Parents vs. Schools Regarding Required Summer Reading: Both Miss the Point

My eighth grade daughter has "recommended" summer reading activities. 

She is expected to come up with three goals, write out a plan as to how she is going to accomplish them, and fill out a chart of her "summer learning activities" (this requires an "Authorized Signature", which I assume means me??, and a spot on the grid to write how it made her Grow).

There is also a suggested reading list with books selected from the Association for Library Service to Children (ALSC)’s 2017 Summer Reading List for Grades 6-8. I haven't heard of any of them, and I'm pretty sure my daughter hasn't either. None of them exactly pique my interest, and I'm a voracious reader (I should note that this particular daughter is not, although you can see from the pic below that she once enjoyed books)



There is also a link to a lesson plan that teachers were apparently supposed to go over with students at the end of the school year. According to my daughter, this did not happen, and the message she got from her teacher was not to waste her time because nobody cares anyway. Part of me wants to applaud her teacher for her honesty with her students regarding this.

The whole thing is asinine, in my opinion as both a parent and a certified English teacher.

And, as you can imagine, some people in my city are going wild on the issue. Largely on Facebook, of course, but this is probably where you'll get the most honest feedback.

Some samples (All SIC):
* "I don't agree with [mandatory reading over the summer] at all. Both my boys are working full time and involved with family activities. They work hard in school all year and this is the time for them to just be kids. I'm not going to spend my summer forcing my boys to read. It's time to relax and recoup. It is not a time for more school-related pressures."

* "Most kids were burned out of reading after the reading challenge in elementary school making them read makes them despise it."

* "Between football starting next week--ugh--working, visiting family, and dare I say it, just being a kid, there leaves little time to get all this done. It's too much."

* "I think summer vacation means vacation away from school. If you had a vacation off from work and they asked you to do something over that time period you'd think twice about it. J/S."

There are many, many more, but that probably makes the point. And, to be completely fair, there are lots of intelligent, invested parents rebutting these kinds of statements.

Like me, they seem to focus on the idea that kids should be reading *something* in the summer, not just a book from an arbitrary list. Like me, many are appalled that some see reading as such little value. Like me, the idea that having to find time for reading is troubling bothers them.

Children should NOT stop learning because it is summer vacation. My daughter has learned, to give a small sampling, how to put up a pool and monitor chemicals, how to cook a meal, how to hike, how to teach her little sisters to swim, how to beat Super Mario Brothers, how to zipline, how to do different types of French braids, how to survive her first sleepaway camp, how to play the ukelele, how to master gymnastics skills she's been practicing ...

She has also been reading, albeit reluctantly.

She reads a graphic novel series that her father buys one of each month for her. She's reading Thirteen Reasons Why because she was interested in the difference between the book and the Netflix series and whether the story was helpful or harmful to teens (we are both English teachers, so she's heard lots of conversation on that topic) and wanted to be educated enough to weigh in.

She is currently at sleepaway camp (I miss her so much ...), but when she gets back, we are going to require structured reading time. We are going to know what she is reading and discuss it with her. We are going to recommend books to her and read them along with her. She will not love this, of course, because she is not a natural reader, but she will go along because she understands that reading, that learning, is important.

I am not going to require her to fill out those forms but instead keep a log of what she's read and a sentence or two of reflection.

I am going to encourage her to continue swimming, hiking, hanging out with friends, playing with her little sisters, going to Canobie Lake, and whatever else allows her to be a normal thirteen-year-old in 2017.

We made a decision a few weeks ago to cut off her iPad and wireless access on her phone at 10:00 pm. She's certainly gotten more sleep, which has also made a difference.

We are also going to make an effort to go to more museums, historical sites, and that sort of thing.

That is what learning is about ... and learning should happen in the summer. Reading must happen in the summer if we want to keep our children's reading fluency and knowledge base where it needs to be.

Should the school set out a canned summer  learning recommendation list for all students without taking into account what happens at home? No. Families that value summer learning have, with all due respect, long since put things into place that are far more meaningful than what's been offered.

Families that do not value summer learning need more than a bunch of printouts (and poor printouts, at that). They need to be educated on how to turn experiences into learning, which is far more valuable than how to break down a goal into parts. They need support and explanations and suggestions for how to make learning an integral part of every day.

Am I way off base with my frustration here?  

The Angst I Felt at the Prospect of Having an Average Child ... and Will She Ever Forgive Me for (Even for the Short-Term) Believing That About Her?

There was no question leading up to the days before her birth last June that my fourth daughter, Clara Hope, had some large shoes to fill. I think most babies coming into the world with older siblings do to a degree, but poor Clara has the gift (or curse) of truly incredible sisters.

Although her next oldest sister, Gabrielle, had by far the worst birth story, Clara's pregnancy was the most difficult (when they tell you that childbirth gets more difficult when you approach forty, they're not lying). I was uncomfortable all the time, my feet swelled, my blood pressure fluctuated, I had unspeakable migraines, I had weird bouts of confusion and pain that were ultimately tied to potassium and other vitamin deficiencies, and so on. Because of the drama of Gabrielle's birth, there was no question that Clara was going to be a C-section delivery, then we found out she was breech, so this opened up a whole new can of worms.

Anyway, her C-section was scheduled for a Friday morning, but my water broke Wednesday afternoon and she was born that evening.

The day after she was born, we were informed that Clara had failed her newborn hearing screening. They'd need to repeat it the day we were discharged. When they repeated the hearing test, she still failed. They set up an appointment for several months in advance and let us bring her home.

Once home, Clara decided that she did not like to nurse. Ironically, I've never been one of those vehement "breast feed or die" women, but at the same time, I've had incredibly good luck with my first three daughters and they breast fed almost to a year old. I didn't know how upsetting it would be for me that Clara wouldn't nurse, but it was terrible!

And then I got to feel like a selfish jerk for the first of many times, because here I was having a pity party about my baby not wanting to nurse and she was literally wasting away. She was at the doctor's every day for a week while we tried to figure out how to handle it (in case you're wondering, I became slave to the breast pump and we supplemented it with formula ... it was a very long summer).

