On Family

I’ve been thinking a lot this week about family: the ones into which we’re born, the ones into which we marry, the ones we establish and become part of through close friendships, school communities, hobbies, and so forth. One of Tom’s grandmas passed away this morning, and I’m still processing the sudden death of my friend’s nephew. My parents are headed up for Jack’s grandparents’ day event at his school, and while I’m so happy they’re coming, I’m sorry it’s such a long schlep for them. I grew up in the same town as my maternal grandparents and grand-aunts/uncles and within several hours of more aunts, uncles and a number of cousins. We all saw each other regularly throughout the year, and because of that, I really felt like I had not only my small nuclear family but also an extended network of people I knew well and who knew me well, people I could call on, spend an afternoon with. So many people’s homes felt like my own, their fridges just another one in which my sister and I could rummage for a snack. More and more, I realize what a gift all this was, and how rare it is (feels?) today.

My hometown neighborhood was also a tightly-knit family of sorts. We took in their papers when they were away, they fed our cats when we were. When Hurricane Rita hit while my parents happened to be in DC, neighbors went over in waders and bailed the flood-waters out of my parents’ home. When a beloved neighbor, G, passed away, everyone went to his funeral, and then another neighbor bought G’s humongous old Cadillac and keeps it so that any visiting kids and relatives have a vehicle at their disposal. We use it pretty much every time we go home. When Jack and my Dad caught a fish last summer but didn’t know how to filet it, we called another neighbor who happens to know everything about fishing; he’s also an orthopedic surgeon and came over after a shift to teach Jack and Dad about fileting and deboning. Mom then fried the fish and we all feasted. I bring you pie, you bring me roses from your yard; you need a ride to the doctor, of course I’ll give you one. All of these special people came to my wedding, and theirs were some of the faces I felt most happy to see.

To a degree, this is decidedly Southern. There’s a presumption of community and generosity that is really beautiful and devoid of burdensome obligation. What you do for others, how you treat them, how you give back, how you are as a family member and neighbor- it feels elemental, innate almost, because it’s just how you grow up.

I think this sense of communal’ness is one reason my sister (and all of us, really) loves Italy. I’ll never forget -and now acutely miss- the evening we spent in a piazza in Venice. Parents and grandparents were sitting outside bars and restaurants enjoying pre-dinner drinks, while kids ran, played soccer and all manner of games as the sun set. Because of the layout of Italian piazze -large squares with everything facing in towards the center; no motorized traffic of any sort- your kids are always in sight and the weight of worry just drips away. You can just enjoy the other adults while simultaneously watching the kids play, whether or not they know each other (or speak the same language).

In many urban American neighborhoods, this is harder. Traffic is definitely a concern, there aren’t a bunch of restaurants on most people’s blocks (where there’s also room for kids to run), everyone is SO busy, and most people don’t have family nearby anymore (we are very lucky to have T’s parents here!). I also think there’s a real hesitation about asking for help though I wish that weren’t so. Reaching out for assistance of any kind helps connect people, and it’s so lovely to know there are folks you can call on freely without worrying that you’re burdening them or not doing your own parental share (we don’t all need to be at pick-up all the time!). This morning, one of my friends called: she forgot to pack a lunch for the school field trip and was at work. Could I please pack one and bring it to her daughter at school? Of course. I was thrilled to do so and so happy she called. These are the ways we make “families” in the absence of or in addition to our own.

On Feeling Disappointment In Your Kids

Jack was really out of sorts. Picture a small, crazed with fatigue and resultant anger/frustration, eyes a’spinning, preppily dressed, sheriff-badge-wearing, uncoordinated feral animal, and you’ll have a sense of his state. He ate about 40 pounds of food, grudgingly got dressed in his Tae Kwon Do attire, and we schlepped back out to class. Despite my stern commands to listen, do your best, respect your teachers and classmates, he managed to get called out three times for various lapses in attention. Was I steamed? Mais, oui. I know he was tired, but at some point in life, you really do have to learn to power through, even for a bit. I can’t spend the entirety of each and every day rearranging things to maximize the kids’ periods of alertness and avoid their times of tiredness. What in the sam hill will that teach them? That responsibilities are negotiable, pliable, simple suggestions? That is decidedly NOT what I’m going for. I realized the emergence of something I (and of course all other parents, everyone really) will have to deal with as my kids get older: there are times I’ll be disappointed in them. Up until a certain age -I guess about now; J is almost 6- disappointment isn’t something you really feel much of, as it relates to your kids’ behavior. Egocentric tots get a pass- you expect them to be navel-gazing, selfish little dolls who might embarrass you on occasion. During these years, it’s your responsibility to instill in them manners, ethics and so forth, and naturally they’ll fail during that learning process (and for a long time; hell, learning and failing are part of the entirety of the life cycle in my opinion), but when they’re little, you just sort of expect that. At least I have.

