September 6, 2007 will be a momentous day for me. It marks the moment that I will officially go back to school. Though my name will not appear on any rolls or registers, I will begin a new academic career vicariously through my son. My carefree days of preschool are behind me now and I am forging forward into Kindergarten. While I know that the academic rigors of Kindergarten are less than a cerebral challenge for me personally, my child will be embarking on a completely new path of learning and I will need to navigate those waters at his side. It shouldn't seem so daunting, but alas there are so many things I need to learn myself.
I have a bundle of forms that I need to fill out ranging in topic from milk money (do we order yearly or monthly?) to PTA interests (do Alan and I both pay dues and join, or just me?) to fundraising items (do I want to display my school pride with a car magnet?). There is so much here to consider, my head is swimming with decisions to be made.
Then there is the anticipation of an academic year to come, during which Ethan will be faced with learning to read, continuing to work on his writing, and fine-tuning his social skills which he will need in order to bond with kids he has never met before. Fortunately, our greatest anxiety has been met with a blessing in the form of his best friend being placed in his class. In addition to his in vivo version of a safety blanket (his best buddy) he will have at least 3 other kids in his class that he knows from preschool, perhaps even more. It has given me great comfort to know that he will have familiar faces around him creating a cushion as he transitions into a more mature learning environment. I am also comforted by the fact that his last year of preschool prepared him well for the challenges of this coming year. His teachers conducted the class as if it were a Kindergarten class. Ethan is well-versed in many of the classroom policies with which he will be faced this coming year. I know that will make things easier for him.
I remember so well the feeling of the night before the first day of school. Laying out the perfect outfit and then laying sleepless for hours in my dark room, unable to sleep from the jitters of anticipation of what the next day would hold. Replaying a summer full of memories and feeling the loss of those endless summer days and evenings, I would gently grieve the end of my freedom. I wonder what September 5th will be like for me and for Ethan. Which of us, if either, will be sleepless? Will he feel the butterflies in his tummy as he drifts off to sleep, or will I be the only one left restless and disquieted by the impending milestone?
Of all of the milestones we have experienced so far, this one strikes me as the most dramatic. This rite of passage represents a transition into a completely different way of life. This first day of school marks our entry into the world of competitive academics and all of the ups and downs that accompany it. We will soon have homework and tests and quizzes, and eventually (though further down the road) academic rankings. This is where we set the tone for Ethan's future academic successes and challenges. The best I can do right now is what I have always tried to do for my son. Hide from him the anxiety that I am feeling so that I can allow him to experience his own genuine emotions about the start of his "true" academic career, and be there for him if or when he has an emotion he needs to express. It is my goal to let him pave the way and to create his own future, but to stay close by in case his ship needs to be righted.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
The Sweetest Sound
Yesterday I heard the sweetest sound. It was Eliana saying, "I love you." It wasn't clear as a bell, it wasn't the most perfect pronunciation, but it was unmistakable. My daughter turned around as she sat in my lap, she kissed my lips and then said, "I love you." She meant to say it, she wanted to express what she was feeling at the time and she did it.
The thing that makes it so tender for me is that I have been able to give this 17 month old child the desire to articulate such a feeling. It makes me feel absolutely wonderful about the job I am doing as a parent that my baby so completely understands the concept of love and is able to convey it to others. Her world is so full of love that it naturally flows from her to those around her. There aren't a lot of things for which I feel comfortable taking credit. I will happily claim this as my own triumph of parenting. I justify this with the assumption that were my daughter not exposed to true loving care on a daily basis, in fact completely enveloped in love at every moment, she would not have the capacity to understand, let alone express, love. After all, how can one understand the unknown?
This morning I was treated to a shower of I love you's. I'd be lying if I denied being intoxicated by it. The very idea of it makes me weak in the knees. Hearing Eliana say those words is on par with hearing Alan say those words to me for the first time. The impact on my heart is incalculable, I cannot quantify the feeling, I cannot adequately describe it. Suffice to say that this will be a day I'll long remember and cherish. This is one of the days when being a mommy feels very good.