We worked very hard to get her weight up, and things seemed to be going well, and then out of the blue, Clara stopped breathing one night. I was out with my oldest daughter celebrating her 21st birthday, and when I got home the baby was coughing and coughing, which she'd evidently been doing all night, then suddenly she stopped and couldn't breathe. It was a nightmare I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. They kept her in the hospital under observation for two days, and it was unspeakable. She was such a trooper, but the rest of us were collective messes.

The big stuff settled down after that; well, as much as possible with four children, a dog, a cat, and all adults working full-time jobs. I took Clara to her three-hour hearing screening, and she passed it with flying colors. Life is good.

And yet, I have this problem ...

Clara's sister Gabrielle is sixteen months older than she is. What that means, of course, is that it's impossible not to do a bit of comparing, no matter how hard you try to avoid it (and Gabby's so young still that it's hard to avoid).

Gabrielle walked early. She talked early. She is, at the age of two, the most naturally funny human being I've ever met. Her speech was slightly delayed by a year's worth of ear infections, but once she got tubes put in her vocabulary has taken off like a rocket. As a very young baby, her receptive language was unbelievable, and that has continued.

When she was a year old, Gabby said Mama, Dada, Ari (her sister), Mimi (grandmother), Howard (the dog), kitty, cheese, cracker, more, all done, and so on.

Clara says Dada. Possibly Mama. There are rumors that she said water once, but no witnesses.

When Gabby was Clara's age, she was building block towers that meet milestones set for three-year-olds. Clara bangs two blocks together on a good day.

I see what I'm typing, and I hate it. Gabby's my favorite child and is going to be an engineer, and Clara is going to be a bank teller, right? No, that's not it at all.

I have two other daughters, one an exceptional musician and linguist (I could brag for hours but I won't) and one a competitive gymnast (same). These two girls are superstars.

If our beliefs about Clara are tied to her crawling well over a full month after Gabrielle did, what is going to happen when you add in phrases like "Fulbright Scholar" and "elite gymnast"?

And so for awhile, we believed that Clara was just going to be an average child. In a family of academics, this is something that I think Jeff and I struggled with silently and separately ... what if Clara wasn't as smart as the others?

We've gotten to know Miss Clara Hope pretty well by now, though, as I'm sure you can imagine. I look into her eyes, see the sparkle, and wonder how I could ever have doubted that her mind is just as brilliant (and likely just as diabolical, at times) as every one of her sisters'.

My mother kept saying to me that, even if she wasn't smart, she wouldn't be loved any less, and this was always, always the truth.

Now we know that she is smart--too smart, not to beat a dead horse ... she sits at her day care and steals pacifiers from the other babies, laughs, then gives them back; she locates every possible piece of detritus on the floor (it doesn't matter if the floor was just vacuumed) and gets it into her mouth; she waves bye-bye and claps her hands when you say, "Yay, Clara!" and loves playing in her toy kitchen with her sisters.

It took us awhile to realize that Clara is a child that will never do something until she decides that she wants to do it. Not walk, not talk, not crawl (although she started doing that this week), nothing. It occurs to me that we do at times treat Gabby like a trick pony--"You have to see Gabby count to ten ... her Hulk impression ... her rendition of 'Happy Birthday to You' ... how she hits the high note in 'Let it Go' ... her block towers."

Nope, Clara saw that writing on the wall and decided to pull this average thing. Too bad we're on to her ... although I think it's been a tremendous learning experience for all of us.

I loved Clara Hope when she was inside me, I loved her the second she was born, and I've loved her every minute since then. I would not love her any less if she was not exceptional like her sisters because I love her for her, which is of course how I got to see that she was never "average" at all, even after I'd resigned myself to it.

I don't know why the idea of an average child was hard for me, but Clara helped me come to terms with it, just before she looked at me again with that sparkle in her eye so much like Gabby's and said, "Mama."

Children's Hobbies: Contemplating When Passion Might Not be Possible

My sixth-grader, Ari, is a competitive gymnast. She grew up with a musical prodigy for an older sister, but Ari never really had a burning passion for anything.

When she started asking for gymnastics lessons, we signed her up. Ari has always been a free spirit, just sort of floating through life with a smile on her face and sharing her beautiful heart with the masses.

Weeks after her first gymnastics lesson, Ari was moved into the advanced beginner class. A week after that, she broke the growth plate in her foot hopping on the colored tiles at Hannaford and was out of commission. We sort of figured that would be it, that her unreliable attention span would flit onto something else, but we were mistaken.

When Ari was able to return to gymnastics, she was put on the pre-team class. Then she had to have her tonsils and adenoids out, which meant being out of gymnastics for several months.

Despite the setbacks, she quickly became an accomplished gymnast with a sweet and natural form. She competes well (she qualified for the state championship at her second meet of the year), and the discipline she puts into gymnastics has given her an impressive work ethic. Without gymnastics, she would not be a straight-A student or endlessly patient with her younger sisters or understanding about certain financial sacrifices we've all had to make.

Gymnastics has made my sweet, dippy, empathetic, kind, funny, sassy girl into a truly amazing young woman.

At a mid-November meet, Ari tore her Achilles' tendon during warmups. She competed anyway, choosing not to tell either her coach or her family that she was in serious pain. She won first all-around, but it came at a cost--no gymnastics until her injury healed.

This week, almost two months (and lots of doctor visits and physical therapy), she has returned to her gym. She is still going easy, but I haven't seen her smiling like this in months.

                                                     Ari goofing around on the tumble track.

                                              First back walkover on the high beam since the injury.

What scares me is what will happen if there is another injury, one that is not as possible to recover from. What would that do to this little girl, to whom being a gymnast has become so much of her identity?

She has two hour classes with her competition team three days a week and goes to open gym on the weekends she does not have competitions. She spends countless hours in the basement practicing on her panel mat and the balance beam her aunt acquired for her in a sketchy CraigsList deal.

