The Silver Platter

photo from: http://www.businessnewsdaily.com/ via google search. No copyright infringement intended.

A number of totally non-related happenings lately have caused this house to be having a conversation based around the proverbial 'silver platter'.

Responsibility, ownership, accountability, consideration, even everyday thinking skills all seem to be slipping away, floating ever so far from our fingertips. It seems as though society is fuelled by a "me, me, me" mindset. We see it in adults, kids, professionals, online... everywhere. It seems like the more we can provide for kids, the seemingly better they will be.

Oh, you don't want to carry your hockey stick, as I juggle your younger sibling, your hockey bag, a coffee, the car keys, the phone? No prob, sweetie... I'll grab that for you, since you just left it on the ground next to the car.

Oh, that kid in kindergarden called you a "meanie"? You get your older sister to jump in there and "fight that battle" for your 5 year old self... using more hurtful words than a 5 year old can understand, but words from which a 5 year old can still feel the sting as she tries to comprehend them. Better yet, you find out what that kid's mom is so I can tear up her mother on Facebook.

Oh, you forgot your gym / dance clothes at home? Hhhmmmm? Did your teacher get upset with you? Talk to you about responsibility? No? 

You saw your kid blatantly push and shove another kid, target another kid? You sat back and laughed at little Johnny because he's so "out of control... all I can do is laugh at him."

When do you start to teach about responsibility? Is it an age-bound lesson?

In our house it's a constant conversation.

Our almost 5 year old son can get himself almost 100% ready for hockey. He carries his own stick, sometimes his own hockey bag which is almost twice his size. Why do we do this to our kid? (Someone actually commented that they couldn't believe we would make our son carry his own stick after an hour long practice!) It's simple: we want him to realize that he has to have responsibilities.

When my 8 year old daughter showed up at dance class with only one dance shoe, I didn't have sympathy for her. I had a conversation for her about responsibility. Guess what? The next week she made damn sure both her shoes were in her dance bag the night before dance. And, they were ready to go by the door.

I've seen plenty of catastrophic moments in my day when someone who had been given everything in their life on silver platter all of a sudden has to think for themselves, or do something for themselves. The result? Complete and utter breakdowns. Tears. Arms flailing in defeat. Frustration. Blame.

What do you mean I have to buy that myself? What do you mean you won't give me $200 for that? What do you mean you can't call my prof to get me excused from my exam? What do you mean I have to actually do that myself? What do you mean you can't totally rearrange everything to accommodate what I want?

Disaster. Defeat. Disbelief.

Our point is, eventually all of those silver platters start to tarnish at some point. The money runs out, people change, circumstances change, hell... the real world comes into play! And when reality comes knocking, you have to have some kind of tools to step up to the door to answer... or you're going to get that door smack! in your face.

We don't want that for our kids.

We want them to be able to have a good look at that seemingly tarnished platter with the insight and tools we've taught and instilled in them.

We want them to be able to:

• Have the know-how to simply pick that platter up off the ground.
• Realize that it may be tarnished, but it's not the end of the world.

And if we do a real good job...

• They'll realize that with some hard work and a little common sense, that platter can be shiny again.

Can you cope with a tarnished silver platter? Can your kids?

#RedPointStairs

I don't post on here nearly enough. I know that. I also don't take the time to think about things that mean the most to me nearly enough, either.

This weekend, though, got me thinking!

I grew up in a large extended family; my mother comes from a family of 12 and each of her siblings has many children. Many of my fondest (and craziest) memories are from the gathering times at that old house on Red Point Road -- their old homestead. We would gather... siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins. Although all of the cousins (grandchildren) are kind of pre-arranged into these little aged groups, there was a crew of us that would regularly gather on the stairs leading "upstairs"... maybe as a kind of refuge from the adults, or the older cousins... maybe as a refuge from siblings.... I'm not too sure. Nonetheless, we would gather there and chat and gossip, dance and sing, during these epic visits at Grammie's house. (Hence, the hashtag a bunch of us use on twitter to communicate en masse to one another.)

Low and behold, we've all grown up; each of us successful in our own right. A funny thing happens as you grow older though... those little aged dividing lines seemingly blend into one another. Suddenly, it matters not if you're 25 and a mom or 50 and a very successful single-mom. It matters not if you've got 1 or 2 or suddenly 3 kids of your own now. You're simply a mom. And so the conversations to be had on those stairs changes... it evolves...

