Tag Archives: my friends rock

On Hitting Trolls with Brooms

Posted on by Amy Pybus
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Yea, I stole it from Amazon

A while back I wrote about some of my son’s favorite books and was looking for pictures of them on the interwebs. I came across a review of one of our all-time classics, Harry and the Terrible Whatzit.

It’s a story that Younger Son always loved. He went through a very fearful phase and we had a whole stack of books specifically about dealing with fears (and he loved each and every one of them, and still gets excited when he comes across them). I loved Harry because it’s an old-fashioned book from the ’70s with quaint pictures and no marketing involved.

It’s about a little boy who’s afraid to go in the basement to look for his missing mother. But he needs to find her! So Harry plucks up his courage and goes in the basement, and of course there’s a Terrible Whatzit down there. He starts beating it with a broom.

Here’s what the review said:

“I almost hesitate to recommend this book to other parents and teachers because it shows a little boy hitting someone (or something) else. And hitting isn’t a message I want to send to the little boys out there.”

OK, let’s not panic here.

The story is about empowerment! It’s about defeating the boogie men who live in the closet!! It’s not saying that you should literally carry around a broom for beating people!

Kids know the difference between reality and books. Would there really be a two-headed warty troll in the basement? No. So you wouldn’t need to beat it with a broom. But when Harry hits it, the troll shrinks and eventually runs away. It’s an ingenious way to show kids metaphorically that if they face their fears, they can overcome them.

Who wasn’t afraid to go in the basement? I still remember the fear that would rise in my chest from just looking into that dark, brick-lined pit. The value of a book like this is in being able to pinpoint that feeling and teach a child how to overcome it without lecturing. And to show that maybe the thing you’re afraid of isn’t so big and bad, and you’re smart and tough enough to handle it. Like my friend Natalie told me the other day, “You’re so much stronger and braver than you give yourself credit for.” We all need to hear that every now and then.

There is violence throughout literature because there is violence throughout life. I understand that there is a point in trying to shield our kids from it (such as the WWE, God help me my sons idolize mulleted insane muscle freaks). But we can’t totally. Violence is part of human nature.

Teaching kids not to be violent is a daily, ongoing process, during which we show them that all kinds of behavior aren’t acceptable. Instead we teach them how to treat people in a respectful way.

You know, probably by explaining about not going around hitting them with brooms, and stuff like that.

The best way to teach non-violence is to live it. Most kids would never see you beating anything with a broom unless you had a raccoon in your garage. We teach by how we live. If they see you being courteous, treating people with respect, and apologizing when you’re wrong, then they’ll know how to do these things too. And hopefully we can show them how to protect themselves from violence a little bit, too (but that’s another post).

For example, Older Son was worried that he’d hurt someone during a basketball game and didn’t know what to do. I told him next time something like that happens, just pat the guy on the shoulder and say, “Sorry about that, are you ok?” Easy. But until I gave him the simple steps, he didn’t know what to do.

I have another old ‘70s book in my collection of classics called Sunday Morning by Judith Viorst. We discovered it when my kids were about 7 and 5. In it a parent threatens the kids with a spanking if they’re not quiet. The first time we read it Younger Son turned to me and asked, “What’s a spanking?”

Can I say that was one of my proudest moments as a mother without looking like a self-satisfied jerk? But kids will come across a lot of things in books that they’ve never actually seen happen in real life.

So people, be not afraid. Read “Harry and the Terrible Whatzit” and fight monsters and slay dragons. Your kids will feel powerful and strong and maybe next time (or, a year from now) you won’t have to go in the basement with them.

What More Can I Say But…WWE

Posted on by Amy Pybus
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OK. I’ve done it. I’ve been to the dark side…and come back to tell the story.

I went where I swear I would never have gone, and had no desire to go, in my whole life – if I didn’t have two sons in it.

A real-life WWE cage match.

This is just the latest thing I banned from my kids’ lives and they insisted on having, so eventually I caved. Just like how I said there’d never be war toys in my house and now we have an arsenal – literally. There are so many guns and swords that they had to be moved into their own room (you know, the office/guest room/armory).

BUT, as I learned with the guns, the toys you play with don’t make you who you are. It’s how you treat other people. And teaching my boys how to treat other people has nothing to do with toy guns. So I do my usual daily work of guiding and teaching, and I let the WWE seep in. Or come crashing in, literally and figuratively, as it did for my boys. And we continue to talk about how you don’t resolve your problems by throwing someone through a wall.

Older Son was angry when I told him how I felt about professional wrestling. Here he’d found this awesome, intensely cool thing that spoke to him on a level I can’t understand, and all I could do was say how bad it was. I told him I can’t stand to see people beating on each other.

He put his hand on my arm, looked in my eyes, and in a tone of real concern asked me, “You do know it’s fake, right?”

