“Did you get in?” “Have you heard yet?” “Will you apply anywhere else?” Those are the questions high school seniors have been asking each other as college acceptance and rejection notices roll in. Some news is good, some is bad, and in some cases, there’s no news at all. These are emotional times for our students, and while they will end up where they’re supposed to go, it doesn’t make the process of getting there any easier. But it does make all of us stronger.
Witnessing our own son go through the college acceptance process last year was excruciating, especially as a music school applicant who had to pass through tough screening steps before even getting his final decision letters. One day he’d learn that he didn’t make it through the first-round screening, and the next day a school would invite him in for an audition. Looking back, while it wasn’t easy being on the rollercoaster ride of our son’s rejections and acceptances, the whole process provided tough but valuable lessons on overcoming obstacles, and bouncing back from disappointment or mistakes.
It was during this college admissions process that I realized that there’s plenty of parenting information out there on how to build your child’s self-esteem, but very little about when to let go and actually let your child fail. Sports and school experiences didn’t help. We still have a shelf lined with elementary school trophies handed out just for playing the game, and a folder filled with school papers covered with “Nice Job!” (even though our child’s handwriting was illegible).
When our children were toddlers, I used to pride myself on how I’d give them the freedom they needed to just be kids. My husband, on the other hand, would be the over-protective one. We’d go to the playground together and he’d follow their every step, and react to every minor bump and bruise (which invariably made our kids cry), while I’d choose to just sit and wait. I’d be on the edge of the park bench just hoping that our children would simply pick themselves up after a minor tumble and continue playing.
Ironically, when our boys hit middle school, my husband and I both became “helicopter parents”. With boys who struggled with organization and focus, I’d spend countless hours helping our sons clean out their backpacks (including six-month old Pop Tarts), while my husband monitored homework and studying for tests. At one point, our oldest son’s guidance counselor at Blake said, “Don’t be afraid to let him fail. Kids need to learn how to bounce back on their own.” At the time, the advice was hard to accept, however several years later as we watched our son ride the emotional college admissions rollercoaster, I realized the guidance counselor was right. But I still had a tough time letting go.
Months later while we were preparing to send our son off to college, I was finding it especially difficult to give him space. Our son wasn’t able to get into the dorms, so he was forced to live in an off-campus apartment with upperclassmen. I worried endlessly asking myself: “Would he be able to fend for himself? How would he cope without someone telling him what to do? Would he make smart choices?
Two weeks after dropping him off at school, our son was doing just fine, but I wasn’t. One day I drove into Boston just to make sure he had a rain jacket (mind you, after three days straight of torrential rain). I was trying to avoid being seen as a hovering mom, so I put the jacket in a FedEx box and personally dropped it off on his doorstep so that it would look like a bona-fide delivery (all the time trying to make sure I wouldn’t be seen).
A month later, when our son’s laptop was stolen, my husband had to convince me to not drive in again to “save” our son. Unlike those early playground days, I was now the one hovering, while my husband was the parent standing back waiting to see if our son could bounce back on his own.
Looking back at the high school-to-college transition process, I now realize my son wasn’t the only one growing up and changing – he was forcing me to change too, and for the better. Over the recent winter break, as my self-assured and independent son sat across the kitchen table sharing his thoughts and aspirations with me, I soaked up his every word and was thankful at how far we both had come. And when I dropped him off back at school, I didn’t look back.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Carving out family time
As the youngest of six children with a six-year age gap between me and my brother, I was bereft when he headed off to college. How would I survive the next six years without any siblings at home? I eventually got used to being a short-term only child, but I still found myself looking forward to the holidays, long weekends and summer vacations that would bring my brothers and sisters home, and we’d all be together as a family.
Fortunately, what helped me survive this “only-child” period was living next door to the O’Connell family, which also had six children, including several around my age. So even though I was home alone during my middle school and high school years, I still had plenty of company.
The O’Connells weren’t just your average neighbors – they became my second family. We shared a long, narrow driveway that became the location for endless games of kick ball and softball (and broken windows), plus biking, jump rope and hop scotch. We also had access to two garages that were transformed into classrooms, club houses, dress-up rooms and hideouts. We could walk into each other’s houses without knocking, and our parents supported each other with meals, babysitting, carpools, and cups of flour.
Our houses were so close together that from my bedroom window I could see into the O’Connell’s kitchen, and hear the sounds of laughter (and sisters fighting) through their windows. Those windows also served as portals for the creative message centers we’d create. Suspended above the driveway and threaded through an eye screw attached to a window at each house would be a continuous loop of clothesline. On it we’d attach and send “secret” messages. (Remarkably, none of our parents were ever worried about us falling out onto the driveway.)
The O’Connells treasured family time, and I was sometimes invited to join in the fun. We’d play board games, have tea and listen to jazz, or pile into their station wagon to go to a drive-in movie. Even as teenagers, I don’t remember any of the O’Connell kids complaining about family time – everyone seemed to look forward to it. The only family event that I couldn’t attend was the Sunday “Daddy Dinner Night.” On these weekly occasions, Mr. O’Connell was in charge of making the big meal.
