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Kids

Jealousy and a tough awards season

February 1, 2018

Jealousy. The green-headed monster. Riding the bitter train to Envy Town. The desire to possess what someone else possesses or garner the attention someone else has garnered is a totally natural, entirely ugly impulse.

I still remember crowding around a modest 20-inch television in the corner of our kitchen, the camcorder hooked up to the inputs, to watch a video of my older sister reading her winning entry for the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. essay contest. Mom had tears in her eyes. Dad got nostalgic about his writing days in college. At school, they announced her name over the loudspeaker. She had a certificate with a gold seal on it, which made it worth a million dollars in my mind. I was in third grade, she was in fifth, and all of this was very much a big deal.

When I won the same contest two years later, it just wasn’t the same. The shine of victory had been dulled by repetition. There were no tears. Hell, i think we even skipped the banquet where the winners read their essays. It wasn’t the first time my sister did something ahead of me, better than me. But it was one of the first occasions I can recall vividly. That sting of a sibling outshining her housemates. The taste of ice cream in someone else’s honor.

Everybody has those memories! We’re born with comparison and competition coursing through our veins. I remember thinking the attention I received for my own accomplishments just wasn’t as significant as the embarrassing amount of praise my brother – the football player and only boy – or my sister – the equestrian with the shy disposition – got. Of course, their memories are likely skewed the other way. And, in hindsight, the truth is, we were all loved an appropriate amount for three children who experienced predominantly mild, occasionally notable success, and acted like jerks much of the time.

But see, the trick to that clarity rests in the hindsight. When you’re in it, you can’t see it through the green. These days, my view is from the other side of the fence. The parents’ side. And it ain’t pretty, folks.

Last week, Hank and I received an email from the principal at the girls’ school:

[Paraphrased]
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Spike’s Parents,
It is my pleasure to inform you that your kindergartener, Spike, will receive our Perfect Panda award for displaying this month’s life skill, integrity. Please join us at our school assembly to surprise your child and present her with her certificate on Tuesday, January 30.

Sincerely,
Spike’s Principal

I closed the email and immediately jumped on chat. He was already there …

Hank: Go Spikey!
Me: Right?!
Hank: JoJo’s gonna be pissed.
Me: Right.

See, what you don’t know is that the school gives out these awards every month throughout the school year. And every month for the past 2.5 school years, our JoJo has come home with a sad, shattered spirit after learning she, once again, was not named a Perfect Panda. Spike, as the universe would have it, came in and cleared one just five months into her academic career. That burns a bit on the way down.

This was tricky. As the parent, you certainly don’t want to detract from one child’s accomplishment. But when you have an emotionally fragile child, you don’t want them spiraling, either. What to do … What to do …

I took every opportunity to initiate damage control early. For instance, when JoJo scored in her game Saturday, but Spike did not, I was quick to point out that Spike cheered for her big sis even though she didn’t get a bucket earlier in the day. JoJo nodded and smiled at her sister across the backseat. Then returned to her pack of Oreos. (Quick side note: What the hell is going on with the snacks at youth sporting events guys?)

Then I turned things up a notch. It was Sunday morning and all three of the chicks were tearing each other apart. I hit that boiling point that all parents hit after so many consecutive minutes of tattling and whining and sister-on-sister hate hitting.

