Kit and Doc couldn’t be more different. Kit wants grape, Doc wants lime, you know how it is. They share a bedroom and, no surprise, Doc wants a night light and Kit wants it pitch black. Since Doc goes to bed much earlier than his bro that’s not usually a problem. He’s asleep when Kit needs it dark. But some nights the little one wakes up and we have a fight on our hands.
Try explaining ‘compromise’ to a sleepy, obstinate five year old. If you’ve been there you’ll laugh. But only one laugh per customer, please! “You get the night light on in the hall and Kit has the hanging blanket to block out most of it. See, that means you get some light, he gets it mostly dark. That’s fair.”
Fair? Yeah, right. What’s fair got to do with it? Fair to a five year old is you give me all of your candy, leave the room, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. So, as soon as I leave Doc gets up, flicks on lights, opens the doors and commences to yapping while Kit screams at him to shut up and turn out the light.
Now comes the hard part. First off, I have to decide who’s causing the trouble - in this case it’s Doc. He’s overtired but he knows exactly what he’s doing. So I have to show him that he’s not the boss and he’ll compromise ‘just because’. I led him into my workshop just across the hall, which is well lit, and told him to stand there until he was ready to go to bed and be quiet. I started working quietly while he stood there and cried and sniffed. No matter how sorry I might feel, I stay calm but firm because he was testing my limits, probing for soft spots. We’ve been here before. He’s thrown tantrums and screamed or just stood his ground stubbornly until he finally realizes he’s not going to get his way. It can take minutes or we could be there for hours.
It’s what’s known in behavior language as an extinction burst. The final push until their resistance finally burns out. It is the worst possible time for the adult to blink. As soon as you do, you are telling your child that they are in control of events. Because he’s been used to Buddy or Debbie blinking all the time, he’s used to getting his way through whines, persistence and temper. So his push back can get brutal. Tonight, fortunately, it was only a couple of minutes before he sniffled that he was ready to go to bed. I tucked him in with a hug and we whispered friendly words about the coming day for a few minutes while he settled down and fell right asleep.
The irony of all this is that Doc is thankful that I do this for him. He doesn’t want to be in control. It scares the crap out of him. But if no one else is there to take charge they spiral out of control into a world with no limits. Buddy is learning this and life between he and the boys is getting better because of it.
Parents who let their kids get away with too much do them or themselves no favor.
10.31.2010
Hickory, Dickory, Doc
I took Doc to a birthday/costume party today. Buddy would have gone but he was at Tio’s last football game. I don’t remember if I’d ever been to a 5 year old’s birthday party. Quite the event. Fourteen kindergarteners decked out in costume all stuffed together in a bunch. At first Doc did an impression of a tumor attached to my leg until he finally felt comfortable enough to break free. It took a party game where we wrapped the kids up like mummy’s in toilet paper. After that he forgot all about me and they all ran around with icing on their lips and candy corn on their breaths, playing games and having a ball. The parents on the other hand stared silently at each other like we were all in high school detention. At one point I threw out, “Is everybody ready for the election next Tuesday?” Cricket. Cricket. Cricket. Oops.
Well, the kids had a great time. I was surprised it went so smoothly. Sure, the usual traumas bubbled up. Scrapes, bruised egos, and sulking kids who couldn’t understand why they weren’t the center of attention. But it was minimal. I guess it helped that the hostess was a teacher at their school. After cupcakes and punch they got herded together for a group photo. A vampire, the grim reaper, ninjas, superheroes, witches, and even a lego block, crammed up on the sectional, all looking in one direction, and even look at the camera. But getting a group smile out of everyone at once? Not a chance. “Cheese” and “Happy Halloween” didn’t do it. Finally, someone shouted out “I see Paris I see France, I see purple underpants” and everyone laughed. Doc came away with a goody bag, prizes, and all the punch and cookies he could swallow. It was nice to see him have a good time with friends.
It always amazes me to see that no matter how young they are, there’s still a fully thinking person in there with all the complexities and needs that adults have. They just depend on someone else to supply them and see the complications through an unfocused lens. In a peer to peer group setting like this, they drop the pretense of trying to figure out what’s over their heads and use their own senses with each other. You see the reflection of how their parents and their personalities prepare them. Some can’t cope and back away, some watch from the sides, and some draw attention to themselves. It would be interesting to match the kid to the parent without anything but observing the child with kids and the parent with adults.
I wonder sometimes who has the better view of reality.
Well, the kids had a great time. I was surprised it went so smoothly. Sure, the usual traumas bubbled up. Scrapes, bruised egos, and sulking kids who couldn’t understand why they weren’t the center of attention. But it was minimal. I guess it helped that the hostess was a teacher at their school. After cupcakes and punch they got herded together for a group photo. A vampire, the grim reaper, ninjas, superheroes, witches, and even a lego block, crammed up on the sectional, all looking in one direction, and even look at the camera. But getting a group smile out of everyone at once? Not a chance. “Cheese” and “Happy Halloween” didn’t do it. Finally, someone shouted out “I see Paris I see France, I see purple underpants” and everyone laughed. Doc came away with a goody bag, prizes, and all the punch and cookies he could swallow. It was nice to see him have a good time with friends.
It always amazes me to see that no matter how young they are, there’s still a fully thinking person in there with all the complexities and needs that adults have. They just depend on someone else to supply them and see the complications through an unfocused lens. In a peer to peer group setting like this, they drop the pretense of trying to figure out what’s over their heads and use their own senses with each other. You see the reflection of how their parents and their personalities prepare them. Some can’t cope and back away, some watch from the sides, and some draw attention to themselves. It would be interesting to match the kid to the parent without anything but observing the child with kids and the parent with adults.
I wonder sometimes who has the better view of reality.
10.29.2010
And The Streets Were Filled With Ghouls
Like many other small towns, we have an annual Halloween parade where elementary school kids don their favorite alter egos and march up Main Street. Three hundred princesses, mummys, storm troopers, witches and a host of other little wide eyed spectres paddle past a crowd of beaming parents, onlookers and stalled traffic. It’s a treat.
This year, of course, I had a couple of dogs in this race: Batman running in the K, and Lady Gaga in the 4th. I put all I had on both of them to win. I better have because I made Kit’s homemade Gaga costume: blonde wig, Tish’s old jacket with newsprint shoulder padding, a pair of pippilongstockings, an industrial strength stapler, foamcore, and a silver glitter pen. Just how the real Gaga would do it! It turned out he was the only Gaga in the entire pack. Doc had a prefab Batman affair that only needed fitting. So after I finished the costumes, I made cookies for Kit’s class party because he isn’t making friends so easily and I figured I could grease the skids with some good old fashioned sugar, butter and chocolate. I watched the parade from a street corner perch and when they got home, they pawed through bags full of goodies, exchanging war stories about wardrobe malfunctions, people they saw, and candy they’d already gobbled.
Now comes the fun part: spending the night telling them they’ve had enough candy, watching them go through the roof because they’ve had too much candy, breaking up fights over whose candy is who’s and unfair tradzies, keeping them from feeding their candy to the dogs, and following trails of wrappers like breadcrumbs around the house like discarded jetsam in the wake of a tug boat. Oh, and Kit brought the cookies back because the other kids said they were burnt!
Some help I turned out to be. And to think Halloween doesn’t even arrive until Sunday.
10.28.2010
When Bad Moods Happen to Good People
Maybe it was the full moon, or the rainy day, or whatever, but somehow everyone ended up having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. So when we all accumulated around the supper table, it was bad day times four (Tish and Buddy were both still at work) for a play in which we all know our parts too well.
THE CAST:
Doc’s a pouter. He buries his head in his hands or crosses his arms defiantly with a scowl that could wilt dirt. Kit whines and screams. He’ll howl about how unfair it is and argue a point so far sideways you forget what started it, which is his goal. Tio’s gets mad. Frustrated he’ll slam things, and push everyone’s buttons to make them mad, too. Me? I’m an angel on Earth. Okay, maybe an angel that gets cranky, quick tempered, and resorts to sarcasm.
ACT I: A Table Full of Tempers
Doc started the proceedings. After asking a thousand times ‘what’s for supper, what’s for supper’, he stared at his plate of chicken and said “I don’t like that,” which of course any cook wants to hear after spending an hour making something they always like. He refused to eat, calling out his usual refrain of “all done!” before he’d taken a bite. Time to push him into swallowing food. Kit and Tio, who are strategically placed across the table from each other at all meals because the ‘love’ between them is soooooo strong, started playing a game that consisted of rhetorical questions to insult each other. “Are you stupid?” “Are you a mama’s boy” “Are you going to get grounded for swearing?” and so forth. Tio always gets the best of that because it’s easier to goad Kit. So of course, in the end “AM NOT!” became the screaming refrain from Kit while his big brother prodded on and on.
