parenting

Getting the hang of Saturdays

By / September 26, 2010

Nearly the first thing I did yesterday morning was to jot down some notes for a blog entry about how I’m having trouble getting the hang of Saturdays. But the day proceeded and I never had time to write it out. In fact I got all my stuff done in time for Howard and I to escape the house and have dinner with some other local writers. It was a wonderful event full of laughter and good conversation. As a result I wrote nothing at all and left a semi-discouraged note up for a whole extra day even though the day itself turned out quite well. Oops.

Since the analysis contained in my notes about getting the hang of Saturdays is still valid and interesting to me, I am going to do a write up from the notes anyway.

The first problem with Saturday morning is that I want to sleep late. I actually need the extra sleep since I tend to run on a sleep deficit during the rest of the week. My desires to sleep hit the first snag when the iPod alarms go off with their wake-up play lists. The one in our room is not much of a problem because we have a remote. However I’ve also set one on the iPod in the kitchen. On school days the play list helps the kids time their mornings so that they’re on schedule. In theory we can turn these off, but I always forget to. I think part of my brain is afraid that if I turn them off on Saturday, I’ll forget to reset them for Monday.

The morning music is the least of the troubles. I want to sleep in, but I want the kids to wake up on their regular schedule. If the younger two sleep late, it is harder to get them to go to bed that night. I’ve worked really hard to get their bio rhythms adjusted and I don’t want to send it askew. So in theory I should just get up at the same time as I do all week so that our schedule remains intact. But I love the sleep in. In the end the kids usually wake up about an hour later than normal and then they go play video games while I sleep longer.

This pattern does not generally include breakfast except what the kids decide to feed to themselves. Usually they do a pretty good job, no one goes hungry, but without an official breakfast no one has a marker for the beginning of the day. The kids don’t have a set point for when they should do their chores. When I groggily wander down stairs half the morning is gone and the kids are all fully engaged in activities where they will object to being interrupted. Chores are easier to swallow if you don’t have to stop doing something fun in order to do them. At this point I usually decide not to interrupt happily playing children to fight over chores. Instead I wander into my office to do a “little bit of work.”

Then suddenly it is noon, I’m still in my pajamas, and kids’ friends are knocking on the door to ask if my kids can play. (Their parents got them up, fed them breakfast, and focused their mornings so their chores are all done.) I look at the kid on my front step and I have a bare moment to decide whether to just let my kids go or to enforce chores first. The easy path is so easy. It really is. But I feel a vague guilt as I look at my not-so-clean house and worry that I’m not teaching them the housekeeping habits they will need.

I look at my Saturdays and feel that I ought to plan something better, more structured. Then I turn it all upside down and look at it again. The weeks are made of structure. Every day (except Saturday) I know exactly when to get them up in the morning. I have songs to measure out when breakfast should be, when Kiki leaves, when Link leaves, when Gleek and Patch leave. Even while they’re gone I’ve planned my days and run them by task list. Then they come home at we all hit schedule marks for play, homework, dinner, and evening stuff. Saturdays are all squishy and free-form. And maybe we need that.

The Process for Generating Ideas

By / September 17, 2010

“Where do you get your ideas?” my neighbor asked.

It is a question familiar to writers everywhere. Usually we cringe when we hear it, because the answer is not simple. There is not a single source for ideas, but a multiplicity of sources that are synthesized by the writer. So when a writer answers the question with “everywhere” it is the bare truth, but often unsatisfying to the person making the query.

This iteration of the question was a little different. My neighbor was asking about parenting, not writing. I muttered something about “all over the place” but I was unhappy with my answer. I feel like I ought to have something more useful to say than “I don’t know. They just come to me.” So I sat down and identified some specific things I do which feed my font of parenting ideas.