“Go get your sisters and get in here!” I spewed to Spike.
[The three girls filed in, noses to the floor, and sat down in a row.]
“Mom, she–”
“I don’t care.”
“But she–”
“I don’t care.”
[sighs]
“Here’s the thing, ladies” I began. “We are a tribe. The five of us. We don’t hurt each other. We don’t put each other down and we don’t touch each other out of hate. Over everyone else, we have each other’s backs. Do you understand?”
[hesitant nods]
“Who knows what integrity is?” I asked. (Remember, Spike didn’t know she was getting the Perfect Panda award yet. Pop quiz, suckers.) JoJo raised her hand.
“OK, what is it?” I prompted.
“It’s how you follow the rules.”
“In a way. It’s also what people think of when they think of you as a person. So, let me ask you … What kind of person do you want people to think of when they think of you? You want them to think you are a _____ girl.”
“Brave and kind,” JoJo said.
“OK, brave and kind. Good. Do you think a brave girl calls her sister stupid?”
“No.”
“Do you think a kind girl calls her sister stupid?”
“No.”
“How about you?” I asked, pointing to Spike.
“Kind and does the right thing.”
“Great. Does a kind girl say she hates someone?”
“No.”
“Is telling someone you hate them doing the right thing?”
“No.”
“And you, Sloppy Joan. What kind of girl do you want to be?”
“A princess girl.”
“K. Do you think a princess gets to be mean to people?”
“Yes.”
“No. She doesn’t! So, here’s the bottom line. Stop before you say and do things and ask yourself if a brave girl would do that, or a kind girl would say that. Got it?”
They gave a collective, half-hearted yes, but I wouldn’t be satisfied until they gave each other the obligatory forced group hug. I made ‘em hold it, too.

(Happy byproduct of this fairly typical Come-to-Jesus exchange, it had never occurred to me before that moment to ask them what kind of person they wanted to be. I’d always just told them what kind of person they should be. It was interesting and worth revisiting.)

The momentum from the atta-boy lasted into the evening. They even had a party to celebrate each other, including Hershey kisses on toothpicks and glow rings strung together to form a disco light. I felt like Carol F-ing Brady. I was riding a high, though history told me it was temporary. I even convinced myself that JoJo might just surprise us, I truly believed it. I wanted to believe it.

One Manic Monday later, the day of the ceremony arrived. At 1:50 p.m., we sat waiting in a room adjacent to the gymnasium while all the students got settled into the bleachers. We lined up outside the doors. Two children from each grade would be recognized, and, of course, kindergarteners would go first. I was fidgeting. “Calm down, mama,” Hank warned.

Then he turned to the roars of cheering and applause coming from the gym. “Man, the principal is like a rock god. I wonder if he goes home and tells his wife he totally killed it.” It was true. The dude was absolutely slaying the 5-11-year-old demographic. Every punchline landed.

“And February 12 is Mooooovie Night!” [roaring applause]
“Don’t forget we’re collecting Box Tooooops!” [cheers and high fives]
“And on March 1, the middle school orchestra is cominggggg!” [losing their minds completely]

Then it was time. “Alright, it’s the moment you’ve been waiting for. We’re going to honor our Perfect Pandas now. These students demonstrated integrity in their classrooms during the months of December and January. Let’s start with kindergarten … Spike! Come down and receive your award from a surprise guest!” Out we walked, to a sea of tiny smiling faces and frantically clapping hands.

Our girl was waiting at the bottom of the steps, wearing the biggest smile I’ve ever seen and nutella remnants on her cheeks. We leaned down, hugged her and took our place on the red line, facing the crowd.

“I don’t see her,” I said, through my teeth, scanning for JoJo. “Do you?”
“I’m looking.”
“Oh, there’s her teacher.”
“Op, there she is.”
“She’s crying.”
“She’s definitely crying.”
“Oh, she’s losin’ it.”

We kept smiling. Everything’s good here. Nothing to see. It’s all happy joyful love in our house.

Once they’d made their way through the fifth graders with integrity, we took a seat to watch the rest of the program. Jon Bon Jovi came back to the mic. “Now, to introduce our new life skill, respect, here is the entire second grade class.” Ohhhhhhh shoot … I had completely forgotten about the song! JoJo had to come down and sing in front of everyone! She’d mentioned it this morning. The only question now was, could she rally?

She couldn’t.

With her fingers firmly in her mouth and cherry juice-colored tear tracks down her cheeks, my eldest daughter stood in front of the entire student body and barely mumbled through “It’s about respect, check it out, check it out.” . Her eyes were locked on us, her trader parents and her award-winning little sister. I gave her the best thumb’s up I could muster. Hell, I even shoulder shimmied a little to try and hypeman our way through this nightmare. Nope.

