A Day in the Life

And we go up, and we go down. And then we go up, and then we go down.

Such is life with a middle schooler in the house.

Most of the time, I have to admit, One is on the "up" side of things. He is "on his game", as it were. He remembers his responsibilities, he works hard, and he still manages to have a lot of fun. He's walking perfection ... with a teeny, tiny zit on his nose occasionally, but who's looking? Seriously, he is doing really well for almost 12. He had a great first middle school report card, he's working hard at football, and he's still reading like the bibliophile he has always been. Today, the high point of "up" was a trip to the opera to watch The Barber of Seville. One's reaction to opera: "It was fantastic! So funny! And can you believe B fell asleep during it? I mean, it was The Barber of Seville! How can you fall asleep during that?" And opera was followed by a picnic lunch outside and an early dismissal from school. How can things be any better?

And then we go "down". Because of things like, oh, the little math quiz he took today before the opera trip. "What did you get on it?" "Um, a 60, because I, well, I didn't really pay attention and I made mistakes on multiplication and division." Crash. Burn. Mayday. Complete with me yelling "How can you not care enough to make mistakes from 4th grade? How could you not check your work? What were you thinking?" Let it be known that this is not the first bad math grade of the grading period, or I wouldn't be so steamed. Yes, it was mature of him to immediately admit the cause of his mistake - and to own up to the fact that he was the cause - I've given him credit for that. He didn't stonewall, refuse to tell me, or outright lie, thank the Lord. But... but... but ... oh, it's so frustrating!

It's like one minute he's firing on all cylinders (I am on the metaphors tonight, aren't I?) and the next he's just standing there with his mouth open, watching the world go by. He did this quite literally at his football game two weeks ago, where he pretty much decided that being a spectator was more fun than being an offensive lineman, and stood and watched calmly as his teammates were sacked. Play after play after play. And they lost. And he was snarky and angry when I told him that if he was going to be absent for a game, he shouldn't put on his uniform and go out on the field.

Up, and then down. Up and down. When does he grow out of this - 25? Boy, that's an awfully long way away.

*The picture is One doing his air guitar on the swings at 9. Wow - nine.

What I Didn't Learn in College

I read a lot of things lately that question the value of a college education - or at the very least the value of a very expensive one. I had one of those, although mostly at the cost of the other students on campus, as I received close to $17k per year in need-based aid every year for four years. Despite all the money spent on me, I didn't learn a whole lot that has served me very well in the real world. In fact, it has become a family joke in the Grass Widow Household that the only truly good thing to come out of our time at Colgate was this family itself. Yes, we're that kind of sarcastic family, as if you couldn't tell already.

So what didn't I learn? And is there anything that I did learn? Let's make some lists.

• I didn't learn to be on time in the morning. Instead, after 1st semester freshman year I simply learned to avoid all classes that started before 10:30am. I really wasn't a morning person, you know, and why bother to struggle against your true nature?

• I didn't learn to plan ahead and write well. I wrote ever single paper over four years as "one draft wonders", even those of the 30+ page research variety.

• Despite the fact it was the late 1980's, I didn't learn to use computers. That is, unless you count figuring out how to use a Mac in the Computer Center to write one of those one-draft papers "learning". I really don't, since all I "learned" was to push a mouse around and "hunt & peck" type really fast.

• I didn't learn to pick good friends or make wise judgments about my social life. Husband practically fell in my lap: he moved in upstairs and was sitting on my couch one Friday afternoon. By and large, the best (aka kindest, smartest, least crazy) people I knew at school were his fraternity brothers and my freshman year roommate (who lived with me involuntarily, indeed miserably once she got to know what I was like).

• I didn't learn how to speak well, how to moderate what I was saying based on my audience, or how to read an audience and change what I was about to say in time to react to them. I was asked on maybe three occasions to stand up and give a presentation; they were rote recitals of what I had researched and I suspect didn't interest anyone else in class in the slightest.

• I didn't learn to be financially disciplined. Instead I learned how to weasel money out of my mother when I ran low.

• Finally, I didn't learn much of actual substance in the classroom. Sure, I picked up some tidbits about Mexican history and I can identify major artists post-1800. I can make myself understood in Spanish and French, I can blather on about Edith Wharton and Henry James, and I can proudly complain that I have been forced to read Moby Dick a whopping total of three times. But I didn't learn any math or science, I didn't pick up any economics or philosophy, and I never, ever met a professor who justified for me why what (s)he was teaching was important to the world, to the future or rarely, to the past.

So in those four expensive years, what did I learn?

• I learned that gin and beer make me sick when I drink them together.

