Zen Mama Wannabe

An Agreement to Be Kind

My older child is quick to point out my younger one’s mistakes.  Any time.  Every time.  All the time.  Needless to say it only adds fuel to the bickering fire and my fire extinguisher has been working overtime this summer.  I have had enough.  So in the calmest, non-yelling voice this Zen Mama Wannabe has when I feel my buttons being pushed, I announce:

You know, Wayne Dyer talks about when you have a choice to be right or be kind, choose being kind. 

My son actually stops talking to listen.  He’s interested in Dr. Dyer.  I would have never thought to bring him up because, well, my son is 8.  It just never occurred to me.  But his 2nd grade teacher last year showed me a world of possibilities when she introduced the class to The Four Agreements.

Talking to 7 and 8 year olds about The Four Agreements?  I know adults who have never heard of it – and certainly never practiced it.  I naturally assumed it was far too over the heads of these young elementary school students.  Au contraire.  (But then we know what happens when we assume).

You know the background about The Four Agreements, right?  How Ellen Degeneres happened to go on and on about it to Oprah while on her show and it just took off from there.

My son took to it like a fish to water.  And he shows signs he’s ready for more.  Perhaps some Anthony Robbins.  Marianne Williamson.  Deepak Chopra.  And yes, one of my all time favorites, Dr. Wayne Dyer.  Can you imagine the world if we taught our children from THOSE teachers?

My son’s teacher had each student write down his or her intention for the week.  They learned not to take things personally.  To be impeccable with their word.  To not make assumptions. And to always do their best.  Pretty cool stuff, eh?  Is my son an enlightened master?  Of course not.  He’s 8.  (I wish I had that same excuse).  But what great material to be exposing them to.

And so I talk about Wayne Dyer almost as if he is a relative of ours (albeit a special one, yet family nonetheless).  But I have read all his books and heard him speak (in person, on PBS, on tape) so many times that it does feel as though I know him.   I can share some of his stories just as if I was speaking about dear Uncle Joe and the family stories one grows up hearing over and over until they become a part of you as well.

Right now the lesson for us is about being kind.  Yes, he may have the right answer and yes, his sister may not be accurate in how she is saying it.  But does it REALLY matter?   She’s 5.  She’s excited just to contribute to the conversation.  Can’t we let her – without pointing out (and oh – how he is quick to point out) how she is saying it wrong, or doing it wrong, or mixing it up – and the point of it all (and this is the part that REALLY gets me) is that it was never that important to begin with!

I don’t know how else to get the point across.  So right now I am going with this.  And hopefully when if my husband flubs up a fact at the dinner table, or my mother mixes things up in a story I have heard one too many times,  I too can chose to be kind – instead of making sure they get it right.  It’s good stuff for ALL of us to practice.

My Secret Summer Savior: BINGO

Summer is just about here and I’m a little nervous.  I always start off with good intentions.  I say it will be a time to relax, to ease up on schedules, to just BE for a while.  But about halfway through, this Zen Mama Wannabe starts LOSING MY MIND.  The bickering, the begging for more screen time, the moaning about having to run errands, the longing for just a hour or so of time for ME – just to be able to think and have some quiet.  (This is why other parents sign their kids up for camps all summer – I get it.  I do).  So, here I sit – wondering how the heck it will go and if it can live up to my initial expectations?  (I wonder, does anything ever?)

Last summer, in response to my calls of desperation, I got a tip from my best friend that was a lifesaver.  Yep, truly brilliant.  She suggested I make up BINGO charts. The kids work to get BINGOS and earn prizes (either across or down – just not both or you’d be giving out prizes right and left).  You can make a BINGO square be anything you want your kids to do, so you can adjust it for their ages (even works with the older kids).  Just mix them up (some easy, some a bit harder) so they don’t get burned out. 

My prize bag was one THEY helped me fill.  Things they would always bug me for when we went to the store (ANY store).  So as long as the things were relatively inexpensive, I started getting them “for the BINGO bag.”  They knew I had them – but that to get them, they had to earn them.  It actually incentivized them even more!  Ooh how they loved picking from the BINGO bag.  This year we are adding in coupons my son can earn for additional screen time.  He cannot wait. 

