Hang-gliding Mom

There has been much talk lately about helicopter parenting. If you need a refresher, a helicopter parent is someone who hovers protectively over his/her children and essentially butts in all the time even when they are old enough to know better. I have heard of helicopter moms calling law firms when their children are grown to find out why their son/daughter did not get a raise or dads coming with their children to job interviews, college interviews, and the like.

I made a vow to never be one of these parents. I want my children to have autonomy, to grow up as individuals (like I have a choice in that one) and see the world the way their hearts and minds tell them to as opposed to having their father's or my personal views of life shoved down their throats (except, of course, for the essentials: love of literature, love of God, great taste in music, a true desire to help people, use of proper grammar, etc.). Oh, who am I kidding? While I don't believe I'm a true helicopter mom, I do believe that ever since the kids were born, I have secretly taken up hang-gliding. See, with hang-gliding I make less noise. I do hover over them; however, I can soar up to the sky on the pretense that I am letting my kids do what they need to do, but bam! I can swoop down on an air current and meddle loudly all I wish, all the while holding onto that bar -- you know, the one I can keep impossibly high if I need to? Hang-gliding mom: it's what's new in dysfunctional parenting!

I have a difficult time with failure. Mine. Others'. Especially my kids'. Wanting or needing to do everything right and perfectly (a holdover from childhood), I go through each day trying not to make mistakes, especially egregious ones. And I extend this lovely way of life to my children. I have never been one who can just watch and see when one of them is going to make a mistake, be it large or small. I cringe. My mouth scrunches up funny. I start sweating. And then, I have to say something, usually loudly, like: "Grace, for the 82nd time, a) We are going to be late for school, b) You need to pick up the yard, c) Have you finished your homework?, d) What do you mean there's a poster due tomorrow?"

For the most part, my practically perfect daughter is on the ball. She has a planner. She even writes her assignments in them. She gets good grades and has made some great friends, all on her own. I have not hovered over her as much as I have the boys because she has been able to get things done. However, my daughter has become a teenager, about three years too early for my taste. And with this new designation comes the requisite slack-jaw and blank stare. My little pookie, my "gracious," has become a bit surly and unresponsive and even, dare I say, forgetful or preoccupied? What happened to blind obedience? uh, . . . I mean, why doesn't she listen to me anymore? I nag quite loudly; why can't she hear me?

So, what is a hang-gliding mom to do? My wise hubby says to let her forget an assignment or be late to school because she needs to learn that her actions or lack of actions have consequences. And while she has been so together for the past 10 years, she needs to reassess and start making some choices for herself and on her own. SAY WHAAATT?

If I take the hub's advice, then what will be my role in all this (since it's all about me, right?)? Do I soar high and let her find her way regardless of her choices good or bad, or do I swoop down and carry her along? Some of both? Since she is only 10, almost 11, I tend to lean toward the latter. But what if the hub is right, and letting her fail at something (late assignments, incomplete assignments, forgetting something, being late to school, etc.) will be the best way for her to learn? Can I be strong enough for that? Because the opposite holds true too: she is only 10, almost 11, and her failures at this age are less painful and less permanent. They are only painful for a little while and hopefully will have a lasting impact.

I am wrestling with this one, and I hope I make the right choice for her. It's hard. But I will hold tight to my bar, kick off the cliff and soar -- not too high, mind you, but high enough to see her, reach her, and hopefully not crash into a mountain while I'm up there.

Love Letter to Gavin

Gavin and I put a temporary tattoo on his hand today. We sat together and I held onto his hand so that I could put on the tattoo (Star Wars -- Anakin, to be exact). He handed me the wet washcloth, and then we sat and counted slowly to 30. I thought to myself as we were counting about how quickly 30 seconds go by, and that 30 seconds make up half a minute, and then slowly but surely minutes make up hours that make up days that make up years. There will not be many times from here on out that my boy will sit with me and let me hold his hand.

This boy, this one half of two, is such an amazing child. I love that he always wants to do the right thing, but sometimes he just can't. I love that he tries to do everything by himself first and is not happy when he has to ask for help (like from Grace regarding his new piano song). I love that he is sometimes overcome by the need to follow patterns and that these patterns have to come first before he can concentrate on anything else.

I love that he is so smart and that he loves to learn new things. I am in awe of his reading ability, his remarkable skill at analyzing material and drawing conclusions. I love that he said the other night that the reason some kids are frightened of the future is that they haven't been baptized yet. I love that he thinks about those less fortunate and wants to set up a lemonade stand to raise money for Haiti. I love that he is a good dancer and that he will bust a move anytime and anywhere.