Ironically, physical therapy to rehab her ankle and strengthening exercises helped take up some of the time while she recovered, but what if there was an injury that did not allow this?

Gymnastics is a physically grueling activity, and my Ari is tiny and breakable. With this recent injury, I find myself wondering if I should try to downplay the sport's status as the center of my daughter's universe.

I want Ari to see herself as more than a gymnast, talented as she may be. I want her to be able to say, "I am a smart, beautiful, kind, funny, thoughtful young lady".  That she focuses her energy on moving onto the next level of gymnastics instead of loving the zillions of other amazing things about herself hurts me a little.

I love the happiness that Ari has found through gymnastics and the self-confidence and direction it has given a girl who was once kind of a drifter. I love watching her compete, and, yes, I like it when she places.

Sometimes I just wish she'd discover a safer passion.

I never had to worry about Emily breaking her neck on sheet music or falling off of her piano or dropping her bassoon on her head.

What gymnastics has given to Ari is priceless. I just fear that it is temporary, and the cost of that on my little girl would be even higher.

Sometimes I Think There Should Be a License to Parent ...

It's been quite a day already at my house ...

Ariel worked harder than I knew was possible for her to do as she and Jeff put up the new pool.  It's much bigger than the old one, though, so they had to clear and level the ground first, and it was a procedure that took all day and went well into the night.

Unfortunately, Jeff has to work today, so it's not going to be ready for swimming until later today, if at all.  Ari clearly missed that message last night at 10:30 pm when we ate dinner (pizza from Domino's ... I love gift cards!).

I woke this morning to Ari gently shaking me.  She was holding her sister, who was dressed, which should have been a clue (I vaguely remembered Jeff waking up at just past seven, lamenting that he didn't have time to take a shower or he'd be late for work, and I quickly realized that he would not have had time to dress the baby).

"I wanted to let you sleep in," Ari said apologetically, "but Gabby's hungry."

Indeed she was, and while I fed her, Ari sat next to me, strumming like a tensed wire.  I finally asked, "So, what are you up to?"

"Do you think we can start putting water in the pool?"

Hmm.  No big surprise.  "It's not that easy, honey.  We have to put in an inch to start and make sure there are no leaks, then we have to actually fill it, then the whole shock and chemical thing."

"So can we go do that?"

"We have to wait until Jeffie get home from work  He mentioned doing the leak-checking if he comes home at lunchtime, but we'll have to wait and see."

With a patented teenage eye roll, she said, "That makes no sense at all.  We can put an inch of water into pool and check for leaks."

"And what do we do if there's a leak?"

That stymied her. "Patch it?"

"Do you know how to do that?  I sure don't."

At about that moment, Gabrielle decided that she wanted to express her displeasure with life.  She started screaming like crazy.

Gabrielle is generally an extremely happy baby.

When she screams like that, it generally means she is either hungry, tired, or needs a diaper change.  When she is upset, she shrieks and cries these huge tears.  If you don't know Gab, it's pretty disconcerting; fortunately, it's pretty easy to figure out what she wants.

Since I knew she wasn't hungry (she'd just finished nursing) or tired (she hadn't been awake for long after over twelve hours of sleep), I figured I'd change her diaper.  I asked Ari if she would bring a diaper in for me.

"What?"

"Would you bring a diaper in, please?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

"What?"

When she came into my room, she had a diaper with her, so I knew she'd heard me all the time.  I thanked her and started changing Gabby, who really didn't need to be changed but was screaming nonetheless.

"Can I go outside and ride my bike, please?"

Gabby's screams get, if anything, louder, and huge tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"No, honey, not right now."

I tried to convince Gabby to take her pacifier, and in the brief moment of silence, Ari asked, "Why not?"

"Because I need your help with other things today."

"But I have soooooooooooooo much energy I have to get out."

Gabby started wailing again as I said, "So does Howard.  Why don't you take him outside and play ball with him?"

She groaned.  "Do I have to?"

"He's your puppy, Ari.  It's your responsibility to make sure he gets enough exercise."

"I'll do it after I ride my bike."

"You'll do it now, please."

"Come on, Howard," she grumbled, leading the excited dog through the house and then slamming the door on their way out.  It got Gabby shrieking even more, which I hadn't thought possible.

I carried Gabrielle, still screaming, into the bathroom.  I happened to look out the window and watched Howard bringing his ball over to Ari, dropping it at her feet, and looking at her expectantly.  I also watched her walk away from him each time and sit in one of the patio chairs.

I called her inside, and we had words.  Gabby screamed the whole time, and I started getting a pretty terrible headache.

I finally told Ariel that she had lost the pool for today.  She started crying, realized that any further words from her in addition to Gabrielle yelling into my ear and flinging herself all around, and gave herself a time-out downstairs in her playroom, where she read a chapter of her book.

Gabby was still going hot and heavy when Ari came up twenty minutes later and apologized.

I said that was fine and I appreciated her apology.  "Can I take Howard out?" she asked.

"Of course, thank you," I replied.  She took Howard outside and played actively with him.

I still couldn't figure out what was wrong with Gabby, so I tried feeding her again (not interested) and changing her diaper, which there was no need of.  

Ari and Howard came back in around this time.  "Why is she screaming?" Ari asked.

I told her I wasn't sure and explained that it was probably time to give her some Tylenol and a full body look-over because the obvious answers weren't panning out.

I gave her the Tylenol then put her back down on the floor.  Ari sat next to me, and I explained to her (because she likes kids and is probably going to be doing a lot of babysitting in a couple of years) how if you go through every single body part and area systematically, you can sometimes find things you might miss.

"Like what?" she asked.

I told her about the time when she was a baby and she was just inconsolable.  Like Gabby, she was a pretty mellow baby, so I knew something was wrong.  I finally took her feet out of the outfit, and a string was wrapped around one of her toes, cutting off the circulation.

"Was I okay?" she asked, very concerned

"Do you have all ten of your toes?" I replied.