Things we put on our charts last year:

• Do 2 extra workbook pages (I make them do a couple pages each day as a standard practice over the summer – so their brains don’t turn to complete mush)
• Set and clear the table for dinner
• Play a game with your sister/brother
• Write a note (or Draw a picture - for my Little One) to a relative
• Make an art project using at least 3 different mediums
• Read for 30 minutes (or, for my Little One: listen to a Read-Along)
• Do an age-appropriate puzzle
• Try a new food
• Do something nice for someone
• Pick out a recipe to prepare with mom
• Jump on the trampoline for 10 minutes

My charts had 5 rows of 5, so some of those things were duplicated.  Once they got a blackout, I made up a new chart, adjusting what was in the BINGO squares if necessary (funny the ones they struggled with and the ones they zipped through without blinking an eye).  I didn't give a Free Space (I know, I'm a tough guy).

Gotta tell you: the whole system worked so well for all of us!  They had things to work toward, as well as something to keep them busy when they needed something to do.  I didn’t get hounded for things because they knew if they wanted that new pack of baseball cards or set of Princess markers, they had to earn them. They could get a BINGO every day if they wanted.  They could fill up their whole chart as quickly as they wanted. They were in control. 

Currently I’m in the process of making up this summer’s BINGO cards...which mostly involves thinking about what I want the kids to work on this summer.  (They are already thinking about some of the cool stuff they want to earn from the BINGO bag.)  Yeah, it’s definitely a win-win. And it sure helps my summer intentions stay (somewhat) on track!

What's For Dinner??

About a year ago I made a threat promise to my children.  I said it out loud.  Many times.  In 2009, when my daughter turned 5 and my son turned 8, that was it…we would all be eating the SAME thing for dinner.  Every night.  No more “kids meals.”  No more different menus for children and grown-ups.  Ah yes, what do they say about good intentions?  It’s only been a week and already what I want to eat most are my words!

This all ties into the big aha moment I had – that started me us on this journey.  Why did I think it was necessary for my kids to LIKE what was being served for dinner??  They were as shocked to hear my discovery as I was to make it.  But once I did, it was like DUH!!  Talk about a moment of parental clarity.

In my defense (of which there is none really) it has less to do with overprotective parenting and more with just being a People Pleaser by nature.  I WANTED dinner to be a pleasurable experience.  One to be enjoyed and savored by ALL of us.  As such, I let things slide.

Both my kids had texture issues as toddlers that caused extra focus and attention to be placed on food and what they could and couldn’t eat.  There were struggles with some foods above and beyond typical kid taste bud patterns.  I was perhaps too sympathetic.  My son quickly moved up the ranks to reigning President of Picky Eaters of America.  Being a member myself, I vowed my second-born child would never join. 

At age 2, my daughter’s repertoire was fairly wide: salmon, steak, scrambled eggs, etc, (all things my son would not let near his lips).  At 2½, coinciding perfectly with what many child rearing books warn you about, my pride in all I had done went out the window.  The wide variety narrowed considerably. We quickly had another member of the club.

I confess: at times I gave up in.  The path of least resistance meant food wouldn’t go to waste – and that I wouldn’t have to deal with cranky, hungry children.  Somewhere along the way, I bought into the notion that they should LIKE at least some most of what was put in front of them. 

But when my son boasted how he was a vegetarian who didn’t like vegetables, I finally saw the light.  So what if he didn’t like vegetables – few kids do.  Just because he didn’t like them shouldn’t mean we should be avoiding them at all costs.  Was I really expecting that he would just wake up one day and say he wanted to try zucchini, or a piece of chicken, or anything really besides cheese pizza or a similar combination of melted cheese and bread?

I put them on notice so there would be no arguments or misunderstandings.  Once they had their birthdays this year, things at our house were going to change.  God help us all.

We reached the jumping off point at the end of May and now there is no going back.  I am as much locked into this as they are.  No more endless questions being asked of “What are the kids having for dinner tonight?”  Now we are all in the same boat together.

You would think, this being the case, that life would suddenly be easier.  Oh no-o-o!  Let’s see, so far for dinner we have had pizza, pasta, soy hot dogs and my new Taco Nite (which was kind of a bust – he ended up turning his taco shell and cheese into a quesadilla – again it is all about the melted cheese and bread; she (true to form) choose not to eat it at all.

I was chickening out.  You can’t just serve kid food to the whole family every night, my husband reminded me.  But I became terrified of anything beyond the basics.  Again, the wasted food, the hungry kids (you can see a whole lot of issues being brought up for me – so interesting what we put on food). 