ACT II: The Escalation.
Doc stood on his chair dancing and insisting ‘all done! all done’, Kit and Tio start swearing and reciting filthy rap lyrics in unison with each other, and my usual positive mood is taking a dirt nap. Most of the time, I know how to stay calm and redirect so that we all move to a different conversation. It’s a slight of hand type thing. I ask a fantastic question that intrigues them enough to drop whatever they’re doing. From there, I can target them back on getting through supper and on to other things. No soap tonight. They giggled and sniped and ran the table for all it was worth until I was dreaming of early bedtimes all round.
ACT III: The Boiling Point.
“I’m fifty-two years old and all grown up.” I yelled, while pointing at each of them. “I can use whatever @#%!&$ words I want and that still doesn’t mean you get to swear! Now siddown and eat - all of you!”
Silence, except for the hard swallowing sounds in three throats. Grampy doesn’t often blow up. Doc clapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes bulged so far I thought they’d pop out and roll across the table. “You said the @! word!” his tiny hand mumbled. The other boys froze in mid spat and looked at me like I’d gone crazy.
Quite suddenly we all broke into laughter, mostly because of Doc’s silly face, and finished dinner like a normal family.
Whatever that may be.
THE CAST:
Doc’s a pouter. He buries his head in his hands or crosses his arms defiantly with a scowl that could wilt dirt. Kit whines and screams. He’ll howl about how unfair it is and argue a point so far sideways you forget what started it, which is his goal. Tio’s gets mad. Frustrated he’ll slam things, and push everyone’s buttons to make them mad, too. Me? I’m an angel on Earth. Okay, maybe an angel that gets cranky, quick tempered, and resorts to sarcasm.
ACT I: A Table Full of Tempers
Doc started the proceedings. After asking a thousand times ‘what’s for supper, what’s for supper’, he stared at his plate of chicken and said “I don’t like that,” which of course any cook wants to hear after spending an hour making something they always like. He refused to eat, calling out his usual refrain of “all done!” before he’d taken a bite. Time to push him into swallowing food. Kit and Tio, who are strategically placed across the table from each other at all meals because the ‘love’ between them is soooooo strong, started playing a game that consisted of rhetorical questions to insult each other. “Are you stupid?” “Are you a mama’s boy” “Are you going to get grounded for swearing?” and so forth. Tio always gets the best of that because it’s easier to goad Kit. So of course, in the end “AM NOT!” became the screaming refrain from Kit while his big brother prodded on and on.
ACT II: The Escalation.
Doc stood on his chair dancing and insisting ‘all done! all done’, Kit and Tio start swearing and reciting filthy rap lyrics in unison with each other, and my usual positive mood is taking a dirt nap. Most of the time, I know how to stay calm and redirect so that we all move to a different conversation. It’s a slight of hand type thing. I ask a fantastic question that intrigues them enough to drop whatever they’re doing. From there, I can target them back on getting through supper and on to other things. No soap tonight. They giggled and sniped and ran the table for all it was worth until I was dreaming of early bedtimes all round.
ACT III: The Boiling Point.
“I’m fifty-two years old and all grown up.” I yelled, while pointing at each of them. “I can use whatever @#%!&$ words I want and that still doesn’t mean you get to swear! Now siddown and eat - all of you!”
Silence, except for the hard swallowing sounds in three throats. Grampy doesn’t often blow up. Doc clapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes bulged so far I thought they’d pop out and roll across the table. “You said the @! word!” his tiny hand mumbled. The other boys froze in mid spat and looked at me like I’d gone crazy.
Quite suddenly we all broke into laughter, mostly because of Doc’s silly face, and finished dinner like a normal family.
Whatever that may be.
10.27.2010
Trick or Treat
I’m the youngest of 4 brothers and the only one who hasn’t yet started losing hair. Nothing comes out in my comb worth note - until the last couple of days. After a shower I pulled out some serious amounts of hair and didn’t think much about it. Third day in a row, I realize this is significant and wonder if my turn has finally arrived. Too bad, thinks I, but no real surprise. Dad was an egg, Grampa was an egg, great opa was an egg, an the brother closest to my age has some serious shine going on.
What bothered me about it was the texture of the hair felt strange. I looked more closely and realized that what I had was the fibers from Kit’s Lady GaGa wig that he’s going to wear for Halloween. He’s been grooming himself with my comb.
10.26.2010
Let the Games Begin!
I don’t like video games. I never did. I was born in the original Star Trek generation when Neil and Buzz really did step on the moon. Technology was a fascination to me. The idea of satellites orbiting Earth and traveling to Jupiter overwhelmed my imagination along with beaming up to the stars, and flip top communicators. What I never imagined was that the orbitals were just for better TV reception and hand held phones filled the air with tiresome chat, games and downloading junk. What a disappointment. I’m of the opinion that these things promote shorter attention span and gloss over the need learning things the hard way. When the virtual world is easy and makes you look talented at things you simply can’t do what use is a real guitar when Guitar Hero makes you think you already know how to play?
Tio, on the other hand, can’t get enough of game boy and play station or even pac man if that’s all there is. He’d spend all his waking hours twiddling his thumbs over skateboarding, car racing, war simulation and gangsta street fights. Wii would be his nirvana (which is why we don’t have one).
He used to ask me all the time why I don’t like video games. He couldn’t figure out why anyone wouldn’t want a piece of this action. When he was younger, I’d just say “they bore me”. When we got together we made our own adventures creating green screen videos, imaginary worlds in the back yard, playing cards and inventing board games. There was always lots to do for him and Kit and me. But back at home he’d let the fast moving world of videos do his creative thinking for him. The last time he asked I explained it more clearly. “I live inside my imagination. I write books and create worlds and ideas of my own. Why would I want someone else to do that for me? If I was into gaming, I’d be the guy designing and creating those games, not playing them.”. I think he understood that but it was still a leap.
Since the family moved in here, it’s been a struggle for me to find a balance where he can use his play station but not overwhelm. Personally, I don’t think his life would be the poorer if he never saw it again. So we’ve limited the amount of time he can play each day. Add TV time and texing (don’t get me started on kids with phones!) and it mounts up fast to a lot of screen input.
He had the machine taken away at the end of the summer for a punishment and rather than work out why, he just waited hoping he’d get it back at some point. Well, I suppose that point has arrived and I’m thinking of making him earn game time. There’s always work to be done around the place. I’ll make him a two for one offer. For every half hour of chores he does, he can have an hour of gaming.
We’ll see just how important it is now.
Tio, on the other hand, can’t get enough of game boy and play station or even pac man if that’s all there is. He’d spend all his waking hours twiddling his thumbs over skateboarding, car racing, war simulation and gangsta street fights. Wii would be his nirvana (which is why we don’t have one).
He used to ask me all the time why I don’t like video games. He couldn’t figure out why anyone wouldn’t want a piece of this action. When he was younger, I’d just say “they bore me”. When we got together we made our own adventures creating green screen videos, imaginary worlds in the back yard, playing cards and inventing board games. There was always lots to do for him and Kit and me. But back at home he’d let the fast moving world of videos do his creative thinking for him. The last time he asked I explained it more clearly. “I live inside my imagination. I write books and create worlds and ideas of my own. Why would I want someone else to do that for me? If I was into gaming, I’d be the guy designing and creating those games, not playing them.”. I think he understood that but it was still a leap.
Since the family moved in here, it’s been a struggle for me to find a balance where he can use his play station but not overwhelm. Personally, I don’t think his life would be the poorer if he never saw it again. So we’ve limited the amount of time he can play each day. Add TV time and texing (don’t get me started on kids with phones!) and it mounts up fast to a lot of screen input.
He had the machine taken away at the end of the summer for a punishment and rather than work out why, he just waited hoping he’d get it back at some point. Well, I suppose that point has arrived and I’m thinking of making him earn game time. There’s always work to be done around the place. I’ll make him a two for one offer. For every half hour of chores he does, he can have an hour of gaming.
We’ll see just how important it is now.
10.25.2010
Do No Harm
There’s a huge gap in understanding responsibility and being responsible. Nowhere is this more obvious than in parenting. It’s one thing to put clothes on a kid’s back and give them a daily bowl of grub and quite another to make sure they feel secure, loved and respected as human beings.
