br />
<br />
Nope.<br />
<br />
WHY. Why would I become indifferent to a personal new year? Why would I rather be dead than celebrating a birthday (because, let's face it folks, those are the only two options). (Are they? What if one has a birthday while battling disease? Or facing the death of a dearly beloved?) So, okay. I'll allow for Special Circumstances. (Hang on a second. Is life not Black and White?! No. -shock, awe, panic-) Yeah yeah okay gray areas. (See? I'm <i>mature.</i>)<br />
<br />
I digress. <br />
<br />
Day above ground and all that. So we arrive here at 40. <i>I</i> arrive here at 40. I'm 40. (I know. Bet you didn't see <i>that</i> one coming.) (OMG enough with the parentheses already.) <br />
<br />
Because I am excellent at math, at age 38 it only took me a few hours of calculations to realise that I would soon be 40. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(ARE YOU NOT <i>ENTERTAINED</i>?)</span><br />
<br />
Because I am the best at making decisions, it only took me 10 or 30 years or so to realise I needed to love and take care of myself and then decide to do it.<br />
<br />
Because I am the single most disciplined person I know (I can't even keep a straight face with this one) I immediately snapped into action and got my shit together. (Excuse me while I ROTFL for a bit). <br />
<br />
Okay. Okay okay. Okay I'm ready. (ROTFL)<br />
<br />
No really. I'm really ready this time. <br />
<br />
I did though. Not immediately but I worked hard and I began to discover, find, and get my shit together. And all jokes aside, I had really been doing the work of discovery over the course of my third decade careening through space. Hurtling? Careening. No, <i>Spinning</i>. <u>Spinning through space</u>. Much more accurate. <br />
<br />
I rediscovered my feet and began to stand on them again. I discovered my voice and tried it out. (Still working on that one). I moved into the spaces of myself. (What even does that <i>mean?</i> I don't know but it sounds right, okay?) It was like- filling out deflated parts. You know when you're inflating a shaped thing and it takes a while for some of the parts to fill out so the thing looks not-quite-right for the first bit? Like that. Like air (me) was finally getting into the fine details (parts of me). Feeling more defined, I am.<br />
<br />
In more ways than many. Which leads me to the <i>Touches*</i> part of my post. The physical aspect of my work. Time to be get serious about being healthy and strong. <b><i><u>In love.</u></i></b> Not to punish, not to whip, not to force, not to shame, not to hate. To LOVE my whole self and to care for my whole self (I'm talking about my body here.) After decades of self hatred, I'd worked hard enough, come far enough, understood myself enough to be kind to myself. I was ready to move past (had been climbing up the mountain of) the mess that was how I felt about my body. (Let's use the standard issue Can Of Worms as a point of reference. What I faced, dealt with, worked through, was the entire agricultural industry that produces the Cans Of worms.) I will not heap the details upon you because I like you, but it truly was Something. <b>Everything</b> at times. And to be transparent, I'm not even really done yet. (Is one ever really, though?) <br />
<br />
So I began the work of self care. I learned about self discipline. I learned that I can do more than I think. I learned that I often think more than I do. I learned that you have to do the hard thing and that it will most certainly <i>not</i> get easier if you wait. I learned that life, multifaceted as it is, is an many ways a series of hard things and that shying away from them doesn't serve me. <br />
<br />
I accepted pain.<br />
I accepted struggle.<br />
I accepted discomfort.<br />
<br />
I resist pain.<br />
I resist struggle.<br />
I resist discomfort.<br />
<br />
I will accept pain.<br />
I can accept struggle.<br />
I do accept discomfort.<br />
<br />
I am beginning to understand how to keep doing the hard things. Small and large. Small like, get up anyway. Big like Keep Going. <br />
<br />
Keep going. There <i>is</i> <b>no</b> destination. Now is the destination. Here is the destination. Present is the destination. Over and over and over again. I am learning the truth that the journey is the destination. <br />
<br />
In this process I have metamorphosed. Am metamorphosing. I'm not sure I have done anything; rather I remain in a state of doing. I <i>did</i> complete a triathlon but I don't feel finished. Even if I never do another one, I am still living that. Still being shaped by the effort, by the challenges, the outcome. I <i>have</i> worked off many pounds. And I am still living <i>that</i>. I am astounded to have learned that I enjoy jogging. ME. I am actually enjoying the dreaded <i>exercise</i>. ME. It is literally changing me. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The story keeps being written. </span><br />
<br />
So much of the story is present participle. I am writing. I am learning. I am figuring. I am hoping. I am thinking. I am planning. I am reflecting. Listening. Searching. Questioning. Failing. Taking. Giving. Succeeding. Defying. Resisting. Releasing. Accepting. Puzzling. Wondering. Waiting. Going. Staying. I am Hurtling. Laughing. Feeling. Doing. Being. <br />
<br />
Breathing. <br />
<br />
-Ing. <br />
<br />
Forty so far is totally fucking amazing. It's everything I'd heard. I feel it only gets better. This decade promises to be one of ... I don't know. E<u>xciting adventures of being myself, the ongoing project</u>. <br />
<br />
30s me did a great job setting the stage. <br />
40s me is running with it. (A pair of scissors, I mean.) (Obvs.)<br />
<br />
Run girl. <b>Run</b>. Or walk. Whatever.<br />
Just.<br />
Keep Going.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Touches - A Jamaican term for sensitive. </span></i>Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-18123802687337846092017-01-27T07:25:00.001-05:002017-01-27T07:25:43.073-05:00Surprisingly, A Poem<i>It's dark lite. </i><br />
<i>Not yet today.</i><br />
<i>No longer last night.</i><br />
<i> Middletime.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Stillness cradles.</i><br />
<i>Hush resounds.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Stairs creaking.</i><br />
<i>Lamp casting.</i><br />
<i>Memories of dreams</i><br />
<i> fade.</i><br />
<i>I begin to assemble</i><br />
<i> myself.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Two legs, two wheels</i><br />
<i>accoutrements</i><br />
<i>off I go.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Chasing myself </i><br />
<i>the long way </i><br />
<i>home. </i><br />
Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-20645344351380970352016-09-28T06:08:00.002-04:002016-09-28T06:08:34.495-04:00An Open LetterTo my oldest friend and ally,<br />
<br />
Greetings! I hope this finds you well. This is my very first letter to you, in all the years (almost 40 of them) I've known you. While I don't expect a response, I hope you appreciate what I have to say.<br /><br />I start by confessing that we've had an off at first, on, then off again, then on again relationship over the years. I ask that you kindly note that the off times generally included the presence of a baby. <br />
<br />
I recall the early days when we were just getting to know each other. Our budding relationship was fraught. There were grave misgivings. There was not even the tiniest inkling of trust. You terrified me. I know now that I was frightened to tears that you were going to take me away. (To be fair to me, you were so mysterious and unpredictable.)<br />
<br />
To your credit, you never gave up. You cooed and cajoled. You gently embraced. You called softly to me and I learned to fall into your arms and feel safe. And I grew to love you. Even to long for you when we weren't together. And so we had so many years of happiness together. <br />
<br />
Until.<br />
<br />
Until we didn't. <br />
<br />
Oh my beloved! Your stoicism leaves much room for my imagination so I can't say how it was for you, but for me? It was torture! Instead of long, languid visits together, instead of your warm embrace, instead, my love, of us melting together there was upheaval and seemingly endless intrusions on our time together. The less you were there, the more I craved your peace. I cliché as I say here that I felt I was going mad - but I really did. My sense of reality was distorted. Time became a tangle without you. I remained upright. But only just.<br />
<br />
During that time, there were innumerable occasions on which I marveled that there was ever a time that I didn't love and trust you implicitly. What a fool I was!<br />
<br />
As soon as I possibly could, I worked - (really "<i>crawled</i>" is a better choice <i>(hmm, might we </i>really<i> go for it and say "dragged"?)</i>)- my way back to you. And like the steadfastly faithful friend you are, there you were quietly waiting, ready. I- harrowed, harangued, bewildered, tormented- I fell hard and gratefully into your soporific arms. <br />
<br />
After all those years, you were <i>still</i> there for me. My friend. It changed me for the better to be reunited with you. I was a new woman! Upright became standing, standing became standing tall. Things were great between us again! And so it was. <br />
<br />
But now? Something is happening and it <strike>alarms</strike> (let's not get too hasty) <i>concerns</i> me. You come to visit, yes, but you don't stay as long and sometimes you don't even come in, instead lingering on the periphery. Or else you leave early or come-and-go, rather like a person caught in a revolving door. You're changing, my friend. I say you because I am still coming to see you. Calling. I still talk about you with my friends. I often think about you as the afternoon wanes, a small yearning for our time together later. My desire to be with you hasn't changed. <br />
<br />
I want to know what is happening and how I can fix it.<br />
<br />
I won't give up. I know we still have something; we always will. <br /><br />Why don't you come by at around 11:30 tonight and let's do our best to stay together for about seven hours? And let's try again and again. Every single night.<br /><br />So Very Faithfully Yours,<br /><br />Milkshaken<br /><br />
<br />
<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-1898980160673612122016-09-22T10:19:00.003-04:002016-09-22T10:19:39.173-04:00The Caterpillar and The ButterflyThis post has been low temp slow cooking for a while. It's being borne out of and by the inherent sorrow that belongs exclusively to parenthood. It's a peculiar brand as it inextricably entangled with joy and gratitude. <br />
<br />
It's the changing of the caterpillar into a butterfly. Over and over and over and over and over (ad infinitum (we hope)) again. <br />
<br />
It's watching your baby grow older. Rather, watching your baby continually being replaced by newer, older, bigger, differenter versions of herself. Of himself.<br />
<br />
Last night, as I tucked my 10 year old boy in for the last time, we talked a little about how in the morning, he'd have been replaced by an 11 year old. At the grave risk of being even more melodramatic - a mini-death is what we'd called it. We smiled together about it. It was copacetic. <br />
<br />
Which brings me back to the metaphor that seems to be held as the fertile ground of hope (proof?) that things don't <i>really</i> end, they just <i>change</i>. The caterpillar becoming the butterfly. It would be easy to think the caterpillar has died. Especially as we see him ensconced in his cocoon. But if we wait long enough. If we are still and patient, we will be rewarded. A new and beautiful creature will emerge to greet us. But what of the caterpillar? He can't be recognized in the butterfly! Yet, we know. We know the caterpillar is in there. Somewhere. Everywhere.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Sci/Why: Help Save the Monarch Butterfly!" class="image-preview js-image-preview" data-src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-U3Fy8zrK7MAfzbXYRnEkfTysZ1ZsrDYt6zDVab4OWps_bG2afm3iFLxjDYmB2UaQgxg4RoSKNnu_QXeVbrKE5scmZtJVsANp7MsCyT6kpEPjtGDxcsnfyyXycyYuJi4woXjVw/s1600/shutterstock_4485247monarch+%2526+caterpillar.jpg" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-U3Fy8zrK7MAfzbXYRnEkfTysZ1ZsrDYt6zDVab4OWps_bG2afm3iFLxjDYmB2UaQgxg4RoSKNnu_QXeVbrKE5scmZtJVsANp7MsCyT6kpEPjtGDxcsnfyyXycyYuJi4woXjVw/s320/shutterstock_4485247monarch+%2526+caterpillar.jpg" title="" width="320" /><br />
<br />
Who could have known (except all the mothers and fathers before, with, and after me) that special sorrow? That heartcrack, the edges of which are coated with joy. Hands fly to face, to heart, to reach, to hold, to grasp the flash of time. The impossibly subtle shifts that suddenly become glaring and terrifyingly beautiful bounds of growth, of new person. <br />
<br />
I beg you to forgive me for the clumsiness of this language. I am in rather a clumsy state as a whirl and turn, bewildered at having arrived here almost without knowing how. <br />
<br />
In the short space of 4 days I've celebrated my firstborn becoming a teenager and my second born firmly establishing his foothold in the double digits and stepping into the realm of the tween. <br />
<br />