I had to admit it – he’s a pretty smart kid. So I let it play. In a matter of months they’ve obtained toy wrestling rings, a collection of action figures, and a soundtrack that must be cranked whenever we’re in the car. So Santa decided it would be fun to take them to a real match (against my will). I decided to look at it as a sociological experiment (which I guess is pretty much how I see most of my life these days).

I figured the crowd would be entertaining and boy was I right. There were a few who were really downright scary – you could see the security guards keeping an eye on them (and in real life they’re probably the sweetest people but put them in the right situation and they look terrifying). The 65-year-old lady and her 35-year-old son gesturing wildly to each other when the announcer said the next live match would be in March. The (again, adult) lady behind us yelling and screaming and making the most hilarious comments – to people who don’t take the WWE seriously enough (“Oh yea, he’s dirty like always!” “Look out behind you!! The chair!!! HE’S GOT THE CHAIR!!!”). Full-grown men wearing WWE championship belts.

And I loved how the wrestlers had security guards escorting them down the aisle to the exit. You, John Cena, man of muscle, who just lifted a 275-pound 7-foot tall man on your back and slammed him to the ground AND won the match, need this scrawny dude to protect you from the weaklings in the seats?

The wrestling actually looks more fake in real life than it does on TV (sorry everyone who believes it’s real – and there are SO MANY of you out there). But even I gasped and covered my eyes several times when people were being body slammed or worse. And of course there were moments that got the teacher and protector-of-children in me going, like when they showed the video montage of the WWE’s anti-bullying program.

Really? A sport that is based solely on bullying, and they’re sending the stars out there to tell kids not to do it to each other? They actually had the nerve to say “It’s all about respect.” Because when you kick someone in the face, that’s respect!

And the fact that they kept making a big deal out of their shows being “PG.” What’s PG about people slamming other people’s faces into walls or smashing chairs into their bodies? Michelle told me, “The G is for Guidance, and as a Parent, that’s WHAT YOU DO.”

I told her to shut it.

And then we got in a divas cage match right there in the car on the way home from the show.

The Beauty of Youth Sports

Posted on by Amy Pybus
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What? Me, the big whiner, writing about the positive aspects of youth sports? Wasn’t I just bashing baseball a week ago?

There are good things about sports, even I have to admit that. And we’ve just gone through a post-season that has reaffirmed my belief in those ideas. Wow. Sorry if I’m getting a little crazy here. Let me explain.

After our town’s little league seasons are over we enter post-season tournaments with other local towns. These are towns that have a long history of beating up on our teams because they have more money, more kids, and they play together longer (and we don’t always lose, we do get to win sometimes and it’s so nice).

Last year we were unprepared for the level of play during these tournaments and frankly, we got spanked. The kids didn’t care – they got free hot dogs after the game and one more day to play ball. In fact one of my proudest moments as a mother came after a particularly severe beating (we were mercied after dropping by ten runs). One of the opposing team’s players walked past Older Son and I thought he would drop his head and skulk by. Instead Older looked him right in the face and said, “Good game.”

Wow. Either me or the coach was doing something right.

This year we prepared better. Practice every day. Lots of repetition and drilling the basics and reviewing the insane little rules that could get us in trouble.

And the coaches took every kid who tried out, even if they didn’t play at the higher level this year. They played every kid on the team – no one sat on the bench for a whole game. When I commented to Michelle that it was nice of them to take the younger kids, she said, “Coach wants them to like playing ball.”

That is the key to what I want out of my kids playing sports. To have fun, and want to continue to play as they get older. I’ve seen too many kids get discouraged by a losing season or a negative atmosphere. And why play if it’s no fun?

That, and what I saw happening on this team this year. Maybe they’ve finally reached an age where they understand what a team is. I was so impressed to see this group of boys work together. They supported each other, celebrated each others’ successes and consoled bad plays, and they taught each other how to fix their mistakes instead of yelling. They were just happy to play and it showed.

I know very few adults who work together this well.

If we lost today’s game we were out of the tournament. We were down by four with two innings to go. It was raining hard and the field was sloppy so we missed some key plays and allowed more runs. No matter – the moms huddled together under umbrellas and cheered for everyone. When we put in a new pitcher and the opposing team put on a song to taunt him, we danced around and made it our own.

Both the game and the weather were looking bleak, but on the sidelines we prayed for sun so we could get our last ups. We allowed another run, but finished the inning with a great play and we cheered like crazy.

The coaches and parents on the other team were looking at us as if we were slightly off. We basically lost the game in this inning and yet we were smiling and dancing. I turned to the moms and said, “We’re in their heads!” In a town that prizes winning above all else, how was it conceivable that we were laughing, dancing, clapping, and having a great old time? (And it seemed to me that our kids playing out on the field were just as happy.)

