parenting

Today my sister wrote a journal entry lamenting the abuse of literature by trying to teach it to high school students who are woefully incapable of comprehending it. I responded to her post and I want to copy/paste my response here because it addresses some thoughts I’ve had on education recently. The response:

I did study literature in college fairly extensively. I remember reading an essay about exactly what you just described. It cataloged how The Lord of the Flies was first analysed at a phd level and then masters, then undergraduate, and then high school. It got stuck at high school because it had reached near incomprehensibility to the students.

The goal of teaching literature to high school students is supposed to stretch their capabilities. I agree that stretching leads to growth, but I frequently wonder if we are stretching too hard too fast. No matter how many times you walk a child around the room holding on to your fingers, he isn’t going to walk by himself until he is developmentally ready to do so. Lots of parents around here lament the fact that the schools aren’t teaching enough. Kids should know MORE by fourth grade. They should know this, they should know that, why isn’t more history taught? Why haven’t they memorized the 50 states yet? My kid knows the original 13 colonies in first grade! I listen to all of this and feel like they’ve made education into some kind of a race.

Education is not a race. Education should be a process. The most important thing my kids learn from school is how to learn. They need basic reading skills, basic math skills, basic history for reference, and then they need to learn how to use a library. If they learn that, then ANYTHING they want to know they can go and find out by themselves. This is why my kids remain in public school rather than private school or a charter school. I do want them to go to college, but I don’t need it to be Harvard, the local community college is just fine with me. (And cheaper!)

When I was little I remember watching the olympic gymnastics competition. We always got totally beaten by the team from the USSR because they would snatch young girls and make them live nothing but gymnastics for 10 years. The Japanese and Chinese teams had the same sort of intense focus. I remember hearing adults lament the loss of childhood that represented. Now as an adult I watch my neighbors running their kids to soccer and piano and dance and gymnastics and karate and then to a special charter school which they deem to be sufficiently academic. I watch all this and I wonder if America is becoming what we once mourned over. Where is the time for kids to play?

That strayed far from a discussion of literature. Sorry, I’ll get off my soap box now.

Typical Conversation with Gleek:

Gleek: “Mom! I want fudge!”
Me: (Insert short explaination why there will be no fudge)
Gleek: “But I want fugde!”
M: (Insert slightly longer explaination)
G: “I want fudge!”
M: “I just answered that. What did I say?”
G: “I want fudge!”
M: (frustrated now) No.
G: (turns on the cute) “Please”
M: “No.”
G: “Please!”
M: “No.”
G: “Fudge!”
M: “No!”
G: “FUDGE!”
M: “NO!”
And from there it devolves into tantrums with kicking and screaming because I usually get up and walk away from her. It’s either that or get so mad I’m in danger of hitting.

Sometimes the conversation is about baths, or candy, or painting, or swimming. Whatever it is, I know that head on confrontation never works on Gleek. You have to come around from the side and steer her onto a new track. She’ll happily stampede off in the new direction, but I get so tired of herding and coaxing. I get so tired of arguing.

I know that Gleek gets away with far more things than she should. She just wears me out so that I haven’t the energy to supervise the way that I should. Today at her gym class I realized that another mom was removing her daughter from Gleek who had hit, pinched, and yelled. As I walked to require an appology from Gleek, I realized that I’d actually heard the beginning of the conflict. It had completely failed to register as something I needed to take care of. Complete mommy radar failure. This is seriously bad because I rely on my mommy radar lots and now I have to do a systems check to make sure nothing is broken. I suspect system fatigue that a little down time will solve. Now I just need to find this mythical “down time” that I’ve heard so much about.

Most of the challenges in Gleek’s behavior are because she is three. She’ll grow out of it. Until she does my job is to make sure she doesn’t injure herself or others. I try, but today I failed. I fail more often than I should. I know other parents dread the arrival of my little hooligan because she regularly does things that makes other parents gasp in fear. I don’t gasp because it’s the fortieth time she’s done that particular thing. Today. I can’t survive in red alert mode, but I’m failing to do enough.