But when you see them moving out of the baby/toddler phase and into an age that is much more cognitively and emotionally able to consider others, make smart decisions and so forth, your expectations of them develop concurrently. You KNOW what your kids are capable of, and you know when they do less than that. Some folks might choose to keep their displeasure inside, worried about deleterious effects on their little one(s) if (s)he hears negative feedback. Others might hit the roof, expressing their frustration in a one-dimensional fashion and thus failing in their duty to make clear that they love the child but not the behavior.

I strive for the middle ground, which is where I attempted to reside on our way home after class today. I was pissed off. And embarrassed. And those two emotions work mightily and negatively on each other. Defenses rise, perspective is blurred, but I made myself look repeatedly in my rearview mirror at my tired, not even 6 year old and took multiple deep breaths. It seemed important to me to express my disappointment but to do so kindly- respecting him, where he was today, acknowledging what a fine young person he truly is but calling him out on the characteristics he  has that won’t serve him well, in TKDo but also in life.

I talked, he listened, everyone went to bed early, and tomorrow is a new day. I don’t know if what I did was correct, but it felt consistent, fair and right, and that’s really the best I think I can do. We, none of us, are perfect by any means, know all the answers by any stretch. But if I can succeed in my kids growing up knowing that they were (are) loved fiercely but that there were very real expectations of behavior, respect and so forth placed upon them, I will feel OK.

Parenting today often seems to be considered as a one-way street: I give, you grow. But doesn’t that do both parties a disservice? Might not one end up resentful and the other prodigal? Food for thought.

Originally published on 19 June 2012

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Despite my utter elation about the decisions rendered by SCOTUS yesterday (not so much for what they did to the VRA the prior day), this week has been colored by some enormously challenging dealings with my boys. Tuesday afternoon and this morning were periods of stress not even a Xanax could quell, and that is really saying something.

Many of the tests parents face remind me of shape-shifters of the sneakiest sort. You may have thought you’d dealt successfully with unfathomably inconsistent sleep schedules but alas no, your child then gives up his nap, ages into the years during which nightmares begin, commences nighttime potty training, simply decides he doesn’t feel sleep is as important as do you. You may have been patting yourself on the shoulder for having kids with incredible palates and the next day find that suddenly, no previously-loved foods are acceptable. Perhaps your child never had the slightest bit of stranger anxiety but then one day, you find that you’ve got a third leg, so glommed onto you is he.

Perhaps the hardest challenges, though, are those that surprise you, those you didn’t see coming, those that really suck the wind from your sails. These are the struggles in which you can feel deep disappointment in your kids as well as a pretty intense dislike of them. These are the times that can make parents deeply sad, as opposed or in addition to the more common suspects of frustration, confusion and anger.

On Tuesday, between exercising, fetching the dry cleaning and picking the kids up from camp, I went and bought them special snacks, one chosen especially for each boy based on what have now been for some time, their consistent favorites. Oliver is a muffin-aholic and so I purchased a beautiful lemon-raspberry in a tulip cup for him; Jack is wild for cinnamon-sugar soft pretzels, so I picked the softest, biggest, sugariest one for him. I’d had such a lovely morning making those Zingers, I had a great chat with my Mom, and I headed to camp with real excitement about seeing the boys. As soon as I stepped out of my car, I saw a man at whose store I’ve taught several classes. We said hello, and then our kids bounded up. I hugged my boys, told them treats awaited in the car but asked that the first come meet this man’s son as he’s at camp too.

Oliver had, however, snuck into the car and peeked in each bag. He immediately complained that he didn’t have a pretzel and then tore Jack’s in half because he wanted part. Jack went ape-shit, threw all his camp stuff onto the ground and started wailing. I, mortified beyond belief, calmly and quietly (read: seething with anger so attempting to keep a lid on it) suggested he stop embarrassing himself and get.in.the.car.now. It took a fair amount of control for me to keep a peaceful face as I buckled Oliver in and drove away.

And boy did I lose it then. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as angry with the kids as I was that afternoon, in part because for only the first or second time, they really hurt my feelings. At that point I realized we were in a new phase of their maturation: they are old enough to start behaving with some degree of control, especially Jack; and they are years past old enough to say a big “thank you, Mom”. But instead of either, they engaged in such spoiled, ugly, self-indulgent behavior, and I was not about to have any of it. By the time we got home, I was crying, my head was throbbing because really, my voice had been raised for at least 10 minutes, and they were mute. If you read Em-i-lis regularly, you’ll know that the fact that they were speechless is exceedingly rare and really means something.

