When Christmas and New Years fall on Wednesday, it gives the school kids the longest possible holiday. I can remember feeling like a stressed-out pile of goo, back in the day, when my kids went back to school on Monday the 6th. And they were good kids, mind you, not little hellions - but Christmas gets Very Intense.
So it is with some sympathy, this snowy morning, that I consider the plight of parents who thought their kids would be back to school today.
Taken the dogs out, got the woodstove started for morning, cleaned up the kitchen and started the dishwasher. Can't really get started cleaning, yet, because my husband and K aren't up. I've been feeling pretty damned rocky the last week or so, and I sure hope today is better.
One thing I noticed recently; I go down to Home Farm to do a chore or drop something off, and my son and I get talking. However, I have to leave soon because I have something else going on, or I need to get home for dogs' potty breaks. Then I remembered being young(er) and how my parents never seemed to want to visit me. Come over for a quick visit or a meal, leave immediately. A whole LOT of my parenting strategies have been based on my reflections about my own parents (not surprising). Both good and bad, truly; they both did some thing very right and other things .. uh.
Anyway, I did have to go to HF yesterday, but the library/book-tidying job I was expecting was much smaller than I thought. When I was done I asked him, do you need some alone time right now (he had just completed some STRESSFUL finals) or would you like a visit? He was up for a visit, so I sat down and we talked for quite a while. Until I was sure he was finished. That felt good.
Both kids are so kind and caring toward me. I'm so lucky.
This is purely anecdotal, I have no numbers to back this up, but I think the kids who have the best relationships with their parents tend to practice what I call the Circle Back.
In a space that includes both adults and kids, and is safe enough that kids aren't being directly supervised by their parents, I've noticed most kids with strong family relationships follow the same pattern: they socialize with others or participate in an activity, and then periodically circle back to their family group. They might observe one or both parents for a couple minutes, or offer a hug or kiss or brief conversation, and then they go back to what they were doing, and repeat. Sometimes they have a question (When are we leaving? Can I have a slice of cake?) but often it seems like a totally purposeless check-in purely intended to affirm their relationship with their parent. (Hi. Love you. Bye.)
Kids who are very clingy and don't really move away from their parents, or who avoid or evade their parents for most of the evening, would be examples of those who don't follow the circle-back pattern.
People who are saying this looks like Attachment Parenting delighted me because I literally have a book on that parenting style in the to-read pile on my desk. I’m even more enthusiastic to read it now.
I was raised at least partly with an attachment parenting mindset, so that’s probably why this pattern seems so familiar and good to me. I’m 27 and sometimes at the function I still randomly go damn where’s my mom at tho.
From the parenting end, it is really delightful. Bright little face shows up at your side, tells you Two Important Facts, then scampers off again. If your kid is friends with a kid who doesn't have that kind of parent relationship, the friend will start picking up on this trait and do it when they're with you. Then you end up with extra bright little faces (slightly nervous) showing up at your side to check in.
I guess it's Sunday morning Thoughtful Time. Children growing up is a little bit like death. Hear me out.
Twice upon a time I had a three-yr old. It may not be a common opinion, but three is one of my favorite ages. Like, yeah they will fight about bedtime, but . . damn. The joy in living! The bounciness, cuddles, and giggles! The growing independence of age eight. Rushing home from school to tell you Mr T. Squished a Stinkbug In Class It was So Funny!!! Halloween parties. Twelve-yr-olds allowed to be at the rollerskating rink by themselves. Can't wait to tell you how they perfected their backwards skating or that one pinball machine has an electrical short and it shocked someone!!
Right now all those people, and more, exist somewhere inside my young adult children. But, crucially, I can no longer see them, interact with them, cuddle them. My three-year olds are just as gone from me as if they had died. The young adults are delightful! I love them to pieces. I might even, in the fullness of time, have grandchildren.
But I would step on a Lego every night for a year to be able to see with my littles one more time. Go down to the creek and turn over rocks to see Creatures. Bake cookies together.
Oh, geez. I can't even remember how funny stuff got passed around in the earlier days of the internet. I do know that lots of people would forward 'humorous' emails around, and it was difficult or impossible to figure out who had created the original content. However. I remember one of those pass-arounds was a list of things you had to do to be able to say you were "ready" for parenthood. Two things from that list have stayed with me forever.
