This week I attended a "Muffins with Moms" event at my youngest daughter's school. We arrived and as soon as she saw her friends, she dumped me for them, leaving me with the other abandoned mothers at the table. We talked about how somehow, we expected a little more. None of us quite knew what except we didn't like being simply checked off like a box on a to-do list. The imposed structure of the event was supposed to give us an "awwww" moment, rather than a sense of "now what?"
Except motherhood is all about being present and invisible at the same time. We'd succeeded in being moms to the extent, they could take us for granted, like the air. They knew we were there, they knew we'd sustain them. They knew, they could inhale muffins, exude confidence, exit from the table from their mothers to their friends, and still, their moms would sit there sipping orange juice, being there on call for the twenty minutes of time alloted to the event.
You get moms of all ages together, all for the same occasion. They talk. The subject was of course, "What do you want for Mother's day?" Those in the busy throws of parenting children aged 10 and under, wanted time off. They wanted a few carved out hours alone, with zero responsibilities, and zero pay back when they returned. The dishes should be done. The beds made. The homework also done. Dinner should be planned, and already started. There should be no forms, no papers, no last minute things Mom needs to address when she returns, and no reports of how because Mom left, everything imploded. Dad can handle it. Some wanted to go to the spa, others the salon, others the library or the gym, or a restaurant by themselves with a book, but all of them just wanted, off time without consequence.
The funny thing is, those with kids mostly 10 and up, wanted the kids who left home, who are in the throws of preparing to leave, home, or who are only sometimes home, to come back, and to spend time at the house, letting the moms be moms a little more, the way the moms who are in the midst of the little more, do not. They wanted to go out for coffee, or to get their nails done or shop with their daughters, or to garden or bbq with their sons, or visit some tourist spot they'd always held off on, because before, the kids were too little to justify the experience. In short, the Moms always wanted to be the mothers the other ones were not at the time, they were the other moms.
"What do you want Sherry?" a friend asked. "What do you want Mom?" my kids asked, quickly adding, "and don't say peace in the house. That's a given presumption and not what we mean." Well, it is what I really want, but I'd love a portrait of all of them, I told both my daughter and my friend. "That's what you said last year." "Yes, I know, and I didn't get it. So I'm asking again."
"Mom, you're going to have to orchestrate that yourself."
"Why?"
"Because. That's what Moms do. They make things happen which are good, which we'll appreciate later, but which we loathe in the moment. Like vegetables, like chores, like homework."
"Like dental appointments? You have one next week."
"Augh! Mom!"
"Just doing my job. I'll schedule the portrait too. Maybe we'll have it ready by Father's day."
"That's also just like a Mom. Dad will get the gift. We'll get the credit. You'll handle the details."
...
I'm grateful to my mother for her sense of humor, and all the times she handeled all the details of my life, and all the times I forgot about the details so completely, I didn't know she handled them. She was the air. Necessary, but not always noticed. So thank you Mom. I'll work on getting so I can feel that way about things, but I'm not there yet. Love you!
Happy Mother's Day!
Showing posts with label Mother's Day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mother's Day. Show all posts
Sunday, May 13, 2018
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mother's Day Gifts
I love Mother's Day, especially the hand written cards from my younger children. The writing projects they do in class for this day give me a snap shot into how they perceive the world that I cannot get any other way; a holiday Rorschach of my parenting duties if you will.
For example:
When my oldest was 4, his class did a project. I love my mom because......fill in the blank. There was she makes pancakes, she gives me kisses, she reads me bedtime stories. And then, there was mine.
I love my mom because...
she gives me everything I want.
Now I loved the scope of his expression, but worried I'd perhaps spoiled the lad during his formative years. I didn't want the teacher to think I indulged his every whim so I sent in oranges for snack for a week to make sure they knew, it wasn't always the case that he got his favorite things every time all the time.
There's always a sentence My mom likes to...
My mom likes to...this phrase just brings out the weird. My daughter wrote go to the mall. I think I make it there other than when I walk with a friend and this kiddo is in school, twice a year. On said occasions, I am usually under duress as there is some important event looming and some child who is impossible to fit (or worse, me), needs a specific outfit that I cannot find. The mall is an anethma to me but no moreso than the proposed favorite pastime watch basketball. Not since 1994 I think, have I sat though an entire game. How said daughter thought this was my fave I'll never know. One offspring was paying attention and wrote "write." However another son must be visiting some alien mom because he wrote exercise. My favorite answer is accurate, "My mom likes to dance." Even better is the picture, she has me doing a salsa type move that makes me look far cooler than any of my actual moves have ever managed.
Interestingly enough there was uniformity on one answer across grades; "My mom's favorite holiday is..." Now I love holidays but never feel like I celebrate any of them properly, I'm always too rushed, too overwhelmed or thinking of all the things I didn't get to or ruing that in an effort to make the moment memorable, I've run around crazy and spent too much money. All of them wrote the same answer to this question, Easter. They also all drew me in a fuchsia dress. I started thinking. Maybe they understood that I liked the less pressure of the holiday or having everyone go to mass together and eat dinner. However it was wasted time imagining. There was a follow up sentence. There was uniformity on this one as well across three children.
I like Easter because I get chocolate bunnies. In one case, because I eat their chocolate bunnies. (After a month and her admitting she doesn't like chocolate), but the teacher doesn't know that fact.
So now the faculty at their school might think I devour my children's candy like a strung out gluttonous maternal piranha. Part of me frets because there is an element of truth in that appetite.
Maybe they are paying attention. Closer than I'd like.