• I know now that I am a very bad judge of who would make a good roommate. And, with one big exception, a good boyfriend.

• I figured out that what undergraduate professors want most in the world is to have their pet theory parroted back to them at every opportunity. This desire is greatly heightened if the professor is a Marxist or a feminist.

• I learned that unless your viewpoint matches that of your friends almost exactly, they don't want to hear what you have to say. College isn't a place for a robust exchange of ideas, in or out of the classroom. It's a place to find an audience who acts as your echo chamber, and to shut out everyone else from your life who might disturb that perfect pitch.

• I discovered that there were 18 year old people in this world who had never cleaned a bathroom, washed dishes, changed a light bulb, pumped gas, or gone grocery shopping alone. Some of them, most memorably, didn't even know how to fold their own clothes.

In the end, I discovered that all I got out of four years of my time - time very ill-spent, as I think you can tell by now - was a piece of paper covered with pretentious Latin script and my name in calligraphy. Over the years it has impressed a whole lot of people, and for the life of me I will never know why. They were four years that the locust ate: I stopped learning anything meaningful when I left for college, and I didn't start again until I began my first job the month after graduation. I suspect that if law school hadn't come along, I would be a very stupid person by this point. I certainly would have given up any pretense of higher thought process long, long ago.

And now, once again, I am looking down the barrel of a college education, although this time it is for my children and not for me. It is quite a long time coming, thankfully, but it's time to get my thoughts on the subject sorted, rather than leave it to the last minute when they are 16 and just dying to get out there like all their friends and have a meaningless, fun time for four years. Husband and I need to set expectations with the boys now, so those difficult conversations when they're 17 and the house is covered in glossy brochures aren't as hard as they might be. What will our family decide? I can't say. But I guess there is one more thing I learned from college: unless you are ready and it's the right school, it isn't worth the money.

A Sense of Accomplishment

I wasn't blogging a whole lot at the beginning of the summer, so I missed writing about two very important events in the life of the Grass Widow household: One graduated from elementary school and both boys became black belts in taekwondo. All in one whirlwind week - it was quite a show. Watching both events filled me with pride and happiness. So much happiness that, in fact, toward the end of the graduation ceremony I realized my face hurt --- I'd been smiling non-stop the entire time. One was so handsome in his eagerly requested coat and tie, Two almost behaved himself, and the whole auditorium was filled with smiles and hugs and shouts of laughter. I thought it was amazing.

And then I watched my children work harder than I ever imagine they could, and achieve something that not many achieve. And my perspective on the two events changed a bit.

Because as happy as I was for One at that graduation, let's face it: everyone (in the first world, anyway) graduates from the 5th grade. Yes, he worked hard and had challenges, but it wasn't Phi Beta Kappa from Harvard, for Heaven's sake. It was a happy, fun elementary school graduation, capped off by ice cream. It was a moment to savor and be proud of, but it wasn't truly an accomplishment.

I say that not to be mean, but to point out the difference between how we feel when we have to do something and how we feel when we choose to do something. You have to go to 5th grade, or the homeschool equivalent thereof. You don't have to play on an all-star baseball team, or dance on stage in a ballet in front of 100's of people, or earn a black belt in martial arts in less than 3 years. So when you do, it is sweet. It is a victory. And from a parent's perspective, it feels so much different from any other parenting experience I can hardly explain it. It's not just a sense of pride, of "hey, that's MY KID". It's more like you're impressed with them, because they are people in their own right who make sacrifices and work hard even when they don't want to and don't give up. They are people who make it. I was proud of the boys, but even more than that, they impressed me. Not in a shallow way, but in the sense that I was honored to have been a part of helping them get there - I was proud not because they were mine, but because I was theirs. They did the work, I didn't, but they let me share in the glory of it.

It's exhilarating stuff, this parent thing. Watch out, world: these boys are coming!

What I Don't Want for my Boys

One of things I do not want, most of all, is to turn out snobs. Sounds reasonable, doesn't it? But how many people who say that would also give a limb and a kidney to send their child to an Ivy or similarly prestigious school? This is why I've said before and will say again: what your kids learn in class is only one of the many things you should think about when picking a school - be it college, elementary school, high school - whatever.

Because really, do you want them to end up like this one day?

