Is it okay to feel like punching your kid?

Please:
- turn off the (bathroom) light
- wash your hands!
- and flush the toilet!
  (but in the exact opposite order)

- chew with your mouth closed

- take your dirty clothes off the floor relocate them 18" away to the basket (like, literally bend down and pick them up and keeping your feet planted in the same spot, twist your upper body and release the clothes into the basket).

- take your wet towel off the floor and relocate it 24" the wall hook (okay, this one involves an actual step)

- help your plate to the kitchen

- unpack your lunchbox

 (where is your water bottle?!)

- put your toothbrush into the cup

These are things I say MINIMUM once a day.  And mostly to the boy.  Actually everything but the lunchbox and bathroom light are all things I say only to my son.  Every.  Single.  Day.  

I have been asking him to close his mouth when he chews every night for the past, oh, three years or so.  No kidding.  Otherwise it's SMACK SMACK SMACK.  I calmly ask, "Please chew with your mouth closed."  Often times, three times over the course of a single meal.  

In real raw gritty life, people. 

As for the toothbrush?  Quite honestly, it doesn't even belong on the stupid list because I've given up on his toothbrush ever actually making it to the little cup.  This toothbrush holder, I might add, is conveniently located on the right side of the sink for the right-handed members of our family.  (Hint: all of us.)  This child of mine always always always puts his toothbrush on the perimeter on the LEFT side of the sink.  (Which means that the boy has to physically take the toothbrush out of his right hand - or at the very least reach across the sink to put it there.)  

After several nights of requests to put his toothbrush in the cup I began having him 'practice' the motion of putting in the cup.  Put it in the cup, take it out of the cup, put it in the cup, take it out of the cup.... and it totally worked!  Pffffft-haaaaaaaa!  Nope.  No it didn't.  It takes the toothbrush and it puts the toothbrush on the tiny counter space directly beside the toilet.  It does not understand the meaning of these words "in" and "cup".

And yes, it's a small thing.  I know that.  

So is the plate and the light and the dirty clothes and the lunch box and the &^%damned water bottle being left at school every day.  (EVERY.  DAY.  For realsies?)

But add them all up and some days - like today - I feel like I am going to lose my mind (or flip out and go Real Ultimate Power ninja on him).  I mean, my GOD.  How long does it take for him to learn to just close his mouth when he chews?  SERIOUSLY.  Is it a boy thing?  Is it a him thing?  Is it a seven year ol- never mind.  I know it's not that.  

Having spent the better part of the last month trying to use a normal tone of voice (i.e. not yell), I find myself considering other verbal cues such as growling.  Six to seven (who am trying to kid? more like) Three to four times out of ten I can find a humorous approach.  The other three to four I am serious but not upset.  The remaining times, my teeth are clenched and I may or may not have steam coming out of my ears as I say for the millionth time "Please. pick. your.  shi- CLOTHES.  up.  off.  the.  floor. and. put. them.  in.  the.  basketttttt."

Walk into his room right now.  And you will find - I guaran-damn-tee it - underwear, pants and shirts on the floor BESIDE the (!@#$% ^&**(-ing laundry basket.  

WHY?!?!   WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY????? 

I don't even have a witty wrap up for this one.  Usually when I blog, by the time I get down toward the end a new perspective has emerged and shed light on the parts I was missing.

....

Yeah.  I got nothin'.  

Hi, World!

I've witnessed some really major changes in my daughter over the last couple of months.  She is definitely making the transition from little girl to bigger girl (which is my way of saying the thing I do NOT want to say - which is pre-preteen (yikes!)).  Also, I kind of hate those terms - to be honest.

Due to a series of complicated events that were happening with Brother, we thought it would be best for him to move up a grade from two to three - in the middle of the school year.  To further complicate things, he would have been moved into the same class as Sister.  All involved - Sister included - knew this was NOT a good idea.  It was suggested by the school admin that perhaps we could move Sister up to grade four.  She is the "right age" for that grade level and she is doing very well - meeting and exceeding expectations - in grade three... So let's give it a go.  Of course, we consulted with Sister and Brother about all of it as well and they both agreed.  Sister was quite reluctant because her confidence level was a little low.

For example, when she recently discovered that she was being graded and given report cards (I'd never told her about it for obvious reasons* - what's that?  not obvious? Okay, I'll add a notation at the bottom.) - right: report cards.  When she learned about the letter grades, she automatically concluded that she would be getting a C in math.  Which was ridiculous because she's never gotten less than an A.  When we got home and I showed her the report card for the previous term and she saw all the As including the math grade, she was genuinely surprised.

