There is an amazing children's bank, in Denver, Young Americans Bank, the only FDIC-insured bank in the world specifically designed for young people. Everything is child-size, plus there are jars stuffed with candy on the counters and on Saturdays, serving trays filled with small donuts.
We helped Secret Service and Sport open savings accounts there, several years ago. Periodically, when Secret had a windfall in terms of birthday money, we've wrested some of it away from him and coerced him into depositing it into his account.
Sport, on the other hand, has been a more willing bank participant, saving money at home and then cheerfully depositing any surplus. Because of that, Sport takes great pride in knowing that he maintains a higher account balance than his older brother.
Since Sport was more invested (so to speak) in saving, I took the liberty to sign him up for two 1 hour classes there - a banking scavenger hunt and a millionaire game. The bank gives participants $5 to deposit in their accounts for each class they attend and I thought Sport would appreciate that.
He mildly protested when I took him to the first class a couple of weeks ago but yesterday, on the way to the second class, he really balked. Sport said he hadn't been consulted and had never agreed to attend. Upon arriving, he refused to get out of the car. A lengthy negotiation ensued before we struck a deal and he willingly walked into the bank.
After the class, Sport deposited the $5 into his account. The teller asked him what he had learned and Sport said a person would be more likely to make a million dollars if they attended college. On the way home, we talked about when you do well in school you are better prepared to do well in life.
A decent conversation and it only cost me a few hours of my time, some aggravation, and a trip to Target so that Sport could use all the money he'd saved up at home to buy the latest nerf gun.
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Jobs
I started babysitting when I was 13 years old. I was thrilled that someone would pay me for playing with children, better yet, for sitting in a quiet house watching TV while children slept. I liked having money. I didn't see a downside to it. So, as Secret has gotten older, I've encouraged him to do some part-time work.
Like almost everything I've tried to persuade him to do, Secret wasn't readily on board. Secret appreciates the finer things in life but was convinced that his parents should provide those things for him. Secret, perhaps operating from the premise that he is the son of an oil sheik, routinely requests things that seem outrageous to us, middle class working stiffs that we are. If Secret sees a commercial for a cruise ship, he begins a campaign that we go on a cruise. If Secret sees an ad for a new route that an airline is establishing (I think the most recent one was Denver to Iceland), he begins a relentless pursuit of a trip there.
Science Girl and I have tried to motivate him by explaining that since we can't (and won't) buy him everything he wants, he should earn his own money and buy it for himself. Last year, a neighbor was looking for a helper for one hour a week, a teen who could play with and occupy her children while she did household chores. Secret was upset that I recommended him for the job. He believed that his hour could be better spent at home playing video games. Math whiz that he is, he also noted that earning an extra $5 a week wouldn't buy him that trip to Iceland. Every week, Secret would return from this one hour of strenuous work, toss the cash on the counter and exclaim that he wouldn't go back the next week. At some point, his child care services were no longer needed and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Months later, the same neighbor was seeking someone to take care of their dog while they were out of town. To his great dismay, once again I volunteered Secrets' help. Secret complained about this assignment until Sport said he'd take it over and then he became protective of the work. Meanwhile, Sport wasn't as resistant to work and snagged himself a short gig as a "cat lover" for another neighbor. While that neighbor was out of town, Sports' job was to visit said cat at least twice a day, just to pet him.
In an unusual twist of events, Secret has now heeded my advice to work, becoming an ice hockey referee. Before he could work, we had to buy him a uniform ($100 + $7 for a whistle), skates ($250), a required course ($75) and registration as a referee ($45). This Saturday, in a odd burst of willingness, Secret accepted three assignments of games to officiate. I have to work on Saturday so that leaves Science Girl to spend her entire Saturday driving him in circles around town (starting at 7:00AM and wrapping up at 9:00 PM) to three different rinks. Meanwhile, Sport is planning a career as a cat lover.
I mean well, but somehow, my efforts never turn out the way I envision.
Like almost everything I've tried to persuade him to do, Secret wasn't readily on board. Secret appreciates the finer things in life but was convinced that his parents should provide those things for him. Secret, perhaps operating from the premise that he is the son of an oil sheik, routinely requests things that seem outrageous to us, middle class working stiffs that we are. If Secret sees a commercial for a cruise ship, he begins a campaign that we go on a cruise. If Secret sees an ad for a new route that an airline is establishing (I think the most recent one was Denver to Iceland), he begins a relentless pursuit of a trip there.
Science Girl and I have tried to motivate him by explaining that since we can't (and won't) buy him everything he wants, he should earn his own money and buy it for himself. Last year, a neighbor was looking for a helper for one hour a week, a teen who could play with and occupy her children while she did household chores. Secret was upset that I recommended him for the job. He believed that his hour could be better spent at home playing video games. Math whiz that he is, he also noted that earning an extra $5 a week wouldn't buy him that trip to Iceland. Every week, Secret would return from this one hour of strenuous work, toss the cash on the counter and exclaim that he wouldn't go back the next week. At some point, his child care services were no longer needed and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Months later, the same neighbor was seeking someone to take care of their dog while they were out of town. To his great dismay, once again I volunteered Secrets' help. Secret complained about this assignment until Sport said he'd take it over and then he became protective of the work. Meanwhile, Sport wasn't as resistant to work and snagged himself a short gig as a "cat lover" for another neighbor. While that neighbor was out of town, Sports' job was to visit said cat at least twice a day, just to pet him.
In an unusual twist of events, Secret has now heeded my advice to work, becoming an ice hockey referee. Before he could work, we had to buy him a uniform ($100 + $7 for a whistle), skates ($250), a required course ($75) and registration as a referee ($45). This Saturday, in a odd burst of willingness, Secret accepted three assignments of games to officiate. I have to work on Saturday so that leaves Science Girl to spend her entire Saturday driving him in circles around town (starting at 7:00AM and wrapping up at 9:00 PM) to three different rinks. Meanwhile, Sport is planning a career as a cat lover.
I mean well, but somehow, my efforts never turn out the way I envision.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Our Dog - Part 2
Science Girl and I realized we'd made a mistake taking our boys to "look" at puppies with no plan to actually bring one home. Once sold on the idea of having a dog, the boys saw no need to shop around.
The puppy rescue people posted pictures of puppies on their web site on Fridays. That day, our family gathered around the computer, hoping that the selection would be good. We were in luck. There was a litter of puppies, supposedly the offspring of a Boxer mother and unknown father. Science Girl and I quickly conferred. A Boxer mix seemed like a good size dog and judging by the pictures, the unknown part of the lineage didn't seem to include Poodle or German Shepherd.
One of the puppies was the color of caramel, another was white with black spots, and the third was a mix of black and white. The boys started referring to the dogs as Caramel, Spot, and Oreo. I reminded them that if we got one of them, we'd call him something else. I was thinking up names that would fit well with Leo, our cat, and was contemplating Gus, Fletcher and Linus.
Science Girl had also learned that to get your pick, you needed to show up early and get your name on a list. People would get to choose based on when they arrived.
On the designated Saturday, we showed up before the event started and were happy to discover that we were number 4 on the list. The first set of people looked at Caramel and took him. The second set of people, a large family in overalls, looked at Oreo. Simultaneously, the third family looked at Spot. Sport started to whimper, there were other dogs but we'd agreed that these three were our top choices. Science Girl and I looked at each other, anxiety building.
Suddenly, the overall clad family put Oreo back and asked to look at another dog. We were given an opportunity to visit with this black and white dog. We petted him, he seemed friendly and sweet. Our family all agreed that this was our dog. We picked him up and walked over to fill out papers. I asked the kids, "What do you think? Linus?" They scowled. "His name is Oreo," they said. I argued. They remained steadfast. We approached the registration desk. "Oreo Blizzard," they said. I winced.
Anyway, Oreo Blizzard has turned out to be a fine dog - funny looking with a long back and short legs, a loyal watchdog, affectionate, playful. And, whenever the boys or Science Girl declare their love for him, I remind them, it was my idea to get a dog.
The puppy rescue people posted pictures of puppies on their web site on Fridays. That day, our family gathered around the computer, hoping that the selection would be good. We were in luck. There was a litter of puppies, supposedly the offspring of a Boxer mother and unknown father. Science Girl and I quickly conferred. A Boxer mix seemed like a good size dog and judging by the pictures, the unknown part of the lineage didn't seem to include Poodle or German Shepherd.
One of the puppies was the color of caramel, another was white with black spots, and the third was a mix of black and white. The boys started referring to the dogs as Caramel, Spot, and Oreo. I reminded them that if we got one of them, we'd call him something else. I was thinking up names that would fit well with Leo, our cat, and was contemplating Gus, Fletcher and Linus.
Science Girl had also learned that to get your pick, you needed to show up early and get your name on a list. People would get to choose based on when they arrived.
On the designated Saturday, we showed up before the event started and were happy to discover that we were number 4 on the list. The first set of people looked at Caramel and took him. The second set of people, a large family in overalls, looked at Oreo. Simultaneously, the third family looked at Spot. Sport started to whimper, there were other dogs but we'd agreed that these three were our top choices. Science Girl and I looked at each other, anxiety building.
