This Ain’t the Super Bowl

On the morning of the Super Bowl I sit and reflect on my sons’ experiences in youth sports. I’ve been told that I’m not a good judge of these things, as someone who was a lousy athlete and never had the competitive gene. I’m also a mom and a teacher, so I come at games with the feeling that all kids deserve equal and fair treatment. Do you see the joke in that?

But for my family sports are a huge part of our lives. Every weekend and several nights a week are consumed by practices and games, and that’s great. Especially for many boys, sports are the one place they get to be themselves without being scolded for being too loud, too boisterous, and generally climbing the walls. On the field it’s encouraged.

Sports keep them busy, engaged, and most importantly, healthy. At my son’s last physical the doctor was shocked by the six-pack he has at his young age. Soccer. I wish that at some point in my life I’d been as fit as my boys are. I’d like to know what it feels like to have your body be that strong and responsive. Without all the work of actually exercising of course.

Overall I’m thrilled that my boys like to play and they’re pretty good at it. But as a parent I still have a hard time watching other parents behave like animals on the sidelines. Younger Son had an intensely scary indoor soccer game the other night. The parents were screeching and screaming from the opening moments, willing their kids on, and if that included being dirty in order to win, so be it. The kids responded by acting as if this was the Super Bowl, literally tackling, pushing, pulling, and slamming our guys into the walls. The coach was also screaming at his kids and hassling the ref from the start – you could see this team’s attitude came from the top down.

I watched in fear as a kid almost my size repeatedly crashed into Younger in goal. To add to my anxiety, Older Son had a collision in goal a few weeks ago and needed an x-ray to confirm he didn’t have a broken bone. I knew it would happen someday – that I’d be half-carrying one of my boys off the field, as I’ve seen so many other parents do – and praying our injuries would be the kind that heal quickly and easily.

A game like that makes me someone I don’t like. I’ve learned the hard way to be impartial at games, respect the other team, and remember the big picture: this ain’t the major leagues. But when I hear a bunch of adults calling for a bunch of kids to attack each other in an arena, gladiator-style, I start screaming just as loud as they are (but with positive comments – GOOD JOB GUYS!!! AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS!!!). Even my husband, who is usually the amazingly calm/cool/collected and impartial-to-bad-calls coach, was screaming at the ref to blow his whistle.

I don’t understand why parents behave this way. What lesson do they want their kids to get out of this? In a meaningless game, in a winter indoor soccer league that most people see as a way to keep moving during the frigid months – why do you behave like winning this game at all costs is a matter of life and death? You know what’s a matter of life and death? Cancer.

After the game we were all shaken. Oddly, the players that were streaming out told Younger he’d done a great job in goal. Was their sportsmanship real or forced? It seemed genuine but our kids didn’t believe them, especially after the beating they’d just taken. They said it was just sarcastic, and I had a hard time myself figuring out what it meant. Is it possible to turn your decency on and off that quickly?

As we watched this spectacle my friend turned to me and said, “We should be so concerned about how they’re doing in math.” I think we aren’t because it’s not a place where we’re allowed to sit on bleachers and watch their performance. If we were, would we be there at every class, cheering the correct answers and screaming when they get one wrong? How screwed up would our kids be in that scenario. I’m actually laughing at the thought.

After the game we re-bandaged a swollen raspberry the size of a softball on Younger’s hip that he’d sustained that morning in practice. He said, “This was the worst day of soccer I’ve ever had.” I felt it too. So why do we do this?

I think more than any other place, in a different way than that math classroom, sports are teaching my kids a lot of life lessons. How to deal with people of all kinds, like those you will meet throughout your life. How to set a goal and keep at it, whether or not you succeed. How to work with others and play a role even if you don’t like it that much. How to deal with authority figures, whether you respect them or not. How to accept winning and losing with grace. How to stand up for what you need and accept the outcome.