It seems so odd and silly, doesn't it? It seems contrary that I should feel this way. This <strike>little</strike> (I lied. This rather embarrassingly large) heartbreak. This fishing line (trawler's net?) of sorrow plumbing the depths of my love, joy and general state of awe at being the mother of these two completely other people. One would imagine only happiness that they are growing and healthy and happy and thriving. Pride at the achievements and the people they are being and becoming. Wonder all the things that are uniquely their own. All the <i>good</i> feelings.<br />
<br />
And yes. Yes to all those things and more. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Pictured here are a pair of animé eyes with those oversized pupils and reflection spots, all wide-eyed shining with awe.)</span><br />
<br />
One might be confounded at the very notion of sadness coming to roost in the midst of these wonderful things. What's there to be sad about? <br />
<br />
But it is. It <i>is</i> sad. All the farewells. All the goodbyes. All the ends of all the stages (remember when...?). The disappearances of the hand-held baby, the busy toddler, the curious little kid, the rapidly developing bigger kid. These are hinged on, are flip sides of, the joyful appearances of all the same versions. <br />
<br />Here I stand greeting two new people. <br />
A teenager has arrived. My little girl has gone.<br />
A tween has arrived. My little boy is going.<br />
<br />
It's pure, radiant joy. It's deep, beautiful sorrow.<br />
<br />
I suspect that this may be the sweetest sorrow there is. Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-72061037593616398702015-01-19T17:55:00.002-05:002015-01-19T18:01:36.725-05:00Boredom Matters<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZNmm7i5iP3unsvIqF01HLos9fFxQEdWKIzZTS66hgCq5wAHnPSjrNEchrxXhovv7hHkL4UvaK9yBKrYV9WsmgQSJXnUP4XiZCISZ39pXkVFxR7EV7gt-b9zMsvBWwYLWcg1p/s1600/boredkid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZNmm7i5iP3unsvIqF01HLos9fFxQEdWKIzZTS66hgCq5wAHnPSjrNEchrxXhovv7hHkL4UvaK9yBKrYV9WsmgQSJXnUP4XiZCISZ39pXkVFxR7EV7gt-b9zMsvBWwYLWcg1p/s1600/boredkid.jpg" height="265" title="" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm borrrrrrrrred."</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Even as an only child for the first 11 years of my life, being "bored" was not an option. Obviously, I did actually experience boredom, but I wouldn't dare say as much to my mother. That was a lesson well learned after I said that once, maybe twice, and was told that no, I wasn't bored because I could find something to do.<br />
<br />
And I always did. Find something to do.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Here I insert the gentle disclaimer that this is not, in any way a techno-bashing post. Far from it. It <i>is</i> however, a pro less-techno-time commentary.) (Did you get that? That was weird language.) (Sorry about all the parentheses.) (That was the last set. I promise. (Okay, well this set is. Scout's honor.))</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Boredom was and continues to be the source of many creative endeavors. (Some less desirable, I admit. It's not all roses, people. We know this.) </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Sadly, the art of being bored is a dying one. People are being entertained at every turn. Phones dominate as the go-to nothing-to-do object. Waiting in line? Take out your phone. Waiting for someone in your car? Phone. Sitting at lunch alone? Phone. Pooping? Phone. Phone phone phone.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The same is true for our kids. iPads and handhelds are all. over. the show. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Out to dinner with kids? iPad. Downtime after school? iPad. Car trip? iPad. iPad iPad iPad. </span><br />
<br />
There is just no time to be bored, sitting aimlessly with yourself and not having anything to do or look at or think about. No empty spaces between the sentences of our lives. And I think it's costing us. Obviously, I'm a mom and not a researcher. I don't actually know the real result (if any) of being entertained from morning to night. <br />
<br />
But I <i>do</i> know what happens when my own kids are bored. <br />
<br />
They find something to do. A thing they would not otherwise have sought. A thing they may have thought seemed, itself, boring. A thing that will reveal new things to themselves; sometimes even <i>about</i> themselves. And sometimes not. Sometimes it's just a way to pass the time that ends up being only a notch above complete boredom. However, a thing to do it remains.<br />
<br />
My son - like many sons before him, as well as sons that are happening now, and most definitely those to come - has an umbilical attachment to screen time. If he's not on the desktop, he's on the iPad. If he's not on the iPad, he's on the Wii. If he's not on the Wii, he's on his iPod. If he has no access to any of them - he becomes a pinball around our home. Literally going from chair to chair, room to room, place to endless place with the zing and energy of a giant electron. There is jumping and bouncing and singing and a wide and interesting range of <strike>potentially</strike> annoying behaviors.* <br />
<br />
And then, after he has practically broken his skull open he finds something to do. Dust gets blown off games or puzzles. Books get dragged off the shelf. Toys often neglected come out and see the light of play. Super hero characters are created. Things. Happen. <br />
<br />
Boredom matters. It's a seed for creativity within the right environment. (Mischief in the wrong one. Probably all you need is an adult to help ensure safety for it to be "right".) <br />
<br />
Take some time for yourself, give some time to your kiddo. Make space for <strike>boredom</strike> creative action.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
____________________________________________________________________<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* For the record and in the interest of sharing our managerial method both
of my children each get one hour of recreational screen time (PC Games usually) each
evening. Two hours on the Saturdays and Sundays. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">They also have homeschooling screen time during the day for math (Khan and Timez Attack), science videos, second language, and geography. </span>Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-17774117754216890952015-01-01T21:50:00.002-05:002015-01-01T21:50:53.737-05:00Happy WondererI am a happy wonderer.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And no, that's not a spelling mistake</span>.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I really am. I really do. I wonder. </div>
I wonder why.</div>
I wonder how.<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
I wonder if.</div>
<br />
There is so much that needs to be wondered about. And what that makes me is a very killed cat. <br />
<br />
Wonder, curiosity, and awe are the most fun lenses through which to view the world. It's how I live, and it's how my children have lived. <br />
<br />
The simple act of asking why has the potential to reveal so much. I love that. <br />
<br />
Why is that?<br />
<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-88583043211406067302014-12-27T15:55:00.001-05:002014-12-27T16:01:33.728-05:002014 Inventory[Cold open:]<br />
My Mariana Trench of a daughter has grown some 3 to 4 inches this year. She is literally turning into another person before my very eyes. She has begun wearing the veil of pre-teen mystery. Puberty has come to roost in our home and I am working really hard at learning the language, customs and ways. Even so, I still stare in awe whenever I know it's not looking.<br />
<br />
My Big Bang of a son continues to reveal both of our selves to me. I shake my head in disbelief at how much of him there is to know. He may not have shot up like bamboo but he has exploded a little and revealed more dimensions of himself. In some moments I glimpse a ghost of who I might have been. Who I still am -a little bit.<br />
<br />
Obviously I have always been conscious of my children as people, individuals. Yet their individual <i>person-ness</i> keeps catching me; like fireworks.<br />
<br />
Boom! Poof! Pop! Colors! Shapes!<br />
Wow. Wow. Wowwww. <i> </i><br />
<i>Yes, but you've seen these already; you know these fireworks. </i><br />
I know I know. But STILL. WOW. Look at that. LOOK. <br />
<br />
She calls herself Unifox. She is so much that: a creature I have never seen before and want to get close to without scaring her off. She has a whole internal life that is such a mystery to me. Not unlike her dear old dad. Still waters and all that. She is writing a book. In Minecraft. She is taken with all things Japanese (animé, manga, sushi, origami), and foxes. She emails me to tell me crucial, life changing information. <br />
<br />
He has long called himself ScienceGuy. In this way, he is my unpredictable experiment. What if I add a little ---? <i>BOOM</i>! Okay, no. How about if I...?- <i>Fizzle</i>. No. Okay. What about this? How about that? Too much this? Not enough that? Tweak. Adjust. Fiddle. Lather, rinse, repeat.<br />
<br />
Night and Day. Sun and Moon. In and Out. Up and Down. They are the most opposite of opposites. They are the oppositest people I know. Well. Next to me and "MilkStirred" (haha, that's a good one. It's totally spot on. I'm shaken, he's stirred. I love it). She is daddy, he is me. <br />
<br />
They are sitting together at the table, the serving bowl with the last serving of eggs left; hers. She begins to scoop the eggs one spoon at a time into her plate. Her brother looks at her, slightly baffled, and asks "Why don't you just DUMP them out? It's all yours anyway."<br />
<br />
Witnessing this I have a third person dejavu experience. That exact scenario has played out for me and "Stirred" countless times before. It comes down to me saying "Big picture?!" and him saying "Details." It's the same for Brother and Sister. <br />
<br />
Dear sweet Unifox can and does focus on doing one thing for an extended period. She will fold origami, sculpt tiny animals, draw pictures, prepare a recipe. She takes her time. She does that thing until it is finished.<br />
<br />
Popping ScienceGuy does things in bursts (unless it's playing video games): Five minutes of sword play, five minutes of aimless tumbling and rolling around the living space, 10 minutes of watching and harassing sister with whatever she's doing, seven and a half minutes of reading. Even eating. Eating! For the meals he eats solo (lunch usually) he takes a bite or two then gets up do do nothing specific, goes back and bites barely sitting on the seat and then he's up again. For water, for a bathroom break, to wonder over to another area and fiddle with something. <br />
<br />
I so appreciate having been around for these moments. To have greater understanding of the people I am guiding and teaching. People tell me they cannot <i>imagine</i> homeschooling their kids. And I get that everyone has different things they are able to do with joy. But I cannot <i>imagine</i> sending my kids back to school. I would miss SO MUCH.<br />
<br />
I would miss my boy reading upside down; his head on the floor the book propped upside down on the coffee table leg.<br />
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I would miss my girl making truffles for her friends; and making the pretty little origami boxes to gift them in.<br />
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I would miss them giving each other tips on minecraft mods and installing different features.<br />
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<br />
I would miss reading about Odysseus' wild adventures to them.<br />
I would miss news segments, presented eagerly by my boy, about the amazing things he learned about that people are doing and creating in the scientific community.<br />
I would miss spontaneous fire circles in the backyard.<br />
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I would miss the really detailed drawings my girl takes so much time to do.<br />
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<br />
I would even miss being there to push my son through the hard things. Watching him and helping him to overcome a crippling fear of "it's too hard" (defeated tears and all) and come out the other side shining with the victory of having done it.<br />
I would miss "mommy math"; breaking out the cubes, using the floor tiles, drawing the pies and cakes to turn data in to real life and real life into data.<br />
<br />
I would totally miss liquid nitrogen fun at our friend's home.<br />
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<br />
I would miss them reading so many books and loving it.<br />
I would miss my girl teaching herself to sew a dress from my old blouses.<br />
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<br />
I would miss going out on the boat to the mangrove cays and exploring them with our friends.<br />
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<br />
<br />
But I didn't. I didn't miss it. I was here. We were here. And I am beyond thankful.<br />
<br />
I experience the gamut of emotions of being a parent; from soaring pride to desperate lostness to unending love to losing my shit. Sometimes within a few moments of each other. There are many, many, many (manymanymanymanymanyMANY) hours spent mulling and replaying and questioning what we do. How can I do this better? How can I help him do this? How can I give her that?<br />
<br />