"So what's wrong with Gabby?"

I had finished my examination and could find nothing wrong with The Gabs.  I did, however, notice that Howard was chewing on something in that way he does where you know he's trying to be stealthy.  It was the dispenser for Gabby's Tylenol, so I asked Ari if she would hold her sister so I could grab it.

Howard gave it up happily--he knew damn well he wasn't supposed to be chewing on it--and I washed it quickly and went back to Gabby, who was now lurching herself in strange directions while Ari tried to hold her.

I took her from Ari, put her pacifier in her mouth, and started rocking her.  I was pretty sure that she was crying because she is teething and shared that information with Ari.

"You know what I was just thinking about?" Ari said.  This is a common--and dangerous--preface for an Ariel dissertation.  "You know how, in The Grinch song, it says he has termites in his smile?  He doesn't HAVE a smile ... I mean, he's the Grinch, right?  I mean, come on!"

She kept prattling on about the Grinch and Gab kept fussing, so I decided it would be a good time to go to Walgreens to get formula and toilet paper.  I figured Gabby would fall asleep in the car (she often does) and Ari might actually stop talking for a minute if I put music on.

The trip was moderately successful.  Gabrielle enjoys shopping, so she was chilled out even though she was awake.  Ari kept talking, but I pretty much half-listened and she didn't seem to mind and/or notice. When we got home, she helped me unload our purchases then took Howard out.  Gabby had--miracle of miracles--fallen asleep in the car, so I had a couple of moments of blessed silence

Because I wanted to be sure not to wake Gabby up at any cost, I pretty much sat at the kitchen table with her asleep in her seat in front of me and read my Facebook newsfeed.

And I was disturbed as hell.

I try not to judge, I really do, but sometimes I am appalled.  I hesitate to write this because I don't want to "out" anyone specific that might be reading this, so I'm keeping it general.

*  "Thank God my parents took the kids for Fathers Day.  John and I really needed some time alone.  It's not like we couldn't have done this some other weekend, one that wasn't set away for fathers and their kids."

*  "My kid is refusing to walk at graduation.  This hurts me so much. I really wish I'd stood up to her when she was 6 months old and refused to sleep in a crib; since I didn't, she has known that she can push me around."

*  "I am going to move in with a guy I've been dating for a month.  He lives in a tiny trailer, but I don't have custody of my kids anyway, so it's not like they'll be over a lot.  I'll definitely see them less, though, because I spend all my free time with my new boyfriend."

* "Can someone watch my kid next Friday night?  There's this amazing party planned, and I haven't gotten to go out in over a week because of the kid.  Pleeeeeeeeease help me out.  I'm only 19, and I deserve to have fun once in awhile."

*  "My baby won't stop screaming.  I am seriously going to go put her out in the car because it's the only way she'll fall asleep. I'll just take a little nap so I can rest up, and I'll run the AC, so it's not like she won't be safe."

*  "I can't believe Susy's science teacher gave her a D in Science.  I mean, what is wrong with that teacher?  She's going to lose her athletic eligibility because of that stupid teacher.  And when I went in to complain, he had the audacity to tell me that Susy is in high school now and should be increasingly responsible for herself.  I think HE's an irresponsible schmuck.  Also, he told me that I should take time out of my busy life to look at her grades posted online.  What the hell is it with teachers these days?  He wants ME to keep track of her grades?  Isn't that HIS job?"

So I went back through my morning in my mind, how I'd taken Ari's pool privileges away, how I'd taken the kids on a car ride to keep the one with diarrhea of the mouth quiet for five minutes and the one too tired to sleep to drift into a nap, how I'd never really figured out what was wrong with Gabby and how Ari was very clearly trying to get back into my good graces so maybe her punishment would be rescinded.

And that's when I realized that I am not a perfect parent ... but my kids are always, always, my top priority.  I even texted Emily to say hi since I hadn't talked to her for a couple of days and I missed her.  Having Gabby asleep on the table in front of me was boring; I craved her sweet toothless smile.

I missed Ari's prattle, and I missed exchanging texts with Emily (we have some fun with emojis).

Why would anybody spend time and energy on Facebook bitching about their kids on a regular basis, or making it very clear through Facebook statuses that you are putting a guy that's pretty much a stranger to you before your kids, or showing over and over in so many ways that your kids are not a priority to you?

I'm not going to lie.  My kids drive me apeshit sometimes.  That is not something I would generally publicize, though, and I certainly wouldn't consistently complain about them on Facebook (or anywhere else) or make very clear that my thoughts are on this guy I just started dating instead of on my kids.

Sometimes I think I must be very unusual.  I would rather spend time with my kids than anyone else.

One of these days, Ari is going to stop talking to me.  She is going to think I'm lame, or she'll be at a point where she doesn't want to confide what she's doing to me.  And Emily will sometimes go a day or more without texting, and it hurts my heart (I know she's busy and that's a stupid thing to be sad about, but I can't help it).  And I feel terrible guilt if I go out before putting Gabby to bed because we have a routine; she is saying "Mama", after all, and that confirms to me that my place is being there for my children.

Why is it so unusual for me to prefer the company of my kids to anyone, including private and alone time with my husband, my friends, and my family as well?

I know intellectually that I'm not the only one that feels this way, that a lot of people reading my Facebook this morning would have been equally disgusted.

I guess it just saddens me that people are so willing to publicly state their apathy, their disinterest, their preference for others, when it comes to their kids.

One of Emily's friends once said to her, "Your mother is so nice.  Does she every get mad?"

Emily started laughing and said, "Oh my God, you should see her when nobody else is around.  She just believes in keeping personal business personal."

How you feel about your kids is personal.  It's one of those things that, if remotely negative, should be talked about to a therapist or a close friend but never, never trumpeted on Facebook.  After all, if a mother is talking about her new boyfriend on Facebook all the time and never mentioning her kids, the truth of the matter is probably even deeper and those kids are feeling a huge void, whether their mother realizes it her not, because she is now absent from their hearts as well as much of their lives.