The thing that makes it so tender for me is that I have been able to give this 17 month old child the desire to articulate such a feeling. It makes me feel absolutely wonderful about the job I am doing as a parent that my baby so completely understands the concept of love and is able to convey it to others. Her world is so full of love that it naturally flows from her to those around her. There aren't a lot of things for which I feel comfortable taking credit. I will happily claim this as my own triumph of parenting. I justify this with the assumption that were my daughter not exposed to true loving care on a daily basis, in fact completely enveloped in love at every moment, she would not have the capacity to understand, let alone express, love. After all, how can one understand the unknown?
This morning I was treated to a shower of I love you's. I'd be lying if I denied being intoxicated by it. The very idea of it makes me weak in the knees. Hearing Eliana say those words is on par with hearing Alan say those words to me for the first time. The impact on my heart is incalculable, I cannot quantify the feeling, I cannot adequately describe it. Suffice to say that this will be a day I'll long remember and cherish. This is one of the days when being a mommy feels very good.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
I LOVE GOOGLE!!
There is something burrowing in my backyard. It is leaving holes everywhere and some of them are big enough that I fear someone will break an ankle this summer. I cannot figure out what the heck it could be, so I went on Google and entered a search for "burrowing animals." Try it...you get about 88,000 hits! Crazy that sending those 2 simple words out into an electronic abyss yields such vast results.
I have come to depend on the internet for everything. I needed a car seat for my daughter, so I went online, found the best one for the best price and ordered it. Two days later the man in the brown truck brought it to me. It is a miracle of modern life that we can do these things.
In recent days I have turned to Google to search on the following topics: asian slaw, rashes, bull sharks, coupons, Rita's Water Ices, Ocean City NJ vacation rentals, bicycles, weight loss supplements, a couple of former campmates (for their privacy I won't give their names), the MMR vaccine and much more that I can't even recall. Forget going through people's trash...I think you can learn infinitely more about a person by looking through their search strings. It is far more telling and a much cleaner way to gather information about someone. I am sure that based on the information I just provided you can make some assumptions about me that are probably fairly dead on for accuracy.
I don't know if Al Gore really invented the internet, I don't really know who did and I don't care. Maybe it was a think tank full of people who came up with it. All I know is that it has made my life about a billion times easier and I have a lot of love for the person/people who brought it to me. This little box that sits on my kitchen table, and sometimes in my lap while I watch TV at night has made it possible for me to look at pictures of measles so that I don't sound like a true crazy person calling the doctor's office when my daughter has a blotch on her face. Yes, that really happened (look above at those searches I did this week).
I have come to depend on the internet for everything. I needed a car seat for my daughter, so I went online, found the best one for the best price and ordered it. Two days later the man in the brown truck brought it to me. It is a miracle of modern life that we can do these things.
In recent days I have turned to Google to search on the following topics: asian slaw, rashes, bull sharks, coupons, Rita's Water Ices, Ocean City NJ vacation rentals, bicycles, weight loss supplements, a couple of former campmates (for their privacy I won't give their names), the MMR vaccine and much more that I can't even recall. Forget going through people's trash...I think you can learn infinitely more about a person by looking through their search strings. It is far more telling and a much cleaner way to gather information about someone. I am sure that based on the information I just provided you can make some assumptions about me that are probably fairly dead on for accuracy.
I don't know if Al Gore really invented the internet, I don't really know who did and I don't care. Maybe it was a think tank full of people who came up with it. All I know is that it has made my life about a billion times easier and I have a lot of love for the person/people who brought it to me. This little box that sits on my kitchen table, and sometimes in my lap while I watch TV at night has made it possible for me to look at pictures of measles so that I don't sound like a true crazy person calling the doctor's office when my daughter has a blotch on her face. Yes, that really happened (look above at those searches I did this week).
Thursday, July 5, 2007
The Missing Sock
Every load of laundry that gets cleaned in my house ends with the same result. A minimum of one sock fails to re-emerge at the end of the cycle. Now, if it takes its leave of us during the wash, the rinse or the spin, I don't know. Perhaps it makes it all the way to the dryer before hightailing it out of our lives. The question is...where does it go and what other existence is out there for a sock with no mate? What makes a sock decide to leave its mate? Why do they sometimes change their minds and decide to come back and jump into a later wash load? Here's what I think...