Even the odd "OMYGAD! I CANNOT! DO! THIS! Yes I can.... but it's harrrrrrrrrrdddddd!!!!" moment. <br />
<br />
I fall short in so many things. Some of them I know, some of them I don't.<br />
<br />
The point is. What's the point?<br />
<br />
The point is.<br />
<br />
The point is Yes. Thanks. Awesome. I'll do it again. And I'll do it a little bit better. And a little bit worse. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJam5Fg1OuVn3763nhjHILHdL83-sTRi0fbUQq5j1aadqzyaGAN_0JlSShMSd5iltTZZE18LlF3zeRmui89s9JVjzYFid5HvAYNKJvFlRQApii5ozpUE8q2ZjEBdPxRqU0K_jg/s1600/clear+skies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJam5Fg1OuVn3763nhjHILHdL83-sTRi0fbUQq5j1aadqzyaGAN_0JlSShMSd5iltTZZE18LlF3zeRmui89s9JVjzYFid5HvAYNKJvFlRQApii5ozpUE8q2ZjEBdPxRqU0K_jg/s1600/clear+skies.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've got so much to see and do. There is only there is only the horizon in front of us.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
And I'll see you back here, on this little rock that is hurtling through time and space, sometime over the course of its orbit around a star.<br />
<br />
And above all, be kind. To yourself and others. <br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-65767697073188344162014-08-20T00:06:00.001-04:002014-08-20T00:06:25.514-04:00Experience > StuffThis is some of the core math that I live by as a parent; particularly as a homeschooling mom. <br />
<br />What do I mean by this made-up pseudo-math? I mean that a person can learn<b> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">a</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">thousand</span> immeasurable <span style="font-size: large;">things </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>more</i></span></b> by <span style="font-size: large;">doing</span> something than by reading about it. If there is even one person who would argue with this "math", please tell me your thoughts. (It would happen that I believe this with the fervor of a fanatic - and I love being challenged on deeply held beliefs. Truly. It gives me an opportunity to re-examine them and make any necessary adjustments - be it shoring up, or replacing irrelevant parts.) <br />
<br />
I suppose another way to express it is that practical trumps theory. Is theory necessary? Yes, absolutely. But theory is the jetway and practical is the jet. And my what a <i>convenient</i> metaphor I just came up with there because it just so happens that I also believe that travel is the [insert clever metaphor here] of experience. Some are a bit run of the mill but still offer enough variety and favorites to please the crowd, others are just different enough to be new, exciting and interesting, while others still are all glitz and glamour and one can hardly believe ones own eyes at the Wow! of it all. <br />
<br />
We haven't quite made it to the glitz and glamour, but we are doing what we can to get the New, the Exciting, the Interesting. And by "get", I mean "give". To our children. As gifts. <br />
<br />
In my homeschooling mom's book:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Travel = Experience > Stuff </b></div>
<br />
We've never been the kind of family that has oodles of toys and gadgets for our kids to play with. (Sometimes I have a literal jaw-drop experience at the vast oceans of toys that some children have in their rooms/play areas. And then I have to quickly shake it off and smile and wave and be polite because no one wants to be told that they are over indulging their child with waaay too much <strike>jun</strike>k <strike>crap</strike> toys; even if only by probably less than tactful look of shock and awe on my treacherous face.) Ahem. What was I saying? Yes. Toys. The point is, we never bought our kids a bunch of toys. Sometimes I felt a little bad wondering if I was depriving my children. But the feeling would pass and everything would still be okay. <br /><br />Too late for a long story short, so I will just say that what we do buy for our children are trips. And books. And flour. And borax. And art supplies. And a life that include<strike>d</strike><b><i>s</i></b> lots of hands on (and hands off!) experiences. "What can we do?" and "Where can we go?" were and still are the questions that quickly and easily trump "What should we get them?" (To which the answer is invariably books, anyway.) <br /><br />Does it mean that our kids never played with toys? Not at all. That they never get <i>stuff</i> from "Santa"? Of course not! What it does mean is that we go underboard with toys and above or overboard with experience. I would say that I try to be balanced but it would be a bald faced lie. I'm the person that measures sums of money in terms of travel value. As in <i>"Twelve hundred dollars?! That's plane tickets to Florida!".</i> (Look, I know Florida is no great shakes for culture and amazingness, but my mom and sisters and grandma and other relatives are there and family connection is also Very Important to me. And it's still travel! And they have Science Museums and parks and fun stuff.) <br />
<br />
But I've said too much. It's not just about travel. It's about the doing of the things. The touching the feeling the pouring the cutting the finding the miscrosoping the telescoping (not yet, but soon!) the dirty hands and messy house, and most of all the wide eyed wonderment and the ever natural high inducing "Aha!" moments of discovery. <br />
<br />
I don't want to give my kids too many of the things that will lose their shine and appeal and end up in the landfill one day; not when I can give them the excitement, the adventure, the boredom, the thrill, the "OH MY GOSH!", the "are we there YET?!" and later, the memories and the stories told excitedly to anyone who will listen. <br />
<br />
What it all boils down to for me is that:<br />
<br />
<i>Stuff doesn't get as much mileage as airplanes can. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-73627649277099896232014-07-27T13:53:00.000-04:002014-07-27T13:53:07.062-04:00Auto ParentIt feels like I've been on Auto Parent.<br />
<br />
Like most other things in life, though, it's not black and white. I have. And I haven't. <br />
<br />
You know what it's like? It's like in the movies when the good guy is being attacked by six people and he spends the whole fight fighting one at a time while the others "patiently wait" to have their butts handed to them. <br /><br />I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "What? No. That's not even a good analogy." But it is. See, kids go through so many stages of development, <strike>sometimes they even</strike> which almost always overlap. So as a parent you see this new pattern of behavior and you jump on it and start learning how to deal with that and what's the best way and what's the best language and how can you help them and not kill them and still be patient and know what's happening and be compassionate and firm and parent-y. All the while there is another thing brewing and it might pop up in the middle of this first thing or else it might not and then it will spring on you when you think you've got the other thing handled (which maybe you <i>did</i> but it morphed into something else and now your other tools aren't working) and now you're dealing with <i>that</i> thing and then a new thing comes at you and you're like "Woah." And then the things kind of stop happening for a while and good guy mom relaxes; she may even go into a reverie about all the amazing stuff she just went through. All the while a new troop of henchmen have filed into the room and she has no idea what's about to hit her. <br />
<br />
See? Makes perfect sense. <br />
<br />
That's where I was. Only it wasn't henchmen and I wasn't in a vacant stare of reverie. I was busy. I was busy trying to deal with re adjusting to life as a home schooling family. And, in a heroic effort to completely exhaust the metaphor, I'll say that facing off with that challenge was it's own set of anonymous henchmen attacking me one (sometimes two) at a time. <br /><br />POW! BOOM! SPLAT! Take that! Aaaand that! <br />
<br />
Only to stumble to the seat after the fight thinking I'm between rounds (yes, yes, mixing the metaphors) and see that a new old nemesis is ready to rumble, as it were. <br /><br />You're right. This isn't making sense. <i>Abandon metaphor! </i><br />
<br />
Okay. Plain speak. Yes. This is good plan. <br />
<br />
As I mentioned earlier, I've spent the last year re learning how we function best as a homeschooling family. To schedule or not schedule? To use time blocks (egads! that's much too much like <i>school</i>!) or not to use time blocks? To be more rigid or more relaxed? To force grammar exercises or encourage more reading? How best to help the boy and his need (but lack of desire) to move his body in a helpful way? Two very different learners; 10 million different approaches. Then there were supporting questions: what books to get, what math programme to use? How do I manage their mathematical skill set development? Holy times tables, batman - we've got to redo the basics! Stat! <br /><br />In the mean time, I lost sight of helping my kiddos with their relationships with each other. And with themselves. On that front, I was mos def (trademarked?) on auto parent. <br /><br />You know how it is with siblings - all the bickering and hitting and 'leave me alone!'s. I was kind of thinking that would be over by now. It's not. <br /><br />Thanks to insightful conversation with a good friend, I realize I still need to be describing and naming my kids emotions to them. Helping them to understand their motivations and reactions and to observe themselves so they can make conscious decisions about the kind of person they want to be. Early Intropsection Intervention, if you will. <br /><br />Now look, the truth is that I'm not entirely confident that kids <i>can</i> be introspective, but I don't think it would hurt them to introduce them to that way of engaging with one's self and showing them the possibility of being the in charge of how you deal with self and others in life. <br /><br />I was all of 30 before I had my first inkling of self awareness. Honestly. Think of all the missed opportunities all those years before that. Think of what they can choose as they <i>develop into</i> adults rather than un- and re-learning things after the fact. I know that living - just being alive- is a grand opportunity for growth in an upward direction. I know that as long as I am alive I will continue with the process of "growing up". I hadn't thought, before now, that I could give that insight to my kids so "soon". <br /><br />Remember when they were toddlers having a tantrum and we would validate, name and characterize their big emotions for them? That doesn't have to end with toddlerhood. Thinking about it now, I would have really benefited from that in my tween (and, honestly <i>teen</i>) years. Who knows, I might have resented it. But this isn't about me or "then". <br /><br />This is about my children and now. <br /><br />Let's do this.<br /><br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-55194742717442714232013-10-18T07:07:00.004-04:002013-10-18T07:09:06.103-04:00Why Does My Son Shine?The short history is that I have always found parenting my son to be, let's say, less-than-straightforward. <br />
Would I use words like <i>challenging, difficult, overwhelming, synonyms-of-all-the-of-the-above</i>? <br />
<br />
Why yes. Yes I would. I already have.<br />
<br />
I remember vividly a friend of mine turning to me one day - about five or six years ago - and asking me why I am always so negative about my son. Maybe it's not so vivid exactly what she said, but it's very vivid how it made me feel. <br />
<br />
I was surprised and I immediately became defensive. She just didn't understand. (No one did.*) Of course I love my son. Of course. At that point, though, I had spent the last few years well beyond the end of my wits; over my head - <i>deep</i> - in doubt-infested waters, never once feeling confident that I knew what the hell was going on.<br />
<br />
Sure, doubt is a normal part of parenting. I believe it's a 2-disc set you get, isn't it?: <i>Doubt and Guilt, Greatest Hits</i>. <br />
<br />
That's the short history. (There is plenty more in the archives. Trust.)<br />
<br />
Obviously, as he has gotten older things have changed. Parent him has become less challenging, less difficult, less overwhelming, less synonyms-of-all-of-the-above. Only slightly so, but definitely definitely less. A good 10 to 12% less, I'd say. <br />
<br />
I kid.<br />
<br />
More like 14%.<br />
<br />
This person is like no other person I have ever met before. You know, with my daughter, though she is an individual and unique and all that, she definitely has a familiar persona: The Artist Type. This serves as a kind of catch all container for her quirkiness, her compulsive collecting of random objects, her disorganized-ness. <br />
<br />
This son of mine though. He is new. And different. He is like me in so many ways. And, of course, unlike me in so many more. <br />
<br />
He is blunt- but sensitive as all hell.<br />
He is crazy witty -but misses most of the big picture.<br />
He is wicked sharp -but doesn't get the simple things.<br />
He is all kinds of personality -but he doesn't understand social constructs.<br />
He gets things in a snap -but digs his heels in if he has to work for it.<br />
He cannot keep still (literally) -but has the coordination of a drunk sloth (bless his heart).<br />