If anyone wants me, I'll be hiding out at the mall exercising while watching basketball, not eating anyone's Easter candy.
For example:
When my oldest was 4, his class did a project. I love my mom because......fill in the blank. There was she makes pancakes, she gives me kisses, she reads me bedtime stories. And then, there was mine.
I love my mom because...
she gives me everything I want.
Now I loved the scope of his expression, but worried I'd perhaps spoiled the lad during his formative years. I didn't want the teacher to think I indulged his every whim so I sent in oranges for snack for a week to make sure they knew, it wasn't always the case that he got his favorite things every time all the time.
There's always a sentence My mom likes to...
My mom likes to...this phrase just brings out the weird. My daughter wrote go to the mall. I think I make it there other than when I walk with a friend and this kiddo is in school, twice a year. On said occasions, I am usually under duress as there is some important event looming and some child who is impossible to fit (or worse, me), needs a specific outfit that I cannot find. The mall is an anethma to me but no moreso than the proposed favorite pastime watch basketball. Not since 1994 I think, have I sat though an entire game. How said daughter thought this was my fave I'll never know. One offspring was paying attention and wrote "write." However another son must be visiting some alien mom because he wrote exercise. My favorite answer is accurate, "My mom likes to dance." Even better is the picture, she has me doing a salsa type move that makes me look far cooler than any of my actual moves have ever managed.
Interestingly enough there was uniformity on one answer across grades; "My mom's favorite holiday is..." Now I love holidays but never feel like I celebrate any of them properly, I'm always too rushed, too overwhelmed or thinking of all the things I didn't get to or ruing that in an effort to make the moment memorable, I've run around crazy and spent too much money. All of them wrote the same answer to this question, Easter. They also all drew me in a fuchsia dress. I started thinking. Maybe they understood that I liked the less pressure of the holiday or having everyone go to mass together and eat dinner. However it was wasted time imagining. There was a follow up sentence. There was uniformity on this one as well across three children.
I like Easter because I get chocolate bunnies. In one case, because I eat their chocolate bunnies. (After a month and her admitting she doesn't like chocolate), but the teacher doesn't know that fact.
So now the faculty at their school might think I devour my children's candy like a strung out gluttonous maternal piranha. Part of me frets because there is an element of truth in that appetite.
Maybe they are paying attention. Closer than I'd like.
If anyone wants me, I'll be hiding out at the mall exercising while watching basketball, not eating anyone's Easter candy.
Friday, May 10, 2013
7 Quick Takes Friday
Wednesday, there was a bunny in our garage. I didn't mind it, it's cute, it's not a pet and no one is going to be fearful of going out to get a bike or a diet coke with a long eared baby ball of fluff hopping around.
Thursday, there is a four foot long black rat snake in our garage hunting.
Friday. Since there was no mongoose lurking outside my door, I called the exterminators.
2. Because Life isn't Thrilling Enough
I also had to call 911 yesterday when I smelled gas in the kitchen. I'd relit the pilot lights, run the fans and after 15 minutes to clear the air and still having it, two huge (made my 12 passenger van look puny) fire trucks pull up and check everything out. Everything is fine. No worries. But it did mean the evening was semi-shot.
3. Bummed...Bummed...Bummed.
May was supposed to be the big movie month with Iron Man 3 and StarTrek II. We didn't make it last week and somehow, some of the steam for going has been lost, and the reviews for the second flight of Abrams' Enterprise crew has left me feeling like it might not be worth the thirty bucks. Has anyone seen Iron Man 3? Is it a good flick for a date night? Need to discover something to obsess over until the next season of BBC's Sherlock Holmes comes out.
4. Facebook asks what's on my mind? Apparently too much. Paul's teacher said, "I bet you're looking forward to Sunday?" and my brain when completely into panic mode ...like What DID I FORGET? IS THERE SOMETHING ON THE SCHEDULE THAT I FORGOT TO WRITE UP? AHHHHH and she looked at me, "It's your day...Mother's day?"
Ohhhhhh. Yeah. You meant me. I'm better now.
5. What do you want to do for Mother's day?
Now that I think of it, I want to assemble the grill, have brisket or ribs or steaks, and set a plan for painting and re caulking the bathrooms. If any of my children are reading this, I'd also like a gym membership.
6. Homeland Security
No, I'm not doing a political post. It's just I'm having to stand guard outside Paul's room to make sure lights go out. It isn't just him though, my other kids have become accustomed to bedtime extensions that have become the bedtime expectations. 8 has become 8:30 has become 9 has become....after nine. After nine, I am not interested in parenting.
So after multiple attempts and parental warnings, my husband employed a tactic to get all of the children's attention. He turned off the power to the upstairs. Suddenly, beds looked MUCH more attractive. I'm hoping any child that reads this blog didn't make it this far but dutifully left after #5 to go hold a meeting with their fellow siblings about Mother's day so they don't find out what their father did.
7. File under A...for Annoying.
My children put out the trash and recycling. Sometimes they get to it the evening before, sometimes it is last minute the morning of...today was one of those "the morning of" moments. I go out to run the kids to school and find an orange paper slapped on my recycling bin at 7:30, the contents within still not picked up. The note explained that the recycling was not picked up because it was not curbside by 7 o'clock a.m. So someone works for the county to leave notes to those who don't put out their stuff before 7 after the truck goes by? I admit, I felt tempted (out of annoyance) to put said recyclables in the trash in response. I didn't, but are we really saving the Earth if we have a person paid to drive around leaving notes on why recycling didn't get picked up?