Out came the rally caps in the dugout. And still every kid on this team had their turn in the game. The coaches put in the younger and weaker players even in key moments so they’d get their turn.

Would it be too cliche if I said I had the song from the Bad News Bears running through my head at this point?

We actually got back a couple of runs, Older got to pitch for the first time in post-season play, we continued to scream and yell, and then we lost. And we all cheered those kids as they walked off the field as if they were champs. Coach told the kids, “We had one bad inning that cost us the game, but we had 23 good innings during the rest of the tournament. Last year you had one good inning in the whole thing! So you should be proud.”

(And, by the way, might I brag a little, that they WON a game this year AND were never mercied. They were a contender. Really. That’s not just Mom talking.)

I’m really going to miss baseball. I think part of the reason this team worked together so well is because this is an area where boys can really shine. In school they’re already at a disadvantage because they’re boys and they learn by action, not sitting still and focusing like girls do (don’t get all “You’re sexist and disgusting!” on me, you know it’s true, especially if you’ve ever worked with kids). Here they get a physical challenge and a common goal to work for, one of the great motivators of men. The older boys get to share their knowledge with the younger ones, and the younger kids get to surprise the older ones with their skills.

Even after losing we are feeling pretty good about baseball in my family. As one of the moms said to me, “We’re just a happy community and our kids are happy too. Put out love, and you get love back.” I know the ballfield is no place for love. There’s no crying in baseball, either. But a mom’s still gotta protect her 10-year-old boy. When I walked by the dugout four of them swarmed me to show me their injuries. We can dress them up like little adults and stick them out there and berate them when they don’t play like major leaguers, but underneath all that they’re still just boys, and they need encouragement and positivity so much more than pressure. Growing up is hard enough. I guess I’d just rather have my kids play for the Bad News Bears and feel good about themselves. No trophy beats that.

Am I Doing the Wrong Thing?

Posted on by Amy Pybus
3

How can parents be so sure about some things but so confused about others? (And is that just a sadly cliched way of describing human nature…) Last Saturday I spent hours teaching a class about how to handle power struggles with kids, which I’m 100% confident about. I can see a child fighting and stop it in its tracks. I can make a decision and say, this is the way it is, period, end of story, move on. I’m really good at it.

For instance, that evening my son wanted a sleepover, then didn’t, kept his hostess up late so I could arrive to get him, and when I got there wanted to stay. Without thinking twice I said “Get your stuff, we’re leaving.” There was no way he was staying, I knew that! And I had no guilt or second thoughts about it.

But the next morning, I was consumed with doubt about letting my sons play sports. Two completely different topics, I know that, and probably why I can’t figure it out. My husband and I both wonder if it’s the right thing to do. The boys are torn. On one hand, they’re a bit bored and sometimes don’t even want to play (and are afraid of getting hit by baseballs, which has happened twice this year). On the other hand, they have so much fun when they make a great play or get a big hit, and of course they love extra time hanging out with their friends (AND don’t forget treats from the snack bar).

We are convinced that they have to finish the season they started, no question. But our doubt kicks in when we see the ADULTS BEHAVING BADLY as the season progresses. Here’s how it goes, every season, every sport. At first, all the teams are playing by the rules, just having a good time, even giving each other mercy when one team is down a few players or a team scores five runs in one inning.

As we get closer to the “playoffs” (a word I wish we wouldn’t even use at this age) real, actual bloodlust kicks in and people start to act like idiots. I try to stay out of it for my husband’s sake (he’s the co-coach). I sit way down at the end of the parent section with Michelle, hiding in the trees, cheering for the kids and making each other laugh.

But at the end of the game I hear reports of the father standing behind home plate telling his pitcher son to “Put this one down.” I want to walk up to the guy, bitch-slap him, and say, “Did you know that’s my seven-year-old son you’re talking about?!”

And there’s the problem. I can’t go around bitch-slapping people, even if they deserve it, because that would not be setting a good example for my children. So we try to teach them to rise above it. Is that the value of playing sports? Rising above bad behavior?

Then I go to Natalie’s kids’ music recital and I am so moved. There were about fifteen boys and girls of all ages and abilities and they were so brave. They went up on stage and played the best they could despite the stress of performing. There were the usual pauses and missed notes, and some were revelatory in their talent and some could barely raise their eyes to look at the crowd – but every one of those kids got a rousing ovation. You could feel the love in the room even when someone messed up. The audience was willing those kids on and supporting them completely no matter what happened.

In sports, I’m usually willing something to happen – the ball to fly off my son’s bat or for him to not miss a big catch. But I sit quietly as parents jeer and scream and allow – or even encourage – bad sportsmanship. Not too many people are willing success for all the kids on the field. And that’s the paradox of little league – we’re all about growing good people! But you know what? Not really.