Read: The first thing I did when I got pregnant was buy a book. When Kiki had trouble sleeping as a baby I bought a book. Once there was internet I googled things. I have studied human development, childhood diseases, behavioral modification, psychology, the science of sleep, nutrition, atypical neurology, physical therapy, and motivational research. I haven’t studied any of these things enough to get a degree or pass a class, but I delved deep in my areas of interest. I even subscribed to parenting magazines for a time until I realized that they’d begun re-hashing material I had already absorbed. The studying filled my brain with bits of knowledge which could be combined in new ways.

Watch: I watch my kids. I watch other people’s kids at similar ages. This allowed me to see what behaviors are age typical and which are noteworthy. I also watch adults. I pay attention to what motivates people, why they lie, how they try to maneuver each other. I try to understand my kids as human beings driven by personality traits and needs. I watch to see how they strive to meet those needs. I watch family dynamics and interactions. All the watching is greatly informed by all of the reading.

Think: I take all the information I’ve gathered through reading and watching, then I ponder it. I ask myself if I agree with what a particular article said. Then I ask myself why I agree or disagree. I force myself to examine my assumptions and make space for things to shift around. If I see a poorly handled parental interaction in the grocery store, I think through how I would handle it differently with my child. I repeat that process with even more fervor when it was my poorly handled parental interaction.

Communicate: Other parents come from different backgrounds and knowledge bases than I do. I can not count the number of times when one of my neighbors simply handed me the answer to a parenting problem that I have been stewing over for weeks. In fact I’ve learned not to stew for weeks. Instead I talk to a fellow parent who will listen, commiserate, and offer ideas. I also go to my non-parent friends because they’ve been children and because their perspective from outside the trenches is often invaluable. I am extremely fortunate in my neighbors and relatives. We talk to each other and conspire to identify and meet the needs of all our kids. I also talk to teachers and school administrators. I value their professional experience and unique viewpoint on my children.

Pray: This one ought to be first, but I’m afraid too often it comes last. I get so busy doing the other things that I forget to seek direct inspiration. Prayer has often brought me answers that I simply was not getting through the other processes. In addition, prayer brings me peace and energy to accomplish whatever needs to be done.

All of those things are in process all the time, so much so that I hardly am aware of what I am doing. The good news is that I think similar processes will net similar results for anyone who wants to be able to generate creative ideas whether they are parenting ideas, writing ideas, or something else entirely.

If this process sounds exhausting, that is because it is. But I don’t know of any other way to get the ideas I need to muddle through on this parenting gig.

Helping an Introvert Survive Public High School

By / September 11, 2010

Kiki has been miserable since the first day of high school. The second day of school ended with her in overwhelmed tears. This was not particularly alarming or unexpected. So I began actively helping her manage her homework load. We got it all done. She finished every assignment on time. She got As. But by the end of the next week she was in tears again. She still felt overwhelmed. More than that, she was depressed. Everything seemed leached of joy and she cried at the thought of having to get up and go to school in the morning. I believed that this was merely an adapting stage, that she just needed to become accustomed to the new routine. Kiki, brave soul that she is, nodded and did not fight me when I told her to keep going. But by the end of the third week things were not noticeably better. And Kiki still felt hopeless. And I was beginning to feel hopeless about helping her. My “muscle through it” plan was not working.

So we both took a step back. She and I sat down and made a list of all the positive things in her life and all of the negative ones. We looked at each of her classes individually and picked apart the things she liked and did not like. We also looked at the school as a whole. We talked about lunch time and school administration. We talked about locker location and friends. We decided that our family situation is a stable point for her and did not need to be considered or changed. (Yay!) All of this was considered without judgment and only referencing how she felt, not how she ought to feel, or what could be changed. Once the list was complete, we took a close look at the negatives to see what could be fixed.

I was not thinking about introversion during our process, but in hindsight I can see it so clearly. Kiki is an introvert. She requires time to shut down and recharge. She simply was not getting any. Her classrooms were full. Lunch time was a mass of crowds, chaos, and noise. Then she came home to a house full of siblings and a mother who required her to focus on work. Even bedtime required her to vacate her room so I could put a younger sibling to bed. Kiki was trying to be good about all of this, but ended up wanting to hide in a closet to be away from people. No wonder she was feeling so bleak about everything.