Like I said, low confidence.

We all agreed to allow for a one week trial period with total take-backsies if they wanted out.  Daddy and I held our collective breaths as they each started in their new classes - in the middle of the freakin' year.

Within the first few hours Brother knew he was happy and wanted to stay.  Sister was not as eager, but she wasn't unhappy either.  By day two, she conducted a poll in the class asking if they wanted her to stay.  Meanwhile, before she even got there, there was some kerfuffle about who would get to sit beside her (as she already had friends in the group).  So, of course, it was a no-brainer and everyone (except that one PIA kid, bless his heart) voted for her to stay.  This seemed to act like a Super Mario Brothers mushroom causing her to grow twice her size almost overnight.

No kidding.  By the end of that first week, my daughter was A Different Person.

Her confidence level shot up.  My previously shy, quiet, demure little girl became vocal, chatty, sassy and overall more participatory in her classroom than she had ever been in her time in school.  Her new teacher was blown away by the change, as were the principal and director of our school.

She came out of her shell and said "Hi, World!"

And she hasn't looked back.

And it scares me.  Even though I really want this for her:  I want her to be confident, outspoken, sticking up for herself and what she believes, not taking shit from anyone, to know her own mind (which she already did), to be willing to walk her own path - I'm not sure how to handle a person who does those things against my better judgement.

Which is the crux and the irony.  You know?  I don't know how to balance "know-your-own-mind & do it your way" with "follow-our-lead-because-we're-here-to-guide-you".

I'm going to cop to the fact that it was easier to foresee parenting the shy, demure, cooperative girl through her teenage years.  Actually, forget easier, it was just plain easy in my mind.

It's true that she's always been the kind of person who once she'd made up her mind about something that was it, she didn't really do it that much and she was still almost always willing to cooperate.  Now? Not so much.

Of course I know that my children will both choose things that are different from what I want for them, the won't always idealize the same things as me.  Which is a good thing.  I am already working on learning to co-exist with and even support things they like/choose that I would not.  I'm working on that in small ways to get ready for the big ways that are probably coming down the tube.

You know, I'm not even sure what I'm scared of.  That's a lie.  I'm scared of being alienated from them and being irrelevant in their lives.

There.  I said it.

It's not sex, drinking or drugs.  No.  I'm terrified of the shut door.  Not the sometimes shut door, the always shut door that would relegate me to the sidelines as sympathetic bystander.

I wish someone could tell me how to parent so that they will always feel safe with me and always trust me and tell me the Big, Important Things.  For now, I'm being there and being there and then being there some more.

I'm being genuine and honest.  I am listening and trying not to talk too much.  I am living my journey too; modeling that following my dreams is important.  Being me and hoping that's good enough, really.

* Not a fan of conventional schooling.  I abhor testing (standardized or not), homework and grades; they have no place in the arena of discovery and learning.   I reject the artificial standards by which all children are measured and judged and see it as institutionalized neglect of the each of the learners' individuality and personal learning needs.  Due to circumstances that have been beyond my reasonable control, my children who were unschooled all their early lives, have been in conventional school since January 2011.  

Coming Clean

It's no secret that I am an unwavering advocate of alternative schooling.  If you have had more than one conversation with me, you will be well aware of my position on education.

It would shock you, then, to know that my children are both attending a traditional school, one where I happen to be a teacher.  As far as traditional schools go, this one is quite idyllic.  The ethos of the school is learning (even if by rote) can be fun.  The administrators and teachers care deeply about the children and it shows.  It is a great school!

And yet.  Here I am.  I have spent years and thousands of hours researching and teaching myself on  forward thinking methods of education.  One doesn't have to look very far to learn that the current "traditional" method is based largely on the industrial revolution's needs for workers.  One then has to simply look just a tiny bit beyond the nose to note that we are no longer in the industrial era and therefore no longer in need of factory workers on an all encompassing scale.

For this and other social (and, let's face it, political) reasons, I unschooled my children until they were 7 and 5.  Things (read: "I") fell apart and could not carry on so to school they went.  That was two years ago.  I have since regained solid ground and started working - full time!!! - again.

History lesson over.