Just as in any relationship, things between sock couples can get a little boring. Maybe one sock feels like it spends too much time on the same foot and would like a change of scenery. Perhaps it would like to go somewhere once in a while beside the gym, maybe it has developed a worn patch in the heel and it's just plain embarassed to be seen in public anymore. Who knows, but something in that sock snaps and it decides, "I need to hit the bricks and see what else the world holds for me." And so the plan is set in motion. During a subsequent wash cycle the sock enters the mythical sock vortex and is magically transported to the next plane of sock existence. In this place there is no social stratification...trouser socks and sweat socks are free to mingle without fear of judgment. Thigh-highs and knee-highs stand proudly beside each other with no awkwardness. It's sock utopia.
Some socks decide they want to achieve a greater purpose and so they evolve into sock monkeys. These brave socks give up their dignity to bring smiles to the faces of children all over the world. Other socks pursue a life in the entertainment field, becoming sock puppets. These socks fulfill their need to perform while also helping to bring messages of love, hope and happiness to people all over the globe. And still other socks find their way to impoverished golfers who cannot afford to purchase high end covers for their clubs. There are many worthwhile and lofty ways for a runaway sock to spend its afterlife, and each sock must decide how to live out its days.
Some socks leave their mate with the idea that they will be happier pursuing a different path in life. Once they make that break with their own familiar world, they are sometimes quickly disenchanted and they desire to rejoin the world they left behind. Only a rare few socks are granted this opportunity. There is a battery of psychological tests that the sock must go through in order to be granted re-entry into its former life. When the return to its former life is granted, the sock may only re-enter through the washing machine during a new wash cycle. The process is akin to a spiritual rebirth. The sock is ritually cleansed in the wash water and re-emerges into its old life a changed sock. And once the sock has rejoined its mate, it will never again be allowed to leave.
So, the next time you do a load of laundry and find a sock missing, smile! Your missing sock may be off entertaining a sick child, or maybe even teaching a life lesson to a whole group of kids. It might be your sock that keeps a kid off drugs someday. And if it happens to come back one day, treat it with kindness. After all, it can't be easy for a sock to admit it made a mistake.
Just as in any relationship, things between sock couples can get a little boring. Maybe one sock feels like it spends too much time on the same foot and would like a change of scenery. Perhaps it would like to go somewhere once in a while beside the gym, maybe it has developed a worn patch in the heel and it's just plain embarassed to be seen in public anymore. Who knows, but something in that sock snaps and it decides, "I need to hit the bricks and see what else the world holds for me." And so the plan is set in motion. During a subsequent wash cycle the sock enters the mythical sock vortex and is magically transported to the next plane of sock existence. In this place there is no social stratification...trouser socks and sweat socks are free to mingle without fear of judgment. Thigh-highs and knee-highs stand proudly beside each other with no awkwardness. It's sock utopia.
Some socks decide they want to achieve a greater purpose and so they evolve into sock monkeys. These brave socks give up their dignity to bring smiles to the faces of children all over the world. Other socks pursue a life in the entertainment field, becoming sock puppets. These socks fulfill their need to perform while also helping to bring messages of love, hope and happiness to people all over the globe. And still other socks find their way to impoverished golfers who cannot afford to purchase high end covers for their clubs. There are many worthwhile and lofty ways for a runaway sock to spend its afterlife, and each sock must decide how to live out its days.
Some socks leave their mate with the idea that they will be happier pursuing a different path in life. Once they make that break with their own familiar world, they are sometimes quickly disenchanted and they desire to rejoin the world they left behind. Only a rare few socks are granted this opportunity. There is a battery of psychological tests that the sock must go through in order to be granted re-entry into its former life. When the return to its former life is granted, the sock may only re-enter through the washing machine during a new wash cycle. The process is akin to a spiritual rebirth. The sock is ritually cleansed in the wash water and re-emerges into its old life a changed sock. And once the sock has rejoined its mate, it will never again be allowed to leave.
So, the next time you do a load of laundry and find a sock missing, smile! Your missing sock may be off entertaining a sick child, or maybe even teaching a life lesson to a whole group of kids. It might be your sock that keeps a kid off drugs someday. And if it happens to come back one day, treat it with kindness. After all, it can't be easy for a sock to admit it made a mistake.
Monday, June 4, 2007
The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love
I've been married for 8+ years now and I've been with my husband for 10+ years. Before meeting Alan, I never really thought I wanted to have children. About a week after I met him that changed, and life hasn't been the same since.