One: In order to prepare for having children, take a live goat to the grocery store with you. You have to get through the store and buy your weekly groceries without letting the goat destroy anything or harm anyone. If you plan on having multiple children, you must take multiple goats. (If anyone wants to borrow a goat for this purpose, Nutmeg volunteers)
Two: Suspend a whole cantaloupe from the ceiling by a string. Cut a small hole in one side of the cantaloupe. Get some Cheerios and milk in a bowl. Now, set the cantaloupe swinging gently. Try to spoon the Cheerios into the hole in the melon.
Just those two things had me laughing until I cried. I had really good kids, mind you! But we certainly had our challenging moments. Those items sound like they are humorously exaggerated. However. I must tell you. They are not.
@rederiswrites do you remember any moments like that?
Sitting quietly on an August morning, pondering my teen daughter's summer.
Her older brother moved out, down to Home Farm, and acquired a Roommate - so she not only got to spend lots of time in Brother's house, but also received a free, bonus brother. Roomate brought Missile the thoroughbred/quarterhorse cross to the pasture, so they have been riding a whole LOT more than she would have ridden on her own. The had to ride after dark through the worst of the heat, but horses have decent low light vision; no problem.
She had ordinary chores; farm animals, cleaning, a bit of cooking and canning, and garden - but only a very reasonable amount. She had one summer class online, but it was a rather compact seven weeks, and not too hard.
Friends. Tons of friends, really. College friends who traveled here to guest with us for a weekend, local friends. She is very blessed that way.
Swimming. Riding. Hiking. Catching crayfish. The Fair. Berrying. Caving. Travel. Family events. Gardening. Crochet, painting, drawing. We didn't manage to do the biking we wanted to do, but there's always something that falls off the list.
It's hard not to be jealous, really. But I know how hard I worked to break cycles and provide my kids with the opportunities they have for a safe, peaceful, pleasant life. Success comes as a surprise.
She's packing, now to leave for school on Sunday. I sure will miss her.
Yesterday my son sent me a little video of a couple of very small boys digging in dirt and playing with sticks in the woods. The message of the video was about not entertaining kids all the time, but giving them time to be 'bored' and mess around in natural spaces. He thanked me for giving him that kind of childhood, where he was allowed to be bored, dig holes in dirt, and mess around in the woods. I'm crying.
There are literally still holes in places up in the woods. When I see them they always make me So Damned Sad. Kids grow up, I certainly wouldn't want the alternative. But it's like a death in the family. Where are my little kids? They are gone. The ruins of a carefully-built 'fort' sit in the woods, home to mushrooms and salamanders.
I believe in gentle parenting. Unfortunately many people refuse to parent their child at all under the guise of gentle parenting. Sometimes you’ve got to look your fourth grader in the eye and say “Little dude, that was an asshole move.”
As the mother of two young adults, it definitely worked for me.
This will generally be a non-relatable problem, but I just need to vent a tiny bit.
First off, I think I had the world's NICEST mother in law. She was a great model to me of how to treat adult children, letting go gracefully and such. Unfortunately she passed away in 2003. And now here I am.
Son floated the idea of moving out, just for the summer, and living with a roommate, back in early April-ish. I thought it over and agreed. We started moving things around down at Home Farm, my late father's place, and adjusting furniture, etc. Roommate, however, had an early end to his semester, so he moved in the first part of May. Son moved (collecting his belongings a bit at a time) as well, even though his semester isn't over until this week.
I wished him well, sent some food down there - bear in mind, Home Farm is only a quarter mile, (.4 km) away - and took a deep breath. I can do this.
What I hadn't anticipated was that my daughter, home from her first year away at college, would spend more than half of her time down there, as well. She missed her big brother a lot when she was away, considers Roommate to be a Bonus Brother, and prefers to be around the energy and fun down there instead of home.
I can do this. But for many years summer has been fun family time where we could do activities we didn't have time for during school, take spontaneous adventures, read together, and. I am missing that. more than I can say. Having to specifically schedule time to be with my own kids is new and will take a LOT of getting used to.
I will reflect on MIL, and her way of treating her children.
Husband just left to go to our daughter's school and pack her up to come home. Finals were a bit early this year, so today is her last day. I'll be glad to get her home.
Spend twenty years agonizingly "Breaking the Cycle" and then turn around and look at your cheerful, emotionally mature and healthy young adult children and say "How did this happen?!"
I'm so proud of them, and I worked very hard to have this outcome. It can be almost baffling, though. You mean, I could have been like this when I was 20? I thought I was doing well, back then - but it was all duct tape, string, and an industrial-strength mask with cracks around the edges! NOW I realize what young adults are supposed to look and act like!