Parenting doesn’t come with a handbook and since every person is different, every challenge to parenting is different. What shouldn’t be different are certain underlying principles. For me, one of the most important is: “Do no harm”. Every decision you make as a parent should be tempered with the question “Will this harm or set my child back?” Most of us know the answer to that without asking. But too many don’t. They lash out in anger, they neglect, they abuse, they belittle, and a host of other not so obvious things that are harmful.
Parents are gods in the eyes of their children. Helpless and ignorant, they can be molded in a million ways. It’s up to us to determine how. When a parent isn’t grown up enough themselves to manage their children, they act like one of them, reacting with jealousy, retribution, and callousness. Their own needs come first and they lay the blame for their own shortcomings at the feet of anyone but themselves. Children who grow up like this harbor resentment and anger that may never be resolved, unable to become emotionally mature adults themselves. They have difficulty in relationships and, quite often pass these traits on to their own children, keeping the cycle alive for another generation.
How do we break this cycle? How can a parent know they’re causing harm if they can’t see themselves doing it? Treat children with the same respect you would wish to be treated, even if you never were. Surprisingly, this isn’t as easy for many people to do as it sounds. Too many parents never graduated into adulthood themselves by the time they have children. This puts them in direct competition with their kids for attention and resources. You can see it when parents don’t want their kids to be more successful than they are and insult or tell them they’re no good. It shows itself when a parent spends more time and money on themselves than their kids or controlling parents who completely restrict their child’s movements. There are a thousand manifestations of this kind of behavior and it stultifies the child.
Parents need to respond to every situation with the best interest of the child first. Everything else will follow. Of course we all screw up and behave badly, say and do the wrong thing here and there. You have to catch yourself, learn from it, apologize and do better the next time around. Nobody said it would be easy.
Just do no harm.
Parenting doesn’t come with a handbook and since every person is different, every challenge to parenting is different. What shouldn’t be different are certain underlying principles. For me, one of the most important is: “Do no harm”. Every decision you make as a parent should be tempered with the question “Will this harm or set my child back?” Most of us know the answer to that without asking. But too many don’t. They lash out in anger, they neglect, they abuse, they belittle, and a host of other not so obvious things that are harmful.
Parents are gods in the eyes of their children. Helpless and ignorant, they can be molded in a million ways. It’s up to us to determine how. When a parent isn’t grown up enough themselves to manage their children, they act like one of them, reacting with jealousy, retribution, and callousness. Their own needs come first and they lay the blame for their own shortcomings at the feet of anyone but themselves. Children who grow up like this harbor resentment and anger that may never be resolved, unable to become emotionally mature adults themselves. They have difficulty in relationships and, quite often pass these traits on to their own children, keeping the cycle alive for another generation.
How do we break this cycle? How can a parent know they’re causing harm if they can’t see themselves doing it? Treat children with the same respect you would wish to be treated, even if you never were. Surprisingly, this isn’t as easy for many people to do as it sounds. Too many parents never graduated into adulthood themselves by the time they have children. This puts them in direct competition with their kids for attention and resources. You can see it when parents don’t want their kids to be more successful than they are and insult or tell them they’re no good. It shows itself when a parent spends more time and money on themselves than their kids or controlling parents who completely restrict their child’s movements. There are a thousand manifestations of this kind of behavior and it stultifies the child.
Parents need to respond to every situation with the best interest of the child first. Everything else will follow. Of course we all screw up and behave badly, say and do the wrong thing here and there. You have to catch yourself, learn from it, apologize and do better the next time around. Nobody said it would be easy.
Just do no harm.
10.24.2010
Lullaby
It’s late and the weather outside has cooled.The house is dark except for my PC and a blazing fire in the pellet stove. All is peace. I go to bed between 2 and 3 am every morning. It’s what passes for my normal. It suits me better than getting up with insomnia. I enjoy the serenity that comes of knowing that everyone is safe in bed and I can watch over them. I’m either writing or in my workshop chasing silver while an old movie grinds away on my TV. Some nights I’ll step out a couple of times to enjoy the stars and moon, feeling the sense of how quiet the whole town is. Business and school and industry of all stripes are breathing slow and even. No one is going to call up or need anything. There’s nowhere for me to go, no mail arriving, no campaign to wage. I am alone and for me that is the cake.
I’ll let the dogs out around two and crawl into bed with Tish on one side and Bunnie curled up with me on the other. Three hours later, Tish rises and gets the kids ready and off to school and the whole cycle begins again.
Sleep tight, world. There’s work to be done tomorrow but right now, we need the rest.
I’ll let the dogs out around two and crawl into bed with Tish on one side and Bunnie curled up with me on the other. Three hours later, Tish rises and gets the kids ready and off to school and the whole cycle begins again.
Sleep tight, world. There’s work to be done tomorrow but right now, we need the rest.
10.23.2010
Lies That Reveal the Truth
What is it that makes kids lie when they don’t have to?
I have trouble enough when they lie to actually cover something up but that’s a different issue. What I’m talking about here is the lie that makes no sense. For example, I asked Tio if he’d bought lunch when he was downtown. He said no. I made lunch. He said he already ate. When, asked I. When I was downtown, the dear, sweet little tyke replied.
Tell me please, what is up with that? But it happens all the time over stuff so insignificant that I’m left scratching my head wondering what the point was. Is the sky blue? No, they say. Why lie about the bloody obvious? Is it fun? Did you find some paper for your project? Yes. Have you finished your project? I couldn’t find any paper. Do you like that dessert? No. I didn’t get any dessert. You said you didn’t like it. No I didn’t.
In the end, it’s a control thing, holding onto the truth. Pathological liars can’t help themselves. But children? If you’ll pardon the pun, do they come by it honestly? Generally, kids lie to shield themselves. We teach them that lying hurts more than telling the truth, help them be honest and reward the positive outcome. It won’t stop the intermittent lie and for some may never cure them of seeing the advantage to being deceptive.
Lying by habit is built of experience. Experience of success and experience of example. They see others do it, get lied to themselves, and recognize it as acceptable, and even profitable. These boys have grown out of this experience in their lives and often use a lie as the first line of defense, even when the truth would work better, even when the evidence speaks loudly to the contrary. Their parents did not hold the truth in high esteem and it shows. This makes the backtracking to an honest relationship more difficult. Sure, leading by example is all very good, creating an honest environment and all that. But if they don’t even notice the lie as it sprouts from their lips, we can’t make headway until they do.
It makes me wonder if they sometimes know what the truth really is.
I have trouble enough when they lie to actually cover something up but that’s a different issue. What I’m talking about here is the lie that makes no sense. For example, I asked Tio if he’d bought lunch when he was downtown. He said no. I made lunch. He said he already ate. When, asked I. When I was downtown, the dear, sweet little tyke replied.
Tell me please, what is up with that? But it happens all the time over stuff so insignificant that I’m left scratching my head wondering what the point was. Is the sky blue? No, they say. Why lie about the bloody obvious? Is it fun? Did you find some paper for your project? Yes. Have you finished your project? I couldn’t find any paper. Do you like that dessert? No. I didn’t get any dessert. You said you didn’t like it. No I didn’t.
In the end, it’s a control thing, holding onto the truth. Pathological liars can’t help themselves. But children? If you’ll pardon the pun, do they come by it honestly? Generally, kids lie to shield themselves. We teach them that lying hurts more than telling the truth, help them be honest and reward the positive outcome. It won’t stop the intermittent lie and for some may never cure them of seeing the advantage to being deceptive.
Lying by habit is built of experience. Experience of success and experience of example. They see others do it, get lied to themselves, and recognize it as acceptable, and even profitable. These boys have grown out of this experience in their lives and often use a lie as the first line of defense, even when the truth would work better, even when the evidence speaks loudly to the contrary. Their parents did not hold the truth in high esteem and it shows. This makes the backtracking to an honest relationship more difficult. Sure, leading by example is all very good, creating an honest environment and all that. But if they don’t even notice the lie as it sprouts from their lips, we can’t make headway until they do.
It makes me wonder if they sometimes know what the truth really is.
A Future President?
I’m running for county treaserer this November. It's low down on the ballot but it’s important work and requires campaigning to get elected. I’ve been involved with local issues since we moved here 20 years ago. I was elected as a Selectman, ran for state legislature, led environmental protection campaigns and a host of other things.