Friday, May 11, 2012
Mother's Day
Mother's day cards when hand crafted, give you a snap shot of how you are perceived. Not how you are doing. Not how the kids are doing. But how the kid thinks you are in reality. It isn't always pretty.
I'll never forget the daffodil card from my oldest son when he was 5.
The front said, "I love my Mom because..."
and the inside had the answers from each kid in his class. There were 20.
The individual child's name was next to his answer.
"She does everything I want." I do what? He thinks I do everything he wants? Is he kidding? Is this a put on? Is there another kid in the class with my kid's name?
Then my daughter did the same experiment. "She sometimes makes pancakes." I could hear the subtle --not often enough in the compliment.
The next child, who plays more close to the vest than the first two, answered thusly, "Because I just do."
That's the problem with Mother's day cards. You get to just take them and appreciate them like pinched pots and dandelion bouquets. You don't get to analyze or ask follow up questions. You won't get anywhere if you try, and you're likely to scare them off by saying anything other than "Thanks." and "That's wonderful." They'll just look you puzzled, "Don't you like your breakfast in bed?" The answer is yes. Not, "I now have to change the sheets because of the toast." They are expressing love as children do, as you taught them...ergo, you must respond to teach them how to receive love...by not being cynical, over analytical or becoming a private eye about their inner psyche.
Today, I received a poem from my 8 year old, and a drawing of me as a princess with a crown, wearing a beautiful dress and holding roses while riding a unicorn from my pre-schooler. "I couldn't wait to give you this." the 2nd grader explained. "Me too." my newly five year old chimed in...even though she just made the picture when she heard that her brother had a poem for me.
"Mom thank you for feeding me.
Oh thank you for sending me to a good school.
Mom thanks for everything you do for me."
"I have a bit of trouble with poetry. I couldn't make it rhyme so I did me and me and look, it spells Mom."
"I made you magical and I'm going to make you another picture where you are a superhero and have a magic wand and a crown and a Pegasus."
There are 12 drawings of me in a stack. Archetypal variations on a theme. All of them say one thing, "Thanks mom."
"What are we going to do for Mother's day?" one of my other children asks.
"Whatever it is you want." I answer without thinking.
Now I know where the first one got his answer. Maybe I'll make pancakes for dinner.
I'll never forget the daffodil card from my oldest son when he was 5.
The front said, "I love my Mom because..."
and the inside had the answers from each kid in his class. There were 20.
The individual child's name was next to his answer.
"She does everything I want." I do what? He thinks I do everything he wants? Is he kidding? Is this a put on? Is there another kid in the class with my kid's name?
Then my daughter did the same experiment. "She sometimes makes pancakes." I could hear the subtle --not often enough in the compliment.
The next child, who plays more close to the vest than the first two, answered thusly, "Because I just do."
That's the problem with Mother's day cards. You get to just take them and appreciate them like pinched pots and dandelion bouquets. You don't get to analyze or ask follow up questions. You won't get anywhere if you try, and you're likely to scare them off by saying anything other than "Thanks." and "That's wonderful." They'll just look you puzzled, "Don't you like your breakfast in bed?" The answer is yes. Not, "I now have to change the sheets because of the toast." They are expressing love as children do, as you taught them...ergo, you must respond to teach them how to receive love...by not being cynical, over analytical or becoming a private eye about their inner psyche.
Today, I received a poem from my 8 year old, and a drawing of me as a princess with a crown, wearing a beautiful dress and holding roses while riding a unicorn from my pre-schooler. "I couldn't wait to give you this." the 2nd grader explained. "Me too." my newly five year old chimed in...even though she just made the picture when she heard that her brother had a poem for me.
"Mom thank you for feeding me.
Oh thank you for sending me to a good school.
Mom thanks for everything you do for me."
"I have a bit of trouble with poetry. I couldn't make it rhyme so I did me and me and look, it spells Mom."
"I made you magical and I'm going to make you another picture where you are a superhero and have a magic wand and a crown and a Pegasus."
There are 12 drawings of me in a stack. Archetypal variations on a theme. All of them say one thing, "Thanks mom."
"What are we going to do for Mother's day?" one of my other children asks.
"Whatever it is you want." I answer without thinking.
Now I know where the first one got his answer. Maybe I'll make pancakes for dinner.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Try Dyed For Mother's Day
It began with a Mother's Day card.
My seven year old son had created a booklet at school. Each page had a fill in the blank. My mom likes to...My mom doesn't like to...with the answers having been supplied by each individual first grader. The impressions a child has of their parents is often widely at odds with reality or at least the impression I'm trying to give in this world.
For instance, according to John, my favorite food is crabs. This despite the fact that I obsess over chocolate and diet coke daily and haven't eaten any side walkers in about a year. My only explantion was a conversation I had two weeks ago with my two oldest daughters about how much fun it was to make gumbo growing up. They were recalling their last trip to the beach where they caught a mess of blue crabs and did the same with my folks.
Apparently my favorite vacation spot is Texas but the place I loathe is Pennsylvania.* Again, I could piece together the reasoning of my son; he knows I love to visit my family and the beach on the gulf coast. He also knows family lore. Years back before he was even born, we had a bad experience once in Amish country at one of those theme hotels designed to be fun for kids, a hotel composed entirely of train cars. We tried to be good sports but the place was so dusty and our bed so awful, my husband made an emergency trip to Walmart to purchase new sheets and comforters so we could sleep. He stayed up all night in the recliner watching March madness and we didn't stay the second of the mandatory two night reservation. To this date, while we know there are plenty of fun things to do in our neighboring state, we remain gun shy about an overnight stay; with the money quote being, "This would be pretty if it weren't Pennsylvania." The Hotel which shall not be named, still evokes shivers at the memory and a case of the imaginary itchies.