He is 100% technical. No buts.<br />
I would wonder if he had Asperger's, but he's so social.<br />
<br />
I am told by my good friend with reliable first hand knowledge that his is a valid, though uncommon, personality type. <br />
<br />
I don't know anyone like him. I haven't had any science-y friends before. <br />
<br />
Knowing this; that how he is - is. It's really a relief to know that He Is Not Alone (echo echo echo).<br />
<br />
Knowing this this changes the way that I navigate with him and even the way I understand my self as his mother. Knowing this adds another dimension to the awe and wonder I have as I watch him grow. <br />
<br />
Different different - same same.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">* They really didn't. People often explained it away as a boy thing. They had no idea.</span></i>Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-11216984778229504222013-10-18T06:26:00.000-04:002013-10-18T06:26:01.700-04:00There Is A BoyThere is a boy<br />
A funny boy<br />
who loves<br />
to play with the world.<br />
<br />
In in this boy<br />
there is a heart.<br />
The softest heart<br />
that holds the starts and sky.<br />
<br />
You can tell<br />
about the stars<br />
because they sparkle<br />
in his eyes.<br />
<br />
You can see<br />
about the sky<br />
because he fills it up<br />
with his wide open<br />
wonder.<br />
<br />
There is a boy<br />
a sharp boy<br />
who loves<br />
to know some more.<br />
<br />
He can tell you<br />
about the stars<br />
because they shine<br />
so brightly in his eyes.<br />
<br />
He can see<br />
so much to see<br />
He is bent<br />
(I tell you)<br />
on discovery.<br />
<br />
There is a boy<br />
a funny boy<br />
who is<br />
all the universe<br />
to me.<br />
<br />
<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-51461270313450903462013-10-06T23:39:00.001-04:002013-10-06T23:49:21.355-04:00Stepping StonesWe've been home schooling for just over a month now. Things are going pretty well. <br />
<br />
To state the obvious, it's been a learning process. To state the less obvious: for me. I haven't home schooled them since they were five and seven years old. And up until that point, we were just playing. And cooking. And doing science demonstrations (not experiments, per se). And reading lots of stories. Oh, and watching lots of youtube videos (as resources, mostly). <br />
<br />
I hadn't done any formal schooling with them. There were the odd moments of panic (what if I'm completely and utterly WRONG?! what if I <i>should</i> be teaching them to write?!) that lasted about one or two hours and - thankfully - passed without much interference in the real business of playing. <br />
<br />
Things are quite different now. <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>They have now spent two full school years and one half in school.<br />They are now 8 and 10.<br />They have become a bit jaded about learning. <br />I am not actually home with them in the mornings.<br />What if something happens to me and they have to get put back into school like before?</i></blockquote>
Things like that. So as a result of things being different, things are a bit different. <br />
<br />
It's not ideal. It's not what I want. And it's still a helluva lot better than before. I am super happy they are not in school. They are now free from the constraints of the series of little boxes of standards we like to call curriculum. They are also free from the tethers of half hour blocks of time for learning different things. They are free from tests and homework. They are free to learn more about what matters to them. They are free to spend more or less time on concepts they are exploring and skills they are building. <br />
<br />
I am thinking about Brother in particular. He was grasping concepts faster then he "should have" and had a lot of lag time in which to express his boredom kinesthetically, vocally -or both, disrupting the other learners and invariably getting into trouble. Now he can go as fast as he wants on those things - and take time to revisit some of the content and building blocks he missed because of the mid-year skip up to grade three. <br />
<br />
Sister, too, can linger or jump ahead. In that regard, it's ideal. <br />
<br />
In the other way(s), it's not ideal. I am making them do math and language every day so they can keep strengthening and growing those skills. Because what if? I just can't take that chance again. If there were a school that would meet them where they were if they needed admission, I'd feel less inclined to take this insurance policy route. But there isn't. I am trying to protect them. <br />
<br />
We are certainly learning things together, with and about each other. We've spent that last month or so figuring out what works best for us. And, to be honest, we are still figuring it out. <br />
<br />
I went from a loose list of things they might consider doing to adding time frames to Brother's daily plan to help give him more direction. (Otherwise, he was often bored and ended up disturbing Daddy who is working from home in order to facilitate them being at home.) I then saw that sister was also having some difficulty flowing. So I started doing custom notes every night before I went to sleep. I added specific tasks and links to potentially interesting videos. We did that for a while. Then I noticed they were having some difficulty flowing with the white board General List and the laptop text file Specific Tasks. They were confused. <i>Daddy was confused, too.</i> They were also ignoring much of the specifics in the text file. Okay. Nix that. Back to the writing board!<br />
<br />
Did that for a while. Then I noticed that when I got home at 1:15 or so, they'd still be on 11 o' clock on their whiteboard time line. This was happening consistently. Why? Because they'd get caught up in something they were doing (usually reading) and lose track of time. Solution? Get rid of the times. <br />
<br />
We are now on a system of a numbered list - with a few things that happen every day without fail - namely, as I mentioned before, Math and Language. (Math is a minimum of 1hr a day - critical for Brother because of his interest in Chemistry.) I also pull books from the shelf for them and put them out as suggested reading. This has been well received. They like having jumping off points. And this way, everybody wins. Brother has a list of things to do, but isn't bound to a time limit, and has suggestions to help him when he reaches a block. Sister is happy to have more literature. They both enjoy watching science videos on Youtube or BrainPop. Most recently, in an effort to help them master their multiplication tables, I downloaded an app called Sushi Monster and that is working well too. It's really a series of stepping stones that I lay out for them each day. They step when they are ready and have more ownership in the process.<br />
<br />
The most important thing we are working on is balance. We want to fit more activities into our week - like cooking and science demonstrations/experiments. This means not planning anything on Tuesdays when I do not go to work at all, and spending the day at home with them and doing stuff together instead. They really love it when I am home with them. I do too. (Do I even need to say here that if I could possibly stay home with them and do this without working, I totally would - before the heart even knew it needed another beat?) <br />
<br />
Overall, things are going well because Brother gets waaay more science time and sister gets waaay more creativity time. <br />
<br />
Now to get them doing some physical activities they enjoy. It appears they'd prefer me to pull their teeth. <br />
<br />
Without anesthetic. Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-68902875069079115102013-08-17T00:27:00.000-04:002013-08-17T00:30:42.010-04:00Get. Out.With the moon in full swing (<i>my</i> lunar phase, that is) I met the day with grim resolution. Ugh. <br />
<br />
You know those days, right? The "Ugh. Mumble. Coffee." days? Only I had a side of "Just shut up, already." served up hot and fresh! <br />
<br />
I did my best to ignore my children peacefully and kindly. And they insisted on talking and arguing and being loud and childish much too close to my Ignore Bubble, so they kept popping it. By mid-morning, I was the Grumpy Old Troll personified. And not that nice loser "troll" from Dora, either. I'm talking full on Lord of the Rings Cave Troll.<br />
<br />
Enter- Afternoon Plans! An Outing! With friends! To the Library! <br />
<br />
People, I am here to tell you that when the walls are pressing and the sounds of good old siblings being siblings sting you - GTFO! - Get. Out. Get out! Leave, vamoose, shoe! Go on! Get out of your house. Out is magic. Well, <i>fun</i> out is. <br />
<br />
There was, as it turns out, some mild appetizer pre-fun at the library. We became members and checked out books! <br />
<br />
Then it was on to the salad fun. Hanging and playing with our friends at their house. Fun! <br />
<br />
But what's this? Plans to ride our bikes to the park?! And meet MORE new friends? Why, this is beginning to sound Very Promising. <br />
<br />
I saw my sweet girl's confidence-o-meter slowly and steadily climb as she wobbled, then rode on her new GIANT bicycle. I saw my son's face become positively radiant with joy as he pedaled alongside us. I saw us three having this wonderful new experience of cycling together, thanks to our new neighbourhood with its not-so-new park. <br />
<br />
Then it was the main course, baby. FUN FUN FUN, wiz a littel bit of creme fun and a hint of exciting drizzled over top, served on a bed of discovery. <br />
<br />
Thanks to our new acquaintances, my kids found and held tiny snakes and worms. They also saw and observed the catching of a TARANTULA!!!! That's right. A big hairy spi-ider! The big, bursting excitement on my baby boy's face! From well over a hundred yards away, his joy exploded across the field "MOOOMMMMMMMMM!!! WE FOUND A TARANTULAAAAA!!!"<br />
<br />
He marched over with his band of new friends, triumphantly, gleefully, proudly escorting the spider and carrying a tiny "Blind Snake". <br />
<br />
This after an epic water gun battle in which every last one of them got soaked to the bone. <br />
<br />
There they all were, dripping wet and dirty - the Unflappable, Intrepid Explorers of The Park, beaming with all they had discovered under a rock on the far side of the field. <br />
<br />
I know what you're saying as you read this - "Get. Out!" <br />
<br />
We did!Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-76040840388778675092013-08-13T00:37:00.002-04:002013-08-13T10:14:45.015-04:00It was the worst of times, it was the best of times.Shocking news: <i> I'm not a perfect parent. </i><br />
<br />
I know, right? Who'da thought?! I'll give you a moment to collect your jaw and it's contents. <br />
<br />
Ready for another one? Steady now.<br />
<br />
<i>I'm not a perfect <u>anything</u>.</i><br />
<br />
Phew. I'm glad I got that off my- you know the story.<br />
<br />
It so happens that I'm not a huge fan of the set-up of your average <strike>creativity sucking machine</strike> school. Too much sit here do this and not enough of - well, anything else, really.<br />
<br />
Not really news to anyone, but I felt a teensy bit of back story was in order to help bring the next bit into sharper focus. <br />
<br />
I've observed that during their time at school, my kids had no time for much else. Whenever we had holidays, after a few days they would decompress and start finding things they enjoyed all over again. It was with this in mind that I decided to just let it all hang out when we finished the last school year; just let them do whatever they wanted. <br />
<br />
What they wanted was screens. iPod games, iPad games, Wii games and Netflix watching (there are eleven - count 'em - ELEVEN different Power Rangers series that Brother was gorging on). It was a brain numbing technology overdose. I watched and secretly wanted them to choose something else but kept saying that they needed the down time so they could do a major un-school decompression. I believe(d) it was good for them. I mean, <i><b>surely</b></i>, they'd get to a point of having had enough. <br />
<br />
I'm here to tell you: Unsurely. That point of too much screen time - "Mom, I'm tired of this, let's do something else," said none of my kids ever. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile back at the ranch, they were totally uncooperative with me, with our household, with each other. There was Major bitching and moaning when they were asked to help out around the house. They did not cooperate with the simplest requirements (pick up your dirty clothes off the floor of the bathroom, turn of the lights, bring your plate the three oppressively long uphill-both-ways-in-wintertime feet to the kitchen - things like that). <br />
<br />
It got to the point where everything felt like it was a fight. And I was really losing my tolerance for their faces constantly being reflected back at them in a screen. <br />
<br />
In an effort provide a consequence for their thoughtless ignoring of our requests, I began deducting one hour of screen privilege for the things I had reminded them of some <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Googol" target="_blank">googol</a> times. Clothes on the bathroom floor? One hour off for BOTH of them. <br />
<br />
