Baby love

James, like Maggie and John, seems infatuated with Helen. After spending two nights at Grandpa Tom's house, away from Helen, he was anxious to see her. James asked to hold Helen, then asked her to tell him a secret. He leaned his ear down close to her mouth to listen.

Helen obliged him by promptly spitting up in his ear.

Baby charades

Apparently, James is taking his English homework seriously these days. In 4th grade, they are learning grammar - diagramming sentences, and all that joy. James also really adores his baby sister. The combination can be amusing. Just now, James paused in his homework to go talk to Helen, who was laying on her blanket on the floor.

"Helen, can you act out an adjective that describes a baby or a puppy?"

[brief pause]

"Perfect! Good job! How did you know I was thinking of the adjective 'cute'?"

[Helen gave a satisfied squeal in response.]

Catching up on the kids

I carry a small notebook in my purse. It feels so matronly of me, maybe because my mother always did it. But I am now a "woman of a certain age," and I understand why she did it. I hate carrying a big purse around, but now I really need room for things like a notebook, because I can't remember a thing.

My notebook is a hodgepodge - Christmas shopping lists, websites a friend mentions, contact info for the person we are headed to visit, questions to ask at the next doctor's visit. But my favorite, and definitely most important, use for the notebook is to write down what the kids say. I forget things so quickly, and some of this I really prefer to capture.

Now, the trick is finding time to ever translate those treasures from the kids to this blog, my more permanent memory. So, the point of this entry is to catch up on a number of those. Therefore, I have included approximate dates, if I have them.

The Logic of Youth (December 28, 2009)
We were driving on a long car trip. James  (age 8) says, out of the blue, "Mom when I grow up, I want my license plate to say "I-BE-APE."

"Oh. Um, okay." [Long pause, then I continue.] "Um, why?"

"Because that's what I want to be. And I couldn't fit, 'I want to be a gorilla.'"

John, Out of the Blue...(March 25,2010)
"Mom? When I grow up, I'm going to be a superhero. With a cape."

Maggie Works Out the Ways of the World (March 25, 2010)
"Mom, are boy captains and girl captains on ships called different names?" (I have no idea. Either as to the answer, or as to why you would ask the question.)

A short time later, Maggie chose to explain some things to me instead of query me. Maybe she decided I wasn't much good as a source of info after I blew the last one.

"Mom, I think I know what started World War I. The pilgrims were slaves and came here on the Mayflower and the people who were slaving them followed and started fighting." (Ahh, now that reassures me that all that school tuition has been well worth it.)

Life is Hard (September 2010)
"Mom?" It is John's voice from the back of the van, in a plaintive, even whiny tone.

"Yes?" I respond.

"I ... I ... I wish I could get more bigger."

"You will, soon," I reassure him soothingly.

He replies in a near panic, "But I can't wait that long!"

(Maybe this is related to being left behind when the older kids get out of the car for school. More likely, it is about his frequent questioning about how old he has to be to drive a car. Or a motorcycle.)

Negotiations (September, 2010)
Maggie and John love to play pretend together, now. We were driving in the car, and Maggie was proudly (vainly?) wearing a very fancy dress - red velvet with white fur trim. I overheard this exchange between them.

Maggie: John, let's pretend that I'm Mrs. Santa and you're little Santa, and Dad is ... Ho Ho Ho... Santa Claus.
 John:  NO! (Pointing at Jeremy and with a tone of "I've got a better idea") Let's say he's a bad guy. He's a storm trooper. But he's on our side. He won't hurt us, but he has a missile.

First day of preschool

Speaking of underwear...

John had his first day of preschool today. He was actually nervous about it. I hadn't prepared myself for that possibility.

James and Margaret never gave preschool a second thought, since they had been going to daycare (which we always called "school" for them) since about 18 months, each. When other parents would talk about the "trauma" of the first day of school (preschool or kindergarten) I never really got it. Were they just over-dramatizing? No big deal at our house.

Well, I won't say it was a trauma for John, by any means. But it was a big deal. He asked questions all evening and through the bedtime routine. ("Mommy, will I go with no grown-ups? Why won't you be there? Will I get to play outside in the rocks? When will you pick me up?") He couldn't get to sleep last night. Even when I lay down with him (which usually puts him out within a few minutes), he tossed and turned next to me, muttering to himself about school. I was glad that I had given in yesterday at Meijer's with a small "school present-" a new package of underwear for the newly potty trained boy. (They were Star Wars Clone Wars, which he recognized himself though I am certain he can't yet read the words "Clone Wars" printed around the top band.)