I am encouraged at his developing social skills and was so proud today when he wanted to give his change to a little girl he had never met so she could get a snack. He also played tag with a boy he just met and seemed to have a good time. They talked a lot about gum, but that's okay.

I'm hoping that I'll always remember Gavin's not having a front tooth for a long time and that the one he lost had been broken since he was two. I hope I never forget how he looks over Sean's shoulder to watch his brother play video games and that the two will snuggle together and read a book (they'll be embarrassed by that later). I especially love how he will get all George Costanza when he needs to use the restroom (thankfully only when he's at home). If you don't know what that means, you can ask me.

Some of his other favorite things: the color green, frozen fruit bars, talking nonstop, talking nonstop to people he doesn't know or he has just met, inviting said people to our home for dinner, real estate or building games, comic books like Calvin and Hobbes, Baby Blues, Frazz and Zits, his new glasses, saying, "When I grow up, I want to be . . . " or "When I grow up, I want to invent . . . ," Pokemon, Avatar the last Airbender, having "guy time" with dad and greeting people at church (man, the guy will be an usher someday for sure).

I love this kid. I just wanted him to know that I see him and know him for who he is. He might be a twin, but he also is his own person -- a very real, very awesome little dude.

St. Patrick's Day Tomfoolery

Okay, so this picture should give you some idea about our St. Patrick's Day. If you read my friend Melissa's blog, you will gasp in delight at the amazing things she did for her girls on St. Patty's Day and at how creative she is. She made them green pancakes and created an awesome scavenger hunt with the help of leprechauns (apparently they are on call, and I need to get the number), complete with chocolate coins. She decorates; she thinks creatively; and I am in total awe and jealous as all get out.

What I love most about Melissa is that she is all about making each holiday and/or event in her girls' lives memorable. I, however, am not that person. I strive to be. I want to be -- deep down, where it counts. However, I cannot or forget to direct that desire to the part of my brain that controls the movement of my limbs and my schedule. I cannot get my mind to create something in advance, so I'm usually rushing about at the last minute to make things happen. She probably has Easter handled in her mind already. I'm wondering when Easter is this year.

So, as far as St. Patrick's Day goes, I made sure all the kids were wearing green, even Sean who needs to wear blue to make sure he is not mistaken for Gavin, and that was it. Grace went off to school with a small note in her lunch from me that had Erin go Bragh on it, and that pretty much ended the merriment. I even ignored our traditional fare of corned beef and cabbage because I had a chance to go out to dinner with my sister. The kids and hub went to Ruby's instead. So much for tradition (although dinner with my sis was fab).

Our only contribution to posterity regarding St. Patrick's Day 2010 is the above picture, one of about 17, where we tried to make Henry feel festive. Really the hat just ticked him off, so we wound up laughing hysterically and trying it on ourselves and then laughing some more and then putting it back on the dog, because, hey, it's fun. I'm hoping that as the kids grow older, these are the memories that they will take with them: our laughing at the crazy, dumb things we do as a family that make our life what it is.

Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits

As a parent, I have planned for many things. For instance, I planned on what I would say on my kids' first day of school. I have several stories up my sleeve for when they get hurt by someone and need consoling and guidance. I have handled cuts and scrapes with either sarcasm (Nice job, Ace!) or sweet concern (Oh my sweetheart! You will be okay, I promise; let's get some ice) depending on the child and the circumstances. And, I have speeches prepared for the birds and the bees, for going off to college, for a first date and for any number of odd occurences (Mom, what are those zebras doing? What does the word @#$#$^ mean? etc.).

However, there are moments in parenting that take you completely by surprise. Case in point: Please see Exhibit A, picture of Gavin with parts of his hair missing. Apparently, leaving a razor somewhere in the vicinity of the bathtub will inspire children to create their own hair art and to shave parts of their body that they really do not need to. Thankfully, the child chose not to remove his eyebrows. The only victims were some leg hair, a bit of skin on the thumb and the aforementioned hair loss. My reaction was to get really, really angry -- considering another family member had made a similar mistake about six months ago and YOU THINK THEY WOULD LEARN, but Grant reminded me that since the other got sympathy for the transgression, then perhaps this one should too. However, I held my ground and remained angry since I HAD TOLD THEM NEVER TO TOUCH RAZORS EVER, EVER, EVER, EVER, and so forth. As Brian Regan, comedian extraordinaire, says in one of his bits: "Apparently I didn't have enough 'evers.'"

