Ten Things I Never Want to Hear Again…Ever

10.  Sentences that begin with “In these troubled times…” or “In today’s economy…”

9.  Anything having to do with Octomom.

8.  Anything having to do with Chris Brown or Rhianna.

7.  The sound of Rush Limbaugh’s voice.

6.  Someone asking me, “How are you feeeeeeeeling?” as they fake concern for my well-being.

5.  The “Crazy Frog” song.

4.  My coworker telling any story I’ve already heard.

3.  Any advice regarding my pregnancy or any stories which details someone elses.

2.  Fear mongering stories and/or weather reports on the “news”.

1.  Birds at 5 am.

Valentines Day. (An e-conversation twixt friends)

Claire’s Story…

So my husband left roses in a coffee can half-filled with water on the seat of my car this morning for me to find when I was getting the kids ready to go to school. I have mixed feelings about this.

1. He got me flowers without me telling him to – good, right?
2. They’re in a coffee can with water on my seat in the car in the garage – ???
3. I had to leave them in the garage – what was I going to do with them – drive around with a coffee can of water? Go back in and make
everyone tardy?

and then later….

DH was very concerned that I tell you what a nice Valentine’s Day we had. He’s right.  He arranged for my parents to babysit so we could go out to dinner (planning points!). We went to our favorite restaurant which had this amazing 5-course menu for the occasion. In addition to the flowers, he got me a nice musical card (“I Can’t Fight This Feeeling AnyMorrre!”) a nice stuffed gorilla (you know I love the
toy primates) and a nice (now almost gone since I am grading) big bag
of Valentine’s M&M’s. So even though we were both somewhat under the
weather – very nice. He thought you should know!

Lisa’s Story:

DH got me two dozen roses from whole foods, which, if i want to be all claire-like, i would respond to as follows:

1) he bought me flowers because i told him Claire’s husband did.
2) he put them on the car seat because i told him Claire’s husband did.
3) he had to do SOMETHING because the card my son made at school was addressed only to DH. (don’t get me started.)

we were supposed to go out for dinner, but got signals crossed with my parents. we may do something this weekend.

Bethany’s Story:

DH got me flowers and cheese.  He asked for the best sex he’s ever had. Well, due to lack of martinis in my diet, he basically got the most Average sex he’s ever had. (Is that possible?)

Are You There God? It’s Me Superboy.

I do not believe in God.  It’s not a secret, and the fact that I work for a science-based institution and attend a Unitarian Church makes me feel like I am not alone in this world.  Most of my friends are not believers, nor is my father. My husband and my mother understand what I do and do not believe as well.  With this huge cushion of tolerance, I am often taken-a-back when Jesus is mentioned in an inaugural prayer or when families say grace at Taco Bell before a meal, or when my son’s “non-Catholic” Montessori school attached to a Catholic Church sends me information about HIS Glorious Resurrection.  My in-laws, too, are extremely religious and rather than having conversations with me about what I believe and how we are raising our son, they choose to ignore the fact that I don’t believe in God. This causes a lot of stress on holidays (for me anyway) and when they try to tell my son what to believe when I’m not around.  However for the most part, I try to live and let live.

One of the reasons we chose a Unitarian Church was so that our son would learn the stories of the Bible (and other sacred texts) with the freedom to question what is being taught. We want him to make up his own mind and develop his own beliefs while still feeling included in a church community.

With this in mind, it is rather difficult for me to hear things that my son picks up at his school. Did I mention that it is a “non-Catholic” Montessori school attached to a Catholic Church?  Guess what? There is no such thing. While one has the chance to opt out of the “Good Shepard” Catechism stuff, there is still Mass once a month and a  Catholic “nook” in the classroom for children to practice the rosary, etc. The school recognizes only Christian holidays, and it is my understanding that the Board of the School are all prominent Church members.  Finally (and the thing that bothers me the most) the geological time-line that the children learn from and work on includes God.  

I understand that my son might be too young to grasp the concept of God as anything other than “big man in sky who made stuff” but sometimes it gets to me, especially since we work so hard in his Sunday School class to offer all kinds of explanations of what or who God could be. 

Yesterday, I was reminded to calm down about it all, and just let him be six. We were in the car on the way to school.

My son asked, “Mom, how come nobody will make me into a Superhero?”

“Because there are no real superheroes out there honey.”

“But I ask God every night for super powers, and he never gives them to me. ”

“I’m sorry, Monkey.”

He says pouting, “All he gives me is the power to love.”