This weekend I witnessed something I had always hoped I would see, but yet it was something that warmed my inner heart and soul and still brings a pensive smile to my face. As we all gathered again for a family function en masse (My god there's a lot of us!), those motherly lines were more apparent as we were able to sit back... enjoy a cup of tea or coffee... (or a drink)... like our mothers did before us... as our children played together.

Our children played together in the same confident, comfortable, encompassing way that we all played for years... us cousins. It was so refreshing to see the "older cousins" (all of 9 & 10 years old) taking the younger ones (1,2,4 years old) under their wings... guiding them along, keeping them safe, showing them how to climb stairs, or simply giving a very animated high five (or twenty). There were few worries as to where the kids were... that internal, knowing comfort was simply there.

As I thought back to those moments this weekend, and think ahead to our big family reunion coming up this summer, I kind of chuckled -- What a great experience it is going to be for them... for us... The cousins... gathered together... as we once were before...

And even better is the promise of the future... that promise of knowing that in our genes... in their genes... there's that internal goodness that assures this mom that things will be all right...

It's a juggle...

I'm a working mom in rural Nova Scotia. In fact, I'm a teacher.
Lately I've been at the brunt of or reading / hearing many insults flung at teachers over school cancellations and snow days.

Call it PMS. Call it mom-craziness from the staying-at-home-with-the-fighting-kids storm days. Call it pure bitching.

Call it what you want.

I'm gonna rant...

I'm not gonna rant about how good I've got it as a teacher. I'm not even gonna step on the "You-Could've-Chosen-This-Career-Too" soapbox. Been there. Had to do that. (Got no further ahead, by the way.) Instead, I want to shed some insight into what the past week / next couple of weeks will mean for me.

It's a reporting period. On each of those storm days when I wasn't being a mom to my kids (and had internet service) and every night when my little darlings are snuggled into bed, I've been sitting at this godforsaken laptop til 11 or 12 at night planning lessons and writing report cards. See, I don't want to half-arse them. I want them to say something. I want these report card comments to really mean something. (After all, I am a parent, too... I at least know the kind of jargon I don't want to hear.) This process takes time. It takes lots of it. Add to that the frustration of many storm days when students couldn't finish the last bits of their final projects... or couldn't hand them in... or didn't have the means at home to finish them... all of these things, to me, are very important considerations as a teacher and a parent.

I have a heart...

With reporting period comes parent/teacher interviews/ conferences, whatever you want to call them. (Personally, I think the ones in my school are useless because I would much rather have my 10-13yr old students be a part of the conversation... something which is seen as a no-no for reasons I won't/don't/can't understand... and all of this is just simply something you'll have to read one of these days on my teacher blog.) These parent interviews happen on a Thursday evening and Friday morning to accommodate parent work schedules. Wait. What was that? Parent work schedules? Oh yes... right... I'm a parent, too. Frig that in this case. It doesn't matter.

See, in order for me to participate in this aspect of my job... as I'm expected to.... after hours... I have to arrange for alternate childcare for these two days.

• Problem A: On the day where parent teacher interviews happen in the evening, I do not have sufficient time to drive to the sitter's after school, drive kidlets home, and drive back to school in time for the interviews. (Remember I said I live in rural NS. That said amount of commuting equals almost 90 minutes of driving... way more if I follow the speed limit and watch for icy conditions or take roaming large wildlife into consideration.) I tried this once. It wasn't pretty. 
• Problem B: Because it's of my own volition that my child(ren) can't be at the sitter's, I still pay her. (Fair enough. I think of it as vacation pay for her.) But... if my husband can't take off work that day, I have to get someone else (usually my mother) which usually means at the very least paying for gas money for the replacement sitter. 
• (Also, my sitter usually takes the Friday of these parent teacher interviews to travel with her family since her children, like mine, are not in school. Again... understandable. Long weekends are nice. She's a mom to her own children, too! Holiday pay. Deserved.)

So, I pay double (or more) the money in childcare to stay after school for these interviews, as I'm contractually required. Fine and dandy. Done. Signed. Sealed. Delivered.

Breath.

Also happening in the next few weeks are ski trips for our school to the local ski hill. YAY! We are so lucky to have a ski hill close by for our students to enjoy. But, wait... for me... that working, rural mom... this ain't so easy.