Suddenly, the overall clad family put Oreo back and asked to look at another dog. We were given an opportunity to visit with this black and white dog. We petted him, he seemed friendly and sweet. Our family all agreed that this was our dog. We picked him up and walked over to fill out papers. I asked the kids, "What do you think? Linus?" They scowled. "His name is Oreo," they said. I argued. They remained steadfast. We approached the registration desk. "Oreo Blizzard," they said. I winced.
Anyway, Oreo Blizzard has turned out to be a fine dog - funny looking with a long back and short legs, a loyal watchdog, affectionate, playful. And, whenever the boys or Science Girl declare their love for him, I remind them, it was my idea to get a dog.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
The Twelve Days of Winter Break
To the tune of - The 12 Days of Christmas
On the first day of winter break
my children said to me:
We need a later bedtime
On the second day of winter break
my children said to me:
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime.
On the third day of winter break
my children said to me:
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the fourth day of winter break
my children said to me:
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the fifth day of winter break
my children said to me:
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the sixth day of winter break
my children said to me:
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the seventh day of winter break
my children said to me:
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the eighth day of winter break
my children said to me:
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the ninth day of winter break
my children said to me:
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the tenth day of winter break
my children said to me:
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the eleventh day of winter break
my children said to me:
11 hours of television
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the twelfth day of winter break
my children said to me:
12 rides around town
11 hours of television
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need from the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the first day of winter break
my children said to me:
We need a later bedtime
On the second day of winter break
my children said to me:
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime.
On the third day of winter break
my children said to me:
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the fourth day of winter break
my children said to me:
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the fifth day of winter break
my children said to me:
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the sixth day of winter break
my children said to me:
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the seventh day of winter break
my children said to me:
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the eighth day of winter break
my children said to me:
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the ninth day of winter break
my children said to me:
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the tenth day of winter break
my children said to me:
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the eleventh day of winter break
my children said to me:
11 hours of television
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
On the twelfth day of winter break
my children said to me:
12 rides around town
11 hours of television
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need from the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Mama Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Teenagers
To the Tune of Willie Nelson's Mama Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys
(Inspired by my own teenager)
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
Don't let 'em get tall and think that they're grown
Make 'em stay young and do what they're told
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
They'll never stay home or if they are home
they're wrapped in electronic devices
Teenagers ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold
They'd rather ignore you than talk or go for a walk
They seldom come 'round till they need a ride or are hungry
And each night begins a new day
And if you don't understand them (and who would?)
Just hang on till this phase is over
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
Don't let them get tall and think that they're grown
Make 'em stay young and do what they're told
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
They'll never stay home and when they're at home
they'll be wrapped in electronic devices
Teenagers like sleeping till noon, listening to tunes,
texting a friend, watching shows til the end
They'll shower forever or not at all
They want us to chill, think we're over the hill
Sometimes we don't know how to take them
They've changed but somewhere in there is the child we knew
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
Don't let 'em get tall and think that they're grown
Make 'em stay young and do what they're told
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
They'll never stay home or if they are home
they're wrapped in electronic devices
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
(Inspired by my own teenager)
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
Don't let 'em get tall and think that they're grown
Make 'em stay young and do what they're told
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
They'll never stay home or if they are home
they're wrapped in electronic devices
Teenagers ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold
They'd rather ignore you than talk or go for a walk
They seldom come 'round till they need a ride or are hungry
And each night begins a new day
And if you don't understand them (and who would?)
Just hang on till this phase is over
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
Don't let them get tall and think that they're grown
Make 'em stay young and do what they're told
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
They'll never stay home and when they're at home
they'll be wrapped in electronic devices
Teenagers like sleeping till noon, listening to tunes,
texting a friend, watching shows til the end
They'll shower forever or not at all
They want us to chill, think we're over the hill
Sometimes we don't know how to take them
They've changed but somewhere in there is the child we knew
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
Don't let 'em get tall and think that they're grown
Make 'em stay young and do what they're told
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
They'll never stay home or if they are home
they're wrapped in electronic devices
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be teenagers
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Holiday Wish Lists
With the holidays approaching, every day brings new catalogues in the mail. I've handed them to the boys, asking them to give me ideas about what they'd like to receive as gifts. Here's what I've gotten so far -
Secret Service is requesting a soda making machine. Secret Service needs a soda making machine like I need to have a Krispy Kreme donut shop operating from my living room. Secret has a wicked soda addiction. I'm convinced Secret wakes up in the morning thinking about where and when to snag a Pepsi. Secret would rather drink soda than eat a meal and we have reason to suspect that uses his lunch money to buy soda instead of food. When soda is served at someones home, Secret parks himself at the counter like a drunk at a bar. So, no, sadly, Secret will not be getting a soda making machine.
Another item on Secrets' list is an air soft gun. Secret already owns one of these and it has been confiscated for months because he misused it. I will spare you the details, no one was injured, but Secret did not prove he could handle this weapon and it is semi-permanently removed from his possession. Why would we get him another one?
Secret would like a winter jacket that costs over $100. He showed me a picture of it. It is lovely. However, I don't understand why he needs this as he has refused to wear his current brand new (over $100) jacket, (that he selected) and on the one day I forced him to wear it to school, he supposedly left it in his locker and we haven't seen it since.
Sport has looked through the catalogues and has consistently circled the same items each time. However, there are some problems here, too. Sport wants a Nerf gun. I was in the basement this morning and counted 11 Nerf guns. I mentioned this to Sport. He said they aren't all his, some of these belong to Secret. He said the new Nerf guns are better than the ones he has. I think not.
Sport has also requested a battery powered helicopter that flies. The trouble is that Sport got one of these last year, played with it for 25 minutes the day he got it, 10 minutes the next day and then never again.
I told Sport to look through the catalogues and find something that he doesn't already have. That's when he came up with the request for a candy machine, the kind that gives you candy when you put your hand under it. Why doesn't this sound like a good idea?
I told both boys that they need to generate more ideas. Secret has asked for a full-size tempurpedic mattress. I said I heard that they are expensive. Secret said it wasn't too bad, he noted that the mattress is $1399.00! I asked if it can be a foam mattress that is a different brand, but Secret said he needs that particular brand. I don't think we can swing that at this time.
If the boys can't come up with ideas for gifts that they don't already have, are safe and healthy, and affordable, I'm going to just buy them clothes. In the past, they wept when they received clothes for a gift but I'm running out of ideas.
Secret Service is requesting a soda making machine. Secret Service needs a soda making machine like I need to have a Krispy Kreme donut shop operating from my living room. Secret has a wicked soda addiction. I'm convinced Secret wakes up in the morning thinking about where and when to snag a Pepsi. Secret would rather drink soda than eat a meal and we have reason to suspect that uses his lunch money to buy soda instead of food. When soda is served at someones home, Secret parks himself at the counter like a drunk at a bar. So, no, sadly, Secret will not be getting a soda making machine.
Another item on Secrets' list is an air soft gun. Secret already owns one of these and it has been confiscated for months because he misused it. I will spare you the details, no one was injured, but Secret did not prove he could handle this weapon and it is semi-permanently removed from his possession. Why would we get him another one?
Secret would like a winter jacket that costs over $100. He showed me a picture of it. It is lovely. However, I don't understand why he needs this as he has refused to wear his current brand new (over $100) jacket, (that he selected) and on the one day I forced him to wear it to school, he supposedly left it in his locker and we haven't seen it since.
Sport has looked through the catalogues and has consistently circled the same items each time. However, there are some problems here, too. Sport wants a Nerf gun. I was in the basement this morning and counted 11 Nerf guns. I mentioned this to Sport. He said they aren't all his, some of these belong to Secret. He said the new Nerf guns are better than the ones he has. I think not.
Sport has also requested a battery powered helicopter that flies. The trouble is that Sport got one of these last year, played with it for 25 minutes the day he got it, 10 minutes the next day and then never again.
I told Sport to look through the catalogues and find something that he doesn't already have. That's when he came up with the request for a candy machine, the kind that gives you candy when you put your hand under it. Why doesn't this sound like a good idea?
I told both boys that they need to generate more ideas. Secret has asked for a full-size tempurpedic mattress. I said I heard that they are expensive. Secret said it wasn't too bad, he noted that the mattress is $1399.00! I asked if it can be a foam mattress that is a different brand, but Secret said he needs that particular brand. I don't think we can swing that at this time.
If the boys can't come up with ideas for gifts that they don't already have, are safe and healthy, and affordable, I'm going to just buy them clothes. In the past, they wept when they received clothes for a gift but I'm running out of ideas.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Thanksgiving Blessings
As the holiday of Thanksgiving comes and goes, in addition to planning who will make the sweet potatoes, we should reflect on what we have and do so with a spirit of gratitude. With that in mind, here are a few things for which I am grateful.
I'm grateful that even though my kids complain when I experiment with a new recipe, and even if they don't like what I serve for dinner, we have food to put on our table. After school wasn't canceled during the last snow storm, Secret Service said he heard that the school system was relutant to cancel because for children who are eligible for free or reduced priced breakfast and lunch, canceling school could mean a day of going hungry. It was hard to hear that there are children who might not get food if they weren't at school. Secret and I looked at each other sadly.
