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Family Life, Kids

The Santa Claus Threat

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I was sick of listening to them bicker. Lucy. Max. Both of them going at it like a couple of chickens in a coop.  “She’s bossing me!” “He’s pulling my hair!”  I was about to pull my own hair if they didn’t stop.  I yelled across the kitchen, “I’m DONE! MAX, GO SIT ON THE STAIRS! LUCY, GO SIT IN MY ROOM! I WANT YOU TWO SEPARATED AND QUIET!”

What I did next can only be put in the category of dangerous thoughtlessness.  I was rash. I didn’t think. I shouldn’t have gone there.

I picked up my phone and called Santa Claus (aka; my sister Stacy).  “Santa? Yes, I’m calling to let you know that Lucy and Max have been fighting an awful lot and I’m not sure they should receive presents this year. Uh-huh. Okay, I will call back if their behavior improves”.  I hung up.

I could already hear Max sobbing on the stairs and muffled between tears he said, “but I want presents for Christmas!”  Lucy bolted out of the bedroom her breathing quick and shallow, tears pouring down, her face pale and the words flying out of her mouth as fast as she could spew them; “WHY DID YOU CALL SANTA? I’M SOOOOOO EMBARRASSED!! HE’S ALWAYS BEEN SOOOOO NICE TO ME. EVERY YEAR OF MY LIFE HE’S BEEN NICE TO ME AND NOW HE’S ANGRY AT ME CUZ I’VE BEEN BAD!! I DON’T EVEN WANT TO GO VISIT HIM NOW BECAUSE I’M TOO EMBARRASSED TO SEE HIM BECAUSE HE IS GOING TO BE SOOOO ANGRY AT ME.”  The sobs coming fast, her breathing becoming more shallow, panic flooding her eyes – I started to worry she would pass out.

“Lucy, come here and sit down.  Max, you too.  Now listen,  Max, you can’t go around pulling your sisters hair and being mean.  Lucy, you can’t say things to Max that you know are going to make him angry.  If you two start behaving like you are supposed to I will call Santa back.”

Max’s tears instantly stopped.  He wiped his face, took a deep breath and declared; “Mama, I’m going to start being good RIGHT NOW!”

Lucy launched into more panicked filled sobs:  “IT DOESN’T MATTER. HE IS ALREADY MAD AT ME AND I’M SO EMBARRASSED AND I BET I’M THE ONLY KID IN SCHOOL WHOSE HAD TO HAVE A CALL MADE TO SANTA AND NOW HE WON’T BRING US PRESENTS!!”  At this point, the panic, fear and shear anxiety on her face, combined with the shallow breathing was making me very concerned that she was going to pass out.  “Lucy, you MUST calm down.  Breathe.  I’m sure you can improve your behavior and Santa will bring you presents. You’ve always been a good girl. I don’t think you need to worry that much”.  I thought I was starting to calm her down when the sobs kicked up again and she wailed; “I BET ALL THE ELVES KNOW AND THERE ARE LIKE THOUSANDS OF THEM! WAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”  Out of this chaos of emotion Max quietly asked; “Hey, can we text Santa?” and without hesitating I said “sure!”

Me: “Lucy is VERY upset and embarrassed”

Santa/Stacy:  “The elves think she deserves a second chance”

Me: “Max wants to know if he gets one too”

Santa/Stacy: “Max needs to not fight with Lucy but he gets a second chance if he promises to be good”

Me: “Max wants to know how big are the elves and Lucy says she is too embarrassed to see you because she thinks you will be mad”

Santa/Stacy: “Eleves are 3ft 4 inches”

Santa/Stacy: “Lucy shouldn’t be afraid to see me. I’ve seen her every year since she was little and I would miss her.  Ho ho ho.”

Me: “Max and Lucy say they love you”

Santa/Stacy: “I love them too. I have to go feed the reindeer now. Good night.

Calm returned to the house after that, but it was an unsettled awkward calm.  Lucy was not fully convinced that she would be returned to the “good” list and I was left feeling guilty and emotionally drained.  I’m sure we will need to make another follow-up call to insure both children have  made it on the “good” list since I can tell Lucy is still worried.

And that is how I managed to scar my child for life.

Teaching/School

Private vs. Public vs. Home

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As a college professor I frequently get asked if I can tell the difference between public school, private school and home school children.  The short answer is “yes” but the real answer is far more complex.  I teach freshman composition and this gives me a view of students fresh from the arms of their high school or home.

Private School

Of the three groups these students are by far the most consistently prepared and advanced as incoming freshmen.  They all have experience writing a research paper, are well disciplined and don’t flinch at the prospect of the work load assigned to them.  They are less likely to be “whiners” and to provide hundreds of excuses as to why they didn’t get their work done.   Most find freshmen composition easy and breeze through it.

However, I also teach a junior level communications course and I can assure you that any difference between private and public school children by the time they reach that level has evaporated.  Private school might provide students with an edge the first year of college but by their sophomore or junior year that advantage has disappeared.

