In our community, it is commonplace for children to invite each other to sleepover. When I grew up, we called these "slumber parties" and I didn't go to many, my father thinking it wasn't a good idea. My dad never felt the need to give me an explanation for his veto, but as a parent myself, I understand there are potential pitfalls when you let your child sleep at someone else's home.
When my boys were younger, I was very concerned about their safety. I am still concerned, but now I am also increasingly exhausted. (Almost 15 years on the job does that to you.) Over the years, at times, the boys have been invited to sleepover at a child's house whose family we don't know. In those cases, I call the family to find out about them. These are awkward conversations. Without offending the parents, I am attempting to discover if they have loaded guns sitting around, if they are drunks or drug addicts or have poor sexual boundaries. I have found that coming right out and asking those questions puts people off and even if you ask directly, you are not guaranteed that they will answer truthfully.
When Secret Service was in 4th grade, a boy whose family we did not know invited him to a birthday sleepover. We took him over and spoke to the parents to assure that they'd take good care of our darling. I gave Secret the same words of advice I always give when dropping my kids off at someones house - remember to say thank you and flush the toilet. Then, we went on our way. The next day, we returned to pick up our boy. He was in a cheerful, effervescent mood. As soon as we got into the car, he excitedly told us he'd discovered a wonderful show, Family Guy, and had stayed up all night watching episodes. As we turned the corner, we told him that we were headed to Lowe's to buy a new refrigerator, and he suddenly became irritable. Secret grumbled that he was tired and wanted to go home to sleep. When we arrived at the store, he snarled at us and crumbled into a heap, saying he was unable to walk. Science Girl and I loaded him into a shopping cart and wheeled him around the store, looking at appliances. Every now and again, he'd lift his head and mumble something but mostly, he was out of it, not waking to start his day until 5 PM.
A couple of weeks later, the new refrigerator was delivered. As they wheeled it in, Secret looked surprised and confused. "When did we buy that?" he said. "While you were sleeping," we responded.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Sleeping Through the Night
My friend is a new mom and one of her goals for her tiny son is that he sleep through the night. I am fortunate in that regard. At our house, we are at the perfect intersection of children sleeping through the night and not yet having to wait up for teenagers to come home.
Secret Service has always been a good sleeper. (So important in a baby.) Sport, easy-going in most regards, has more often struggled in this department. It sometimes still happens that we put Sport to bed and a couple of hours later, he pops up and announces he can't sleep.
Getting children to sleep is an art. When they were younger, Science Girl and I spent countless hours rocking them, singing to them, reading bedtime stories. And at the end of a long day, it was always good fun to get to search the house to find the stuffed animal that they wanted to sleep with that night.
One of our go-to-sleep strategies was to make their bedrooms a place they'd want to be. A couple of years ago, we went to buy a bed for our guest room and while at the store, both boys became enamored with the temperpedic foam beds. Having no money of their own, the boys were not hindered by budgets, so they didn't see a problem with requesting that we buy them each a bed that cost over $1,000. At one point in the negotiation, Sport collapsed on the floor model temperpedic mattress and declared that he would not spend another night in his current bed. Sport proclaimed that now that he had experienced the comfort of a temperpedic, he realized that sleeping on his old bed was like sleeping on rocks. Luckily, at that same store, there were inexpensive, non-name brand versions and the boys emerged victorious, with mattresses that Sport said was like "sleeping on a cloud."
Anyway, periodically, one of the boys have asked Science Girl or me to lie down with them while they start to fall asleep. I remember the last time Secret asked me to lay down with him. I had several valid reasons why I didn't want to - tired, busy, etc. But, I thought to myself, he's growing up, how many more times is he going to ask me to do this? Mostly, he says good night and puts himself to bed.
The other night, I was comfortable in my own non-temperpedic bed, remote in hand, pajamas on, when Sport called out, "Will you lay down with me?" I didn't want to get up, but then I wondered, how many more times will he ask. Secret hasn't asked me to lay down with him for two years. I put down the remote and went.
Secret Service has always been a good sleeper. (So important in a baby.) Sport, easy-going in most regards, has more often struggled in this department. It sometimes still happens that we put Sport to bed and a couple of hours later, he pops up and announces he can't sleep.
Getting children to sleep is an art. When they were younger, Science Girl and I spent countless hours rocking them, singing to them, reading bedtime stories. And at the end of a long day, it was always good fun to get to search the house to find the stuffed animal that they wanted to sleep with that night.
One of our go-to-sleep strategies was to make their bedrooms a place they'd want to be. A couple of years ago, we went to buy a bed for our guest room and while at the store, both boys became enamored with the temperpedic foam beds. Having no money of their own, the boys were not hindered by budgets, so they didn't see a problem with requesting that we buy them each a bed that cost over $1,000. At one point in the negotiation, Sport collapsed on the floor model temperpedic mattress and declared that he would not spend another night in his current bed. Sport proclaimed that now that he had experienced the comfort of a temperpedic, he realized that sleeping on his old bed was like sleeping on rocks. Luckily, at that same store, there were inexpensive, non-name brand versions and the boys emerged victorious, with mattresses that Sport said was like "sleeping on a cloud."