Lately, someone (I suspect Sport) has been leaving their dirty socks in the living room and as much as I haven't enjoyed that, I am grateful that although none of us clean or organize the house as much as I'd like, we have a house to live in, a place to call home.
I am grateful that Science Girl and I each have reliable transportation. (I may not value this as much next year - Secret Service claims that he can get his drivers permit in June and he's started eying the cars in a way that makes me nervous.)
I'm grateful that if I ever had a day where I could sleep past 7:30 AM (and if I could stay asleep), Secret Service sleeps in and Sport is old enough and independent enough that when he wakes, he quietly watch TV shows, even if they are shows that I would like to prohibit.
I'm grateful that we have family and friends with whom to share our lives. I expecially enjoy meeting and getting to know the kids who Secret and Sport choose as friends and feel glad that my kids do such a good job picking friends.
And last but certainly not the least, I'm grateful that our family is healthy. I don't want to ever take that for granted.
I'm grateful that even though my kids complain when I experiment with a new recipe, and even if they don't like what I serve for dinner, we have food to put on our table. After school wasn't canceled during the last snow storm, Secret Service said he heard that the school system was relutant to cancel because for children who are eligible for free or reduced priced breakfast and lunch, canceling school could mean a day of going hungry. It was hard to hear that there are children who might not get food if they weren't at school. Secret and I looked at each other sadly.
Lately, someone (I suspect Sport) has been leaving their dirty socks in the living room and as much as I haven't enjoyed that, I am grateful that although none of us clean or organize the house as much as I'd like, we have a house to live in, a place to call home.
I am grateful that Science Girl and I each have reliable transportation. (I may not value this as much next year - Secret Service claims that he can get his drivers permit in June and he's started eying the cars in a way that makes me nervous.)
I'm grateful that if I ever had a day where I could sleep past 7:30 AM (and if I could stay asleep), Secret Service sleeps in and Sport is old enough and independent enough that when he wakes, he quietly watch TV shows, even if they are shows that I would like to prohibit.
I'm grateful that we have family and friends with whom to share our lives. I expecially enjoy meeting and getting to know the kids who Secret and Sport choose as friends and feel glad that my kids do such a good job picking friends.
And last but certainly not the least, I'm grateful that our family is healthy. I don't want to ever take that for granted.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Stay where I can see you
When the boys got old enough to walk independently, they immediately set out to investigate their world, which meant crawling, walking, running, hop, skip and jumping away from wherever I was. Initially, I tried to stop them, to keep them in my arms or in a stroller. When that proved impossible, I started to say, "Stay where I can see you." They came to understood that they didn't have to stand right next to me if they stayed nearby.
I said those words for years, they were my mantra, part of my everyday routine with the boys, like "brush your teeth" or "get ready for bed." But now, through no fault of their own, those words don't fit anymore, the boys have grown out of them like so many of their baby onesies and toddler overalls.
Yesterday Science Girl and I both had commitments that kept us from being able to pick up the boys from their respective schools. For the first time ever, Secret Service independently took the city bus and then walked home from the bus stop. Sport took a school bus, which he has done before. I had the boys each contact me when they'd reached the house. I was proud of them for their independence and relieved that I could trust them to get home on their own.
But, sad, too. The boys are at ages where they are more often out of my sight. Secret Service in particular is more and more out of my sight. Recently, he and a friend went to a shopping mall and movie together, with no grown-up accompaniment. Also, no grown ups were present when he and his friends went to watch the high school soccer team compete in a tournament.
What I've decided is that developmental milestones are more challenging for the parents than the kids. Secret seems happy to be let out of the house on his own recognizance. Sport is thrilled to be given the opportunity to get home from school on his own. It's just Mommy who feels a bit of confusion and loss. I can't always glance up and see my boys. Lately, they are not always where I can see them.
I said those words for years, they were my mantra, part of my everyday routine with the boys, like "brush your teeth" or "get ready for bed." But now, through no fault of their own, those words don't fit anymore, the boys have grown out of them like so many of their baby onesies and toddler overalls.
Yesterday Science Girl and I both had commitments that kept us from being able to pick up the boys from their respective schools. For the first time ever, Secret Service independently took the city bus and then walked home from the bus stop. Sport took a school bus, which he has done before. I had the boys each contact me when they'd reached the house. I was proud of them for their independence and relieved that I could trust them to get home on their own.
But, sad, too. The boys are at ages where they are more often out of my sight. Secret Service in particular is more and more out of my sight. Recently, he and a friend went to a shopping mall and movie together, with no grown-up accompaniment. Also, no grown ups were present when he and his friends went to watch the high school soccer team compete in a tournament.
What I've decided is that developmental milestones are more challenging for the parents than the kids. Secret seems happy to be let out of the house on his own recognizance. Sport is thrilled to be given the opportunity to get home from school on his own. It's just Mommy who feels a bit of confusion and loss. I can't always glance up and see my boys. Lately, they are not always where I can see them.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Winter Comes to Denver
On facebook, I read excerpts that my friends post, sharing details about what they are doing. It pretty much always sounds great. Do you suppose my friends are telling it like it really is? Here is my excerpt from our evening, with parentheses around details I would omit on facebook.
Here in Denver, we are enjoying (I am not!) our second snowfall of the season. The beautiful, white snow blankets the house (and is treacherous to drive in). (I'm worried that we're going to have to shell out @ $400 for Science Girl to have snow tires since she has a long, daily commute to work and we're on our second snow and it is only Nov. 3.) Science Girl made delicious chili (but, of course the kids won't eat it). I love having something warm to eat on a cold night.
When the kids got home from school yesterday, they were excited to get outside (to make a huge mess playing in the snow). (I asked them to shovel the sidewalk but instead, they used the shovels to pick up snow and scatter it around and to hit each other.) The snow came so early this year and the boys are growing so fast that we realized they both need new snow boots. (Holy Cow! More $$$. Also, I don't have any idea when I'll have time to do this.) (When they were finished outside, they both tracked in chunks of snow and ice, and ran upstairs, leaving all their snow gear in a messy pile on the floor by the front door.)
Later, (under protest) Sport read aloud to Science Girl while Secret Service and I completed some household chores. Secret has (grudgingly) agreed to do some extra things around the house as a way to pay back some money he owes. We worked together (he had to be watched constantly as any time I didn't stay vigilant, he stopped working and started pushing buttons on his phone). Secret worked diligently (with only the use of one hand as his other hand had to hold on to his cell phone at all times) and learned to clean mirrors, dust the wooden staircase (at one point spraying the cleaner in his eye and then trying to use this as a reason to stop), and vacuum staircases. The house is really starting to sparkle (or maybe it looks that way to me because I got cleaner in my eye, too).
Afterwards, I made a loaf of banana bread. It smelled delicious (until it baked too long, the bottom got burned and the kids refused to eat it even when I cut the burnt piece off). At bedtime, I placed extra blankets on each bed. The boys snuggled in (Secret still clutching his phone) and looked so sweet. (All was quiet untill Sport started coughing, threw up from coughing, took cough syrup and returned to bed.) A nice (not!) start to winter.
Here in Denver, we are enjoying (I am not!) our second snowfall of the season. The beautiful, white snow blankets the house (and is treacherous to drive in). (I'm worried that we're going to have to shell out @ $400 for Science Girl to have snow tires since she has a long, daily commute to work and we're on our second snow and it is only Nov. 3.) Science Girl made delicious chili (but, of course the kids won't eat it). I love having something warm to eat on a cold night.
When the kids got home from school yesterday, they were excited to get outside (to make a huge mess playing in the snow). (I asked them to shovel the sidewalk but instead, they used the shovels to pick up snow and scatter it around and to hit each other.) The snow came so early this year and the boys are growing so fast that we realized they both need new snow boots. (Holy Cow! More $$$. Also, I don't have any idea when I'll have time to do this.) (When they were finished outside, they both tracked in chunks of snow and ice, and ran upstairs, leaving all their snow gear in a messy pile on the floor by the front door.)
Later, (under protest) Sport read aloud to Science Girl while Secret Service and I completed some household chores. Secret has (grudgingly) agreed to do some extra things around the house as a way to pay back some money he owes. We worked together (he had to be watched constantly as any time I didn't stay vigilant, he stopped working and started pushing buttons on his phone). Secret worked diligently (with only the use of one hand as his other hand had to hold on to his cell phone at all times) and learned to clean mirrors, dust the wooden staircase (at one point spraying the cleaner in his eye and then trying to use this as a reason to stop), and vacuum staircases. The house is really starting to sparkle (or maybe it looks that way to me because I got cleaner in my eye, too).
Afterwards, I made a loaf of banana bread. It smelled delicious (until it baked too long, the bottom got burned and the kids refused to eat it even when I cut the burnt piece off). At bedtime, I placed extra blankets on each bed. The boys snuggled in (Secret still clutching his phone) and looked so sweet. (All was quiet untill Sport started coughing, threw up from coughing, took cough syrup and returned to bed.) A nice (not!) start to winter.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Grocery Store
Last night, after dinner, Science Girl initiated a trip to the grocery store, saying she needed to purchase cayenne pepper. It seems that Science Girl had carefully planted flower bulbs in very precise rows, only to realize that rabbits were undoing and disrupting her design. Her gardening buddies had instructed her to spread cayenne pepper on top of the bulbs she'd planted, saying this would keep the rabbits away.
