So, either our kids have been incredibly well behaved during the last three months or I have been too busy to notice the funny stuff. I kind of doubt the former and I am showing signs of the latter.
I don't know why, but everything in our house (everything funny anyway) seems to happen at bedtime and when I have a migraine. So at bedtime last night when my head was pounding, I should have steeled myself against the inevitable.
Everyone was getting their jammies on, Marty says that he is out of clean underwear so I go into the girls room to grab some from the clean laundry basket. I pass Paul on the way out as he is giving the girls kisses and hugs. As I walk back into Marty's room, I am greeted by a sight that no mother should witness. My five year old son is lounging (the only word that can describe it appropriately)on his bed, naked as a jay-bird with one hand behind his head and the other one covering up his junk. He looks up and smiles at me. I fled the room before my head exploded. By this time Paul has finished saying goodnight to the girls and is staring at his wife who has apparently just gone insane because she is crying, leaning over the railing, trying to laugh as silently as possible, while waving a stack of clean underwear in the air. He goes into Marty's room.
"Son, get your jammies on. NOW"
Paul walks back to me, looks into my eyes and with a quiet and sincere voice says,
"I want you to paint me like one of your French girls, Jack."
I can't tell you what happened after that because my head finally exploded.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Friday, September 2, 2011
Sorry, not funny..
Yesterday was not a good day. As a parent, there are those days that make you question whether or not all of your efforts to raise your children with the values that deem important were in vain. Yesterday was one of those days for me.
Short story:
I found out that my nine-year-old daughter had been a part of a group of girls who teased a boy, two years her senior, to the extent that all the other school age kids laughed at him and he ended up crying. (NOT HAPPY)
Long story:
I had stayed home to work so that I could take all three kids to the open house at their school. They would be able to meet their teacher, see their classroom, etc. I thought it would be a good idea, especially for Marty as he is going into Kindergarten and has not attended this school before. As I am picking up the kids, the director to the center tells me that we need to talk when I get back. Uh-oh. She tells me which of the kids it regards but didn’t want to go into details. I give Mary (the subject of my future conversation with the director) the chance to tell me what happened before we get back. She told me some of it, but not what I would consider to be the most important parts.
Apparently one girl made a comment about the boy in question. Insulting; yes. Inflammatory; no. Then it was decided that they should write it down (because apparently they thought it was just too funny). Then it was decided that they should take this piece of paper and tape it to the boy’s back so that all the other kids could see how funny they were. It did not end well. I do, however, commend the center for their response. The entire group of girls was held responsible and from the conversation I had with the director, the lessons she tried to impress up on them were exactly the ones I included with my conversations with Mary. They try to be really careful, especially during summer when so many older kids are there all day, to break up any activities that become exclusionary to other children.
Many of you did not know me in 6th grade but some of you may know the story. My entire school year was made hell by a pack of rabid twelve-year-old girls who, for reasons outside my understanding, decided to make me the sole target of all their negative attention. I lost friends due to lies they spread. I received hate mail in my desk signed by almost everyone in my class. I was alienated at lunch and other activities because they were popular and others did as they wanted. I was saved only by my parents, my teacher, and the few good friends I had at the time who refused to follow along. I still remember now, almost twenty eight years later, going home almost every day in tears and sometimes I still cry with the heart of a twelve-year-old girl. I did not realize until adulthood that my parents were just as heartbroken and frustrated as me. They met over and over with my teacher and principal to try and figure how to stop it. That summer we moved away because my father was re-assigned to a base overseas. It was probably the happiest move of my father’s Naval career for me.
My children know this story. I have told it to them before when they themselves were the target of teasing and negative attention. Mary is particularly sensitive to teasing but I had always comforted myself with the idea that, as hard as it was for her, at least she was not on the other side of it. Mary is a beautiful girl (though I am biased as her mother) and I have always worried that she would become the stereotypical blond bombshell that we all feared and/or idolized as we walked down the halls between class. The easy popularity that seems to come with being attractive has always made me more adamant in teaching about inner-beauty and not judging others. Mary is going into 4th grade this year, only two years away from being classmates with my past tormentors.
The disappointment I felt when hearing the whole story from the center director was only over powered by my empathy for the boy. My conversations with Mary ranged from angry to tearful and still I am unsure if my words left any impression at all. Yes, she expressed regret and yes, she understands how they made the boy feel and yes, she knows it was wrong. Yet when punishment was meted out, she insisted that she “didn’t do anything”. Now, while Mary’s part in all of this was smaller than others, she was still a part of it and I cannot excuse even her partial involvement. Just as the director did, I held her just as responsible as anyone else in the group. I cringed at the repeated, “I don’t know” response. Why did you do it? I don’t know. Didn’t you know it was wrong? Yes. Then why did you go along with it? I don’t know…
The time for I don’t know is over. The time for teaching right and wrong has past. If my children know what is right and wrong but still cannot make the correct choices based on that knowledge then something else has to be done. I want children who will stand up and speak out against the wrong or stand up and support the right. I want children who realize that their inactions can effect others just as much as their actions. I just don’t know how to do it. I can say it over and over but I cannot be sure that the concept is taken to heart. I realize that all of our experiences through life shape who we are and despite of or maybe because of the childhood hardships and adolescent fumblings I have come to a place where I like who I am. I think I am a good person. I want to raise good people. I just don’t know how much of this I can chalk up to being a learning experience and how much I have to consider the start of a problem.