Tonight I am giving it another try.  We are having my homemade Potato Leek Soup, with some hearty whole wheat bread I just bought today at the local Farmer’s Market.  The soup is delicious, if I do say so myself – but they don’t eat potatoes in any form (we all know French Fries don’t count as potatoes) and they won’t go near soup - period.  Groovy – two strikes already and we haven’t even gotten up to the plate.

I know, try to make sure they are really hungry when they sit down to eat. Make sure there are a couple things being served that they like – so they at least have SOMETHING to eat.  If all else fails, bribe them with dessert.  The tricks up my sleeve sure do feel old these days. 

What are YOU making for dinner tonight?  Any family pleasing menus you can share?  Let’s face it:  this Zen Mama Wannabe needs all the help I can get!

Do News Events really need to be Life Lessons?

If my husband knew I did it, I doubt he’d be too happy.  I can see the look on his face as he’d ask me in THAT tone, “You said WHAT?”  Why would you say that?  What were you thinking?”  And I’d get mad at him, for questioning me, for taking me to task for my actions.  From practice I’m afraid I can play it all out only too well.  Thankfully he is in NYC all week, so busy with work things that he hardly remembers our names.  When he gets home, there will be other things to talk about – in fact, this may never come up.  So the one left here to question my actions, my common sense, is ME.  And now that I’ve had some time to contemplate it all, I think my husband (if he had said all that to me) would have been right.  Ooh, I hate when that happens!

It was a judgment call – a “should I? or shouldn’t I?”  For some reason, I felt the news was something I needed to share.  “He’s only 7!” my husband would exclaim (in this pretend conversation).  Yes, that is true – but I guess I felt like he needed to hear about it.  About how life works some times – when it is confusing, unfair, unjust, and just down right unexplainable.  It was another reminder that every moment, every second, is precious – a true gift.  Even when you are on the top of the world, at the top of your game; yes, even when you seemingly have it all. 

This is all true.  We know it as adults.  But was it really important for me to tell this to my 7 year old?  A sweet boy who has a tendency to veer toward anxious without much help from me.  I am the one who calms him down – the one who reassures him all is safe with the world.  What the heck am I doing instead shaking everything up?

I can argue (as I would to my husband) that he would hear about this anyway.  Our guy reads everything he can about all the various baseball teams.  He not only knows the scoop on our favorite team (Go Dodgers – I know, a shameless plug); he also knows more than you can believe about ALL the other teams, players and ballparks.  He would undoubtedly read it, hear it, or see a video clip on the computer about it without me mentioning it.  And maybe it would upset him MORE that way.  Or maybe he wouldn’t really get a sense of it.  Maybe the tragedy wouldn’t register with him that much and he would go on about his day. 

I guess I was so shaken by the news that I didn’t want it to go unnoticed.  Maybe it was me that needed to talk about it.  To give it the importance I felt it deserved.  The Angels canceled their baseball game tonight because of it.  He would definitely hear about that.  But really, that is no argument for why a kid should be told upfront about a tragedy.

Do young kids have the maturity or depth of understanding to process such a sad, senseless event?  Normally I would say NO – which I why I won’t let my husband watch the news in front of our children.  Boring, political shows that debate the issues back and forth are okay on occasion (although my son never sits too long for those), but the evening news?  No way!

So was I a hypocrite this afternoon?  Simply for my sake – not his?  Obviously I tried to spin talk about it in a simple manner – giving my son the information in a way he could understand.  But what is he left with?  That horrible things happen to people for no good reason?  Is that the life message I felt was so important to convey?  Yes, sadly life can go this way -- but the innocence of childhood gets stolen away so quickly as it is these days.  Was it really so imperative I add to it?

I meant well, I really did.  But in hindsight, I wonder if this Zen Mama Wannabe would have done better keeping my big mouth shut.  I don’t know – maybe my husband would have been right.  Is it better to try to control the news cycle or attempt to ignore it all together?  I wonder...

Tell Me the Story of When I was Born

There is no way this day could have snuck up on me.  My Little One has been talking about it for MONTHS.  I got a bit of a reprieve when I told her we needed to get through Christmas first, but by the time 2009 rolled around and the holiday decorations were put away, she was back at it again.  Planning… coordinating… down to the littlest detail… what kind of birthday party to have.  After all, this was no ordinary birthday (although I doubt “ordinary” is a word any child would use when talking about those single digits celebrations).  This one was extra special – the big 05.  Quite a year.