Science Girl looked surprised when I announced we would all accompany her. I thought it would be a good time to get the boys to each fill a bag of food items to donate to the food bank, a project our synagogue does every year. And, I wanted Secret Service to find something that he'd be willing to eat for lunch at school.
When we arrived at the store, Secret Service claimed he was thirsty and asked to buy a soda. I said no. Sport asked for candy. I said no. I reminded them why we'd come to the store. Secret Service shrugged and said he didn't have an opinion on what to buy for the food bank. He wandered off, presumably to shop for something that he could take to school for lunch. Sport enthusiastically suggested we buy sushi for the food bank. Even though we'd talked about this in the car on the way to the store, I re-explained the concept of a pantry and of needing to select food with a shelf life.
Sport and I walked to the cereal aisle. I told him to pick a cereal for the food bank using one of the coupons I had. Sport said he didn't like any of those cereals. I explained again that these cereals weren't for us. As we were finalizing our selections, Secret Service re-appeared, holding a box of pretzels, saying these would make a good lunch. I said no. Secret Service and Sport started to shove each other and then ran off, chasing each other.
I meandered over to the bean aisle. A minute later, Sport ran up, sweating, panting, and looking over his shoulder. I said, "Pick two bags of beans, the ones for $.99." Quickly, Sport grabbed one bag of kidney beans, threw it in the cart and then, still looking over his shoulder, darted off. Meanwhile, Secret Service came back around, nothing in his hands, claiming he couldn't find anything that he'd want to eat for lunch.
I found Science Girl, perusing the spices. Breathless, Sport appeared, inquired about the cayenne, protested, saying that the cayenne was a bad idea because small children in the neighborhood liked to dig in our garden and then lick their hands. I eyed him, suspiciously. I said, "I've never seen any small children in our garden. I have seen you in there." Just then, Secret Service approached and Sport, a big smile on this face, attempted to trip Secret Service. They started to punch each other.
The grown ups separated the boys and then to divide and conquer, Science Girl went with Secret Service into the deli department to find something for his lunch. I took Sport in a different direction, the pasta aisle, where he chose packages of spaghetti for our food bank donation. Sport had a lot of other ideas too, insisting that watermelon would be a great addition to the items for the food bank. Eventually, with Science Girl's help, Secret Service agreed to some roast beef. However, he explained that he'd rather buy his lunch at the restaurants around his school and didn't understand why we wouldn't give him more than $10 a week to do so. I explained I'd like to eat my lunch out every day too, but it was just too expensive. Secret Service became engrossed in a rack of gift cards and Sport was admiring the watermelons. I selected the rest of the items for the food bank.
On the way home, everyone was quiet, thinking their own thoughts about gift cards, watermelon, cayenne pepper and the like. Another successful shopping trip.
Science Girl looked surprised when I announced we would all accompany her. I thought it would be a good time to get the boys to each fill a bag of food items to donate to the food bank, a project our synagogue does every year. And, I wanted Secret Service to find something that he'd be willing to eat for lunch at school.
When we arrived at the store, Secret Service claimed he was thirsty and asked to buy a soda. I said no. Sport asked for candy. I said no. I reminded them why we'd come to the store. Secret Service shrugged and said he didn't have an opinion on what to buy for the food bank. He wandered off, presumably to shop for something that he could take to school for lunch. Sport enthusiastically suggested we buy sushi for the food bank. Even though we'd talked about this in the car on the way to the store, I re-explained the concept of a pantry and of needing to select food with a shelf life.
Sport and I walked to the cereal aisle. I told him to pick a cereal for the food bank using one of the coupons I had. Sport said he didn't like any of those cereals. I explained again that these cereals weren't for us. As we were finalizing our selections, Secret Service re-appeared, holding a box of pretzels, saying these would make a good lunch. I said no. Secret Service and Sport started to shove each other and then ran off, chasing each other.
I meandered over to the bean aisle. A minute later, Sport ran up, sweating, panting, and looking over his shoulder. I said, "Pick two bags of beans, the ones for $.99." Quickly, Sport grabbed one bag of kidney beans, threw it in the cart and then, still looking over his shoulder, darted off. Meanwhile, Secret Service came back around, nothing in his hands, claiming he couldn't find anything that he'd want to eat for lunch.
I found Science Girl, perusing the spices. Breathless, Sport appeared, inquired about the cayenne, protested, saying that the cayenne was a bad idea because small children in the neighborhood liked to dig in our garden and then lick their hands. I eyed him, suspiciously. I said, "I've never seen any small children in our garden. I have seen you in there." Just then, Secret Service approached and Sport, a big smile on this face, attempted to trip Secret Service. They started to punch each other.
The grown ups separated the boys and then to divide and conquer, Science Girl went with Secret Service into the deli department to find something for his lunch. I took Sport in a different direction, the pasta aisle, where he chose packages of spaghetti for our food bank donation. Sport had a lot of other ideas too, insisting that watermelon would be a great addition to the items for the food bank. Eventually, with Science Girl's help, Secret Service agreed to some roast beef. However, he explained that he'd rather buy his lunch at the restaurants around his school and didn't understand why we wouldn't give him more than $10 a week to do so. I explained I'd like to eat my lunch out every day too, but it was just too expensive. Secret Service became engrossed in a rack of gift cards and Sport was admiring the watermelons. I selected the rest of the items for the food bank.
On the way home, everyone was quiet, thinking their own thoughts about gift cards, watermelon, cayenne pepper and the like. Another successful shopping trip.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Summer Wrap-Up
As I prepare to wrap up my second full month of blogging, I wanted to give a shout out to some of the places I have referenced in the blog and to some that I should have.
Secret Service and I had a good shopping experience at K & G Fashion Superstore http://www.kgmens.com/ and I would recommend it to those looking for boys or menswear. The one we went to had an independent tailor shop within it, which made it super convenient. Also, we found a great selection of reasonably priced men's dress shoes at http://offbroadwayshoes.com/ Off Broadway Shoes. Those of you with teenagers know that their feet grow before the rest of their body and when Secret and I took the shoes to the counter to pay, the salesclerk looked surprised. She glanced at the size 9 (!) shoes and at Secret, who is holding steady at about 5'2" and said, "Are these for him?" On the way home, Secret, impressed by the size of his own feet, asked me if I'd ever heard that shoe size was related to . . . I acknowledged that I'd heard that, but didn't think there was truth in it. Still, I could tell he was hopeful.
I haven't been browsing http://foodnetwork.com/ the Food Network site as much since having to singlehandedly eat Paula Deens' spaghetti pie for five days, but I still recommend it when you are looking for inspiration for something new to cook.
This summer, did anyone watch http://nbc.com/americas-got-talent/ America's Got Talent? It became a ritual for our family to sit down together. We all had our favorite acts, but I have to admit that Landau Eugene Murphy, Jr. was my man from the beginning. I can't remember the last time I bought music but when he releases an album, I'm lining up. There is something about his humble personality, rags to riches story and unexpected talent that just makes me smile.
It's Autumn. Any traditions or rituals that you enjoy this time of year?
Secret Service and I had a good shopping experience at K & G Fashion Superstore http://www.kgmens.com/ and I would recommend it to those looking for boys or menswear. The one we went to had an independent tailor shop within it, which made it super convenient. Also, we found a great selection of reasonably priced men's dress shoes at http://offbroadwayshoes.com/ Off Broadway Shoes. Those of you with teenagers know that their feet grow before the rest of their body and when Secret and I took the shoes to the counter to pay, the salesclerk looked surprised. She glanced at the size 9 (!) shoes and at Secret, who is holding steady at about 5'2" and said, "Are these for him?" On the way home, Secret, impressed by the size of his own feet, asked me if I'd ever heard that shoe size was related to . . . I acknowledged that I'd heard that, but didn't think there was truth in it. Still, I could tell he was hopeful.
I haven't been browsing http://foodnetwork.com/ the Food Network site as much since having to singlehandedly eat Paula Deens' spaghetti pie for five days, but I still recommend it when you are looking for inspiration for something new to cook.
This summer, did anyone watch http://nbc.com/americas-got-talent/ America's Got Talent? It became a ritual for our family to sit down together. We all had our favorite acts, but I have to admit that Landau Eugene Murphy, Jr. was my man from the beginning. I can't remember the last time I bought music but when he releases an album, I'm lining up. There is something about his humble personality, rags to riches story and unexpected talent that just makes me smile.
It's Autumn. Any traditions or rituals that you enjoy this time of year?
Monday, September 26, 2011
Suit Shopping with a Growing Boy
On Sunday, I took Secret Service clothes shopping. Secret hates clothes shopping and tries to convince me to go to the store without him, buy several varieties of outfits in various sizes for him, bring them home, have him try them on and then return whatever doesn't fit. Actually, Secret doesn't feel it is necessary to try on clothes, he thinks you can get an accurate measurement by holding the clothes up against your body.
Secret Service needed a new suit for the Speech and Debate class that he inadvertently signed up for and has been trying to quit ever since he got to the class and understood that he would actually have to give a speech or debate someone about something. Supposedly, he has written a speech and possibly even memorized it. Science Girl and I have not seen or heard the speech and Secret says if he has anything to do with it, we won't be seeing or hearing him perform it.