Needless to say, we've moved on because you just have to. Gavin's hair when pulled straight down covers the spot nicely (although we are getting haircuts tomorrow, so we'll see what it looks like afterwards.), and he was properly saddened by his error. He crawled into my lap soon after and wanted a big hug. One of the funnier moments (at least for our family) was the fact that Gavin went through one of his OCD moments right after he got out of the bath and decided he needed three bandaids to cover the scratch on his leg. I was in the middle of assessing the situation, trying to figure out where all the hair had come from and beginning my loud lecture. He was hearing nothing of my rantings or any of his father's calmer but still agitated words. All he wanted was two more bandaids. I know that if we had let him get the two additional bandaids, he would have heard the lesson we were trying to impart: Don't Do Stupid Stuff. Instead, we mishandled the OCD, and the whole episode took waaay longer than it should have. We know better; it's just sometimes you freak out when your kids cut themselves or their hair with razors.

We spoke to each member of the family that evening and admonished those of us who leave razors in the shower and tub. We spoke to Gavin (who still wanted bandaids) and got him straight and settled on the matter. However, the funniest thing happened when talking to Sean. I said, "Now Sean, I want you to never touch a razor that's been left in the shower or the tub. It's dangerous and you will get hurt." He looked at me puzzled and said very slowly, "Mom, I'm Sean" as if to clear up any confusion I may have had. I'm confused all right. Not over which boy used the razor, but why kids do stupid stuff.

Patience, Pressure and Pokemon

These guys are so darned cute, and I just love them to pieces. I love that I am able to teach them at home in a safe environment where learning is the primary objective and having fun while doing it is the second! (Hello, chocolate igneous rock formation . . . ) However, I have noticed recently that I am losing my patience with them really quickly, and I want my behavior to stop.

As much as I want them to sit absolutely still and pay attention to the fabulous lessons (and believe me, this K12 curriculum has some fabulous lessons -- "Let's create a Cezanne painting!" "Let's learn about the Byzantine Empire!" "Wait, should we be reducing fractions in second grade? Why not!"), I need to remember that they are seven years old. They are not even eight yet, and they have the right and the need to squirm and move around and march in place and look off into the distance, even when they are enjoying the material.

The bottom line is that we have the luxury of letting squirms happen! Now that we have caught up with the rest of the students (We started the school year in December and had to do an entire semester in two months), there is no need for any more pressure. So why am I constantly barking at them to watch the screen, watch me, pay attention, etc. when they falter for a minute? I am even resorting to ultimatums almost out of the gate: "If you don't pay attention and focus, then I am taking 15 minutes off video game time today." Sheesh! I am not operating with any sort of positive motivation, and I am resorting to the reactive parenting I don't like. I am getting the desired behavior in my "class," but only because they are scared of me or scared they're going to lose out on doing something they enjoy. This is exactly why I took them out of their old school: to get them away from teachers who sought to punish them instead of teach them. I also don't like using fear as a motivator.

I also realized that we cram a lot of learning into a little bit of time. We jump from one lesson or subject to another with very few breaks in between. We're done with school in three hours because these boys can do that. However, Grace, who could also get through all her subjects in three hours or less, has six hours to get her work done, leaving plenty of time for staring out the window, drawing comic books, and humming the Pokemon theme song in her head. And while I don't like that Grace has an awful lot of free time on her hands (she has drawn A LOT of comic books over the past three years), I can see the value in being able to sit and think randomly after your work is done. That's a skill -- a valuable one -- that helps you release the pressure of the day. The boys get no down time during the day to just think or ponder or envision new Pokemon creations (although Sean might just do this as a matter of course).

Homeschooling is a new endeavor, but I need to make this experience fun for all of us and remind myself daily that patience is the key as is good planning and a little down time mixed into the lessons. They need to squirm and move and stare into space. It's okay. It's what kids do. Even those at home in their pajamas.

It's Pi day!

Yes, I do realize that this blog is turning out to be a love note to all things geeky. However, I am celebrating Pi day; are you? Let's cheer:

"Secant, tangent, cosine, sine . . .

3.14159. Yay Pi!"

It's nice to know that in our crazy world, there are some things that are constant.

Drama, Drama, and then . . . more Drama!

The past two weeks have been taken up with MYART auditions and callbacks for their latest production, Peter Pan. MYART is the Musical Youth Artists Repertory Theater, and Grace has been involved with this group for the past two years. Yes, my daughter has been bitten by the acting bug and has even forsaken softball (her dad could just cry) for the call of the theater. She does have some chops, that one, and it is so fun to see her on stage.

This time, Grace auditioned for two much bigger roles and ones that would require more stage time, some solo singing, and quite a few lines. We kept our fingers crossed, but she only got called back for one. This was one of those life lessons that hurt you as a mom because you see your daughter sad and disappointed, and you know she did her very best. What do you say to your child except that things always work out the way they are supposed to and that because she did her best she has nothing to be sad about? Even though we know it's the truth, the words we utter at times like these seem empty and offer very little consolation.