During our driveway games, I’d learn about the menu, including his famous desserts. But once the dinner bell rang, a mass exodus of O’Connell kids ensued and I’d be left alone on the driveway with my mouth watering wishing I could be with them.
Today, with a son who is home from college on winter break, I’m soaking in every moment of our own family being together. Surprisingly, I’m not even fazed by his messy bedroom; crazy 2 a.m. to 1 p.m. sleep schedule; or endless quest for food. I know he’ll be heading back to school in just a few weeks, so I want to enjoy the time he’s home with us. Our family dinner table is once again set for five, and that feels great.
I often think about how I wish we had created more family-time traditions like the O’Connells. For many years we were eating together every night, but as the kids got older and their activities and school demands took over, trying to coordinate family dinners became an enormous challenge.
And while I can never replicate all the years the O’Connells dedicated to establishing their wonderful family rituals, I can try to carve out some quality family time with our own kids while they’re still home.
I’m not fooled into believing it’ll be easy, especially with teenagers who prefer friend time over family time. But we’ve already had one fun family night out since my son has been home, so I’m encouraged. I just need to make sure to give our kids advanced notice, and engage them in the planning. We certainly can’t have Mom digging in her heels at 4 p.m. saying, “Okay guys, tonight is family night.” I tried that once. It didn’t work.
Looking into the future, I know it will only get more difficult to pull everyone together as a family. But right now, memories of my childhood are motivating me to make it a priority. While the O’Connell kids and I have long moved away from the old neighborhood, our parents, childhood homes, and beloved driveway are still there serving as wonderful reminders about how incredibly fortunate I was to have grown up with a double dose of family time.
Fortunately, what helped me survive this “only-child” period was living next door to the O’Connell family, which also had six children, including several around my age. So even though I was home alone during my middle school and high school years, I still had plenty of company.
The O’Connells weren’t just your average neighbors – they became my second family. We shared a long, narrow driveway that became the location for endless games of kick ball and softball (and broken windows), plus biking, jump rope and hop scotch. We also had access to two garages that were transformed into classrooms, club houses, dress-up rooms and hideouts. We could walk into each other’s houses without knocking, and our parents supported each other with meals, babysitting, carpools, and cups of flour.
Our houses were so close together that from my bedroom window I could see into the O’Connell’s kitchen, and hear the sounds of laughter (and sisters fighting) through their windows. Those windows also served as portals for the creative message centers we’d create. Suspended above the driveway and threaded through an eye screw attached to a window at each house would be a continuous loop of clothesline. On it we’d attach and send “secret” messages. (Remarkably, none of our parents were ever worried about us falling out onto the driveway.)
The O’Connells treasured family time, and I was sometimes invited to join in the fun. We’d play board games, have tea and listen to jazz, or pile into their station wagon to go to a drive-in movie. Even as teenagers, I don’t remember any of the O’Connell kids complaining about family time – everyone seemed to look forward to it. The only family event that I couldn’t attend was the Sunday “Daddy Dinner Night.” On these weekly occasions, Mr. O’Connell was in charge of making the big meal.
During our driveway games, I’d learn about the menu, including his famous desserts. But once the dinner bell rang, a mass exodus of O’Connell kids ensued and I’d be left alone on the driveway with my mouth watering wishing I could be with them.
Today, with a son who is home from college on winter break, I’m soaking in every moment of our own family being together. Surprisingly, I’m not even fazed by his messy bedroom; crazy 2 a.m. to 1 p.m. sleep schedule; or endless quest for food. I know he’ll be heading back to school in just a few weeks, so I want to enjoy the time he’s home with us. Our family dinner table is once again set for five, and that feels great.
I often think about how I wish we had created more family-time traditions like the O’Connells. For many years we were eating together every night, but as the kids got older and their activities and school demands took over, trying to coordinate family dinners became an enormous challenge.
And while I can never replicate all the years the O’Connells dedicated to establishing their wonderful family rituals, I can try to carve out some quality family time with our own kids while they’re still home.
I’m not fooled into believing it’ll be easy, especially with teenagers who prefer friend time over family time. But we’ve already had one fun family night out since my son has been home, so I’m encouraged. I just need to make sure to give our kids advanced notice, and engage them in the planning. We certainly can’t have Mom digging in her heels at 4 p.m. saying, “Okay guys, tonight is family night.” I tried that once. It didn’t work.
Looking into the future, I know it will only get more difficult to pull everyone together as a family. But right now, memories of my childhood are motivating me to make it a priority. While the O’Connell kids and I have long moved away from the old neighborhood, our parents, childhood homes, and beloved driveway are still there serving as wonderful reminders about how incredibly fortunate I was to have grown up with a double dose of family time.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Floor time to car time
In the early years of parenting, the floor is always where the action is.
When our kids were infants, I remember spending countless hours on the floor just watching them bat at a Sesame Street mobile rooting for a direct shot at Big Bird or Cookie Monster. Then when they were old enough to sit up, I sat on the floor entertaining them with balls, blocks or Patty Cake.