Still, despite all his angst, he was happy to go this morning. He popped out of bed and dressed himself in the new underwear. (After that, who cares about clothing?) He asked Maggie to get him a bowl of cereal because he couldn't wait for Mom to get to the kitchen. When we arrived at preschool, he dashed into the gym with hardly a goodbye. As he had requested, I stayed to watch through the window for a few minutes, but he never once looked around for me. I watched the scene in pantomime through the glass, astonished that my Human Tornado was standing in his place in a circle, eyes riveted on the teachers, following every instruction for their "warm up exercises." Okay, once he did run off and swing on the Tarzan rope on his own. But mostly following instructions. Was this really my boy?

James, Maggie, and I took advantage of our morning alone to shoe shop. Amazingly, much easier without John along. 2.5 hours, 2 stores, 5 pairs of shoes (James-soccer; James-school, Maggie-gym, Maggie-school, Maggie-church) and 1 pair of socks (James-soccer), and less than $150. I felt like my world was once again manageable. In a certain way. (That 18-gallon tote of old shoes is finally starting to come in handy. Found soccer shoes for Maggie and tennis shoes for John for "free" from our hand-me-downs. At this rate it should only take one extra mortgage, not two, to keep all four kids clothed as they grow.)

We rushed back to pick up John at noon. Sadly, we discovered he was apparently the only one of the approximately 15 kids who had used his backpack (change of clothing). Ack. So much for the potty-training progress. At least we only came home with wet clothing, not dirty. Maybe they won't kick us out yet. :) 

Back on Friday morning for more glee and giggles. I am encouraged that this will work.

Kids at play

You can legitimately suspect that your family bedtime stories have involved too much J.R.R. Tolkien when you overhear this from the (almost) 9-year-old as the kids play around the sandbox:

"Okay, let's call this chain of islands 'Ordroon' which in the language of the people who live here means 'Fire Mountain.'"

Open Door Policies

The college where I work has an Open Door Policy. I know this because every Friday at 1:45 PM (plus a few other scattered times throughout the week), a tour group of prospective students tramps past my office. I have heard the patter that has been scripted by the Admissions Department for my section of the hallway uncountable times over my 11 years working here.

"When the architect designed this building, the classrooms were put in the center with faculty offices around the outside. This was intentional to increase accessibility. We have an Open Door Policy here. [Most of the time] when professors are in their offices, they will leave the door open to let students know they are available all the time for students to just drop by."

Lovely sentinment, I suppose, in an abstract sense. But you might notice the phrase in brackets. That has been added (intermittently) over the years, perhaps in response to the fact that some faculty on my hallway (me, most notably) never got the memo from the Provost as to this Open Door Policy. Thus, just as the student tour guide reaches this critical moment in the memorized speech, they come to me, at work behind my very closed door.

Now, I am actually quite available. I always answer to a knock on the door, whatever I am in the middle of doing. I never reject a student's request to meet/talk unless I am on my way to a scheduled class or a meeting. But the fact is, my work entails some jobs other than chatting with students, and I can't function to accomplish these real tasks with the door open to the constant traffic noise of the hallway. So, I continue to happily ignore this dubious college policy.

Recently, however, I have been pondering the policy more often in the context of parenting. (In 11 years of being a college professor and 9 years of parenting small children, I am actually awestruck by the similarities in the two job descriptions.) My children, it seems, have easily assumed the existence of an Open Door Policy in our home. In general, I think this is good. I certainly want them to feel free to approach me about whatever is on their mind. I want them to always feel comfortable confiding in me, so that all of their wisdom won't come from themselves, or perhaps worse, from their current culture or their peers. However, there are times when I struggle with limits; when I long to slam my door shut, so to speak.

My mom with my brother Jeff, ca. 1980

Now, I am comfortable with a fair bit of physical closeness. I grew up in a family with five people, one bathroom, and low inhibitions. My brothers and I were welcome in our parents' room when we felt lonely at night or had nightmares. My kids enjoy the same freedoms, and I am really fine with that, most of the time. In fact, I don't even necessarily notice, as you can see from this picture of John and I slightly past midnight a few months ago.

         Me with my son John, January 2010

So, I cringe when I find myself feeling less than generous toward my kids. But it turns out that my precious commodity at home is not a closed door, but a chance to sleep. Lately, it seems that our Open Door Policy at home is more of an Open Season on waking up Mom.

Now, I am sure I exaggerate. Perhaps this has been more of an issue lately only because I have been sick for a number of weeks (nasty respiratory virus) and that has caused me to sleep much more than usual. Or perhaps my kids are feeling my absence more now that I work the afternoon shift, and are making up for that by seeking time with me when they can. But it feels to me that all 3 kids have been going out of their way to wake up Mom. And I haven't been able to react in a particularly kind way.