The biggest and best thing about being 5 means you get to go to Kindergarten – and what can be better than that?!  She knows (from previously being dragged there every morning dropping off big brother) what exciting things happen in those "big kid" classrooms.  Stories, songs, painting, art projects…but more than that – learning.  Real learning.  Like learning how to read.  And she wants nothing more in the world than that! 

Recently, for a class project on family heritage, my son had to write up the story of when he was born.  He had me tell it to him one night at dinner, and then my daughter had me tell it again the next night.  Of course I am all about stories, but even I have to agree with them: the story of my son’s birth is a good one.  Most kids turned in 1 paragraph – my son turned in 3 whole pages.  His teacher said it was straight out of an I Love Lucy episode.  But, what makes it even better, is that even though it didn’t go as planned, I still had the kind of birth I wanted and it was an awesome experience.  Even with all the pain, I was eager to experience it (or something like it) again when our next child came around.

But my daughter’s birth wasn’t like that for me.  It is not the same kind of story, and it still to this day makes me sad when I think about it.  I have friends that wanted and planned on having a c-section, that had it scheduled well before their 9th month.  I have other friends that wanted the drugs lined up and waiting for them when they got to the hospital.  The drug-free “au natural” experience that I had with my son seems to be nobody I know’s choice for childbirth – except mine.  I guess it is my runner mentality – I was geared up for the pain -- for the challenge; as such, I couldn’t wait to see how I did the second time around. 

But the second time around I ended up with a breech baby.  And although I tried EVERYTHING possible, that baby was not moving.  So right before my due date, much to my dismay, a c-section was scheduled.  I was not a happy camper. 

So how do I share that story with my Little One, who is so eager for me to tell the story of when SHE was born.  I do think it is a great thing to do on your kids’ birthdays.  Like Jamie Lee Curtis’s book “Tell Me Again About the Night I was Born,” kids want to hear their story over and over.  I think they should.  It is a part of their history, of their start in the world.  But how do I make it special for my daughter?

So I tell her that right at the end of my pregnancy, when the baby is suppose to be getting in the right position and getting ready to come out, she went the other way.  Maybe she got stuck in that tiny space and couldn’t move around very well.  Or maybe she wanted to be where SHE wanted to be (she’s a Headstrong one even to this day – so it fits) which was exactly opposite of where she should have been.  So my doctor tried to turn her around.  There is a fancy name for this procedure (and it is not for the faint-hearted) but the bottom line is it didn’t work.  Because now her little foot was propped up against the top of my stomach, keeping her wedged in that position with no wiggle room. 

There was nothing more my doctor could do.  But did I give up?  No-o-o – not her Mama!  We tried the moving flashlight trick, the follow-the-loud music trick (all these wives’ tales are supposedly tried and true – they have worked for some, sadly not for me).  I was desperate. I saw an acupuncturist for several treatment sessions.  Nada. Finally I had my husband crank up the pool heater and went out to do hand stands in the pool.  Quite a sight, I might add – a big ol’ pregnant woman flipping upside down in the water.  My not quite 3-year-old son stood behind the pool fence with his father trying to make sense of what silly Mommy was up to.  Still, our sweet little baby wouldn’t budge.

I was told to pick a date for her delivery. And I HATED that.  How could I just arbitrarily choose such an important day?  We were close to the cusp of Pisces or Aries – it didn’t seem right that her astrological future should be something I would decide.

March 17th was suggested and I turned that down so fast nobody dared to second-guess me.  I would not have my daughter born on St. Patrick’s Day – where every year on her birthday she would HAVE to wear green – or get pinched!  Ridiculous! (She loves that part.)  And so March 18th it was.  No waiting around for an Aries birthday (like her mom’s) – medically now we needed her out before she decided to do it on her own. 

As scheduled, we drove to the hospital that morning, where my lovely doctor said she’d try ONE more time to turn her around.  But this time the ultrasound showed that the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck.  Game over.  No more trying.  Time to just get her out safely.  Because, I tell her, the most important thing was that she was born safely.  I was so excited to have a baby girl – and just like with her big brother, we couldn’t wait to meet her!

At 8:02am on March 18th, the doctors took her out of my “tummy” (well – not quite – but it works better for story purposes).  And when they put her on the scale, she weighed exactly the same number as her brother had – down to the very same ounce.  Coincidence?  Not for this Zen Mama Wannabe.  It was then, I tell her, I knew she had arrived on the very day and time she was supposed to.