Do I want to go with my students to see them wow me with their moves on the hill? Yes!
Do I want to go so that kid who I know won't bring lunch money will be able to have a hot lunch on that day at the chalet and will really be able to feel as part of the whole experience? Yes! Of course. I'd buy that lunch for that student in a heartbeat.

But... it isn't that easy. Sigh. And... some people think I'm trying to cop out.

• Problem A (or should it be C? Frig it. I'm calling it A. A different scenario here.) Because we're rural, and because of bussing times and schedules and all that jazz, when our school goes skiing, they go to the hill for 10am and stay until 4pm to make the whole trip worthwhile. (We, as a school, have a heart!) This means we do not return to school until 5pm.

Not a problem for most. But for me with one child at the sitter, one in school... it's a problem. Kid A isn't old enough to be included in the ski trip. Kid B is at the sitter's. Kid A leaves school on the bus after school to get home at 4pm to... no one. It doesn't work. Hubby doesn't get home from work til 4:30. Kid A would have to walk a kilometre up our rural road... all by herself... to be home by herself... at 7 years old. Can't happen. (Besides, if it's a Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday, she's got lessons to get to after school...which are another 20 minute drive away, too.)

But, wait. Shit. We forgot Kid B. Oh yes... he's crying at the sitter's and the sitter is calling cuz she has somewhere to be and I don't leave him at her house until that hour... and even if I could leave him there...I still won't get home until after 6pm... and where's Kid A again?!

(Oh...And before it's suggested, hubby works an hour and 15min drive in the other direction from the sitter. Sigh. Rural working life.)

So, I can't be one of the chaperones on my students' skiing trip. It bothers the hell out of me. But it bothers me even more that people don't even try to understand why it can't happen. (I wonder if these glaring-eyed people would like to find me a concierge to coordinate/babysit/chauffeur my children on these days?)

But wait. Wait. It will happen... it will!

My husband has booked... over a month in advance... a vacation day... a day off work to be with Kid B, so that our kids  (that some people think can't be my priority in this scenario) will have someone to care for them and be home to meet Kid A getting off the bus and drive them to lessons so that I can go to the ski hill with my class...

And not get home until after 6pm... And probably spend a bunch of money on hot chocolates and lunch for that student, (if he goes skiing that day)...

But, I've got it easy. And I'm a lucky, plush-arse-jobbed witch-with-a-B, to have those storm days off.

Yep.

Breath. Sigh. Shoulder slump.

/End Rant.

What I lawned today... I mean... learned today...

Did you learn anything today?
I did.

It was a long time coming. It was a first for me. But, I did it!
I learned  lawned  learned a few things today:

1. A big orange lawnmower has a clutch that you need to employ before you start the stupid thing.
2. After several attempts at starting the stupid orange thing, and finally engaging it, you will see puffs of black smoke. (Smoke can't be good... especially black.)
3. A lawnmower has a reverse option... which, evidently goes relatively fast out the garage door.
4. When shifting from reverse to forward (using aforementioned clutch, of course),  be sure not to have the other gear thingy at the rabbit. 

5. Hills are not your friend... especially if you're short and not as heavy as your husband. Gravity comes into play lifting one's arse off the seat in a sort of leverage action, which, then, causes the lawnmower to stall because it thinks you have fallen off the seat.

6. Children wave... then laugh and point... when you're on one of these rigs.

Nonetheless, one thing remains...

I did it. I mowed our acreage for the first time...

and I'm sure he'll come home and need to "fix it".

Yes, your kid is great, but...

In light of some things I've heard, witnessed or experienced, I've been thinking a lot about being a mom and wanting the best for my children. Think about it. We all want the best for our children. We expect the best for them, and in some cases, we demand the best for them. But, is this the right thing to do when it means someone is getting hurt in the meantime?

Pause for a second and think about how involved you may be in your child's education. As a teacher, I see varying degrees of parental involvement. I'm very lucky that my daughter goes to a very reputable, small school where I have chosen to send her because I know the quality of education she's receiving is second to none. This school offers many unique learning opportunities for all students. And, frankly, some people (parents) have been abusing this fact in a manner that in the normal classroom setting would be called "bullying". (I will graciously and professionally leave that at that.)