When the program finally came to a close, we walked to the group of second graders. As I approached JoJo, her teacher stopped me.

“She was already having a bad day,” he warned. “Then she took this pretty hard. I think it sent her over the edge.”
“We anticipated that. Thank you.”

He’d barely walked away when I felt her bury her hot crying face in my thigh.

“Hey, JoJo! You sang so well!” I lied.
“It’s no fair that Spikey got a Perfect Panda,” she said, putting all her cards right down on the table.
“We’ll talk about it when we get home,” Hank said.

But the torture wouldn’t stop there. JoJo stood and looked on as Spike posed for group photos, then parent pictures, and then one with the rockstar himself. It was almost too much for one girl to take. How do those Oscar losers do it?

On our way back to the car, I hung back with my big girl. I put my finger under her chin and tilted her face up toward mine. I could see straight through her eyes down into her heavy heart.

“Hey you. I know this is hard, but it would mean so much to your sister if you told her you were proud of her.”
“OK, Mama,” she said.
“You don’t have to. But I know she wants to hear that from you.”

And that brave little girl, she did just that. She got the words out, whether she meant them or not, and I was proud of her. Really proud of her.

Of course by the time I got home that night, JoJo’s true fury over her sister’s recognition had boiled over and we were facing a full-blown hatefest. She didn’t want to see Spike’s certificate again. She didn’t care about the stuffed animal they gave her. She thought it was crap we were having dippy eggs and bacon for dinner just because Spike picked them. Why does she get everything? My third-grade self totally got it.

But I made the decision not to let jealousy hijack this moment for Spike. She’d earned that award. She was killin’ it in kindergarten and that was something to celebrate. So, as we all sat down to our sunny-side up entree, I raised my glass and asked everyone to join me in congratulating our Spikey on a job well done. No one took a knee. The tribe showed up.

Afterward, JoJo came into the basement with me so we could work out; beachbody and American Ninja Warrior training, respectively. As I got all my gear lined up, I decided to try to parent my way through this thing just one more time.

“JoJo, can I tell you something?”
“Sure Mom.”
“You love our family, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well a family celebrates each other’s victories. They’re there for each other when someone is down, and they’re there for each other when someone is up. Today, it was your turn to celebrate your sister. And maybe tomorrow she’ll be celebrating you. It’s just the way it goes, honey. Try to remember that, OK?”
“Yeah, OK,” she said, before ninja kicking a tower of blocks across the room.

Sometimes I think parenting is like American Ninja Warrior. Maybe even harder. Obstacle after obstacle, with water hazards all over the damn place. You can strategize all you want, but odds are, that shit’s still gonna get ya.

When dealing with a sensitive soul, the big questions become: When do I shield? When do I step back? And when do I support as needed? My JoJo, with her tender skin, has some pretty rough days, but her sister winning an award for integrity just shouldn’t be one of them. A win for someone in our home should be a win for all of us.

One day, she’ll see that. When hindsight’s on her side.

Kids

Losing Lisa Frank (and other elephant problems)

August 18, 2016

Snap my suspenders and label me a yodeler, cuz I just have to climb up into the Desperately Seeking Superwoman Swiss Alps and echo the statement I’ve said from this platform a thousand different ways, using a thousand different words … time is freaking flying, man! I disappeared from DSS for a hot second to collect the final sunny seconds of the girls’ summer vacation and get our shit together so this household could slide back into the dreaded grind, but I don’t really know how we got here. It was like we went to get frozen yogurt on the last day of class and, before it even had a chance to melt, we’re back to CrockPot dinners and homework folders.