"My education taught me to believe that people who didn’t go to an Ivy League or equivalent school weren’t worth talking to, regardless of their class. I was given the unmistakable message that such people were beneath me. We were “the best and the brightest,” as these places love to say, and everyone else was, well, something else: less good, less bright. I learned to give that little nod of understanding, that slightly sympathetic “Oh,” when people told me they went to a less prestigious college. (If I’d gone to Harvard, I would have learned to say “in Boston” when I was asked where I went to school—the Cambridge version of noblesse oblige.) I never learned that there are smart people who don’t go to elite colleges, often precisely for reasons of class. I never learned that there are smart people who don’t go to college at all." [emphasis added]

That right there, folks, is the description on an idiot. A very educated one, but an idiot all the same. No. Thank. You.

On Being Useful

When I look at my job, at my education, at all I’ve done with the professional side of my life, I realize more and more that I am, in the grand scheme of things, completely unnecessary. As an attorney, my job exists only at this particular time in history and only in this certain place. It exists only because of a complex and utterly manmade structure that did not exist in the past in its current form and is not guaranteed to exist for any part of the future. Without this fictional system, I have no professional usefulness at all. I cannot fix anything tangible (human or otherwise), I cannot create anything, I cannot go to another place or time and provide anything of value to anyone.

The more I think on these altogether unpleasant facts, the more I am committed to help the boys avoid ever being in this situation as adults. Yes, I want them to have a college degree; yes, I am fine with them being suited professionals scurrying off to an office every day. The critical difference is in what they do in that office: it has to be something that has universal applicability, that is creative in nature, and that provides a direct and tangible benefit to others. I want them to have skills that can survive any change in the fictional social system in which we currently live, that can transfer to any other environment and still be useful.

And as much as I want them to have a useful “educated” life. I also want the boys to be able to take care of things that most of my generation has lost the ability to take care of. They’re going to be men someday and as such they need to know how to shingle a roof, frame a house (I’d settle for a shed), plant a garden, and pour a sidewalk’s worth of concrete. For the most part our society has lost the knowledge that there is great value in skilled, creative work, and we need to change that, one person at a time. If my boys can grow up to see the great worth there is in working with their hands, we’re a small step down a long road to help people begin to respect such work again.

What of the boys in all this, you ask? What do they themselves gain in all my plans for them? Well, the fact that they will wake up at 40 and know that their work matters seems to be gain enough - at least it does to me. Additionally, they will have the satisfaction that comes with creating something yourself, helping someone in a tangible way, participating meaningfully in real life instead of in some fabricated facsimile thereof. If I can work as a parent to give them a fraction of that, then perhaps the usefulness of my personal life will somehow redeem the futility of my professional one. Please, may it be so.

The Complicated Life of an Eight Year Old

I promised myself I would write about Two on his birthday and here it is three days later and I’m just now figuring out what I want to say.

He’s a complicated kid sometimes – made even more so by his perfectly cultivated surface appearance of “just a regular all-round good guy”. But there’s a whole lot going on below that surface that most people don’t see.

In contrast, with One you know from the start you’ve got someone to deal with. Who he is shines (or glowers) on the surface of every part of his being. He never dissembles, never wonders if he could put a little more effort into making himself a little more amenable to others. WYSIWYG: if One was ever allowed to get a tattoo that’s what it should be, placed somewhere everyone would notice it.

Two? He IS just a regular all-round good guy. He’s good with his friends, good at games, good at navigating the social sea of elementary school and making it look easy. I admire this trait in him immensely; it’s something he shares with his father but emphatically NOT with me. But beneath all that is a kid who has all sorts of stuff going on – good and not-so-good – and has as many things to work on and work through as his brother does, as any of us do. He’s still finding ways to adjust to his Sensory Processing Disorder, he’s still learning to love to work (or to do it anyway when he doesn’t love it), and he frequently wants to fight the world. Actually, it’s less the world, I’m coming to realize, but anyone who has authority over him. Husband and I have come in for the brunt of that over the years, and his teachers have taken their lumps as well. He’s gotten much better, but he still pushes against authority like no child I’ve ever seen. Our biggest job as his parents is and has always been to teach him when to fight and when to let go.

Two, what do I want to know now that you are eight? Keep fighting, but pick your battles better. Don’t stop being the best friend so many people know and love. Stay adventurous, creative, and just a little bit wild. Use that fight, friendship, and love of adventure to take on the world in a new, creative way that is like no one else. The world needs your passionate wild side, your love for others, and the unique way you look at things more than you will ever know. Most of all, know that we love you to the moon and back, and always will. We want to watch you become exactly who you were created to be; we’re pretty sure it’s going to be quite a show!

I love you, not-so-little Two.

How Does it Feel to be Gamed?

I still intend to write a post (soon, soon) about parenting and what I think the goal of the whole process should be - although I believe you can get to where you want to go by a number of different paths - but I'm no longer going to do it as a response to Amy Chua's WSJ piece or her book.