Damn. Crazy. Well, no time to cry, have things to do.
Everyday I worry about the world my young adult children are going out into.
The super-secret shelf story, March 2013. My daughter’s room is in a shocking state. It has never been great, but since Christmas it has just become a quagmire. There are 4 different shelves/storage units . . and there is just no coping with the stuff in there. Plus the combo of 2 big windows and three doors leaves us limited on how to use the wall space that is left. I decided that shelves about 12" deep that went all the way to the ceiling would allow me to consolidate all the stuff in all the current furniture plus the stuff scattered all over plus possibly some of my artwork that has no home.
I called Eby’s mill, but they said they don’t do ‘small orders’ (how can a goddam sawmill not have a few 1x12s lying around? Honestly?) I called Cessna’s Mill but they wouldn’t answer the phone or return my calls. I checked out Lowes and found that, for about $20 PER BOARD I could get not very good quality stuff. Eesh. It occurred to me to ask Grandpa, since he knows an awful lot about lumber. Where, oh where, can a person buy 1x12s? His answer was, “You can’t.” Small lots, as the mills told me, just ‘aren’t done’ anymore. “But I can cut it for you,” he said, “and when it’s cured all summer it might be ready to make in the fall.” My heart sank. Because I don’t want to wait for fall. I’ve had to wait and wait and wait for everything I’ve wanted for this house, sometimes as long as 12 years, and I just want some shelves NOW! I tried to sound cheerful when I said sure, that would be great.
Astonishingly, within a day or two he emailed me that he had lumber already cut in the barns that I could have. He’d help. It’s not surprising that he had it, really, because he seems to collect lumber like some people collect stamps. I went down and, sure enough, there was all that I needed and then some. We set a time last Tuesday to start working on it. I was sorely disappointed when the stupid, stupid school system called off school Tuesday for no inclement weather whatsoever. I decided that secrecy was a flexible term and that a bit of clever lying would cover things just fine. I told the kids we were going to go down and help Grandpa move some boards, heavily implying that the boards were to remain Grandpa’s. So we did, and got things started a bit. I went back on Friday and braved the scary planer and the much scarier edging machine. Progress is being made, and I have ordered $160 of stuff from the Container Store to facilitate the final process.
I am in the grips of several things that I don’t like and cannot control. I am obsessing about these shelves as a means to control one tiny bit of the chaos in my life. I know this. But, seriously, the room ‘design’ that she has is so broken that a total reboot may be the only way to get things organized. I’ll be very, very happy to be able to tidy up her room and have places for things. All books on one shelf! How great is that! Clear boxes! Awesome!
You know, reading this, the thing that floated to my mind is that when our kids couldn’t manage their stuff and their rooms were trashed, our first thought was that they needed infrastructure that would support them in keeping things clean. We assumed that they, too, would rather live in a clean environment, but recognized that sometimes there’s just too much stuff and too little storage. A problem we both addressed with shelves.
But we could so easily have just been mad that they couldn’t just keep their space clean. And that would have been so useless and unpleasant for everyone.
Instead, we realized that it meant the struggle was more than they could handle alone, and that they needed and deserved help.
As opposed to hmmmmm . . our own parents?!
I can remember getting screamed at for RUINING the nice room they gave me because LOOK YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE THE FLOOR
(but, see, I was making a scrap quilt, and I had finished blocks and scraps-to-be-sewn spread out across the floor as my only large workspace. Did he want me to quilt - in the barn? Outside?)
and we all know that a room that is untidy is RUINED FOREVER!!!
When my daughter was home for winter break between college semesters, she got out a coloring book she had had for a while (fancy, complicated undersea scenes) and worked on it. She has a lot more patience and sticktoitiveness at 18 than she did when she first got the book, and she did a lot with it. However, the markers she had were not terribly good, more of a 'tweenage' set. She made the best of it.
I decided to send away for a more adult set of markers with more colors. They were surprisingly expensive (I know everything is, right now, but I avoid noticing it by shopping very little) and have been on back order for quite a long time. They finally came, though. She came home from school unexpectedly this afternoon, and after dinner and barn chores I gave them to her. The ear-piercing squeal was very satisfying.
So between my quickly-expanding quilt* and her pages of sea life, there will be a heck of a lot of colorful fish around the house soon.
'* 56 of 70 fish, and I hatched a plan for jellyfish made from an old piece of blue gauze I've had since 2008.
I have decided, midway through February, that I, in fact, DO have a New Year's resolution I want to work on.