We had Kiki pick one class to drop. The administrator was puzzled why we wanted to, since Kiki could obviously handle the coursework. She warned us that Kiki would have to make up the credit somehow or she will not graduate with her class. The administrator did shake my confidence some, but we did it anyway. Now Kiki will have an extra hour at home every other day. It will be a quiet hour with no siblings in the house. Kiki already has plans for how to handle the make up credit. More importantly, she has power over her schedule and knows that things can be shifted when life becomes unbearable.

We also decided to start fixing a lunch instead of having her buy school lunch. Previous to this she had been forced to stand in a chaotic and confusing line to obtain food. With a home lunch she can avoid the crowded commons area and she doesn’t have to make choices between foods she dislikes.

When I look at it, all the changes we arrived at were ones which created pockets of peace, quiet, and solitude into Kiki’s schedule. Today she came home from school happy for the first time since school began. Her friends commented on her happiness at lunch time. The notice of her friends had a doubling effect on her happiness, because one of the negatives she was worried about was the stability of her friendships. She was feeling little closeness with them due to her emotional shut down.

These two little fixes will not solve all the troubles. But I think that when we do another listing of positive and negative in two weeks (as we’ve agreed to do) we will discover that the balance has shifted. If it has not shifted enough, we will change something else.

Seeing Kiki’s depression as “introvert starved of solitude” has made me look differently at some things in my own past. My sophomore year was measurably the most emotionally turbulent of my teenage years. My journals are full of bleakness, sadness, and feelings of worthlessness. It was also a period in my life when I had a strong and active social group. I did stuff with friends constantly. My emotional roller coaster calmed dramatically when I hit summer and I had long stretches of time alone. The friends were an amazingly good thing in my life, but I had too much of a good thing and it drained me.

I still see the same effect now. My life is full of good people and things to do. When I fill all the spaces, I start feeling bleak about my life. As soon as I have time to be alone, I can feel happy again. Alone all the time is not good, but neither is social all the time. As Kiki and I continue to adapt and build a schedule she can manage by herself, we need to be making sure she has the quiet spaces she needs to recharge.

In fact I remember that during my Junior and Senior years in high school, I started eating lunch out doors. I dropped out of the cross country and track teams due to an injury and thus had more free time. These were all little things which helped me have the quiet I needed in a public high school. So now I am on the look out for other ways to create quiet spaces, not just in high school, but in all the public schools where my kids attend. We are a family of introverts and we need our spaces.

Kiki has approved the above post, but only on the condition that I also post the following note: This is Kiki. I love my mom very much and feel bad about being high maintenance again. But I’m glad that she’s there to help me muddle through. I love my mom and I’m lucky to have her around.

Perspectives on the storm

By / September 9, 2010

The difference between 15 and 37 is that when rock-bottom emotional meltdown is achieved the 37 year old knows it is temporary and survivable. At 37 I often hear myself say “I can’t do this.” but some part of me knows that it is a lie. I can deal with it. I will deal with it. Because I am stronger than whatever life can throw at me. But that strength and knowledge came to me as a result of actually surviving through some nasty stuff. A fifteen year old can’t say to herself “I’ve survived worse” because she hasn’t yet. She does not know on a visceral level that she has the power to make her misery finite. This is the true danger of the teen years, when people who have near adult comprehension of challenges, and who must ride the tumultuous waves of hormonal shifts, and who are still trying to figure out who they are, do not yet have the perspective to know that pain is survivable. This is when 37 must stare into the eyes of 15 and promise her that it will get better. And then 37 feels enormous relief when the teenager nods and believes for just a moment even though she can not see it herself.

So yesterday was a hard day. And today will be better. And if today is not better, we will pummel something until it is. Because the key to surviving is to take charge and make plans rather than cower while the storm rages. And the plans need to include building a better shelter to weather the next storm so that next time we won’t end up all wet.