I’m going out canvassing tomorrow morning, knocking on doors to talk with voters, and I think I’ll take Tio with me. He’s listened to my spiel over the years about getting involved and helping people and so forth. He even shook a couple of presidential candidates by the hand when he was six years old and I was running the local John Kerry for President office. Maybe now it’s time for Tio to see how the hard work of democracy actually gets done.
I’ve been trying to think of how to talk him into going with a positive spin and I remembered that on Sunday I have to take him to a football game. I think I’ll tell him that I come to his games to see him win so it’s his turn to come to mine and see how democracy wins.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
I’m going out canvassing tomorrow morning, knocking on doors to talk with voters, and I think I’ll take Tio with me. He’s listened to my spiel over the years about getting involved and helping people and so forth. He even shook a couple of presidential candidates by the hand when he was six years old and I was running the local John Kerry for President office. Maybe now it’s time for Tio to see how the hard work of democracy actually gets done.
I’ve been trying to think of how to talk him into going with a positive spin and I remembered that on Sunday I have to take him to a football game. I think I’ll tell him that I come to his games to see him win so it’s his turn to come to mine and see how democracy wins.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
10.21.2010
Stupid Questions Drive Me Nuts
Am I getting old and less tolerant, or are kids really this thick?
On the way to the recycling center Kit asked what a city block was. Having grown up rurally and never been to a city, he didn’t understand the concept of blocks. I couldn’t explain it clearly so I said we’d go into town and drive around one on our way home. In the end, we didn’t have time and went straight home.
Less than an hour later, during his homework, he asked “Did we go see a block on the way home, Grampy?”
DUH? We drove straight home along a road that he’s traveled hundreds of times during his nine and a half years. How could he possibly think we went somewhere else when he was in the car the whole time? He has his moments but he’s not stupid or even slow. But this is common fare from him and Doc. They pelt the stupidest questions and inanities at me all the time. Tio’s not so bad but the other two drive me nuts.
Talking without thinking. Asking questions you know the answer to. Repeating the same questions over and over no matter how many times I answer. I finally had to tell them I’ve had enough and challenge them on it or tell them to shut up. I know Doc is only five but how many times can you hear the question “What’s for supper?” in the same hour?
When Buddy and Sugar were kids I don’t remember it being this bad. I wonder if being younger and maybe more flexible I just didn’t notice. But I don’t see any reason to keep answering. I mean, how do you answer a question like Kit’s? Do I just assume he really doesn’t know that we drove straight home within the hour? Do I act like it’s an honest question? Or do I tell him to think before he talks and get him to use his brain a bit more before speaking?
This kind of stuff really tries my patience so I need to tread carefully to avoid seeming condescending or insulting. On the other hand, if they’re just being lazy in their thinking, it doesn’t do any of us a whit of good to promote it.
On the way to the recycling center Kit asked what a city block was. Having grown up rurally and never been to a city, he didn’t understand the concept of blocks. I couldn’t explain it clearly so I said we’d go into town and drive around one on our way home. In the end, we didn’t have time and went straight home.
Less than an hour later, during his homework, he asked “Did we go see a block on the way home, Grampy?”
DUH? We drove straight home along a road that he’s traveled hundreds of times during his nine and a half years. How could he possibly think we went somewhere else when he was in the car the whole time? He has his moments but he’s not stupid or even slow. But this is common fare from him and Doc. They pelt the stupidest questions and inanities at me all the time. Tio’s not so bad but the other two drive me nuts.
Talking without thinking. Asking questions you know the answer to. Repeating the same questions over and over no matter how many times I answer. I finally had to tell them I’ve had enough and challenge them on it or tell them to shut up. I know Doc is only five but how many times can you hear the question “What’s for supper?” in the same hour?
When Buddy and Sugar were kids I don’t remember it being this bad. I wonder if being younger and maybe more flexible I just didn’t notice. But I don’t see any reason to keep answering. I mean, how do you answer a question like Kit’s? Do I just assume he really doesn’t know that we drove straight home within the hour? Do I act like it’s an honest question? Or do I tell him to think before he talks and get him to use his brain a bit more before speaking?
This kind of stuff really tries my patience so I need to tread carefully to avoid seeming condescending or insulting. On the other hand, if they’re just being lazy in their thinking, it doesn’t do any of us a whit of good to promote it.
10.20.2010
A First Tryst
Doc came home from Kindergarten saying he had a bad secret to tell. His eyes twinkled with excitement and he hid his embarrassed laugher behind his hands, kind of like giggling over a dirty word. Not too worried, I crouched down to his height and asked him to whisper it ‘just to me’.
He put his mouth to my ear and started sputtering, “Nkknkkknnnkkk..pphhhhtt...” and had to back off three times, giggling with eyes a poppin’, trying to contain his amused awkwardness behind both hands clapped over his mouth. Finally, he whispered, “Pphhhhttt...kkk...my friend Abby kissed me! Nnnnkkkkppphhhtnnkkk...” and turned red waiting eagerly for my response.
“No!” I gasped in mock horror, my own hand flying to my lips. “She kissed you? Where?”
He leaned in close again. “In the cafeteria!”
I don’t remember the last time my cafeteria got a kiss. Do you?
He put his mouth to my ear and started sputtering, “Nkknkkknnnkkk..pphhhhtt...” and had to back off three times, giggling with eyes a poppin’, trying to contain his amused awkwardness behind both hands clapped over his mouth. Finally, he whispered, “Pphhhhttt...kkk...my friend Abby kissed me! Nnnnkkkkppphhhtnnkkk...” and turned red waiting eagerly for my response.
“No!” I gasped in mock horror, my own hand flying to my lips. “She kissed you? Where?”
He leaned in close again. “In the cafeteria!”
I don’t remember the last time my cafeteria got a kiss. Do you?
Blurring the line between Grampy and Dad
Today I had to come down hard on Tio.
I hate it when I have to be the bad guy with the kids. Not because I can’t face it or wish I could always be nice. I can handle being a tough parent when it’s called for. I raised two already and we’re a strong family. The hard part here is because I’m grampy not dad and should be the one who gives out all the candy and sends them home with a measure of good advice and an extra buck in their pocket.
Man, me and Tio go back as friends to the moment we clapped eyes on each other. He was so fresh out of the womb he was still warm! He’s lived here off and on his whole life. I sang him to sleep in the crib when he cried, we invented stories and magical adventures, I taught him to read at four and write at five. I gave him the first shove on his bike that sent him into the world on wheels and we’ve been constant best of friends. We go out together and have fun even if plans go wrong just because we’re together. He told me in the third grade that he knew the only reason he was doing well in school was because what I’d done for him. If one of us walks on water for the other I don’t know which because he’s as much an angel in my eyes as what I seem to him.
Now I have a new role: the hardass taskmaster that holds his toes to the fire when he screws up, the parent with demands and expectations. Bud abdicated that role long ago and his mom never exhibited an interest in it from the start. The thing is, he’ll never succeed without tough guidance as well as a gentle hand. So, in trying to get him to live up to promises and responsibilities he falls short of, I have to come down on him pretty hard. For a best friend grampy, that is.
No need to describe the issue or how we’re going to deal with it. It’s typical kid stuff. He’s a tweenie looking to find his own way. It’s only going to get harder as he asserts his adolescence. As a grampy, I knew he would drift away from me as childhood faded and his own life, friends, and loves became the foundation of his world. I’d always be part of his world, just not the center of it. That’s okay. I can accept that. But standing here on the precipice between his childhood and youth, I had imagined myself as the one he could turn to not the one shoving him off.
He’ll fly, I’ll make sure of that. I only hope that when all is said and done, he’ll want to come back.
I hate it when I have to be the bad guy with the kids. Not because I can’t face it or wish I could always be nice. I can handle being a tough parent when it’s called for. I raised two already and we’re a strong family. The hard part here is because I’m grampy not dad and should be the one who gives out all the candy and sends them home with a measure of good advice and an extra buck in their pocket.
Man, me and Tio go back as friends to the moment we clapped eyes on each other. He was so fresh out of the womb he was still warm! He’s lived here off and on his whole life. I sang him to sleep in the crib when he cried, we invented stories and magical adventures, I taught him to read at four and write at five. I gave him the first shove on his bike that sent him into the world on wheels and we’ve been constant best of friends. We go out together and have fun even if plans go wrong just because we’re together. He told me in the third grade that he knew the only reason he was doing well in school was because what I’d done for him. If one of us walks on water for the other I don’t know which because he’s as much an angel in my eyes as what I seem to him.