When I said, “get our shit together,” I was mainly referring to one thorn that is still lodged in my bitter, soft side. Can we just talk for a second about the transformation of the school supply list? What the Boy George happened there? I can remember, as a greedy grade school gal, sorting through stacks of Lisa Frank Trapper Keepers and folders with puppies in various states of play and trippy holograms and Disney characters, agonizing over the decision, for what felt like an eternity. I needed Troll pencil toppers to tickle my chin during boring Spanish lessons and gel pens and, of course, a killer crayon box. I despised the required items … Paste? Why? So Betty has an afternoon snack? No. 2 yellow pencils, my ass. Maybe for amateurs and basic Bs. I’m gonna mix this up right here with some mechanical action that’s gonna blow their minds.

So, let me fill you in on a little something; it’s not like that anymore. The school supply list has been twisted and bastardized into the most exhausting, infuriating scavenger hunt known to man. I waited too long, I did, I’ll admit it. Like a fool I downloaded the list and shuffled into the local supercenter the Sunday before classes resumed. JoJo came along for what she optimistically categorized as, “special Mom and JoJo time.” She trailed behind me as I snaked, dumbfounded and squinty eyed, up and down the same 3 aisles over and over again searching for stupidly specific items like, “vinyl 2 pocket folders in yellow, green and blue,” and “pack of 3 plain pink erasers with the word ‘eraser’ printed in Comic Sans.”

But the best part was the camaraderie. Hell hath no fury like a group of parents driven by the mob mentality of collective failure. You know when you talk to your child about something, but you’re really just sending out a Bat signal for an adult to commiserate with you? There was a lot of that. “Honey, I don’t know why you can’t just use the generic colored pencils. The list says they have to be Crayola.” “Stay with me, honey, we have to find this last folder. I know you’re tired. I’m really trying, babe …” And then, the connection … “I know, I couldn’t find that folder either. This list is insane,” a fellow frazzled grownup says. “I know, right?” I responded in an aggressive, clingy tone. Success. You’re both pissed. You’re not alone. You have delivered a synchronized verbal middle finger to the supply list and all it represents.

Confession: 20 minutes in, I called it and told JoJo we’d shop at mommy’s favorite store, Amazon. We got frozen yogurt and laughed through the window at all the suckers walking in with their lists. Now that’s special mommy and JoJo time, if ya ask me.

In spite of my lackluster preparedness, the first day came and went without incident. One brutal update to the routine is the bus, which conveniently arrives 10 minutes earlier this year. Before I share this next part, it must be said that the driver she had last year was religiously tardy, OK? We’re talking up to 20 minutes late some days. It conditioned me to be lax with our roll out time. It all came to an unpleasant climax this morning when, pulling out of the driveway, I saw the taillights of the big golden bird disappearing down the neighboring street. JoJo, always a bit high strung, began sobbing at the thought of being left behind. It never occurred to either of us that I could have just braved the drop-off line and taken her to the actual school. Oh no, we were going to catch that bus.

I sped down our street, knowing the driver had at least 3 more stops. Holding a mug brimming with steamy coffee in one hand, I leaned over the steering wheel, anxious and recklessly accelerating while calmly assuring my oldest daughter that we would get her on board one way or another. After a second miss, we approached the bus at its final stop. The next 30 seconds were a flurry of action. “Run! Go! Go! Go!” I coached. Of course she couldn’t get the door open. I was still in drive. I hit the unlock button and, with tears in her eyes, JoJo took off down the sidewalk. Two SAHMs, standing at the corner having a leisurely chat with their chai tea and boat shoes saw my girl sprinting with every bit of energy her Cinnamon Toast Crunch would give her, and they gestured for the driver to wait. We had done it.

As the bus pulled away, I allowed my car to crawl toward them. I rolled down the window and raised my mug in genuine gratitude. “Thanks guys!” I said. “Of course!” they responded. “Hey, aren’t you Matt’s sister?” one of the moms said, squinting in my direction. Great … juuuuust great. I always prefer my early morning servings of humble pie with a side of anonymity. No such luck. [awkward laugh] “Oh, yeah, I’m his little sister who apparently needs to change the batteries in her watch!” [more awkward laughing] “OK, see ya!” I can be a real turd sometimes.