Bathroom light left on (a-@#$@^king-gain)? One hour off for BOTH of them (I'm not dealing with the whole "It was him/It was her" scenario. And they would have to help each other remember. At least, that was my theory. <br />
<br />
Some days they'd have lost three hours of time. But it didn't matter because we were now going out and doing stuff (I was working for the month of July). <br />
<br />
It did help a little, but not that much. And then.<br />
<br />
I had had enough.<br />
<br />
(I need to tell you that this story reads like it was just a few squabbles and me being a total overlord and that's because I'm not a perfect story teller either - so I want to clarify that I - WE, the mister and I - had been trying to foster and encourage some more responsible behaviours for a while. We spoke to them about living in a community and doing their part; about doing things that are not always fun, but that are important. <br />
<br />
To no avail.<br />
<br />
I had had <i>enough</i>.<br />
<br />
Enter, three days ago which I will call the IHHE point in time. Because - say it with me - I had...<br />
<br />
had...<br />
<br />
<b><u>ENOUGH</u></b>.<br />
<br />
"That's IT!" I declared. "Screen privileges are suspended until further notice!" Or something like that. Faces slid to the floor. Protests were staged. Lectures were thrown - aggressively. <br />
<br />
You're not babies, you're big kids, I said.<br />
Eight and TEN! I may have said a little loudly.<br />
You can be more responsible people, I said. <br />
I'd be happy to keep picking up after you, I sang with Nutrasweetness. <br />
And treat you like toddlers, I smiled. <br />
Would you like that?, I cooed. <br />
<br />
No? <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then when you can act like more responsible people, </span><br />
I squinty-eyed, scary-quiet-voiced at the two deer in my headlights<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">you can have the same privileges as responsible people. </span> Heavy and angry declarations from a tired and had-it-up-to-here, frustrated me.<br />
<br />
Not my best moment, no. (Why do you ask?) <br />
<br />
And guess what? It kind of was. <br />
<br />
Secondary to any behavior modification I was looking to achieve, the real benefit is .... dun-dun-dunnnnnnn - they have been PLAYING! With toys! And each other! Happily! <br />
<br />
Out came the legos, the animals, the <a href="http://weknowgifs.com/gif/tag/spongebob-imagination-gif/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Imagination</span></a>. I mean, we had "celebrity guests" - Bear and Other Bear who had a made up non-actual-celebrity name I can't remember now- at breakfast the other day. <br />
<br />
I shared my shower with a giant lego boat, a turtle, a spiderman, a zebra, a crab and an elephant today.<br />
<br />
Sister has constructed a house, complete with solar panels! (Lego, people, lego house with lego "solar panels".)<br />
<br />
And yes folks, even a little cooperation. Is it carrot and stick? Yes. Yes it is. <br />
Apparently, I'm not afraid to use it. <br />
<br />
We've watched a few documentaries and some Doctor Who together, and will carry on with that for now. iWhatevers will make a return when the time is right.<br />
<br />
Perfect!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-62638966712730154002013-08-08T21:25:00.000-04:002013-08-08T21:25:44.596-04:00Side Kicks Have Special PowersDuring a game of pictionary, the word "magician" came up and was successfully drawn. I took the opportunity to mention that the word magician has its roots in the word "magi" which is how the visitors of young Jesus are described. <br /><br />I mentioned that magi were believed to have special powers. <br />
<br />
"Like a side kick?" asks almost 10 yr old Sister.<br />
Before I could answer she adds "What is a side kick, anyway?"<br />"The friend of the main guy," I reply.<br />
"But what about the other meaning of side kick?"<br />
"Other meaning? There isn't any other meaning," I say. (Thinking to myself about other possible meanings of side kick that I am not remembering. No, that's all there is.)<br />
<br />
...<br />
And then it hits me.<br />
<br />
"Ohhhhhhh... PSYCHIC." Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-1024895533173869692013-04-28T13:03:00.002-04:002013-04-28T13:04:45.326-04:00Is it okay to feel like punching your kid?Please:<br />
- turn off the (bathroom) light<br />
- wash your hands!<br />
- and flush the toilet!<br />
(but in the exact opposite order)<br />
<br />
- chew with your mouth closed<br />
<div>
- take your dirty clothes off the floor relocate them 18" away to the basket (like, literally bend down and pick them up and keeping your feet planted in the same spot, twist your upper body and release the clothes into the basket).</div>
<div>
- take your wet towel off the floor and relocate it 24" the wall hook (okay, this one involves an actual step)</div>
<div>
- help your plate to the kitchen</div>
<div>
- unpack your lunchbox</div>
<div>
(where is your water bottle?!)</div>
<div>
- put your toothbrush into the cup</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
These are things I say <b><u>MINIMUM</u></b> once a day. And mostly to the boy. Actually everything but the lunchbox and bathroom light are all things I say only to my son. Every. Single. Day. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have been asking him to close his mouth when he chews every night for the past, oh, three years or so. No kidding. Otherwise it's SMACK SMACK SMACK. I calmly ask, "Please chew with your mouth closed." Often times, three times over the course of a single meal. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In real raw gritty life, people. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As for the toothbrush? Quite honestly, it doesn't even belong on the stupid list because I've given up on his toothbrush ever actually making it to the little cup. This toothbrush holder, I might add, is <i>conveniently</i> located on the right side of the sink for the right-handed members of our family. (<i>Hint: all of us</i>.) This child of mine always always always puts his toothbrush on the perimeter on the LEFT side of the sink. (Which means that the boy has to physically take the toothbrush out of his right hand - or at the very least reach across the sink to put it there.) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After several nights of requests to put his toothbrush in the cup I began having him 'practice' the motion of putting in the cup. Put it in the cup, take it out of the cup, put it in the cup, take it out of the cup.... and it totally worked! Pffffft-haaaaaaaa! Nope. No it didn't. It takes the toothbrush and it puts the toothbrush on the tiny counter space directly beside the toilet. It does not understand the meaning of these words "in" and "cup".</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And yes, it's a small thing. I know that. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So is the plate and the light and the dirty clothes and the lunch box and the &^%damned water bottle being left at school every day. (EVERY. DAY. For realsies?)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But add them all up and some days - like today - I feel like I am going to lose my mind (or flip out and go <a href="http://www.realultimatepower.net/" target="_blank">Real Ultimate Power </a>ninja on him). I mean, my GOD. How long does it take for him to learn to just close his mouth when he chews? SERIOUSLY. Is it a boy thing? Is it a him thing? Is it a seven year ol- never mind. I know it's not that. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Having spent the better part of the last month trying to use a normal tone of voice (i.e. not yell), I find myself considering other verbal cues such as growling. <strike>Six to seven</strike> (who am trying to kid? more like) Three to four times out of ten I can find a humorous approach. The other three to four I am serious but not upset. The remaining times, my teeth are clenched and I may or may not have steam coming out of my ears as I say for the millionth time "Please. pick. your. shi- CLOTHES. up. off. the. floor. and. put. them. in. the. basketttttt."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Walk into his room right now. And you will find - I guaran-damn-tee it - underwear, pants and shirts on the floor BESIDE the (!@#$% ^&**(-ing laundry basket. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
WHY?!?! <curls and="" fist="" floor="" ground="" on="" pounding="" the="" up="" wailing="" with=""> <span style="font-size: x-large;">WHY</span><span style="font-size: large;">YYY</span>YYYYY<span style="font-size: x-small;">YYYY</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">YY</span>????? </curls></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't even have a witty wrap up for this one. Usually when I blog, by the time I get down toward the end a new perspective has emerged and shed light on the parts I was missing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yeah. I got nothin'. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-8466313671859966492013-03-30T19:52:00.003-04:002013-03-30T19:53:26.615-04:00Hi, World!I've witnessed some really major changes in my daughter over the last couple of months. She is definitely making the transition from little girl to bigger girl (which is my way of saying the thing I do NOT want to say - which is <span style="font-size: x-small;">pre-preteen</span> (yikes!)). Also, I kind of hate those terms - to be honest.<br />
<br />
Due to a series of complicated events that were happening with Brother, we thought it would be best for him to move up a grade from two to three - in the middle of the school year. To further complicate things, he would have been moved into the same class as Sister. All involved - Sister included - knew this was NOT a good idea. It was suggested by the school admin that perhaps we could move Sister up to grade four. She <i>is</i> the "right age" for that grade level and she is doing very well - meeting and exceeding expectations - in grade three... So let's give it a go. Of course, we consulted with Sister and Brother about all of it as well and they both agreed. Sister was quite reluctant because her confidence level was a little low.<br />
<br />
For example, when she recently discovered that she was being graded and given report cards (I'd never told her about it for obvious reasons* - what's that? not obvious? Okay, I'll add a notation at the bottom.) - right: report cards. When she learned about the letter grades, she automatically concluded that she would be getting a C in math. Which was ridiculous because she's never gotten less than an A. When we got home and I showed her the report card for the previous term and she saw all the As including the math grade, she was genuinely surprised. <br />
<br />
Like I said, low confidence. <br />
<br />
We all agreed to allow for a one week trial period with total take-backsies if they wanted out. Daddy and I held our collective breaths as they each started in their new classes - <i>in the middle of the freakin' year.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Within the first few hours Brother knew he was happy and wanted to stay. Sister was not as eager, but she wasn't unhappy either. By day two, she conducted a poll in the class asking if they wanted her to stay. Meanwhile, before she even got there, there was some kerfuffle about who would get to sit beside her (as she already had friends in the group). So, of course, it was a no-brainer and everyone (except that one PIA kid, bless his heart) voted for her to stay. This seemed to act like a Super Mario Brothers mushroom causing her to grow twice her size almost overnight. <br />
<br />
No kidding. By the end of that first week, my daughter was A Different Person. <br />
<br />
Her confidence level shot up. My previously shy, quiet, demure little girl became vocal, chatty, sassy and overall more participatory in her classroom than she had ever been in her time in school. Her new teacher was blown away by the change, as were the principal and director of our school. <br />
<br />
She came out of her shell and said "<span style="font-size: large;">Hi, World!</span>"<br />
<br />
And she hasn't looked back. <br />
<br />
And it scares me. Even though I really want this for her: I want her to be confident, outspoken, sticking up for herself and what she believes, not taking shit from anyone, to know her own mind (which she already did), to be willing to walk her own path - I'm not sure how to handle a person who does those things against my better judgement. <br />
<br />
Which is the crux and the irony. You know? I don't know how to balance "know-your-own-mind & do it your way" with "follow-our-lead-because-we're-here-to-guide-you".<br />
<br />
I'm going to cop to the fact that it was easier to foresee parenting the shy, demure, cooperative girl through her teenage years. Actually, forget eas<u style="font-weight: bold;">ier</u>, it was just plain <i>easy</i> in my mind. <br />
<br />
It's true that she's always been the kind of person who once she'd made up her mind about something that was it, she didn't really do it that much and she was still almost always willing to cooperate. Now? Not so much. <br />
<br />
