So Much to Learn Every Day

We went to our parent-teacher conferences today. There was nothing surprising, thank goodness, because, in a way, chatting with the teacher is like getting on an airplane.  In both cases, it is good to be able to report later that the whole thing was pleasant, and basically uneventful.  We heard nice things about the girls, and each of the teachers said something like "keep up the good work," and we smiled and laughed and shrugged off the praise, but we savored it too, because validation can be fleeting when you're a parent. The girls are still young and new to the whole school racket, so they are still eager to please, but I know, from experience with my older children, that this can change later on, as kids get tired and bored and more pressured by life beyond school. So I don't take the good stuff lightly, but I try not to make too much of it either. 

The day got me thinking though, about what I really want the girls to learn.  Reading and math skills are essential of course, but certainly they are not all there is to learn. I have recently read this study , this book,  and a few follow up articles, that talk about what traits seem to predict success for individuals.  Intelligence is a factor, sure, but once you get a bunch of intelligent people together, like at med school, or NASA or whatever, there are still some who will do better than others.  Those people apparently have something called "grit," which actually sounds like something kids get immunized against, not something we want them to have.  But listen, grit is "perseverance and passion for long term goals," which translates to something like resilience-- the ability to bounce back from setbacks, or being able to handle failure and keep going.

One thing I know for sure: bad stuff happens.  Small bad stuff and big bad stuff.  As parents we can prevent some of it.  That's why we teach kids to wash their hands, look both ways when they cross the street, and scream bloody murder if a stranger approaches and asks if they want to check out a puppy inside a creepy-looking van.  That's why we buy car seats and medicine in bottles with caps we can't even open, especially when the kids and everything else give us a freaking headache.  But what about the other things, like feeling left out on the playground, or not getting a part in the school play, or throwing the pitch that turns into the other team's home run?  This "grit" I'm talking about is the ability to deal with crap like this that kids go through every day, stuff we can't protect them from unless we become those weird stalker parents who seem to haunt their children's lives, running around fixing things for them all the time.  

The best thing we can do, apparently, is the hardest thing for many of us: we have to let our kids be disappointed and frustrated and we have to let them know that they can get over it and-- even more difficult, because sometimes it is hard to know that ourselves--  help them develop strategies to cope. It's like a workout for the character. The more they exercise those coping mechanisms, sometimes as simple as learning to wait to take turns or work now to have a reward later, the better they get.   (Hey, that kinda makes parents into personal trainers, and doesn't that sound better than being a stalker?)

And it turns out that there is a better way to "coach" this stuff too.  This article, and another more recent one (now you know why I can't get my writing done, I'm too busy reading) recount studies that show that simply telling kids they're smart or that they are good at something is not the best thing we can do.  Who knew? (Also, I will follow up and find out if telling kids they are adorable lovey sugarpies is still okay.  I haven't read a study on that.) Instead, we should praise our kids' effort and determination, because that will help them learn that, even if they fall short in something, they can keep trying for better results.  Apparently, kids who are just told that they're smart or just plain awesome tend to give up more easily when faced with frustration or failure. So the smartest person in the room may not be the one who thinks he's the smartest, but the one who thinks she can accomplish something if she sets her mind to it.

And that comes around to what I really want for the girls.  Smart is good, but it isn't everything.  The new core standards around here are reading, writing, and resilience-- and math and science too, because you never know when you'll need that stuff at med school, or NASA.  

Quote Unquote

One thing I know for sure, and that is that other people are smarter than I am.   I have always loved looking through books of quotations, and I always have pages in my notebook filled with sentences others have written that seem to express my thoughts exactly.  This is partly because I've always believed that 

I don't see any fine print anywhere that says someone else can't put your thoughts into words for you.  And who am I to argue with Marcus Aurelius?

For today, I have started ten posts and backspaced all of them into oblivion because I really can't settle down and think of what I really want to say.  So I've decided to let others say things for me, and get back to writing tomorrow.  Here are a few more selections from my notebooks, and from my virtual notebook, Pinterest.  

Something to think about from minds better than mine.  See you tomorrow...