He’s wrong. If there is a God that grants wishes, he made my son Super Cute.

I’m Telling!

When one finds herself knocked up, one is immediately confronted with the immeasurable task of deciding who to tell, in what order, and when. It is truly an art that I admittedly am not very good at.  Because I am a person who generally likes to be open and honest with everybody, I am not used to keeping secrets. I am horrible at it. I want everyone to know my opinion, my past, my advice and/or what is going on with me, now!

When I was pregnant with my son, I couldn’t wait a day!  NOT ONE DAY. I called my friend Lynne right away. Then my husband and I were going to wait until we went to the doctor to tell our parents, but I couldn’t wait then either.  I told everyone immediately.  To some, it may have seemed like the longest pregnancy ever, because they knew about it from conception. I will never forget Jeff’s grandmother’s response when we told her, I think I was maybe 8 weeks along, and she said, “Well you can’t be so sure yet.”  Thanks Ruth! You are the sweetest.

So when I discovered that I was pregnant on December 1, I was again hit with the big question. Who do I tell, in what order, and when? This time it was not so easy. I am seven years older now. The chance for complications is a little bit greater. Also, Christmas was coming! What a great time to tell our parents! Could I wait until Christmas to tell everyone? That was the plan anyway, and again I failed miserably.

Of course, I told my husband right away. The next day I told Lynne. Then I was good for a while, but felt guilty that I hadn’t informed my other friend Megan yet, so I told her after a week. On December 12th, I told my other friends Claire and Lisa.  On the 15th, I told a random person at work.  I don’t know why, it just came out.  We told our son on the 18th, because my husband, who is WAY better at this than I, wanted to tell his best friend that night when they went out for drinks. He refused to tell anyone before he told our son. (Again, he is much better at this than me!) And finally on Christmas day, my parents and my husband’s parents and brother & sister-in-law were informed. On New Year’s Day, I told the one friend I was putting off telling, mostly because she is trying too and because I actually felt guilty about BEING pregnant before her.  All this activity before my first doctor’s appointment in January.

Not telling people at work has been the hardest. This is because, currently all I do at work is yawn. I am SO tired. Exhausted! I want to tell people, “Well in my delicate condition, I can’t help but be tired.” Then all would be forgiven. I might even be able to nap! People would perhaps bring me my very own cot! What bliss. What complicates things is that my boss is also a very good friend.  So I WANT to tell her, but don’t want to tell her.  I’ll tell her the day after my appointment, which is finally tomorrow. Wish me luck.  (Oh and Carin, if by some extremely odd chance that you are reading this before Tuesday, I’m sorry you had to find out this way!)

Mind like a sponge, or just Sponge-Bob?

My friend Lisa thinks that my biggest flaw is that I expect everyone to be as focused, organized and/or “can-do” as I am. I expect people to know what they want, make a decision, go for it and to quit whining about not knowing what to do. Of course when people don’t meet my expectations, I am immediately disappointed, which tends to make me disappointed in a LOT of people a LOT of the time. Lisa informs  me almost every time we talk, “Most people aren’t like you!” Really? Why not?

So now, the joke is on me because it would appear that my son is not focused or organized or “can-do.” He seems to be unable to recall the simplest of details or use basic logic to figure out problems. Also, he has now learned what “excuses” are, and uses them whenever he sees fit.

“I just don’t remember things well,” says my six year old when I am quizzing him on his Italian homework.

“Jake, the phrase is una banana gialla, use your brain! What color is the banana?” 

Long pause.

“Orange?” he asks.

It sometime takes everything I have to not burst into tears when we are going over spelling words, Italian homework or math flash-cards. After all, this is MY son. Shouldn’t he have at least SOME of my stick-to-it-ness? And wait a minute; didn’t he in preschool? If I recall, he was destined for greatness at age 3, as stated by Miss Jones and Miss Maria. He knew every single Cleveland Indians player by name and number. He wrote his name early; learned his numbers and letters quickly. He even seemed to understand some abstract concepts! He was the first of his friends to be potty-trained and acted as the potty-whisperer to them, urging them to snap to it!  Stepping aside from academics, his sports aptitude was also great. He was hitting pitched baseballs by the time he could walk. He couldn’t run worth a darn, but what he lacked in speed he made up for in hand/eye coordination. Now, he will make himself fall in hockey lessons just to get out of trying to skate backwards, and he would rather not practice catching a ball or riding a bike because it is too much work.