I asked a few friends about places to buy a reasonably priced suit for my growth-spurting boy. One friend suggested I get a suit for Secret at a thrift store. I explained that Secret has a rule about not wearing clothes that have been previously worn by others. While we drove to the clothing store, Secret, in more of an expansive mood than usual, chatted about how his first car is going to be a Mercedes. Secret reviewed some data on his phone and announced he can get a new Mercedes for $34,000 and if he earned $10,000 a year, he'd pretty much have the money in a little more than three years. Secret was not forthcoming on how he'd earn the $10,000 each year but didn't seem worried so I decided not to worry either. I am driving a Mazda so I wished him well and reminded him to budget for insurance.
I took Secret to a discount clothing store. He was unimpressed with the selection and said he suspected it was a consignment shop (which it was not!). While there, for the first time, Secret gave me a few more details, supposedly from the Speech and Debate teacher. Secret said the suit had to be solid black or grey, no pinstripes or navy. Secret also said the teacher told them to buy a good quality suit, "an expensive suit," because they'd be wearing it a lot and should look good and be comfortable. Not finding anything that met that criteria, we went on to another discount menswear store. In this store, Secret became insistent on buying a suit that I could tell was already too small for him. Trying to be patient (it isn't really one of my virtues), I explained that as a teenager he won't be getting smaller and instead, will be growing larger. I said that a suit that is too small today will be even smaller tomorrow. Thinking I'd handled that well, I was not happy when Secret said, "I disagree." However, it made me appreciate his potential for debate, his ability to defend a ridiculous position.
When we found a suit that was solid black, fit him and that he actually looked terrific in, Secret was unhappy. He wanted to spend all my money and the suit was a reasonable price. He perked up a little when he discovered I'd have to pay additional for alterations. We pick it up next week.
Secret Service needed a new suit for the Speech and Debate class that he inadvertently signed up for and has been trying to quit ever since he got to the class and understood that he would actually have to give a speech or debate someone about something. Supposedly, he has written a speech and possibly even memorized it. Science Girl and I have not seen or heard the speech and Secret says if he has anything to do with it, we won't be seeing or hearing him perform it.
I asked a few friends about places to buy a reasonably priced suit for my growth-spurting boy. One friend suggested I get a suit for Secret at a thrift store. I explained that Secret has a rule about not wearing clothes that have been previously worn by others. While we drove to the clothing store, Secret, in more of an expansive mood than usual, chatted about how his first car is going to be a Mercedes. Secret reviewed some data on his phone and announced he can get a new Mercedes for $34,000 and if he earned $10,000 a year, he'd pretty much have the money in a little more than three years. Secret was not forthcoming on how he'd earn the $10,000 each year but didn't seem worried so I decided not to worry either. I am driving a Mazda so I wished him well and reminded him to budget for insurance.
I took Secret to a discount clothing store. He was unimpressed with the selection and said he suspected it was a consignment shop (which it was not!). While there, for the first time, Secret gave me a few more details, supposedly from the Speech and Debate teacher. Secret said the suit had to be solid black or grey, no pinstripes or navy. Secret also said the teacher told them to buy a good quality suit, "an expensive suit," because they'd be wearing it a lot and should look good and be comfortable. Not finding anything that met that criteria, we went on to another discount menswear store. In this store, Secret became insistent on buying a suit that I could tell was already too small for him. Trying to be patient (it isn't really one of my virtues), I explained that as a teenager he won't be getting smaller and instead, will be growing larger. I said that a suit that is too small today will be even smaller tomorrow. Thinking I'd handled that well, I was not happy when Secret said, "I disagree." However, it made me appreciate his potential for debate, his ability to defend a ridiculous position.
When we found a suit that was solid black, fit him and that he actually looked terrific in, Secret was unhappy. He wanted to spend all my money and the suit was a reasonable price. He perked up a little when he discovered I'd have to pay additional for alterations. We pick it up next week.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Dinner Time
My current work schedule has allowed me the opportunity to plan and cook dinners at home, which I would enjoy if the boys would eat what I prepare. Instead, if one likes what I make, the other does not, and sometimes, neither likes it. I like trying new recipes so I had been scouring the Food Network site for ideas. Each evening, I would happily set the food on the table with recognition about the chef who created the recipe like, "Paula Deens' spaghetti pie." By the way, I thought Paula Deens' spaghetti pie was delicious, but neither boy would eat it. The recipe made enough for 12 people which resulted in a lot of leftovers for lunches for Science Girl and me. (Science Girl started to crumble when I packed the spaghetti pie in her lunch the third day and on day 4, she threatened to leave me if I sent it again.) After weeks of new recipes, but the same results, Science Girl did an intervention on me. She sat me down and had me look at the facts.
1. The boys (despite my best efforts) are not adventurous eaters.
2. (And, much like #1) - The boys want to eat the same foods over and over.
Her conclusion was that I should just make the foods they will eat. That leaves me with the following repertoire of dishes - burgers, steak, pasta, eggs, pizza. (Boring!)
I have heard that if kids help make the food, they are proud of their efforts and will be more invested in eating what they helped to prepare. I talked to each boy separately about developing a menu for a dinner. Sports' idea was to buy already prepared sushi and serve it. I nixed that so he's had to go back to the drawing board. Secret Service suggested making egg drop soup. He's made it before and both boys love it. I was encouraged - an idea I could work with. "What else should we serve?' I asked. Secret looked confused. "That's all," he said. "That's the whole meal?" He nodded.
So, as I write my grocery list, filled with the same old items, I can't help but check out the Food Network site, looking for recipes for tofu (I could pass it off as a pale burger) or calzones (like pizza but inside the double crust). I hope I can find a compromise between what they want and what I want.
1. The boys (despite my best efforts) are not adventurous eaters.
2. (And, much like #1) - The boys want to eat the same foods over and over.
Her conclusion was that I should just make the foods they will eat. That leaves me with the following repertoire of dishes - burgers, steak, pasta, eggs, pizza. (Boring!)
I have heard that if kids help make the food, they are proud of their efforts and will be more invested in eating what they helped to prepare. I talked to each boy separately about developing a menu for a dinner. Sports' idea was to buy already prepared sushi and serve it. I nixed that so he's had to go back to the drawing board. Secret Service suggested making egg drop soup. He's made it before and both boys love it. I was encouraged - an idea I could work with. "What else should we serve?' I asked. Secret looked confused. "That's all," he said. "That's the whole meal?" He nodded.
So, as I write my grocery list, filled with the same old items, I can't help but check out the Food Network site, looking for recipes for tofu (I could pass it off as a pale burger) or calzones (like pizza but inside the double crust). I hope I can find a compromise between what they want and what I want.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Letting Go
Sport is the kind of child who is rarely afraid of anything and as his mother, that makes me afraid for him. He is also a child who has a spiffy new bike and attends an elementary school that encourages students to walk or ride their bikes to school each day. Sport, now in 5th grade, has launched a vigorous campaign to be one of those students. On the face of it, it sounds like a good deal, exercise and independence. He has a buddy who already has permission to ride his bike to school and that child's mom explained to me that she has extensively reviewed the safest route for the boys to take and expectations about being safe in traffic. I get that but the part of me that is a Social Worker and has listened to many stories of bad things happening to innocent children, leads me to want to give the bad guys of the world less opportunity to be near my child. Meanwhile, Sport isn't having any of it. He saw kids his own age and younger ride their bikes to the day camp this summer and pushed relentlessly to be able to do so. Our compromise was that he could ride his bike but I would follow him in the car.
Recently, when I lamented to two friends about Sports' insistence to bike to school, they (separately) said, "Don't you want him to be independent? It got me thinking. While I don't want my boys living in our basement in their adulthood, I don't feel any urgency to have them become independent now.
The Internet said the preteen years are an important time for children to begin developing responsible behavior. In a study found on the Internet, it said Generation O youngsters (O is for optimistic and opportunistic) are growing up younger. Enfranchised by information technology, they are more independent and sophisticated than their predecessors and more confident about what they can achieve. I don't know if Sport is considered part of Generation O, but that description fits him. He cheerfully and enthusiastically insists on his independence.
Sport and I have come to a new compromise. He can join his buddy to ride to and from school two days a week. Sport is thrilled but I am still filled with great trepidation. In the morning, I stand at the house and watch them go. I don't get in the car to follow them.
Recently, when I lamented to two friends about Sports' insistence to bike to school, they (separately) said, "Don't you want him to be independent? It got me thinking. While I don't want my boys living in our basement in their adulthood, I don't feel any urgency to have them become independent now.
The Internet said the preteen years are an important time for children to begin developing responsible behavior. In a study found on the Internet, it said Generation O youngsters (O is for optimistic and opportunistic) are growing up younger. Enfranchised by information technology, they are more independent and sophisticated than their predecessors and more confident about what they can achieve. I don't know if Sport is considered part of Generation O, but that description fits him. He cheerfully and enthusiastically insists on his independence.