Here I am.  I have lived a dual life.  Unwavering in my own deeply held convictions while doing almost the exact opposite of them.   Looking up from the grind stone, even being grateful for all that has been afforded to me because of this position I have had, I am struck in the face by the question: "WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL AM I STILL DOING HERE?"  (Ouch, by the way.)
Yes, there was the question of need of income.  Yes I am trying very hard to finish my bachelor's degree to the tune of $24,000.  Yes, yes, yes.

But frankly? Fucking NO.

Hours of homework, extending an already long and stifling school day into our home life? NO.
Hours of sitting at a desk all day doing work pages?  NO.
Science - the beauty, marvel, wonder of the world around us - being reduced to a text book? Absolutely  NOT.
Our whole life revolving around school?  (Sleep schedule, eating schedule, bloody living schedule based on school and homework times.) Gawd no.
Letter grade assessments of their abilities? Nope.
Rote? No no no.

It works - is even ideal for some people - and I am not at all one of them.

Compromise and tolerance acceptance can be noble. Can be.  Whatever virtue there was in my doing this for my children to be able to travel, to have lessons/mentorship in things that are meaningful or important to them (art, tennis, swimming etc.), to have quality foods - these wonderful benefits of me working - whatever there was in it is now expired.  Those benefits no longer outweigh what I desire to give to my children most of all: the freedom to explore their world and themselves.

Their mom is ME, and that is what I want to give to them.

What's so wrong with that?

Autumnal Equinox Birth Day

What an auspicious day to be celebrating one's birth:  The Autumnal Equinox! 

Today I celebrate a birth that has changed me, has changed my life - and continues to change my life - more than I could ever dream or imagine. 

Seven years ago today, I gave birth to my 10lb wonder.  A person who, from the very beginning, made it abundantly clear that he is so much bigger than the body that contains him.  There is so much that is BIG about Ryan.  "Ryan":  when it came down to it, I didn't even really want that name - even tried to change it.  It appears, however, that the name really rather wanted him.  They were meant to be together, the boy and the name.  The best meaning that can be surmised is "little king".  And it fits him to a T.  He is King-ish.  As an infant, he was high need; demanding - nursing every 30 minutes or so for his first few months of life, nor did he ever really need much sleep.  Peering squinty-eyed back into the past, I see now that he (has always) had a general air of impatience; of being About Something.  Can't sleep, have to hurry up and grow, need to get things done!

He really was and still is so big.  He takes up a lot more space than most people.  His movements, his sounds, his way of playing and being is high energy, intense - BIG.  His way of speaking is big.  (Seriously.  His choice of words, his intonation - beyond his years.) Case in point: his teacher has told me that he becomes frustrated when other people in his class have questions after a concept has been taught.  He impatiently yells "Oh, COME on!" when someone asks a question.  Obviously, I've spoken to him about the inappropriateness of this response and also about everyone having a different kind of smart.  (A never ending theme in our home culture.)  This is the perfect example of how impatient he can be.

After having a quiet and ethereal person like Lauryn live with us for two years, his sudden burst of energy did indeed come as a staggering shock to me.  I teetered, wobbled, grabbed for the sturdy.  Figured him out as he careened ahead, leaving me in the dust.

As I said, "Little King" has changed me.  Quite a bit more, I am positive, than I can possibly know right now and will only clearly see in that crystal clear rear view mirror of hindsight in about 20 years or so.  Has it been hard as hell?  You bet your bottom penny.  And it has been good.

Witnessing this being; beholding the unfolding of this person is like nothing else.  Ever.  He is so full and overflowing with zest and zeal; with tenderness and caring; with curiosity and wonder.  He is so many things, my Ryan.  He is unforgettable.  He is warm.  He is obnoxious.  He is tactical.  He is a scientist.  He is so very good with words.  He is the whole bed of roses, velvety sweet softness complete with thorns and dirt... and rocks!*

Even though the stages seemed, themselves, to have lasted eternities, the years have quietly tiptoed by, never really attracting as much attention as some of those raucous hours and days.  Now that they've gone, I miss them.  I treasure those that are left.  I love him a little more fiercely today than yesterday.

Perhaps the equinox is a good omen.  Perhaps there is more balance coming our way; both to me and to him and to us together.  Perhaps as I gently widen my embrace to accommodate more and more of my son and the hours, minutes, days with him - well...  all the parts can fit and be held and be safe.

