Forever Young

I have been 27 years old for 10 years now, and as the years go by, I realize more and more that my mind still thinks as it did when I was 17.  Sure, I am older and wiser about many things, but at my core, I am still the same “only-child, it’s all about me, I am better than you” person that I have always remembered being.  What helps feed this, I think, is that I have an amazing memory.  I can remember events from elementary school as if they only happened a couple of years ago.  I remember every TV theme song and top 40 hit from my childhood.  Today, when I am swimming laps in the pool, I vividly remember high school swim meets and the antics of my teammates, and those memories seem to only be 4 or 5 years old.  Then I do the math and realize that I haven’t swum competitively for 20 years.  TWENTY YEARS!  Where does the time go? And more importantly, why do I feel like it hasn’t gone anywhere?

Now that I work with high school students, it is even more clear to me that I  still think with the same brain that I thought with as a teenager.  Not that I am attracted to young boys or that I want to dress in belly revealing tees and wear glitter on my eyes, but I do easily slip into talking to these kids as peers rather than as a MUCH older adult.  I know that they don’t consider me a peer, so why do I feel like this?

Some scientists believe that our personalities are fully developed by age 7.  Freud theroized that his happened closer to 12.  Still, most agree that one’s basic personality is pretty much set in stone before entering high school.  It is also interesting to note that people’s taste in music basically stops between the ages of 17 and 20. So whatever you liked as a teenager, you generally will just keep listening to that music for the rest of your life.  No wonder I still feel like a teenager, “Shoop”ing in the car with the radio cranked and teaching my kids the words, like it is totally an appropriate song for children!

S and the P wanna kick with me, cool (uh-huh)
But I’m wicked, G, (yeah) hit skins but never quickly (that’s right)
I hit the skins for the hell of it, just for the yell I get
Mmm mmm mmm, for the smell of it (smell it)
They want my bod, here’s the hot rod (hot rod)
Twelve inches to a yard (damn) and have ya soundin’ like a retard (yeah)
Big ‘Twan Love-Her, six-two, wanna hit you
So what you wanna do?
What you wanna do?
Mmmm, I wanna shoop

Yeah, I want my 9 year old to sing that to the girls at school.

So as I “hang out” with my high schoolers after rehearsal, I have to constantly remind myself that I am 20 years older than them and that I am supposed to be a mentor and a role model. Yuck.  Like, I totally want to talk about that girl’s dress and how she should definitely not wear it with those shoes.  I also can’t discuss politics, religion, homosexuality, sex in general, or basically any controversial subject, even if they start it. Dude, what a bummer.

The Six Month Report

Six months ago, I posted a top-ten list about the various things that worried me in our new surroundings.  Moving our family across the country in the middle of winter to a small, conservative town was a big gamble.  I told myself in that post that I would check up in six months, knowing that by that time everything would be just fine.  Guess What…I’m right again!  (I love it when I’m right).  So here is a list of the worries, and corresponding non-worries of six months ago and today:

10.  My son is way behind in math and will have to repeat 3rd grade.

While my son still struggles with the memorization of his basic facts, he improved tremendously on his testing.  He gained 12 points from his first test in January to his end-of-year assessment.  He even won the BUG award! (Bringing Up Grades).  Needless to say, he is going into 4th grade.

9. I will not get a job that will be intellectually and socially adequate.

I have THREE jobs!  None of which pay much, but all of which are in my wheelhouse. I’m an approved adjunct for the college in the next town (but I don’t have a class yet).  I am working at the Museum here for the summer as an educator. And, if you read my earlier post, you know that I just got another job. I am the new drama coach at the high school.

8. There is nobody here that I can relate to and so I will have no friends.

I still struggle with this a little bit, but I do have friends.  My friend from college, Megan likes to point out that I have “Dos friends,” but I have a lot of people that I talk to, especially now that I work at the Museum.  I know people at the grocery store and the library now, and I have gone out for two girls nights.  It’s coming.