An extra-special treat this year, our Spikey started preschool. I know her teacher. JoJo had her a few years back, so I know she’s sweet, but let’s all pray she has a good sense of humor. Spike picked out her prettiest floral dress for her first day. She couldn’t have looked more precious if her entire face was made exclusively of dimples and cuddling sloth babies. On JoJo’s first day, I remember she was tentative and sheepish. She stood at my side and looked up at me with questioning eyes. Not Spike. She barreled in there, found her cubby and all but kicked me out. I think her confidence worked like a dam for my mommy tears. They never actually came until I was away from her, in my car, pulling out of the parking lot.

The subsequent days got a little more interesting. Hank was out of town, so I was sure to organize what I could the night before to ensure a smooth morning. I put out their clothes, packed snacks, boiled eggs for breakfast, and set out shoes and bookbags. I had it dialed in. On our second day of the chaos, just as me and my car full of chicks started to pull out of the garage, my little preschooler innocently asked, “Mama, do I have to wear underwear to school?” “Yes,” I answered. “Do you not have underwear on, honey?” “No, I’ll go get some.” I backed down far enough to watch JoJo run to her bus stop and waited, patiently, as my streaker sauntered back into the garage, skimpies in hand and proceeded to pull her boy shorts on over her sandals while standing in the streaming bright yellow glare of my headlights. A jogger came upon the scene and I causally waved.

That night, Spike described to me the difference between a mouse problem and an elephant problem. “See, Mama, a mouse problem is when someone says they don’t like you … or your body smells … or they don’t want to sit with you at snack. You should just talk that out. If you tell about a mouse problem, that’s called tattling. An elephant problem is when you throw up or get cut or get hit. You should always tell someone if you have an elephant problem.” I can tell you that, to me, sending your child to their second day of preschool bare-butted in a dress is what I would categorize as an elephant problem, but to Spike, we’re talking about merely a mouse situation.

That night at dinner, she took it up a notch.

“Spikey, how was your day?”
“There was this girl and the other girls were so mean to her and I told her to sit with me.”
“That’s so nice, Spike!”
“Yeah and she can’t see very well, so I hug her and kiss her forehead.”
“Awwwww!”
“And today, she went to the hospital.”
“Whoa, what?”
“I’m lying. I don’t know why I said that. I just made that up.”

Have a great school year, everyone!

Kids

Everything I need to know, I learned from JoJo going to kindergarten

June 2, 2016

Last Friday my oldest chick closed the book on her first year of elementary school and, as quickly as it came, kindergarten was over. She walked away with fewer teeth, a broader vocabulary and a whole new set of social skills. More times than I can count, as we sat conversing around our dinner table, JoJo would offer some emotional nugget that, if I really thought about it, correlated to some grownup social dilemma in my circle. See if you draw the same comparisons …

Be resourceful (and when deemed necessary, game the system).
About 3 months into the school year I got a call from the school nurse. “Hi there. I have JoJo here in my office and she is not feeling well. She doesn’t have a fever and we’re giving her a bit of Gatorade and letting her close her eyes.” She then cupped her mouth and drew the phone closer to say, “I really think somebody’s just not having a good day. This is the second time she’s been down here in 2 days.” As the year pressed on, there were more casual mentions of the nurse’s office. She had a hang sesh with her cousin there, she had her bud walk her down during art class, she went there for an ice pack because her knees hurt from running so much … I realized that something I’d been taught in my leadership classes might apply here – I was not asking the right questions. Once I began my subtle interrogation, I learned that, not only did the nurse have Gatorade, she also had Sprite, crackers and a sweet dose of one-on-one TLC. It’s like a 5-star luxury resort compared to, say, gym class. I couldn’t fault the girl for wanting an afternoon spritzer and siesta. If anything, I was impressed.