My son was born in February 2002, and my mother died (age 61) in December of that year. I did the memorial service, cleaned out her house, took care of her will/estate, mourned, and kept raising that baby. Little by little, as he grew, I started noticing things about parenting that I had never processed before. At one point, I went to an aunt I was especially close to, and asked her to 'memory check' me about things from my family when I was just a toddler. Because, you know, I didn't want to take my very early memories as fact. But I was noticing that my son, then three, had had NO serious injuries (because I was watching him!) while I had been seriously injured multiple times by the time I was four. Two emergency room trips, many scars, stitches, dislocated hips, etc.
Her mouth compressed into a straight line and she shook her head. "Yes," she said, "You were left to raise yourself. And then you raised your brother."
I had had what I thought was a decent relationship with my mother while she was alive. Like 95% good, 5% WHOA, NELLIE WTF! But as I aged, reflected, and parented, I started getting angry. And angrier, and angrier. And F*ing FURIOUS.
Not unreasonable, but . . man, it's been years. Decades. I need to - find a way to let this go. Make peace with her (very complicated) memory. Stop feeling so much rage. It's just TIME.
So this year I am going to try to get very intentional about that, and work on settling the issues rattling around my skull. Yeah, not completely sure HOW, but I have started working on it.
We found a spot in the bay where you could walk right out into the shallows. There were several clams out there, engaged in clam business. K captured them. Clamming is possibly the easiest form of acquiring protein in the entire world. Standing in murky, knee-deep water, clutching 4 large, living clams, she engaged in what I will charitably call a ‘spirited debate’ with us about whether or not she could keep them. No! But! No! But! I’ve never argued with a young woman clutching an armful of live clams before, and I’d be just as happy never to do it again. If it hadn’t been the last evening of our stay, and nearly 8:00 at that, we would have steamed the blasted clams, but we made her return them to their habitat.
Ok, one more 'oldie.' A treasured memory!
Although it’s only ten am, I have already forcefully been made aware that it’s going to be That Kind of Day.
At two in the morning, I was wakened by the sound of retching. A quick listen confirmed that the sound was coming from outside, not from the dogs in the living room. Thankfully, puke-happening-outside is Not My Problem, so I went back to sleep. I got up at the more normal hour of six and stepped outside on the porch to feed the cats. My foot was assaulted by the cool, slimy feel of eviscerated mouse guts left on the doormat. One of my cats chose that site to butcher its prey, and not all the parts were deemed edible. My cries of distress brought the dog over to comfort me. At this point it became apparent that she had made an illicit visit to the dead raccoon down the road; her stench was so strong it was nearly visible in a cloud around her body. With my foot and my nose complaining bitterly, I staggered back into the house to begin the process of waking my kids and getting them fed, organized, and off to school. I am sure that somewhere in America there is a family that does not require bulldozers, drama, or miracles of God to get up and moving on a school morning. I hope to meet that family, someday, and learn their secret.
After the kids were taken away by the yellow bus, it was time to visit my father and help him sort out a property tax issue involving three cell towers that reside on his farm. To be honest, that was not really difficult, I just get the heebiejeebies from trying to write calm, clear business letters and sort/package/file/save it all so that I’ll know what I did and why I did it next year. Three towers, three different sets of contact info, addresses, enclosures, bills, receipts, Yay! It is entirely possible that he and I got everything all straight. I do hope so. Our next task was for him to teach me how to drive his massive blue tractor and use the brush-hog attachment. At forty-eight yrs old, I shouldn’t be intimidated by any driving task. I’m Not Intimidated! I was raring to go! But, as we filed the last of the cell tower information away, he and I both looked at each other and decided to
Do. That. Another Day.
I went back out to my car to come home and can home-grown tomatoes. THAT’S when I realized that ‘puke-happening-outside’ can be my problem after all. The same cat who left fresh mouse parts on my doormat also chose the hood of my car as the best spot to throw up the mouse parts it consumed. I don’t know how I could have missed that while I was driving down the road; I must have been all excited about paying taxes. Anyway, when I scraped the lump of vomit off my hood it contained tiny paws, fur, a bean (maybe that’s a kidney?) and a cicada wing.
Note to all cats: Please don’t eat bugs if they make you throw up. You know who you are.
I still have to go out and find a way to make that dead raccoon disappear from the side of the road without touching it. And I’m more than a little worried about trying to use a pressure canner on a day that’s been this exciting already.
Wish me luck …
