Saturday, July 24, 2010

Pot Luck

How did it get to be July 23?
Wasn't it just July 4?
This all-a -blur feeling is indicative of my failure to live mindfully and relish the present moment.
Like when I am driving and thinking about what I have to do next and miss the exit. Sadly, when I was still working at the newspaper, I drove into work with F fast asleep in his car seat. Luckily the boys don't let me miss a beat now.
D bellows from the backseat if I make a 'wrong' turn on the way to preschool.
"Why are we going this way? THIS IS NOT THE WAY!'
I should do yoga. But I don't because I need to consistently fit in strength training which I cannot seem to do. I already have to get up at 5:30 a.m. to run for "the Love of Abraham Lincoln!" (Just Quoting Toy story 2 here as it is on in the other room.)
Thank God I  am off this week. Maybe I will finish reading a book.
But this downtime has me thinking too.
I just realized I have spent the last 26 years on a diet! This Debbie-downer thought came courtesy of Health Magazine where I read you can eat carbs now to lose weight.
Sweet Jesus.
I don't know what to think anymore.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Boy Books and Bad Gas

I was reading an Associated Press article in the Washington Post that boys lag far behind girls in reading and that books about farts may level the playing field.
That sounds about right.
And yet - as a former girl - there is something that makes me feel oddly squeamish about that analysis.
I chickened out about putting fart in the title of this post. What would my Twitter friends think?
But that's the point. This isn't about me. It's about the boys.
There's plenty of evidence in my house that the publishing industry is on to something.
Just this morning, my eldest who was home from camp with a sore throat, yelled from the couch.
"Hey mom! Wanna see me make my leg fart?" (Envision the armpit fart behind he knee.)
My youngest constantly walks through the house saying, "I passed gas" in response to unrelated questions like, "How are  you?"
Before the Post article revelation, my boys were living the dream. Their favorite bed time stories were "Walter the Farting Dog" and "Dr. Dog"
 Walter's bad gas foiled a burglary and Dr. Dog's grandfather patient had so much gas his house exploded.
So I have accepted that we are not a "Make Way for Ducklings" house and I stopped taking offense when they and their father make fun of my favorite girl book, "The Lonely Doll." And I will treasure the quiet time I recently instituted to cultivate good reading habits even when the book cracked is not my first choice but theirs.
As best selling author James Patterson said in the AP article: "I think it can turn around for a lot of kids. Parents have to take the responsibility seriously. Schools need to be more practical, meaning they need to understand that reading lists are tremendously important but you have to put books on it that the kids are going to respond to," he said. "Reading is such a necessary thing to take you through life."
And farts, after all, are a natural part of life.
So why not read about them?

Monday, July 19, 2010

Carving out me time at dawn

The 5:30 a.m. jogs are working.
Today was the first chaos free Monday morning in weeks.
Breakfast got made. Camp bags were packed and bug spray went on without fuss.
As much as I loathe getting up, once I am on my way I appreciate the way the morning quiet clears my mind...the way it lines up the to-do list in my head.
I get perspective when I can quicken my pace to dodge sprinklers and gauge my speed by the whereabouts of  dog lady who walks her two, small yapping pups around the block each morning.
This is good.
Best of  all, I'm not stressing about how to work in exercise or feeling guilty about doing it when I get home from work.
I can feel present when I walk in the door.
And I say yes without a qualifier when I hear, "Mommy, can you come sit down with me?"
Yep, this feels right.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

The husband who saved pajama day and other fine stories

I am in need of organization. And that's no joke.
I feel like a manic squirrel.
Sleep, get up and run, get the breakfast, get dressed, drop off at camp, drop off preschool, check the blackberry, get to work and then, Go!
I thought I could alleviate my mania by getting up every other day to run at 5:30 a.m.
Turns out a morning run won't solve the fact that #1 can't find socks because I didn't fold the laundry given I had to go to bed too early so I could run and #2 doesn't want to wear striped underwear.
Some people have an easier time letting these things go. I was never blessed with that skill.
I hold on. I obsess.
Pajama Day at preschool almost threw me over the edge.
Imagine the horror. The only jammies left in the drawer were long sleeve flannels. It was going to be 92 and humid.
 I run downstairs. No short set in the dryer.
Time is ticking.
I have less than 30 minutes to dry my hair, get the kids breakfast and get out the door.
Mayday, Mayday!
I call my husband.
Like a slightly annoyed knight in shining armor who has no preference for matching sleepwear whatsoever, he offers to run to Target to get the PJ short set while I take #1 to camp.
I love this guy!
He must love me too.
This follow-up success pic came to me at work.