7. We can’t afford a car and desperately need a different one.

This is Diego.  Isn’t he sa-weet? Everyone in Wyoming has a white SUV and/or a Diesel Truck.

6. We have nowhere to live as of February 1st.

We are renting a very nice place in the country. There are mountains in view at every angle.  Cows are in our back yard, horses are next door and deer frequently eat my flowers!

5.  We can’t afford to do anything fun (skiing, ww rafting, etc) because we are paying rent and a mortgage on one income.

Our house in Cleveland is rented!  We have our annual pass to Yellowstone and have been there twice so far. Check out our pics from our last trip here. There is plenty to do, especially in the summer.  Also, we have hosted many guests. We are very very busy!

4. Something is seriously wrong with my knee and so far swimming laps and popping Advil like it’s tic-tacs is not working.

Knee is better, but not yet 100%.  I have been swimming 1 mile, 3 days a week. The goal is 21 miles over the course of the summer (Distance of the English Channel).  I’m at 12 miles at this point. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to run a 5 K again, but the swimming is making my arms look amazing!

3. I miss my parents.

Still miss them, but talk to mom a lot. What did grandparents do before Google-chat?  It really is the best technological invention ever.  Will be heading “home” in August, and will try to convince them to come out again for T-giving or Christmas.

2. Our house in Cleveland won’t sell.

See #5.

1. I will regret this major decision that we made.

So far, there are no regrets.  When we weigh the things that we like about this place with the things we don’t, as well as the things we miss from Cleveland and those we don’t, it is pretty even.  We’ll see what a few more months will do.

….Awk-ward

Have you ever been so proud of yourself because you accomplished something fantastic,  but then that very day been face to face with the person who also tried to accomplish it, but didn’t?

Examples: 1)  You found out you were pregnant after not trying very hard at all, only to gush to someone who has been trying for two years.  Further, this gushee just found out on that day that they can’t have kids. (This did not happen to me, it is merely and example)  2) You got a job that, even though you were sure you would get it, nobody in that town had ever heard of you and assumed that someone else specific would get the job.  But then they didn’t, because you did….and then you had to sit across from her at a table for an hour after just meeting her knowing she seethed with hate for you.  (Yes this just happened to me).

Remember that saying, “You only have one chance to make a first impression?” Well, I would like a second chance, because the first impression this woman has of me is not my fault.  I’m sure that she is fully qualified to do the job, but I also know that I am, and I shouldn’t feel guilty for my credentials… right?  None-the-less, I head into my new job as the controversial hiree and have an uphill battle to not only prove myself, but make everyone like me. No pressure.

I’m not scared though.  Why should I be?  “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and doggone it, people like me. ” Plus, I have the only pink scooter in town!

 

Coexist…by scraping off the stickers

I used to love bumper stickers, and although I never would dare put one on my vehicle (I can hear my dad screaming in my ear, “You just knocked $1000 off of the value of your car!) I always enjoyed finding a good, clever bumper sticker to agree with while sitting at a red light. I felt that the person in that car was a friend, even if I never saw them again or would never speak to them in my life.  We had similar opinions, and that, in my book, was good enough. Living in a bigger city like Cleveland, and especially in my little liberal corner of it, it was not difficult to find liberal, tolerant or witty bumper stickers that made me smile.  In fact, when we were deciding about whether or not to move to Wyoming, I said to my husband, “If you find 5 liberalish bumper stickers, we can move there.  That is your mission.”

To my dismay, bumper stickers are scarce here, so my husband didn’t find 5 left-leaning bumper stickers. In fact, he didn’t even see a total of 5 when he came for his 3-day visit.  We decided to risk it, and moved here anyway.  Now that we live in this mostly republican, totally Christian town, and especially since they are so scarce, bumper stickers jump out at me like never before.  However, every one I see seems to tell me that I don’t belong here. As a result, I’ve gone from loving  bumper stickers to hating them, even the liberal ones.