My guys don’t care that much about the Super Bowl. Maybe that’s because I don’t. Maybe it’s because every four-hour football game broadcast has only 8 minutes of action compared to the 90-plus minutes in soccer. (Maybe I have a hard time cheering for wife-beaters, drug-abusers, and guys who literally kill people and get away with it because of money and power. Or as my husband put it, “Wouldn’t it be nice if people got as upset about inequality and corporate greed as they did about deflategate?” But that’s a different story.)

My husband remembers being rapt and excitedly watching every minute of the Super Bowl when he was young, but I haven’t felt that way since the 1987 Giants. Sure we’ll have some friends over and watch the game, but I’m most excited about having an excuse to eat crappy food. Mid-way through the second quarter, the boys will disappear with their friends upstairs and play FIFA. They won’t care that much about who wins. We’ll be back at soccer practice on Tuesday. There will be more games. There will be triumph, drama, pain, and despair, much like life. And they’ll have sensational abs.

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Knowing When to Push Your Kids

The other day Mr. O realized that his bff was getting on the rocket swing without him and he scrambled to get there before takeoff. I said, “You want a big push?” and he, with his foot stuck underneath himself, said, “I’m not ready yet.” I replied, “I won’t push you ’til you’re ready.”

I was so proud of my little life truism. I felt like Splinter to his Leonardo. Master Shifu to his Po. Avatar Roku to his Aang. For those of you who don’t watch children’s cartoons all day, I was Obi-wan to his Luke (my geek police are not pleased, I realize that).

Silliness aside, I find this is one of the daily challenges of parenting and working with children. When is the right time to push a child, and when do you hold back? It’s one of those questions that never has one simple answer, because every child is different. When you live and work with them you learn what is the right amount of expectation and support for each individual, but it’s a constant balancing act.

On a daily basis I find myself presented with a situation that begs this question. Do I push him now, or do I realize he needs help and give him that instead. Chores and consequences are one thing – you can’t go to your friend’s house until your homework is done. That’s simple enough but it’s just a basic rule, not a judgment call. When he’s had a bad day because he failed a test, do I say YOU NEED TO WORK HARDER NEXT TIME! Or do I tell him these things happen, and pledge to help him study for the next test?

Even the child who could always be pressured a little to do better has periods of regression. The kid who was a superstar last year may have had something bad happen and now he’s plummeting. It doesn’t mean he turned bad – he needs support and love more than ever, and we in our competitive culture tend to be harder on them when they most need kindness. You were great before – why can’t you be great now? Suck it up kid!

We all go through periods like this and I still find myself on that roller coaster as an adult. Usually I’m on top of my game all the time – I got the mom thing mastered and I love it. But when I have those downswings I just want someone to tell me it’s going to be ok. Doesn’t it make sense that when our children are in a dark place, we should do the same for them instead of just demanding for them to “be better”?

I can’t…how can I put this delicately? provide constructive feedback to? or sometimes even make a simple comment to my teenager without fear that he’ll sink into depression. All parents of teens know this. But when we think they’re just being emotional and crazy and want to react and write them off, we should remember how everything felt like a personal attack at that age (hormones). My husband told our son he did a good job on something and his response was a litany of things he did wrong and storming out of the room. That shirt looks good on you. How could you SAY something like that?!

So the story becomes, as we decide when to push our child, we should also be pushing ourselves as parents. We must assess what we’re doing and take an honest look at our own behavior. We have to recognize when we’re out of line or when we need to change instead of trying to force a change on our children. They are their own people and will make their own choices. We can only provide guidance, and constant reminders of what’s right and wrong of course. Back to the hero’s journey. We send them on their way and hope they find the right path.

When parents are having trouble communicating with their children I always ask them, How would you feel if your boss spoke to you that way? Or your partner? We need to be aware of our tone of voice and body language when talking to our kids – which is often lecturing, yelling, or tossing some remark at them while we rush to the next thing or stare at our phone, if we’re really honest.

It is our job to recognize when it is time to push, when it is time step back and let our kids fail a little, and definitely, most importantly, when we need to have real open communication and hear what they need. Then figure out the best way to get them that support – which might not even involve our help, but instead teaching them how to find it elsewhere.