Anyway, periodically, one of the boys have asked Science Girl or me to lie down with them while they start to fall asleep. I remember the last time Secret asked me to lay down with him. I had several valid reasons why I didn't want to - tired, busy, etc. But, I thought to myself, he's growing up, how many more times is he going to ask me to do this? Mostly, he says good night and puts himself to bed.
The other night, I was comfortable in my own non-temperpedic bed, remote in hand, pajamas on, when Sport called out, "Will you lay down with me?" I didn't want to get up, but then I wondered, how many more times will he ask. Secret hasn't asked me to lay down with him for two years. I put down the remote and went.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
The Hungry Caterpillar
Here, in Denver, school is almost out for the year. The end of each school year always causes me to reflect and feel nostalgic about the boys growing up. This year is especially poignant because Sport is completing elementary school. He's fine about it, of course, my kids adjust better to these developmental changes than I do. They embrace the changes while I experience some loss with every change they make. I didn't know this before I became a parent, didn't know that there would be a trace of sadness with every developmental gain. I was thrilled when they learned to walk and to talk. So, I was surprised that after they learned to walk, they used those chubby little toddler legs to walk away from me and when they talked, they disagreed with me, saying "no" at every opportunity. I had always thought that children becoming independent was a good thing, a desirable outcome. It was only when I was the parent did I realize that it didn't always feel 100 percent good to have them becoming independent from me.
Remember the children's book The Hungry Caterpillar? When the boys were little, I read it to them countless times. Only recently, I have decided that it is a metaphor about teenagers. Currently, my boys eat like that caterpillar - one steak, one bushel of strawberries, one family size bag of pretzels, one entire pizza, one gallon of milk. And soon, just like the caterpillar in the story, the boys will undergo a metamorphosis and emerge . . . grown up . . . and then fly away, like that caterpillar turned butterfly did. And, when that happens, I'll be proud and I'll celebrate, with just a twinge of sadness and tears streaming down my face.
We've had another developmental milestone here. Secret Service, the boy who grew so slowly that he was able to wear the same jacket throughout elementary school, has had a growth spurt in this past year. A couple of months ago, when we measured him, he announced that as soon as he was taller than me, he'd be in charge. Although I assured him this wasn't the way it worked, I'm not sure I convinced him. Even without the hope of running the family, Secret seemed determined to grow. He kept insisting that he was taller than me and I put up a good fight, even styling my hair to be puffier on top and finding tennis shoes with a platform bottom which gave me some additional height. However, within the last few weeks, I have come to accept that he is now taller than I am. On one hand, I know this is good. On the other hand . . .
Remember the children's book The Hungry Caterpillar? When the boys were little, I read it to them countless times. Only recently, I have decided that it is a metaphor about teenagers. Currently, my boys eat like that caterpillar - one steak, one bushel of strawberries, one family size bag of pretzels, one entire pizza, one gallon of milk. And soon, just like the caterpillar in the story, the boys will undergo a metamorphosis and emerge . . . grown up . . . and then fly away, like that caterpillar turned butterfly did. And, when that happens, I'll be proud and I'll celebrate, with just a twinge of sadness and tears streaming down my face.
Monday, April 30, 2012
The Babysitters Club
Recently, Science Girl and I were stumped about what to do when invited to a friends birthday party on a Saturday night without our boys. Secret Service is fourteen and Sport is ten. I feel comfortable letting either one of them stay home alone but don't feel comfortable about them staying home alone together. I imagine that when together, if not supervised, they might microwave aluminum foil, break out all the lights by playing ball in the house, have an indoor water fight with garden hoses. I imagine that despite many years of almost daily warnings, they will decide to light matches with lighter fluid and aerosol cans or open the front door and usher strangers in off the street.
But, it's hard to find a babysitter for someone who is the age of many of the babysitters. I made an effort to get one of Science Girl's nineteen year old nieces to watch the boys or a grown woman who is our former nanny, but alas, they were busy. This led Science Girl to hire Secret to babysit Sport. I was half satisfied with the notion that Secret would have his eyes on Sport. But, who would watch Secret?
The evening of the party, we returned to a house that was neither burned or flooded, two boys watching a movie, pizza remnants on the counter. We shepherded them to bed and took stock. Science Girl complained that her wallet was empty - $20 for pizza, $20 for Secret to babysit Sport. I smiled. "I got a good deal," I said. "I only paid Sport $10 to babysit Secret."
Sunday, April 22, 2012
The Bank
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.
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.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Spring Break
Both children knew we were going skiing over Spring Break. On that Saturday, we packed the car, then took inventory. Ski gloves, check, goggles, check, ski pants, check, ski jacket, what? Secret Service looked up, all wide eyed innocence.
"Where is your ski jacket?" I asked.
He looked at me blankly.
"The jacket I bought you at the end of last winter?"
Still blank.
"The jacket you begged for because it wasn't bulky."
Blank.