Of course I know that my children will both choose things that are different from what I want for them, the won't always idealize the same things as me. Which is a good thing. I am already working on learning to co-exist with and even support things they like/choose that I would not. I'm working on that in small ways to get ready for the big ways that are probably coming down the tube. <br />
<br />
You know, I'm not even sure what I'm scared of. That's a lie. I'm scared of being alienated from them and being irrelevant in their lives. <br />
<br />
There. I said it. <br />
<br />
It's not sex, drinking or drugs. No. I'm terrified of the shut door. Not the sometimes shut door, the always shut door that would relegate me to the sidelines as sympathetic bystander. <br />
<br />
I wish someone could tell me how to parent so that they will always feel safe with me and always trust me and tell me the Big, Important Things. For now, I'm being there and being there and then being there some more. <br />
<br />
I'm being genuine and honest. I am listening and trying not to talk too much. I am living my journey too; modeling that following my dreams is important. Being me and hoping that's good enough, really.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">* Not a fan of conventional schooling. I abhor testing (standardized or not), homework and grades; t</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">hey have no place in the arena of discovery and learning. </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> I reject the artificial standards by which all children are measured and judged and see it as institutionalized neglect of the each of the learners' individuality and personal learning needs. Due to circumstances that have been beyond my reasonable control, my children who were unschooled all their early lives, have been in conventional school since January 2011. </span>Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-71839325133322545162013-02-08T06:35:00.000-05:002013-02-08T06:38:11.723-05:00Coming CleanIt's no secret that I am an unwavering advocate of alternative schooling. If you have had more than one conversation with me, you will be well aware of my position on education.<br />
<br />
It would shock you, then, to know that my children are both attending a traditional school, one where I happen to be a teacher. As far as traditional schools go, this one is quite idyllic. The ethos of the school is learning (even if by rote) can be fun. The administrators and teachers care deeply about the children and it shows. It is a great school! <br />
<br />
And yet. Here I am. I have spent years and thousands of hours researching and teaching myself on forward thinking methods of education. One doesn't have to look very far to learn that the current "traditional" method is based largely on the industrial revolution's needs for workers. One then has to simply look just a tiny bit beyond the nose to note that we are no longer in the industrial era and therefore no longer in need of factory workers on an all encompassing scale. <br />
<br />
For this and other social (and, let's face it, political) reasons, I unschooled my children until they were 7 and 5. Things (read: "I") fell apart and could not carry on so to school they went. That was two years ago. I have since regained solid ground and started working - full time!!! - again. <br />
<br />
History lesson over. <br />
<br />
Here I am. I have lived a dual life. Unwavering in my own deeply held convictions while doing almost the exact opposite of them. Looking up from the grind stone, even being grateful for all that has been afforded to me because of this position I have had, I am struck in the face by the question: "WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL AM I STILL DOING HERE?" (<i>Ouch</i>, by the way.)<br />
Yes, there was the question of need of income. Yes I am trying very hard to finish my bachelor's degree to the tune of $24,000. Yes, yes, yes. <br />
<br />
But frankly? Fucking NO. <br />
<br />
Hours of homework, extending an already long and stifling school day into our home life? NO.<br />
Hours of sitting at a desk all day doing work pages? NO.<br />
Science - the beauty, marvel, wonder of the world around us - being reduced to a text book? Absolutely NOT.<br />
Our whole life revolving around school? (Sleep schedule, eating schedule, bloody <i>living</i> schedule based on school and homework times.) Gawd no.<br />
Letter grade assessments of their abilities? Nope.<br />
Rote? No no no.<br />
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It works - is even ideal for some people - and I am not at all one of them. <br />
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Compromise and <strike>tolerance</strike> acceptance can be noble. Can be. Whatever virtue there was in my doing this for my children to be able to travel, to have lessons/mentorship in things that are meaningful or important to them (art, tennis, swimming etc.), to have quality foods - these wonderful benefits of me working - whatever there was in it is now expired. Those benefits no longer outweigh what I desire to give to my children most of all: the freedom to explore their world and themselves. <br />
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Their mom is ME, and that is what I want to give to them. <br />
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What's so wrong with that?<br />
<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-76759495031156434402012-09-22T12:40:00.004-04:002012-09-22T12:42:05.853-04:00Autumnal Equinox Birth DayWhat an auspicious day to be celebrating one's birth: The Autumnal Equinox! <br />
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Today I celebrate a birth that has changed me, has changed my life - and continues to change my life - more than I could ever dream or imagine. <br />
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Seven years ago today, I gave birth to my 10lb wonder. A person who, from the very beginning, made it abundantly clear that he is so much bigger than the body that contains him. There is so much that is BIG about Ryan. "Ryan": when it came down to it, I didn't even really want that name - even tried to change it. It appears, however, that the name really rather wanted him. They were meant to be together, the boy and the name. The best meaning that can be surmised is "little king". And it fits him to a T. He is King-ish. As an infant, he was high need; demanding - nursing every 30 minutes or so for his first few months of life, nor did he ever really need much sleep. Peering squinty-eyed back into the past, I see now that he (has always) had a general air of impatience; of being About Something. <i>Can't sleep, have to hurry up and grow, need to get things done!</i><br />
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He really was and still is so<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> big</b></i></span>. He takes up a lot more space than most people. His movements, his sounds, his way of playing and being is high energy, intense - BIG. His way of speaking is big. (Seriously. His choice of words, his intonation - beyond his years.) Case in point: his teacher has told me that he becomes frustrated when other people in his class have questions after a concept has been taught. He impatiently yells "Oh, COME on!" when someone asks a question. Obviously, I've spoken to him about the inappropriateness of this response and also about everyone having a different kind of smart. (A never ending theme in our home culture.) This is the perfect example of how impatient he can be.<br />
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After having a quiet and ethereal person like Lauryn live with us for two years, his sudden burst of energy did indeed come as a staggering shock to me. I teetered, wobbled, grabbed for the sturdy. Figured him out as he careened ahead, leaving me in the dust.<br />
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As I said, "Little King" has changed me. Quite a bit more, I am positive, than I can possibly know right now and will only clearly see in that crystal clear rear view mirror of hindsight in about 20 years or so. Has it been hard as hell? You bet your bottom penny. And it has been good.<br />
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Witnessing this being; beholding the unfolding of this person is like nothing else. Ever. He is so full and overflowing with zest and zeal; with tenderness and caring; with curiosity and wonder. He is so many things, my Ryan. He is unforgettable. He is warm. He is obnoxious. He is tactical. He is a scientist. He is <b><i>so very good with words</i></b>. He is the whole bed of roses, velvety sweet softness complete with thorns and dirt... and rocks!* <br />
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Even though the stages seemed, themselves, to have lasted eternities, the years have quietly tiptoed by, never really attracting as much attention as some of those raucous hours and days. Now that they've gone, I miss them. I treasure those that are left. I love him a little more fiercely today than yesterday.<br />
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Perhaps the equinox is a good omen. Perhaps there is more balance coming our way; both to me and to him and to us together. Perhaps as I gently widen my embrace to accommodate more and more of my son and the hours, minutes, days with him - well... all the parts can fit and be held and be safe.<br />
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The Sun's "path" aligns perfectly with the equator today. After this, the days will be gradually shorter; the nights longer. I am experiencing a similar alignment with my own son's path today; his days, his nights, his seasons.<br />
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I am filled with gratitude for him. I am filled with delight and hope and joy for all the wonder and potential he his inside him. <br />
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Happy birth day, dear Ryan Michael. You have certainly changed the world as I know it; <i><span style="font-size: large;">you expand the boundaries of possible</span></i>.<br />
<br />
I love you all ways.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Disclaimer: I've always said and I still maintain that unless you've
had a child like Ryan, the journey of parenting him is hard to get. I
know my son; I've met other children like him; tagged with words like
spirited, intense, high-need - but never 'angry' or 'malicious'. Just
variations of 'big'.</span></i>Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-90124866140539082012012-08-26T17:18:00.004-04:002012-08-26T17:26:51.741-04:00Nuthin' Doin'Our family have just spent the better part of a month just hanging out together. <br />
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For the first week, it was just me and the people, getting used to our new, temporary life in Jamaica. Then The Mister came along for the last three weeks. And it was - every last minute of it - 100% perfection. <br />
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Know why? Because we were just sharing time and space together mostly just having simple fun. The importance of which cannot be overstated.<br />
<br />
In this moment of reflection upon our time there in Jamaica, I am becoming keenly aware of what a luxury it is that we were afforded. I mean - one whole month of just chilling in Jamaica? We <i>did</i> that - <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">together</span></i>. (Do I need the disclaimer about it being our choice of work that is a major factor?)<br />
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Of course we did "things", stuff, adventures. We visited with family and long time friends. I hung out with old high school friends in the new lives as parents and grownups (!). We got to watch a THE Olympic event (as far as Jamaicans are concerned) surrounded by a room full of energized Jamaicans - the kids seeing the vibrant and colorful way that sporting achievement is celebrated. We went zip-lining in the mountains, we went driving through my favorite part of the island and visited one of my very favorite childhood spots: Frenchman's Cove. The we were swimming and playing in the very same spot where my father first started teaching me to swim almost 30 years ago. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">How amazing was it to share all that with my own children</span>?! <br />
It's kind of the most amazing thing ever. A little.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Z3DOx9zofxT0YyHLQNmby1yhSmXQoN_QJ9RTRkbqWt2PnDBqhLNUaImVF4BBS3YkGbcdg1fjUPAI8y4eC85BzZqS2KlzKys_AkeJ5kW5-kwccfUGxxigCRJaCGoQnnEfeCTY/s1600/IMG_1252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Z3DOx9zofxT0YyHLQNmby1yhSmXQoN_QJ9RTRkbqWt2PnDBqhLNUaImVF4BBS3YkGbcdg1fjUPAI8y4eC85BzZqS2KlzKys_AkeJ5kW5-kwccfUGxxigCRJaCGoQnnEfeCTY/s320/IMG_1252.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring at Frenchman's Cove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
And still, some of the most magical moments were when we were just being together. Down by The River. Playing with and parallel to each other. And being. Doing nothing.<br />
<br />
The meaningfulness, the profound worth and value of the time we had together can never be overstated. There are ways that is creating something in our lives that even I don't understand.<br />
<br />
In the doing of a tremendous amount of 'nothing' together, I believe we created at least as much 'something' - together. Something that will outlast jobs, houses, photos; and that will echo into generations to come. I can't name it, but I know it's real and happening. <br />