The other event that led me to think more about this is a piece that was aired on our local CBC radio station. It is the story of a young mother who has witnessed  the worst in "hockey parent" behaviour in local rinks. She's speaking out to stop it. She wants parents to step back and look at their behaviours when it comes to their kids. She has a reason to speak that you need to hear. Please take the 5 minutes to listen to her story... especially if you have kids in organized sports. Her message is clear, succinct, and heartfelt.

So, although we all want the best for our children, I think it's time that many of us step back as parents and look at out actions, listen to our words with a fresh perspective, look at our children and hug them, look at the children around our kids and realize they are someone else's pride and joy. More importantly, we need to remember the messages we as adults are inadvertently sending our children when we lash out as a hockey mom, when we chastise another child, when step on the high and mighty pedestal and expect the world to bow to our orders.

Please, listen to one woman's story.
Please, take time to reflect.

They are all children.
They are all our children.

"I wanna be more stylin'er!" -- responsibilty & ability at 4?!?!

Way back in the late summer / early fall, my then 3 year old daughter was introduced to Hannah Montana and quickly fell head-over-heels, I-wanna-be-just-like-her obsessed with all things Hannah. We're talking the same episodes OVER and OVER again on Family Channel (the break from Treehouse was nice, I must admit), watching the movie 3-4 times a day, rewinding the "Hoe Down Throw Down" to ad nauseum(everyone in the house can do that dance now! I swear even the 11 month old knows parts of it!), etc.

Soon after our introduction to Miss Hannah, my already-fashion-conscious diva started a mission of

"wanting to be more stylin'er" than Hannah Montana everyday.

This daily mission involved copious wardrobe changes, tears, tantrums, and one gawd-awful messy bedroom! My hubby and I were near at our wits' end trying to navigate our way through her piles of stylin' vs. rejected clothing! (I wasn't nearly as frustrated as him, well... first of all because my younger sister used to go through 5 and 6 outfits a day when she was a kid...well... she never really outgrew it... and secondly, I didn't mind too much because I'm female!)

Anyway, the outfits progressed to the shoes, and boots, and hair all having to be "more stylin'er".

THEN SHE NOTICED THAT HANNAH MONTANA HAD HER EARS PIERCED!

No biggy, I thought. One day, while at the shopping mall, little diva asked if she could get her ears pierced. Now, I don't know what it was - divine intervention? - but I told her she had to phone her dad to ask him for permission, too. She did. He responded with a very firm "NO!" She was a teary, snotty, devastated mess... in the mall... with me... (why did I make her call him?!?!)

However, my girl is stubborn like her mother aunt, and she didn't give up. She would ask her father almost daily if she could get her ears pierced. By this time, she was, afterall, 4 years old and really felt that she should get them pierced.

So, my hubby thought long and hard about this one evening, and we talked. He thought it would be good for her to learn about responsibility and earning her way towards something. (Huh? He thinks too much!)
The next day when he came home from work, he explained to her that IF she could keep her room clean & tidy, and IF she learned to control her tantrums over clothing, among other things, she could get her ears pierced before mommy returned to work. This was October. My return to work is February 1st!

"How many more sleeps?!?!" (at the time we were counting sleeps to Halloween and Christmas and hockey games and visits to Grammie's house and...well, you get the idea.)
Ugh... "Um... like... 70 more sleeps..." I assured her (?)

She cleaned her room that day.  And again the next week. And she learned how to fold shirts, pants, socks, underwear. She learned how to find a place for everything. She learned how to sort laundry! (And our little 'secret' is, she likes to hide some things in the closet in the hallway, but Daddy hasn't figured that out yet! ) She even started sweeping and dusting her room! at  f o u r  y e a r s  o l d ! Even the tantrums eventually started to peter off.

Like you reading this, I never ever thought this would work; how could a 4 year old handle such responsibility? Would she even know how to follow through with this? (Did she know how to clean?) Nor did I ever think those sleeps would come to an end! I answered every single day since then:

"How many more sleeps til I can get my ears pierced, Mommy?!?!"

And, you know what? She cleaned and swept that room again today. It's spotless. It's neater than my room. In fact, it's the neatest room in the house!

But, even more importantly, there are only 3 more sleeps 'til those little, deserving ears get pierced!

Look out, Hannah Montana... my little, stubborn, determined girl is coming at ya... earrings and all... more stylin'er than you! ;)