I decided to write this post at about this point and asked for feedback on my Facebook wall.

I got some interesting responses ...

 "It's sad...and happens so often. My HS kids crave adult attention!"

" Um yeah talk to my ex Sister in Law who completely 100% told her kids have a nice life and then got married. Hasn't even seen her 1st grandkid who will be 1 next month....."

"it is something that breaks my heart. These same parents are usually the most harsh to judge our homeschooling, kid-centered family. Which is interesting because I just feel bad for them - that they have beautiful kids who they don't enjoy - what part of them is broken and needs healing? I've seen this a lot w/respect to addictions. I really just pray that their hearts and spirits will be healed and they will be able to step into engaged parenthood fully for everyone's sake."

"I totally respect people who make the decision to not have children. Whatever the reason - it's very important to go into having children w/ clear intention if at all possible. (Not discounting many parents I know who are awesome who were...surprised... and have risen to the occasion.) And when society puts on a lot of pressure to have kids - it takes a lot to withstand it."

"Find the balance...question your motives...ask a true friend for honest perspective...get quiet and listen to your gut! I could go on and on...I was told that I was a good mother because I wondered if I was a good mother...I still wonder if I was/am..."

"I knew I could never handle children especially is this day and age. So many rules of what u can and can't do so many opinions. My feeling is u walk into schools in this time and u see how the kids behave. And u walk into a school 20 or 30 years ago and see how things have changed. You tell me if physical discipline is wrong. I got physically disciplined and there's nothing wrong with me."

While I was reading through some of these, Ari and Howard came bounding back into the house, slamming the door behind them.  Naturally, Gabby woke up.  Screaming.

Ari was in a great mood, though, and Howard had obviously been well-exercised.  I took Gab out of her seat and brought her over to the blanket on the floor where we change her.  She stopped screaming and smiled a bit at me.

Then she made a weird grunting, animalistic noise.

"Gabby, you sound like a constipated horse!" Ari yelled, and we both started giggling madly because that's exactly what she sounded like.

My kids--all three of them--make me laugh harder than anybody, smile more widely than anyone, and enjoy life so much more than another person every could.

Based on what I saw on Facebook today, this is not the norm.

Am I nuts ... or are those other parents, the ones that openly attack or blatantly ignore their kids?

I'd love to get your thoughts on this.  As a teacher, it's an area that haunts me.

The Bittersweet Tale of the Jelly Bean Puzzle

If you are my Facebook friend, you have no doubt heard much about the jelly bean puzzle.  It has sort of consumed my life in a way, and it's brought up a lot of emotions that are ... well, quite frankly, difficult.

A couple of weeks ago, Belle started going through this puzzle phase.  Basically, she did every single puzzle we had in the house (virtually all of them fairly simple ... they're all Disney Princess and Fancy Nancy children's puzzles).

It struck a chord with me, to say the least.  See, I used to love doing puzzles.  It was one of my absolute favorite activities.

The problem is, it was an activity that I shared with my stepfather.  I would start doing a puzzle on the dining room table, and he would grouse at me about it, then the next thing I knew, he would be helping me with it.  We would have epic puzzle events, and on more than one occasion we would glue and frame the end result (we took on some tough ones).

Sometimes it would take us days to get through puzzles.  A lot of the time, we worked on the current puzzle together.  Sometimes, he'd get home from work and I'd have made a ton of progress.  Often, I'd get home from school and find that he'd gotten huge sections done.  If we were stymied, we'd work together.

I haven't done a puzzle since my stepdad's death in 2004.

While I love both my mother and my father very much, there were complexities that did not exactly allow us to have the best of relationships.

My mother suffers from hypothyroidism, and before she was diagnosed and began medication ... well, walking on eggshells is the best way I can think of to describe it.  You never knew what would set her off, and she caused deeper scars with words than I can express.  I also tended to get the brunt of it, for reasons that are skeletons in my family closet.

The same can be said of why my (and my siblings') relationship with my father is so complicated.  It is not my intent to air dirty laundry, particularly laundry that dates back to when I was a sixth grader.  Life goes on.

And I am the first to admit that I was not an easy child, an easy teen, or, for a long time, an easy adult.

Which is why my stepdad was so important to me.  He accepted me the way I was, held me accountable for my actions without being cruel and abusive, and did not allow me to take myself too seriously.  He also buffered my often-acrimonious relationship with my mother and allowed us to appreciate and even come to like each other (you can love without liking, and I think my mother and I had that dynamic for quite a long time).

When he passed, I descended into a depression so deep that I wasn't even aware of it.  I had never been able to depend on anyone or anything until my stepdad came into the picture, and losing him left me so lost and adrift that I couldn't even verbalize it.  Trying to support my mom without letting her know how lost I was also presented a challenge.

My mother and stepfather were truly, madly, and deeply in love, and I cannot imagine the pain she suffered, then and now.  My own loss, deep as it was, pales next to what my mother has gone through since the lung cancer death sentence came down.    

Ironically, it was Pythagorus' fall into mental illness and alcoholism that snapped me out of my own multi-year zombie state of loss and pain.  Someone had to be strong for the kids ... after all, hadn't that been what my stepdad had done for me?  He would have been disgusted, utterly appalled, by Pythagorus' actions, would have felt unspeakable disdain for the man who had shaken to the core the lives of his beloved granddaughters, and I didn't want to be in the category of people who would disappoint my stepdad in any way.  

As I pulled myself out of the mess my life had someone become, it was my stepdad's face that I kept in front of me.  It was his strength that got me through, and I came to terms with his death in the process, strange as that sounds.

I've come quite far away from the who puzzle thing ...

When Belle got on her puzzle kick, I decided that I would get a more challenging puzzle that she and I could do together, that it would be a way for us to bond the way that my stepdad and I had.

However, I clearly got a little overzealous with my choice of puzzle--a 1,000 piece monster made entirely of various colors of jelly beans.