That is HER story.  One that she gets to hear as we celebrate her birth into the world.  We celebrate with chocolate cake with pink frosting and sprinkles all over the top and Annie’s Mac and Cheese for dinner (another birthday tradition – the birthday kid picks the menu).  Her big day is here – finally – and she tells me she will remember it for the rest of her life.  (I think I might like this being 5 phase). 

After all the festivities have ended, I can't help but sigh as I tuck her in bed.  No more party talk or planning for nearly a year -- thank goodness!  As I tiptoe out of her room, her little voice calls out to me: 

“Mama?  I think for my NEXT birthday…” 

Yikes! Like mother, like daughter, I guess.  Even with different sun signs. 

If the Shoe Fits

I sent my husband out this weekend on the simple task of getting new sneakers for my son.  Many hours and about 10 phone calls later, he came home with the most expensive pair of boys’ shoes we have ever purchased. 

My son has basically one pair of shoes. Except for his Crocks that haven’t seen much wear since last summer, the soccer cleats that got used ever so briefly last fall during the 8-week soccer season, and last year’s baseball cleats that he can now barely get his feet into.  So for all intents and purposes, he has just one pair of shoes.  He wears these shoes to school every day (rain or shine).  He wears them to church (when we go).  These blue and gray Nike sneakers are his all-purpose shoes.  They are his casual shoes, his dress-up shoes, his hiking shoes…you get the idea. 

I have decided that is just wrong.  I think the kid needs more than one pair of shoes.  He of course could care less.  He doesn’t care how many pairs of shoes he has, or what the brand name is on them – really all he notices is if they need to be tied or not (too many years of Velcro bands has made the actual act of trying shoelaces one that still needs to be perfected). 

I love the fact he doesn’t care.  I love the fact he is happy with whatever he has.  I hear the stories of kids that pester their parents for this kind or that brand.  I know of parents paying outrageous amounts of money for a pair of sneakers for their child – especially when their feet are still growing and who knows how long they will fit into them.  But that’s never been my concern – because my son isn’t like that. 

In fact, life would have gone on for us as usual, except that he needed new baseball cleats.  And in the process of getting measured for those, we found out his foot had grown (always shocking when this happens, isn’t it?)  It’s a half-size bigger than the sneakers he’s been cramming his feet into wearing day in and day out.  Finally we clued in – maybe it’s time for new shoes. 

You might live in a place where you can just run to the mall, pick out a new pair and be done with it.  Not us.  My husband started off at the small, local running shoe store in our town.  They offer exceptional customer service, but not a large kids selection and their shoes were pricey.  So after a while, they left there and drove to a nearby town to go to the popular sporting good store.  Being a chain store, they offered better prices, but their selection had been wiped out and there was nothing there in my son’s size to choose from.  They suggested another sporting goods store at the mall – which turns out is no longer there (naturally).  But by now they have driven over to the mall – to find only one kids’ shoe store: Nordstrom.  Decent selection, very high priced. 

This is where the phone calls started coming more frequently.  They have now spent a good portion of the afternoon chasing down the elusive sneaker.  The less expensive ones at Nordstrom slip on his heel.  The pair that doesn't (the gray ones with the red lighting bolts all over them) are of course the most expensive of the batch.  Do you just take them, pay a fortune, and call it a day?  Or instead, do you leave, principles intact, without accomplishing your mission?  (We all know nothing gets to a guy more.  Hours spent running around and then nothing to show for it. )

Somewhere out there are decent shoes that are half the price of what they came home with.  But is it worth the gas, or time, or frustration of running around trying to hunt them down? 

My guy is content with his new shoes – just like he was content with the old ones.  But we’re still at just having the one pair!  And this one pair cost more than any pair of sneakers my husband has ever bought!  How can you feel good about that?

Of course, I’m too exhausted just from hearing about their escapades to even think of trying to search for an additional alternate (something just a wee bit nicer than a tennis shoe).  So for now, it will just be this one pair of shoes – just like it was before.  I suppose we don’t get dressed up that much anyway. 

Still, this Zen Mama Wannabe couldn’t help giving my husband a bit of a fright by telling him our daughter also had outgrown most of her shoes too.  “You will be able to take her out next weekend to look for a pair or two?” I asked him ever so innocently.  The look on his face told me it wouldn’t be happening any time soon. Probably just as well. 