You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.
Short story:
I found out that my nine-year-old daughter had been a part of a group of girls who teased a boy, two years her senior, to the extent that all the other school age kids laughed at him and he ended up crying. (NOT HAPPY)
Long story:
I had stayed home to work so that I could take all three kids to the open house at their school. They would be able to meet their teacher, see their classroom, etc. I thought it would be a good idea, especially for Marty as he is going into Kindergarten and has not attended this school before. As I am picking up the kids, the director to the center tells me that we need to talk when I get back. Uh-oh. She tells me which of the kids it regards but didn’t want to go into details. I give Mary (the subject of my future conversation with the director) the chance to tell me what happened before we get back. She told me some of it, but not what I would consider to be the most important parts.
Apparently one girl made a comment about the boy in question. Insulting; yes. Inflammatory; no. Then it was decided that they should write it down (because apparently they thought it was just too funny). Then it was decided that they should take this piece of paper and tape it to the boy’s back so that all the other kids could see how funny they were. It did not end well. I do, however, commend the center for their response. The entire group of girls was held responsible and from the conversation I had with the director, the lessons she tried to impress up on them were exactly the ones I included with my conversations with Mary. They try to be really careful, especially during summer when so many older kids are there all day, to break up any activities that become exclusionary to other children.
Many of you did not know me in 6th grade but some of you may know the story. My entire school year was made hell by a pack of rabid twelve-year-old girls who, for reasons outside my understanding, decided to make me the sole target of all their negative attention. I lost friends due to lies they spread. I received hate mail in my desk signed by almost everyone in my class. I was alienated at lunch and other activities because they were popular and others did as they wanted. I was saved only by my parents, my teacher, and the few good friends I had at the time who refused to follow along. I still remember now, almost twenty eight years later, going home almost every day in tears and sometimes I still cry with the heart of a twelve-year-old girl. I did not realize until adulthood that my parents were just as heartbroken and frustrated as me. They met over and over with my teacher and principal to try and figure how to stop it. That summer we moved away because my father was re-assigned to a base overseas. It was probably the happiest move of my father’s Naval career for me.
My children know this story. I have told it to them before when they themselves were the target of teasing and negative attention. Mary is particularly sensitive to teasing but I had always comforted myself with the idea that, as hard as it was for her, at least she was not on the other side of it. Mary is a beautiful girl (though I am biased as her mother) and I have always worried that she would become the stereotypical blond bombshell that we all feared and/or idolized as we walked down the halls between class. The easy popularity that seems to come with being attractive has always made me more adamant in teaching about inner-beauty and not judging others. Mary is going into 4th grade this year, only two years away from being classmates with my past tormentors.
The disappointment I felt when hearing the whole story from the center director was only over powered by my empathy for the boy. My conversations with Mary ranged from angry to tearful and still I am unsure if my words left any impression at all. Yes, she expressed regret and yes, she understands how they made the boy feel and yes, she knows it was wrong. Yet when punishment was meted out, she insisted that she “didn’t do anything”. Now, while Mary’s part in all of this was smaller than others, she was still a part of it and I cannot excuse even her partial involvement. Just as the director did, I held her just as responsible as anyone else in the group. I cringed at the repeated, “I don’t know” response. Why did you do it? I don’t know. Didn’t you know it was wrong? Yes. Then why did you go along with it? I don’t know…
The time for I don’t know is over. The time for teaching right and wrong has past. If my children know what is right and wrong but still cannot make the correct choices based on that knowledge then something else has to be done. I want children who will stand up and speak out against the wrong or stand up and support the right. I want children who realize that their inactions can effect others just as much as their actions. I just don’t know how to do it. I can say it over and over but I cannot be sure that the concept is taken to heart. I realize that all of our experiences through life shape who we are and despite of or maybe because of the childhood hardships and adolescent fumblings I have come to a place where I like who I am. I think I am a good person. I want to raise good people. I just don’t know how much of this I can chalk up to being a learning experience and how much I have to consider the start of a problem.
You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Documentary, my dear Watson!
It was an easy night at home with no homework (yet), showers done and nothing else on the schedule. The kids were allowed to watch a little bit of their shows and then Paul wanted to pick something slightly more educational, just so their accomplishment for summer was not listed as “watched the entire series of ‘H2O, Just Add Water’ on Netflix”. We looked around and came across a documentary on Lewis and Clark. Mary started getting excited since she had learned about Lewis and Clark in school. Then Mary tried to tell Sarah all about it so that Sarah could get excited too. Sarah started slicing her arms through the air like a MBL umpire calling a runner safe at home.
“Mary!” she exclaimed. “I am on summer vacation! I am not supposed to learn anything new!”
Yeah, Paul and I lost it…
“Mary!” she exclaimed. “I am on summer vacation! I am not supposed to learn anything new!”
Yeah, Paul and I lost it…
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