Sunday, July 11, 2010

The Insane Summer School at Home Mandate

The summer reading list came from my son's school Friday - July 9. He is supposed read 10 books - one which is at least 300 pages - by the time he returns to school at the end of August. At the same time I get the list, I get a letter that he could benefit from reading help and, by the way, sign-ups for reading camp are Monday.
Come again?
After two parent conferences and no hint of any reading issues from anyone, I am a little baffled.
You would think school leaders would offer more notice to parents. But I think because my oldest is a well-behaved and a good student in general he falls through the cracks. No worries. We will pick up the slack because we can. But it is nonetheless maddening.
And this brings me to my second soapbox point.
Ten books?
 Really?
Does summer break resonate with anyone? I am not advocating slacking off by playing video games or sitting in front of the TV for hours, but why in third grade do you have to be on mission to Dartmouth? Why not choose one or two really good, educational books like "Johnny Tremain" and write a couple of paragraphs on the plot?
I don't remember this pressure as a child. Even my five-year-old is going through stacks of advanced sight words at pre-school.
I have to wonder whether - if by following this prescription - I am fostering a love of  learning or making it a chore that will cause burnout by the time high school rolls around.
My husband came home from a youth football coaching clinic yesterday and said the league commissioner said something important to the football dads. The man's son is being recruited by top colleges. He told the dads that not one of the recruiters asked how his kid did in third grade. Pee wee, he said, is all about learning skills and having fun.
Why can't the same thing apply to early academics?

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Learning to speak "boy"

Seems I need to learn how to speak, "boy."
I am sometimes startled at how my way of communicating with my sons can sometimes be so totally ineffective.
I don't want to get all Mars Vs. Venus here, but, case in point: I noticed my eldest was odd man out with some kids at the beach. He had been playing in a group and then he was suddenly by himself.
Everything OK? I ask.
Yeah. I just want to be by myself.
My mom antennae goes up.
Later, I overhear he does not like one of the older boys playing.
So what's going on? I ask.
Nothing. I just don't like him a little.
Why?
I don't know.
I can sense he wants me to back off and I do thankfully resist the urge to shine a bright light in his face and interrogate him into the night. But now I have my own head trash to deal with - Why won't he confide in me?? (Insert plaintive wail here.)
I tell my husband I think the big boy may have said something to our son.
He looks at me with a big "So?" stuck to his expression.
The next day in the car my husband says: So why don't you like so and so?
The answer comes at once.
"He called me a butt-off."
My son said he just walked away. His other friends said nothing.
Later I asked him why he couldn't tell me what he had told his dad so effortlessly?
You ask too many questions, he said.
This is true of course. But it is linked in my need for detail not in a need to badger. I loathe one word answers. I need words that can help me understand.
"It can be a little annoying, mom."
And so it goes.
My husband likes to tell me women speak 5,000 words more a day than a man. I don't know if this is true but I do know I have questions that need answers beyond yes and no and sometimes they happen to come into my head at midnight.
A friend once told me to be patient if you want to learn what is going on with your kids...do less talking and more listening. So, I have. It feels worthwhile and uncomfortable at the same time.
But my boys are ready to assist me.
My son wants me to hand over my Flip camera so he and his dad can give me video lessons on how to speak boy. My husband will star as me.
 My youngest chimes in that speaking boy is easy.
You just wave and say, hi in a very low voice that sounds a little like cookie monster.
But then a line is drawn in the sand.
"Mom, you can't ask me more than five questions a day."
That's a little much, I say. I am not willing to accept a question quota.
So we come to a mutual agreement.
Too many questions will get me the time-out sign.
I can live with that.
We fist bump instead of shake.