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.
Monday, November 28, 2011
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.
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