Floor time continued into the toddler and early school years with Thomas the Tank Engine train sets strewn over our family room floor, followed by endless Lego creations by our boys, then Barbie and baby doll sets for our daughter. No matter what toys the kids were playing with, I’d accept their invitations to be on the floor engaged in their fun.
Then something strange happened. Our kids stopped asking me to play on the floor with them. I actually didn’t mind that our children were becoming more independent – I enjoyed seeing them solve problems on their own. But then like a scene out of Toy Story, our kids’ interest in their favorite toys began to wane. Ultimately their once-beloved trains and Barbies ended up in the attic; the Legos were donated to a local charity; and even board games like Candy Land ended up in a hallway closet falling victim to neglect.
While I certainly don’t miss those painful moments of stepping on a Lego piece with bare feet in the middle of the night (which still makes be cringe just thinking about it), I do miss the time in our kids’ lives when they actually wanted to be with you. It was during those moments of play that I learned a lot about our children – how they solved problems, what made them smile, and how they interpreted various events or activities around them. During these quiet times of play, my kids would casually talk about friends from preschool, trips to a local farm, or even conversations they heard between grown-ups.
Today my little playmates have grown into big teenagers, and they wouldn’t be caught dead walking down the street with me, let alone playing a game on the family room floor. I can’t even dance in the presence of my 10-year-old daughter without getting told to stop because I’m embarrassing her (even when there’s no one else in the house).
And communication? Just like lost-lost toys in the attic, words from the mouths of my teenage children stay safely tucked away unless I make extreme efforts to pull them out. Friendly questions about my children’s friends, their day at school, or current events are often answered with one-syllable words or “I don’t know.” What happened to my adoring children who couldn’t wait to tell me everything? They became adolescents -- that’s what happened.
When my boys were in elementary school, I’d kiss them goodnight but also try to spend a little time talking with them about their day. It was wonderful mother-son time. But when my sons hit 11 or 12, they didn’t want me hanging out to talk to them anymore. I desperately wanted to stay connected with them, but just didn’t know how to do it.
Eventually, I learned the trick: one-on-one time in the car. It’s amazing how being in a car will often turn even the quietest 16-year-old into a conversationalist. The parenting experts say it’s the lack of eye contact that makes teens feel more comfortable about opening up.
My husband and I have had the most wonderful heart-to-heart conversations with our sons in the car, and we’ve learned more about their lives there than anywhere else. And amazingly, when our kids’ friends are in the car too, they act like we don’t even exist. They share stories with each other that my children would never think to tell us at home, and being the driver gives us the chance to silently get to know the friends who are becoming a powerful influence in our children’s lives. For me, the hardest part is trying to stay invisible – to keep my ears open and mouth closed because as soon as I say, “Really?” or “Who said that?” the back-seat conversation stops.
With my youngest child in 5th grade, I only have about seven months left before we close the elementary school chapter in our lives (and a girl version of crazy adolescence emerges). But come spring – especially after Medfield’s 5th grade parents get a preview of “The Movie” (prompting many of us to have “The Talk” with our kids) -- I’ll have a full tank of gas and my car keys ready. Without delay, my daughter and I will be fully prepared to start our own tradition of road-trip conversation. And in those quiet moments when I’m alone in the car, I’ll fondly remember the long-lost days of floor time.
When our kids were infants, I remember spending countless hours on the floor just watching them bat at a Sesame Street mobile rooting for a direct shot at Big Bird or Cookie Monster. Then when they were old enough to sit up, I sat on the floor entertaining them with balls, blocks or Patty Cake.
Floor time continued into the toddler and early school years with Thomas the Tank Engine train sets strewn over our family room floor, followed by endless Lego creations by our boys, then Barbie and baby doll sets for our daughter. No matter what toys the kids were playing with, I’d accept their invitations to be on the floor engaged in their fun.
Then something strange happened. Our kids stopped asking me to play on the floor with them. I actually didn’t mind that our children were becoming more independent – I enjoyed seeing them solve problems on their own. But then like a scene out of Toy Story, our kids’ interest in their favorite toys began to wane. Ultimately their once-beloved trains and Barbies ended up in the attic; the Legos were donated to a local charity; and even board games like Candy Land ended up in a hallway closet falling victim to neglect.
While I certainly don’t miss those painful moments of stepping on a Lego piece with bare feet in the middle of the night (which still makes be cringe just thinking about it), I do miss the time in our kids’ lives when they actually wanted to be with you. It was during those moments of play that I learned a lot about our children – how they solved problems, what made them smile, and how they interpreted various events or activities around them. During these quiet times of play, my kids would casually talk about friends from preschool, trips to a local farm, or even conversations they heard between grown-ups.
Today my little playmates have grown into big teenagers, and they wouldn’t be caught dead walking down the street with me, let alone playing a game on the family room floor. I can’t even dance in the presence of my 10-year-old daughter without getting told to stop because I’m embarrassing her (even when there’s no one else in the house).