First, we got married, waited a year and then started "trying" to get pregnant. Some ups and downs, two relocations, one miscarriage and two years later, Ethan joined the family and I officially became a mother. Suddenly, the world became a scarier place. A place where kids get hurt, abducted, and a place where every object presents a unique hazard.
Then, Ethan started talking and asking questions. In addition to being a scary & hazardous place, the world was now a place of constant wonder that required endless explanations. Things that no person should ever find herself explaining became the objects of long discussions that ultimately ended in the phrase, "because I said so," despite my oath to never say such a thing to my child.
Last year we were blessed with the arrival of our daughter, Eliana. Her very name is indicative of the struggle we endured to bring her into the world. Translated, her name means "My God has answered" and she is every bit the miracle I think she is. She is also living proof that the same deity that sent her to us has a sense of humor. By this I mean, I was sent this little miracle with an iron will and a mercurial temper when I was just a little older, a little more tired and a little less patient than I was 5 1/2 yrs ago.
And so, each morning I struggle with a 5 yr old who is tired and sluggish from not getting to bed at a decent hour the night before, and I struggle with a 1 yr old who just needs to have it all her way. In my efforts to get the three of us ready to leave the house, I am constantly stymied by a child who refuses to brush his teeth or a child who refuses to allow herself to be dressed, and neither of them seems to see the inherent value in my taking a shower.
During the course of the day I get berated for not having the right snacks, not having the forethought to plan a month's worth of playdates in advance, and for a host of other things. In addition to the complaints presented by the verbal child, I am subjected to a day's worth of grunting and pointing by the non-verbal child. If I don't respond quickly enough and with the appropriate object, the baby buries her head in the floor or the next nearest surface and begins to wail plaintively as if to imply that her world is ending because no one understands her needs. It seems I fail her endlessly.
When the day ends, and it is finally time for these angels to go to sleep, we all pile into my bed. Eliana still enjoys nursing herself to sleep and I have the pleasure of watching as her little eyes roll up a little more with each little gulp until she passes into dreamland. Ethan curls up next to me, sometimes grabbing my hand if Eliana's position allows. The warmth of their little bodies laying against mine and the divine stillness that envelops us all as they drift off to sleep somehow helps me to forget the chaos of each day. In those quiet moments after each day's storm, I am able to get back in touch with what it is that I love about being a parent.
I love the feeling of my child's hand in mine as they place all of their trust in me and my ability to protect them from anything and everything (if they only knew!), I love the smell of them as they emerge fresh from the bath, and the sight of them in their pajamas, I love hugging them and catching a whiff of their freshly shampooed heads, I love watching them accomplish a goal they have set for themselves, I love their smiles, I love the sound of their little bodies taking those deep, slumbering breaths that they only take at night, I love looking into their eyes and seeing how they see me...as a hero, a fixer of all things, a healer and a provider.
The Peace Corps decided a while back to use the slogan, "The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love" to describe their brand of dedication. I've never served in the PeaceCorps, and I have a great deal of respect for those men and women who give of themselves to serve others. With that said...I think they got it all wrong. I think being a parent is the toughest job you'll ever love. What makes it tough is that you are working for someone who is nearly incapable of understanding the complexity of your job and what it takes to do it well. The better you are at being a parent, the less likely it is your child will really know how much you do, what you give up for them or how hard it is to do it all until they become parents themselves. Talk about delayed gratification!
For the time being, I'm satisfied with the smiles, hugs and sentimental moments that fill my days. None of those things make my life easier, just more worthwhile. Kind of like a year end bonus that I get to collect every day.
First, we got married, waited a year and then started "trying" to get pregnant. Some ups and downs, two relocations, one miscarriage and two years later, Ethan joined the family and I officially became a mother. Suddenly, the world became a scarier place. A place where kids get hurt, abducted, and a place where every object presents a unique hazard.
Then, Ethan started talking and asking questions. In addition to being a scary & hazardous place, the world was now a place of constant wonder that required endless explanations. Things that no person should ever find herself explaining became the objects of long discussions that ultimately ended in the phrase, "because I said so," despite my oath to never say such a thing to my child.