But the page that drew the most response was this: My mom's hair color is.....What is this, a commercial for L'Oreal? My son had written grey. He wrote grey. My hair is black. Well alright, it's black with grey highlights and an skunk stripe in the front. I looked in the mirror. The standard pony tail masked how grey I'd become, bundling all the brown and black.The skunk stripe had encroached out of it's acceptable territory and I now had a large swath that his seven year old eyes had spotted correctly. I couldn't be grey. The little bit of vanity left in this mother of ten body railed against the idea of having my son think I had grey hair. Off to the hairdresser I went.
I have discovered the limits of my vanity. Two hours. It takes three hours to get one's hair colored. After 120 minutes, I was done and tired of reading magazines that told me how to lose weight, budget, organize, think like a man, raise perfect sons, grill, improve my insurance I.Q. and where to eat in Bangladesh. I'd said a rosary. I'd written a list of things to do for the next week. I'd fretted about not being home and wondered if they'd started dinner. I'd wished I'd gone shopping for sneakers instead or gone for a walk. I'd considered getting into an email fight with the editor of a travel magazine for a snide comments about Houston not having much beyond steak until recently. Clearly they didn't know Houston worth a darn. Then I realized, she'd missed out on some good mexican tamales and good seafood and fantsized briefly about Pappadeaux's soft shell crabs.. then I thought oh well, more for me. Whoa! Maybe my son knew more about me than I'd thought.
Finally sprung from the beautician's chair, I drove home and showed off my newly not grey hair. He didn't really notice. I looked at my mother's day car again. The page after the hair said, "My eyes are....green," only they're not.
Next week, I'm going to the eye doctor. My oldest son told me to get contacts if I need correction, so maybe when I go to the visit, I'll fix it so the other son's observations are more accurate.
*I like Pennsylvania. We've taken trips and have friends in Pennsylvania. I'm just never going to a theme hotel that has a mandatory two night stay again unless the family needs new bedding and even then, I think I'll just buy the sheets and skip the possible nightmare vacation spot.
My seven year old son had created a booklet at school. Each page had a fill in the blank. My mom likes to...My mom doesn't like to...with the answers having been supplied by each individual first grader. The impressions a child has of their parents is often widely at odds with reality or at least the impression I'm trying to give in this world.
For instance, according to John, my favorite food is crabs. This despite the fact that I obsess over chocolate and diet coke daily and haven't eaten any side walkers in about a year. My only explantion was a conversation I had two weeks ago with my two oldest daughters about how much fun it was to make gumbo growing up. They were recalling their last trip to the beach where they caught a mess of blue crabs and did the same with my folks.
Apparently my favorite vacation spot is Texas but the place I loathe is Pennsylvania.* Again, I could piece together the reasoning of my son; he knows I love to visit my family and the beach on the gulf coast. He also knows family lore. Years back before he was even born, we had a bad experience once in Amish country at one of those theme hotels designed to be fun for kids, a hotel composed entirely of train cars. We tried to be good sports but the place was so dusty and our bed so awful, my husband made an emergency trip to Walmart to purchase new sheets and comforters so we could sleep. He stayed up all night in the recliner watching March madness and we didn't stay the second of the mandatory two night reservation. To this date, while we know there are plenty of fun things to do in our neighboring state, we remain gun shy about an overnight stay; with the money quote being, "This would be pretty if it weren't Pennsylvania." The Hotel which shall not be named, still evokes shivers at the memory and a case of the imaginary itchies.
But the page that drew the most response was this: My mom's hair color is.....What is this, a commercial for L'Oreal? My son had written grey. He wrote grey. My hair is black. Well alright, it's black with grey highlights and an skunk stripe in the front. I looked in the mirror. The standard pony tail masked how grey I'd become, bundling all the brown and black.The skunk stripe had encroached out of it's acceptable territory and I now had a large swath that his seven year old eyes had spotted correctly. I couldn't be grey. The little bit of vanity left in this mother of ten body railed against the idea of having my son think I had grey hair. Off to the hairdresser I went.
I have discovered the limits of my vanity. Two hours. It takes three hours to get one's hair colored. After 120 minutes, I was done and tired of reading magazines that told me how to lose weight, budget, organize, think like a man, raise perfect sons, grill, improve my insurance I.Q. and where to eat in Bangladesh. I'd said a rosary. I'd written a list of things to do for the next week. I'd fretted about not being home and wondered if they'd started dinner. I'd wished I'd gone shopping for sneakers instead or gone for a walk. I'd considered getting into an email fight with the editor of a travel magazine for a snide comments about Houston not having much beyond steak until recently. Clearly they didn't know Houston worth a darn. Then I realized, she'd missed out on some good mexican tamales and good seafood and fantsized briefly about Pappadeaux's soft shell crabs.. then I thought oh well, more for me. Whoa! Maybe my son knew more about me than I'd thought.
Finally sprung from the beautician's chair, I drove home and showed off my newly not grey hair. He didn't really notice. I looked at my mother's day car again. The page after the hair said, "My eyes are....green," only they're not.
Next week, I'm going to the eye doctor. My oldest son told me to get contacts if I need correction, so maybe when I go to the visit, I'll fix it so the other son's observations are more accurate.