Now I have a new role: the hardass taskmaster that holds his toes to the fire when he screws up, the parent with demands and expectations. Bud abdicated that role long ago and his mom never exhibited an interest in it from the start. The thing is, he’ll never succeed without tough guidance as well as a gentle hand. So, in trying to get him to live up to promises and responsibilities he falls short of, I have to come down on him pretty hard. For a best friend grampy, that is.
No need to describe the issue or how we’re going to deal with it. It’s typical kid stuff. He’s a tweenie looking to find his own way. It’s only going to get harder as he asserts his adolescence. As a grampy, I knew he would drift away from me as childhood faded and his own life, friends, and loves became the foundation of his world. I’d always be part of his world, just not the center of it. That’s okay. I can accept that. But standing here on the precipice between his childhood and youth, I had imagined myself as the one he could turn to not the one shoving him off.
He’ll fly, I’ll make sure of that. I only hope that when all is said and done, he’ll want to come back.
10.18.2010
10.17.2010
Raising Peter Pan
Dealing with Buddy is like handling one of the kids. He can’t get them fed on time, can’t get them to bed on time, doesn’t do their laundry, barely keeps up with cleaning a bathroom, doesn’t shop for groceries and the nuances of their needs goes over his head. I gave him a list of large chores 6 weeks ago. It wasn’t a long list. I told him today if he doesn’t get them done, he’s essentially telling me to do them. He got defensive, telling me he works hard, doesn’t have much time, and gets to it when he can.
I said, “They’re your sons, Bud. Being a single dad with three kids takes some real hard work and long hours. It’s time you start putting the time in.”
I shouldn’t have to have this conversation with this 33 year old man. I don’t think he understands how hard most single parents work. Most don’t have help, some put themselves through school to improve their lives, many work two jobs. The list goes on. He puts in his 40 hours and that’s about it. Of all the people in the house, his life is the only one that got easier. The boys are all trying to cope with kid issues and the daily trauma that attends it, Tish has to work a lot of hours and put off any concept of retirement so we can afford this slice of paradise. I’m re-inventing my business, looking after the boys day and night, trying to write a novel (and this blog) and do some community service.
Meanwhile, Buddy works his 40 hour week. He doesn’t understand what it takes and, as an adult hyperactive, he only sees yesterday, today and sometimes tomorrow. He can’t remember last month, he can’t plan for next month, and years of experience tell me that’s not going to change. What extra he can manage to do feel like a full plate to him.
Right now, it’s 6:45 on a Sunday night. On school nights we serve supper at five so Kit has enough time before bed to avoid bed wetting and Doc who needs to be in bed by seven won’t get indigestion in the middle of the night. It’s Bud’s one day a month to cook and he’s only now taking a frozen pizza out of the oven. There’s no reason for him to be two hours late. This means, I’ll have to get Kit up twice tonight so he won’t get any good sleep and I might be attending Doc at two a.m. when he wakes up screaming. Does Buddy not care? Or does he simply not get it? I won’t mention this to him because he knows and I don’t want to hear some lame excuse. Kids always have an excuse. They think it makes things less their fault. Of course, I know that tonight’s episode was brought to us by the makers of passive/aggressive. He put dinner on the table late because earlier today I came down on him for not getting to the chores.
He’s a good man, er, boy. Not one of those parents who walked away when separation and divorce and drugs and all the other calamities of broken homes got in the way. He stayed and paid support and saw his kids as often as the law allowed. He fought for custody at every turn and won’t walk away now that he has it. He just doesn’t have a clear idea of what to do with them. His problem lies in not knowing how to create a foundation of rituals and rules and expectations that the boys can count on. With a generation of child raising already behind us, it seems straight forward to me and Tish so our problem lies in not being able to instruct him like we would the small boys. I mean, how do you tell a 33 year old to go to his room for a time out?
Raising kids is fairly straightforward. Raising an adult is another story.
I said, “They’re your sons, Bud. Being a single dad with three kids takes some real hard work and long hours. It’s time you start putting the time in.”
I shouldn’t have to have this conversation with this 33 year old man. I don’t think he understands how hard most single parents work. Most don’t have help, some put themselves through school to improve their lives, many work two jobs. The list goes on. He puts in his 40 hours and that’s about it. Of all the people in the house, his life is the only one that got easier. The boys are all trying to cope with kid issues and the daily trauma that attends it, Tish has to work a lot of hours and put off any concept of retirement so we can afford this slice of paradise. I’m re-inventing my business, looking after the boys day and night, trying to write a novel (and this blog) and do some community service.
Meanwhile, Buddy works his 40 hour week. He doesn’t understand what it takes and, as an adult hyperactive, he only sees yesterday, today and sometimes tomorrow. He can’t remember last month, he can’t plan for next month, and years of experience tell me that’s not going to change. What extra he can manage to do feel like a full plate to him.
Right now, it’s 6:45 on a Sunday night. On school nights we serve supper at five so Kit has enough time before bed to avoid bed wetting and Doc who needs to be in bed by seven won’t get indigestion in the middle of the night. It’s Bud’s one day a month to cook and he’s only now taking a frozen pizza out of the oven. There’s no reason for him to be two hours late. This means, I’ll have to get Kit up twice tonight so he won’t get any good sleep and I might be attending Doc at two a.m. when he wakes up screaming. Does Buddy not care? Or does he simply not get it? I won’t mention this to him because he knows and I don’t want to hear some lame excuse. Kids always have an excuse. They think it makes things less their fault. Of course, I know that tonight’s episode was brought to us by the makers of passive/aggressive. He put dinner on the table late because earlier today I came down on him for not getting to the chores.
He’s a good man, er, boy. Not one of those parents who walked away when separation and divorce and drugs and all the other calamities of broken homes got in the way. He stayed and paid support and saw his kids as often as the law allowed. He fought for custody at every turn and won’t walk away now that he has it. He just doesn’t have a clear idea of what to do with them. His problem lies in not knowing how to create a foundation of rituals and rules and expectations that the boys can count on. With a generation of child raising already behind us, it seems straight forward to me and Tish so our problem lies in not being able to instruct him like we would the small boys. I mean, how do you tell a 33 year old to go to his room for a time out?
Raising kids is fairly straightforward. Raising an adult is another story.
10.16.2010
Fresher Breath and Cleaner Teeth
One of the dogs got a rash around his scrotum and we had to keep him from scratching. Most people use a cone over the dog’s head to keep it from reaching. Tish being a canine behavior specialist has all sorts of great remedies. For this kind of thing she uses Listerine because dogs don’t like it and leave it alone. A little spray keeps them off furniture, jumping up, and scratching in the wrong places. While she was spritzing some onto Gulliver’s nuts, Kit said “I bet that’ll make his breath smell good.”
A Screaming Sea of Denim
I had a curious evening. Tio had his first 6th grade dance at the local lodge and I figured I’d take Kit to the movies after we dropped his big brother off.
We saw Life As We Know It, a romantic comedy about an unlikely couple raising a baby. I figured Kit might like the antics with the baby. Well...turns out the parents die and leave the baby with two people who a)don’t know they’re named in the will and b)have never liked each other. Setting the absurd suspension of disbelief aside, the story could have been with grandparent getting the baby, instead of a young couple, and having to decide if it’s worth rearranging their whole busy lives for the child. The parallels were strong, even if the plot was weak.
As we sat in the dark watching this couple fight about keeping the kid, or running back to their old lives, leaving each other, etc. Kit kept getting closer and closer to me so we were practically hugging. Every time one of them had doubts about staying the course, I could feel his fingers wrap around my arm and his head lean into mine like a plea for me not to follow their advice. He reacted viscerally possibly afraid that Tish and I might feel the same way.
We drove back to the dance and were a half hour early so we went in. Man, what a scene. A hundred and fifty grade 5-7 kids, a screaming sea of the almost adolescent barely holding it together in pheromone soaked jeans and tees. Tio tries to act so cool with his friends at school and the local rec center. All gangsta and ‘yo dude s’up’ trying to fit in and be apart all at the same time. But here in the mosh pit, watching a contest where they try to wiggle a cookie from their forehead to their mouths, the little boys and girls were not so far from the crib, either. Each of them on a fragile edge that could tumble them either way.
The movie said the same thing: that too many young parents aren't so far from their own childhood, living just for themselves and not knowing whether to push forward or give it up. In the movies, they always make the right choice. In real life, too many walk away. They walk away from something they should never have walked into in the first place. In the movie the loving parents die; nobody’s to blame. In life it’s not so easy or blameless.
We live in a society where the children don’t know when their parents will give up on them. It happens all around them. There’s something wrong with that premise. The thought of parents leaving should never have to enter their heads. When will we ever grow up?
