I am a teacher. I am proud to be a teacher. It took a lot of work. However, the time I spent as a teacher is outnumbered by the time I spent as a parent. I had my first child in January and went back to my classroom in March. By June I decided to stay home with him. It wasn't an easy decision. I never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.
Almost 12 years later and here we are. I could never have imagined this life (and I have a wild imagination...sometimes it takes me awhile to come back to reality) or how this child would have turned out. He is complex. He is brilliant. He struggles with anxiety. Rarely eats anything. Did I mention brilliant? When we realized how smart he was we decided to say nothing. My experience teaching has taught me that everyone thinks their child is a genius. So we kept our mouths shut. Occasionally people noticed. When he was four: "Can L read?" "Yes." "Because we display the verses and I think he is just reading them." "He probably is. It's okay if you don't let him see them."
I pulled him out of public school because the material was below his capabilities. Together we soared............................
Lots of periods because that is a lot of time I just jumped with a few dots. However, we there was so much in those years. We studied, we explored, we argued and we learned.
Time passed and circumstances changed and school became a possibility and a necessity. He went. He conquered. Straight A's of course, but more than that...competition, recognition, loss...
It isn't perfect. There is one teacher who does not seem to like him. He wrote a magnificent paper. I was so excited to see the grade. When I read it I was overwhelmed with joy and pride. He had worked for two weeks on it and it was above and beyond what I would ever expect from a sixth grader. Every day we asked, "Did you get your paper back yet?" And she waited until the day before Christmas break to drop the bomb. She tore it to shreds. She red-inked that thing from beginning until the point where she drew a line and wrote, "Stopped editing here." Where she admitted that she had just quit reading.
Devastation. I called her in a fury. I wrote her an incredibly angry and offensive email (that I didn't send). How in the WORLD could she not have seen this paper for all that it was worth? I was confused. I loved this paper. I know that I am the mother and that I see things differently, but I am a teacher. I edited the paper. I showed him my corrections. I showed him the grammatical errors that kept it from being an A+ paper. But she didn't just take away the A+ . No. She gave him an 85. She said it was too descriptive and too wordy. She tore it apart.
He said he would never write again. He said he sucked. He cried.
I said, she means nothing. Her opinion means nothing. It's an excellent paper. Don't ever just accept one opinion. Tons of incredibly successful people experienced one rejection after another until their work was noticed. Some weren't recognized until they had actually died. He sighed. He took it in, but the pain is there.
To her, a fellow teacher, I am dumbfounded. How could/would you do that? His grades are top-notch. Nothing less than perfect. Except for English. Her subjective grading has ripped this kid apart. I can only hope that there is a lesson in here somewhere for him. Someday, when he accepts the Pulitzer, he will hopefully leave her name off his thank you list. I am doing my best to understand her relentless war against him. Until then, I am disappointed and angry. I built up this student. She has no right to tear him down. I could say a few more choice words about her, but I should probably "stop editing here."
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Helicopter Parenting
I want to set the record straight. The people who need to read this have been deleted from my facebook, but I am setting the record straight anyway. Just for S&G.
We have started attending a new parenting class for tweens and I have learned a lot. Last week I asked a question. A parent had shared that she had told her teen to pack a sweatshirt for the evening because it was supposed to get cold but her daughter refused to listen to her. Everyone shared about how teens/tweens don't listen to their parents, etc. I asked a valid question. I said, if my tween refused to pack a sweatshirt, I would put one in their backpack anyway knowing it was going to get cold, Is that wrong? I was answered with a resounding, "yes." They need to feel the consequences. They need to be independent. You can't always be there to pack a sweatshirt when they might get cold or a sandwich when they might get hungry. I humbly said, "Remind me of that next week,"
But I have given it some thought. I know I am a helicopter parent, but I also know why. I am 39 years old. My mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor at 36 and died at 42. Given those odds, I have a few more years. I do pack the extra sweat shirt. I even use his favorite detergent because he hates certain smells. And you can condemn me all you want, but the truth is, I have NO IDEA how much time I have left with these precious babies. So if I am not teaching them independence and self-reliance, let me tell what how quickly you have to learn independence when your mother dies at 42.