"The jacket that cost more than $100?"
Science Girl, Sport and I fanned out and looked in every closet. When none of us had success, we reconvened in the kitchen. I considered increasing the questioning techniques, where was a flashlight to shine in Secret's sleepy eyes? (I found a flashlight but of course it had no batteries in it.)
Secret Service, calm as a well-trained spy in enemy territory, said, "It might be at school." The rest of us turned to look at him. "In my locker." Then, he added, "I'm not sure." Even the dog peered at him as if to say,"What?"
Science Girl ushered everyone into the car, saying we'd stop at the school before driving to the mountains. On the way over, Secret assured us the school would be locked up tight on the weekend. As we drove, I used the time to issue warnings and ultimatums to Secret, lecturing about taking care of possessions and the value of a dollar. Secret maintained that this was all my fault as I had insisted he wear a coat when the weather was 10 degrees. He patiently explained that if not for my insistence, he wouldn't have even taken it to school and it wouldn't be there now.
When we arrived as the school, it seemed obvious that the building was open and there was some sort of event being hosted. When out in the world, Secret is a strict follower of rules so he promptly announced he would not enter the building as he wasn't part of the event. I climbed out of the car to accompany him. Murmering threats of revoking numerous privileges, I persuaded him to walk into the school. We entered the school and in the main hallway, there was an iron gate to the left of the main staircase. Secret turned to me, "We can't get through that way," he said, referring to the gate, "it's all locked up." I looked over. The gate was not fastened. I asked, "Is your locker that way?" Secret said, "no." I tried not to display my impatience. Secret reluctantly indicated his locker was upstairs. He walked gingerly, as if an alarm would sound if he wasn't cautious.
I stayed on the second floor as he went to the third. A few minutes later, Secret re-appeared, the red ski coat scrunched up in his arms. He handed it to me and we raced to the car. Getting in to the front seat, I turned to the family. "What smells?" I asked.
"It's the coat," Secret said, matter of factly, from the backseat. Tentatively, I sniffed the jacket. It was vile. I could not imagine what could have caused an odor like that. I issued inappropriate expletives and demanded an explanation.
He shrugged, clearly unconcerned, offered a brief explanation of a shared locker and something that his locker mate had placed in their shared space. I held the coat out the window and then we stopped the car so I could put it in the trunk.
As I re-fastened my seat belt, Secret looked at me. "What's wrong? We got the coat, everything worked out," he said. Another happy ending.
"Where is your ski jacket?" I asked.
He looked at me blankly.
"The jacket I bought you at the end of last winter?"
Still blank.
"The jacket you begged for because it wasn't bulky."
Blank.
"The jacket that cost more than $100?"
Science Girl, Sport and I fanned out and looked in every closet. When none of us had success, we reconvened in the kitchen. I considered increasing the questioning techniques, where was a flashlight to shine in Secret's sleepy eyes? (I found a flashlight but of course it had no batteries in it.)
Secret Service, calm as a well-trained spy in enemy territory, said, "It might be at school." The rest of us turned to look at him. "In my locker." Then, he added, "I'm not sure." Even the dog peered at him as if to say,"What?"
Science Girl ushered everyone into the car, saying we'd stop at the school before driving to the mountains. On the way over, Secret assured us the school would be locked up tight on the weekend. As we drove, I used the time to issue warnings and ultimatums to Secret, lecturing about taking care of possessions and the value of a dollar. Secret maintained that this was all my fault as I had insisted he wear a coat when the weather was 10 degrees. He patiently explained that if not for my insistence, he wouldn't have even taken it to school and it wouldn't be there now.
When we arrived as the school, it seemed obvious that the building was open and there was some sort of event being hosted. When out in the world, Secret is a strict follower of rules so he promptly announced he would not enter the building as he wasn't part of the event. I climbed out of the car to accompany him. Murmering threats of revoking numerous privileges, I persuaded him to walk into the school. We entered the school and in the main hallway, there was an iron gate to the left of the main staircase. Secret turned to me, "We can't get through that way," he said, referring to the gate, "it's all locked up." I looked over. The gate was not fastened. I asked, "Is your locker that way?" Secret said, "no." I tried not to display my impatience. Secret reluctantly indicated his locker was upstairs. He walked gingerly, as if an alarm would sound if he wasn't cautious.
I stayed on the second floor as he went to the third. A few minutes later, Secret re-appeared, the red ski coat scrunched up in his arms. He handed it to me and we raced to the car. Getting in to the front seat, I turned to the family. "What smells?" I asked.
"It's the coat," Secret said, matter of factly, from the backseat. Tentatively, I sniffed the jacket. It was vile. I could not imagine what could have caused an odor like that. I issued inappropriate expletives and demanded an explanation.
He shrugged, clearly unconcerned, offered a brief explanation of a shared locker and something that his locker mate had placed in their shared space. I held the coat out the window and then we stopped the car so I could put it in the trunk.
As I re-fastened my seat belt, Secret looked at me. "What's wrong? We got the coat, everything worked out," he said. Another happy ending.
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.
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