I realize now that bumper stickers are a passive agressive way of telling the world that if they don’t agree with you, you are an idiot, a communist, a bitch or a baby murderer.  You are going to hell, you are the reason the world is going to hell in a hand-basket and your smart kid is a wimp.  Most of them are really quite awful, if you think about the person that has a differing opinion at the other end. I realize that there are a few bumper sticker sayings that are truly positive. But for the most part, what a bumper sticker says is this. “If you don’t agree with me, change your opinion or fuck off.” It’s really not a positive message.  And in today’s world of hatred, intollerence, and non compromise, I really just want to see some positivity out there.

I thought about making a  bumper sticker that says, “Please don’t assume that I agree with you,”  when I first moved here.  However, now I think that saying nothing on my car is better than making someone behind me at a red light feel offended or worse, judging me before ever meeting me based on an opinion that I have about gay marriage (For it!) I am all for a lively discussion of differing opinions, and I also respect anyone’s decision to be Pro Life, Pro Choice, Christian, Jew, Atheist, Republican or Democrat. But I don’t think that we should quietly shout our opinions on a piece of paper stuck to the back of our SUV while we hide in the driver’s seat. It’s time to stop the negativity, and a good place to start is by wiping the ass  of our cars.

And now for your reading pleasure:

Here is a list of  bumper stickers that I have seen in this town. And this quite possibly could be all of them. As I said they are few and far between:

I’ll keep my guns, money and freedom, you keep the “change”

Show me the Birth Certificate

Can’t find a doctor, blame a legislator

Jesus: Don’t leave Earth without Him

God doesn’t believe in athiests

1 cross + 3 nails = 4 given

Fight Crime: Shoot Back

If it’s tourist season, why can’t we shoot them?

Trial riders never die, they just go over the hill again and again

I ride horses and I vote

The 10 commandments are not optional

Does this ass [picture of Obama] make my car look big?

[picture of Obama with x over face] All you’ll be left with is change

Pro God, Pro Life, Pro Gun (This is the most oxymoronic one of them all, yes?!)

Evolution Happens—(That’s on my husband’s truck!)

Side note:  LG, Please apologize to your truck for this post.

Big Girl Shoes

This weekend, a fabulous event for a local nonprofit was held.  There were 300 guests, 20 volunteers, and a big name entertainer from Vegas. Food and drinks were available. People sat at lovely tables that were decorated simply but elegantly. Money was raised. I was the event coordinator, and I couldn’t be more proud of the work that I did.  It was a huge success for the foundation, and personally, it was a big step forward to getting some kind of career going here in our new hometown. I have been hearing the singing of my praises not only after the event, but all through the process about my attention to detail, my creativity, my problem solving skills, and my overall go-gettemness.  It has been wonderful to be recognized for my talents by the board of the non-profit and other colleagues involved with the event. And it has been great to work with such great people.

So why am I still dwelling on the fact that two of the people that I dealt with during this process treated me like a child?  I mean, who cares if one of the people I did business with called me “Kiddo?”  Or that another called me “Squirt?”  YES, SQUIRT!  Do I look five years old (See Below)? I was made to feel by these two people that they regarded me as an amateur who was wearing her big girl shoes for the first time, which was so not the case.  I know my shit!  I get it done. I am competent and in my mid-thirties for Christ’s sake.  ONE person in the world calls me “Kiddo.” His name is Randy and he is my Dad’s oldest friend.  And I don’t believe anyone has called me “Squirt’ ever, until this weekend.

The ironic thing about these people who regarded me as cute or inexperienced is that both of them made mistakes in their part of the event.  So who is a first-timer now?! I know that I look young, and I am glad that I look young. But I was certainly a professional in all of my dealings. I don’t have one of those child-like voices that people mistake for youth and I don’t wear pigtails to important meetings. (I admit that I do, however, wear pigtails from time to time just for fun.) I would chalk it up to male chauvinism, but only one of the guilty parties was a male. On second thought, I WILL chalk his up to chauvinism.