I say it constantly, but parenting is the hardest – and most important – thing most of us will ever do. No one fully understands that until they’re in it – at 2AM after a string of sleepless nights with a baby who still won’t go to sleep and we are ready to lose our freaking mind. Or just standing there at the end of the school day with a kid in tears, trying to find the right way to help him. Steel yourselves, Masters of young heroes. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Addiction is a Disease. Period.

In the last year we’ve lost three of the greatest actors of our time: James Gandolfini. Philip Seymour Hoffman. Robin Williams. Only after they died did we learn the true depth of their suffering.

After Gandolfini’s passing you didn’t hear as much anger or blame in the response. People were just sad. Because his compulsion was overindulgence – we can all relate to that. He was a man of big passions, he loved food, he loved cigars. While worrisome (and ultimately fatal), this type of behavior can even be admired in a man of his stature – he deserved to put his feet up and enjoy himself after all his hard work. People weren’t angry at him.

In the cases of Hoffman and Williams, I don’t have to discuss how visceral and inappropriate the response has been. And I probably don’t have to spell out that the difference is because their problems were addiction and depression. It is widely known that if a person had cancer we’d all be rallying to support them and their family, bringing food, making hospital visits, starting funds, holding charity baseball games, leaving coffee cans around town for donations. But when they have the disease of depression, or alcoholism, and a host of others I’m forgetting, we shun them. We blame the sick person.

Ironically, while looking for answers to Williams’ death, I found comfort (or at least a laugh) in Chris Rock’s retweet of an Onion story about how assigning blame is now the fastest human reflex. I think when we’re feeling grief over a suicide or an overdose, we blame the person because we are hurting and it’s their fault. Then it becomes very easy not to see the victim’s hurt.

When I first studied alcoholism, I learned that anyone can suffer from addiction. And many people in your daily life are actively struggling with it. It is very easy to put on a mask of normality and continue about your business. You can rise to the highest position in your career and go on for years in an active drugs and alcohol situation without anyone really suspecting what’s going on. A “drunk” is not just the guy living in the gutter.

Thank you Mrs. McShea, 2nd grade

Thank you Mrs. McShea, 2nd grade

In elementary school we learn (well we used to learn, I don’t know if it lives up to common core standards nowadays) that you have several aspects to your “self” – mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical. We were told that in order to have a happy life, we should work to keep all these areas healthy. My husband and I are teaching our kids that when your body is sick, you go to the doctor. When your mind is sick, you go to the therapist. There is no shame in this. It’s common sense. Our society needs to embrace this ideology and stop shunning normal human responses to stress. Because we’ve got more stress than ever nowadays.

Throughout my life I’ve loved people who suffered from mental illness. I’ve loved people who suffered from depression. I’ve loved people who suffered from addiction. Those people deserve no less respect than the ones stricken with other more socially acceptable diseases. They crave compassion just as any other sick, hurting person does, and it is not their fault that they are sick.

Until you’ve walked in someone else’s shoes you have no idea what they suffer. There but for the grace of God go I. In these times of loss no one has the right to cast judgment, or call someone a coward, or say how could they not get help. These men were fighting battles their whole lives, as any addict does. Sometimes they win. Sometimes they don’t.

I don't have his egg anymore :(

I don’t have his egg anymore 😦

Mr. Williams’ death hit me hard. The odd thing is several of my friends said they thought of me when they heard the news – I don’t know why, except that I’ve obviously loved him as so many other people have throughout the years (or maybe it was my Mork from Ork action figure). People say he had everything, and how could this happen. I think we need to flip that around and see the other side: the fact that he was able to get up, get out of bed, get to work, get on stage, get in front of people – everything that he gave in spite of what he was dealing with is nothing short of a miracle. We should simply be grateful.

Feeling Contemplative on a Bike Ride

A day for me. As a home child care provider, let me stress to you how rarely this happens. I have worked for 12 years in my home, every day, all day. Think about it – when you’re a child care provider, you can’t leave the house. You don’t run out for a cup of coffee, or take an afternoon off for a dentist appointment. You don’t even get to stop at the market on the way home for a gallon of milk. You just – stay home. It’s a little confining. Don’t have claustrophobia and become a home child care provider.