Suffice it to say, I'm out of practice vis a vis the wild world of jigsaw puzzles, and Belle quickly found that this was a different kind of thing altogether and lost interest.

Progress has definitely been made ...

There is lots of work left to do, however, and it is a bittersweet experience for me.

Part of me keeps hoping that my stepdad will show up, because this was our absolutely favorite kind of puzzle--quite a challenge, and one that can be worked on a little bit at a time.

I'm just feeling like I'm not up to the task all by myself, and like I said, Belle bailed.

I'm going to keep on trucking, though.  Even if it takes me a month, I am going to get this stupid puzzle finished.  And then I am going to glue it and frame it and keep it for always, because even though it didn't necessarily allow Belle and I to bond in the way I'd hoped, it's given me back a little bit more of my stepdad ... in a healthy and not-depressed way, if that makes sense.

I am deeply happy working on this puzzle even while I'm incredibly sad.  Does that make any sense?

So anyway, that's the story of why the jelly bean puzzle that I've been bemoaning on Facebook is more than just a puzzle ...

Catharsis.

Note: School starts for me on Friday (I know, I can't believe it, either), which is also the day that Addie leaves for college.  I am going to be pretty busy (and strung out) the next week or so, but I have some great guest posts lined up--one from my favorite student of all time, one from my good buddy Martin over at From Sand to Glass, and one from a friend of Henry's who's become my good friend too over Facebook (don't you love technology?).  I hope you'll enjoy all of them (I think they're pretty amazing :-)), and if you're interested in writing a guest post, drop me an e-mail.

When You Realize Your Kids Are Growing Up ...

Motherhood is, without a doubt, the highlight of my life.

My daughters are both good, kind, bright, beautiful, amazing people, and I couldn't be more proud of them.  There is nothing I would rather do than spend time with them, to bask in their company, to enjoy every second with them ....

Except ... well, they're growing up.

Addie is in France right now.  Even before she left for her latest European venture, though, I got a taste of what the future holds.  We had plans to hang out, to go see a movie, to just spend time together, and so on right before she left.  On both occasions, she got better offers (friends, the boyfriend, and so on).

I am happy about that, believe it or not.  Addie coming out of her shell and becoming a confident young woman has been a joy to behold.

But there is a bittersweet aspect to it.  Every day that passes, every new adventure and experience, leads her further away from me, so even as I am increasingly proud of her and love her just the same as I always have, I miss the little girl who questioned how snakes were able to move when they don't have legs and who had a propensity for streaking as a toddler (she asked me recently why she's naked in so many childhood pictures ... I told her that she started every day dressed).

Of course, there are still these kinds of moments that I can reflect fondly on when she leaves for college ...

And then there is Belle, who has suddenly become "Miss Independent".

I was looking forward to spending a lot of time with Belle this summer, and when I told her this, she thought for a long moment then said, "No offense, Mommy, but I'd rather go to camp."

While she still requires our bedtime routine (which is comprised of reading books and snuggling) and we spend a lot of time together after camp gets out, Belle is clearly starting to grow up ... and it seems to be happening very quickly.  She loves to spend time with her friends, and I think that's great ... but I am starting to really miss her, strange as that probably sounds.

Belle is a character, without a doubt the funniest kid I've ever met in my life.  She also has a tremendous work ethic, which I am very proud of.  It's meant, of course, that this week of home repairs has resulted in us getting to work together on things, seeing each other in a different light.  For me, it's seeing her in a more grown-up light.

Henry even got her using the power washer, which she has a real knack for.

And so I've stopped wondering why people get the urge to have later-in-life children, why that rumor about ticking biological clocks exist.  If life circumstances were different, I would love to have another child, to be able to extend my lease on motherhood.

Except it's not really a lease, is it?  As I've learned with my own mother, it's a bond that never goes away.  It is sometimes strong and sometimes a bit frayed, but the ties between mother and child are forever.

I am more grateful than words can say for whatever higher power saw fit to bless me with my two girls.  They have made me a better person, made me laugh, made me realize the importance of appreciating every moment in life.

So even as the realization that my amazing daughters are growing up and learning to make their own ways in the world makes me sad in a way, the joy I feel when I look at them, spend time with them, even just think about them totally trumps that.

Addie and Belle, I love you more than anything in the world ... and always will.

Second Grade Science Fair and Being the Child of a Teacher

There's no question that children of teachers face specific challenges.  In fact, it can lead to some off results ...

But seriously, here's the big one, at least as far as I'm concerned: I refuse to do my children's schoolwork for them, a fringe benefit that I understand most teens get from their parents.

In the name of full disclosure, I wrote a paper for Addie once.  It was for an elective class, a straight "read and regurgitate" research paper that I knew Addie was perfectly capable of writing herself in about twenty minutes.  She was having a meltdown over finishing her A.P. English work, and ... well ...

But it truly was a one-shot deal ... and I would never have done it if I hadn't 100% known she could have done it herself.  We did have some long conversations about time management after that, though ...

No, I'm having a very different problem at the moment, one that ironically mirrors the moment of hypocrisy I just confessed.

Belle is having a science fair tomorrow.

She has been working on her project for weeks.

She is dreading--DREADING--the science fair tomorrow.

Okay, here's what happened.

Belle came home from school with an assignment to create an invention that would solve a problem she encounters regularly.  Her first thought was to buy a wooden robot to put stuff in.  That was not okay with Mommy (although, in retrospect, I bet Belle wishes I'd gone for it).

Nope, Henry and I went through this whole process with her (Henry is, of course, also a teacher).  What things are hard for you? We went through everything from remembering to brush her teeth without being told to laying out her clothes for the week.

That wasn't successful, so Henry asked her, "What's something that really annoys you?"

Belle's immediate response?  "Mollie and her balls!"

My golden retriever has an obsession with balls.  She hides them under furniture and then scratches at the floor until you lift it up and let her get the ball.  It's a nightmare.

So Belle invented something she calls "The Ballie", which is basically a cardboard block for the ball.  If Mollie drops her ball on a piece of furniture in a way that it will bounce to the floor and roll under the furniture in question, "The Ballie" stops it.