We saw Life As We Know It, a romantic comedy about an unlikely couple raising a baby. I figured Kit might like the antics with the baby. Well...turns out the parents die and leave the baby with two people who a)don’t know they’re named in the will and b)have never liked each other. Setting the absurd suspension of disbelief aside, the story could have been with grandparent getting the baby, instead of a young couple, and having to decide if it’s worth rearranging their whole busy lives for the child. The parallels were strong, even if the plot was weak.
As we sat in the dark watching this couple fight about keeping the kid, or running back to their old lives, leaving each other, etc. Kit kept getting closer and closer to me so we were practically hugging. Every time one of them had doubts about staying the course, I could feel his fingers wrap around my arm and his head lean into mine like a plea for me not to follow their advice. He reacted viscerally possibly afraid that Tish and I might feel the same way.
We drove back to the dance and were a half hour early so we went in. Man, what a scene. A hundred and fifty grade 5-7 kids, a screaming sea of the almost adolescent barely holding it together in pheromone soaked jeans and tees. Tio tries to act so cool with his friends at school and the local rec center. All gangsta and ‘yo dude s’up’ trying to fit in and be apart all at the same time. But here in the mosh pit, watching a contest where they try to wiggle a cookie from their forehead to their mouths, the little boys and girls were not so far from the crib, either. Each of them on a fragile edge that could tumble them either way.
The movie said the same thing: that too many young parents aren't so far from their own childhood, living just for themselves and not knowing whether to push forward or give it up. In the movies, they always make the right choice. In real life, too many walk away. They walk away from something they should never have walked into in the first place. In the movie the loving parents die; nobody’s to blame. In life it’s not so easy or blameless.
We live in a society where the children don’t know when their parents will give up on them. It happens all around them. There’s something wrong with that premise. The thought of parents leaving should never have to enter their heads. When will we ever grow up?
10.14.2010
The Unspoken Epidemic - Part Two
The epidemic of the grandparent as parent isn’t all a bad cautionary tale of kids who can’t handle parenting and drug abuse run amuck. In fact, if you take out your hindsight telescope and have a good squint at the past 60 years of American culture, we could see it coming from the get go.
The raw, bleeding fact is we never should have built the ‘nuclear family’ structure in the first place. But prosperity does strange things to a body. It pumps him up to think he can and should have everything. The WWII generation bought homes and started families and built suburbs and isolated themselves from the traditional multi-generational community structure that had been in functioning for a long, long time. They could afford it, things were going well and the middle class flourished. Their children got good schools, a good education and were expected to prosper even more. That was the Baby Boom.
Unfortunately, like all things built mostly on a dream, as each successive generation has come up they’ve wanted more from a pie that was shrinking and an inflationary world where buying power was also dwindling. What did they do? Why the responsible thing, of course! They borrowed within an inch of their skin so that they could appear to have it all, even if it was just a facade. Unsavory lenders, eager borrowers, greedy investors, incapable homeowners, and so on all grasping for a bigger piece of a finite pie brought about economic collapse after collapse over the past 30 years which nobody seemed to learn from. No one wanted to admit they were buying way beyond any reasonable calculation of “their means”.
The Nuclear Family finally exploded and we have what you see today. A housing market that still hasn’t reached the bottom of the abyss. Financial markets that need public bailouts because they were too greedy to live on an honest profit. Citizen investors who lost their shirts when they thought they were all that and a bottle of champaign and put their life savings into bloated real estate and get rich quick stocks. And finally our government which has a debt so large we can’t really fathom the amount of money.
Well, there goes the middle class that the WWII generation so nicely started. We’re back to multi-generational households where families have to look after each other really closely. It takes much more than “dad’s” single income to break even and the kids need full time care from someone who isn’t drawing a salary off the family. Thus the grandparents coming out of the woodwork and taking up the slack. The family dynamics these days are more complicated than prior similar generations. Partly because expenses are much higher, partly because of the complexities of drug addiction, abuse problems, high divorce rates, and a pant load of other things.
Right now we’re looking down the tunnel into an uncertain future. Families are regrouping, even if not by choice, and relearning cooperation on a basic needs level. Where will it end? Not well for the middle class if it doesn’t get off it’s collective ass and protect it’s rights politically. We have to admit that we’re not going to get rich and to stop believing that everyone has a shot at fame and fortune. We need to understand that home ownership won’t come to everyone and, with longer lives, no one else is going to protect our old age health and financial well being. We have to decide what’s more important: survival and well being or chasing money to appear to be something we’re not. It’s a tough choice because the Jones’s always look happier, whether they are or not.
In the end, we grandparents on the front lines of this new dynamic are not just looking after our grandchildren. We’re all looking after each other.
The raw, bleeding fact is we never should have built the ‘nuclear family’ structure in the first place. But prosperity does strange things to a body. It pumps him up to think he can and should have everything. The WWII generation bought homes and started families and built suburbs and isolated themselves from the traditional multi-generational community structure that had been in functioning for a long, long time. They could afford it, things were going well and the middle class flourished. Their children got good schools, a good education and were expected to prosper even more. That was the Baby Boom.
Unfortunately, like all things built mostly on a dream, as each successive generation has come up they’ve wanted more from a pie that was shrinking and an inflationary world where buying power was also dwindling. What did they do? Why the responsible thing, of course! They borrowed within an inch of their skin so that they could appear to have it all, even if it was just a facade. Unsavory lenders, eager borrowers, greedy investors, incapable homeowners, and so on all grasping for a bigger piece of a finite pie brought about economic collapse after collapse over the past 30 years which nobody seemed to learn from. No one wanted to admit they were buying way beyond any reasonable calculation of “their means”.
The Nuclear Family finally exploded and we have what you see today. A housing market that still hasn’t reached the bottom of the abyss. Financial markets that need public bailouts because they were too greedy to live on an honest profit. Citizen investors who lost their shirts when they thought they were all that and a bottle of champaign and put their life savings into bloated real estate and get rich quick stocks. And finally our government which has a debt so large we can’t really fathom the amount of money.
Well, there goes the middle class that the WWII generation so nicely started. We’re back to multi-generational households where families have to look after each other really closely. It takes much more than “dad’s” single income to break even and the kids need full time care from someone who isn’t drawing a salary off the family. Thus the grandparents coming out of the woodwork and taking up the slack. The family dynamics these days are more complicated than prior similar generations. Partly because expenses are much higher, partly because of the complexities of drug addiction, abuse problems, high divorce rates, and a pant load of other things.
Right now we’re looking down the tunnel into an uncertain future. Families are regrouping, even if not by choice, and relearning cooperation on a basic needs level. Where will it end? Not well for the middle class if it doesn’t get off it’s collective ass and protect it’s rights politically. We have to admit that we’re not going to get rich and to stop believing that everyone has a shot at fame and fortune. We need to understand that home ownership won’t come to everyone and, with longer lives, no one else is going to protect our old age health and financial well being. We have to decide what’s more important: survival and well being or chasing money to appear to be something we’re not. It’s a tough choice because the Jones’s always look happier, whether they are or not.
In the end, we grandparents on the front lines of this new dynamic are not just looking after our grandchildren. We’re all looking after each other.
10.13.2010
Living in the Fine Print
I saw my therapist today and expressed how things are going and what kind of stress I'm feeling. She says I'm doing a spectacular job and after it's all over I should open a school for troubled boys. Fat lot of help that was.
After that I went to Tio's parent/teacher conference and he's hitting top grades and showing real promise with math, writing and reading. The kid's got brains, good looks, good nature, and talent. He's a natural at sports and academics. Football Captain/Valedictorian type material. Makes shy, ugly kids like I used to be feel pointless. He'll go far and I look forward to helping him reach for his dreams.
A nice Kit moment today: We started reading Alice in Wonderland together tonight and I said I thought that Alice sure did a lot of crying. He suggested she go out on Halloween as a puddle.
After that I went to Tio's parent/teacher conference and he's hitting top grades and showing real promise with math, writing and reading. The kid's got brains, good looks, good nature, and talent. He's a natural at sports and academics. Football Captain/Valedictorian type material. Makes shy, ugly kids like I used to be feel pointless. He'll go far and I look forward to helping him reach for his dreams.
A nice Kit moment today: We started reading Alice in Wonderland together tonight and I said I thought that Alice sure did a lot of crying. He suggested she go out on Halloween as a puddle.