Pondering my duties as a drill sergeant

By / September 7, 2010

Before today I never thought to wonder what goes through the mind of a drill sergeant as he shouts for recruits to stop being babies and keep going. The drill sergeant is never the protagonist in films or books. Sometimes he is the villain, but most of the time he is like a force of nature that the protagonist has to survive. But now I think that in the real world there are drill sergeants who have a deep sympathy for the pain of the recruits. The drill sergeants shout anyway because they know that being tough is the only way to prepare recruits for what they must become. The drill sergeant must drive recruits beyond their limits so that their capabilities are greatly expanded.

I though of all this today as I steeled my soul and told Kiki harshly that she has plenty of time to get her work done, but not if she spends any of it sitting on the floor crying. She glared at me, but it was the angry glare of knowing that I am right. She got back to work and is now nearly done with the art piece that has bedeviled her for nearly a week. After she stopped being quite so mad, she and I talked about the point of boot camp and how it forces people to grow or to break.

“But mom,” she said with tears in her eyes. “How do I know I’m not broken? I feel broken.”

“I can tell you’re not broken because you’ve got that pen in your hand and you’re drawing.”

She seemed to find comfort in that. Or at least to accept it. Her schedule really is manageable this year. She will have time for fun things as well as work things. The thing she will not have is large swathes of time during which nothing is expected of her. She will need to adapt. I know she can. She has already begun.

I will have to adapt too. Sympathy comes more naturally to me than harsh demands, but right now what Kiki needs is for me to push her to get the work done until doing work is a habit. So I am in drill sergeant training. I am learning how to push and when to randomly provide a reprieve because I can tell that she really is on the edge of breaking. In the process we are both becoming stronger than we were.

A phone call illustrates change

By / September 1, 2010

“Hi Mrs. Tayler, this is Gleek’s Teacher.”

My heart sank. “Hi. How can I help you.”

“Oh don’t worry this is a good call.”

I swallowed. “Really?”

“Yes. I just wanted to tell you that Gleek and I made an agreement that she would get some writing done by Thursday and she finished it today. I also wanted to let you know that she’s been doing great in class. We’ve had no real problems. Well, when I had to take something away from her she got mad, but she calmed herself down and we were fine.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s really good to hear.” My eyes watered. This teacher was not on the clean up crew after last year’s teacher confiscated a toy from Gleek, Gleek began screaming, and was sent to the LRR (time out room). I listen as this year’s teacher continues to talk and realize that she has never seen any of the behaviors that had me approaching this year like a person expecting to survive in the wilderness with only the resources she can carry. And yet Teacher called me just to tell me that things are going well because she knows I’m worried.

When Teacher was done singing Gleek’s praises, I hung up the phone. It could be Teacher, it could be the dietary changes, it could be a more relaxed social situation in class, it could be regular meals and bedtimes, it could be that Gleek just turned a developmental corner, whatever the reason, I need to keep doing all of my pieces of the above because I’m seeing the same calmer happier Gleek at home too.

I feel like dancing for joy.

School day two

By / August 27, 2010

Day two of school and advocacy is required on behalf of children. The first is a (hopefully) minor schedule change for Kiki and should be completed quickly. However Kiki is a bit overwhelmed by high school and will likely need extra support for at least a month.

The second case for advocacy is going to be much longer and more complicated. For the first time I have identified an administrator who is an obstacle to my children having a good school experience. I believe he means well, but this does not change the fact that I am having to do significant emotional clean-up work with my kids. The good news is that the teachers are great. It is possible that strong alliances with the teachers will nullify any problems with the larger school administration. But that is not the way it should be. For now I am watching closely and keeping records.

ETA: This was a tired day. That colors my impressions, which is why all actions are waiting on further evidence.