*I like Pennsylvania. We've taken trips and have friends in Pennsylvania. I'm just never going to a theme hotel that has a mandatory two night stay again unless the family needs new bedding and even then, I think I'll just buy the sheets and skip the possible nightmare vacation spot.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Quick Takes Friday
I must call my mom sometimes two and three times a day. Just because she's in Texas doesn't mean I don't want her imput when I'm on the mental proverbial ledge because kid one after ice cream and going to the park said something awful to kid two in the car who began crying which woke up the baby and made that ten mile distance the longest drive in the world; I also call her when they show up at the beginning of an all school mass at the back where I am with the youngest four and stay to assist with the littles so I can actually recall something of both the Gospel and the homily and I feel broken with joy from blessings. These sort of things often and oddly enough happen usually on the same day.
Basically, I call because she's my first best friend.
2. What I'm Reading
It always feels good to me to have a stack to read. I go through jags where I read the way I eat chocolate, and then I go through periods where opening a book "feels" like a chore. Right now, it is the later, but I've decided it must be done. Ergo, The Disorganized Child and The Red Tent are sitting at my bed. We'll see if I feel like Fiction or Non Fiction tonight.
3. What I'm Praying
The daily rosary, but I'm behind by a decade of yesterday's. Prayer too, sometimes is breathlessly easy. Sometimes, it is very difficult to get through this discipline, but it's always better if I do. It's like exercise, I'm always shocked how much better I feel if it gets done. You'ld think by now, I'd know to just do it.
4. What's Going On
We have a ninja night time freeze tag party coming up with up to 24 fourteen/fifteen year old girls. Should we discover that it is raining and the outside is not available, pizza and either Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Kung Fu Panda, Spirited Away or some other Ninja but Not Really movie will be shown. My 18 year old has decided he's going to be busy that night...anywhere else but here.
5. Faith Report
Followers of this blog know we started treating her for ADD with medication. So far, things are going pretty well. She made 100 on a science test --without the extensive grilling by an older sibling or me. This is huge progress. The material we always knew was going into her creative happy sparkly brain is being accessed. Yeah! Yeah! and Yeah Again! I am keeping a daily Faith log for when we go back to the doctors in a month of any changes good and bad that might indicate a need for tweaking this process.
6. Tomatoes Tomatoes Tomatoes
My bathroom is returning to normal. There are still 16 or so plants surrounding the tub, but the beans have been planted, as have the carrots and the first six tomatoes. Last year we didn't get to plant much because of time constraints on my husband with work and the fact that I don't garden well, but this year, it looks good.
7. Six impossible things before Breakfast
As a mental exercise, I came up with six things that I hope happen sometime in the next few years but would be impossible before breakfast. It's fun for coming up with goals, and for exercising the brain in imagination. Writing always takes me to visit my brain which often is thinking of things but not telling me.
So here are my
1) finish my book
2) start writing another book --I've outlined in my head and just have to do it.
3) go to Greece and put my feet in the Adriatic, and take a boat from there to the island of Rhodes.
4) get in shape by going for walks with my three middle children.
5) Get my Ph.D. maybe in assessment of learning disabilities, as I see that that is a critical area where we do not have enough people who a) are versed with assessment tools and b) able to use them in the educational setting in a way that is affordable to ordinary folks.
6) See a whale in the wild.
7) Raise all ten to be happy, healthy, holy and educated.
These goals are mostly only impossible before breakfast today.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The Gifts of Mother's Day
Mother’s day is a type of emotional Rosharch test of a mom’s relationship with her kids. The children go to school and the teachers have them paint rocks, glue puzzle pieces, color charts and create prose and poetry to illustrate their love for the one who brought them into this world.
To date, I have three paperweights covered with old jewelry, a Popsicle trivet, a tie dye pot holder to go with the trivet, and two button covered heart pins. To avoid massive quantities of duplicate gifts which invariably trigger “Hey, that’s mine, I gave her that last year.” Or “Where’s mine that I gave you last year?” or worst of all, “Mine was better,” I’ve had to switch preschools…twice. Alternatively, I could have stayed with my first pick and eventually gathered enough glittery jigsaw puzzle piece pins to assemble a life size poster of the unfortunate blonde from the movie Goldfinger.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thoughts; the thoughts are lovely. It’s just sometimes Mother’s day reveals more about how little of the message we send every day seems to be getting through. For example, the teacher of my first born made a sheet with a yellow daffodil on it. Every child answered the question, “I Love my mom because…” and there were sweet things like she makes me pancakes, she lets me use bubble bath, she fixed my train set. And then, there was my son’s response, “She lets me do anything I want.”
As I stood there staring at the strange words he’d chosen, I thought of how I’d promised him I would never tie his shoes again if he quit trying. I considered how I’d demanded he make his bed daily and made him do extra math and English enrichment the summer BEFORE Kindergarten. I’d even refused to get him a Charizard Pokémon card that cost $60 for his birthday. Instead I’d bought him a shirt with the beloved but irritated orange flame-tailed dragon on it that was six sizes bigger than my son because it was the only one in the entire mall I could find. Then I thought about the fact that he currently drives me crazy because he still wears the orange shirt to bed and he’s a teenager!
But it isn’t just my first child with which I’ve had odd experiences owed to the second Sunday in May. I’ve had the same first grade teacher for three of my children. She has them assemble books about their Moms. The results from each Mother’s day have made me certain that whatever else is going on in my kids lives; they aren’t paying much attention to what I do. One page said, “My mom likes to …” I would have answered: write, bake fattening desserts and read. In the books thus far, the survey results indicated I do jazz, (haven’t since I was 17), another answer, play video games (Nyet, that’s Dad), and my personal favorite, watch TV. (No, I’m the person who turns off the machine).