Yes, I match his socks and cut off his crusts.You can judge me all you want but if I only have a few more years of doing that, then I am. A lady actually said, "Well, he won't be married long if you act like that." And I wanted to say, "What if I don't get to see him get married?"
We "helicopter parent" because we know the risks. I rode my bike without a helmet. I don't think my mother loved me any less. I also rode my skate board down the "big hill" (Sally Thomas and Tiffany Teagarden know what I am talking about). My mother still loved me. I took risks. So, I get scared to death when they take risks. It's because I know more then they do. My mother just had this faith that I was going to live through it. And I did. I lived through riding my skateboard. I lived climbing the highest trees. But she didn't. So I "over" parent. Because I want to be around to see them graduate college.
Last year there was an incident. My boy who loves to run had practiced very hard for a race. Right before that (that very morning) he had won a quiz and was not acknowledged for that accomplishment right before the race. I was a coach. He looked at me teary-eyed and said, "Why didn't they call my name?" Then it was time for his race. He had practiced and practiced because he wanted to beat the high score. It was called a false start and he was disqualified. This kid who had been to Nationals was disqualified before he even ran. I saw the look in his eyes and I said, "What do you want to do?" He said, "I want to leave."
So I did. I lost my position as coach and teacher. But I won as parent. In the car he cried. He said he'd never race again and he never has. I have tried to encourage him but he was broken hearted. I deleted the people who did this so they will probably never know....but that was my moment. I gave up what I knew what was right to show him that I was always on his side. It doesn't matter where you are from. The big hill is the big hill. When you crash at the bottom, your mama is always there. It doesn't matter WHERE you live. I hope someday he runs again. And to the adults who weren't there for him...don't worry, I was. I miss my mother every single day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. There is no one there who tells me I am worth it. There is no one there to walk out because I am hurting. There is no one to take my side even when I am wrong.
So, yes, I over-parent. Because I AM the parent. Not the boss, or the teacher, or the wife...I am the parent. I will always take his side. That is my job. And for however long God grants me this job, I will do it. He isn't perfect. Neither are you. But I bet your mother thinks you are.
We have started attending a new parenting class for tweens and I have learned a lot. Last week I asked a question. A parent had shared that she had told her teen to pack a sweatshirt for the evening because it was supposed to get cold but her daughter refused to listen to her. Everyone shared about how teens/tweens don't listen to their parents, etc. I asked a valid question. I said, if my tween refused to pack a sweatshirt, I would put one in their backpack anyway knowing it was going to get cold, Is that wrong? I was answered with a resounding, "yes." They need to feel the consequences. They need to be independent. You can't always be there to pack a sweatshirt when they might get cold or a sandwich when they might get hungry. I humbly said, "Remind me of that next week,"
But I have given it some thought. I know I am a helicopter parent, but I also know why. I am 39 years old. My mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor at 36 and died at 42. Given those odds, I have a few more years. I do pack the extra sweat shirt. I even use his favorite detergent because he hates certain smells. And you can condemn me all you want, but the truth is, I have NO IDEA how much time I have left with these precious babies. So if I am not teaching them independence and self-reliance, let me tell what how quickly you have to learn independence when your mother dies at 42.
Yes, I match his socks and cut off his crusts.You can judge me all you want but if I only have a few more years of doing that, then I am. A lady actually said, "Well, he won't be married long if you act like that." And I wanted to say, "What if I don't get to see him get married?"
We "helicopter parent" because we know the risks. I rode my bike without a helmet. I don't think my mother loved me any less. I also rode my skate board down the "big hill" (Sally Thomas and Tiffany Teagarden know what I am talking about). My mother still loved me. I took risks. So, I get scared to death when they take risks. It's because I know more then they do. My mother just had this faith that I was going to live through it. And I did. I lived through riding my skateboard. I lived climbing the highest trees. But she didn't. So I "over" parent. Because I want to be around to see them graduate college.