Last year we were blessed with the arrival of our daughter, Eliana. Her very name is indicative of the struggle we endured to bring her into the world. Translated, her name means "My God has answered" and she is every bit the miracle I think she is. She is also living proof that the same deity that sent her to us has a sense of humor. By this I mean, I was sent this little miracle with an iron will and a mercurial temper when I was just a little older, a little more tired and a little less patient than I was 5 1/2 yrs ago.
And so, each morning I struggle with a 5 yr old who is tired and sluggish from not getting to bed at a decent hour the night before, and I struggle with a 1 yr old who just needs to have it all her way. In my efforts to get the three of us ready to leave the house, I am constantly stymied by a child who refuses to brush his teeth or a child who refuses to allow herself to be dressed, and neither of them seems to see the inherent value in my taking a shower.
During the course of the day I get berated for not having the right snacks, not having the forethought to plan a month's worth of playdates in advance, and for a host of other things. In addition to the complaints presented by the verbal child, I am subjected to a day's worth of grunting and pointing by the non-verbal child. If I don't respond quickly enough and with the appropriate object, the baby buries her head in the floor or the next nearest surface and begins to wail plaintively as if to imply that her world is ending because no one understands her needs. It seems I fail her endlessly.
When the day ends, and it is finally time for these angels to go to sleep, we all pile into my bed. Eliana still enjoys nursing herself to sleep and I have the pleasure of watching as her little eyes roll up a little more with each little gulp until she passes into dreamland. Ethan curls up next to me, sometimes grabbing my hand if Eliana's position allows. The warmth of their little bodies laying against mine and the divine stillness that envelops us all as they drift off to sleep somehow helps me to forget the chaos of each day. In those quiet moments after each day's storm, I am able to get back in touch with what it is that I love about being a parent.
I love the feeling of my child's hand in mine as they place all of their trust in me and my ability to protect them from anything and everything (if they only knew!), I love the smell of them as they emerge fresh from the bath, and the sight of them in their pajamas, I love hugging them and catching a whiff of their freshly shampooed heads, I love watching them accomplish a goal they have set for themselves, I love their smiles, I love the sound of their little bodies taking those deep, slumbering breaths that they only take at night, I love looking into their eyes and seeing how they see me...as a hero, a fixer of all things, a healer and a provider.
The Peace Corps decided a while back to use the slogan, "The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love" to describe their brand of dedication. I've never served in the PeaceCorps, and I have a great deal of respect for those men and women who give of themselves to serve others. With that said...I think they got it all wrong. I think being a parent is the toughest job you'll ever love. What makes it tough is that you are working for someone who is nearly incapable of understanding the complexity of your job and what it takes to do it well. The better you are at being a parent, the less likely it is your child will really know how much you do, what you give up for them or how hard it is to do it all until they become parents themselves. Talk about delayed gratification!
For the time being, I'm satisfied with the smiles, hugs and sentimental moments that fill my days. None of those things make my life easier, just more worthwhile. Kind of like a year end bonus that I get to collect every day.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Notes From the Trenches
It's Memorial Day weekend and our schools are closed for a four day weekend to celebrate. This is noteworthy because it means that when I went grocery shopping this morning I did so with 2 children in tow. Therein lies the grist for my mill today.
Those with children know how coveted the shopping cart with the truck in the front is at the market. There are a limited number of these very special carts that have a truck built into the cart that the kids can ride in while parents shop. The ultimate success of a shopping excursion can usually be predicted from the outset by whether or not one is able to acquire one of these precious carts. Today we won the grocery store lottery. We found a truck cart that happened to have still intact straps which meant Eliana could join her brother in the truck. Things were looking good.
We made our way around the store, I managed to weed through the big pile of corn in the produce department to find 10 nice looking pieces of corn for only 18 cents a piece! I loaded up on BBQ necessities like hot dogs, buns, kraut and chicken. I remembered to get yogurt for the kids, I found some decent prepackaged snacks to keep in the car (I was able to read the labels!), and I even found Eliana a pretty Strawberry Shortcake toothbrush so that she'll stop using Alan's in the morning.