Why? Because we've been had, people. We've been dragged into the mommy wars yet again for the sole purpose of enriching some remarkably manipulative people, namely Amy Chua and her brood. Don't believe me? Just follow the timeline:

• The WSJ story is released, in which some of the most incendiary parts of Chua's forthcoming book are picked out and put together to form a picture of the Evil Chinese Mommy, Conqueror of the Universe (queue Dark Side theme music from Star Wars).


• People explode in protest, writing letters to the editor, blog and Twitter posts, notes on small scraps of paper, all about how wrong Chua is and how she's the Meanest. Mommy. Ever.


• Chua herself appears on dozens of TV shows, giving self-depricating interviews in which her youthful, smiling self explains how wrong we all are about her, and how her book is just a memoir, an ode to how she "got it all wrong", and nothing but a simple story of how a mother grew up.


• Chua's book, released at the same time as all this nonsense, becomes a bestseller.


• Finally, Chua's daughter Sophia runs the story ball into the endzone, with her "exclusive" essay in the NY Post, in which she writes a "thank you mommy" letter to her wonderful Tiger Mom.

Did you know that this all started with the $800,000 advance Chua received from her publishers? The largest undeserved book advance? A few worse come to mind, but that is still pretty steep. And that advance is just the beginning of how much money the Chua family is sure to have made by making all of us dumb Gweilos run around like little idiots, wailing and gnashing our teeth in rage.

So no, I will not deign to respond to Ms. Chua's publicity stunt. I'm sorry I didn't see it for what it was much earlier, and I'm sorry that anyone has taken her seriously enough to give her the time of day. Instead, I will sit here having yet another example of a Kyle-esqe "what we've learned today" moment, shake my head sadly, and get on with the important things in life.

And if you want to read an excellent piece on the book itself (from someone who has actually read it), I suggest Lee Siegel's. HT: Ann Althouse, of course.

Image at the top is by Cynthia Greig and can be found here.

Debating the Tiger Mom

Amy Chua, a professor at Yale Law School, is getting a lot of press about her recently-released book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, and her excerpt from that book that was published in the Wall Street Journal earlier this week. In her book she claims that children raised in a Chinese fashion are superior to their Western-raised counterparts, and sets out her reasons why she believes this is so.

Well, is it true? You be the judge. I've linked to Ms. Chua's article above, and writing on the other side of the fence so far are Katie Granju and Shannon Love. What do you think? What kind of parenting makes the most sense, produces the most successful children, and provides the most benefits for society at large? I have a few things to say myself on the subject, but I want to hear from my six lovely readers first. So jump in and let me know what's important. I'm waiting ...

HT: Instapundit. Where so many good things come from.

UPDATE: We were talking at dinner tonight about Amy Chua's parenting hypotheses, and One wanted the scoop. We explained to him the basics of how she raised her daughters, and he instantly shot back with the essence of Shannon Love's argument: children raised that way lack the ability to work as a team, could not truly understand other people and their motivations, and therefore were at a disadvantage functioning in society, because they had been deprived of learning how to make friends and work alongside them. Score one point for The Grass Widow Style of Parenting - whatever that is (if someone can explain it to me please raise your hand).

The Scaries

When Two gets scared or upset, most of the time it's the normal, kid kind of scared. I wake up in the morning to find him and three extra pillows in bed with me, and I know that he tiptoed in at some point in the night, thanks to a nightmare. He never wakes me up when he comes in - at least not deliberately - and once he's in bed with mommy the fear melts away and he sleeps, even though my snoring (what, I don't snore! who put that in there!? I demand a new editor!).

But occasionally, it's a lot more than that. Along with my chin, he inherited my panic disorder, and when combined with some of his (otherwise not so noticeable) sensory challenges, it can make a big. fat. mess of whatever he's trying hard to do. What happens is this: Two visualizes how something will go, he prepares himself for it, and then something changes. It can be as simple as going to swim practice and hearing thunder on the way: that will mean dry-land training instead of swimming in the pool. When it happens - and it doesn't always happen when he experiences a sudden shift like that, so it's always up in the air for us - but when it does, he melts. He is afraid of whatever new thing has come upon him, as afraid as you would be if you heard a burglar in the middle of the night. He stops hearing what we say, he stops everything but his pitiable crying that "he just can't do" whatever it is that he is being asked to do. As a parent, I want to howl in frustration and cry for him all at the same time. I know how he's feeling, and I can barely fix such things inside myself. How can I fix them for him?