And communication? Just like lost-lost toys in the attic, words from the mouths of my teenage children stay safely tucked away unless I make extreme efforts to pull them out. Friendly questions about my children’s friends, their day at school, or current events are often answered with one-syllable words or “I don’t know.” What happened to my adoring children who couldn’t wait to tell me everything? They became adolescents -- that’s what happened.
When my boys were in elementary school, I’d kiss them goodnight but also try to spend a little time talking with them about their day. It was wonderful mother-son time. But when my sons hit 11 or 12, they didn’t want me hanging out to talk to them anymore. I desperately wanted to stay connected with them, but just didn’t know how to do it.
Eventually, I learned the trick: one-on-one time in the car. It’s amazing how being in a car will often turn even the quietest 16-year-old into a conversationalist. The parenting experts say it’s the lack of eye contact that makes teens feel more comfortable about opening up.
My husband and I have had the most wonderful heart-to-heart conversations with our sons in the car, and we’ve learned more about their lives there than anywhere else. And amazingly, when our kids’ friends are in the car too, they act like we don’t even exist. They share stories with each other that my children would never think to tell us at home, and being the driver gives us the chance to silently get to know the friends who are becoming a powerful influence in our children’s lives. For me, the hardest part is trying to stay invisible – to keep my ears open and mouth closed because as soon as I say, “Really?” or “Who said that?” the back-seat conversation stops.
With my youngest child in 5th grade, I only have about seven months left before we close the elementary school chapter in our lives (and a girl version of crazy adolescence emerges). But come spring – especially after Medfield’s 5th grade parents get a preview of “The Movie” (prompting many of us to have “The Talk” with our kids) -- I’ll have a full tank of gas and my car keys ready. Without delay, my daughter and I will be fully prepared to start our own tradition of road-trip conversation. And in those quiet moments when I’m alone in the car, I’ll fondly remember the long-lost days of floor time.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Treasuring the Halloween experience
Halloween always ranks high on my list as one of the ultimate parenting experiences – at least until our kids hit the pre-teen years.
When our children were little, it was relatively easy getting them ready for Halloween. We’d decide on a costume, take some photos, grab a flashlight and hit the streets. But now that our boys have stopped trick-or-treating, and our daughter is a pre-teen, the innocent days of Scooby Doo, Thomas the Tank Engine and Cinderella are behind us.
For our boys, Halloween costumes were a breeze -- a black cape was all they needed. But when it came to creating a trick-or-treating strategy – watch out. The boys and their friends would spend a crazy amount of time right before the big night deciding what neighborhoods to hit, and calculating the exact route they’d follow to maximize their time and takings. My husband compares our sons’ trick-or-treating strategies to the work of political activists who study each “district” to see where they can mine the most votes.
But with our daughter, it’s a different story. Her Halloween planning starts in August – at the height of back-to-school stress. When I’m out worrying about notebooks and erasable pens, my daughter is checking out the blonde wigs, make-up, sequined costumes and high heels. She’s also making a first draft of trick-or-treating and costume plans that will likely change at least a dozen times once our daughter and her friends start comparing
Last year is a good example. The girls all decided to be Greek goddesses or characters. Sounds easy, right? The only problem was that once the obvious choices of Medusa and Aphrodite were taken, the other girls were challenged to uncover other goddesses. So here I was with my daughter, clicking through goddess-guide.com, trying to talk her into being Hera, Hestia or Artemis, and then trying to figure out how to make her costume different from everyone else’s.
In the end, with the exception of a few snakes displayed atop one friend’s head, all of the girls looked the same in their white robes and gold belts (especially after special props were abandoned to make it easier to carry their heavy bags of candy). But despite the costume hassles, benefits emerged from everyone’s planning: the girls knew exactly who they were and the characters they were representing, and they learned how to compromise and support each other along the way.
When I was my daughter’s age, I didn’t care much about my costume – I was in the boys’ camp. To me, it was all about the candy. I was more than happy to throw on some baggy jeans and a sweatshirt and call myself a hobo. And despite trying to get my friends to think the same way, it rarely worked.
My best friend once dressed up as a die that took her many days to create. At first I was envious of her costume. It was meticulously painted white with black dots, and she looked so cute with her little arms sticking straight out the sides. But I soon realized that she couldn’t fit through doorways to grab her share of candy, and I’d have to carry her bag all night. I knew then that my quick and easy costume strategy was the way to go.
Despite the extra work that Halloween requires, you just can’t beat seeing the joy and happiness it brings children, and that experience was always in high demand. Each year while carving our pumpkins, my husband and I would have heated negotiations over who’d be the one taking the kids out trick or treating, and who’d stay home to give out candy. Neither of us wanted to miss seeing our kids running from door to door with big smiles on their faces, and watching the joy they brought neighbors. It was also a lot more fun counting (and eating) candy when you could remind your children who gave them those coveted full-size chocolate bars.
Now that our youngest has banned us from tagging along with her on Halloween night, my husband and I will no longer need our usual trick-or-treating negotiations. Instead, we’ll probably end up being “Halloween-night empty nesters” who sit at home with a bowl full of candy negotiating over who will answer the door.