Lest you think I feel like my son is a total disappointment, let me say that I do not. I am immensely proud of his artwork (– > ) and his attention to detail in that realm. I am also immensely proud that he is such a happy, care-free kid who is well-liked and who is polite and considerate of others. He is very lovey, and loves to talk and tell stories. He likes music and movies and has a great imagination. Indeed, he has an artists’ soul. No, I’m not disappointed in him so much as in myself. 

Now comes the self-doubt…..What am I doing wrong?……How can I make him understand that these things are important?……..Is this a phase?…….Did the public school screw him up this much in one year? or Is it a result of the new Montessori curriculum?……………What do I do?……..If I ignore it, he won’t improve, but if I push him he may hate school and learning forever.

I have never been one to compare him to other children, knowing that each kid is unique and learns at their own pace. However, I DO compare him to his preschool self. The one who was the leader of the pack AND an artist AND a jock. What happened to THAT kid? The kid that wanted to learn and was not afraid to try?  That kid stuck out 47 times in a row before finally hitting a ball and not once got discouraged. That kid had a memory like a sponge, but I think somehow the sponge might have gotten squeezed when I wasn’t looking.

There is no quick conclusion to this post. No “button”. No words of wisdom. I am serioulsy at a loss as to what to do, what not to do and how to feel. I hope that I can find it within myself to not expect so much out of him and others, but it is hard for me to not be me.

Can we? Really?

I hesitate to post this, especially since my friends Lisa, Claire and Joslyn are so extremely happy with the election results, but here goes: I am indifferent to Barack Obama.

That is not to say that I didn’t vote for him or that I didn’t want him to win. I did, and I did! However, I have never made that giant leap from skepticism to adoration. I have never felt truly inspired by him. I didn’t have a sign in my yard. I didn’t wear Obama jewelry. I didn’t go to his appearance with Bruce Springsteen on the Mall. I quietly supported him, because I did not want the Republican machine in charge of the next four years.

Understand that I do recognize that this was an historic election. The first person of color is president! It’s wonderful! It is also scary. I fear for his life and the lives of his family. If an ultraconservative nut-job can go blazing into a Unitarian Church and try to kill a bunch of kids performing “Annie,” then I am sure similar ultraconservative nut-jobs will plot to rid the world of our first black president. On the up side, I also recognize that after eight years of having an idiot lead us, it will be refreshing to have an intellectual do so.

I think my problem is this: I perceive the country to be so incredibly broken that it can’t possibly be fixed. I know in my heart that this one man will not be able to “change” everything his supporters “hope” for and “believe.” There is so much work to do, and 45% of Americans don’t agree on what that work should include. I think the world couldbe a slightly better place after the next four years, but not to the scale that Obamamania would make one believe. It will be nice if my Obama Mama friends are not let down, but for me, I’ll wait and see.

Spelling Test Follow-Up

As a follow up to my last post, I thought I would proudly display my son’s first perfect spelling test.  I guess I’ll send a check next month.

Jake’s spelling test!

Montexpensive!

Every parent who makes the decision to transfer their child from the public schools to a private school ultimately comes to the decision that THIS will be what is best for my child. We believe that any academic inadequacies that were present in the public school system will be resolved in the new school. Not that we assume the child will go from a dunce to top of the class, but we are positive that they will be given the space in which to blossom academically within their capabilities. Maybe they will even be flagged as gifted! Each parent has additional reasons for the switch, but academics are usually the #1 reason that parents choose to spend the money to send their child to a school that they have deemed “better” than what the public schools have provided for free*.

This decision was a very difficult one for my family, primarily because I have been a visible advocate for the CH-UH Schools for four years. I have spoken at various school board meetings, co-founded ECHO (Early Childhood in the Heights Organization), volunteered to plant flowers, coordinated the “Box Tops 4 Education” program and appeared as the “Dinosaur Lady” at Career Day. I believe that strong public schools have the power to build strong minds and strong communities. Further, quality public schools are THE key to economic prosperity.

However, after a year in a public school where my son seemed to go from academically above average to below average and where my darling child was being bullied, my husband and I decided that a Montessori environment would be best for him. He agreed. After spending one day trying out the school, my son came bounding out of the building saying, “Oh Mommy, I have to go here!” And so we enrolled him.