This was not the first or the last time my baby would go scamming for groceries. We get alerts when her lunch money funds are dwindling. “That’s odd,” Hank said, after I relayed that I’d received a low balance email from the school. “I just loaded like 50 bucks onto that thing a few weeks ago.” Turns out, you can log in and see your child’s spending history. Turns out, JoJo likes to add on a cookie, like every single day. Turns out, Doritos are just a little bit extra. Turns out, a cheese stick makes a great side. We were looking at page after page of incriminating purchases, accumulating 25 cents at a time. When I asked her about her a la carte selections, she informed me that you just ask the woman at the cash register to throw one on your tray and you’re good to go. She had no clue she was getting charged, and no clue we’d ever find out. Hank smiled that smile he smiles when one of his girls does something he finds endearing and just said, “I love it. I hope she always just goes for what she wants.”

Drama is relative.
At my age, a scandal typically involves inappropriate behavior, maybe some rage and always a few really bad decisions. For JoJo, the biggest scandal of the 2016-2017 school year came when she climbed to the top of the playdome, got yelled at by another kindergarten teacher and – wait for it – was sentenced to 5 minutes on the wall. I walked onto the playground to pick her up and straight onto OJ’s side of the courtroom. There were 3 criminals in the lineup, each more eager than the next to argue their innocence. We went to the car for a recess. “She’s just so interested in me and she doesn’t need to be interested about me!” she screeched with a blotchy red face. I’d never seen her so heated. “Listen, babe, regardless of what you think of her, she’s a teacher and she deserves your respect. You were probably doing something you knew you weren’t supposed to do, right?” “Maybe, but –” “And you can’t get in trouble if you’re always doing the right thing, right?” “Yes, but–” “OK, then let’s move past it.” But she couldn’t. It rocked her world like an old boyfriend showing up as a contestant on The Bachelorette or a late-in-life baby surprise would rock mine, and I gotta respect that.

Sleep is underrated.

The adjustment to full-time student had its hiccups, but perhaps the biggest was how much it wore our little bug out. One night at dinner, JoJo told us that she fell asleep in class and her teacher just let her sleep because she knew, “she really needed that nap.” Let’s face it, there are days (like every Tuesday) when you just want to put your head down on your desk and droll all over the TPS reports. I love that her teacher let that little snooze slide.

It’s who you know.
There are three battle grounds for grade school children: The cafeteria, the playground and the bus. I can still remember that first day I sat in my car and watched my delicate, dainty 6 year old take that first steep step up into the yellow tunnel of terror on wheels. She looked so petite grabbing the railing to hoist her tiny cakes up, only to slide quickly into the very front seat. That August evening I asked her who she sat with. “Nobody,” she replied. “I don’t know any of the older kids and they’re so loud.” But by the end of the second week, my girl was running that joint. What changed? Her two older cousins started hitching a ride a few times a week. To make matters even better, they were at her after-school program as well. Before I knew it she was regurgitating all of the fourth grade gossip and telling me fifth graders, “had her back.” Had her back from what, I don’t know that I want to know, but I certainly appreciated the support. #squadgoals

Stress and pain both pass eventually.
Do you ever watch your kids experience something and it brings back every distinct smell, thought and feeling you experienced at that age? For me, one of those things is this loose tooth nonsense. I detested the tooth-losing process. The initial wiggle, the tireless tongue prodding, the mental turmoil of committing to pull the little bastard out and then the sight of that alien formation with bloody points that just detached from part of your body. Those meager little calcium nuggets revealed every Fruit Roll-up, every Swiss Cake Roll, every Milk Dud, and left behind only a slight crater to take over the madness. Now I’m reliving the oral horror with JoJo. I feel her anxiety about the process transferring to me. We’ve gone through this 3 – one hard apple shy of 4 – times now and it’s always the same. She recognizes the wiggle that sent the baby tooth past the point of no return (typically because there is blood). This sends her down an emotional spiral of will-it or won’t-it hysteria. It comes out and she screams over a pain that she perceives in her mind and then instantly begins smiling at the realization that said pain actually never existed and the entire process is over. Thus, our heart rates can decline, the Tooth Fairy can make her triumphant appearance and we can all live to experience the roller coaster ride another day.