Mostly I think I’m pretty good at this parenting thing. But there are days where “pretty good” seems like a thin cover for a lot of territory.

Today, one day after discovering that Link has been not doing work and hiding the fact, I discovered that Kiki has not been enjoying her art lessons for months now. That wouldn’t be so bad except that she was taking out her frustrations by being rude and unco-operative with her teachers. Today they pulled me aside to tell me that either something needed to change or they needed Kiki out of the class so they could give space and attention to someone who actually wanted to be there.

And then on the way home from that lovely meeting Patches told me “Owie Stinky”. Smell confirmed his diagnosis and I promised to change him when we got home. I got distracted and didn’t. 40 minutes later when poor Patches was standing in the front room crying because the rash hurt so bad, I finally changed the diaper and treated the rash. He was snuggly grateful when it was done and I was horribly guilty.

I’m writing all of this in a public entry, not because I’m seeking reassurance of my parenting skills, but because there should be public evidence that even parents who do stuff mostly right can mess up big time. Now I just need to fail Gleek and the set will be complete.

A couple of weeks ago Link’s teacher spoke to me for a moment and told me that Link hadn’t been finishing his work at school. During reading time he’d sit and distract himself. He never disrupted other students, but he didn’t work either. She and I had a talk with him and then I heard no more about it. No notes came home, no unfinished papers came home, so I assumed that the situation had improved. Silly me. Link had been deliberately “forgetting” to put his homework folder in his backpack. It came home today with nearly two weeks worth of unfinished papers in it. Link and I had a “little” talk.

Now every school day he has to bring his homework folder home, even if it is empty. If he “forgets” it, I’ll send him back for it. If he finishes his school work during class time, then he gets a stamp on his hand. If he doesn’t finish the unfinished work has to come home and be completed BEFORE he is allowed to play. Homework can be completed in the evening, unfinished schoolwork comes before play time. So every day I will expect either a stamp or unfinished papers. I’m fairly confident that this solution will work for Link.

Now I’m just tired and worn out. I love having smart kids, but I have to work hard at staying cleverer than they are. Link suckered me good for the last couple of weeks and now I have to make sure that he can’t get away with it anymore because in the long run that would be bad. In theory the kids will eventually thank me for all this blatant manipulation.

Today I did the to-school drop off without taking Gleek along. Taking Gleek adds at least 5 minutes to the beginning of the trip because she has to walk to the car by herself. Adjust her seat by herself. Buckle the seat belt by herself. And then frequently tantrums so that I’ll run back inside to get forgotten items like shoes and blankets. She adds another few minutes to the end of the trip because I have to unbuckle her and coax her out of the car and back into the house. In all, taking Gleek along just about quadruples the nuisance factor, so today I insisted that she stay home with Daddy.

Apparently there was screaming and hitting. Then she ran out of the house and down to the corner where she sat to wait for me. We had heavy frost this morning, she was wearing a sleevless dress and bare feet. Howard followed her to keep her safe, when I rounded the corner and drove past she ran back home. She grabbed onto me and held on like she never intended to let go.

We talked over the experience at length. She informed me that this is the second time I’ve left her. I only vaguely remember the other time, it was at least 6 months ago, probably longer. But in her mind these experiences loom very large and make her very, very sad. The size of her sadness is such that it totally outweighs the nuisance of hauling her along. I don’t want to make her feel that sad or abandoned anytime soon.

I just got mean and laid down a new law that I’m now going to have to enforce. This is a frequent problem with New Laws. And yet I continue to make them. And then in moments of weakness or tiredness I allow my kids to disregard them. Then in moments of stress I either reinstate the old New Law or make a new New Law. The “No Eating in the Family Room” rule cycles through this process about once a week.

My kids have been accustomed to eating dinner and then selecting a snack before bed. This often meant that they fought over every required bite at dinner and then filled up on toast right before bed. When I was microwaving frozen things for dinner I didn’t mind so much. Now I’m spending time on actual cooking. Seeing the carefully planned and prepared food go uneaten bothers me because there was actual work involved.