In other words, Belle's SELF-CREATED idea that she came up with ON HER OWN after discussing different options actually WORKS ... and she's embarrassed by it.

Why?

Because I forced her to make "The Ballie" herself.  To be fair to her, she did.  She used her little crocodile scissors and painstakingly cut up cracker boxes, duct taping them together in a way that created a barrier that kept Mollie from wreaking havoc with her balls.

"The Ballie" doesn't look like much, but it works ... and as a teacher, I am incredibly proud of the inquiry that went into it.

Belle?  She's upset because the other projects all "look better".  Sally's dad built a tree to hang clothes on.  Joshua's mom bought a bunch of craft supplies to decorate the bird feeder that his grandpa made.  We live in a very affluent community, so you can probably see where this is going.

I refused to help Belle make a good-looking "Ballie".  I certainly could have tried to spiff up what she had, and Henry could really have done some amazing things with wood or something, but I did not want this to by my project.

This was Belle's project, and she did an outstanding job.

I'm sitting here now feeling guilty as heck, though.

I mean, as a teacher, it drives me crazy when I can tell that parents made a project (or, God forbid, wrote an essay).  After all, it's supposed to be about what a child knows, the whole process of learning.  It matters not what it looks like if learning went on ...

But it does, at least to Belle ... which makes me think that maybe I should have spent more time making some glizty, glamoury thing for her to show off tomorrow instead of the knowledge that she gained.

The teacher part of me knows that what I did (namely, allowing Belle to go through the entire scientific process and create her own project) was correct.  The parent part of me wants to cry because her jaggedly-cut, duct tape-sporting Cheez-It boxes are going to be set up next to projects that were created in Sara's dad's basement woodshop.

Why do I feel so damn guilty right now?  

Anyone Want to Be a Guest Blogger? Read for Details ...

I've noticed a lot of "guest blogging" going on lately, and I figured I'd try out the idea.

Somehow, my blog has accumulated over 200 followers (thank you all so much <3), which is pretty exciting.  What I was thinking would be even more exciting is for an occasional guest post, which will allow me to participate in discussions that don't originate with me.

I started this blog to share my thoughts on the world and on the philosophy that exists in everyday life.  It's become more (my aspiring writing career, motherhood and other details of my personal life, and the field of education are all directions I hadn't planned on going in but somehow have), but that's still my underlying goal.

If you'd like to write a guest post on a topic that generates thought and discussion, please let me know.  I'm not picky about specifics beyond getting people to think and talk about the different directions capable of moving by the human brain.

Send me an e-mail with "Guest Blogger" in the subject line or leave a comment here with questions or queries (heh heh ;-)), and let's get this thing cracking.

I look forward to hearing from you ... and to moving this blog forward in new and interesting directions.

<3 KL

Interesting Reading ...

I love to read blogs. Love, love, love it! I don't always have the time to leave comments and such (although I'm making more of an effort, because I know that I LOVE to read comments...not a hint or anything ;-)), but I do a lot of blog-reading.

Which is why I think Natalie from Mommy of a Monster and Twins is a genius for posting not just a list and descriptions of good blogs, but for specific noteworthy posts she's come across in the past week. Therefore, I'm stealing her idea (hopefully she doesn't mind).

The first one is kind of a cheat, since I wrote it. Still, I'd like to share with as many people as possible the story about the middle school girl who posted on Facebook that she wished Osama bin Laden had killed her math teacher. There's conversation going on over at Zelda Lily where it's posted, so feel free to discuss it there or here.

Do you find the word "moist" to be offensive to women? Evidently, some women do, and an exploration of why this is equated with ... womanly parts instead of, say, brownies, is extensively explored here. Very interesting read!

I suppose on some level I knew that dandelion wine actually existed. However, I never dreamed that I'd get to see what it looked like (in different stages of creation, even), and especially getting a recipe that I'm *gulp* contemplating giving a try.

For those of us that are writers, description is an area of concern. Do you want to be bare bones like Hemingway? Effusive? How much is too much? Now, thanks to this post, I'm thinking a lot about description in my own writing (and, by the way, my own approach is that I try to use dialogue to convey description).

The magic of childhood is explored extensively in this post. Taking the time to remember the good times and the bad (and the worst) is always a good thing to do, and the pictures here are priceless. I left a comment there that was pretty much a blog post in itself, just because I was so excited by the memories evoked.

I love to hear the parenting woes of others. Goodness knows my own children drive me to distraction at times (currently, Addie is still dragging her feet about getting her first job and Belle is being Belle--which, if you're a Boston Red Sox fan, is akin to "Manny Being Manny), so it's always nice to hear about the tribulations of others, particularly when they're presented in such an interesting and humorous way.

Even though I'm known for being a reader, I also love movies. I don't like TV, but I'm a huge fan of movies. Like, all movies (except ones adapted from books, which is a different conversation). This is a great reminder of some of the great RomComs out there :-) Netflix is going to love me this weekend!

There are, of course, a multitude of other great posts, but my mother is freaking out because the printer isn't working, so I have to go do my tech support thang.

What do y'all think of this idea? If you like it, I'll do it more often :-)

Such a Thing as Situationally Shy?

Tonight was the student showcase at my school, basically parent/teacher conferences part deux. I've taken to Facebook to express my woes, namely that the very mention of parent/teacher conferences makes me nauseous.

No, I'm not exaggerating. The fact that I only threw up once today is a major victory in terms of my nerves on parent/teacher conference night.

What got me thinking is the response that some of my Facebook friends had. The overwhelming message (and this came from people who know me in real life, one of whom was my best friend in high school) was, "You? Shy? Are you CRAZY? You're joking, right?"

When I've tried to explain this in the past, people tend to say, "You're really funny, K, your freaking JOB is to stand up in front of people all day." Well, yes, that may be true ... but I stand up in front of children all day, children who think I know what I'm talking about. I don't stand up in front of people that might want to criticize what I do, or question my abilities, or imply that last year's teacher (or the one they'll have next year) was a better match.