Last year there was an incident. My boy who loves to run had practiced very hard for a race. Right before that (that very morning) he had won a quiz and was not acknowledged for that accomplishment right before the race. I was a coach. He looked at me teary-eyed and said, "Why didn't they call my name?" Then it was time for his race. He had practiced and practiced because he wanted to beat the high score. It was called a false start and he was disqualified. This kid who had been to Nationals was disqualified before he even ran. I saw the look in his eyes and I said, "What do you want to do?" He said, "I want to leave."
So I did. I lost my position as coach and teacher. But I won as parent. In the car he cried. He said he'd never race again and he never has. I have tried to encourage him but he was broken hearted. I deleted the people who did this so they will probably never know....but that was my moment. I gave up what I knew what was right to show him that I was always on his side. It doesn't matter where you are from. The big hill is the big hill. When you crash at the bottom, your mama is always there. It doesn't matter WHERE you live. I hope someday he runs again. And to the adults who weren't there for him...don't worry, I was. I miss my mother every single day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. There is no one there who tells me I am worth it. There is no one there to walk out because I am hurting. There is no one to take my side even when I am wrong.
So, yes, I over-parent. Because I AM the parent. Not the boss, or the teacher, or the wife...I am the parent. I will always take his side. That is my job. And for however long God grants me this job, I will do it. He isn't perfect. Neither are you. But I bet your mother thinks you are.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Hit Like If You Are A Victim
I had a conversation with my son tonight that I wish I never had to have. And yet, I decided to blog. Because sometimes we are all too quiet. Yeah, I see the "hit like" on facebook if you are a victim, etc. and I can't vouch for any of those people with those cardboard signs. I know that I don't wear a sign. A mask, maybe, but not a sign. I wrote about the night he had to have "The Talk" and I was so worried. I certainly didn't want to be the one who told him about sex. He is my baby.
But this was different. This very important little boy is leaving my care for a week. I have never even let him go to summer camp and now I have to put him on a plane. I have gone through every scenario I can think of as an example. I remember when he was so tiny and I had to teach him about strangers. He was really into Thomas the Tank Engine so I told him bad guys were like Diesel 10. It was easier then. Of course, he still thought he could beat up every bad guy, but at least our acting scenarios were a little different.
The scene changes when you have to say that Diesel 10 might be someone you trust.
When we hear about a news story that involves child molestation, it's easy to post a rant about the "monster." But we never hold our own cardboard sign, do we? We hide behind our education, our job, the masks that cover so many people.
So when my son starts to cry because he thinks I don't want him to have any fun...I have to make a decision. What side am I on? I don't want to tell him about the danger because the only way he will believe me is if I tell him the truth. But I have worked hard to keep him from the truth my entire life. What are my options? I don't want to be looking at him from the other side. The side where he has already been hurt and I am trying to explain why it had to happen and why I didn't see it coming and I couldn't protect him.
If you are reading this, you are cringing for one of two reasons. One, you know exactly what I am talking about. Most of you have. I have talked to a lot of people who were victims of abuse. We lead normal lives. We might mistrust men a little bit more, or maybe like the wrong men a little too much. But we are out there. We don't talk about it. You can't tell just by looking at us and that is how we want it. Even now I won't tell you my story because it is MY burden. I have to deal with it. For a long time, I did not. I never even thought about it. I thought I could forget it and I could be a different girl who never had to remember. I don't hold cardboard signs.
But maybe you are reading and you think this is too much info. You don't think I should share. It isn't appropriate. I would have agreed with you until tonight.
Because my little boy can't imagine that anyone would want to hurt him. And I finally can't use trains to get around the truth. I have to tell him that I know it can happen and not because I read it in a book. And I have to tell him what to do.
Wait...what to do. What do we do? I know you won't answer. We pretend we can pretend. I said the word "predator." I had to define it. And I had to tell him without telling him. I know I scared him. But I would rather prepare him than have him be unprepared and scared. Because they always use fear, don't they. Don't tell anyone or you are bad.
I know this is a difficult one to read. But it's also a difficult one to live. So I write so that others can know and that I can mean it when I tell my son that if anyone hurts him, he has to TELL. So I have to be brave enough to tell too, right? I'm a big girl now, but I still get a feeling that people will look at me differently. I think he will have a fabulous week. I really do. But I also have to prepare him because NO ONE should ever hurt a child. Because that pain never goes away.