Sport and I have come to a new compromise. He can join his buddy to ride to and from school two days a week. Sport is thrilled but I am still filled with great trepidation. In the morning, I stand at the house and watch them go. I don't get in the car to follow them.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Family Car Trips
I was re-reading a book that I have,"101 Things Every Kid Should Do Growing Up," by Alecia T. Devantier. I have enjoyed seeing her ideas about what makes an ideal childhood. One of her ideas is that every kid should experience a family car trip. It got me to reminiscing about some of our family car trips.
Ever since Secret Service was small, he enjoyed all modes of transportation except the car. He admired buses, trains, always had a passion for airplanes, enjoyed a boat ride. But, get him in the car and he becomes unpleasant.
Several years ago, Science Girl had accumulated some Marriott points and since we had no plans to go out of town in the foreseeable future, we thought it would be fun to take our then 5 year old and 1 year old to a town 40 minutes away. We knew that Secret Service was not a fan of a long car ride but we prepared him for a "long" car ride, saying we were going on a vacation and would stay at a hotel. We were smug, thinking that before he could begin to complain, we'd surprise him by already being at our destination. Late on a Friday afternoon, we packed up and Science Girl eased the car onto the highway. We shared a smile as we handed Secret a book to look at, a stuffed animal to hold and put on one of his favorite music tapes.
Soon, Secret pierced the relative quiet of the car by starting the chant, known to parents everywhere. "Are we there yet?' he asked. I looked at the clock. We'd been in the car for 7 minutes.
"Where could we be?" I asked, as if he'd have a sensible answer. I turned to Science Girl, "How could we be at a vacation destination in 7 minutes?" I was indignant. To no one in particular, I exclaimed, "We couldn't even be at the airport in 7 minutes!" Of course, Secret was not interested in these details, he just continued to intermittently whine about it for the next 33 minutes.
I thought maybe 5 was too young to appreciate a family car trip so when Secret was 8, we drove with both boys from Portland, Oregon to Seattle, Washington, with a stop at Mount St. Helen. Secret had professed an interest in Mount St Helen. We handed the kids books, music, snacks. This time, because Secret was so much older and more mature, it took 20 minutes before he started to complain. Sport was 4, old enough to have something to say, and he mimicked his older brother, both complaining at various times that they were bored, hungry, thirsty, their legs were stiff or alternately numb. The author of "101 Things Every Kid Should Do Growing Up" suggests that on the family car trip, you should turn off the radio and teach your children the songs you sang on car trips when you were a kid. Science Girl and I have lovely voices and both were in choruses while growing up, but when we launched into a melodic "B-I-N-G-O" our children became mutinous. From the back seat, they started to argue with each other. I had one of those cosmic kicks in the head when I realized that without ever seeing my sisters and me as children, they were doing a dead-on impersonation of us squabbling about being on each other's side, pushing and shoving each other. Our pictures from Mount St. Helen show all of us looking grim, like we were concerned about being so close to harms' way (the volcano) but really we dreaded having to climb back into the car with each other.
This last March, we were on a family car trip from the Colorado mountains, returning to Denver. Taking another idea from "101 Things," I asked the boys (13 and 9 years old at the time) if they wanted to play license plate spelling, where you make words with the letters in the license plates of passing cars. To say they weren't interested would be a gross understatement. We were approaching an outlet mall and I signaled for Science Girl to stop so I could do a little shopping. The boys were indignant, saying that they wanted to get home as soon as possible. Secret turned to his brother, "She couldn't do this if we were in an airplane," he said. Sport agreed.
Ever since Secret Service was small, he enjoyed all modes of transportation except the car. He admired buses, trains, always had a passion for airplanes, enjoyed a boat ride. But, get him in the car and he becomes unpleasant.
Several years ago, Science Girl had accumulated some Marriott points and since we had no plans to go out of town in the foreseeable future, we thought it would be fun to take our then 5 year old and 1 year old to a town 40 minutes away. We knew that Secret Service was not a fan of a long car ride but we prepared him for a "long" car ride, saying we were going on a vacation and would stay at a hotel. We were smug, thinking that before he could begin to complain, we'd surprise him by already being at our destination. Late on a Friday afternoon, we packed up and Science Girl eased the car onto the highway. We shared a smile as we handed Secret a book to look at, a stuffed animal to hold and put on one of his favorite music tapes.
Soon, Secret pierced the relative quiet of the car by starting the chant, known to parents everywhere. "Are we there yet?' he asked. I looked at the clock. We'd been in the car for 7 minutes.
"Where could we be?" I asked, as if he'd have a sensible answer. I turned to Science Girl, "How could we be at a vacation destination in 7 minutes?" I was indignant. To no one in particular, I exclaimed, "We couldn't even be at the airport in 7 minutes!" Of course, Secret was not interested in these details, he just continued to intermittently whine about it for the next 33 minutes.
I thought maybe 5 was too young to appreciate a family car trip so when Secret was 8, we drove with both boys from Portland, Oregon to Seattle, Washington, with a stop at Mount St. Helen. Secret had professed an interest in Mount St Helen. We handed the kids books, music, snacks. This time, because Secret was so much older and more mature, it took 20 minutes before he started to complain. Sport was 4, old enough to have something to say, and he mimicked his older brother, both complaining at various times that they were bored, hungry, thirsty, their legs were stiff or alternately numb. The author of "101 Things Every Kid Should Do Growing Up" suggests that on the family car trip, you should turn off the radio and teach your children the songs you sang on car trips when you were a kid. Science Girl and I have lovely voices and both were in choruses while growing up, but when we launched into a melodic "B-I-N-G-O" our children became mutinous. From the back seat, they started to argue with each other. I had one of those cosmic kicks in the head when I realized that without ever seeing my sisters and me as children, they were doing a dead-on impersonation of us squabbling about being on each other's side, pushing and shoving each other. Our pictures from Mount St. Helen show all of us looking grim, like we were concerned about being so close to harms' way (the volcano) but really we dreaded having to climb back into the car with each other.
This last March, we were on a family car trip from the Colorado mountains, returning to Denver. Taking another idea from "101 Things," I asked the boys (13 and 9 years old at the time) if they wanted to play license plate spelling, where you make words with the letters in the license plates of passing cars. To say they weren't interested would be a gross understatement. We were approaching an outlet mall and I signaled for Science Girl to stop so I could do a little shopping. The boys were indignant, saying that they wanted to get home as soon as possible. Secret turned to his brother, "She couldn't do this if we were in an airplane," he said. Sport agreed.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Sunday Evening
After dinner and cleaning the kitchen, I began to fantasize about laying in my bed. I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to relax, recline, lounge, surrounded by my books, today's unread newspaper, pens, paper, laptop, remote, all within easy reach.
But first, I had to supervise the boys completing some overdue tasks like straightening up their rooms. I had my no-nonsense drill sergeant persona going and we were making some progress when my parents phoned. Hoping to divert my focus, Secret answered the phone, had a short chat with his grandparents where he sweetly asked them to get him a debit card (thankfully, they declined) and then handed the phone to me. When I initiated a conversation, the boys ran off, later claiming that they thought they'd done a terrific job on their rooms and had legitimately been excused. I finished my phone call and lassoed them back to the tasks at hand.
After the rooms were minimally tidied, Sport was directed to get in bed with the book he is supposedly reading for school. Through no fault of his (at least that is what he said), he couldn't comply because he couldn't find the book. Following a successful search and rescue, Sport got in bed with the book. Gleeful, thinking I was close to my own goal of climbing into my bed, I celebrated by folding a load of laundry that had been in the dryer for the entire weekend. As I finished, Secret Service approached and confided that while riding his bike through a small pond earlier in the day, his shoes had mysteriously become wet. Another hunt commenced, this one for Secrets' old pair of shoes. Another success! We found both shoes (don't you hate it when you can only find one?) and put them in a prominent place so that Secret could easily locate them tomorrow.
I could feel myself getting closer to being able to relax in bed. On my way, I let the dog outside to do his business, the woman I carpool with texted me to organize this week's driving, I mediated an argument between the boys about whose turn it was to have the dog sleep in their room, moved clothes from the washer into the dryer, filled Sports' humidifier, and got Secret a box of tissues. Every time I turned around, Sport was out of bed for one reason or another. I tucked him in three times, eventually issuing an ultimatum that if he popped up again he'd go to bed 30 minutes earlier tomorrow.
Finally, I was in my bed. Unfortunately, it was time to go to sleep.
But first, I had to supervise the boys completing some overdue tasks like straightening up their rooms. I had my no-nonsense drill sergeant persona going and we were making some progress when my parents phoned. Hoping to divert my focus, Secret answered the phone, had a short chat with his grandparents where he sweetly asked them to get him a debit card (thankfully, they declined) and then handed the phone to me. When I initiated a conversation, the boys ran off, later claiming that they thought they'd done a terrific job on their rooms and had legitimately been excused. I finished my phone call and lassoed them back to the tasks at hand.
After the rooms were minimally tidied, Sport was directed to get in bed with the book he is supposedly reading for school. Through no fault of his (at least that is what he said), he couldn't comply because he couldn't find the book. Following a successful search and rescue, Sport got in bed with the book. Gleeful, thinking I was close to my own goal of climbing into my bed, I celebrated by folding a load of laundry that had been in the dryer for the entire weekend. As I finished, Secret Service approached and confided that while riding his bike through a small pond earlier in the day, his shoes had mysteriously become wet. Another hunt commenced, this one for Secrets' old pair of shoes. Another success! We found both shoes (don't you hate it when you can only find one?) and put them in a prominent place so that Secret could easily locate them tomorrow.