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Not so much nothing after all.<br />
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<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-25726944721191590842012-08-17T13:04:00.000-04:002012-08-17T13:04:09.316-04:00Successful MistakesWhere we are staying, there is a 10 foot jump off into the river. It looks pretty mild and easy from the water level, but when one ascends the staircase, walks out onto the edge of the platform and looks down, it's a whole other ballgame. It now feels bone-threatening. <br />
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I have watched many a tourist walk up, out, look down and turn around and walk back down the stairs. I, myself have to psyche myself up every. single. time. I go to jump. Even when it's immediately after the one I've just a spent <i>Jeopardy!</i> timer song working myself up to. <br />
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Enter my thrill-seeking, sensory-input enthusiast of a son. On his first available opportunity (which was early yesterday morning), he climbed the stairs, walked to the edge and without so much as a second thought, leapt from the platform. <br />
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I was happily applauding his bravery as he splashed down only to have that short-lived when he came up crying. Darling. What happened? <br />
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The dreaded belly flop. Ironically, he is as sensitive as he is adventurous and has a somewhat unbelievably low pain tolerance threshold. We hugged, consoled, encouraged, reassured. <br />
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But he was done. <br />
<br />
No more. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That hurt too much.</span><br />
<br />
As it happened, I was hanging out up on the jumping platform, having coffee, feeding the fish and he was up and down intermittently after the bad jump. We had some conversation about what happened and both his dad and I explained what caused him to get hurt and how he could jump more safely. He agreed that it <i>had</i> been fun right up until the flop. As the morning meandered, he ascended and descended, in and out of conversation. He asked why it hurt and I explained the physics and we got into some analogies until he was re-explaining it back to me. I knew he'd gotten it. <br />
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A little later we wrapped it up with me encouraging him to jump again so that the bad one wouldn't be his last impression. That he could learn from the mistake he made on the first go. <br />
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No more jumping, he said. That really hurt too much. <br />
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I accepted this. Didn't want to push too hard. <br />
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A few hours later a group of tourists were there milling about around the jump off and Ryan came down from the house having changed out of, and then back into his swim clothes. He made a beeline to the platform, cutting right through all the people there and stood at the edge. "Are you going to jump?!" I yelled up to him. <br />
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He shot me with his so-very-Ryan sparkle, said "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i>Sure!</i></span>" and in the next second was airborne and splashing down. <br />
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The assembled group and myself on the periphery were all sort of taken aback by his fast, easy matter-of-factness. We seemed to be holding our breaths together waiting to see his little head pop up. Only, <i>I</i> knew what kind of stakes were riding on his facial expression. <br />
<br />
It was a huge, proud grin! <br />
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He did it! And even though everyone was proud with him, I was the absolute proudest because he pushed past his fear and did it again and he gained the tremendous reward of knowing that about himself. <br />
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He came out and we high fived and high tenned (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">is it one N or two?</span>) and I told him how<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> proud</span> I was for him. He marched right back up those stairs and jumped again. And again. And again. It was something like six times in a row. <br />
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And several more times throughout the remainder of the day. Even when, in his words, he was starting to lose his confidence. <br />
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Even after another unfortunate belly-flop, from which he surfaced crying in pain. <br />
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This was the spark of another hours long, ebbing-flowing conversation about how we can learn from our mistakes. The conclusion of which was late in the day - when the sun was that thick, rich golden yellow - and Ryan was on his tummy on the swing over the river, sparkling right alongside the water around us and saying to me:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"You know, mom? I think mistakes are probably better than success, because you learn so much more from them."</span></i></blockquote>
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You know what, Ryan? I think you're right. Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-5821912872453308382012-08-07T09:58:00.002-04:002012-08-13T18:14:12.682-04:00Where did I come from?When I was about nine, my father presented me with The Facts Of Life in the form of a book with the same title as this blog post. I don't remember details, but I can tell you it's a story told by a sperm on it's way to fertilize an egg. I think it may have even been wearing a bow tie, you know, to be gentleman-like and all that... I guess. (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Where-Did-I-Come-From/dp/0818402539/ref=pd_sim_b_5" target="_blank">Here's the book</a> on Amazon.) I was left to conclude that a bow tie wearing sperm was exchanged between my parents (illustrated as two chubby-ish light skinned people making hearts escape from under the covers) and nine months later - voila! - here I was...<br />
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What's funny is that a few days ago in the middle of social time with my parents, temporarily living together in the same house* (as me!!!) - a true rarity (and I'm talking <i>endangered species</i> rare) - I found myself asking The Mister "Where did I <i>come </i>from?" Me with my everything-opposite-to-everything-they're-about self. There I was really looking at my parents, thinking about how different I feel from them, and their hopes and expectations of me. It just doesn't add up.<br />
<br />
You see, my mother is decidedly conservative and will likely vote as such - <i>;as90kP:znvae3[3asuf=m</i> excuse me, I just had a shiver - in the upcoming election. Nothing against my mom. It's Rrrr.... Rrrr... you know who I mean - that gives me the heebies. Still, she was pretty non-conservative in her younger days: a party animal, a little bit of a thrill seeker, and pre-marriage conceiver of me. So there's that. It would ultimately be the Straight And Narrow road for her though. <br />
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My father? He's what many in a previous generation would call "a real character". He's the limelight guy: life of the party, joke teller, friends with everyone everywhere and all that. My father is the good times maker.<br />
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My love of adventure, jokes and laughing, parties and a good time: it's easy to see where I got those traits. And, of course, the requisite looking "exactly" like whichever parent the observer happens to know very well. The rest of it? The challenge EVERYthingness? The piercing, hair dyeing, feminist, humanist, animal rights advocate, pro-choice, left wing, <b><i>everybody</i></b> has a right to the opportunity for a good life, partially atheistic, would-be hippie me? I tried the Straight and Narrow, but it didn't stick. A bit like water off a duck's back, that was. </div>
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Where in the holy gene pool did this whole me come from, exactly? </div>
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I have a theory. But it sounds pretty kooky so it's hard to say. And I don't really care if you think I'm kooky so here it is.</div>
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My great grandmother, when she was about 15 years old, announced to her sisters one night that when they awoke the next morning, she'd be gone. They didn't believe her. But it didn't matter or change the fact that the next day, she was indeed gone - all the way to CUBA to elope with a man she was not supposed to love and definitely not marry - a black (non-Indian) man. (The scandal!) She lived there for a number of years, giving birth to my grandfather and grand uncle there and, a little later returning to Jamaica - all of her family fluent in Spanish. </div>
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I believe that Estriana - maker of her own damn path thank you very much, passed her thatness on to me. It makes me wish I could have really known her when she was young and rejecting the status quo. It makes me feel like she lives on in me. </div>
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It goes without saying that I love my parents very much. It's kind of nice to get a sense, too, of how even their parents and grand parents have had an influence on who I am.</div>
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In this way, immortality comes alive.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">* My parents were in the same house because my mom came for a visit to Jamaica at the same time as me and she also stayed at my dad's house.</span></div>
Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-28659960869659266702012-07-12T19:46:00.001-04:002012-07-12T19:49:51.452-04:00Ism parenting great?Like any self respecting over-thinker, I spend waay too much time trying to imagine how my children will think of me once they have realized how completely they are their own people, or in fewer words - when they are adults. Is this me projecting what is turning out to be a never ending case of navelitis (aka navel gazing) onto their future selves? Maybe.<br />
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But, come on. What cognizant adult doesn't at some point evaluate what kind of job their parents did raising them? Amiright? <br />
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As it happens, I tend to go a little whole hog (a terrifically horrible metaphor considering the subject at hand) with my philosophical and ethical standpoints. My friendly therapist has told me that I can be a little bit 'all or nothing'. She's totally wrong, of course. <br />
<br />
So, Ive been thinking lately about the ways my future adult children will characterize my parenting. Specifically, with regard to my personal passions that are currently affecting their lives in very real ways.<br />
<br />
I am a <span style="font-size: large;">feminist</span> - That means that I feel obligated to point out the ways that women are considered less than. Or the ways that women are - different, yes <i>and</i> - equal to men.<br />
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I am <span style="font-size: large;">agnostic</span> - But I used to be a committed believer. So once there was church. And now there isn't. Questions about the world around us are met with scientific responses. And still lots of awe and wonder.<br />
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I am a recovering <span style="font-size: large;">germophobe</span> - Holy wow, have I fought the good fight with this one! I think I've done pretty well, but they still aren't allowed under my sheets unless they have JUST had a shower. (Hey, I can't let EVERYthing go.)<br />
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I am an advocate of <span style="font-size: large;">vegetarian</span> and/or vegan lifestyles (though I am not myself a strict adherent...yet) - though I've been flirting with vegetarianism for years, it's been very recently (after reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eating-Animals-Jonathan-Safran-Foer/dp/0316069884/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1342134470&sr=8-1&keywords=eating+animals+jonathan+safran+foer" target="_blank">Eating Animals</a>) that I we made the switch in our home. It's been a giant adjustment for all of us, but I think more so for the kids. The Mister and I do not eat land animals at all. We still eat fish occasionally when we are out; the kids are free to eat meat wherever it is available to them (parties, other people's homes etc.) because I don't want to force it on them. And eating is a Very personal choice. (More on this later.*)<br />