The craziest thing is, I've never had this happen to me. It's just my own ridiculous perfectionist complex that gets me so worked up. I do stutter, though, and repeat myself and lose my train of thought of do things like refer to "snowboards" as "snowmobiles" and ... well, yeah, you get the idea. I am stricken by a wave of shyness.

And people don't believe that this is possible. I might be a teacher, I might be kind of no holds barred in real life and I'll say what I'm going to say and do what I'm going to do (I told a guy who was smoking right by the door to the ski school to take his cigarettes elsewhere on Sunday ... and I'll walk into Burger King and correct their sign if they say "Whopper's are $.99.") ... but when it comes to parent/teacher conferences, shy is the only word that comes to mind. Well, shy and vomit : (

So do you believe someone can be situationally shy? If not, why? If so, what suggestions might you have for getting over it :)?

P.S. Formspring is open. Ask me questions HERE, no matter how strange : ) I'm enjoying this!

Of Barbies and Balls

I don't know if this is a common occurrence, but with my divorce has come a rising sense of feminism. Sometimes it comes up in ways that seem facetious (yeah, I'm referencing the urinal thing again), and sometimes it's more in-your-face. This would be one of the latter times ...

Belle and I were taking a shower the other day. Belle is six and never stops talking. I have H1N1 again (if that's even possible ... it's what the doctor said, but I have my doubts) and am on that happy cough medicine that loops you out, so I was just kind of nodding and smiling while my little princess was prattling along.

Then she said, "Wouldn't it be funny if a boy's favorite toy was a Barbie?" (I think this had been prefaced by, all in one breath, "IreallylikeBarbies.IlikeMyLittle Poniestoo.Yougettocombtheirhairandmakebraids.Wouldyouteachmehowtobraid,Mommy?Ithinkbraidsaresopretty.Likethegirlonthecocoabox.CouldIpleasehavesomecocoawhenIgetout
oftheshower?"). I interrupted her babbling to say, "What's wrong with a boy liking a Barbie?", and her response was, "Well, that would be like me playing with trucks." At least she didn't wrap that up with, "As if!", but the damage was done in my heart.

My children have been raised with a lot of encouragement in terms of doing what makes you happy. Addie gravitated toward music at a very young age, so we provided her with instruments, lessons, exposure to different types of music, and praise. When she was in sixth grade, her friends all decided to join the track team. Now, Addie is never going to be an athlete, but I didn't want to pop her bubble or tell her that she couldn't do something that she seemed really excited about doing. She stuck with track that year but never did it again. It just wasn't her thing. However, it was important to me that she come to that conclusion on her own, that she discover that her own strengths and passions would be different from her friends' ... and she did.

Belle is obviously not old enough to have any sort of in-depth conversation regarding that, though. Instead, I tried to explain to her that boys can play with Barbies if they want to ("Haven't you seen a boy hairdresser?" I asked her, to which she replied, "Yes, but they only cut boys' hair" ... this child is insanely observant, I tell you) just like girls can play with balls and trucks. There was still doubt in her eyes, though, and that makes me so darn sad ... and a bit angry as well.

Although her two activities are karate and gymnastics, Belle's toys are heavy on the dress up clothes, the Barbies, and the house drudgery (yeah, who invented toy kitchens anyway?). Since she shares a name with a Disney princess, she happens to get a lot of toys, clothes, games, and books connected with that particular story. Do you think things would be different if I'd named her Jamie? Terry?

What can parents do to address this very real problem? You would like to think that children in the year 2010 would be exempt from this sort of gender stereotyping, but clearly it's still an issue. Any thoughts? Or is there even anything wrong with a little girl thinking that Barbies are better suited to her needs than ball?

Parental Approach to Their Children's Education: Please Weigh In!

I've been doing a lot of thinking since my post about Addie's adjustments to her Biology class. It occurs to me that I have another bright little girl just beginning her school career (she is reading in kindergarten).

Addie was raised with school being a very high priority. Her father and I are both teachers, and the value of education was never a matter for debate. Until she reached high school, I checked her homework every night. I'm so lame I even signed off on her agenda book, just to make sure she was writing in it. She knows that only As and Bs are acceptable grades, and she has a transcript that would make any parent proud (and even more importantly, she is a kind, loving, amazing, beautiful human being).

I was raised very differently. My parents and step-parents are all college-educated professionals (Dad is a lawyer, Mom is a nurse practitioner); obviously, they were people aware of the value of education. However, they gave Adam, Mary, and I little to no motivation to do well in school. They were examples, yes, and they'd help if we asked (we never did), but basically we were on our own in terms of what we did with the educational opportunities we'd been given. Mary responded to a recent post by reminiscing about doing homework for one class in the class before it was due. Adam's brilliance is certainly not evident on his high school records. And me? Well, summer school for math was the least of it. That being said, though, the three of us all figured it out for ourselves at some point. We all have cum laude Bachelor's Degrees, I have a Master's Degree, and Mary wins the prize with her Ph.D. Obviously, my parents did something right there.

What's interesting to me is that I adopted a very different mindset with Addie than what my own experience had been. This was in large part because I used to wish that my parents cared enough to read through my papers, to discuss the historical repercussions of a given event, or at the very least to make sure I didn't make any addition mistakes in Algebra II. I wanted Addie to know that I cared.

I learned through a recent discussion with my mother that their approach to our education had nothing to do with not caring and everything to do with wanting to be different from their overbearing parents that checked every aspect of their schoolwork. My parents wanted to give their children the freedom to learn for the sake of learning in their own way, at their own pace.

Is one way better than the other? Is it even possible to combine both of these mindsets? What was your experience with your parents and your education?

Belle's future as a student may well depend on your responses ;) I am aware, however, that she is extremely different than Addie, that Addie has the whole "Oldest Child Perfectionist Parent-Pleaser" mentality while Belle is ... well, probably going to have pink hair and a nose ring before she is twelve.