Despite the set of children's utensils Eliana commandeered on one of the aisles, and the random DVD that she picked up in her travels, it was a fairly low stress trip. As soon as we hit the checkout counter it all began to unravel. As I was struggling to unload the cart from the back, Ethan announced, in a weirdly proud kind of way, that Eliana had unbuckled herself from the straps that were holding her in the cart. At that moment I shot my eyes in her direction to find my daughter leaning out of the cart ready to land on her head on a cement floor. I was completely blocked from getting to her by a candy stand against which my cart was jammed. Ethan was attempting to hold her inside the cart, but she was furiously straining against him, trying to escape. At this moment I yelled at Ethan, "How could you unbuckle her?!" He answered that he hadn't done it, but I insisted that she couldn't have done it herself. I threatened to cancel his morning playdate with his best friend. I managed to push through the checkout lane, grab Eliana and proceeded to attempt to finish the transaction so I could get out of there with whatever shred of sanity my children and Shoprite would allow me to keep. As I struggled with my daughter in one hand and my wallet in the other, fighting against her wriggling, squirming and screaming little body, another woman with a baby walked by and said, "I'm right there with you!" It actually made me feel a little better. Then, as I was scolding Ethan again for having unbuckled his sister, I looked down and saw that, in fact, the straps were still buckled and that Eliana had actually wiggled out of them. I apologized to Ethan about 10 times, admitting I had made a terrible mistake by blaming him and contritely asked his forgiveness for my rush to judgment. At this point a customer service person came over and gave my son a lollipop (without asking my permission). I looked at the cashier and said I figured it was her way of showing sympathy for the fact that my son obviously has the worst mother in the world. She laughed, as did a woman checking out at the counter next to mine.
The sisterhood of women who have struggled through grocery shopping with children is a strong one in which there is little room for judgment. After all, one should never judge a person too harshly unless you have walked a mile in their shoes with their kids in a shopping cart through a non candy-free checkout aisle.
Those with children know how coveted the shopping cart with the truck in the front is at the market. There are a limited number of these very special carts that have a truck built into the cart that the kids can ride in while parents shop. The ultimate success of a shopping excursion can usually be predicted from the outset by whether or not one is able to acquire one of these precious carts. Today we won the grocery store lottery. We found a truck cart that happened to have still intact straps which meant Eliana could join her brother in the truck. Things were looking good.
We made our way around the store, I managed to weed through the big pile of corn in the produce department to find 10 nice looking pieces of corn for only 18 cents a piece! I loaded up on BBQ necessities like hot dogs, buns, kraut and chicken. I remembered to get yogurt for the kids, I found some decent prepackaged snacks to keep in the car (I was able to read the labels!), and I even found Eliana a pretty Strawberry Shortcake toothbrush so that she'll stop using Alan's in the morning.
Despite the set of children's utensils Eliana commandeered on one of the aisles, and the random DVD that she picked up in her travels, it was a fairly low stress trip. As soon as we hit the checkout counter it all began to unravel. As I was struggling to unload the cart from the back, Ethan announced, in a weirdly proud kind of way, that Eliana had unbuckled herself from the straps that were holding her in the cart. At that moment I shot my eyes in her direction to find my daughter leaning out of the cart ready to land on her head on a cement floor. I was completely blocked from getting to her by a candy stand against which my cart was jammed. Ethan was attempting to hold her inside the cart, but she was furiously straining against him, trying to escape. At this moment I yelled at Ethan, "How could you unbuckle her?!" He answered that he hadn't done it, but I insisted that she couldn't have done it herself. I threatened to cancel his morning playdate with his best friend. I managed to push through the checkout lane, grab Eliana and proceeded to attempt to finish the transaction so I could get out of there with whatever shred of sanity my children and Shoprite would allow me to keep. As I struggled with my daughter in one hand and my wallet in the other, fighting against her wriggling, squirming and screaming little body, another woman with a baby walked by and said, "I'm right there with you!" It actually made me feel a little better. Then, as I was scolding Ethan again for having unbuckled his sister, I looked down and saw that, in fact, the straps were still buckled and that Eliana had actually wiggled out of them. I apologized to Ethan about 10 times, admitting I had made a terrible mistake by blaming him and contritely asked his forgiveness for my rush to judgment. At this point a customer service person came over and gave my son a lollipop (without asking my permission). I looked at the cashier and said I figured it was her way of showing sympathy for the fact that my son obviously has the worst mother in the world. She laughed, as did a woman checking out at the counter next to mine.