Did Hillary Clinton ever have someone call her Kiddo in her early career?  I am pretty sure if someone did, Hill-Dog would have put them in their place.  Ok, maybe she’s a bad example.  I could be cheeky and say that it is so hard to be cute and blond and professional, but sadly there is SOME truth to that.

Do you remember the story about Debrahlee Lorenzana last June, who claimed that she was forced out of her  Manhattan Citibank job because she was too good looking?  Now, I am not nearly as good-looking as she is, and just like everyone else, I rolled my eyes at this story and said, “Bitch, please.”  But I am POSITIVE that she did have to deal with her share of unprofessional comments based on her appearance, and it is not fair.

I guess my point is this.  If you are engaged in a professional relationship with someone, don’t assume anything.  Be professional and don’t talk down to someone based on their appearance. After all, she might someday become Secretary of State and come back to squash you like a bug.

Mom? Did/does this happen to you?

Cowboys are Awesome!

I realize that in my past couple of posts that I have been a little, shall we say, “negative.”  So my goal is a positive post. For those of you that may have been worried about my little life out West, already things are looking up.  We now have a great place to live (3 acres and a view of the mountains!), my son is doing great in school and I am inches away from getting a job.  I also have decided to embrace this time I get to spend with my beautiful 18 month old girl, rather than be annoyed by the stay at home mom life.  After all, she is totally cute right now, and it is so nice to see her change and grow every day.

On to the positive post!

I love Western men!  Yes, Wyoming has its share of  cute cowboys and hot, young, ski-bums and muscley oil rig workers and sophisticated ranchers, but that is not what I am talking about here.  What I am referring to is the overall genuine, old-school chivalry that exists out West. The men seem to walk proud, knowing that it is their duty to be a gentleman above all else.  I do not think that I have had to open a door to a public building once since moving here six weeks ago. Not only are doors held open, but brief conversations about the weather or my adorable child often accompany the gesture. I’m made to feel like I deserve to have this door opened for me because…well, because  I’m a lady dammit.

This “Ladies First”-ness is not limited to the doors of the post office and the rec center.  More often than not, when I am driving my son to school and I come to the stop sign at Sheridan and 19th, a nice man in a big truck will wave me to go first, even though it is not my turn. I have also had men at the grocery store let me go ahead of them because I am with a small child, and clearly need to get out of the store before them.

The other thing that I love about the men out here is that they know how to dance, and it is not that grind against you to Justin Timberlake in a sweaty, loud bar kind of dance.  They two step and waltz and do a little do-si-do and it is really quite fabulous to be a part of it.  For Valentine’s Day, my husband and I went to a local bar/restaurant/dance floor place and had a great time.  Think Urban Cowboy without the “urban” and no mechanical bull.  The men were holding their ladies tight and leading them elegantly all over the wooden dance floor, smiling proudly. We had a great time watching all the different ways two can dance to Steve Earle’s “Copperhead Road,” each one exciting in its own way. We danced too, but I think my DH and I will have to lesson up if we decide to go to that place regularly. We are very out of practice.

So, a tip o the cowboy hat to Wyoming men.  Thanks for making this little lady feel at home in her new surroundings.

Where are my Keys?

One of the reasons that I do not like to travel, other than my fear of flying, is that I need to have a sense of place to feel at ease. I need to know where everything is (or at least where it should be) and I need to know that tomorrow and the next day, these things will still be in their place.  I cannot live out of a suitcase. The second I check into a hotel room, I immediately empty my bags and the toiletries and put them all in drawers or on counters.  Nothing should be in any kind of carry-all.  It drives me crazy to root through a makeup bag in search of my mascara.

The same kind of thing is true for me at home.  I have a very difficult time sitting down and working on this blog, for example, if the house is in disarray. At the very least, the room that I am in needs to be picked up or I get distracted.  Even in high school and college, I had to be in a neat room in order to effectively do my homework. When my dorm room was a mess, I put on my moon boots, my scarf, gloves, hat and parka and hiked my ass across campus to the library where I could study in the one place that was always neat and orderly.  Make no mistake, I am not a neat freak and I do not have OCD, but I do need to feel that everything is as it should be or I feel…icky.