10.12.2010
When Good Semantics Go Bad
I came home to Buddy fighting with Kit over getting to his homework. Exasperated, Buddy tells me that Kits' insisting I told him he can do his homework whenever he wants and he won't get to it.
“You know that’s not true" I said. "You're supposed to do your homework as soon as you get home. Did you tell your dad you could do it whenever you want?”
“No.” he insisted. "I didn't say I could do my homework whenever I want."
"Don't lie to me," I said. “Are you telling me your dad is lying?”
"No," he said smugly, “I said I could do my homework whenever I LIKE.”
Ain’t kids cute?
“You know that’s not true" I said. "You're supposed to do your homework as soon as you get home. Did you tell your dad you could do it whenever you want?”
“No.” he insisted. "I didn't say I could do my homework whenever I want."
"Don't lie to me," I said. “Are you telling me your dad is lying?”
"No," he said smugly, “I said I could do my homework whenever I LIKE.”
Ain’t kids cute?
10.11.2010
Pee and Biscuits
Poor Kit is still a problem bed wetter at 9. I wanted to deal with it as soon as he moved in but there were too many other crisis fires to put out. The challenge was getting him to wake up and go to the toilet. He just can’t hold on the whole night. We started a wake up plan last spring but getting up twice a night was grueling on his ability to stay focused at school. So we canned the plan until the summer vacation.
The first couple of weeks of summer were trial and error trying to figure out when and how often it happened. He was a great sport getting up and going to the can a couple of times a night. But it was hit or miss and we couldn’t find a pattern. After school started again, I saw that the weekends were better than the weekdays and it occurred to me that the gap between supper and bedtime was significant. I had a plan!
After school the next day I told Kit that I had a new idea for solving the whole thing.
“We could have milk and cookies when you get me up?” he suggested hopefully.
I have to admit that made me laugh a lot. “No. No milk and cookies. We’re going to start having supper every day at 5 instead of 6 to give you at least 3 hours between eating and bed.”
“Can we have milk and cookies, too?” he asked.
I was about to say no and then thought ‘What the hell. Why not have a treat.”
So we’ve been eating an hour earlier for the past 2 weeks, getting up only once no matter how small the pee, and having a half cookie or spoon of ice cream.
Miraculously, it’s worked. We haven’t had an accident (cross your fingers) since. The longer gap really has worked. Now all we need is for him to start waking himself up to go to the toilet once each night.
Ironically, I think the cookie will solve that. He wakes up for the treat, not the warm, wet patch spreading through the sheets.
Go figure.
The first couple of weeks of summer were trial and error trying to figure out when and how often it happened. He was a great sport getting up and going to the can a couple of times a night. But it was hit or miss and we couldn’t find a pattern. After school started again, I saw that the weekends were better than the weekdays and it occurred to me that the gap between supper and bedtime was significant. I had a plan!
After school the next day I told Kit that I had a new idea for solving the whole thing.
“We could have milk and cookies when you get me up?” he suggested hopefully.
I have to admit that made me laugh a lot. “No. No milk and cookies. We’re going to start having supper every day at 5 instead of 6 to give you at least 3 hours between eating and bed.”
“Can we have milk and cookies, too?” he asked.
I was about to say no and then thought ‘What the hell. Why not have a treat.”
So we’ve been eating an hour earlier for the past 2 weeks, getting up only once no matter how small the pee, and having a half cookie or spoon of ice cream.
Miraculously, it’s worked. We haven’t had an accident (cross your fingers) since. The longer gap really has worked. Now all we need is for him to start waking himself up to go to the toilet once each night.
Ironically, I think the cookie will solve that. He wakes up for the treat, not the warm, wet patch spreading through the sheets.
Go figure.
10.10.2010
Moving Forward
I think today was a breakthrough day. The boys visit their mother every other week at her parents’ house not far from here. The simplest way to describe the relationship with her is that the court only allows her daytime supervised visits. Doc is young and gets along with her without a lot of baggage. Tio is older and has a different natural mother so his relationship with Debbie is mixed at best. Kit on the other hand is very attached to her. Problematically so, which I’ll get into at another time.
On their visit today, Tio called up for an early ride home because Debbie told him to leave. I guess he was giving her some serious sass and she said she didn’t want to see him anymore. In fact, she told both he and Kit to stay away from now on, that she would only take Doc on her visits.
I figured there was going to be hell to pay when I picked them up. Kit and Doc would be really upset that they had to go home early. Kit especially. Being so close to her he would be angry and frightened that she said she didn’t want to see him anymore, no matter whether she meant it or not.
To my surprise, everyone came home in a good mood. They were fine with leaving early and having supper at home, hanging out with us and leaving their mom to stew in her own juices. The tension there must have been thick and anxieties high but the relief of coming home to us seemed to release all that into the air.
It’s a real sign that they feel this is their real home and are comfortable here because it is their safe place to be.
On their visit today, Tio called up for an early ride home because Debbie told him to leave. I guess he was giving her some serious sass and she said she didn’t want to see him anymore. In fact, she told both he and Kit to stay away from now on, that she would only take Doc on her visits.
I figured there was going to be hell to pay when I picked them up. Kit and Doc would be really upset that they had to go home early. Kit especially. Being so close to her he would be angry and frightened that she said she didn’t want to see him anymore, no matter whether she meant it or not.
To my surprise, everyone came home in a good mood. They were fine with leaving early and having supper at home, hanging out with us and leaving their mom to stew in her own juices. The tension there must have been thick and anxieties high but the relief of coming home to us seemed to release all that into the air.
It’s a real sign that they feel this is their real home and are comfortable here because it is their safe place to be.
10.09.2010
Stories To Pass Down For Generations
Tio stayed up really late with me one night watching movies while I did some work in my shop. Finally, around 1:am I figured he should get to bed. We snuck quietly upstairs so as not to wake anyone. He slipped into the bathroom and came right back out. “There’s one for the family album,” he said. “Dad’s fast asleep on the crapper.”
10.08.2010
Put Your Own Oxygen Mask On Before Helping Others With Theirs...
We’re having the last late summer picnic at the park. Tio is at football practice down the field and the other 2 are filling their bellies with mac and cheese while they get into as much trouble as I’ll let ’em. We’ve been doing this all summer. I do some writing while they play with friends. Watching the boys playing with others, learning to get along and share, I think about how different a child I was from them and how that effects my abilities as a grampy-parent.
I was a very quiet kid, silent even. I rode the school bus for 3 hours a day and never said a word to anyone the whole 7 years. I spent my study and lunch hour reading and my pool of friends was tiny and special. I made the obese boys look good at sports and I daydreamed my way through academics. Buddy, on the other hand was a hyperactive monster. He got into trouble at every turn and made our lives a mystery from dawn until he finally fell asleep kicking and screaming. The intervening years helped me find my quiet self again but now the noise and haste has returned to our world and I’m finding it more of a challenge than I expected. Buddy’s kids are collectively easier than he was, but age, experience and circumstance have put me in a different place.
I’m a bit compulsive obsessive. Tish might differ on the term ‘a bit’, like being ‘a bit’ pregnant’, but the upshot is a thing gets into my head and I work it until I get it right. Whether it’s a story I’m writing, a political project, or issue in my marriage, I work it over until it’s finished or resolved. For the past couple of years I’ve been trying to slow down and learn to stop thinking and planning things to death. In retrospect it’s caused me a lifetime of anxiety, fruitless worry, and no peace.
Taking charge of these boys has taken that option off the table again and I find myself cycling their needs around and round my head like a double Farris wheel gone wild. Who’s got what homework, how are they getting along/progressing at school, how to resolve today’s issue/disagreement, maintaining social skills and keeping on top of diet, bedtimes, bedwetting, laundry, cooking, and social interactions with their friends and family. Don’t misunderstand, I love it. Each day presents a fascinating new behavioral challenge, a connection between us or them and their environment. But it’s exhausting. Nothing goes as planned. Teaching children is not math, and the mess, noise and constant attention they need calls on all the patience, good nature and judgement I can muster. I have to admit it has me stressed out and I have to learn all over how to cope with living with small children in the house.
Buddy, isn’t aware of all the nuance of what the kids need. As a hyperactive adult he copes with his world differently. He takes each day as it comes and can’t deal with long term goals or challenges. Tish started raising kids when she was a teenager because her mother dumped two baby brothers in her lap. This is third time around for her and she’d rather not jump completely into the deep end of the pool this time. Can’t blame her for that. So, while she and Buddy do a big share I’m the one dealing with the minutia of the boys’ world.