The sisterhood of women who have struggled through grocery shopping with children is a strong one in which there is little room for judgment. After all, one should never judge a person too harshly unless you have walked a mile in their shoes with their kids in a shopping cart through a non candy-free checkout aisle.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Everything I Need to Know About Being a Parent I Learned from Teaching My Son to Ride a Bike.
So, tonight after dinner was finished, my husband and two children and I set off for an evening walk so that our son could ride his bike as he had been wanting to do all evening. We did a lap around the block (about a mile) and then when we got home Ethan (my son) proudly announced that he wanted his training wheels removed so that he could learn to ride his 2 wheeler without them. He seemed pumped and honestly I was excited for him. I ran to get my wrench, and as I was turning the nuts to loosen them, my son shouted out, "Lefty Loosey, Righty Tighty!" An especially proud moment for me, as I hope to send my son off to his wife with more technical ability than that with which my husband came to me.
With the training wheels tucked away in the garage, we begin the process of learning to balance on the bike. The process is complicated by the presence of 3 neighborhood children circling my unsteady child on their own bikes. Ethan is so anxious to ride with the big kids, but at the same time he's scared. He rides a few yards and then inexplicably jumps off and lands on the driveway like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon jumping from an exploding building. "I had to fall Mom!" he shouts out. My neighbor suggests having him ride on the grass so that when he falls he won't get hurt. We try that approach. It works for a while and then he says riding on the grass is too hard, he wants to get back onto the driveway.
Now it's actually getting late. The other kids need to go inside and get ready for bed. My son refuses to come in because now he wants to ride on the street. The evening surge of people returning from work and sports practices has settled down. Our block no longer resembles the Daytona Speedway so I figure, sure! Why not? I take him down to the street in front of our mailbox and steady him on the bike. I give him a good push to get him started and he pedals for a few seconds and then veers off onto the grass, jumps off his bike and screams, "YOU LET GO TOO FAST!!" Now he's crying. A sure sign that a five year old is too tired to be riding a bike. I apologize for letting go and we turn the bike around and I tell him I think we should go inside since he is obviously too tired to keep riding. He shouts at me through tears and anguish that he is NOT too tired and he wants to keep on riding since he has not really learned to ride on 2 wheels yet. I can assure you that what I just wrote was a generous translation of something that actually sounded something like, "noooooiwannakeegointillilearnitmaaaa!"
We press on. I steady him again and this time I give him a push but continue to hold on, as I had been chided for letting go too soon in the process just moments before. This time, he jumps off the bike and screams at me, "MOM!!! YOU DIDN'T LET GO FAST ENOUGH!!!" OK, so I am now a full time resident of that space between the rock and the hard place. Where can I go from here? By the way, it should be mentioned that my husband left us outside alone under the pretense that the baby was freaking out and he needed to get her inside. Wuss! If one of these kids was freaking out it was definitely the one on the bike!
I say to him once more, trying to sound empathetic and loving and supportive, "Honey, you are really too tired now, let's do this again tomorrow." The response I got was an even louder version of the tirade I tried to recreate above. What I understood more than anything from this overtired, frustrated, desperately pathetic display was that my son refused to quit without accomplishing what he set out to do. That, despite my fears of a neighbor calling DYFS to report me for abusing my son in the street, made me really proud. We settled on a compromise: he could ride the bike back up to the garage so that we could put it away. He seemed to agree to those terms. Of course when we got to the garage, he reneged on the deal and started lobbying for new terms. I told him he could ride in a circle on the driveway and then it was going to be time to shut it down for the night.
He made a couple of really good attempts, after each of them he would scream and cry at me about how something I had done had caused him to fail at his attempt. The overall result of this evening's trials and tribulations is that he effectively can ride his bike without training wheels, although he is in a world of trouble if he comes across an object like say, the tree he ran into, due to the fact that he has yet to perfect the turn. I am so happy for him that he accomplished this great feat, but also a little sad for him that he was so upset and churned up during the process.
Years from now, I wonder how I'll rate during his walks down memory lane. Will he remember me the way I remember my dad? Will he resent me the way I resented my dad for not being more concerned about the fact that I had ridden face first into a metal mailbox on an icy cold day? Will he think that I pulled him off that bike tonight sooner than I should have? Will I be judged as a caring and patient teacher, or as an impatient and strident teacher?