This need for order must be why I am still feeling ill-at-ease in our new “home” in Wyoming.  We moved here at the end of December, and have yet to acquire an official residence.  Our temporary house is just that, a short-term furnished house that we are to be out of in the next two weeks.  We still haven’t signed off on a new place to live, and our current residence is full of boxes, some opened and others still tightly taped shut. I have no idea where my 2011 calendar, my hairbrush, and my printer are.  Yet every single hat, scarf, coat and boot owned by every person in this family are pouring out of four separate boxes by the front door. In our kitchen, we were supplied with a few pots and pans, some glasses, and a cereal bowl.  Yes, you read that right. One. Single. Bowl.  So, we have several boxes in the kitchen opened and piled high in case we need anything that will make cooking or eating things that we are used to cooking and eating easier and more accessible.  The sad fact is that this scene can be witnessed over and over again in each room of the house.  The bedrooms each have clothing boxes that are open with now unfolded clothes clumped inside. The bathroom has three boxes filled with random toiletries and hair accessories (but not my freakin’ hairbrush).  Then there are the built-ins at the house which merely serve as box houses until we move the boxes again.

With all of these boxes everywhere, my 18 month old is delighted.  She has so much fun pulling shit out of boxes and strewing the contents all around the house.  If I catch her in the act of pulling my curling iron out of a bathroom box, I will try to stop her, to which she smiles, turns away from me and runs giggling with the curling iron cord bouncing behind her like a playful tail.  I can’t get a handle on it.  Toys are everywhere, and there is no “toy box” to put them in at the end of the day.  Recycling is piled up and overflowing because there are no receptacles here to separate the plastics from the cans from the papers (and you have to separate your papers into three categories too!) The only thing that I do daily that gives me a small sense of control is that I make the beds. I feel like, if I made the bed today, I did something that makes the house more homey. I contributed to…something.

I thought that I would be alright for a while as a stay at home mom. However, with no residence to make into a home, and no job to escape to from the situation, I am sinking deeper and deeper into a state of annoyed indifference.  People ask me, “How are you?” and I simply sigh and reply, “Eh.”

I know that it is hard on my husband when he sees that I am not mentally in a good place. After all, this was our DREAM to move here. I should be ecstatic.  But for the time being anyway, it is quite the opposite.  I keep telling him that all I want is for ONE thing to go right.  I want the college to call me about my resume that I sent them regarding adjunct teaching, or for the writing workshop that I attended to not have been a total waste of my time, or that the house we just called about wasn’t already given to someone else sight unseen, or that my keys (to my car, scooter and fireproof lock box) that were left in the Days Inn in Colby, Kansas, where they assured me were mailed to me on December 29th, were not lost in the mail and are in fact in our PO Box right this second.  But none of this is happening, and I don’t know how much more I can take.

I need to shake this feeling of uselessness and focus on some of the positives of our new town.  I try every day to  find something to be happy about.  As stated in my previous post, I know in six moths, everything will be fine. But it doesn’t change my daily blahs as I try to “get through” another day on the edge.

Top 10 Things that I am Currently Worried About

Having just moved to Wyoming from Cleveland, I am extremely anxious about various aspects of my life.  I thought that I would write my concerns here to be read in 6 months, when surely, I will look back and say, “What was I worried about? Everything is fine.”  So I have marked on my Google Calendar to check out this post on July 14, 2011.

10.  My son is way behind in math and will have to repeat 3rd grade.

9. I will not get a job that will be intellectually and socially adequate.

8. There is nobody here that I can relate to and so I will have no friends.

7. We can’t afford a car and desperately need a different one.

6. We have nowhere to live as of February 1st.

5.  We can’t afford to do anything fun (skiing, ww rafting, etc) because we are paying rent and a mortgage on one income.