This has been happening for years, but this summer he's a little more mature and therefore able to discuss these attacks, especially when they're over and we're safely home. During our conversations in the past months we've decided to call his overwhelming fears The Scaries. He says they descend upon him from the air like so many thin-limbed, sharp-faced little monsters; they climb on his back, and they fill him with fear - through his ears, his eyes, even through his skin. When they come, his ears stop up, he can't stand to be touched, and he wants nothing more than to get away from the situation as fast as he can. The best thing I can think of to tell him in our conversations is this: The Scaries have no right to attack you, they have no right to make you feel anything at all. When you feel them coming, you have to turn and fight with everything you have. You have to swing your sword, you have to call out to God, you have to be braver than St. George himself. And the worst thing I can think of to tell him is this: The Scaries will never stop trying. He will never be able to stop fighting. If he lets them, they will make his life so small it will exist in one room only. They are, in fact, a cross he will carry, likely to the end of his life.

But he can fight. And we can pray. And he can wear his St. George medal to remind him to be as brave as a man that legend says slayed a dragon, but who in reality was braver yet, and went to his death as a martyr for Christ under Diocletian. In fact, having The Scaries on your back is not a martyrdom at all, although it, too, requires bravery, Instead, it is a chance to focus on what matters most of all in this life: to never let The Scaries or anything else come between you and Christ. If The Scaries can keep Two and I constantly pressing towards that goal, then they are worth the fear, indeed.

And that way, they will not have won: not a single battle, and certainly not the war.

The End of the Beginning

The boys have been at sleep-away camp this week: a first for all of us. I was expecting (just like with turning 40) that I would be a basket case about it, but that has turned out not to be the case. I was also half expecting Two to come back home with us - too frightened to stay - but instead he swanned off without a glance in our direction. Going to bed Sunday night after dropping them off, I questioned whether he'd actually given me a kiss good-bye. They were both instantly comfortable at camp, loved their cabins (which were lovely and brand-new), and were excited to explore. We left them at the pool for their swim test, and I snuck up to the fence to grab a last picture or two. Neither of them turned to see me, even though I was but 10 feet away.

I am so glad that they've had this chance to take such a big step, and very excited to hear all the details of the week when we pick them up on Saturday. I think I needed this week as much as they did; we parents need practice in letting go a little bit at a time. Before we know it, the big day will come, and they will walk off towards their dorm while we sit in the car, staring at one another and crying tears of fear and relief. So here's to this one step of many: a mom's version of a 10 month old's cruise around the furniture, before the big let-go-and-launch into open space.



(In time-honored tradition - although new to us - you enter the camp gates with your head stuck out the sunroof. Here they are, trying it out).

Kids and Grades

I've been mulling this subject over for a while; I read a few unschooling bloggers (one of my favorites is here), with whom I agree about the enthusiasm required for learning if not always the method. And then PJ O'Rourke wrote a piece this week on the perils of letting the A students run everything, so I mulled some more (if it was colder I might have turned to mulled wine, but that's another post).

What do grades get our children? Do they matter except as an indicator (when they're good, at least) that knowledge has been absorbed and will be (God willing) permanently retained? Do they tell us this at all? I'm thinking mostly about grades in elementary school as I write this, but much of it would apply to middle and high school as well.

I think our children's grades provide two things for us as parents. First of all, bad grades can be a good warning bell that things are not working and that something must be done. What that something is - well, deciding that's called parenting, isn't it? But they can serve as a bellwether for what's wrong, even more than they indicate what's right. Why don't they always indicate that things are going right? I'll get to that later. Stay with me.

The second thing grades are good for is as currency. They can get children places that they need to go. Except in the strangest situations, schools expect a show of grades and test scores before they accept a child into a gifted program, or before a private school accepts a child at all. Like it or not, this is the way life will work for our children through grad school; getting used to caring about grades is necessary for this reason alone. In reality, these not-always-accurate but objective measurements of performance will likely dog our children in adulthood as well; have you filled out your self-evaluation at work, written your performance objectives, and so on and so forth, lately? Such a process doesn't always reflect the value someone adds to a company, but we're hard-pressed to think of a better way of meting out awards, raises, and (let's face it) the boot.

Other than these two necessary evils, why should we think about the grades our kids earn at all? Should we focus on them with our children as a goal in and of themselves? Actually, I don't think so. Or, if we do focus on them - talk to our children about them - we should explain in an age-appropriate fashion just what grades are good for and also what they are not good for. I think the goal is to get kids to focus on them enough to care that they are good, and then walk away.