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I am a firm believer in self-directed learning and therefore, <span style="font-size: large;">educational reform</span> - <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Go ahead, roll your eyes. Done? Okay. </span></i> You know the drill. "School is a waste of time, it kills creativity, kids don't get to know themselves, they are led to believe that learning is about grades, they don't really get a lot out of it, blah blah blah." This is my spiel. If you don't know it yet - you can have your eye full at <a href="http://www.birthofaschool.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">my other blog</a>.<br />
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I have very strong opinions about <span style="font-size: large;">equality</span> and social justice. I will not tolerate any of the prevailing phobias that seem to have (largely) the right wing types in a chokehold. An ideology best summed up by this marvelous sign I recently saw on this (very awesome, by the way) <a href="http://adventuresinlearning.tumblr.com/post/26979940165/via-i-acknowledge-class-warfare-exists" target="_blank">tumblr blog</a>.<br />
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Things like that. <br />
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Each of those are probably blog posts in and of themselves. How does my feminism affect my daughter? My son?<br />
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I don't think I'm preachy. I often interject things as a "did you know...?", for example, just the other day we were driving downtown and we passed these big beautiful posters of the women who spearheaded the Suffragette Movement in our country. Of course, I pointed out to my daughter and her friend who was with us at the time, who those women were and why they and what they did are very important and worth celebrating and honoring. They were shocked to learn that there was a time when women were not able to vote. Mostly though, they were befuddled about WHY. <br />
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*With the no meat thing, there has been some friction, to be sure. I've been very open and honest with them about WHY we have made that choice for our family. I talked to them about factory farms and what it means for our environment and the welfare of the animals. I have shown them a few images of the suffering the animals are subjected to, but no movies. I am trying to stay away from scare tactics (poorly clad duress, really) while still presenting the facts.<br />
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But then...<br />
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This is so much about THEM and THEIR future too. <u>SO</u>. <u>MUCH</u>. <br />
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I am caught between my very strong, core belief that they need to be left to come to this on their own, and the philosophical/ethical dilemma of what it really means when they DO eat meat. Would anyone knowingly feed their children an animal they KNOW was too sick to stand when it was slaughtered? An animal that has so many antibiotics in it's system it's bound to affect their own health? An animal that was tortured leading up to and while being killed?<br />
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I am having a really hard time with that. This is both about them and much bigger than them. I know they can't grasp that.<br />
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But isn't that we as parents are here for? We gather information and make the best possible choice that is available to us. Wherever possible, <i>this family</i> includes all of it's members in the process. And sometimes we don't. Will they be jumping for joy at all of our decisions? Do I even need to answer that?<br />
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Ultimately, I am still just a regular Jane on a journey to continue to better my self and the world around me. It would be inauthentic and stupid of me to try to keep that from my children. <br />
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Even if it may take them decades to get it.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">P.S. I do not adhere to any absolute concepts. Reality is fluid. As is truth. Even love can look like harm.</span><br />
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<br />Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-47444213436365573502012-07-10T00:01:00.001-04:002012-07-10T00:01:26.221-04:00Mirror Mirror... at the beach?!One of the best worst things about having children is the way they so perfectly reflect - <i>10,000 mega watt light-up, pores-the-size-of-texas, vanity-style mirror reflect</i> - all <strike>your</strike> my horrible no good bad ways back at yo- err... me.<br />
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Earlier today, right before the last few inches of me joined the rest on the floor in a miserable bitching moaning puddle, I decided it might be a good idea to go to the beach and cool off. The kids decided that too. Yay! <br />
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I did not, however, feel like walking the 1/2 marathon distance over the sand dune to the over the bridge and awesome! beach. I therefore elected to drive only a little further to the 30-steps-away-from-the-parking-space beach. The non-awesome (used to be gross but got some TLC and is now a sniff above tolerable) beach. Which is to say, the water is not crystal clear at 70 or even 7 feet deep. And there's SEA GRASS. Yuck.<br />
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Okay, you get my drift. That beach isn't my BFF ... or B<i>B</i>F.<br />
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Snap, crackle, pop we get there and park. It's not too crowded, but still I chose the spot that was furthest away from everyone else. For the quiet.<br />
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But then, later on, some people showed up and set up right beside us. With pizza, noise and, apparently, a whole K-12 in tow. Ugh. (She said so totally silently inside her head that even her ears didn't hear it.) <br />
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Of course it wasn't long before I saw, from my shady vantage point, some fleeting social contact between my kids and the other kids happening in the water. It is here and now that I will reveal to you the mirror image with which my daughter (and son! Separately!) presented to me.<br />
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First, she comes up to ask if I noticed the "confused look" on her face as one of the younger boys was speaking to her. Not really, no. She then explained that it was as a result of his ... (are you ready for this?)... <i>POOR GRAMMAR</i>!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I die.</span><br />
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But not so fast, mommy dearest.<br />
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Here comes my boy to tell me that one of the other boys was asking to borrow his goggles but he couldn't understand him because - get this - "he wasn't speaking English."<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I re-die. </span><br />
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WELL, I said. How did you know what he was asking, if it wasn't in English? (I ask, confident that I had caught him in his hyperbole.)<br />
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"No. His friend had to translate for him. Because HE speaks ENGLISH." And the kicker - "I think he's Jamaican." I tell him, not without a trace of indignance, that no, he is NOT Jamaican. I am wondering now, what does it even matter? Anyway-<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I dig myself up, die once more.</span><br />
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Oh for shame. My grammar snobbery has come back like a rabid dog and bitten my upon my prissy little arse. I swear on the dictionary that I've tried to broadcast that culturally modified English is still a valid, effective and important language. Rather, language<u>s</u> - plural.<br />
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Clearly though, as I myself have only just begun to really appreciate this completely important and bona fide truth, it will take me some time to mix this - like bacos - into conversations about language and culture as they come up.<br />
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People do not have to speak standard english to be smart. (Duh.) English as a first language individuals - such as myself and that cliché American tourist yelling at the "foreign peoples" - don't really seem to get that. We may have been a tad misled by our colonizers. (That's not an understatement and I mean no offense. Nor am I being in the least bit sarcastic. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Yes I am</span>.)<br />
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Thanks for showing me that glaring spot there kiddos. It wasn't pretty, but at least I can work towards fixing that. <breaks and="" creams="" metaphorical="" out="" unctions=""><br /></breaks><br />
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Starting with Me. And I don't have to worry.<br />
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The mirror will catch up.Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34541597.post-13557905948635402772012-07-08T08:55:00.003-04:002012-07-08T09:00:30.949-04:00Double VisionI have a working theory that supposes that (intentional*) parents are all working to give their children, not only a good life, but a better life than they had as children themselves. A kind of, "There. I fixed it." parenting. <br />
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This theory is based on me.<br />
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(Okay, and a few friends I've polled about it, but yeah. Mostly me... and The Mister.)<br />
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Here are some more thoughts I have been thinking about that.<br />
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Since the glorious running-through-meadows-in-slow-mo freedom of the Summer, we've pretty much let bed time go. Instead, at 9pm, we invite the people to have some quiet time in their own spaces. The premise is that they are free to play until they are ready to go to sleep. <br />
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My chronically social son who cannot bare to spend a moment alone always chooses to go to sleep instead. (To be fair to him, 9 0'clock is usually when his battery runs out anyway.)<br />
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My chronically self sufficient daughter, on the other hand. She seems to really enjoy that time and stays up till about 10 or 10:30.<br />
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There we were in the middle of Breaking Bad, The Mister and I, and we heard The Call - "I'm ready to go to slee-eep!" We immediately popped up and trooped in to give her goodnight kisses and cuddles. As I was walking in, I thought to myself how lucky she is to have This. After all, I don't recall being tucked in by anyone, let alone BOTH parents every night. Neither did I have the scandalous luxury of staying up and playing till <i>I</i> was ready to go to sleep.<br />
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She sure has a cushy happy childhood to look back on, I thought. <br />
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But then. <br />
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I realized that's probably what my parents were thinking about me. And rightly so, given some of the experiences they've related to me about their own upbringing. My life was pretty damn cushy. And my father, now ass-less, worked it off to provide me with said life. My mother made it a point to share some really meaningful experiences with me and to build strong relational bonds with me. While I cannot speak for them with absolutely certainty, I know for a fact that at least one of them was working to give me the kind of life(style) that they never had.<br />
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It's a kind of double vision that seems inevitable for parents. There is the life the parent had as a child, and that which they (hope to) create for their own children. <br />
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I suppose we don't have any choice but to start with our defining memories, the history that was given to us in first, second and third persons, and to some how 'retrofix' it through our actions now.<br />
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Which led me to the conclusion that my own children may someday - if they become parents (or even if they don't) - look back at their childhood and see missing pieces; things <i>they</i> would do differently. Which then led to me finally conclude that no matter what I do, it will one day be seen as lacking. <br />
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And hopefully, reconciled. Seen for what it really is, which is me doing the very damned best that I can with all the resources that are available to me. Double vision and all.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">* I say "intentional" because I think some parents don't give even one single iota about what kind of job they are doing or care about what kind of life their children have. Obviously, those are not the parents I'm talking about here. </span></i>Milkshakenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12555766550509475123noreply@blogger.com5