4. Something is seriously wrong with my knee and so far swimming laps and popping Advil like it’s tic-tacs is not working.

3. I miss my parents.

2. Our house in Cleveland won’t sell.

1. I will regret this major decision that we made.

Why I Hate Mommy and Me Programming

I was not meant to be a stay-at-home mom.  I know this. I’ve always known it.  And even though I know this deep in my core, I have experimented with the situation a couple of times.  The great irony of the SAH mom is that if she actually STAYS AT HOME, she is bored out of her mind. So, SAH moms spend much of their time out of the home in order to do something more interesting than watch Nick, Jr. or clean the house. Ultimately, you are forced to attend some form of Mommy and Me programming so that your kids (and in theory YOU) can have some quality social time.  Well, contrary to popular opinion, this is NOT necessarily a great place to meet “other Moms just like you.” In my case, most of these moms seem to be NOTHING like me.  I don’t want to judge a book by its cover, but can I judge it by the idol chit chat that goes on while many of these mommies are NOT watching their children in the library or rec center?!

My first experience with Mommy and Me programming was at a library in the Cleveland area several years ago. It was just awful. Lest you think I’m against singing songs like “The Wheels on the Bus” or “Hokey Pokey” with my tot,  I am not.  The actual programming for the kiddies was fun and bright and colorful. It’s after the programming where the scene takes an ugly turn.  Being a new mom on the scene, I had bought into the hype and hoped that I would indeed meet other moms just like me when I attended the program.  Sadly, this did not happen. The room was split in half.  On the far side of the room were the perfectly coiffed and manicured mothers pulling Blackberries out of their  Kate Spade diaper bags arranging playdates with other mothers while they effectively ignored their children.  On the other side of the room were the sing-songy, moms who spent their time competing with each other in order to determine who’s child was the cutest and/or smartest. Demanding that their children put on a show and do their tricks.

“Little Madisyn just learned to say ‘so big.’ Madisyn, Madisyn, how big is Madisyn?”

“Oh well, Ashtyn just turned one.  Ashtyn, how old are you?  Are you one?  Show me one.”

This kind of talk is reserved exclusively for grandparents in my opinion.  Grandparents can’t get enough of the “So Big” game and will marvel for hours at each new accomplishment their grandchild achieves.  Try this with anyone in the outside world, and people tire of you quickly.

The most annoying participant at the above event was a mother who was trying to teach her 13-month-old child the sign for “onion” while she was playing with the plastic veggies.  I have nothing against teaching signing to your child. In fact,  both of my kids learned several pertinent words and phrases like “all done” and “more” and “diaper change”, actual things that the child might need to convey to me.  But onion?  Really? Why does a 13 month old need to sign that word?  To make it worse, the mom just kept drilling it over and over again, “Onion, Sophie. Onion”  To this day (7 years later), whenever I see an onion or meet a little girl named Sophie, I think silently, “Onion, Sophie. Onion.” Soon after this experience, I got a job, and no longer attended programming for the SAH mom…Until yesterday.

Having recently moved to a small town, where my husband has a job and I do not (yet), I thought I would try out a toddler program (read Mommy and Me) at the local Library. I won’t say that I was optimistic about it, but I also did not plan on meeting any moms to make a lifelong friendship.  Good thing too, because I would have been sorely disappointed.  Once again, the programming was fine.  We read stories and sang songs and clapped our hands and jumped up and down. All the 12-24 month old children had a lovely time.  After the program, most of the moms clumped together to talk about this and that, while I did a puzzle with my daughter, because that is what she wanted to do, and that is why we were there.  While there weren’t really any iPhone carrying, designer diaper bag ladies in the mix, there was still a great number of children being ignored by their mothers.  Kids were climbing on tables and spilling crayons all over the place. I told more than one child that they should sit in the chair, rather than stand on it. I also spent 20 minutes reading to a child that was not mine, because his mother was too busy to even look away from her conversation to see what he was doing.  Finally, when I was in the middle of the 3rd book, his mother said, “Oh, sorry, is he bothering you?”  Well, no he wasn’t, but you, I find annoying.