Let's see... John came in one evening after he had been put to bed and I was just drifting off to sleep in my own bed. "Mom? Mom!" I vaguely heard him but didn't feel the need to pull myself up through the haze of sleep to answer him. After all, he was supposed to be in bed. So John took matters into his own hand and promptly smacked me across the face to get my attention. He did. All this for... he wanted me to read him another story.

I had had a bad night, when I was up late working, then just after getting to sleep, John was up vomiting and I was up changing sheets and showering John. Jeremy slipped off to work in the morning and left John and I blissfully asleep in our bed. It was a school holiday, so I didn't have to get up to get James and Maggie ready for school. I was prepared to have a real "lie-in." Suddenly, James was in my face with a cheerful (and loud) "Good Morning, Mom!" Oh, did I hiss at him! I was irritated at being awakened, but even more afraid that he would wake up John. Still, my venom was undoubtedly magnified by being startled out of deep sleep, and out of proportion to the offense. I felt like a pretty lousy mom as I opened my eyes and watched James's face fall. He was just trying to be cheerful, after all, and when I looked at the clock, I was sheepish enough. The hour was well past a "lie in" and he did have a reasonable right to expect me up by 8:40!

Then there was the recent case of Maggie waking me up. It was during my worst week of illness, when I was sleeping 13-14 hours every day (which of course required some nap time). Thus, I had set up John and Maggie with a video and collapsed on the couch for a 30-minute nap. I was instantly pulled up out of sleep by a loud voice and a face right in mine - Maggie's. "Mom, the video isn't working right! Can you fix it right now?" No, I thought to myself miserably. I
can't even walk. If it isn't a fire in the house, I don't care. But Maggie wasn't going for this argument. Up I got, three different times in 45 minutes, to fix technology issues and sibling disputes over viewing material. So much for a nap.

So, I am seriously reconsidering the Open Door Policy at home. I think we may need a Sleep Codicil for Mom. If Mom is asleep, you must make do without waking her unless there is fire or severed artery. Will that win me any parenting awards? I think I am too tired to care.

So proud of my kids

WARNING: no movie or book spoilers but "sappiness" factor for this post is higher than normal.

I recently installed a "visitor counter" tool on my site. It doesn't allow me to track who has been here, but it does track "unique" visitors for me. Thus, I have confirmed that my following includes only those I know about, and I can count you on one hand. Which is great with me; I really never intended any of this for wider distribution. But knowing that you are all loved ones reading this gives me a new sense of freedom to put up stuff that only a Mom might care about. So, you are fairly warned for the future.

We went to parent/teacher conferences today. It still strikes me as largely an exercise in futility. The teacher takes 15 mintues to page through some example class work and say that "Your [insert correct name] is such a delight to have in class."

I guess if I were less of a curmudgeon, I could see a few purposes served. For James, whose organizational skills are questionable, it confirms that we actually see a few important school papers. Anything he is charged to bring home is a crap shoot. For Margaret, we did get to see some semi-formal testing, such as letter and number recognition, letter sounds, and word reading. These were all compared to earlier tests, so we could see progress. Nice to have it formalized, though I could already tell on my own that her reading is improving.

Overall, though, it does bring to me new empathy for my parents. I recall that when I was a kid, I would wait with bated breath for their return from conferences, at which point I would beg them to tell me everything my teacher said. Their answers were always fairly uninteresting:

"She said you are doing well in reading."
"Your teacher enjoys having you in class."
"Everything is fine."

Seriously? That is all you can report, Mom and Dad? I of course took this to mean something sinister. What were they not reporting? They were in the room longer than that. And what would I have to do to win the attention and accolades I surely felt I deserved?

And so now I sit in the room, and find myself telling my kids as they clamor for information:

"Your teacher says you are getting to be a really good reader, Margaret."
"Your teacher says everything is going fine, James."

And my kids respond in disbelief. They know I was in there for 15 minutes. Come on, what did she really say?"

So, I have been thinking harder about specific reports. This blog is, after all, largely a journal for my kids to enjoy someday (or not enjoy). And although there really isn't much specific that was said, I did glean some important info, if I think hard about it.