Guess it’s my turn to step up and put my money where my mouth is.  Hopefully it won’t take a day of driving all around town to accomplish it.  I mean, who knew it took this much (literally) to make the shoe fit!

Does it Take a Village to Raise a Brat?

If you are a brat at age 8, where do you end up when you are 16?  To adapt the lines from the hit musical Wicked, “Are people born BRATTY, or is BRATTINESS thrust upon them?”  When you see a bratty kid, whose fault is it really?  And what can the rest of us do about it?

I guess I have spent a little too much time around some 8-year olds recently.  I am STILL shocked by some of the things they said, the tone they used, and their attitude in general.  How in the world can these kids think this behavior is okay??  Is that the message they are getting from their parents?   Truly, if this is the make-up of our future generation, our country is in for way more trouble than anyone could ever expect. 

Are the parents as clueless as they come across?  The moms of these boys I know say their sons are all “good.”  Do these kids just know how to work it?  Do they behave at home, but when they are out of their parents’ range, anything goes? 

We say it takes a village to raise a child, a noble and endearing theory at best.  But what is happening in our villages?  Is this now the acceptable way for kids to be?  Have our standards dropped changed and we’ve just been too busy to notice? 

What ever happened to showing respect to grown-ups (teachers, other parents, neighbors, etc)?  Perhaps a little hard to do when kids so casually call adults by their first name (one of my growing pet peeves) as if they were chums.  I saw one parent joking around with another, and her kid who was standing there started to join in too.  What did the both sets of parents do?  They laughed.  This only egged him on further, but no one did anything to stop him.  The kid looked like he though he was pretty cool – and the message was sent loud and clear:  this type of behavior is okay to do. 

Where are the parents that are working hard to teach their children manners and how to conduct themselves appropriately not only at home, but at school and in life?  That is the village that I want to join!  I blame the media a great deal for the tones and mannerisms we see on the playgrounds – but what it really comes down to is parents letting their kids play video games and watch TV shows and movies that are not age appropriate.  The kids take it in like sponges and then start flipping the tone and the words as if they are just as cool as the actors they saw portray it.  What you can say when you are 18 or 25 can sound horrific coming out of an 8-year old’s mouth.  But how can we expect the kids to know that?

It is not just the boys you witness this with.  You can pretty much pick out the little girls in 1st grade (and Kindergarten!) who watch Hannah Montana and High School Musical, etc.  Where else do they get that sassy tone and the disconcerting mannerisms?  What might be cute to see a 12-year old do becomes sickening to watch with a 6-year old.  "But you have to be into it," a mother confided in me.  "All the girls are."  Again, great village we are living in, eh? 

Maybe it is too easy to blame it solely on the media.  The media may be corrupting our young society as a whole, but in the end it comes down to the parents.  You can teach your kids manners or you can subscribe to the “Well, everyone else does it this way” philosophy.  Just like we tell our kids, we adults have a choice too. 

Of course not every 8-year old is rude or bratty.  Probably only a handful from each class, right?  But being around just a few of them was enough to make my stomach ill.  Don’t these parents get it?  This Zen Mama Wannabe feels as a parent I am trying my best – to teach the golden rule, to have good manners ingrained in my kids so that it is second nature to them – and yet these other kids seem like bad apples in the barrel threatening to ruin the whole batch. 

Without withdrawing from society completely, how does a parent like me manage in the world today? Where it is all about short cuts, sloppy work and trying to do the least amount possible.  Where a child blatantly lies and then gives you a look like “I just dare you to tell my mom” and then makes sure he gets to his parent first with a spin that completely twists the story all around. Please tell me it can change.  Because I am sure not feeling so good about it right now.

Messing Up

I mess up on things a lot.  Especially with this parenting business.  That is why I am a wannabe.  I could tell you all the many ways I screw it up and you would undoubtedly cringe at a lot of them.  I sure do in hindsight.  I’m either the dreaded helicopter parent swooping in too often or too soon OR I don’t pipe up enough, especially in dealings with other kids.  The “Oh, let them work it out – that is how kids learn” philosophy is great in theory, but leaves me feeling conflicted and doubtful most of the time.   And above all I think, you never want to be a parent doubting yourself.

There is a balance – a fine line between helicopter and hands-off, and I for one, don’t have it down.  Mama definitely ain’t got her groove.  Maybe that is what makes me feel the worst.  I feel I should.  I wish I did.  But it still seems like a minefield I am carefully navigating – and yes, sometimes things do blow up in my face. 