In the past, I just took the train that went anywhere but where I was. Now I know that I can take whatever train I want because I can handle wherever I go. Victim? Survivor? Woman?
I am just a mother. And if telling my story means my son knows how to protect himself, then I'll talk. Not because it's Every place, but because it's Some place. And I am not willing to take the chance. If you are a victim, don't be afraid to talk. And if you are a parent, don't be afraid to talk. More importantly, be there to listen. And you don't have to hit "like" if you agree.
But this was different. This very important little boy is leaving my care for a week. I have never even let him go to summer camp and now I have to put him on a plane. I have gone through every scenario I can think of as an example. I remember when he was so tiny and I had to teach him about strangers. He was really into Thomas the Tank Engine so I told him bad guys were like Diesel 10. It was easier then. Of course, he still thought he could beat up every bad guy, but at least our acting scenarios were a little different.
The scene changes when you have to say that Diesel 10 might be someone you trust.
When we hear about a news story that involves child molestation, it's easy to post a rant about the "monster." But we never hold our own cardboard sign, do we? We hide behind our education, our job, the masks that cover so many people.
So when my son starts to cry because he thinks I don't want him to have any fun...I have to make a decision. What side am I on? I don't want to tell him about the danger because the only way he will believe me is if I tell him the truth. But I have worked hard to keep him from the truth my entire life. What are my options? I don't want to be looking at him from the other side. The side where he has already been hurt and I am trying to explain why it had to happen and why I didn't see it coming and I couldn't protect him.
If you are reading this, you are cringing for one of two reasons. One, you know exactly what I am talking about. Most of you have. I have talked to a lot of people who were victims of abuse. We lead normal lives. We might mistrust men a little bit more, or maybe like the wrong men a little too much. But we are out there. We don't talk about it. You can't tell just by looking at us and that is how we want it. Even now I won't tell you my story because it is MY burden. I have to deal with it. For a long time, I did not. I never even thought about it. I thought I could forget it and I could be a different girl who never had to remember. I don't hold cardboard signs.
But maybe you are reading and you think this is too much info. You don't think I should share. It isn't appropriate. I would have agreed with you until tonight.
Because my little boy can't imagine that anyone would want to hurt him. And I finally can't use trains to get around the truth. I have to tell him that I know it can happen and not because I read it in a book. And I have to tell him what to do.
Wait...what to do. What do we do? I know you won't answer. We pretend we can pretend. I said the word "predator." I had to define it. And I had to tell him without telling him. I know I scared him. But I would rather prepare him than have him be unprepared and scared. Because they always use fear, don't they. Don't tell anyone or you are bad.
I know this is a difficult one to read. But it's also a difficult one to live. So I write so that others can know and that I can mean it when I tell my son that if anyone hurts him, he has to TELL. So I have to be brave enough to tell too, right? I'm a big girl now, but I still get a feeling that people will look at me differently. I think he will have a fabulous week. I really do. But I also have to prepare him because NO ONE should ever hurt a child. Because that pain never goes away.
In the past, I just took the train that went anywhere but where I was. Now I know that I can take whatever train I want because I can handle wherever I go. Victim? Survivor? Woman?