I re-learned tonight what I have been learning every day since my son was born. My children, both of them, have taught me about the person I hope to be and the person I want to show up for them as. When my son refuses to give up, even though it is painful for me to watch, I have to be proud of the determination he has to keep going in the face of what must seem insurmountable to his little 5 yr old body. And although, in those moments, it is hard to be his mom and to keep my own frustration at bay, the spirit he shows makes me certain he will do great things in his life. And that I will always be as proud of him as I am right now.
With the training wheels tucked away in the garage, we begin the process of learning to balance on the bike. The process is complicated by the presence of 3 neighborhood children circling my unsteady child on their own bikes. Ethan is so anxious to ride with the big kids, but at the same time he's scared. He rides a few yards and then inexplicably jumps off and lands on the driveway like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon jumping from an exploding building. "I had to fall Mom!" he shouts out. My neighbor suggests having him ride on the grass so that when he falls he won't get hurt. We try that approach. It works for a while and then he says riding on the grass is too hard, he wants to get back onto the driveway.
Now it's actually getting late. The other kids need to go inside and get ready for bed. My son refuses to come in because now he wants to ride on the street. The evening surge of people returning from work and sports practices has settled down. Our block no longer resembles the Daytona Speedway so I figure, sure! Why not? I take him down to the street in front of our mailbox and steady him on the bike. I give him a good push to get him started and he pedals for a few seconds and then veers off onto the grass, jumps off his bike and screams, "YOU LET GO TOO FAST!!" Now he's crying. A sure sign that a five year old is too tired to be riding a bike. I apologize for letting go and we turn the bike around and I tell him I think we should go inside since he is obviously too tired to keep riding. He shouts at me through tears and anguish that he is NOT too tired and he wants to keep on riding since he has not really learned to ride on 2 wheels yet. I can assure you that what I just wrote was a generous translation of something that actually sounded something like, "noooooiwannakeegointillilearnitmaaaa!"
We press on. I steady him again and this time I give him a push but continue to hold on, as I had been chided for letting go too soon in the process just moments before. This time, he jumps off the bike and screams at me, "MOM!!! YOU DIDN'T LET GO FAST ENOUGH!!!" OK, so I am now a full time resident of that space between the rock and the hard place. Where can I go from here? By the way, it should be mentioned that my husband left us outside alone under the pretense that the baby was freaking out and he needed to get her inside. Wuss! If one of these kids was freaking out it was definitely the one on the bike!
I say to him once more, trying to sound empathetic and loving and supportive, "Honey, you are really too tired now, let's do this again tomorrow." The response I got was an even louder version of the tirade I tried to recreate above. What I understood more than anything from this overtired, frustrated, desperately pathetic display was that my son refused to quit without accomplishing what he set out to do. That, despite my fears of a neighbor calling DYFS to report me for abusing my son in the street, made me really proud. We settled on a compromise: he could ride the bike back up to the garage so that we could put it away. He seemed to agree to those terms. Of course when we got to the garage, he reneged on the deal and started lobbying for new terms. I told him he could ride in a circle on the driveway and then it was going to be time to shut it down for the night.
He made a couple of really good attempts, after each of them he would scream and cry at me about how something I had done had caused him to fail at his attempt. The overall result of this evening's trials and tribulations is that he effectively can ride his bike without training wheels, although he is in a world of trouble if he comes across an object like say, the tree he ran into, due to the fact that he has yet to perfect the turn. I am so happy for him that he accomplished this great feat, but also a little sad for him that he was so upset and churned up during the process.
Years from now, I wonder how I'll rate during his walks down memory lane. Will he remember me the way I remember my dad? Will he resent me the way I resented my dad for not being more concerned about the fact that I had ridden face first into a metal mailbox on an icy cold day? Will he think that I pulled him off that bike tonight sooner than I should have? Will I be judged as a caring and patient teacher, or as an impatient and strident teacher?
I re-learned tonight what I have been learning every day since my son was born. My children, both of them, have taught me about the person I hope to be and the person I want to show up for them as. When my son refuses to give up, even though it is painful for me to watch, I have to be proud of the determination he has to keep going in the face of what must seem insurmountable to his little 5 yr old body. And although, in those moments, it is hard to be his mom and to keep my own frustration at bay, the spirit he shows makes me certain he will do great things in his life. And that I will always be as proud of him as I am right now.
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