Why? Because good grades in themselves aren't an indicator of the most important things in life. They don't measure creativity, intellectual curiosity, or critical thinking. Those three things are a thousand times more important to encourage in children than an 'A' on a science test. Enough of all three and you will have a seriously intelligent child on your hands - one who will be more than capable of handling whatever is coming in her future. What are they? The first two are the essence of finding something interesting in everything you encounter; they are the ability to challenge yourself to engage with the world at every turn, no matter how boring things seem to be at the moment. They are the desire to run down rabbit trails after an idea that fascinates you until you've exhausted it and yourself - all for the fun of doing so, not because anyone offered you a reward first. The last of the three comes after long experience with its friends, creativity and intellectual curiosity. Critical thinking comes when you've learned to absorb and process the world around you, and you find you can make comparisons, value judgments, and come to logical conclusions about what you've experienced.

These three traits are the hallmark of a mind that is alive to the value of ideas and constantly looking for new ways to experience the world. They are not found in children who have been taught only to figure out what will be on the next test and study for it; they are found in children who have been constantly challenged to explore the world around them and make it their own.

Unlike some (some unschoolers, perhaps?) I don't think school learning and these three traits are mutually exclusive, any more than I think sitting at a desk for a set number of hours a day doing legal work precludes me from being interested in the complicated workings of the life that is all around me. Yes, children - all of us - need to learn to figure out what's going to be on the next test, but we don't need to let that task consume us or define who we are in any way. Our intelligence goes much deeper than that, or it can if we give our curiosity and creativity enough room. As parents, our most important job in educating our children is to do just that.

"My Dad and I Share the Same Shadow"

Ann Althouse posted this, and I had to copy it in here:



What a beautiful relationship between father and son! Condolences to Mr. Peek, whose son Kim passed away December 19th, at 58.

Life on Hold

I had an interesting conversation with an old friend last week - really about all sorts of things, most of them parent-related (since we're both, you know, parents and all). The one thing that lingered in my mind afterwards was something he said that I never responded to, and I spent last night cooking dinner and responding to myself on this point. As Husband reminded me, I couldn't very well call this person now to tell them "I have something negative to say about something you said" - although that is just what I would do were it not for the extra tact gene God sent me in the person of Husband (I was in the bathroom in Heaven as a baby when they handed out tact, apparently, whereas he got second helpings). Anyway, here is the part of the conversation that sparked so much noodling on my part, and what I would have said had I been paying attention at the time.

What my friend said, when we were talking about faith and parenthood and the intersection of the two, was that he felt that his own spiritual growth was on hold at this point in his life, and the important thing as a parent was to make sure the kids were in right place (church, school, home) where their own growth could flourish. Hmmm. Wow that bothered me when I got down to thinking about it!

I am all for putting "personal goals" on hold during these wild years of parenting small children. I don't need to take up tennis, learn to sew, or train for a half-marathon right now; I have enough on my plate, and I'm not shoving anything to do with the boys off to make room for anything extra for me. Except in one particular area: my journey towards God. I have to have that right now. I need to focus on it far more than I need to exercise more, drink more water, sleep more, or any of the other things I'm missing out on. I need to have every bit of prayer time I can grab, every page I can read, every liturgy I can sit through and soak up from my toes to my head. That is where I want my strength to come from right now - not from my burgeoning interest in yoga, or tennis, or needlepoint.

The second, and almost-as-important reason I was upset by what he said was this: we are raising Christian adults. Not Christian children, meant to be trapped forever in Noah's Ark stories and Cherub Choir and Youth Group. They need to know what it is to be an adult with a strong faith -- what it sounds like (sometimes a cry, sometimes a shout of joy), what it looks like (spending more time on your knees then you ever thought possible), what it smells like (incense and salty tears) -- all of that and more. If I don't let the boys see all those things I'm keeping from them the most important part of their education. And while I fail in a lot of things as a parent, that's one thing I don't want to mess up.

I Wade into the Fray

Lots of people who are way smarter than me and write way better have been writing about whether to keep your children home from public school on September 8th, so as to avoid them hearing President Obama's speech to schoolchildren. If you want to read their (better written) opinions on the subject, you can go here, here, here, and here. But if you want to stick around and read mine: be my guest, by all means.

The boys will be at school on the 8th, primarily because the last thing they need is another day off, just three weeks into the school year and after a three day weekend. They have work to do, and presumably President Obama will not be taking up their entire day. Therefore, they will be at school for the math and the reading the the science - and incidentally for the speech. However, I do plan on recording it and watching it myself, and then the boys and I can have a discussion about what we each thought about the whole thing.

I am pretty clear about my political leanings: in public, here on this blog, and at home with the boys. But that doesn't mean I want to teach them that (1) we run away from people whose views differ from our own, (2) I insist they share my political opinions without question, or (3) we can be disrespectful to our President (and our teachers) by skipping school and doing as we please all day. So I'm not threatened by the President's speech; I trust that my abilities as a parent are up to any task it may present.