Compassion always counts.
Of all my aspirations for them, two of the characteristics I so badly want to instill in my chicks are compassion and empathy. The world is so fast and so careless. It’s important to me that they really see people and go out of their way to help when it matters (and it always matters). On our star chart we have a row for “Did something kind,” and I ask the girls what they did to help someone that day. If I feel satisfied with their answer, they get a magnetic star. Spike typically says things like, “I told Johnny that he was not a butt face.” But I always looked forward to JoJo’s answers once she started school. There are so many opportunities to extend grace at that age. She would say things like, “Taylor is getting a new baby sister and I gave her a hug,” or “Sonya was sitting alone at library, so I moved to her table” But my favorite was when she told me she escorted Anthony down the hall after he puked in gym. Because sometimes you just need someone to hold your hand and take you to the nurse after you blow chunks in front of a room full of people. With no judgment.

Embarrassment is temporary (but brutal).
I can still remember, when I was in fifth grade, I thought it would be “cool” if I opened my bedroom window and sat in it. I cranked it out, removed the pesky screen and let the tips of my toes meet the steep shingles below. My on-again off-again “boyfriend”‘s dad, who lived directly behind us, came bursting through his back door and screamed, “Get outa the window, kid! What the hell are you thinking?!” To this day when I see him I picture him shouting at me from his deck. I was so scared he was going to tell my parents, or my little boyfriend. But more than all that, I was so, so embarrassed. I didn’t know what I was doing was dangerous. Hell, that was where all the heroines in the movies went to look at the stars and sort through their thoughts.

So, as we parents often do, I made sure to hand down the same humiliation to my JoJo. On an evening bike ride she turned right in front of a car. Without thinking, I did what any model mother would do. I verbally assassinated her precious spirit in the center of the cul-de-sac. In front of anyone within earshot. I certainly wasn’t mad at her. I was frightened out of my mind and the words just sprinted up my trachea and exploded out of my mouth. She was quiet the entire ride home. When we walked through the door she collapsed in the entryway, with her knees up by her ears and her elbows crossed over top to hold her head. “What’s wrong, honey?” I inquired, ignorant to the fact that, although the pedals between the incident and our driveway had erased the confrontation for me, she was entirely mortified. “I’m embarrassed!” she sobbed as she lifted her head. And I went right back to my window ledge. I knew exactly how she felt. “I’m sorry,” I offered. “But you are the most important thing to me and it terrifies Mommy when I think you might get hurt. I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” As disconcerted as you might be, this, too, shall pass, little bird.

We all just want to be accepted.
It always feels better to be included than excluded. And, gosh dang it, when 8 girls are playing ninjas and there’s no room for 9, or they tell you swinging is stupid, it feels like someone kicked your puppy. I don’t know a single parent who hasn’t wanted to throw a stranger’s kid’s sucker in the dirt for ignoring or belittling their child on the playground.

No one likes an empty bucket.
There are occasions when children say things far more profound than the most educated, enlightened adults. One evening, as I was whipping up a 4-course Taco Tuesday extravaganza, JoJo and Spike started fighting, which is crazy, because that never happens. (That italics indicates major sarcasm.) Anyway, after I launched into my typical retorts – “Guys, knock it off!” “Do you feel better after you hit her?” etc. – with little effect, the oldest chick stepped back a bit and put her hands up defensively. “Listen Spike, I don’t need you taking out of my bucket.” [Silence and inquisitive stares.] “When you say mean things, you take out of people’s buckets. And when you say or do nice things, you fill them up. I’m not going to empty your bucket, so stop emptying mine!” And that, my friends, is what you call an effective after-school lesson. [mic drop]