I could feel myself getting closer to being able to relax in bed. On my way, I let the dog outside to do his business, the woman I carpool with texted me to organize this week's driving, I mediated an argument between the boys about whose turn it was to have the dog sleep in their room, moved clothes from the washer into the dryer, filled Sports' humidifier, and got Secret a box of tissues. Every time I turned around, Sport was out of bed for one reason or another. I tucked him in three times, eventually issuing an ultimatum that if he popped up again he'd go to bed 30 minutes earlier tomorrow.
Finally, I was in my bed. Unfortunately, it was time to go to sleep.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
"Where?" - Part 2 or The Plight of the Two Car Family
Science Girl and I share the monumental task of driving the boys to and from school and extracurricular activities. Both boys have backpacks filled with important schoolwork. And they both have bags filled with sports equipment. When they are driven home, we always remind them to get their things out of the car. Sometimes they listen, but other times . . .
Secret Service believes in traveling light and not doing any task that isn’t absolutely necessary. For those reasons, he has been the premier violator of the rule that you take your things with you when you exit the vehicle. We very ineffectively have repeatedly reminded him. One afternoon last spring, he suddenly realized that Science Girl had left on a business trip in her car with his school backpack, homework and school issued laptop computer in the backseat. Secret said he had homework to complete and had to have all those things with him at school the next day. We bonded by pacing and hyperventilating. We called Science Girl, who was en route to the airport. After delivering an “I told you” lecture to Secret, she told us where she planned to park the car so that we could retrieve his important items. Looking at my key ring, I remembered that I’d lost my key to Science Girl’s car. I received an “I told you” lecture and she promised to leave the car unlocked.
We jumped into my car, Secret, Sport and for good company, the dog (who was an unwitting bystander to the craziness), and drove to the airport parking lot. We entered the huge lot and surprisingly were able to find the car without any problem. I allowed myself a moment of jubilation before we pulled the door handle and found Science Girls’ car to be locked. More hyperventilating. Secret and I unraveled a bit, each blaming the other for the dilemma we were in. Then, we pulled ourselves together and joined forces against Science Girl. Why was the car locked when we’d told her not to do so? I called Science Girl, ready to give her a piece of my mind, but she defended herself saying she believed she’d left the car unlocked and that some misguided #@!% good Samaritan must have locked it. Secret and I started to whimper, Sport said he was bored, the dog looked confused.
Science Girl had an idea – ask the workers at the parking lot to break into the car. I approached them hesitantly. Maybe they pitied us (I think the dog added a bit of Grapes of Wrath poignancy to the picture) but whatever the reason, they agreed to help. Luckily, Science Girl had left the drivers’ side window open a crack and using a tool, they were able to open the door. Secret was reunited with his possessions, we thanked the people profusely.
On the drive back home, Sport suggested that we purchase one of those break-in-the-car devices so that we'd be prepared in the future. I assured him that Secret Service had learned his lesson. When we reached the house, the kids went inside and I took the dog for a short walk to reward him for his patience. When I returned, I glanced into the car. Secret had gone into the house leaving all the rescued items in the car. I made a mental note to make a copy of Science Girls car key.
Secret Service believes in traveling light and not doing any task that isn’t absolutely necessary. For those reasons, he has been the premier violator of the rule that you take your things with you when you exit the vehicle. We very ineffectively have repeatedly reminded him. One afternoon last spring, he suddenly realized that Science Girl had left on a business trip in her car with his school backpack, homework and school issued laptop computer in the backseat. Secret said he had homework to complete and had to have all those things with him at school the next day. We bonded by pacing and hyperventilating. We called Science Girl, who was en route to the airport. After delivering an “I told you” lecture to Secret, she told us where she planned to park the car so that we could retrieve his important items. Looking at my key ring, I remembered that I’d lost my key to Science Girl’s car. I received an “I told you” lecture and she promised to leave the car unlocked.
We jumped into my car, Secret, Sport and for good company, the dog (who was an unwitting bystander to the craziness), and drove to the airport parking lot. We entered the huge lot and surprisingly were able to find the car without any problem. I allowed myself a moment of jubilation before we pulled the door handle and found Science Girls’ car to be locked. More hyperventilating. Secret and I unraveled a bit, each blaming the other for the dilemma we were in. Then, we pulled ourselves together and joined forces against Science Girl. Why was the car locked when we’d told her not to do so? I called Science Girl, ready to give her a piece of my mind, but she defended herself saying she believed she’d left the car unlocked and that some misguided #@!% good Samaritan must have locked it. Secret and I started to whimper, Sport said he was bored, the dog looked confused.
Science Girl had an idea – ask the workers at the parking lot to break into the car. I approached them hesitantly. Maybe they pitied us (I think the dog added a bit of Grapes of Wrath poignancy to the picture) but whatever the reason, they agreed to help. Luckily, Science Girl had left the drivers’ side window open a crack and using a tool, they were able to open the door. Secret was reunited with his possessions, we thanked the people profusely.
On the drive back home, Sport suggested that we purchase one of those break-in-the-car devices so that we'd be prepared in the future. I assured him that Secret Service had learned his lesson. When we reached the house, the kids went inside and I took the dog for a short walk to reward him for his patience. When I returned, I glanced into the car. Secret had gone into the house leaving all the rescued items in the car. I made a mental note to make a copy of Science Girls car key.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
"Where?" - Part 1
The best case scenario for a school day morning is that the children are both in pleasant moods, getting ready as directed, no one is complaining of a malady that would keep them from attending. The worst case, one of the kids can't find something. Many of these things can be skillfully ignored except for the following - Where are my shoes and where is my homework? Both of these questions raise my heart rate and make me start to sweat. (It’s like aerobics – after this kind of morning, I don’t feel the need to work out.) In the blink of an eye, that one word, “where” can turn a sunny, happy morning into a disaster movie.
When this sort of catastrophe strikes, I want to be the calm mommy who murmurs reassuring things to the upset child like, “take a deep breath,” and helps them re-trace their steps to find the lost item. Or, I want to be the organized mommy who has designated a place for every item and sure enough, when we go hand in hand to look together, the items are just where they should be! Or, the natural and logical consequence mommy who lets the children figure it out themselves by asking helpful questions like, “How do you want to handle this?”
Instead, I am the kind of mommy who is already running late and starts racing around the house, scurrying this way and that way, frantically trying to find the items while alternately shouting ideas of places where they should look and mumbling PG-rated obscenities under my breath. Panicked, flushed, frenzied, the search continues. After the screaming (mine) and the tears (mine) fail to produce the missing item, I start to problem solve. I think I’ve had some clever solutions to these dire situations.
Last year, Secret Service had to wear dress shoes to his charter school each day and one morning when he couldn't find his current pair, I felt like I saved the day by finding the dress shoes from the year before. Instead of gratitude, Secret kept saying his toes were scrunched and going numb. Another time, Sport couldn't find his shoes and I managed to find a matched set of pool shoes. The pool shoes fit him and I thought we were ready to walk out the door but he objected, claiming that they weren't appropriate for a snowy day. I offered him a pair of socks but he still took exception to the plan. One time when Secret was younger and couldn't find his shoes, I tried to convince him that wearing a pair of slippers would be a good idea and make him appear creative and imaginative. He didn't buy it and either did Science Girl. She said it would make him look like he was on a day pass from a mental institution. The only time I was successful was when Sport was younger and I talked him into wearing bulky snow boots on a warm spring day by saying that they reminded me of the boots a clone trooper would wear and that if he found puddles or mud, he could jump in it and I'd be OK with that.
Once, when Secret Service and I were searching for his completed homework, we thought to look in the trash can. We discovered the homework, intact, but covered with coffee grounds. While we both hyperventilated, Science Girl, composed and unflappable, placed the stained paper (with coffee grounds clinging to it) in a large plastic baggy, much as she would handle something contaminated in the lab and happily presented this to Secret to take to school. Secret looked at her like she was handing him a severed head to take to show and tell.
Science Girl and I try so hard, I don't know why the kids aren't more appreciative.
When this sort of catastrophe strikes, I want to be the calm mommy who murmurs reassuring things to the upset child like, “take a deep breath,” and helps them re-trace their steps to find the lost item. Or, I want to be the organized mommy who has designated a place for every item and sure enough, when we go hand in hand to look together, the items are just where they should be! Or, the natural and logical consequence mommy who lets the children figure it out themselves by asking helpful questions like, “How do you want to handle this?”
Instead, I am the kind of mommy who is already running late and starts racing around the house, scurrying this way and that way, frantically trying to find the items while alternately shouting ideas of places where they should look and mumbling PG-rated obscenities under my breath. Panicked, flushed, frenzied, the search continues. After the screaming (mine) and the tears (mine) fail to produce the missing item, I start to problem solve. I think I’ve had some clever solutions to these dire situations.