Public School

My public school students are a mixed bag and I find that their level of preparedness for college can be equally contributed to their school district and their family.  Some students come from excellent schools but without a home environment that encourages reading, education and proper study skills this student will arrive ill-prepared.  Some of my public school students function at the same level as my private school students.  My public school students that struggle the most are usually those that come from a lower socioeconomic background with a family who themselves did not achieve education past high school.

Home School

This is the most surprising section of students and the one people are most eager to hear about.  My home school students are also a mixed bag and perform equal to my public school students.  This also falls on the family.  Some people do an excellent job home schooling and others, well, not so much.   Some home school kids arrive in my class with oodles of self-discipline and excellent study skills.  These students also perform equal to my private school students and my excellent public school students.  HOWEVER, there is an equal number of home school kids who have never written a research paper, lack all signs of self-discipline, and have big gaps in their education.

Many times the story I hear is that “Mommy” never pushed them, did the work for them, let them not do the parts that were hard or didn’t feel that part was “important”.  These kids arrive in class asking for assistance on EVERYTHING.  They give up at the slightest sign of difficulty and don’t understand why I’m not willing to hold their hand the entire way through class.

So again, it comes down to family environment.  What is being encouraged and supported within the family unit.

Conclusion

If you want the school to insure that your child is prepared for college without you putting any effort into it then I suggest you place them in private schools.  If you live in an area that has a good public school and you don’t mind putting in a little extra effort at home, keeping your kids on task and staying on top of their education then public schools are just fine.  And finally, if you enjoy home schooling by all means pursue it but learn to separate the “teacher” from the “parent”.  Hold your kid to tough standards, let them fail and learn, and teach them to face their challenges. The bottom line is that education starts and ends at home.  A school environment can help but it is never the total solution.

Family Life, Kids

Thanksgiving II

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If you are a parent of healthy children you are obligated to be thankful.  The few times my kids have been seriously ill has shown me a glimpse into the world of parents with chronically and seriously ill children. I cannot imagine living that nightmare.  First and foremost this year I am thankful for healthy, normal children.

I am also thankful for the uniqueness of each of my children. None of them are exactly like me or David but have hints, and traces of each parent mixed with their own magical combination of attributes and character flaws.

Lucy

I am so thankful that Lucy is a reader.  She is a voracious reader, like her mother, and has a beautiful curiosity about the world.  She is not a person of blind faith, or fairy tale beliefs. Rather, she is a child of sensible conclusions and reasonable thinking. I am also very thankful that she has a strong sense of right and wrong and quickly defends herself and her friends in the face of elementary school bullies and social meanness which is so often seen on the school yard.  I have seen her be a loyal friend and sister again and again.

Max

I am most thankful for Max’s gentle spirit and tender heart.  We hear so many stories about boys being mean, aggressive and generally ill-tempered.  Although Max won’t hesitate to throw a swing if his sister is bothering him he is also equally quick to offer help, a hand, or a hug.  Max is kind to everybody,  always uses his manners, and is openly affectionate to friends and family.  I’m proud that Max takes after his Daddy with his kindness and generosity.  He will be a blessing in the lives of many people.

Harper

At Harper’s young age I’m most thankful for her health.  Giving birth at 40, and after a miscarriage, makes you more grateful for health than anything else.  Even at her young age  you can sense her jovial spirit – that same good hearted sense of humor that her daddy possesses.  Her hearty laugh and sense of silliness is something I suspect she will always portray.

Finally, I’m thankful that I’ve been given the gift of parenthood.  I’m thankful that I have been given front row seats to watch the lives of these three amazing people unfold. And I’m most thankful that I get to watch with my best friend sitting next to me.

Family Life

Thanksgiving

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I was in third grade when I made friends with a girl named Annette.  Annette had curly brown hair, which in third grade meant more frizz than curl.  She was tall, much taller than me but her most unique feature was her family.  Her mother had died and her father had remarried a widow.  Between the two of them they had 15 children.  Her house was always filled with people and she talked all the time about her aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, etc, etc.  I was jealous.

I moved around a lot as a kid and although I’m very close with my immediate family I never had the comfort of an extended family.  We would see my grandparents every couple of years.  My aunts, uncles and cousins were mainly names to me with only a handful of visits during my childhood.  Don’t misunderstand, there was love.  Oh yes, there was always lots of love and when we were together it was always fun and exciting – but our meet ups were rare.

I grew up longing for an extended family that was close.  A family to whom you could fall into every time you saw each other.  A family who enveloped you and surrounded you and smothered you.  I wanted a big, messy, loud family with kids and cousins and aunts and uncles.  And then I met David, and this is his family (minus one aunt and uncle and accompanying cousins who couldn’t make it):

A big family brings conflict and obligation and hurt feelings.  This is true.  We have so many birthdays between January and April we actually refer to it as the “birthday season”.  The family has its own system for conflict resolution and there are enough people to warrant our own Facebook fan page. I frequently joke that I feel as if I married into the mob without all the murder and illegal activity.  There is a boss (although they call her “sister”) and there are fractions, and sub-groups, and an unspoken mode of communication.