As the years fly, we know that it’s only a matter of time until our daughter decides to abandon her childhood Halloween traditions. But until then, we’re happy to carve those pumpkins, help with her costume, and “borrow” from her trick-or-treating bounty. We’ll do whatever it takes to hold on to the Halloween parenting experience – and our Cinderella -- for as long as possible.
When our children were little, it was relatively easy getting them ready for Halloween. We’d decide on a costume, take some photos, grab a flashlight and hit the streets. But now that our boys have stopped trick-or-treating, and our daughter is a pre-teen, the innocent days of Scooby Doo, Thomas the Tank Engine and Cinderella are behind us.
For our boys, Halloween costumes were a breeze -- a black cape was all they needed. But when it came to creating a trick-or-treating strategy – watch out. The boys and their friends would spend a crazy amount of time right before the big night deciding what neighborhoods to hit, and calculating the exact route they’d follow to maximize their time and takings. My husband compares our sons’ trick-or-treating strategies to the work of political activists who study each “district” to see where they can mine the most votes.
But with our daughter, it’s a different story. Her Halloween planning starts in August – at the height of back-to-school stress. When I’m out worrying about notebooks and erasable pens, my daughter is checking out the blonde wigs, make-up, sequined costumes and high heels. She’s also making a first draft of trick-or-treating and costume plans that will likely change at least a dozen times once our daughter and her friends start comparing
Last year is a good example. The girls all decided to be Greek goddesses or characters. Sounds easy, right? The only problem was that once the obvious choices of Medusa and Aphrodite were taken, the other girls were challenged to uncover other goddesses. So here I was with my daughter, clicking through goddess-guide.com, trying to talk her into being Hera, Hestia or Artemis, and then trying to figure out how to make her costume different from everyone else’s.
In the end, with the exception of a few snakes displayed atop one friend’s head, all of the girls looked the same in their white robes and gold belts (especially after special props were abandoned to make it easier to carry their heavy bags of candy). But despite the costume hassles, benefits emerged from everyone’s planning: the girls knew exactly who they were and the characters they were representing, and they learned how to compromise and support each other along the way.
When I was my daughter’s age, I didn’t care much about my costume – I was in the boys’ camp. To me, it was all about the candy. I was more than happy to throw on some baggy jeans and a sweatshirt and call myself a hobo. And despite trying to get my friends to think the same way, it rarely worked.
My best friend once dressed up as a die that took her many days to create. At first I was envious of her costume. It was meticulously painted white with black dots, and she looked so cute with her little arms sticking straight out the sides. But I soon realized that she couldn’t fit through doorways to grab her share of candy, and I’d have to carry her bag all night. I knew then that my quick and easy costume strategy was the way to go.
Despite the extra work that Halloween requires, you just can’t beat seeing the joy and happiness it brings children, and that experience was always in high demand. Each year while carving our pumpkins, my husband and I would have heated negotiations over who’d be the one taking the kids out trick or treating, and who’d stay home to give out candy. Neither of us wanted to miss seeing our kids running from door to door with big smiles on their faces, and watching the joy they brought neighbors. It was also a lot more fun counting (and eating) candy when you could remind your children who gave them those coveted full-size chocolate bars.
Now that our youngest has banned us from tagging along with her on Halloween night, my husband and I will no longer need our usual trick-or-treating negotiations. Instead, we’ll probably end up being “Halloween-night empty nesters” who sit at home with a bowl full of candy negotiating over who will answer the door.
As the years fly, we know that it’s only a matter of time until our daughter decides to abandon her childhood Halloween traditions. But until then, we’re happy to carve those pumpkins, help with her costume, and “borrow” from her trick-or-treating bounty. We’ll do whatever it takes to hold on to the Halloween parenting experience – and our Cinderella -- for as long as possible.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Who me, worry (Medfield Press)
As a teenager and young adult, my mother’s worrying was something I just didn’t comprehend. I also figured that by the time I came around as child No. 6, she had worried herself out. However, the worrying continued and it made me a little crazy at times.
Now here I am many years later, the mother of three kids with the oldest going off to college next month, and guess what? I worry about them – all the time. As I tell my own mom, “I get it now.” I wish someone had warned me long ago that worrying automatically comes with motherhood (the ultimate lifelong occupation), no matter how old your children are. I never considered myself a worrier, but when I think back to my 20s, my favorite bedside book was usually “The Symptom Finder”, so that may have been a clear warning sign of things to come.
It is nice to know that I’m not alone in my worrisome thoughts. According to Robert Leahy, Ph.D., author of the “Worry Cure”, 38 percent of people worry every day. And based on another study, women are twice as likely as men to worry. (As I listen to my husband snoring on the couch while I sit at my computer seeking advice on overcoming the latest teen challenge, I don’t need a study to tell me that I’m chief worrier in the family – at least when it comes to the kids.)