Today I saw my son struggling, playing with these other two boys at the park.  My guy just wanted to play catch.  These boys insisted on Monkey in the Middle – and my son was put as the monkey.  He never could knock it down – thus remaining in the middle – and meaning he never got to even handle the ball.  How much fun is that? 

I could read the look on my son’s face.  He was not happy, and his good-natured way was slowly evaporating.  Do I jump in?  Insist or “suggest” that they play it differently – I know, how about the old fashioned way where you just throw it to each other and catch it and everyone gets a turn?  Too dull these days? One of the boys (the alpha kid if you will) was becoming a bit aggressive in his teasing (torture).  But perhaps I am just over-protective? 

I did nothing (not proud of it – just telling you the story).  It was one of the other boy’s mothers that stepped in and changed the dynamics of the game.  She (a schoolteacher so perhaps a bit more experienced – or just better – than I) could see that my son was miserable and felt the other boys were now acting mean-spirited. 

Maybe it was better coming from her – because it didn’t look like a mom stepping in protecting her son.  Maybe it was worse it didn’t come from me because after all, I saw my son’s struggles and didn’t respond to it. (What kind of message does that send him?)

At the end of this playdate, the final incident happened.  It was over a game of tag my son didn’t want to play.  We were getting ready to pack it all up, but Alpha Boy wasn’t quite ready for it to end.  He insisted they play and that HE would be IT, but then at the last second, yelled, “Not IT” making the second boy IT, who seemed confused by the sudden change in events, but quickly reached over and tagged my son.  My guy looked bewildered; he had stated it pretty clearly he wasn’t playing, but now somehow seemed to be in an active game of tag.  He stood there for a couple seconds, clearly not sure if he should just go along, you know be a good sport and play this game being forced upon him. 

This time I stepped jumped in. “Hey Buddy," I yelled. " I thought you said you weren’t playing?  Well, anyway – it is time for us to go.”  Ah – saved at last.  My son ran over to me and gave me a hug, but really he was hiding the fact tears were now spilling from his eyes.  “I was just so confused,” he admitted in a muffled voice.  As was I – and told him so.   He wasn’t alone there.

It had been long enough at the park with these boys – for both of us.  The negative undercurrent I had been sensing this whole time was also being felt by him and he was starting to lose it.  He buried his head in my chest as the tears kept coming.  I comforted him for a minute, but then saw the other boys starting to walk over.  Trouble brewing.  “Ok, Buddy.  Deep breaths. Pull it together.  You don’t want them to see you cry,” I told him, helping him wipe the incriminating evidence off his cheeks. 

Suddenly Alpha Boy was there.  “Is he CRYING?" he wanted to know.  This Zen Mama Wannabe stood tall.  “Oh, he just got something in his eye,” I told him.  My son’s head jerked back, startled at my less than honest response.  But when he looked up at me, it was all over his face: pure relief.  My heart cracked a little.  Alpha Boy wanted to know if it was a wood chip 'cuz that had happened to him once.  Situation adverted.

On the walk back to the car, my son surprised me by stopping me to say, “Thanks, Mom.  You know, for what you said back there.  I really appreciate it.”  Ahh – my heart melted back together again.  All the way home all I could think was thank you.  Thank you for this one time letting me get it right. 

Housebound and Stir-Crazy

The rain keeps pouring down.  It is a good thing.  Everyone says we need the rain.  A few weeks ago the headlines of all the newspapers screamed DROUGHT COMING.  Water rationing.  People looked outside at their gardens and flowerbeds and sighed.  So the rain is good.  I’ve learned (in my 1+ years up here) it is almost an unspoken rule that you can’t complain about the rain.  So allow me just to share with you:  I AM GOING OUT OF MY SOGGY, WATER-LOGGED MIND!!

All the rain would come THIS week – what is traditionally known as Ski Week up here.  Instead of just getting Presidents’ Day off, the school districts here decided to give kids the WHOLE week off.  This is in addition to our Spring Break week in April.  (And we wonder why we have to start school in August now – instead of after Labor Day – and go through the third week in June. Hmm.)

Working parents find this to be a royal pain.  They are scrambling to make arrangements for their kids during this non-traditional week off.  More money to be spent on daycare or Ski Week Camp, etc.  On the other side of that equation, some parents have loaded up the Lexus Hybrid SUV and gone to Tahoe for a week’s worth of skiing and snowboarding.  After all, isn’t that what Ski Week is all about?