Moving Forward, Looking Back Just a Little

This morning was just like a Monday even though it was Tuesday, thanks to the Veteran's Day holiday this week.  I like a three day weekend as much as anyone does, but you still get that faintly sickening Monday feeling when you get up Tuesday morning, plus you kind of feel disoriented all day, because after all, it's Tuesday, but you're doing Monday stuff.  

Tuesdays are already kind of crunched for us anyway, because Delia has practice for the primary grade chorus, The Eighth Notes. It meets an hour before school starts, which means our day has to start an hour earlier too. Usually, Fiona and I walk Delia to school, drop her off for singing, then turn around and go home, only to come back to school for Fiona to get into class on time.  It always makes her kind of cranky, even when we are lucky enough to get a ride from Janet and Jennessa, our friends who swing by and pick us up on the way to school, saving us the morning walk.

She still looks little here, but she knows she's big.

This morning though, Fiona woke up before Delia, sauntered into the living room and said she'd decided she was going to computer lab when Delia went to singing.  Since computer homework is required, and not all kids have access to computers away from school, the lab is open for an hour before school starts every day.  We have a computer, so the girls usually do their work at home and we don't worry about going to school early, unless we have to, like on Tuesdays.

 "So just drop me off with Delia, then I'll go to class when the bell rings, " she said casually, as though she planned the schedule every morning.

"Are you sure?  We can get a ride when it's time for you to go to school.  Are you sure?" She remained steadily focused on an episode of Arthur on PBS. "You can do your homework at home.  Are you sure?"

"Mom," she was clearly exasperated with my back-talk. "I'm a big girl.  You're always telling me to be a big girl." She put up her hand, with the palm facing me, to dispense with any further questions:   "I'm sure."  Then she disappeared to pick out an outfit and make noise in her room to wake Delia up.

"Are you sure?" I called after her.  "I'm not coming back for you, you know." No reply.  "If you decide to stay, you'll be there until school's over."  Of course, I was talking to myself. 

Now, this is the same girl who slips into our bed every other night, claiming to be cold, or wide awake, or just lonely. 

This is the same girl who wheels her baby dolls around in a pink polka-dotted perambulator while talking on a toy cell phone to their pretend Dad, the big yellow M&M, insisting that they need "freshened" air, even though she only walks them around inside the house. This is the same girl who is my youngest child. My baby.
And I'm sure this is why it smacks me so hard when she says she is big.  I have always wanted the kids to be independent.  We never talked baby talk, and I'm not very patient, so there are a lot of things I've expected my kids to do for themselves.  I felt like I was scooting all of them along, from the first step to the first word to the first day of school.  Moving through the list of firsts makes me happy and proud and it made me feel like we were on track and moving forward.   And moving forward is always a positive thing, right?

I don't think about it most of the time, but every once in a while, like this morning, it hits me:  her firsts are my lasts.  I'm not going to have another kindergartner starting school, learning to go in on her own and start her own day.  I am still proud, of course, but also a bit sad thinking that she has her own day now, and her own thoughts. Some spaces in her life are already out of my reach.  I know that this is the way things are supposed to go, and I'm glad Fiona is moving forward.  I want her to be independent and confident on her own, but I guess I want her to miss me just a little, at least for now.

So I was glad that, even though she wouldn't let me walk her all the way into the computer lab ("I'm fine, Mom, just go") she did turn and look back one more time before she went in.  She flashed a smile as she turned the corner and said, "See you after school, Mommy."

That's my little girl. 

Did you Want Whipped Cream on that Pumpkin Spice Rant?

Image from this web page.

Am I the only one who is already over all things pumpkin spice?  I haven't even had a slice of pumpkin pie yet this fall, but already, thanks to every quick serve restaurant chain and food blogger, I feel like I have been overwhelmed with fall flavors.  I mean, we had barely finished summer foods, like watermelon, strawberry and tomato, when the food bloggers jumped the culinary shark and trotted out the early pumpkin spice breads, muffins, and pies.  Not to mention soups, stews and all sorts of "let's take pumpkin seriously as a vegetable" dishes like gratins, pastas and souffles. 