Lately I’ve found myself taking a few steps back into the world. It’s been wonderful getting re-acquainted, and seeing the town around me for the fun and lively place it is. Of course in true motherly fashion, the day for me became the day I scheduled the recall work on the car. But that’s OK because it forced me to take a bike ride around my town, which is one of my favorite things to do.

I dropped the car off early and relished the quiet morning before the world woke up. I rode to the bridge over the river and took pictures of the rowing crew working out. Smelled the fresh air and flowers (and the garbage truck), and watched all the people dressed up in business clothes heading to work.

As I passed the sights along the way my moods changed wildly: traffic building at the highway entrance. A homeless man sleeping along the bike path. A grandmotherly lady with her bike basket, smiling and ringing her bell. The words “kill you” graffiti’d on the bridge underpass. A nanny with two young boys on bikes. A young guy with headphones actually smiling pleasantly. A serious bike racer all decked out in spandex.

My mind wandered and I couldn’t help but flash back on the days when I used to get up and go, like these folks, to a real professional-like office job. I thought about the plans I’ve made that have come true, and those that didn’t. How I felt about the loss of those things and how I’ve come to be content where I am. The benefits of a corporate job versus being my own boss and working with children. I thought about working at home and how nice it would be to work away from home again. Did I make the right choices, for myself and for my children?

I was probably in this speculative mood because we spent the weekend at a family wedding. My sons got it – the meaningfulness of what was happening. They knew they were part of something big and they took it seriously. They loved every minute of spending time with family and were incredibly sad when it was over. When I asked Older why he didn’t want to leave he said, “I don’t know when we’ll have everyone together like this again.” I promised right then to find an occasion, or throw a party for no reason just to make it happen.

My husband and I have recently had some deep conversations about the meaning of real parenting. Is it sending your kids away to camp to teach them independence? Is it letting them lay around the house all summer and get the desperately-needed downtime their bodies require for summer growth spurts? Is it strict discipline or having fun? Where is the balance and what is right? Does any of it matter that much, if they grow up to be relatively happy and sane people?

In the end that’s really the most you could ask for. I think parenting comes down to this: having fun. Teaching them to be grateful for what they have and to share what they can. Keeping them interested in trying new things, and showing them the joy of exploring new places. Letting them know that things may turn out as planned, or they may not, but you move on and find the next thing. Giving them a sense of hope, and the resiliency to keep moving ahead no matter what comes.

Don’t Make Me Go All Amnesty on Your Ass

Some moments in child care take everything you’ve learned up until that moment. It sometimes feels like the culmination of my whole life as a daughter, sister, mother, master’s degree student, teacher, and therapist. The last of which I’m not, but often find myself having to be with the demands of the job.

This week’s moment was with my brother and sister pair. They are typical siblings with the usual squabbles who band together rabidly if anyone else bothers them (she’s MY sister – only I can beat the crap out of her!). This time it was brother who took the blow. I missed the beginning of the fight but saw and heard the outcome. He hit the deck, hard. Full-on WWE body slam.

I walked into the room and all eyes were on me. I had a lot of choices as to how to handle this situation. I could yell and make a big scene, I could punish her, I could try to set an example for all the kids by showing everybody how wrong this was, and how angry it made me.

Sister was too afraid to even say she was sorry. She was staring at me waiting for the hammer to come down.

I looked at brother. He was laying on the floor, pained not only because he’d whacked his head pretty good, but I could see it in his eyes: How could she do this to me? My heart melted.

I didn’t say a word to anybody. I went to him, knelt down, pulled him into my lap, and just sat and hugged him in silence.

No one knew what to do. They spoke a few words here and there but were at a loss as to what I was thinking. I looked around at the kids and realized they were all playing their roles. Sister knew she was in trouble and was trying to blend into the background while knowing she still had to atone for it.

The other instigator of the fight knew this was big, but was thinking I didn’t know she had anything to do with it and she might get off scot free. My class clown started being funny to try to distract everybody from the tension. But I wasn’t going to move on without addressing the moment.