So when Older said he wanted to join the drama club next year I thought, maybe that’s it. I was never cut out for sports and maybe despite his natural abilities, he’s not either. Drama club loves everyone. Maybe despite our best efforts to change it, the cycle continues: jocks and geeks, cheerleaders and band members. And the best we can do is walk away from the things that diminish us and find the places where we belong.

Dave and I debate the value of keeping them there – teamwork, exercise, learning a sport and maybe wanting to pursue it in the future. But we realize that as we are trying to teach them respect for others, and following the rules, and just behaving in general like civilized people, that there are so many people out there who are living the total opposite example. Grown adults who scream at seven-year-olds and rejoice in their defeat.

Did I mention that I hate youth sports? Back to the point – how can I be so sure I’m doing the right thing for my kid sometimes, and at other times be sure I’m doing the exact wrong thing. I guess I can only do my best. But I know one thing for sure – despite popular opinion to the contrary, the life lessons will NOT come from the ball field. Or maybe they will, and the lesson will be how to deal with awful people. And at what point do I accept that this is not the best thing for my sons, and move on to something like music lessons.

Tornadoes and What-Ifs

Posted on by Amy Pybus
3

I think we’re all already in tornado shell-shock from what’s been happening around the country lately. I go between looking at pictures and praying and crying for the people involved, and having to shut the paper because I can’t look anymore.

From gazettenet.comI can kid myself that we’re safe as long as we live here, where tornadoes rarely hit and are rarely very powerful. Then Wednesday happens and I can’t be in denial anymore.

I had Michelle here with me in case I had to take kids in the basement. You never think that the worst will actually happen and I was convincing myself that it was just a precaution. But after hearing the warnings all morning and watching the sky turn green I knew it couldn’t hurt to have extra hands here. Plus a friend to take my mind off things. (And yes, protect me. Thanks Mich.)

I’d been worried all afternoon because I just wanted my kids home. Older was on a school field trip, riding a school bus right up the corridor where the tornado would touch down a few hours later. Younger was at school and I was at home with day care kids, feeling helpless if anything did happen. I needed my kids with me. Thank God they made it here safe and sound before the worst hit.

All we got here at the house was a lot of wind and rain, and it passed pretty quickly. We were relieved and joking around when Dave tried to call me four times in a row. I could hear him saying “Can you hear me?” over and over and I was yelling back at him. I tried to call him back and went to voicemail. I yelled “Figure out how to use your phone!” at some point. Michelle was half-teasing, half-serious when she asked if I had the mute on.

We went back to work and about twenty minutes later Dave burst in. “Do you have any idea what’s going on? Turn on the TV!”

And there we saw the video of the tornado hitting the river and flipping over trucks a few hundred yards away from where Dave was driving home.

The good news was we were all safe and the worst was over, and day care was still happening and there were kids to feed and change and send home. But at some point I had to stop and think, and the first thought I had was, What if that ridiculous phone call was the last time I’d heard my husband’s voice?

To top it off it was Younger’s birthday, and at some point Older came running in yelling that Younger had lost a tooth. What else? What else can happen today? I can only handle so much!

So I wrapped presents and Dave watched more news (away from the kids because we didn’t want to scare them) and we went out to birthday dinner even though we both felt pretty leery about going out before the storms were really over.

A hailstorm hit as we were driving home and the water was just pouring down. The wind was blowing and I eyed the 200-year-old, 40-foot tall, 12-foot round pine tree in my yard. If it ever goes… but at the same time, the trees protected some people I know by taking the brunt of the storm away from their house.

Of course we’d left windows open and the water was forming pools under each one. The boys helped me run around with towels mopping them up. Older was very upset that the couch was drenched and I told him it’s really NOT A BIG DEAL. As I wiped a puddle off a windowsill I thought, I still have a windowsill.

On Wednesday night I tucked my kids into their own beds. As I read to Younger I felt a warmth that I hadn’t noticed in a while. It was the comfort of home and safety and luckily, for me, today - security. I remembered what my father said when he called to make sure we were all safe after the storm: We are the blessed ones.

As I brought the kids to school yesterday I thought about what would happen if my home was flattened. I wouldn’t just lose my home, I’d lose my job. Everything I have revolves around this house. You always think first about what would be lost – all the pictures and memories, do I grab the laptop with the photos on it or my purse as I run out the door? (Preferably both, but after the kids and the cat.) But then you think about, what happens after? How do you go on from something that devastating?

I remembered a resident of New Orleans after Katrina who said the day after the storm that destroyed her town, she was sitting in the rubble of her back yard watching a spider re-build its web. She was struck by how nature just goes on, unphased by disaster. And we go on as well. The day after the storm it was a beautiful, sunny day and we were off to Boston for dad’s graduation. Life goes on – like I hope we would be able to if the worst happened.