However, her callback for lead lost boy was successful, and Grace will be performing in a couple of the shows (they rotate lead roles so that more kids get to perform) as Slightly, Peter Pan's second-in-command. She has lots of stage time and will get to show off her skills. She is in rehearsals already and is pretty happy. She handled her disappointment and even knows now why she didn't get the other part -- the director thought she was too tall.

Ah, the theater! -- the ups and downs, the laughter and the tears. And that's just the parents.

March Forth . . . er Fourth?

I hope you all had a wonderful National Grammar Day! I hope you spent time wrangling those dangling participles and managing those modifiers. I was so excited Thursday when I looked at yahoonews online and saw that National Grammar Day was trending. People care! They really care! Check out spogg.org for a wonderful video about National Grammar Day's rousing new anthem, titled "March Forth: the Grammar Song." So clever, that Mignon Fogarty.

National Grammar Day!

Perfect grammar—persistent, continuous, sustained—

is the fourth dimension, so to speak;
many have sought it, but none has found it.”

—Mark Twain (1835-1910), Autobiography, 1924

I am so pleased to celebrate National Grammar Day with you! Have fun! Enjoy!

Check out spogg.org for other fun Grammar Day activities.

Mr. Andy, Mailman and Muse

Our mailman is a terrific guy. Mr. Andy, we call him (as that is his real first name -- so not too weird, but the "Mr." was added as a measure of politeness, borne from when the boys were small and we needed something to call him other than "Hey, Mr. Mailman!" or "Hi Mail Guy" every time he came to the porch). Since we knew our relationship with our mail carrier was bound to be a long-term one, we decided on Mr. Andy, and we wave and smile at one another every day. We're even trying (albeit not too successfully) to get Henry to stop barking at Mr. Andy. This is proving to be quite difficult as apparently the pint-sized pooch has determined that Mr. Andy (as well as the UPS guy) is the embodiment of all that is evil. We keep trying to explain that Mr. Andy is a fixture in our lives, and we need to treat him respectfully -- all of us, including the four-legged member of the house.

Since Mr. Andy is our link to the outside world (he brings packages to the Burrow from exotic places such as Bath & Body Works and Barnes & Noble), I realized that he also sees me on a regular basis. While this seems pretty obvious, it dawned on me about a month into our homeschooling experience that Mr. Andy sees me in my pajamas a lot. Sweats, yoga pants and p.j.s seem to be the uniform that I have adopted for CAVA. In fact, there are days when I do not get out of my p.j.s until evening, when I shower and put on a new pair. I'm not kidding. Since I do not have to get dressed to take Grace to school (She gets in the car in the garage and then gets out in the drop-off area. I wear sunglasses and a sweatshirt over my pajamas. No one knows! hee hee), I really don't need to get dressed at all unless we're running errands or (God forbid) have some type of appointment. It's both liberating and frightening.

What does this mean for the long-term? I'm worried that my lack of concern about my choice of attire will lead me down a slippery slope until I'm just sewing old pillowcases together and tying them with rope. The fact that I'm still worried about getting my hair weaved does cheer me up a bit. Lord knows we wouldn't want any roots showing with those burlap sacks. But seriously, what does one do when faced with days where leaving the house is not an option or doesn't have to be? What does one wear on these occasions? What fashion advice does one give to a woman who is mostly concerned about what the mailman thinks? My poor hubby must just cringe when he sees me in my grey sweat pants and blue shirt. Either that or he's jealous as all get out. It's hard to tell.

My first instinct is to leave the Burrow in search of a relaxed wardrobe that still has some fashionable qualities. I'm not sure such garments exist, but it is becoming increasingly clear that I should attempt to find them. Better yet: perhaps I'll do some research and order things online and then Mr. Andy can deliver them! This might be the perfect amount of irony for the situation. Mr. Andy, mailman extraordinaire and inspiration for fashionable stay-at-home moms everywhere.

Elvis has left the building and so did we!

The kids and I spent a glorious day at Legoland courtesy of K12 and CAVA. We ventured out of the burrow and spent some quality time together. What a blast! Both Legoland and its Sea Life Aquarium were virtually empty, so we never had to wait more than five minutes for anything. We tried all kinds of rides, including some that took us very high in the air and others that brought us face-to-face with the lake! The kids all had their favorite moments of the day and special rides or activities they really enjoyed. In keeping with their true natures, Grace handled everything perfectly, Gavin talked at length to the CAVA representatives about his favorite curriculum choices, and Sean performed a rendition of the song he made up during the joust ride to a group of unsuspecting Legoland guests. They were a very enthusiastic audience, and even applauded, so all in all, it was a good day.