However, nothing can replace the feeling of knowing that you are always one phone call away from an army of assistance, or that feeling of support when you look up into the stands and see your own personal cheering section. Every person’s success is cheered and celebrated, and every person’s failure mourned and consoled.  Mistakes are forgiven and change is always welcomed.

People say, “be careful what you wish for because you might just get it”.  I did wish, for many years, to have a large family, and I indeed got that when I married David. I am most grateful that THAT wish came true.

 

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A Messy Home Is, Well, Messy.

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This is my house – on a good day:

It’s a cluttered mess.  I admit that.  Like most women I struggle with an invisible standard to which we feel we must all adhere.  My mother was always an excellent housekeeper and I do enjoy a tidy home.  However, you add three kids and a husband who isn’t fond of putting things away and a mother with a part-time job and a desire to sleep once in awhile and this is what you get:

I’m not proud of it.  I am resigned to it.

Recently, David and I were leaving Home Depot with Harper in tow.  She was jabbering away and being adorable and the cashier, a woman well into her seventies, casually said “that is the most precious gift you will ever receive”.

My house is a mess.  It is cluttered. I don’t have time to organize the coat closet, or even change the sheets on the bed.  But this is the thing, I only have eighteen years with my kids but I have the rest of my life to clean the coat closet.

Family Life, Kids

Harper: 18MO

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Dear Harper,

Just as your sister is a typical first-born child, with all of her bossiness and in-charge attitude, you are a typical youngest child.  You have no problems demanding the attention you feel you deserve.  You have mastered the manipulation of cuteness and wisely chosen to learn the word “mommy” before all others.  You climb and walk and run and swim because somebody forgot to tell you that you are only 18 months old and have no business acting like a five year old.  You have developed a strong sense of fashion and pick your jewelry and outfits with the precision of a runway model.  If the clothes selected for the day do not meet your refined eye for fashion (which means they are not pink and include pants) then you simply lay down on the ground and cry until I choose different clothes.  You can’t be bothered with wearing shoes unless they are your sister’s dress up princess heels. You talk non-stop and have no patience for the fact that nobody can understand you.

You love Max.  He is your anchor, your center, your best friend.  His return home from school prompts wild displays of excitement which include jumping up and down, spinning in circles, and screaming for no reason.  Once the initial joy has subsided I periodically catch you leaning against him as if you were trying to get as close to him as possible. Fortunately, he loves you too and is equally excited to see you.

You’re my third and I gave birth to you when I was 40 years old.  People question that choice. Am I being selfish? Have I not considered your needs? Did I not think about how old I will be when you are getting married? Having kids? Graduating college? The simple answer is yes I did.  I never could get past the feeling that somebody was missing from the dinner table and now here you are and I’m glad we waited for you to arrive.

Kids

Appreciation

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I didn’t even think to explain to him what it was or to warn him to not touch it.  Max grabbed the curling iron (hot and not using the handle) and said “what is this?”, which was just long enough for him to register the searing heat piercing his skin. He dropped the curling iron and began screaming.  He whaled. He hyper-ventilated. He thrashed and kicked and screamed and begged for Daddy.  This display of audible pain, that could only rival that of a woman giving natural childbirth, eventually ebbed and then ceased — AFTER AN HOUR AND A HALF.   David had Max’s hand soaking in ice water with Tylenol forced down his throat and the promise of M&Ms.  Tiny blisters spotted his finger tips.   After twenty minutes of soaking and half a bag of M&Ms Max slipped off the bar stools and into the family room to play video games with his sister but not before he turned to David and I and said, “Thanks for all the help”.   As if somehow he was surprised that we took the time out of our busy schedule to help a complete stranger.

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My Dare Devil

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I just felt that she was too young.  Seven years old is still a baby.  David was so excited though and his brother, Paul, so confident that she could do it that I never even uttered a word of protest.  David hooked the skis to the back of the jet ski and out into the lake they went.  I was confident that one face plant into the water would send Lucy screaming back to the dock for protection from Mommy.

I stood with as much height as I could manage, squinting into the hot sun to watch Paul give her directions and put the skis on her.  The jet ski roared to life, water spraying out the back and David took off.  The rope quickly went taunt and Lucy was up, standing — water skiing and then as equally fast she flew face forward plowing into the lake.  I held my breath waiting for the screams and tears that I knew would be coming.  I was all prepared for a great big “told you so” when I realized there was silence.  No tears.  No screams.  As a matter of fact she had already gotten her skis back on and was waiting for the jet ski to swing back around to pull her again.  Once again, the rope went tight and Lucy was up and then down.  She would go on to repeat this cycle three times but with neither tears nor screams.

Somewhere, somehow, Lucy has found her self-confidence.  She jumped off the jet ski and onto the dock and for one fleeting second I saw adult woman Lucy and not 7 year old Lucy.  Her long, lean legs, dark wavy hair and confident walk are but a glimpse into her future. She broke into giggles and excitement over what she had accomplished and there were hugs and high fives all around.   In one month she has managed to learn to ride a horse, ride a bike and water ski.  Not a bad summer for a seven year old.