The Next Sugar Experiment

By / August 23, 2010

Once Gleek and I concluded our brief experiment with using an alternative method for balancing her body for sugars, we talked over what worked and what didn’t. It was obvious that Gleek is sensitive to sugars, this is not news. I figured that out around the time she used her first words to beg for candy. So we made a plan for our next experiment. I suggested that we log the food that Gleek eats and how she behaves. Gleek added that she thought we should do a one-day-on-one-day-off sugar plan. This sounded like a reasonable idea to me, but we made clear that “off sugar” mostly meant treat food made with refined sugars. She can still eat fruits even though they are high glucose foods. We also clarified that “on sugar” meant one glass of chocolate milk or a reasonable amount of other treats. She does not get to eat nothing but sugary foods all day.

I like this plan because it gives me structure to use when deciding whether to say Yes or No. Even better, Gleek knows the structure and agreed to it in advance. This did not stop her from flopping and moaning yesterday on the Off day. But more interesting to me was that when she was offered chocolate milk today, she decided against it because she wanted to save her one glass for later. This from the girl who has subsisted on chocolate milk for a significant portion of the summer. So far both days have been fairly good behavior days.

What Gleek does not know is that just by putting the experiment in motion, we have taken a huge step toward reducing her sugar intake. Even her On Sugar days will have less sugar in them than before. This is because the log is forcing me to pay attention to what she eats. It is forcing me to think before I agree to treat food. The fact that I am observing is changing my behavior. Not only that, but I knew that the only way to survive the barrage of treat requests was to have a plan in place for what we’ll eat that day. I need to be able to point to the schedule and say “We plan to have cookies for snack tomorrow and next Thursday, not today.” So I have made a month long meal plan which includes breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. This already represents a major change from the last-minute-scramble method which dominated the summer.

This plan will not solve Gleek’s challenges. She’s been doing much better over the summer anyway. But it will let me alleviate the influence of diet, and if there is a measurable reaction to any particular food I’ll see it. What else needs to be done depends upon how her new classroom situation affects her. It depends upon whether I can build a good working rapport with the teacher. It depends upon me building solid communication lines with the administration. And in fact this whole food plan depends upon me staying focused, which is not always easy when it comes to daily mundane tasks. I hope it all works.

Kiki on the road

By / August 19, 2010

There are many times in a parent’s life when she wonders what on earth she was thinking when she agreed to a particular endeavor. I’ve felt that way about lessons, birthday parties, games, toys, and treats. Today’s revisitation of the feeling was the moment when I sat in my van with Kiki at the wheel. She rounded the corner with a little running dialog.
“and now I slow… and turn signal… all is clear… so gas.” Then her voice raised an octave “Not clear! Not clear!” I watched the car coming our direction far down the street as our van drifted diagonally across the road, blocking all lanes.

“Break Kiki!” I said loud and firm while my right foot reached for a break pedal which was not in front of me. She stopped the van, which really had been in no danger of hitting anything more dangerous than a curb. The other driver, a familiar neighbor, had stopped to allow Kiki to sort herself out.

“Okay, now back up, and pull over to the right this time.” I said.

Kiki laughed nervously. “That was scary.”

I suppressed a smile. “No giggling while you’re driving.”

Kiki sorted the car out so that our neighbor could pass. He pulled up beside us and rolled down his window. It took Kiki a moment to find the window controls on the driver’s side, particularly with the level of flustered she was currently sporting.

“No worries.” The man smiled. “I used to be a driving instructor.”

I smiled back knowing that his amusement also encompassed me, sitting in the passenger seat and wishing for a brake pedal. He has two licensed sons with three kids yet to go. His amusement and sympathy ran deep.

We stuck to quiet residential streets and practiced parking in an empty church parking lot. The parking needs quite a bit of work, but all the stopping, reversing, and putting the car into drive became increasingly smooth. Kiki is beginning to train her hands, brain, and feet into the instincts they will need to drive safely. Hopefully the “Brake When In Doubt” instinct will be an early acquisition. We’ll gradually step up to traffic lights and multi-lane roads. Eventually there will be freeways.

Thirty minutes was plenty of time on the road for both of us. She was tired from concentrating and so was I. Steering a car through voice activation of an inexperienced driver is kind of tiring.