The tricky thing about Montessori is that there is very little in the way of outward assessment. My son has no homework to speak of and does not receive grades. The only way I have to evaluate how he’s doing comes in the form of his weekly spelling tests. So far, I am less than impressed with his inability to memorize and retain information. We work on his spelling words every night. I try to teach him easy ways to remember how to spell words. He writes each word five times and then spells them out loud to me. And after all of this, when he goes to bed, I am sure that he’s got “fruit” and “shoe” and “cake” in his little brain. Friday continually proves me wrong when on his spelling test I find “froit” and “shoo” and “Kake”. I find this so frustrating, particularly because our family is now forking out Big Bucks for him to learn.  Add to this his seeming inability to remember basic addition and subtraction and his constant reports that he “did angles” all day, and I’m wondering, did we do the right thing? Not only do I feel like he isn’t learning anything new, but I also feel like he forgot anything he learned last year.

Part of me knows that the Montessori Method is quite different than traditional school learning, and that while it may seem like he’s not learning anything, the skills he is developing will help him to learn better in the future.  But then there is the other part of me, the part that controls the checkbook, that says every month, “I can’t believe I’m paying for this.”

There is hope. Next week we have a parent-intstructress conference, which is an actual assessment of how he’s doing. Maybe I will learn that my perception is completely incorrect. Maybe this Friday, my son will pass his spelling test. Maybe he will “get” that any single number plus 10 is the teen-equivalent of that number. Maybe not. In the meantime, I will continue to write the checks with fingers crossed that we made the right decision and that he will grow up happy, healthy, and able to think. 

* Of course public school is not free. Our taxes pay for public school, and in Cleveland Heights, we pay a great deal in taxes for the public schools. So in a way, my family is paying for two schools, one of which my child attends and the other where he does not attend, but still uses the playground.

Happy Birthday Aunt Robin

Today would have been my Aunt Robin’s 47th birthday. She died in May 2001 of a brain aneurysm. My husband and I got the news that she collapsed at work on our 2nd wedding anniversary. We were heading out the door to a seafood restaurant when we got the call from my Dad. All that day I had dreamed of crab cakes. During dinner however, I don’t think I took more than a couple bites while trying to hold back my tears. 

I’ve been thinking about Robin a lot lately. The other day when I finished my morning run, I was suddenly remembering the time that she and my Uncle Michael (who also passed away at an early age) were cheering for me at a dance concert. I had won an award for selling the most tickets to the show, and I still recall as clear as day where they were sitting and how obnoxiously they cheered when the emcee called my name. I was so embarrassed, but I look on it fondly now.  As I walked up the hill toward my house out of breath, the vision came flooding back out of nowhere, and tears fell.

Truth be told, I didn’t even like my Aunt Robin very much as I was growing up. She wasn’t as young and hip as my Aunt Heidi. She didn’t live in our town; so she wasn’t as frequently in my face as my Aunt Jenny. She didn’t really shower me with love or gifts. She was busy and bossy. She called me twerp and terd. She had extremely long hair that kind of freaked me out. So much was my dislike for her; I named a pig that would one day be breakfast meat for our family, “Aunt Robin”.

During high-school and college our relationship changed. We became very close, mostly because the things I needed to talk about were things I didn’t dare share with my own mother. She was a single woman from the “big city” with so much life experience to share, and she seemed to understand me in a way that no one else did. I would drive to Erie (thus the quotes around big city) to go out to lunch with her. I would call her for advice. I would write her letters about my exploits. When I decided to move to Montana to escape a toxic relationship, she was one of the people who helped me make the decision.  When I returned triumphant and more grounded with a new fiancé, she greeted me with open arms and threw me a bridal shower.

There are times that I will watch my wedding video just to see her “alive” again. I have this need to keep her memory since she had no children of her own. I try to tell my son about her when I can, and I still have a few things of hers that I refuse to give up or throw away.  Robin was not perfect or a saint, but she was fun and full of life. She jumped out of airplanes, went parasailing, ran in 5Ks and rocked crack babies at the hospital. She was my Mother’s best friend and my confidant. She was opinionated and stubborn, and she worked hard to be a better person.

My son has recently started learning Italian at school and with each new word, I hear Robin in my ear correcting his pronunciation. (She was married to an Italian once upon a time.) When I hear it, I die a little inside knowing how much she would have absolutely loved him, and what a great, great-aunt she would have been to him.

Today I will honor her birthday by trying to remember every little thing I can about her and thanking her silently for the small part she played in making me the woman I am today.

  Happy Birthday Robbie.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

My 6 year old said the cutest thing ever last night…

“Mommy, will Barack Obama race taxis?”

I doubt it. But wouldn’t THAT be cool?