I know that if I want off the foodie treadmill, I can just opt out of the food blogs, but I will still be assaulted by magazines at the grocery store checkout-- Martha and Rachael, I'm looking at you-- which feature not just pumpkin as a food, but as a decorating accent as well.  "Pumpkin spice" walls with a pecan trim and vanilla accents will apparently warm up any home.  And don't forget that this really got started in the coffee world. Starbucks had barely sold through their refreshing limited edition summer beverages when Pumpkin Spice hit their stores, and within minutes, everywhere you could buy a latte, you could pumpkin spice it. Now with flavored coffee, creamer and whipped topping practically falling off the grocery store shelves, you can spice up life at home too.  I even saw that eggnog, a self-respecting holiday flavor in its own right, has been, you guessed it, pumpkin spiced.  

In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to share the fact that I worked in the retail world most of my adult life.  I understand this has resulted in a twisted sense of seasonal paranoia which may account for my vehement reaction to such a warm and homey flavor.  Maybe it was the twenty five years of receiving hundreds of boxes of holiday themed red and green products around the 4th of July, already a couple of weeks after the annual holiday planning meeting in June.  Maybe it was all those years of feeling like a hamster in a little retail holiday wheel.   I've assembled calendar displays in early August, put up dreidel floor displays next to towers of back to school notebooks, and hung end caps with stocking stuffers before the black and orange Halloween glitter had been swept from the sales floors.  

As you can probably tell, its not just the December holidays that are rushed to the public.  There is a whole cycle of holiday marketing that has skewed the perception of when the holidays really happen.  Valentines and heart-themed store decor are ready in the back room to be put out when the Christmas stock goes on clearance. Easter-Mother's Day-Father's Day-Graduation tumble right along after, on display in some places for six to eight weeks before anyone really needs a stuffed bunny or :world's Greatest Dad" mug. The kids are barely out of school before the Sunday papers are full of ads for back to school clothes and supplies, which are displayed cheek-by-jowl with Halloween costumes.  This year, Fiona spotted a Fairy Princess costume and thought it would be the perfect thing to wear for her first day of kindergarten.  We ended up with a cute little dress, though she made a pretty persuasive case that wings, a wand, and a vial of magic dust would come in handy for such an auspicious occasion. 

Now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn't be hating quite so hard on  the pumpkin spice phenomenon. Frankly, it's one of the few retail nods to the bounty we're supposed to be celebrating at Thanksgiving, which seems to have resisted the push of commercialization, though it has almost been knocked right off the calendar, except as the day before Black Friday, the "official" shopping kick-off for the December holidays. Though I understand there are stores that will now be open all day on Thanksgiving, so that if your relatives prove truly unbearable when assembled for the feast, you can slip away, explaining that you're off to buy their holiday gifts.  Oy!  And, of course, we know that pumpkin spice season is as fleeting as the others. Starbucks and other chains brought out their red and green holiday cups and bags November 1st,when many of us were just starting to "sort" our kids' Halloween candy. 

All I can say is, get in line for your peppermint mocha now, and beat the rush.  

The Post for 10 November 2013 will have to be Rescheduled Due to Lack of Inspiration

I thought this post really needed some awesomeness.  If you need some, this image is sold as a postcard, at this site.

I took on this blog-post-a-day thing because I knew I really needed to refocus myself on writing. So far, I have been happy with the outcome, and I've put out some pieces that I'm glad I made myself write.  I wish that I could say I started today with good intentions and plenty of energy and sat down at the computer right away.  I could say that, if I was a lying liar from Liarsburg-- but I'm not.  Today I just had a bunch of other things to do, and Sundays are the days I try to stay away from the computer and do non-screen things. These are excuses, not reasons,  for failing to write, I know.  

When I finally did get to the computer, I procrastinated in my usual way.  Didn't check email all day-- I should catch up.  Might have missed something important on Face book-- better just take a peek.  Oh look, someone I follow put a new playlist up on Spotify-- I should listen.  Two hours later, I hadn't written a word. But I did meander through the notes I make to spark ideas for posts when I do get around to writing. This one, a quote from the writer and marketing wizard, Seth Godin, stopped me, and made me start writing:

The notion that I do my work here, now, like this, even when I do not feel like it, and especially when I do not feel like it, is very important. Because lots and lots of people are creative when they feel like it, but you are only going to become a professional if you do it when you don’t feel like it. And that emotional waiver is why this is your work and not your hobby.