Tonight Kiki gobbled up two helpings. Patches plowed through the food on his plate. Gleek and Link battled over ever bite. They also battled over going to bed and once in bed declared “I’m hungry!” I was mad. I scolded. Then I allowed them to get out of bed, but declared the New Law: “Kids who do not eat dinner have to eat dinner at snack time.” Then to rub in the lesson I got Kiki out of bed and let her eat a cookie for a snack. There was wailing and moaning and gnashing of teeth. I then informed Gleek and Link that they could also have a cookie if they cleaned their plates first. 30 minutes later they still had food on the plates, I sent them to bed anyway. I’ve saved the plates of food. If they finish them tomorrow then they can have a cookie.

I think that as long as I’m cooking meals this New Law will actually be applied. Hopefully it will quickly become accepted and prevent future evenings from being as emotionally wringing as this one was.

This morning I came awake in the pre-dawn hours with the very grateful awareness that “It was only a dream.”  I really hate dreams that require me to get out of bed and check on the well being of the children.  I hate the way they stick in my head all the next day haunting me as if they had actually happened.  Feelings linger regardless of the unreality of their source.

I intended this morning to take extra time to just love my children.  I wanted to savor the fact that I have them and that they are all healthy.  I wanted to enjoy their unique irreplaceable personalities.  What a joy and a miracle it is that I have them.  Instead we were all caught up in the pre-school hustle complete with Patches-damage to Kiki-beloved items and an infuriating broken zipper.  I was steaming mad when we drove away from the house.  I’d calmed down enough by the time we arrived at school that I apologized for yelling and wished Kiki and Link a good day.  It wasn’t until I drove away from the school, leaving them behind, that I remembered how I wanted this morning to go. Then I cried.

I know that I’ll see them after school.  After school I’ll get the chance to hug them and love them and enjoy being with them.  But my dream looms in my brain with a shadowy persistent “What if”.  So many chances of happiness are lost because I allow small things to interfere.  Tragedy may never occur, but that doesn’t change the fact that this morning’s chance for happiness is gone.

There is no doubt at all that the federal childhood immunization programs have saved lives. 30 years ago parents considered immunizations a godsend and lined up to immunized children as fast as they possibly could. 30 years ago parents had actually seen polio and measles and mumps and diptheria. They may have actually experienced them first hand. I have never seen any of those diseases. In fact I’m one of a few of my contemporaries who has actually parented a child with chicken pox. Instead of praising medical science for freeing us of fear of these child killing and maiming diseases, today parents fret whether or not immunizations themselves might be dangerous.

I’m one of them. I fret. I have a close friend who believes her son would not be autistic today had the MMR vaccination given to him been mercury free. I’ve read articles and seen some compelling evidence that certain immunizations administered unadvisedly can cause lasting damage. One of my own children may have been given some long term challenges by a dose of Pertussis vaccine administered at the wrong developmental moment. “May”, “might”, “possible” nothing is certain, I wish it were. Then I wouldn’t have to fret every time I take a child to be immunized.

My stand on immunization: There is definitely a risk in immunizing children. The health risks associated with immunization are much much smaller than the health risks of actually getting the disease. There are a few cases where parents must use their judgement about whether to delay or omit a certain immunization. That said, if you choose not to immunize your child you are not only putting your child at risk, but all the children your child comes into contact with. The more unimunized children there are, the higher the odds that these diseases will have outbreaks. None of the childhood diseases are extinct, there are cases of every single one of them every year. I’m scared, but I immunize.

This is on my brain today because I took Patches to get his DT immunization. The standard immunization is DTaP which includes Diptheria, Tetanus, and Pertussis(whooping cough), but having demonstrated that one of my children was sensitive to the Pertussis vaccine, all my children fall into the category of people who might want to skip this one vaccine. I elected to only immunize for Diptheria and Tetanus. This meant a trip down to the County Health Office since it is the only place that carries the specialized vaccine. Long lines, cranky kids, kids who know they’re about to get shots, elderly people wandering through wondering if this is the place for flu shots, Wheee. The good news is that the shot only cost $5. Everything else was pretty unpleasant. I’m glad to be home. Now if only I can get The back brain fretter to shut up the rest of my day could be nice.