As I sat and held brother I took a moment to collect my thoughts and decide how I was going to handle this. It was good to let the kids stew for a moment, worrying about how much trouble this was going to be. And it’s good for me not to have to make snap decisions all the time. Sibling fighting is a ploy for attention, and sometimes when you give the right attention the fight is resolved (doesn’t mean there won’t be another one).

I remembered raising my own boys and being so angry at one when he’d hurt the other. It didn’t matter who was the perpetrator or what they did – when one of my babies was hurt, mama bear roared. It was unacceptable to me – you do NOT hurt your brother! This is your FAMILY. That may be the one thing I fought them the hardest on, and I know I got it from my mother.

My sister and I rarely had fights but when they did, they were a doozy. I didn’t necessarily want her to be punished – I just wanted someone to understand how I felt. My mother would spend a while talking with her in her room, then come to me. Usually we’d have to say sorry, but it didn’t feel so hard after we aired our feelings and got the attention we needed.

In the end I just ignored everyone but brother and kept asking him how he felt. We talked about how hurt and scared he was. I asked why she pushed him down. He said he took her toy. I said, “Do you think taking her toy made her angry?” He nodded yes. Then I asked, “Do you think it’s fair to be tackled for taking a toy?” After that, sister approached and genuinely apologized to him.

I don’t know how much it sank in – it certainly didn’t stop them from battling out the rest of the week. But for the moment, she really saw that what she’d done was wrong. Brother felt comforted, not because it came from me but most importantly, because it came from his sister.

And at lunch time, when sister told me, “You always give me the food last,” I resisted the urge to tell her that those who try to destroy their brother will eventually pay the price.

Tween Halloween

Every year my kids get older I learn something new. Halloween was upon us (literally – I didn’t even have candy until 6:00 when my husband got home from work) and they were still undecided about trick-or-treating.

I always try to stand back and take their cues, letting them make their own decisions about whether or not things are cool anymore. Of course Younger, the sugar addict, loves candy so much that he would trick-or-treat by candlelight even after a freak snowstorm took out all the power (this really happened).

Camera360_2013_10_31_090201 Older decided that maybe this was the year to stop going out, but it was a perfect excuse for a party. He coerced a bunch of other on-the-fence boys to come over for “a hangout.” It was rainy and dismal most of the day and I told him it would be OK to stay here if no one felt like going out in it.

And minutes after they all got here, they decided they really needed to go out and get bags full of candy. A couple didn’t even have costumes (including my own) so we dragged out the bag from the past few years and they let it rip, everyone taking bits and pieces. We even used one complete costume, worn tightly, as it was a few sizes too small (adds to the spookiness).

Halloween has always been one of my favorite nights to be in my neighborhood. There’s usually a party feel, people are out on their porches or even having bonfires in the yard. It truly is the last goodbye to warm weather and outdoor life before the real cold sets in.

I’ve met friends and even clients on Halloween. There are old folks just thrilled to have people to talk to. One lady who has to be pushing 90 is out every year under a knitted blanket. Last year she told me, “I wasn’t here last year because I had a broken hip. But I’m back now! And I even got my decorations up.” I don’t even know her, but when I see her on Halloween we chat like old friends.

There are some who love to play along and talk to or mess with the kids. Others are maybe only giving out the candy from a sense of duty and not loving it so much. But it always makes me feel good to know that the people who occupy so many of the houses around me, alot of whom I don’t really know, are in general pretty cool.

The crew of nine boys that we had was wild. Luckily a few parents volunteered to come along and we trailed them, making sure no one got sucked into another group or actually ran in front of a car. They tend to forget they’re on a street in the dark, in a pack, with costumed kids taking over the neighborhood.

They were excited. They were together. They had planned their own party, made it happen, and were out for candy. A few inappropriate words were spoken. Bodies ran and crashed and yelled. A few Halloween decorations were violated (not destroyed). We kept them in check until eventually they settled down to a dull roar.