I am just a mother. And if telling my story means my son knows how to protect himself, then I'll talk. Not because it's Every place, but because it's Some place. And I am not willing to take the chance. If you are a victim, don't be afraid to talk. And if you are a parent, don't be afraid to talk. More importantly, be there to listen. And you don't have to hit "like" if you agree.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Insomnia & Chick Flicks (to my husband with love)
So...it's 4:53 AM and I haven't slept a wink. My husband thinks I stayed awake so I could prank him for April Fool's Day (because I told him I was going to). The problem is that I actually COULD NOT sleep ALL NIGHT (the caps is for when I am yelling!) I went to the guest room to wait out the insomnia. It started with some chips and dip in bed. (He hates chips in bed but this is the the guest room bed, so party on, Garth!) Then the hours ticked and I pulled the prank (not even a good one, so I won't even mention it...unless it works.) Then I turned off electronics and thought I actually COULD sleep. That is hilarious because all I did was write up a skit for how I can sell my house on HGTV. (And it just might work!) Then, I decided to watch a stupid movie on Netflix. I had my laptop so let's just see what the mighty database that is the Netflix god decided was recommended for me. One of the suggestions was "What to Expect When You're Expecting". A movie I have never seen because I can't stand J.Lo. Yes, it's true. Everything about her is the epitome of what I can't stand about women. Won't watch her. Won't listen to her. Won't anything her. Unless her movie puts me to sleep. NOW we're talking! So, I start the flick and settle down on the incredibly UNCOMFORTABLE guest bed (no wonder we never have guests) and a quarter of the way through the movie shuts off. Then I remember that our internet always shuts off on Tuesday mornings. Don't ask because I don't know. But it's a phenomenon we deal with. Every Tuesday my husband goes down to get coffee, let the dog out and re-set the internet. In the case of an emergency (like this early morning) he has the directions for how to re-set the internet printed in the basement next to the massive amounts of wires that are in the basement.
What to do? The movie is lame, I am tired but unable to sleep...I go to the basement. This requires me to put on shoes because the basement is not carpeted. I trudge to the basement at 3:30 AM and read the instructions. I unplug and replug...nothing happens. I try THREE more times. I think that maybe I can try to sleep again. Back upstairs except this time the cat follows me. (Another rule of the bedroom=no cat. But this is the guest room so, yes, cat.) Now she is bugging me trying to snuggle and I still can't sleep. I think, hey, I can re-set the internet. I am a college graduate in grad school (or so I pretend). I can figure out how to re-set this (insert swear word) internet.
Finally, the little light turned green and I headed back upstairs to finish this insane movie with the cat on my lap and knowing that I was not going to sleep at all. But I have to say this...if you have ever seen that movie (and this is by no means a recommendation because I am writing this without even finishing it)...it reminded me of so many moments. We have been without joy in our household. There have been so many events that have taken place in the last few months that our family has lost its joy. My youngest son had his 9th birthday and we couldn't even muster up breakfast in bed. We did it a day late, sang, closed the door. No one around here smiles anymore. We are all struggling and every time someone asks what's wrong, the other person just nods and we're all like, "Oh, yeah, life." But the movie reminded me of a time many years ago. There is a scene where the young girl wakes up and is bleeding and she loses her baby. I remembered the night I woke up bleeding. That was the night we called the ER. They told us to wait for the doctor at 8AM. Of course we couldn't sleep so we laid on the couch and watched "Bridget Jones Diary". I think that was before TIVO and it was on TV. Anyway, all we could think about was daylight. Getting to the doctor so we could find out if there was heartbeat. (There was!) That little guy gave us so much heartache later when he almost came at 27 weeks! I remember that weekend when the pain was so bad. I sat in the passenger seat of the truck and we were traveling out of town and I was crying and I thought I just wasn't being strong enough. I had no idea I was in labor (I had called the gyne but she said I was being a baby and not handling the pain). So I sat in the truck and cried. I was in labor all weekend and had no idea. Monday morning I was doing kindergarten morning meeting when I bent over in pain and sent a student to the office to tell them I needed help. (I really was in labor and I'm not quite sure I have forgiven that doctor. Everyone makes mistakes but she almost cost me my firstborn. Just saying.)
Okay, so, it's now 5: 19 AM and I did reset the internet by myself. I haven't finished the movie and I have written this incredibly sappy and maybe incomprehensible blog. But I do remember those nights when you are up ALL NIGHT LONG because you are scared to death. Maybe something so BIG is on your mind. Like moving across the country, being jobless, losing a loved one... those are just mine. I know there are others: cancer, a sick child, a loved one in the military, divorce...
There is not a lot of joy in this household right now, but there has been a lot of joy in this family. The day we heard that heartbeat. The day we heard it again and found out he was okay. The day he finally came. The day we heard that second heartbeat. We are broken-hearted to lose our loved one, to lose our home, to lose our income and to wonder who our friends really are. Those are difficult times. These aren't the happiest days of our lives. And to the person who buys my house, I have no idea WHAT I was thinking when I painted this guest room. Seriously, ugliest color of green ever!