         (Read the whole discussion with Godin on Brainpickings.  Love that site!)

I've said that I want this to be my work, so this is the idea that I have to keep in front of me: I'm a writer. Writers write.  Sit down and get to work.  

For today, there's no point in making you suffer while I squirm and try to get something on paper.  See you tomorrow.

More Than A Little

So, yesterday, I ranted about how crazy it is at our house in the mornings.  It may have had something to do with the fact that, in addition to the usual chaos, my older daughter, Delia, chose to have a complete meltdown just moments before it was time to leave.  And then I lost it and yelled at her.  And then I felt just awful for the rest of the day. You might say that I should have felt awful about yelling at my child.  And you might be right, but here's the story:

Delia has been looking for the perfect pair of flats to put on her holiday gift list, or maybe the perfect pair of boots, you know, the short kind that look good with jeans or skirts, and maybe have a buckle or something that makes them super-cute.  To keep her on track with her homework two nights ago, I told her she could browse on line in the morning after she got ready for school.  I thought I was being pretty sly to dangle an incentive for her to get ready early so that she could cruise for shoes.  Yeah, right.

It didn't work out, of course.  Instead of getting ready, she planted herself at the computer in the morning, half-dressed, hair and teeth unbrushed, and started looking at shoes.  When I asked what she was doing, she whined, "You said I could."  I reminded her that she could look at shoes when she was ready to leave, which she clearly was not.  She stomped off to get ready, barely, cranking all the while.  In the meantime, I got ready, made lunches and shut everything off in preparation for leaving for the day.  I was making one last room check, (not in a compulsive way, but in the manner of a person who has come home once or twice after eight or nine hours of work to find that "someone" has left the fridge open just a bit) when I found Delia shopping on the computer I had already turned off.  Our friends who give us a ride to school had already called to say they would be there momentarily.

"What are you doing?" I yelled.  I could feel my blood pressure go up, bam, like my head would suddenly explode.
"Looking at shoes, you said I could when I was ready." She yelled right back, looking at me like I had a screw loose. 
"But didn't you see that I had already shut down the computer? We have to leave NOW!" Same look from me, back at her.
"How did I know?" she asked, then burst into tears.  She stood there sobbing, one arm in her jean jacket, one arm out, screaming, "How did I know? That's not fair!"

Suddenly, I was just sooo angry.  I just couldn't stand that she was sobbing because I yelled at her for doing something she should have known was wrong.  I moved her aside, shut the computer down again, swearing kinda under my breath and kinda out loud.  I scooted everyone out the door.  Fiona, for once not the one in trouble, ran ahead and hopped into the waiting car to proudly let everyone know that Delia was being bad and getting yelled at. Delia shuffled slowly along behind me and was still sniffling as we got into the car.  Awk-waard!

The thing is, Delia is usually the one I can depend on to get it.  To know what she's supposed to do and, with some prodding, just do it.  She likes to be right, and usually, being good is being right, at her age.  When I really get mad at her, when the dial moves past mere annoyance and into the red zone of anger, she always looks heartbroken, like I have let her down, betrayed her in some way.  That doesn't make me less angry... it makes me self-righteous and frustrated and childish.  And then, it makes me feel guilty.

The ride to school is about three minutes long, so Delia had not settled down completely by the time we got there.  She got out of the car and wiggled away when I tried to hug her and tell her to have a good day.  She walked off ahead of me and Fiona and didn't say goodbye when she walked through the school gate.  She didn't even turn around when I called, "have a good day!" 

Then I felt rotten all day long.  I am the opposite of obsessive, but even I had to make myself dismiss the dark, recurring notion that, if something terrible happened, and I never saw Delia again, we would have ended things in anger.  I had to reassure myself that I would see her at the end of the day and everything would be all right.  And it was, of course.  She barely seemed to remember the morning's altercation, but it was hard for me to let it go.  I hugged her until she was clearly annoyed with me, then went to make dinner.  But the upset was hard to shake.  This was the first time this ever happened with Delia, and, sure, everything worked out fine. 

The problem is,  I know it won't be the last.  Just thinking about what's ahead breaks my heart more than a little.