They were consistent about where I like to vacation, the beach. But apparently I have voiced at some point, a loathing of California, France and Japan, as these are three places I’ve indicated I would never want to go. These books show me that what I am doing, even if I think I’m doing something else, isn’t what they perceive. I think I’m jumping up and down and saying, “Clean! I shouldn’t have to pick up your socks every day…” and they’re understanding something else. One thing’s for sure, they aren’t getting that they should pick up their socks! But the books make me grateful that perhaps, the reality I’ve created for them is not as hard as I think sometimes I can be.
The kids have given me glitter boxes and pipe clean flowers and I have loved the love conveyed in them all. Their hopeful eyes as they wait for me to open the presents are more lovely and more valuable than the beaded key chain or a CD sun catcher for the garden inside the tissue paper. The hope in their hearts is what every Mom all over the world hopes to grow and develop by the daily care they administer.
Sitting at the table over a leisurely bagel breakfast, my daughter yawned and asked “What do you want to do today Mom?” I could tell she was already not listening as she eyed her sister’s book, the fifth in a series that the older one had just finished. “I’d like to…” I started as I saw her pick the precious tome up from the table and curl up into a living room chair to disappear in a world of demi-gods fighting in New York. I went to the jewelry box to fish out a few button and jigsaw pins for accessories while I murmured to no one in particular, “I’d like this to happen, just as it’s happening.”
Maybe it is true that I do let them do anything they want. Happy Mother’s Day!
To date, I have three paperweights covered with old jewelry, a Popsicle trivet, a tie dye pot holder to go with the trivet, and two button covered heart pins. To avoid massive quantities of duplicate gifts which invariably trigger “Hey, that’s mine, I gave her that last year.” Or “Where’s mine that I gave you last year?” or worst of all, “Mine was better,” I’ve had to switch preschools…twice. Alternatively, I could have stayed with my first pick and eventually gathered enough glittery jigsaw puzzle piece pins to assemble a life size poster of the unfortunate blonde from the movie Goldfinger.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thoughts; the thoughts are lovely. It’s just sometimes Mother’s day reveals more about how little of the message we send every day seems to be getting through. For example, the teacher of my first born made a sheet with a yellow daffodil on it. Every child answered the question, “I Love my mom because…” and there were sweet things like she makes me pancakes, she lets me use bubble bath, she fixed my train set. And then, there was my son’s response, “She lets me do anything I want.”
As I stood there staring at the strange words he’d chosen, I thought of how I’d promised him I would never tie his shoes again if he quit trying. I considered how I’d demanded he make his bed daily and made him do extra math and English enrichment the summer BEFORE Kindergarten. I’d even refused to get him a Charizard Pokémon card that cost $60 for his birthday. Instead I’d bought him a shirt with the beloved but irritated orange flame-tailed dragon on it that was six sizes bigger than my son because it was the only one in the entire mall I could find. Then I thought about the fact that he currently drives me crazy because he still wears the orange shirt to bed and he’s a teenager!
But it isn’t just my first child with which I’ve had odd experiences owed to the second Sunday in May. I’ve had the same first grade teacher for three of my children. She has them assemble books about their Moms. The results from each Mother’s day have made me certain that whatever else is going on in my kids lives; they aren’t paying much attention to what I do. One page said, “My mom likes to …” I would have answered: write, bake fattening desserts and read. In the books thus far, the survey results indicated I do jazz, (haven’t since I was 17), another answer, play video games (Nyet, that’s Dad), and my personal favorite, watch TV. (No, I’m the person who turns off the machine).
They were consistent about where I like to vacation, the beach. But apparently I have voiced at some point, a loathing of California, France and Japan, as these are three places I’ve indicated I would never want to go. These books show me that what I am doing, even if I think I’m doing something else, isn’t what they perceive. I think I’m jumping up and down and saying, “Clean! I shouldn’t have to pick up your socks every day…” and they’re understanding something else. One thing’s for sure, they aren’t getting that they should pick up their socks! But the books make me grateful that perhaps, the reality I’ve created for them is not as hard as I think sometimes I can be.
The kids have given me glitter boxes and pipe clean flowers and I have loved the love conveyed in them all. Their hopeful eyes as they wait for me to open the presents are more lovely and more valuable than the beaded key chain or a CD sun catcher for the garden inside the tissue paper. The hope in their hearts is what every Mom all over the world hopes to grow and develop by the daily care they administer.
Sitting at the table over a leisurely bagel breakfast, my daughter yawned and asked “What do you want to do today Mom?” I could tell she was already not listening as she eyed her sister’s book, the fifth in a series that the older one had just finished. “I’d like to…” I started as I saw her pick the precious tome up from the table and curl up into a living room chair to disappear in a world of demi-gods fighting in New York. I went to the jewelry box to fish out a few button and jigsaw pins for accessories while I murmured to no one in particular, “I’d like this to happen, just as it’s happening.”
Maybe it is true that I do let them do anything they want. Happy Mother’s Day!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
When Mom Was a Kid..
What it was like when I was a kid
On Sports and Games
Growing up, we strapped metal wheels to our shoes and fell on our knees on bumpy concrete until we learned to stop falling. Turns were tricky so you either held on, or in my brother's case, got down on your hands and knees and crawled through the turn, or you decided you knew what you were doing, tried to make the turn and fell at least 50 times before you got it.