Since I am obviously not going to sleep tonight (current time: 5:28) and within the next 2 hours the rest of the family will wake up and hopefully trip over all of the packing tape I have carefully placed at the bottom of each of the doorways...I can still say...Happy April Fool's Day! Find a way to laugh. Despite any pain, I do believe God gives joy. We will find our laughter again.
Joy and Pain. Pump, pump it up. (What can I say...always a '90's girl)
What to do? The movie is lame, I am tired but unable to sleep...I go to the basement. This requires me to put on shoes because the basement is not carpeted. I trudge to the basement at 3:30 AM and read the instructions. I unplug and replug...nothing happens. I try THREE more times. I think that maybe I can try to sleep again. Back upstairs except this time the cat follows me. (Another rule of the bedroom=no cat. But this is the guest room so, yes, cat.) Now she is bugging me trying to snuggle and I still can't sleep. I think, hey, I can re-set the internet. I am a college graduate in grad school (or so I pretend). I can figure out how to re-set this (insert swear word) internet.
Finally, the little light turned green and I headed back upstairs to finish this insane movie with the cat on my lap and knowing that I was not going to sleep at all. But I have to say this...if you have ever seen that movie (and this is by no means a recommendation because I am writing this without even finishing it)...it reminded me of so many moments. We have been without joy in our household. There have been so many events that have taken place in the last few months that our family has lost its joy. My youngest son had his 9th birthday and we couldn't even muster up breakfast in bed. We did it a day late, sang, closed the door. No one around here smiles anymore. We are all struggling and every time someone asks what's wrong, the other person just nods and we're all like, "Oh, yeah, life." But the movie reminded me of a time many years ago. There is a scene where the young girl wakes up and is bleeding and she loses her baby. I remembered the night I woke up bleeding. That was the night we called the ER. They told us to wait for the doctor at 8AM. Of course we couldn't sleep so we laid on the couch and watched "Bridget Jones Diary". I think that was before TIVO and it was on TV. Anyway, all we could think about was daylight. Getting to the doctor so we could find out if there was heartbeat. (There was!) That little guy gave us so much heartache later when he almost came at 27 weeks! I remember that weekend when the pain was so bad. I sat in the passenger seat of the truck and we were traveling out of town and I was crying and I thought I just wasn't being strong enough. I had no idea I was in labor (I had called the gyne but she said I was being a baby and not handling the pain). So I sat in the truck and cried. I was in labor all weekend and had no idea. Monday morning I was doing kindergarten morning meeting when I bent over in pain and sent a student to the office to tell them I needed help. (I really was in labor and I'm not quite sure I have forgiven that doctor. Everyone makes mistakes but she almost cost me my firstborn. Just saying.)
Okay, so, it's now 5: 19 AM and I did reset the internet by myself. I haven't finished the movie and I have written this incredibly sappy and maybe incomprehensible blog. But I do remember those nights when you are up ALL NIGHT LONG because you are scared to death. Maybe something so BIG is on your mind. Like moving across the country, being jobless, losing a loved one... those are just mine. I know there are others: cancer, a sick child, a loved one in the military, divorce...
There is not a lot of joy in this household right now, but there has been a lot of joy in this family. The day we heard that heartbeat. The day we heard it again and found out he was okay. The day he finally came. The day we heard that second heartbeat. We are broken-hearted to lose our loved one, to lose our home, to lose our income and to wonder who our friends really are. Those are difficult times. These aren't the happiest days of our lives. And to the person who buys my house, I have no idea WHAT I was thinking when I painted this guest room. Seriously, ugliest color of green ever!
Since I am obviously not going to sleep tonight (current time: 5:28) and within the next 2 hours the rest of the family will wake up and hopefully trip over all of the packing tape I have carefully placed at the bottom of each of the doorways...I can still say...Happy April Fool's Day! Find a way to laugh. Despite any pain, I do believe God gives joy. We will find our laughter again.
Joy and Pain. Pump, pump it up. (What can I say...always a '90's girl)
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