The Sun's "path" aligns perfectly with the equator today.  After this, the days will be gradually shorter; the nights longer.  I am experiencing a similar alignment with my own son's path today; his days, his nights, his seasons.

I am filled with gratitude for him.  I am filled with delight and hope and joy for all the wonder and potential he his inside him.

Happy birth day, dear Ryan Michael.  You have certainly changed the world as I know it; you expand the boundaries of possible.

I love you all ways.

*Disclaimer:  I've always said and I still maintain that unless you've had a child like Ryan, the journey of parenting him is hard to get.  I know my son; I've met other children like him; tagged with words like spirited, intense, high-need - but never 'angry' or 'malicious'.  Just variations of 'big'.

Nuthin' Doin'

Our family have just spent the better part of a month just hanging out together.

For the first week, it was just me and the people, getting used to our new, temporary life in Jamaica.  Then The Mister came along for the last three weeks.  And it was - every last minute of it - 100% perfection.

Know why?  Because we were just sharing time and space together mostly just having simple fun.  The importance of which cannot be overstated.

In this moment of reflection upon our time there in Jamaica, I am becoming keenly aware of what a luxury it is that we were afforded.  I mean - one whole month of just chilling in Jamaica?  We did that - together.  (Do I need the disclaimer about it being our choice of work that is a major factor?)

Of course we did "things", stuff, adventures.  We visited with family and long time friends.  I hung out with old high school friends in the new lives as parents and grownups (!).  We got to watch a THE Olympic event (as far as Jamaicans are concerned) surrounded by a room full of energized Jamaicans - the kids seeing the vibrant and colorful way that sporting achievement is celebrated.  We went zip-lining in the mountains, we went driving through my favorite part of the island and visited one of my very favorite childhood spots: Frenchman's Cove.  The we were swimming and playing in the very same spot where my father first started teaching me to swim almost 30 years ago.    How amazing was it to share all that with my own children?!
It's kind of the most amazing thing ever.  A little.

Exploring at Frenchman's Cove

And still, some of the most magical moments were when we were just being together.  Down by The River.   Playing with and parallel to each other.  And being.  Doing nothing.

The meaningfulness, the profound worth and value of the time we had together can never be overstated.  There are ways that is creating something in our lives that even I don't understand.

In the doing of a tremendous amount of 'nothing' together, I believe we created at least as much 'something' - together.  Something that will outlast jobs, houses, photos; and that will echo into generations to come.  I can't name it, but I know it's real and happening.

Not so much nothing after all.

Successful Mistakes

Where we are staying, there is a 10 foot jump off into the river.  It looks pretty mild and easy from the water level, but when one ascends the staircase, walks out onto the edge of the platform and looks down, it's a whole other ballgame.  It now feels bone-threatening.

I have watched many a tourist walk up, out, look down and turn around and walk back down the stairs.  I, myself have to psyche myself up every.  single.  time.  I go to jump.  Even when it's immediately after the one I've just a spent Jeopardy! timer song working myself up to.

Enter my thrill-seeking, sensory-input enthusiast of a son.  On his first available opportunity (which was early yesterday morning), he climbed the stairs, walked to the edge and without so much as a second thought, leapt from the platform.

I was happily applauding his bravery as he splashed down only to have that short-lived when he came up crying.  Darling.  What happened?

The dreaded belly flop.  Ironically, he is as sensitive as he is adventurous and has a somewhat unbelievably low pain tolerance threshold.  We hugged, consoled, encouraged, reassured.

But he was done.

No more.  That hurt too much.

As it happened, I was hanging out up on the jumping platform, having coffee, feeding the fish and he was up and down intermittently after the bad jump.  We had some conversation about what happened and both his dad and I explained what caused him to get hurt and how he could jump more safely.  He agreed that it had been fun right up until the flop.  As the morning meandered, he ascended and descended, in and out of conversation.  He asked why it hurt and I explained the physics and we got  into some analogies until he was re-explaining it back to me.  I knew he'd gotten it.

A little later we wrapped it up with me encouraging him to jump again so that the bad one wouldn't be his last impression.  That he could learn from the mistake he made on the first go.

No more jumping, he said.  That really hurt too much.

I accepted this.  Didn't want to push too hard.

A few hours later a group of tourists were there milling about around the jump off and Ryan came down from the house having changed out of, and then back into his swim clothes.  He made a beeline to the platform, cutting right through all the people there and stood at the edge.  "Are you going to jump?!" I yelled up to him.