To be fair, I know there may have been another parent or two at the library actually playing with their child, and that is great.  The reason I did not meet this mom, who very possibly could have been a kindred spirit, was because she too was attending to her child and not talking about the best websites to buy little bronco cowboy boots. Hopefully, I will get a job soon, and then I can interact with other adults again. Maybe I’ll even meet a working mom at daycare when I drop off my daughter; one who likes Martinis and loves to watch the Big Bang Theory and is a Democrat. For now, I’ll just take my tot to the library when I want to with no programming attached. After all, we can read books and do puzzles there together any time.

Public School: Here We Come!

Well, this is not a post about our move west, as it turns out.  I am troubled, vexed, and feeling that I have failed as a parent.  I would say that that takes priority over the recalling of the gorgeous vastness of the American West as we completed a 4-day drive to our new home in Cody, Wyoming.  So without further ado, onward to how I may or may not suck as a mom.

You may recall that my son has been attending a non-Catholic, Catholic Montessori School for the past two and a half years, and that I have always had conflicting opinions about his education there.  Now that he is embarking on a new adventure in a small-town, award-winning, public school, I am curious anxious to see how he will do. Prior to leaving Cleveland, my son took the Ohio Standards Reading test. I had no worries about this test, because last year, when we were concerned that our son might have dyslexia, the school psychologist tested him. He scored at a 5th grade level in the reading portion as a second grader. (We’ll discuss math later in this post.) Montessori education at work!  Hurray for us, for choosing this school!

Fast forward to the Ohio Standards Reading test, which showed that our son is not even remotely close to comprehension and/or inference for a third grader. Sure, his vocabulary is great, but he doesn’t remember what he reads nor does he understand it, or so the test would imply.  Are the test results only low because this was his first ever standardized test? Is it because Montessori educators do not teach to the test?  If so, then who cares, right?

Yes, I  could believe that, blaming others for my son’s poor test scores, but I know the answer. My son does not comprehend what he has read most of the time, and recalling details from books is difficult for him even if I read them aloud to him. I just never realized how difficult these things were to him until I recently started paying attention.  Boo to Montessori education, letting my son have a half hour of silent reading every day, but never asking him what he read or what happened in the story. Boo to me, for choosing to ignore it when I would ask my son about what he read, and the details would be missing.

Then there is math. Oh math, why do you have to be so boring and difficult? Since the Montessori philosophy is one in which the child chooses their work, and where it is assumed that when the child is ready, they will learn what they need to learn, my son successfully avoided math altogether for two years.  The aforementioned test in second grade, gave inconclusive results because rather than try the problems on the assessment, my son simply chose not to do any of the work, thereby testing him below first grade in math proficiency.  These results I did not ignore. I have been working with my son on math and flash cards and word problems and counting money and measuring ingredients ever since that day. Further, when I knew that we would be moving to Wyoming, and therefore to a public school, I asked his Montessori teachers to please help him get up to speed in his classroom, by giving him actual math lessons.

To be fair, he has improved IMMENSELY. However, it still takes him more than a half an hour to do 30 problems. The good news is that the most recent “home work” that I created for him did garner an 83%.  But really?  A half an hour to do 12 addition, 10 subtraction and 8 multiplication problems?  I sat here watching him struggle for that half hour worried for him.  How hard will it be for him to catch up to the other students at his school? Should I just have kept him in public school after Kindergarten, even though I was not happy with several aspects of the school?  Should I have been more of a hard ass when it came to flash-cards and reading comprehension?

I know every parent questions their parenting at one time or another and secretly worries that the damage has been done early on.  My husband and I really believe that moving to this particular location, in part because of the quality of their schools, will end up working out for our son. I hope so, because I would rather make different parenting mistakes, ones that do not affect my son’s chances of getting into a good college, preferably Allegheny (go Gators), and having a happy and successful life.