There’s no denying that parents of teenagers have a lot to worry about. Teenagers are coping with real challenges and pressures in their lives, and parents struggle with finding the best strategies to help them. For me, I try to keep perspective along the way, but sometimes it’s tough, especially when every time I turn on the TV or open up the daily newspaper, there’s a story of bullying, dating violence, reckless driving, drug and alcohol abuse, or other teenage tragedy.
In times like these, sometimes I just have to take a deep breath and keep telling myself that keeping the lines of communication open with our kids is what’s most important, and that my husband and I are doing our best to equip them with the tools and support they need to navigate life successfully. After all, we all have to learn to stand on our own two feet sometime.
That being said, finding the right balance between letting go and holding on is tough to achieve. There are times I want to dive in and rescue my kids, and other times when I have to force myself to put my worries aside and stay out of the way. I never realized how tough it is to watch your children struggle for independence until I became a parent myself.
With our first-born preparing to go off to college, we look back at his childhood with fondness, and feel particularly grateful to have made it through the middle school/high school years, where worrying seemed to hit an all-time peak. We’re certainly not naïve -- we know college will bring a host of new challenges and worries, but at some point, we also realize we have to let our child live his life.
My son actually said it best after we had a heart-to-heart talk about college and the influences that might confront him: “Mom, I don’t think you need to worry about me as much as you are. The last thing I would do is ruin opportunities for myself -- the same opportunities that you and Dad have worked so hard to give me.”
I can learn a lot from my son, including how to spend less time worrying and more time enjoying his evolving adulthood. There is immense joy in seeing your child discover and nurture his talents, and start making positive, life-changing decisions for himself. He also deserves to have the freedom to make mistakes. After all, none of us got to where we are today without stumbling along the way.
Hopefully my son eventually realizes that my worrying is a sign of love. It didn’t take long to realize that my own mom’s worrying shouldn’t have been viewed as an annoyance, but a gift. If I’m lucky, my mom will worry about me for a long time to come, and my son will eventually say to me, “Mom, I get it now”.
Now here I am many years later, the mother of three kids with the oldest going off to college next month, and guess what? I worry about them – all the time. As I tell my own mom, “I get it now.” I wish someone had warned me long ago that worrying automatically comes with motherhood (the ultimate lifelong occupation), no matter how old your children are. I never considered myself a worrier, but when I think back to my 20s, my favorite bedside book was usually “The Symptom Finder”, so that may have been a clear warning sign of things to come.
It is nice to know that I’m not alone in my worrisome thoughts. According to Robert Leahy, Ph.D., author of the “Worry Cure”, 38 percent of people worry every day. And based on another study, women are twice as likely as men to worry. (As I listen to my husband snoring on the couch while I sit at my computer seeking advice on overcoming the latest teen challenge, I don’t need a study to tell me that I’m chief worrier in the family – at least when it comes to the kids.)
There’s no denying that parents of teenagers have a lot to worry about. Teenagers are coping with real challenges and pressures in their lives, and parents struggle with finding the best strategies to help them. For me, I try to keep perspective along the way, but sometimes it’s tough, especially when every time I turn on the TV or open up the daily newspaper, there’s a story of bullying, dating violence, reckless driving, drug and alcohol abuse, or other teenage tragedy.
In times like these, sometimes I just have to take a deep breath and keep telling myself that keeping the lines of communication open with our kids is what’s most important, and that my husband and I are doing our best to equip them with the tools and support they need to navigate life successfully. After all, we all have to learn to stand on our own two feet sometime.
That being said, finding the right balance between letting go and holding on is tough to achieve. There are times I want to dive in and rescue my kids, and other times when I have to force myself to put my worries aside and stay out of the way. I never realized how tough it is to watch your children struggle for independence until I became a parent myself.
With our first-born preparing to go off to college, we look back at his childhood with fondness, and feel particularly grateful to have made it through the middle school/high school years, where worrying seemed to hit an all-time peak. We’re certainly not naïve -- we know college will bring a host of new challenges and worries, but at some point, we also realize we have to let our child live his life.
My son actually said it best after we had a heart-to-heart talk about college and the influences that might confront him: “Mom, I don’t think you need to worry about me as much as you are. The last thing I would do is ruin opportunities for myself -- the same opportunities that you and Dad have worked so hard to give me.”
I can learn a lot from my son, including how to spend less time worrying and more time enjoying his evolving adulthood. There is immense joy in seeing your child discover and nurture his talents, and start making positive, life-changing decisions for himself. He also deserves to have the freedom to make mistakes. After all, none of us got to where we are today without stumbling along the way.
Hopefully my son eventually realizes that my worrying is a sign of love. It didn’t take long to realize that my own mom’s worrying shouldn’t have been viewed as an annoyance, but a gift. If I’m lucky, my mom will worry about me for a long time to come, and my son will eventually say to me, “Mom, I get it now”.
Monday, June 27, 2011
It's Summer Camp Season
When Allan Sherman’s “Camp Grenada” starts playing in my head, I know it’s time to gear up for overnight summer camps.
Overnight camp is great for the kids. But each year 10 million parents across the country are stressed out by the long list of tasks needed to get them there. For parents of first-time campers, this can be especially overwhelming.