I also trust in the natural suspicion and tendency to boredom inherent in all small boys. Neither of the boys has a problem obeying authority, but nor do they have a problem questioning it. If Obama demands the swear their allegiance to him in this speech (and I seriously doubt that's what he will do!) they will not blindly stand up and give it. I know this: I'm the one who has been arguing with them to "obey mommy all the time!" since birth, and it's still not working out very well. Second, they want to get their work done. They want to get on with the day. They have a fairly low opinion of anyone who disturbs them from those tasks. Being asked to listen to a short speech - fair enough. Being asked to meditate on it and write about it? Now you're trying their patience - now you're boring them to tears. I also know this well: every time I bloviate for more than five minutes on something they interrupt and ask me if I have some more legal work to get finished, and don't I want to go back to my computer?

So while I'm not in love with the idea of a "dear leader" speech given to children by any politician, I prefer to use this opportunity to teach my boys respect and discernment rather than partisanship. Class, you are dismissed.

Overthinking School, Bus Accidents, and Other Thrilling Moments in Parenting

And so back to our regularly-scheduled examination of my navel, or, more accurately, an update on how I am doing micro-managing the lives of my overly-blessed and overly-mothered children.

Ahem.

The school dilemma got more complicated yesterday, folks. Well, the decision to move the boys got easier, but I don't want to rely on what happened yesterday as grounds to make the decision, so then again it didn't. Get easier, that is.

Allow me to 'splain.

Yesterday in the mail we received One's packet from private school with details on his upcoming field trip. We've known this trip was coming since we enrolled him two years ago, but somehow seeing the package with our first bits of information freaked me out completely. Details are pretty much as follows:

• Two day bus trip there and back again, totalling 2400 miles.
• Ten days away from home.
• Gone over a holiday weekend for which we already have excellent and fun family plans involving close relatives not seen in almost two years.
• No identification of parent chaperones - just the names of the two teachers
  accompanying the children.
• Three pages of rules, including gems such as "keep feet on the floor of the bus" (for 48 hours?!), "be gracious to everyone", "no snacks unless you have eaten something from every food group that day", "maintain quiet conversation in vehicles", and "stay in sight of the adults at all times".
• A $1700 fee on top of tuition.

Hmm. Well, let's start with the bus company. One fatal accident in the past ten years, in the same state as One's destination. I saw the pictures of the bus on the NTSB website, showing how it ended up 1/3 shorter than it began - nightmarish. Then, the rules: he doesn't follow any of these particular rules at home, and I'm not sure how he's going to pick them up on this trip. And, the fee: did I mention we're already behind in tuition payments for this year? And that this "switch to public school" discussion arose not our of a dissatisfaction with our private school but out of financial concerns? I thought so.

Despite all this, I don't want to use this trip as the straw that breaks my camel's back. Why? Because if it's going to happen I want the school switch to be about positive reasons and not about "mommy is too frightened to be without her 'ittle sweet baby for a week." Because part of me is, and if I use this as part of the decision, I know it will be unhealthy for both One and me.

So if we move the boys, and anyone asks, remember: the move had nothing to do with this trip. I promise.

If I have to pray for weeks solid to make that a true statement, I will. I promise.

Help in the Wrestling Pit

Here's an email from my friend Kelly, posted here with her permission as a "guest blogger", in response to my public vs. private school post below. Isn't it great to have such wonderful friends? When she gives in and starts a blog of her own, and becomes famous and all that, remember you read about her here first.

"I think we expect an awful lot of ourselves. Fact is, I KNOW I overthink the hell out of every decision I make. The kids are going to remember the play doh and the coloring you do with them. They will remember frisbees thrown and fish caught. They will not remember how many hours you spent beating yourself with wet noodles over the relative value of private vs. public education. You feel like you are quitting because you are making a decision about money. Perhaps if you changed your point of view to the other side of the river and looked back over it would help.

On the public side of the river there is a check for 20K, arguably more interesting kids, probably more diversity, your kids suddenly have the best study skills and attention in the class, they will have the benefits of the top 10% rule (or 7 or whatever), you will feel good about actually getting some value out of the property taxes you pay. (tuition plus property tax is a more accurate description of the cost of private school). And, your kids are well travelled and get to enjoy a new enrichment activity like tuba, or whatever.

Now look back over the river. It is safe. It is very costly and it is stressing your sweet self out completely. It has you wondering if you are a good mom. It has you giving up every extra bit of what you earn.