He shot me with his so-very-Ryan sparkle, said "Sure!" and in the next second was airborne and splashing down.

The assembled group and myself on the periphery were all sort of taken aback by his fast, easy matter-of-factness.  We seemed to be holding our breaths together waiting to see his little head pop up.  Only, I knew what kind of stakes were riding on his facial expression.

It was a huge, proud grin!

He did it!  And even though everyone was proud with him, I was the absolute proudest because he pushed past his fear and did it again and he gained the tremendous reward of knowing that about himself.

He came out and we high fived and high tenned (is it one N or two?) and I told him how proud I was for him.  He marched right back up those stairs and jumped again.  And again.  And again.  It was something like six times in a row.

And several more times throughout the remainder of the day.  Even when, in his words, he was starting to lose his confidence.

Even after another unfortunate belly-flop, from which he surfaced crying in pain.

This was the spark of another hours long, ebbing-flowing conversation about how we can learn from our mistakes.  The conclusion of which was late in the day - when the sun was that thick, rich golden yellow - and Ryan was on his tummy on the swing over the river, sparkling right alongside the water around us and saying to me:

"You know, mom? I think mistakes are probably better than success, because you learn so much more from them."

You know what, Ryan?  I think you're right.  

Where did I come from?

When I was about nine, my father presented me with The Facts Of Life in the form of a book with the same title as this blog post.  I don't remember details, but I can tell you it's a story told by a sperm on it's way to fertilize an egg.  I think it may have even been wearing a bow tie, you know, to be gentleman-like and all that... I guess. (Here's the book on Amazon.)   I was left to conclude that a bow tie wearing sperm was exchanged between my parents (illustrated as two chubby-ish light skinned people making hearts escape from under the covers) and nine months later - voila! - here I was...

What's funny is that a few days ago in the middle of social time with my parents, temporarily living together in the same house* (as me!!!) - a true rarity (and I'm talking endangered species rare) - I found myself asking The Mister "Where did I come from?"  Me with my everything-opposite-to-everything-they're-about self.   There I was really looking at my parents, thinking about how different I feel from them, and their hopes and expectations of me.  It just doesn't add up.

You see, my mother is decidedly conservative and will likely vote as such - ;as90kP:znvae3[3asuf=m excuse me, I just had a shiver - in the upcoming election. Nothing against my mom.  It's Rrrr.... Rrrr... you know who I mean - that gives me the heebies.  Still, she was pretty non-conservative in her younger days: a party animal, a little bit of a thrill seeker, and pre-marriage conceiver of me.  So there's that.  It would ultimately be the Straight And Narrow road for her though.

My father?  He's what many in a previous generation would call "a real character".  He's the limelight guy:  life of the party, joke teller, friends with everyone everywhere and all that.  My father is the good times maker.

My love of adventure, jokes and laughing, parties and a good time: it's easy to see where I got those traits.  And, of course, the requisite looking "exactly" like whichever parent the observer happens to know very well.   The rest of it?  The challenge EVERYthingness?  The piercing, hair dyeing, feminist, humanist, animal rights advocate, pro-choice, left wing, everybody has a right to the opportunity for a good life, partially atheistic, would-be hippie me?  I tried the Straight and Narrow, but it didn't stick.  A bit like water off a duck's back, that was.  

Where in the holy gene pool did this whole me come from, exactly? 

I have a theory.  But it sounds pretty kooky so it's hard to say.  And I don't really care if you think I'm kooky so here it is.

My great grandmother, when she was about 15 years old, announced to her sisters one night that when they awoke the next morning, she'd be gone.  They didn't believe her.  But it didn't matter or change the fact that the next day, she was indeed gone - all the way to CUBA to elope with a man she was not supposed to love and definitely not marry - a black (non-Indian) man.  (The scandal!)  She lived there for a number of years, giving birth to my grandfather and grand uncle there and, a little later returning to Jamaica - all of her family fluent in Spanish.  

I believe that Estriana - maker of her own damn path thank you very much, passed her thatness on to me.  It makes me wish I could have really known her when she was young and rejecting the status quo.  It makes me feel like she lives on in me.  

It goes without saying that I love my parents very much.  It's kind of nice to get a sense, too, of how even their parents and grand parents have had an influence on who I am.

In this way, immortality comes alive.

* My parents were in the same house because my mom came for a visit to Jamaica at the same time as me and she also stayed at my dad's house.