Margaret:

• Margaret is a "good student." She gets the game of school. She can find the rules or instructions, follow them, and get the task done with little instruction.
• Margaret tells stories with expression and enthusiasm that her teacher really enjoys. Her teacher said she hopes Maggie will keep that same joy and expressivity as she learns to read and she will be a wonderful out-loud reader.
• Margaret has several girls she would consider her closest friends (Gracie, Nikki, and Sara) but hangs out at recess with most of the girls in the class, in one large group (which plays Ice Wars, the Ada Christian commodity game that is beyond adult comprehension).
• Margaret is responsible and trustworthy. Her teacher felt that she is one who could be counted on to take another child down to the office for help, for instance.

So, while these at face value seemed liked the generic "nice kid" platitudes, I see that these fit with who I see Maggie becoming, and I am proud of who she is.

James:

• James seems to love science. He handles difficult vocabulary and concepts apparently with ease, and almost always gets 100% on tests.
• James is not so fond of math, which at this point means to him rote memorization of facts (addition/subtraction, and now multiplication). But his teacher seems very tolerant, and in fact sympathetic, to his dislike of drill. She hopes he will enjoy more the problem solving unit that comes up at the end of the school year.
• James seems to be having a better time socially. (We have felt this to be true, also, based on his home behavior and comments.) His teacher pointed out that James has become very popular as the go-to guy in computers, because the students have started playing Poptropica, and James is the expert on the game. (There, some unintended value from not owning a Wii or Playstation! James's mind-numbing screen time has instead been free to develop expertise in an obscure on-line game available in the school computer lab.)
• James thinks deeply and seriously about issues of faith. His teacher shared two of his independent writing assignments from the year. I kept his spellings because I enjoyed the authenticity they bring to these.

James's Faith Statement (written following a study of the story of Joseph)

I believe that God has a plan for me, just like he had a plan for Joseph. I believe that God's hand is guiding my life. I believe He is in control. I believe He has many more great plans for my life. I believe that he is the creater.

James's Prayer of Thanksgiving (written in November)

Dear Lord, We give you thanks for what we have, not wishing four what we do not have, but being thankful four what we have. Four as your sirvant David said, Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in teh way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. Forgive us four our sins O Lord. And gant [grant] us blessings for the year to come. Four thine is the kingdome, and the power and the glory four ever and ever, Amen.

So, in retrospect, in just 15 minutes I gained a great picture of my son's life at school. He is thoughtful, deliberate, likes to be right or not do it at all. He doesn't care for or about rote drills (spelling, math facts) but seems to have a photographic memory for facts and information that interest him. His earnestness and concern with following the rules may cause him some trouble right now, socially, but are part of his development as a moral, deep-thinking person who wants to know what is right and do it, and expects everyone else to do the same. ( I guess the concept of Original Sin is what we should work on next in our family time.) I am very proud of James.

Having parents lead to psychotherapy requirements

I usually stop by the kids' beds to re-tuck them in on my way to bed. Tonight, I found John on the floor right by his door. He had been sent back to bed uncountable times. Apparently, he really just wanted to get closer to Mom before he fell asleep. I guess he finally compromised. He dragged his pillow and blanket over by the door, but just out of sight around the corner from the parental view from the kitchen. He didn't want to be caught out of bed and sent back again. This will clearly be an example when he is an adult of how his parents caused him untold mental anguish resulting in years of psychotherapy.

Speaking of parent-caused mental anguish...

James was completely uncovered, but with the blankets twisted all around his feet. I attempted to gently extricate him. As I was pulling up the covers over him, he stirred a bit, then woke up enough to tell me, "Mom, I don't really like it when you do that. It makes me have bad dreams."

"Hmm?" I softly queried, wondering if he was even awake.

"When you move my covers, it makes me have nightmares. The zombies were chasing me."

I suppose I don't really have any way to prove that tucking him in doesn't bring the zombies. Poor guy.

Follow up from a few days later:
He must be in a dream-frenzied state lately. Jeremy picked him up out of bed to wake him for school a day or two later and he complained drowsily, "Dad! You made me drop by groceries!"

Just playing games

James has become an almost obsessive game player. He is always asking to play board games now. Unfortunatley, he no longer has any interest in the games that Maggie might be able to play with him, like CandyLand or Guess Who. So, at bedtime, he has a routine of asking about "The Plans," which means a recounting of the family calendar for the upcoming week. Frequently, he follows this with a plaintive request: "When can we play a game?"

All too often, my answer must be, "I'm not sure when, sweetheart. It is difficult to play any of the longer games you like. In the evening, there isn't time to finish a game before bedtime. Earlier in the day, John is around and won't self-entertain for the duration of a 2-3 hour game."

"Well, then, how will I ever be able to play games?" comes the self-piteous moan.

"Well, do you have any friends who like to play games?" No, he doesn't think so. Yeah, unfortunately, he is probably right.