I fall in neither camp. No, I’m not sifting through fresh powder on Squaw Valley.  On the other hand, how can I complain when I’m hanging around in flannel pajama bottoms and Ugg boots, sipping coffee and “working” on my computer?  My household is pretty content.  My son is playing with baseball cards and writing down endless line-ups and my daughter is making breakfast for her baby dolls and getting them ready for school. 

Her preschool is open this week, but she is here with me because she has a fever of 102 (again)!  I’m not sure who is more disappointed.  Every time she coughs on me, I imagine those little germs floating here and there and I can’t help but think, NO!  Not again.  First she was sick, and then I got sick, now she is sick – please! This cycle has got to stop!  We are the healthy family, remember?  Yeah, who’s gonna believe me now?! 

I am feeling cooped up and restless.  We talked of going to the new section of the California Academy of Sciences museum.  Yeah, me and every other poor fool here in town with nothing to do on a rainy day.  But my daughter’s fever has nixed that idea.  We need to hit the grocery store and the library – but getting in and out of the car in the pouring rain and dealing with bags of soggy groceries and a sick child sounds less than appealing. 

So what would the ideal (true Zen) mom do?  Good question.  I bet she and her helpers would bake some cookies (the little one couldn’t help this time, but she still could nibble some cookie dough).  She would pop a batch of popcorn and snuggle up with them on the couch to watch some fun kid movie (one they hadn’t already seen 50 times).  She’d play endless rounds of Battleship, Monopoly, Candyland and Go Fish.  She’d read story after story – especially to the little (sick) one.  They could draw pictures, hang them up and have an art show.  They could find some new music to dance around to – maybe even make a new music CD. 

If this Zen Mama Wannabe did just ONE of those ideas, I’d probably make my kids’ day.  (Kinda gets you right there, doesn’t it?)   Okay, I’m not sure if I am feeling guilty or inspired, but I will get my act together and not let this week off get wasted. 

Kids will come back to school next week telling each other all about their adventures (Mexico, Tahoe, Sports Camp, etc).  My kids deserve to have a fun week too.  They’re not sitting around sulking or complaining.  They don’t mind that it is raining non-stop. They are thrilled just to be here at home, with me, with their toys.  Looks like the one that needs to get it together is me. 

There must be some ancient Zen proverb about embracing that which you are fighting against.  (If you know of one, send it along).  Until then, I shall try to make peace with ALL this rain and show my kids they have a mom that knows how to have fun come fair or foul weather. 

The I LOVE YOU Contest

My little one had a lot to tell me in the bath last night.

Mama, have you heard about the I Love You contest??  (This is the part where I quickly scramble to figure out if this is something she heard about from someone at school, a video she’s watched, or if this is coming straight from her active little brain.  In this case, I decide it is the latter). 

Well…(deep breath and a pause as she begins to launch in to a long, detailed story.  Her brown eyes seem to twinkle although she is very serious.  She loves it when she has the floor – so to speak – when she doesn’t have to compete for talking time with her big brother)...there is this I Love You contest for kids and their moms.  Or dads.  Or their grandparents.  Or even for their babysitter.  (Ok, got that part).

You go outside, to a park I think, and everyone has a telescope.  And then the kids take turns gathering up all the love they have inside them and then shooting it up into the sky. (I think that explains why you need the telescopes – although I could be wrong – sometimes it is better not to ask for clarification).

And, Mama...(another dramatic pause)…whoever has the MOST love and makes it go the farthest wins.

And Mama, know what?  Sometimes the kids wear pink t-shirts with big hearts on them. (Oh really?  You HAVE to wear pink?  What if you don’t like pink – or don’t have any pink?  I couldn’t resist teasing her a bit). 

Well, the moms and dads don’t have to, but it helps if the kids do because after all, pink has so much love in it.  And it always helps if the moms wear the same as the kids because then you know they are on the same team.  (Ah yes, why didn’t I think of that?)

And Mama, you know what?  If we were in that contest, you and me, you know what?  I know we’d win!

Of course we would.  That much I know. 

Yes, an I Love You contest – this Zen Mama Wannabe thinks the idea has a lot of potential.  After all, worse case is that there would be a whole lot of love shooting up in the sky and landing all over the place – and maybe a whole lot of people in pink.  We all could do a lot worse.