All of a sudden I want to go tour my local public school. You wouldn't even be considering this if it wasn't a perfectly good choice. You'll probably end up being one of those public school champions who reinvigorate the whole school. Go for it!!!"

Thanks Kelly.

Wrestling with Big Decisions

Well, all of a sudden it seems like Husband and I are wrestling with a big decision about the boys. No, it's not the choice between whether to give them to the circus or the gypsies - it's about school. And actually, it's not all of a sudden, because the difficulty we're having keeping them in private school has been brewing for quite a while. I think it was the chance to unwind in Colorado and think important thoughts that has brought this to the fore, and all at once we're looking at our budgets and wondering how much difference there is between what they are getting now from private Montessori school and what they would get at our neighborhood school. Wondering what it would be like to not worry about how we're going to pay for emergencies (what is that noise my car has been making, anyway?). Wondering what we could do to further enrich the boys' lives with some of that extra money every month.

I don't have any answers - just the eternal questions of every parent: am I doing things right? Could I do it differently and would they be fine - even better off? Is it better to pay for private school and barely have enough money to take a family vacation once every two years? Or is it okay to choose public school and have enough money to spend 10 days in Ireland next summer, or visit DC over Spring Break, or send One to Outward Bound in a few years? What benefits them most, and what makes Husband and my lives less stressful? I don't know - your guess is as good as mine, friends.

It is so hard to prioritize, especially when it's not just about you. I can tell fairly easily that I'd rather drive a minivan and have kids than drive a Mercedes convertible and be childless - that's about me and my wants, and I know those intimately. But when I have to choose this or that for my children, that's when the headaches (and heartache) begins. And frankly, I'm not choosing between throwing them to the lions at some horrible public school and keeping them in splendor at private school - that's what makes this so hard. Both schools are good. Both schools are fine. I like Montessori better: it works for both boys very well. The boys have formed good friendships at school - not something that's particularly easy for One, I might add. Neither boy likes change, and if we switched it would be school #4 for both of them (if you count One's year of homeschooling). That's a lot at their ages. But is their comfort worth $22,000 a year? Someone else has to do that math for me: it's above my pay grade.

One Sentence Book Review: The Blessings of a Skinned Knee

I read a Jewish parenting book and it taught me how to not nag my children.

Feeling Like Failure

I'm exhausted. Ground down to a nub. I don't know how many more ways to say it, but I've had it.

If I have to listen to my children fight one more time my head is going to explode.

I know. You're laughing. You're saying to yourself, "Self, you know so much better than Tari, because you know brothers are destined to hate one another at least 75% of the time. Poor Tari - she'll get over it."

But IT'S. NOT. TRUE. They have never been so nasty, so cruel, so hideous to one another as what I've endured this past month. They can hardly speak to one another without twisting their mouths, as if to gag on their brother's name. Or without screaming. And crying. And whining.

I. am. sick. of. this. It makes me want to quit, to let them be animals to one another (and the rest of the world) if they want to. It makes me want to give up killing myself to get them to activities, to take back the money we spend on tuition and take a two week trip with it - just Husband and I - to Hawaii.

Something, or somebody, has to change. I'm just praying I figure out how to help that happen.

This Makes Me Cry

It really does. Even though I'm supposed to know that many young adults view sex as nothing more than a physical itch to be scratched, it makes me so sad nonetheless. How can it not?

"At 25, May Wilkerson would like a relationship, but not a family — not quite yet. She's lived a lot of places: Argentina, Canada and Paris. Wilkerson says she hasn't found much intimacy with the men she's encountered. ... 'For many of us, the requisite vulnerability and exposure that comes from being really intimate with someone in a committed sense is kind of threatening.' And the thought of being in love with someone, Wilkerson says, 'is the most terrifying thing.' Yes, she has been in love, but the guy wasn't quite into it. There was one older guy who was serious; he used to bring her cupcakes. She couldn't work up an interest in him."

Who raised this poor child? Who taught her what her goals should be for her life? I'm not suggesting that a young woman's only goal should be family and marriage (I was married in the middle of law school and have worked almost every moment since as an attorney, for heaven's sake) but who on earth failed to explain to her that this kind of attitude is almost as self-destructive as developing a coke habit?

Parenting is hard. We all know that. But these are some of the most important lessons we can teach as parents. It matters not whether you are raising your children in a religious tradition or not; teaching your kids how to form healthy relationships, especially one that will lead to marriage and a family, is a lesson that every parent should want to focus on. In the end, what are you really offering your kids, if you don't teach them how to connect in a real way with others?

HT: Instapundit