"What about your cousin, Lydia?" This led to a whole new line of questioning. James discovered that Lydia was in fact willing to play Monopoly, and Settlers, and thus might even be a good prospect for other new passions like Carcassonne. So now, every night, I simply hear, "When can Lydia come to visit again? I mean, not just for a short time, but at least for a whole day?" (In other words, for enough time that they can shut the door to his bedroom, locking out all the younger kids while they play games for hours on end.) Since Lydia lives 3 hours away, and her father is a pastor so she can't typically stay over a Saturday night, the answer is usually, "I don't know when."

So, James's favorite treat in the whole world is on a Friday night when Dad will pull out Carcassonne or Settlers, just as John is getting ready for bed. It makes James a bear for days to stay up so late, but he so loves it, it is almost worth it.

It really struck me this weekend, however, that James doesn't just like games. He has a compulsive need to play them. The kids came home from a birthday party with bags of pinata candy (oh joy). Maggie opened her package of skittles and James said with excitement, "Look, you have almost all fire!"

"What?" I inquired.

"Oh, it's a game," James said nonchalantly.

I sat a moment to watch. James at some prior candy holiday (and of course those have become too numerous to count) had invented a game that resembled a hybrid of the card game War and the classic Rock/Paper/Scissors. He assigned candy colors to the elements (fire, earth, air, water) and each one had a priority of what it beat and what defeated it. The kids sat at the table for over half an hour duking it out with their candy. Apparently, James has been filling in the long dry gaming spells with inventing games that he can stand to play and that Maggie is able to play.

How to make your kids safe for the world?

Sometimes it seems like the biggest challenge of parenting is just figuring out when to act, when to listen, and when to sit on your hands.

James seemed to have a really good two weeks over Christmas break. He was happier, more relaxed, kinder to his siblings, on the whole. For the two weeks back at school, he has again been a bit more tense, but I could attribute that to tiredness as much as anything. Everyday when he gets out of school, I ask how his day went, and I get a reply of "Fine," or even an enthusiastic "Great!" So, I assume all is well, for now.

Then, another bedtime bomb. That is what I have come to call them, because they always come out then. He will be sent off to bed, and ask plaintively, "Mom, will you sit with me for a while?" On these nights, he wants to talk. A few nights ago he said, "Mom, my school troubles are returning."

"Oh? What happened?"

"Well, we were all talking at lunch and someone said that she thinks a girl can change the world. I said I agreed with her. Then Sara started laughing and saying that if I think that I must be a girl. So she started calling me 'Chelsea.' Now a bunch of girls are calling me Chelsea."

"Hmm. How do you feel about that?" That is my standard line when I need to buy myself more time. I wonder if that is what shrinks mean when they say it, too?

"Well, it makes me feel bad."

"Well, I am really proud of you for knowing what is right, and speaking up for it. I am sorry to hear that some of your classmates are behaving like this. They are being mean and stupid at the same time. I can't imagine what must be upsetting them that they would choose to act that way, can you?"

Okay, so it wasn't exactly politically correct of me to call 3rd graders mean and stupid, especially in front of my 3rd grader. But... really? I mean, in 2010, do we even have to be debating the question of whether a girl can change the world? And where would kids spout this kind of nonsense unless they are hearing it at home? So, as you can see, I am still pretty irritated by the whole thing. So obviously, at the time, my one stalling question was not enough to get control of my anger before I spoke.

I stewed on this overnight. I debated emailing the teacher about the incident. I really don't want to be a thirty-something-tattletale. And I don't want to be a helicopter parent. But then again, I won't send my kids to a school where there is a popular consensus that a world ruled by some triumvirate of Gingrich, Robertson, & Dobson might not be quite conservative enough.

Of course, I also have a tendency to occasionally fly off the handle; make mountains out of molehills. James came home from school the next day and reported that kids were still calling him Chelsea. I asked how he felt about that. (See, there, I did it again.)

"It's okay, Mom. I just decided that I won't answer them if they call me Chelsea. I will just ignore them unless they call me James."

Okay, well that was good news. I maybe don't have to do anything at all. If James can solve the problem on his own, who am I to meddle? "Good for you, James!"

Later, of course, the doubts set in. Maybe I still need to do something, not for James's sake, but for the sake of the school, and all the kids. Is this a pervasive problem? Or then again, maybe this is just a sign that James has figured out how to play me. If he can tell an upsetting enough story, he can get me to talk to him, long past his bedtime. Maybe he never really cared about getting called Chelsea, but had figured out that this would make a good story to get lots of one-on-one time with Mom.

So, back to the same old questions. When to act, when to listen, when to sit on my hands? Sigh.