Morning Becomes Electric

I don't know about you but, every morning, I rise just before the sun and savor a few quiet moments of deep, cleansing, breaths while my loving husband makes coffee and brings it to me so that I can sip it calmly as I contemplate the enormity of the universe and enjoy the fact that I am one with all of the natural and the human world. 

And then, I wake up...

Of course, nothing about that vision is true, except the part about my husband bringing me coffee.  And he is loving.  He knows I'm going to suck down that java as fast as I can, because I'm gonna need more than a single cup to face the chaos of the weekday morning.  But he leaves well before the girls are supposed to be up, when all is still well. 

Usually, before I can catch up on the news of the day, a bed-headed little girl strolls into the living room and demands that I put a kids' show on the TV.  And sit with her, but also get breakfast, but also find out what the school lunch is, but also...  So begins the day.  If you have children, and were not rocketed to Earth as a baby as your home planet exploded, giving you superpowers among us humans, you may have some idea of what I am talking about. 

When my sons were young, many moons ago, it didn't seem like it was such an ordeal to get them moving and out of the house in the morning.  I always had to go to school, or to work, so I had a similar amount of pressure to start the day running, but I didn't have to braid their hair or argue with them about why they couldn't wear a skirt that short without leggings under it... And the boys didn't sneak my lip gloss, then drop the applicator on the carpet, then put it back in the tube, so that I could discover, on my way to work, that I was rubbing disgusting beige fuzz onto my lips. Not even once.  It was so much easier then.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I should say that I tend to remember things through a rosy haze of nostalgia and the boys (now men) have often pointed out that there were plenty of rough times with them.  They say potayto, I say potahto... whatever.  If I want to remember their childhood as a golden time, let's just say that they're not going to stop me. 

On the days we have early activities, or have to run to the store to get food for lunch because our cupboard is empty and they are serving something that both girls declare "heinous"at the cafeteria, I have to practically drag the girls from their beds over strong protests.  "I'm sooooo tiiiired!"  "Make her get up first."  "No. No. No. Nooooooo!"

But, usually, I don't have to wake the girls, because before I know what has happened, they have already insinuated their noisy selves into my quiet morning. They often do this as a kind of maleveolent dynamic duo, by arguing over who grabbed a certain dress first, therefore securing the right to wear it, or over who should go and brush her teeth because her breath is disgusting. 

"She said I was disguuussssTING!  She should be in trouble, and I got out the purple dress first and I put it down to get some socks and she grabbed it so make her GIVE IT TO MEEEEE!"

"Well, she came in when I was in the bathroom, so she deserves it and she didn't have the dress first, she got it out when I TOLD her I was wearing it, just to be MEEEEAANNNN!"

All I can do is grab the dress at issue, hold it above my head, bellowing that NO ONE can wear it, and tell them to get out some clothes and put them on before I e-mail their teachers to say that they won't be at school because their behavior is just too awful for me to unleash them on the public.  The quiet after such a proclamation lasts about 30 seconds. 

In either case, when we have just under a half an hour before we need to be out the door, some strange inertia grips each of the girls, and they both stop wherever they are, be it Fiona, in front of an Arthur episode she has seen 46 times, or in Delia, in her room, suddenly seized by the desire to slowly sort and catalogue every single barrette and hair tie she owns, or both of them at the breakfast table, slowly dissecting their toaster pasties so as to avoid eating the "crust."  (Just for the record, PopTarts do not have crust. I stand by this fact.)

Then, my real work begins: it is time to push and prod and threaten and mush the girls like sled dogs into readiness to get out the door.  All while I am making lunches and trying to get myself ready to leave.  I constantly review the status.  Clothes, check.  Breakfast, check.  Hair, check.  "Teeth, Delia-- brush 'em.  Fiona, for the tenth time, just get your socks on and I'll tie your shoes in a minute."  Then two minutes later, with my own teeth brushed and shoes on:  "Delia-- teeth!  Fiona-- socks!"  By the time we leave, I have begged, wheedled, cajoled and threatened the severe loss of all kinds of privileges.  And it works.  We do leave.  We go out into the world and have our days at school and work so that we can come home and have dinner and go to bed so we can get up and do this all over again.


Sunrise picture from here.