Last year, Secret Service had to wear dress shoes to his charter school each day and one morning when he couldn't find his current pair, I felt like I saved the day by finding the dress shoes from the year before. Instead of gratitude, Secret kept saying his toes were scrunched and going numb. Another time, Sport couldn't find his shoes and I managed to find a matched set of pool shoes. The pool shoes fit him and I thought we were ready to walk out the door but he objected, claiming that they weren't appropriate for a snowy day. I offered him a pair of socks but he still took exception to the plan. One time when Secret was younger and couldn't find his shoes, I tried to convince him that wearing a pair of slippers would be a good idea and make him appear creative and imaginative. He didn't buy it and either did Science Girl. She said it would make him look like he was on a day pass from a mental institution. The only time I was successful was when Sport was younger and I talked him into wearing bulky snow boots on a warm spring day by saying that they reminded me of the boots a clone trooper would wear and that if he found puddles or mud, he could jump in it and I'd be OK with that.
Once, when Secret Service and I were searching for his completed homework, we thought to look in the trash can. We discovered the homework, intact, but covered with coffee grounds. While we both hyperventilated, Science Girl, composed and unflappable, placed the stained paper (with coffee grounds clinging to it) in a large plastic baggy, much as she would handle something contaminated in the lab and happily presented this to Secret to take to school. Secret looked at her like she was handing him a severed head to take to show and tell.
Science Girl and I try so hard, I don't know why the kids aren't more appreciative.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Household Chores
When we moved into our current home, four years ago, I saw an opportunity to have my boys be more active in working with us to maintain cleanliness. I had lofty long-term goals. As a liberated woman raising boys, I wanted to prepare them to be the kind of men who understand and appreciate being in an equal partnership with a spouse. And, also true but more practical, we didn’t have a maid and I hate housework.
Why do children only want to help you when they are incompetent? Secret Service was very helpful at age 2. He spent long periods of time standing on a chair at the kitchen sink, the water running (look – I know running the water was wasteful, but there were days when I could find no other way to appease him), “washing” Tupperware. Now, when I’d like him to wash dishes, he will not, cannot, bear the thought of touching dishes that had food on them.
Seeking a chore that he could execute, I tried to get Secret Service to help me fold laundry. Although he can make an intricate paper airplane, he cannot fold a towel in half. Eventually, through a tedious process of trial and error, Secret Service showed aptitude in vacuuming. (Sidebar confession -When Sport was 2 years old, a teacher showed him picture cards and asked that he identify the object on each card. I held my breath when the picture on the card showed a vacuum as I was sure Sport had never seen me push one of those, and I felt terrible that Sport would appear less bright due to his mother’s poor housekeeping. Luckily, Sport had been an avid viewer of enough TV that he recognized the contraption from the Teletubby show and was victorious in correctly answering the question.) Anyway, although Secret Service consents to vacuuming, being a clever fellow, he holds to the rule touted in the Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie when Rodrick, the oldest brother tells Greg, (paraphrased here) - “Don’t be good at anything you don’t like to do.” When Secret vacuums, he (I believe purposefully) periodically hits the vacuum against the furniture and even after being directed hundreds of times to move the ottoman out of the way, “forgets” to do so.
Sport was also extremely helpful when he was 2 years old but he’s more willing to help now, too. Sport wants to learn chores that seem to have an element of danger. Recently, with exuberance, he asked to be taught how to iron. I don’t see that as a good choice for Sport. Over time, Sports’ favorite chore has been to clean the bathrooms. He likes squirting products, enjoys using a toilet brush, doesn’t mind working up a sweat. A few years ago, as we were praising him lavishly, we realized we may have over-emphasized his proficiency when Sport announced that he thought he’d like to clean toilets for a living. I know being a janitor is honorable work but we were aiming a little higher for Sport.
When I've clarified the necessity of being prepared for adulthood, the boys have reassured me by explaining that when they are grown up, they will be rich and they will be hiring a housekeeper. I hope they'll pay for one for me, too.
Why do children only want to help you when they are incompetent? Secret Service was very helpful at age 2. He spent long periods of time standing on a chair at the kitchen sink, the water running (look – I know running the water was wasteful, but there were days when I could find no other way to appease him), “washing” Tupperware. Now, when I’d like him to wash dishes, he will not, cannot, bear the thought of touching dishes that had food on them.
Seeking a chore that he could execute, I tried to get Secret Service to help me fold laundry. Although he can make an intricate paper airplane, he cannot fold a towel in half. Eventually, through a tedious process of trial and error, Secret Service showed aptitude in vacuuming. (Sidebar confession -When Sport was 2 years old, a teacher showed him picture cards and asked that he identify the object on each card. I held my breath when the picture on the card showed a vacuum as I was sure Sport had never seen me push one of those, and I felt terrible that Sport would appear less bright due to his mother’s poor housekeeping. Luckily, Sport had been an avid viewer of enough TV that he recognized the contraption from the Teletubby show and was victorious in correctly answering the question.) Anyway, although Secret Service consents to vacuuming, being a clever fellow, he holds to the rule touted in the Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie when Rodrick, the oldest brother tells Greg, (paraphrased here) - “Don’t be good at anything you don’t like to do.” When Secret vacuums, he (I believe purposefully) periodically hits the vacuum against the furniture and even after being directed hundreds of times to move the ottoman out of the way, “forgets” to do so.
Sport was also extremely helpful when he was 2 years old but he’s more willing to help now, too. Sport wants to learn chores that seem to have an element of danger. Recently, with exuberance, he asked to be taught how to iron. I don’t see that as a good choice for Sport. Over time, Sports’ favorite chore has been to clean the bathrooms. He likes squirting products, enjoys using a toilet brush, doesn’t mind working up a sweat. A few years ago, as we were praising him lavishly, we realized we may have over-emphasized his proficiency when Sport announced that he thought he’d like to clean toilets for a living. I know being a janitor is honorable work but we were aiming a little higher for Sport.
When I've clarified the necessity of being prepared for adulthood, the boys have reassured me by explaining that when they are grown up, they will be rich and they will be hiring a housekeeper. I hope they'll pay for one for me, too.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Back to School
The boys have been back to school for a week now and they are adjusting to a new routine, early mornings, homework. They’re fine, but I’m exhausted.
Sport, who last year could have moonlighted as a product tester, has successfully made it through the first 5 days with his backpack in good shape. He has been very pleased to note that his new shoes still look as if they’ve just come out of the box. The verdict is still out on his lunchbox which failed to report for duty this morning. Sport, with a puzzled look on his face, said he was sure he returned his lunchbox to his backpack after lunch yesterday. Still, two out of three is terrific for Sport. Last year he was 0 for 3 by the end of his first week of school.
I found myself in Secret Service’s school yesterday, at the end of the school day. Secret Service only welcomes me into his world when I’m holding a check book, VISA card or cash. I was on the third floor purchasing books for his literature class when he arrived. Afterwards, as we walked down the hall, I asked, “Do you have any classes on this floor?” Secret nodded. “Which ones?” I asked. Obviously, I had pried too much. Secret shut down, too much sharing. His answer, “Something.”
The way homework works in our family is that if the boys need help, I assist with English, Science Girl takes on Science, we share Social Studies, and you’re on your own for Math once you get to Middle School. This week, Secret Service had to develop a speech, sharing information about himself in a way that was creative. At one point, I proposed that he do a rap. He said, “Only nerds rap.” I had lots of other recommendations, all of which he rejected. Instead of developing a novel way to introduce himself, Secret Service’s idea is to sit in the back of the classroom to avoid being called on. So far, that seems to be successful for him.
As a homework assignment, Sport had to assemble a “me” bag, filled with 3 – 5 objects that would instruct his peers about who he is. I was touched when I saw him place a family photo of the four of us in the “me” bag. He looked up, shrugged, and said, “I can’t find a picture of the dog.”
Sport, who last year could have moonlighted as a product tester, has successfully made it through the first 5 days with his backpack in good shape. He has been very pleased to note that his new shoes still look as if they’ve just come out of the box. The verdict is still out on his lunchbox which failed to report for duty this morning. Sport, with a puzzled look on his face, said he was sure he returned his lunchbox to his backpack after lunch yesterday. Still, two out of three is terrific for Sport. Last year he was 0 for 3 by the end of his first week of school.
I found myself in Secret Service’s school yesterday, at the end of the school day. Secret Service only welcomes me into his world when I’m holding a check book, VISA card or cash. I was on the third floor purchasing books for his literature class when he arrived. Afterwards, as we walked down the hall, I asked, “Do you have any classes on this floor?” Secret nodded. “Which ones?” I asked. Obviously, I had pried too much. Secret shut down, too much sharing. His answer, “Something.”
The way homework works in our family is that if the boys need help, I assist with English, Science Girl takes on Science, we share Social Studies, and you’re on your own for Math once you get to Middle School. This week, Secret Service had to develop a speech, sharing information about himself in a way that was creative. At one point, I proposed that he do a rap. He said, “Only nerds rap.” I had lots of other recommendations, all of which he rejected. Instead of developing a novel way to introduce himself, Secret Service’s idea is to sit in the back of the classroom to avoid being called on. So far, that seems to be successful for him.
As a homework assignment, Sport had to assemble a “me” bag, filled with 3 – 5 objects that would instruct his peers about who he is. I was touched when I saw him place a family photo of the four of us in the “me” bag. He looked up, shrugged, and said, “I can’t find a picture of the dog.”
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