Two Kids, Two Schools

By / August 18, 2010

Gleek and I climbed into the car and I backed out of the driveway. We were our way to meet her new Fourth Grade teacher and to take a quick reading test. Gleek sat quietly in her seat. Subdued. Not a typical emotional state for her.

“Are you worried about school starting?” I asked her.

“Yeah.” she said quietly.

“Last year was pretty hard.” I said, hoping to give words to her feelings.

Gleek nodded and blinked several times in a way which is common when she is trying not to cry. She was so small in her seat, even though she has grown this summer. Usually she fills more space by sheer force of personality.

“This year will not be that hard.” I tried to reassure her. “I won’t let it be. We’ll do whatever we have to do.” I didn’t say that my determination extends to switching her to a charter school or pulling her out of public school completely. Home school is not something I want to do, but I will if she needs it. Gleek and I both need to give her current school, with its current administration, a solid chance to be better. I need to know that we did everything we could before leaving. So I didn’t tell her about the escape routes I have already begun to map. She would want to run down them now.

We get to the school and meet the young, soft-spoken teacher. I study her as she interacts with Gleek. Will this teacher be able to handle my child? I could not tell. Gleek was tense in the classroom. She got angry over her handwriting and spelling on a quick survey. I saw Gleek ready to burst with anger, and I looked at the mild-seeming teacher. I worried. Then came Gleek’s turn to read, and Teacher spent quite a bit of time talking with Gleek about books. Teacher listened respectfully and made a solid suggestion about how Gleek can find books in the school library. I sat silent, hoping things will be well.

We left the classroom and Gleek began to chatter. She noted that one of the trio of boys who were troublesome last year is in her class.
“But he’s kind of okay. As long as B isn’t in my class. B is like Captain Hammer for Dr. Horrible. A nim … ner…”

“Nemesis?” I supply the word.

“Yeah. B is my nimisis.”

I nod and continue to listen as she relives some of the altercations she had with B last year. Most of them I’d already heard, a few I hadn’t. I will check the class listing for B. I suspect that the trio of boys has been deliberately split into different classes and that Gleek will not be trapped in a room with her nemesis. The answer will add another tick into either the worry column or the hopeful one.

We returned home and the day moved onward. In the afternoon it was Link I loaded into the car for a trip to a school. He also was quiet in the car, but this is normal for him. When we walked into the Junior High Building, I watched his stride. He walks on his toes when he is nervous. He clomped along slouchedly. He has adapted to the idea of Junior High and is looking forward with more anticipation than apprehension.

“How long will this take?” Link asked

“I don’t know. We have to fill out some forms, pay school fees, and pick up your schedule.” I pointed out the multiple lines we would need to stand in before we were done.

Link scowled. He’s become quite good at scowling this summer. Most of the time it is a humor-filled scowl, not an angry one. It matches his leaner face and his greater height. He’ll be taller than I am soon. We stood in lines, mostly silent, except when my worries spill into words.

“So you know how A days and B days work, right?”

“Yes mom.” Link rolled his eyes.

“You go to four classes on A days and four different classes on B days.” I continued, compelled to state the information just in case he doesn’t know what he thinks he knows. I’m constantly startled by astonishing gaps in my children’s knowledge, this leads me to repeating important information until the kids roll their eyes at me.

“I know mom.” Link said, then he turned to wave to some kids that he knew.

We collected his schedule and discovered that the Co-taught English class, which will help Link with is writing, is taught by the same teacher that Kiki loved in 7th grade. We also discovered that Link has been scheduled for German rather than the writing review class I discussed with his counselor last spring. Link was pleased. He wanted German, not more writing practice.

We tromped through the hall so Link could find his locker and open it. I made him do it twice, not because he needed to, but because I wanted to quiet the voice in my brain that worries for him. Junior high can be tough. He’s going to have a lot thrown at him in the next few weeks. So I make him practice his locker combo. One less thing to be new next week.

Papers in hand, we headed home. Next Tuesday he’ll climb on the bus and navigate those hallways solo. I wonder if he’ll be worried about it between now and then or if today’s calm will hold.