It all starts with finding the right camp to begin with. Our first time around, we spent hours searching online, getting information from other parents, and talking to camp directors. With an estimated 12,000 summer camps across the U.S., the arduous task of finding the right camp provides great training for the college search process that hit us years later! Thankfully summer camps don’t require entrance exams or come with rejection letters.
Once we found “camp paradise”, paid the bill (ouch) and completed dozens of forms, the real fun began with the “What to Pack” camp checklist.
The first time my two boys went off to summer camp, I spent hours trying to find every item that was on that list – from bed-bug-proof mattress covers, to cot-sized sheets, to laundry bags and footlockers. But I went one step further. Knowing that they’d miss us terribly, I created stamped and preaddressed postcards that they could simply drop in the mail after writing us their heartfelt notes.
The real fun was packing time. Sitting on the floor surrounded by dozens of items and my handy Sharpie, I put my boys’ names on every single item with the expectation that it would not get lost. I was determined that each sock, pair of underwear, jeans, t-shirt, toothbrush, soap dish, flashlight, pillowcase, water bottle and every other item packed carefully in the massive footlocker would be clearly branded with each son’s name.
With everything packed up and in the car, it was time to make the five-hour drive to upstate New York. On the way, we thought the boys would talk excitedly about the three weeks they’d be away from home, but they were quiet. So we spent a lot of time peppering them with questions…”Do you think you’ll like the food?”; “What are you most excited about?”; “Do you think the counselors will be nice?” Their little sister only wanted to know: “Will you miss me?”
Camp arrival and registration was uneventful, but it was pouring rain. We slogged through puddles to locate the boys’ cabins, meet their counselors, make their beds, organize their belongings and say goodbye. We were back on the road again within an hour, but this time with a family of three vs. five.
On the ride home, we talked about all of the projects we’d get done at home, and our seven-year-old daughter was excited about being an only child -- if only for a short time.
A week flew by, and no word from the boys. Surely a postcard would arrive soon, or we’d get a homesick phone call, but there was nothing. Two weeks later, we finally heard from our 11-year-old and the conversation went like this: “Hi Mom. I miss you. Hey…can you send me some money? Sorry I haven’t sent any postcards – I couldn’t find the mailbox.”
The remaining two weeks flew by, and before we knew it we were back on the NY Thruway to pick up the boys. On arrival, we found their cabins without a problem. My husband helped pack up one son, while I took care of the other. In my 11-year-old’s cabin, the footlocker that was once neatly packed with clean clothes was now empty (but the laundry bag was overflowing). The toothpaste, soap and shampoo were easy to round up, but the toothbrush was missing (and had been for some time, I was warned). The sleeping bag had to be rolled up (but the bag it came in was missing), and our son’s sheets had to be stripped from the bed (they hadn’t been changed since his arrival). And after discovering all of the unsent postcards in both boys’ backpacks, I also spotted a shack prominently located in the middle of camp with a large sign that said: “Camp Mailbox”.
So we loaded up the boys and all their “stuff” and head back home. With Dad singing “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh”, the drive was filled with stories about the friends made at camp, the new things they learned, and their favorite (and dreaded) camp counselors . Three weeks had flown by.
My husband and I may not have gotten through everything on our to-do list, and our boys may have come back with half the clothing, socks and underwear they started with (and that still bears their name), but they have countless memories that will last them a lifetime.
Overnight camp is great for the kids. But each year 10 million parents across the country are stressed out by the long list of tasks needed to get them there. For parents of first-time campers, this can be especially overwhelming.
It all starts with finding the right camp to begin with. Our first time around, we spent hours searching online, getting information from other parents, and talking to camp directors. With an estimated 12,000 summer camps across the U.S., the arduous task of finding the right camp provides great training for the college search process that hit us years later! Thankfully summer camps don’t require entrance exams or come with rejection letters.
Once we found “camp paradise”, paid the bill (ouch) and completed dozens of forms, the real fun began with the “What to Pack” camp checklist.
The first time my two boys went off to summer camp, I spent hours trying to find every item that was on that list – from bed-bug-proof mattress covers, to cot-sized sheets, to laundry bags and footlockers. But I went one step further. Knowing that they’d miss us terribly, I created stamped and preaddressed postcards that they could simply drop in the mail after writing us their heartfelt notes.
The real fun was packing time. Sitting on the floor surrounded by dozens of items and my handy Sharpie, I put my boys’ names on every single item with the expectation that it would not get lost. I was determined that each sock, pair of underwear, jeans, t-shirt, toothbrush, soap dish, flashlight, pillowcase, water bottle and every other item packed carefully in the massive footlocker would be clearly branded with each son’s name.
With everything packed up and in the car, it was time to make the five-hour drive to upstate New York. On the way, we thought the boys would talk excitedly about the three weeks they’d be away from home, but they were quiet. So we spent a lot of time peppering them with questions…”Do you think you’ll like the food?”; “What are you most excited about?”; “Do you think the counselors will be nice?” Their little sister only wanted to know: “Will you miss me?”