Feeling special is good for the soul.
Remember how cool it was when your parents or, even better, your pets came into visit you at school? In fourth grade my folks trailered in one of our horses for my Star Day and let me tell you, when that mare shit on the front lawn of my elementary school, I knew I’d climbed 4 rungs up the social ladder. As a working mother I more often than not have guilt about my inability to be a room mother, or a reading pal or a field trip chaperone. There’s always some activity designed to make me feel completely inadequate as an emotional support for my child. But when it counts, wild [pooping] mustangs couldn’t keep me away. Case in point, JoJo’s Valentine’s Day party. We stayed up late cutting pineapples into mangled hearts and shed our own blood skewering those F’ers onto bamboo sticks. We made a party snack mix that I won’t reveal here because I’m thinking about marketing it for profit it was so good, and portioned it out into 22 individual baggies. And when I walked in with those fruit kabobs and bomb-ass mix, my little lady lit up like the Eiffle Tower on New Year’s. I’m not one for praising your child every time they take a tinkle, but I am a big believer in the power of showing up when it counts and letting your girl get her day.

So there you have it. Follow the bold points, throw in a few servings of veggies and commit to move a bit every time Netflix prompts you with, “Are you still watching?” and you have a success plan for a healthy, happy, kind life. And you have JoJo and her tales of the kindergarten somethings to thank for it.

Kids, Tune in Today

Kindergarten kickoff and my nervous breakdown

August 14, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … be that together mom on the first day of kindergarten.

The thing about children that nobody tells you, is that more often than anyone would like, we discover that these little people are petite vessels sent to open, detonate and unintentionally impose utter and complete emotional devastation upon those who love them most. One look, and they can level you. The right phrase, and you’re shattered into 8 trillion tiny pieces. Almost every happy occasion comes gift wrapped in nostalgia and topped with a bittersweet bow. It’s incredibly humbling and unnerving all at the same time.

JoJo started kindergarten on Wednesday and, as she lifted that construction paper sign announcing her foray into elementary school for the world (or just Instagram and Facebook) to see, something terrible happened. I started sobbing. Big, dreadful, embarrassing, ugly tears. It was like they were all holding hands. Once they started falling, there was no reprieve from the infinity pool of self pity.

But when we got to the sitter’s to drop off the younger two, I said I was fine. I was fine with her looking like a 12 year old who picked out the most mature outfit in her closet. I was fine with her telling her sissies goodbye. “Wait until she goes to college,” the sitter said. And again, I cried.

But when I got back into the car to drive her to school, I said I was fine. I was fine with her sitting, crossed-legged, mouthing all the words to an Ed Sheeran song while looking longingly out the window. You know … like teenagers do. “Are you coming in with me?” JoJo asked. And again, I cried.

But as we walked hand in hand, side by side, into the school, I said I was fine. I was fine with how, as I looked down at the pavement, I noticed her shadow was catching up to mine. I was fine with how her tiny hand felt not-as-tiny nestled in mine, and how I could feel her anxious excitement on the other end. “Here we go,” I said. And I tried so hard not to cry.

As I watched her sit up so straight in her little chair, only looking back to meet eyes with me a few times, when she thought no one was looking. As I watched her walk to her cubby. As I watched her line up and march with a tentative confidence down a hallway alongside the big kids. As I watched her eyes light up at talk of reading and adventures and friends, I told myself I was fine. Everything was fine.

But as we set her on the little round seat in the lunchroom, situated with her compartmentalized tray and carton of apple juice, I didn’t feel fine. “Are you guys leaving now?” JoJo asked. I leaned down, kissed her little baby-skinned cheek, pulled down my sunglasses and didn’t try not to cry. In fact, I let it rain. I let those tears fall for the milestone and for my mourning of the past and the fact that it will always be the past, and in the past, she was tiny and snuggly and so close to me always.

“Find joy in the journey.” my friend Lindsay posted.

“This is what we do. We raise them to give them wings and let them go.” Kel offered.

“It’s a testament to you as a mom that she felt OK to go in there with confidence. It’s OK to be upset. Part of being a mom is loving them so much and worrying and crying.” a sweet coworker said (as I snotted and sobbed over her desk).

But when I got home from work, and I listened to her describe their bear hunt, and the playground, and her new friends … I knew, deep down, everything was just fine. But I still cried today, just a little.

Until next time …