When we played on swing sets, teeter totters and monkey bars, they were made of wood and steel and sometimes gave us splinters, particularly when we would ride with two or three at a time.
Tag and hide and seek, dodge ball and freeze tag had winners and losers. We played them often. In fact, we loved them. Even when we were mad about being picked last, it just meant we hoped next time, we’d be captains or picked first, or at least not last again.
Sports had b-teams and sometimes, you didn’t even make that one. You only got a trophy if you won, and sometimes, you got skunked. People kept score but the teams for grade school and the like, were not posted in the paper. It wasn’t important. These were kids’ games.
On School and Education…
There were three channels on television if you didn’t count the educational one, which we didn’t.
The library was a place to check out books, a week in advance of the science project that was mandatory.
The science project was a big deal, complete with a hand written four page report and five references, none from the web. Everyone had to make a poster and a project. People would know if your parents did the art work, and you wouldn’t win.
We’d get pop quizzes at school and worksheets that had been freshly run from the ditto machine, and smelled like ink. We loved those, and I think sometimes, the ink made us dizzy.
You got grades. You got grades every day. Most of the time, it was a number or a letter. The grades included C’s, D’s, F’s and the less common, C-, D+ and D-. Your parents got called if you got these grades. Every time. Forging your parent’s signature got you in bigger trouble.
If you didn’t do an assignment, you got to do it during recess while everyone else was outside playing, which stunk.
They made us memorize Kipling’s “If,” our multiplication tables and say the pledge. We often had to read aloud or do problems on the board for everyone else to watch.
They showed us videos of “The Red Balloon,” and “Chicken Soup with Rice” as treats. We saw each every year at least once.
At noon, We’d get kicked outside to play, we had recess. It was after lunch and lasted a decent amount of time. It didn’t matter if it was hot or cold, muggy or raining, we were on our own after lunch for that half hour. Recess lasted long enough to form cliques, to organize a kick ball game, to braid hair or play a no prisoners game of speed solitaire.
On Grown Ups…
People disagreed on politics, as they always have, but it wasn’t acceptable to insult someone just because they held a different political affiliation. No one was considered heartless or brainless for being a Republican or a Democrat; these were party denominations, not the solutions to every problem under the sun requiring absolute religious fealty.
Being kids, we didn’t even know what politics really were until Mom caught us one day having uprooted all the political signs and repositioned them in our front yard because we thought they were cool. These Vote for…posts seemed like some form of mushroom that had sprung up overnight. We were busy dismantling them to make swords when Mom found us.
Television had a family hour which was boring and grown-ups watched the news, which was boring to us, but then the alternative was bed.
There were uber parents out there who made their kids compete in every sport and activity, but most of the grown-ups knew that these people were wrong and encouraged all of us to pick what we loved and do that first.
Grown-ups drank things like beer and wine, ice tea, diet soda and coffee, all of which tasted terrible. They also had weird clothing rules like no shorts after Labor Day and no white in the winter. They ordered foods with dressings and sauces on them and used “Sweet and Low.” They would make us eat the crust on breads, the stumpy parts of broccoli and occasionally, liver.
For Fun…
Swimming lessons and camp took care of maybe two weeks. The rest of the time, we were on our own.
We’d troll the neighborhood to amass as many at home minors as possible. It didn’t matter who, if you were a kid and you were home, we were knocking on the door asking, “Can you come play?”
Then, we’d ride our bikes until dark, no helmets. We’d pin cards to our spokes with clothes pins to sound like motor cycles. On a dead end street, we’d hold races all afternoon until someone announced they were thirsty. There would be a run on the hose, with each person jockeying to be later in line, so as not to get the first swig of heated by the sun water that came out of the end.
Then the beep beep beep of the mosquito spraying truck would be heard and everyone would clear out to their homes as fast as possible. We didn’t know DEET was poisonous, but it sure smelled bad.
When it was too hot, we’d play monopoly in doors until someone won or was called home. We sometimes made card castles, trying to use all 52 cards before the thing fell. We loved fresh boxes of crayons and coloring books. The coloring books were almost always of animals and never had stickers.
Come fall, we’d gather pecans from every yard, filling up two trash cans. Then we’d offer to rake leaves for a dollar all over the block and try to sell the pecans.
Every Christmas, we’d have a Christmas program. They never had plots, just grade after grade, alternating between secular and religious music, with the grand finale, always, Silent Night. Then most parents would reconvene across the street at the Carnation Dairy restaurant to praise our performances and buy ice cream.
Why am I telling you this?
So my darlings, you will understand some of the why I tell you often to turn off the television and the DDS and the DVD’s and the IPods and the cell phones and the computers.
I will shrug sometimes when you are not 100% safe and even encourage you to jump off the high dive, draw until you run out of chalk and drink a soda outside while reading comics in a hammock.
I will not rush out to challenge other parents to a duel to the death because your feelings are hurt, though I will offer you a hug and say I love you.
Life is always unsafe and unfair but worth living. Sometimes, it is even unsafe and unfair in our favor.
Skinned knees and even bruised hearts heal. Memorization, pain from learning to learn is part of the process, and not what you will recall when you get to be nostalgic about childhood. Like giving birth, we don’t recall the labor pain itself, only that it hurt and then it was over, and we had this person, and everything was light and wonderful and still is.
Happy Thank You for Making me A Mother Day! And Happy Mother’s Day to everyone out there who has been so blessed.
On Sports and Games
Growing up, we strapped metal wheels to our shoes and fell on our knees on bumpy concrete until we learned to stop falling. Turns were tricky so you either held on, or in my brother's case, got down on your hands and knees and crawled through the turn, or you decided you knew what you were doing, tried to make the turn and fell at least 50 times before you got it.