Camp arrival and registration was uneventful, but it was pouring rain. We slogged through puddles to locate the boys’ cabins, meet their counselors, make their beds, organize their belongings and say goodbye. We were back on the road again within an hour, but this time with a family of three vs. five.
On the ride home, we talked about all of the projects we’d get done at home, and our seven-year-old daughter was excited about being an only child -- if only for a short time.
A week flew by, and no word from the boys. Surely a postcard would arrive soon, or we’d get a homesick phone call, but there was nothing. Two weeks later, we finally heard from our 11-year-old and the conversation went like this: “Hi Mom. I miss you. Hey…can you send me some money? Sorry I haven’t sent any postcards – I couldn’t find the mailbox.”
The remaining two weeks flew by, and before we knew it we were back on the NY Thruway to pick up the boys. On arrival, we found their cabins without a problem. My husband helped pack up one son, while I took care of the other. In my 11-year-old’s cabin, the footlocker that was once neatly packed with clean clothes was now empty (but the laundry bag was overflowing). The toothpaste, soap and shampoo were easy to round up, but the toothbrush was missing (and had been for some time, I was warned). The sleeping bag had to be rolled up (but the bag it came in was missing), and our son’s sheets had to be stripped from the bed (they hadn’t been changed since his arrival). And after discovering all of the unsent postcards in both boys’ backpacks, I also spotted a shack prominently located in the middle of camp with a large sign that said: “Camp Mailbox”.
So we loaded up the boys and all their “stuff” and head back home. With Dad singing “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh”, the drive was filled with stories about the friends made at camp, the new things they learned, and their favorite (and dreaded) camp counselors . Three weeks had flown by.
My husband and I may not have gotten through everything on our to-do list, and our boys may have come back with half the clothing, socks and underwear they started with (and that still bears their name), but they have countless memories that will last them a lifetime.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Getting off the worry wagon
Are my kids on the computer too much? Are they reading enough? Are their friends a good influence? Are they happy? Will they get (or recover) from Swine Flu? Worrying and being in your 40s -- it seems like the two go hand in hand. And it's not just for parents. In our age bracket, we're also worried about neighbors and friends battling cancer, aging parents, and making the time to take care of ourselves, which always seems to fall at the bottom of the list.
I may be venturing out on a limb here, but it doesn't seem like men worry nearly as much as women. Or maybe they do, but they just keep all their worries inside. My husband and I talk a lot about the kids and the usual worries parents have, but he rarely talks about his personal worries. Me on the other hand? I know I drive him nuts with my excessive worrying about the kids' health, their friendships, how I'm going to get everything done in a day, my aging parents...an on, and on, and on.
Having kids definitely makes you treasure their childhood and the early years when they can truly be carefree -- without worries. I love watching preschoolers skipping off to school excited to seize the day. They look at every moment as an adventure, and they're in awe at the littlest things in life. Wouldn't it be great to get that feeling back as an adult?
I think we have to try by carving out time for ourselves to do things that take our minds off life. I went canoeing on the Charles with the Trustees of the Reservations a couple of weeks ago and it was incredibly therapeutic to take a 2-hour break from my to-do list to do something I'd never done before. At first it felt a little strange to go by myself, and as I was driving to the river launch, I had second thoughts. But I didn't turn back, and in the end it was one of the most memorable experiences in my life. I felt like a little kid in awe at seeing the fall foliage along the river banks, or the Great Blue Heron overhead, or the gorgeous pheasant that popped out of the marsh. At that moment I had absolutely no worries in the world, and it was a phenomenal feeling.
Now I just need to figure out how to keep that feeling alive on a regular basis. Any suggestions for staying off the worry wagon?
I may be venturing out on a limb here, but it doesn't seem like men worry nearly as much as women. Or maybe they do, but they just keep all their worries inside. My husband and I talk a lot about the kids and the usual worries parents have, but he rarely talks about his personal worries. Me on the other hand? I know I drive him nuts with my excessive worrying about the kids' health, their friendships, how I'm going to get everything done in a day, my aging parents...an on, and on, and on.
Having kids definitely makes you treasure their childhood and the early years when they can truly be carefree -- without worries. I love watching preschoolers skipping off to school excited to seize the day. They look at every moment as an adventure, and they're in awe at the littlest things in life. Wouldn't it be great to get that feeling back as an adult?
I think we have to try by carving out time for ourselves to do things that take our minds off life. I went canoeing on the Charles with the Trustees of the Reservations a couple of weeks ago and it was incredibly therapeutic to take a 2-hour break from my to-do list to do something I'd never done before. At first it felt a little strange to go by myself, and as I was driving to the river launch, I had second thoughts. But I didn't turn back, and in the end it was one of the most memorable experiences in my life. I felt like a little kid in awe at seeing the fall foliage along the river banks, or the Great Blue Heron overhead, or the gorgeous pheasant that popped out of the marsh. At that moment I had absolutely no worries in the world, and it was a phenomenal feeling.
Now I just need to figure out how to keep that feeling alive on a regular basis. Any suggestions for staying off the worry wagon?
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