Today featured a screaming shrieking tantrum. Upon arriving back home from dropping kids at school Gleek became very angry with me because she’d carried her shoes to the car and failed to get them onto her feet. She expected me to sit in the driveway and help her put shoes on so she could walk into the house and take them back off. I refused and herded her into the house where she disolved into a screaming shrieking tantrum. After a few minutes of listening to her kicking and screaming and shouting “I hate you!” I picked her up and put her into her room. She knows when I do this she is supposed to stay there until she is calm. Instead she went running for the door and demanding her blanket. I put the child safety doorknob on so that she couldn’t get out of her room without permission and retrieved her blanket from where she’d thrown it in the living room. I gave it to her and she hit me with it. So I shut the door on her and tried to ignore the screaming and pounding.

Howard came up from his office wondering what all the noise was about. I’m fairly certain the neighbors were wondering too, but fortunately they didn’t come and ask. I’m so glad Howard was home because we were able to exercise some tag-team parenting. When one parent is in conflict with a child, then the other parent gets to step in and be understanding. Gleek resisted Howard in that role. She was demanding that she wanted mommy, but I was feeling abused and I felt that it was important that she appologize for her behavior before I became sympathetic. I’m not sure what magic Howard worked on Gleek, but within a minute all was quiet in her room. It stayed quiet for 5 or 10 minutes at the end of which a very appologetic and teary Gleek came running to me for hugs and reassurance.

I love that Howard now has the time and sufficiently low stress levels to do this kind of thing.

One thing that I have learned in the past 9 years of parenting is the importance of ritual. Children rely on rituals to make themselves secure and happy. Unfortunately parents don’t get to choose which rituals are sacrosanct to the children, but then there are lots of parental rituals that the children don’t get to choose either, like bathing.

At our house we have the Ritual of the Oatmeal. Quaker Oats has brilliantly and deviously created a product called Dinosaur Egg oatmeal. It is like regular maple and brown sugar oatmeal which is packaged in individual size servings only it also contains a dozen or so little candy eggs. When the eggs and oatmeal are stirred with boiling water the candy shell dissolves leaving a little colored candy dinosaur. In other words the eggs “hatch” into dinosaurs. This food has been a staple at our house for more than a year and Gleek in particular has developed a special Ritual of the Oatmeal and woe betide any parent who fails to follow the ritual precisely for much screaming will follow.

The Ritual of the Oatmeal: A parent must open the bag of oatmeal then hand it to the child to dump. Link carefully sorts out all of the eggs and puts them to the side of his bowl. Gleek carefully hides all of the eggs under the oatmeal in a “nest”. Frequently Gleek needs help with this hiding process because the ritual cannot proceed with any eggs visible. Then the parent need to make clear whether or not Gleek wants her eggs to hatch because sometimes she likes to eat the dinosaurs in-the-shell. Not hatched means hot water. Hatched requires boiling water. Link always wants his eggs to hatch. Once the water has been acquired at appropriate temperatures it must be poured in exactly the correct spot. Link usually makes a hole in the middle of his oatmeal all the way down to the bare bowl. Gleek designates a point at the top of her nest of eggs. After the Pouring of the Water, parental involvement is finished. Gleek carefully stirs and picks out all the eggs eating them first before the oatmeal. Link grabs the pile of eggs off the counter and ceremoniously dumps them into the lake of boiling water in his bowl. Then he stirs and eats.

I supposed I could refuse to participate in Oatmeal Rituals. I could just dump the stuff together and say “Just eat it!” In fact on days where I’m over-tired or irritated I do just that. But there are so few things in their lives that children are really allowed to control, that it doesn’t surprise me when they create comfort rituals surrounding food. That small piece of their lives they can make exactly right. And so I participate knowing that eventually they’ll outgrow the need for dinosaurs in their oatmeal.