When we played on swing sets, teeter totters and monkey bars, they were made of wood and steel and sometimes gave us splinters, particularly when we would ride with two or three at a time.
Tag and hide and seek, dodge ball and freeze tag had winners and losers. We played them often. In fact, we loved them. Even when we were mad about being picked last, it just meant we hoped next time, we’d be captains or picked first, or at least not last again.
Sports had b-teams and sometimes, you didn’t even make that one. You only got a trophy if you won, and sometimes, you got skunked. People kept score but the teams for grade school and the like, were not posted in the paper. It wasn’t important. These were kids’ games.
On School and Education…
There were three channels on television if you didn’t count the educational one, which we didn’t.
The library was a place to check out books, a week in advance of the science project that was mandatory.
The science project was a big deal, complete with a hand written four page report and five references, none from the web. Everyone had to make a poster and a project. People would know if your parents did the art work, and you wouldn’t win.
We’d get pop quizzes at school and worksheets that had been freshly run from the ditto machine, and smelled like ink. We loved those, and I think sometimes, the ink made us dizzy.
You got grades. You got grades every day. Most of the time, it was a number or a letter. The grades included C’s, D’s, F’s and the less common, C-, D+ and D-. Your parents got called if you got these grades. Every time. Forging your parent’s signature got you in bigger trouble.
If you didn’t do an assignment, you got to do it during recess while everyone else was outside playing, which stunk.
They made us memorize Kipling’s “If,” our multiplication tables and say the pledge. We often had to read aloud or do problems on the board for everyone else to watch.
They showed us videos of “The Red Balloon,” and “Chicken Soup with Rice” as treats. We saw each every year at least once.
At noon, We’d get kicked outside to play, we had recess. It was after lunch and lasted a decent amount of time. It didn’t matter if it was hot or cold, muggy or raining, we were on our own after lunch for that half hour. Recess lasted long enough to form cliques, to organize a kick ball game, to braid hair or play a no prisoners game of speed solitaire.
On Grown Ups…
People disagreed on politics, as they always have, but it wasn’t acceptable to insult someone just because they held a different political affiliation. No one was considered heartless or brainless for being a Republican or a Democrat; these were party denominations, not the solutions to every problem under the sun requiring absolute religious fealty.
Being kids, we didn’t even know what politics really were until Mom caught us one day having uprooted all the political signs and repositioned them in our front yard because we thought they were cool. These Vote for…posts seemed like some form of mushroom that had sprung up overnight. We were busy dismantling them to make swords when Mom found us.
Television had a family hour which was boring and grown-ups watched the news, which was boring to us, but then the alternative was bed.
There were uber parents out there who made their kids compete in every sport and activity, but most of the grown-ups knew that these people were wrong and encouraged all of us to pick what we loved and do that first.
Grown-ups drank things like beer and wine, ice tea, diet soda and coffee, all of which tasted terrible. They also had weird clothing rules like no shorts after Labor Day and no white in the winter. They ordered foods with dressings and sauces on them and used “Sweet and Low.” They would make us eat the crust on breads, the stumpy parts of broccoli and occasionally, liver.
For Fun…
Swimming lessons and camp took care of maybe two weeks. The rest of the time, we were on our own.
We’d troll the neighborhood to amass as many at home minors as possible. It didn’t matter who, if you were a kid and you were home, we were knocking on the door asking, “Can you come play?”
Then, we’d ride our bikes until dark, no helmets. We’d pin cards to our spokes with clothes pins to sound like motor cycles. On a dead end street, we’d hold races all afternoon until someone announced they were thirsty. There would be a run on the hose, with each person jockeying to be later in line, so as not to get the first swig of heated by the sun water that came out of the end.
Then the beep beep beep of the mosquito spraying truck would be heard and everyone would clear out to their homes as fast as possible. We didn’t know DEET was poisonous, but it sure smelled bad.
When it was too hot, we’d play monopoly in doors until someone won or was called home. We sometimes made card castles, trying to use all 52 cards before the thing fell. We loved fresh boxes of crayons and coloring books. The coloring books were almost always of animals and never had stickers.
Come fall, we’d gather pecans from every yard, filling up two trash cans. Then we’d offer to rake leaves for a dollar all over the block and try to sell the pecans.
Every Christmas, we’d have a Christmas program. They never had plots, just grade after grade, alternating between secular and religious music, with the grand finale, always, Silent Night. Then most parents would reconvene across the street at the Carnation Dairy restaurant to praise our performances and buy ice cream.
Why am I telling you this?
So my darlings, you will understand some of the why I tell you often to turn off the television and the DDS and the DVD’s and the IPods and the cell phones and the computers.
I will shrug sometimes when you are not 100% safe and even encourage you to jump off the high dive, draw until you run out of chalk and drink a soda outside while reading comics in a hammock.
I will not rush out to challenge other parents to a duel to the death because your feelings are hurt, though I will offer you a hug and say I love you.
Life is always unsafe and unfair but worth living. Sometimes, it is even unsafe and unfair in our favor.
Skinned knees and even bruised hearts heal. Memorization, pain from learning to learn is part of the process, and not what you will recall when you get to be nostalgic about childhood. Like giving birth, we don’t recall the labor pain itself, only that it hurt and then it was over, and we had this person, and everything was light and wonderful and still is.
Happy Thank You for Making me A Mother Day! And Happy Mother’s Day to everyone out there who has been so blessed.
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