But as always, in the back of my mind, I could see how this kind of behavior can drive people nuts, and why they would resent the big kids on Halloween. I wanted to defend our boys. To tell people that when a bunch of tweeners come to your door, half-dressed in weird costumes, and they may or may not be a little mouthy, don’t write them off.

They’re just young kids in a really difficult part of their lives, doing the best they can to try and fit in. They want to keep one foot in childhood as they face the stress of growing up and looking cool in front of a crowd of potential bullies. They’re fighting their way through the hardest years, so just give them some chocolate to help ease the pain.

When we got back to the house the boys were tired and polite. They wanted drinks and asked if it would be OK if they had some ice. When soda was spilled Older cleaned it up all by himself. They inspected their loot and left candy wrappers all around.

I looked at my thrown-together party with one sad string of skeleton lights, an untouched bowl of apples, the ripped open bag of costumes, wet socks and dirty pillowcases everywhere, and laughed at the insanity of my life right now.

The next day some of the parents told me how much fun their kid had had. More than one said they were grateful that Older had convinced them to go out because otherwise they wouldn’t have. This made me prouder than anything. I suddenly forgot how tired I was and how much cleaning I had to do. This is my life now: completely unplanned, surrounded by a dirty, overcrowded mess of happy, under-costumed kids. And I couldn’t be happier.

Children and Violence

The news about children and violence has been grim lately. I’m tired of the daily grind of shootings and homicidal bullying. It feels like a sickness. The word tragic has even become rote in this game. We hear tragic every day and it becomes less tragic.

After a teacher was killed protecting his students in Sparks, Nevada last week, the NRA yet again called for more guns in schools, going so far as to say that honor students should carry them. Their standard, cold-hearted, almost inhuman response to gun violence is to add more guns to the picture.

Let’s put it this way: We don’t allow people to vote until they’re 18. Because until then, people don’t have the reasoning and decision-making skills to make a choice that affects others. If they can’t color in a bubble next to someone’s name, they can’t have a gun. Period.

Then the story in Florida of the 12- and 14-year-old who bullied another 12-year-old to death got even more intense. After the 14-year-old was arrested on a felony charge because of her “lack of remorse,” her stepmother was arrested days later for viciously beating her children. After more investigation, the county sheriff declared that even the victim “grew up in a disturbing environment, not unlike the one her accused bully was raised in.”

I don’t feel shock anymore. I feel angry. It’s time for parents to step up. Stop blaming video games and movies and all the things you ALLOW your child to be exposed to for hours and hours for their bad behavior. The things, in fact, that you’ve sought out to babysit your kids while you spend your time doing whatever it is that’s more important than being with them.

The way your children treat others is taught first and foremost by you. Don’t look to the schools or teachers or their friends or coaches to teach them how to be a good person. Do it yourself.

Last week my son showed me an article in his Scholastic News (elementary school flashbacks) about a town in Wisconsin that is fining the parents of bullies. I was tickled that he wanted to show it to me, rather than being sick to death of hearing me talk about the subject. It was a great conversation and I was happy to hear his viewpoints. But most interesting was our conclusion: it’s a step in the right direction, but it’s not enough.

Get help. Just because you had a kid doesn’t make you a parenting expert. It only makes you one of a million other people who had kids and don’t know what the hell they’re doing. Who are now faced with hundreds of decisions every day that seem to have lasting consequences reaching into the future and the good of your child. It’s overwhelming and stressful.

When we’re physically sick, we go to the doctor. It’s time for us to realize that we are mentally sick too, and get some help. I don’t care if it’s a guidance counselor, therapist, teacher, child care provider, anyone you trust. Just get help.

I spend all day every day teaching kids how to communicate with each other and how to understand what the others want. Compassion, empathy, remorse. The basic things we need to function with other people. The other day my little guy – 21 months old – bit someone after a fight over a toy. I used my usual tactics to handle the situation and while I was still tending to the girl he bit, he walked over of his own accord, put his hand on her shoulder, and said, “Sorry Janie.” She turned around and hugged him.

Astounding. And utterly possible. That’s less than two years old, folks. If a toddler gets it, the rest of us should be able to.