I sent them to their rooms and told them not to even consider coming out until dinner.

Then I called my Mom and sobbed. It seems you’re never too old to do that, and I guess I’m just grateful I can.

It is hard to express how shaken and sad and utterly disappointed I was. I am not a perfect mother but I am a really good one. I work so hard at it, and I don’t slack. I am fair, and I try to keep in mind exactly where each boy is developmentally so that I neither over- nor under-expect of them. I do not judge their interests and passions but rather try to help them explore those things further (see: sewing Jack a bikini top so he could channel Ariel and letting Oliver wear entirely orange outfits every day even though he looks like a traffic cone because it is his favorite color). I am almost overly-generous with the love I shower on them, I try to bring happiness and lightness and inspiration and enrichment to their each and every day. I do these things because, to me, those elements are some of what good parenting is about.

But good parenting also involves a hefty dose of firm yet loving, consistent discipline, and by and large, I think I haven’t slacked in this department. I’ll be damned if my kids don’t have good table manners, if they can’t comport themselves well in public, if each of their EQs isn’t all it can be. They are such fortunate children and need to learn, know and appreciate that. We talk on an almost-daily basis about how little too many in this world have, about homelessness and poverty, about how important it is to give back to the communities of which we are part. Spoiled, bratty behavior is not something there is a place for in my home.

Hence my disappointment in them on Tuesday, for spoiled brats they decidedly were. It took me all afternoon and night to start to feel moderately better. On Wednesday morning, we talked about what they may have learned from this experience, and I underscored the fact that I love them like crazy but that certain things will not be tolerated and that they could learn that the easy way or the hard way. Wednesday was nice.

This morning, however, I could have jailed them both and sued for emotional distress. The noise/penis/butt/wildness levels were off the charts, and by 8am, they’d both, per the Summer Rules list posted two weeks ago, lost dessert and evening stories privileges for today. So yet again, we head back to the drawing board and dig deeper into the reserves, meager as they may be, that enable us to remain as consistent as possible over the minutes, hours, days and years.

While tomorrow is another day, who knows what it might bring.

Originally published on 27 June 2013

On Feeling Pride In Your Kids

Jack has really felt sad about Kindergarten coming to a close. He has always adored school, but this is the first year that he truly realized that although he’ll be returning to the same school -thank goodness for the consistency of that- he won’t be in K with Ms. M and Ms. L anymore. He was besotted with them both, with his classmates, with all he learned, and frankly, so was I. I feel so enormously grateful for the education he’s receiving, that the values we try to instill here at home are the same values his school holds dear and he therefore receives a very consistent message in that regard, that his school community is one of which I truly love to be part. As he and I walked around this morning, delivering homemade presents to all the teachers with whom he’s close, I felt my heart just bursting with pride. His small hands crafted each of the cards, so earnestly, so capably, so truly and sincerely full of love for the wonderful educators who surround him. He went up to each one, from the security guard to the librarian to his K teachers and so on, handed them his small package, gave them a hug, and then headed back to me. I could tell that his heart was heavier after each exchange; mine was too. It’s so hard to watch your child(ren) feel sad, to watch them learn the ways of the world, to recognize that life contains sadness, goodbyes, and disappointments alongside their happier corollaries. You nurture this maturation yet it’s difficult to see them leave the world of relative obliviousness and move into one of emotional complexity and nuance. Navigating the latter is hard and so unclear at times.

Several hours later, I went to help set up for the faculty appreciation lunch, an activity I couldn’t have been more eager to do, per the enormous, aforementioned gratitude I feel for his school. And after that, I intercepted his class as they walked towards carpool, snagged my darling little guy and could tell how vexed he felt about the final goodbye, even though he’ll see everyone again, some quite soon. He was unnaturally quiet -still a little under the weather too, I think- and simply asked that we go get the Beyblade we’d talked about and then maybe “a ham plate and lemonade at Pain Quotidien.” We held hands and did all that, and I just couldn’t stop loving and hugging him. He said he felt proud of himself, for a job well done in K. Truly, I couldn’t wish that he’d said anything more or different. What a wonderful feeling, for me and him.

Oh this parenting thing is so emotional. I am exhausted right now, for mostly good reasons (damn Oliver’s ridiculous sleeping) and because I have some pre-dread about tomorrow’s car trip. Still so much to do, photog class tonight, packing, blah, blah, blah. Even when you want to just stop and hold a moment quietly in your hands and heart, life keeps going, running, racing by, just daring you to try and pause. But the brief times today when the swirling slowed, I did appreciate it all. Hope you are all well.

-originally published on 11 June 2012