I love them all and enjoy the challenge, the complexity, and their company. But I need to learn where the edges are and how to live within them. As a parent I went full out and took it all as it came with Buddy and his sister. It’ll kill me if I do that this time around. So, I’m breaking out in a rash, losing sleep, or sleeping all day, and trying to figure out when to say no. We’re looking down the track at the next 12 years together. That’s from kindergarten right through high school times three. It isn’t going to get easier and adolescence is just over the rise. So if I want to see them all graduate from anywhere but the funny farm, I better find peace of mind in this world.
For a quiet kid who only sought his own counsel and succeeded in spite of himself, that may be a bigger challenge than bringing up the boys.
I was a very quiet kid, silent even. I rode the school bus for 3 hours a day and never said a word to anyone the whole 7 years. I spent my study and lunch hour reading and my pool of friends was tiny and special. I made the obese boys look good at sports and I daydreamed my way through academics. Buddy, on the other hand was a hyperactive monster. He got into trouble at every turn and made our lives a mystery from dawn until he finally fell asleep kicking and screaming. The intervening years helped me find my quiet self again but now the noise and haste has returned to our world and I’m finding it more of a challenge than I expected. Buddy’s kids are collectively easier than he was, but age, experience and circumstance have put me in a different place.
I’m a bit compulsive obsessive. Tish might differ on the term ‘a bit’, like being ‘a bit’ pregnant’, but the upshot is a thing gets into my head and I work it until I get it right. Whether it’s a story I’m writing, a political project, or issue in my marriage, I work it over until it’s finished or resolved. For the past couple of years I’ve been trying to slow down and learn to stop thinking and planning things to death. In retrospect it’s caused me a lifetime of anxiety, fruitless worry, and no peace.
Taking charge of these boys has taken that option off the table again and I find myself cycling their needs around and round my head like a double Farris wheel gone wild. Who’s got what homework, how are they getting along/progressing at school, how to resolve today’s issue/disagreement, maintaining social skills and keeping on top of diet, bedtimes, bedwetting, laundry, cooking, and social interactions with their friends and family. Don’t misunderstand, I love it. Each day presents a fascinating new behavioral challenge, a connection between us or them and their environment. But it’s exhausting. Nothing goes as planned. Teaching children is not math, and the mess, noise and constant attention they need calls on all the patience, good nature and judgement I can muster. I have to admit it has me stressed out and I have to learn all over how to cope with living with small children in the house.
Buddy, isn’t aware of all the nuance of what the kids need. As a hyperactive adult he copes with his world differently. He takes each day as it comes and can’t deal with long term goals or challenges. Tish started raising kids when she was a teenager because her mother dumped two baby brothers in her lap. This is third time around for her and she’d rather not jump completely into the deep end of the pool this time. Can’t blame her for that. So, while she and Buddy do a big share I’m the one dealing with the minutia of the boys’ world.
I love them all and enjoy the challenge, the complexity, and their company. But I need to learn where the edges are and how to live within them. As a parent I went full out and took it all as it came with Buddy and his sister. It’ll kill me if I do that this time around. So, I’m breaking out in a rash, losing sleep, or sleeping all day, and trying to figure out when to say no. We’re looking down the track at the next 12 years together. That’s from kindergarten right through high school times three. It isn’t going to get easier and adolescence is just over the rise. So if I want to see them all graduate from anywhere but the funny farm, I better find peace of mind in this world.
For a quiet kid who only sought his own counsel and succeeded in spite of himself, that may be a bigger challenge than bringing up the boys.
10.07.2010
An Unspoken Epidemic
I’m not much of a talker with other parents or into support groups. For better or worse, I keep my own counsel, talk with family and sort things out for myself. This blog is the first time I’ve been ‘real’ in my writing because I really prefer fiction.
So, I was at the elementary school the other day with a group of parents all sitting in dolls house furniture that was never built for a bad back, and as will happen in awkward silences amongst adults, someone opened their mouth. A mom asked one of the others about her kid. Big mistake. Huge. Turns out the woman was one of us - a G-mom. She laid it on about her sad sack son and his bad choice in girlfriends and all the troubles they’d been through, including jail time which is more common than you might think, that landed poor G-mom with an unhappy hyperactive bundle of joy that she was now registering in school. By the time she was done the only dry eye in the place was mine because I’ve been hearing stories like this over and over for months now. Her grandson came back from his interview, they got up to leave and she said “Good talking to you. I guess I can skip my support group this week.”
Man, does our society need to take a good look in the mirror. If we don’t do something about this epidemic we are headed for big trouble.
Now I guess I don’t need to go to my support group meeting this week, either. :>p
So, I was at the elementary school the other day with a group of parents all sitting in dolls house furniture that was never built for a bad back, and as will happen in awkward silences amongst adults, someone opened their mouth. A mom asked one of the others about her kid. Big mistake. Huge. Turns out the woman was one of us - a G-mom. She laid it on about her sad sack son and his bad choice in girlfriends and all the troubles they’d been through, including jail time which is more common than you might think, that landed poor G-mom with an unhappy hyperactive bundle of joy that she was now registering in school. By the time she was done the only dry eye in the place was mine because I’ve been hearing stories like this over and over for months now. Her grandson came back from his interview, they got up to leave and she said “Good talking to you. I guess I can skip my support group this week.”
Man, does our society need to take a good look in the mirror. If we don’t do something about this epidemic we are headed for big trouble.
Now I guess I don’t need to go to my support group meeting this week, either. :>p
10.06.2010
Kids & Dogs. Gotta Love 'em
Buddy gets home from work late so he makes his own supper after the kids are in bed and the place is quiet. Last night I was working in my shop and I heard Doc crying. He has chronic earaches so I got him some medicine and sat with him while he calmed down and went back to sleep. Next thing I know, some serious swearing comes wafting through the wall and Buddy storms up the stairs in a temper. Seems he’d left his supper in front of the TV in his room and one of the dogs ate it all right down to the dipping sauce. So he was slamming doors and tromping up and down gunning for me. Bunnie is my dog so maybe he thought I told her to do it. He couldn’t find me in the usual places so he woke up his mom asking where I was, startled Doc, and headed back down to the scene of the crime.
On his last stomp down the stairs I met him at the boys bedroom door with a finger to my lips so he’d shut up. He starts into it and I said Doc was hurting and couldn’t sleep so I was in there calming him down, which I manage to do despite the tornado going through the house. That took the steam out of his shorts. He mangled his words behind his teeth and stormed off.
I slipped back into my workshop and laughed. Hey, if I have to wipe up after his kids all day long, I guess he’s going to have to take some sass from our dogs.
On his last stomp down the stairs I met him at the boys bedroom door with a finger to my lips so he’d shut up. He starts into it and I said Doc was hurting and couldn’t sleep so I was in there calming him down, which I manage to do despite the tornado going through the house. That took the steam out of his shorts. He mangled his words behind his teeth and stormed off.
I slipped back into my workshop and laughed. Hey, if I have to wipe up after his kids all day long, I guess he’s going to have to take some sass from our dogs.
10.05.2010
Finding An Oasis Amidst the Chaos
The boys love to hang out with me and I love that, too. At the same time, because we all live together now, it’s been hard to set boundaries and get a bit of space to myself. Whenever they come home, or come upstairs when I’m in the livingroom, they zap onto me like flies on sticky paper, like I’m the only heat in a cold world and they best cram up close or freeze to death. They read my emails over my shoulder, tap on the keyboard, spill my coffee, crush up next to me and argue with each other over who gets which side. Sometimes, I just need a break, a couple of minutes to have some coffee, wake up on a Saturday morning and read the news, look out the window and say hi to my wife. But I feel bad when I have to tell them to back off. They ask why and promise to be quiet and all the things I know they can’t possibly do for more than a minute. If I insist, they look hurt like a puppy who bumps his head and waddles around licking his nose.
Speaking of which...when the kids aren’t around and I sit on the sofa for a coffee, guess who gloms onto me like flies on a rib roast? Bunnie, Maddie and Gulliver, the 3 younger dogs. They bound over looking for attention like they were abandoned and haven’t seen me for years, jumping, licking and pawing for a piece of the old man while I spill coffee, elbow them back and yell at them to settle down.
Now, if I could just get Tish to do that....
Speaking of which...when the kids aren’t around and I sit on the sofa for a coffee, guess who gloms onto me like flies on a rib roast? Bunnie, Maddie and Gulliver, the 3 younger dogs. They bound over looking for attention like they were abandoned and haven’t seen me for years, jumping, licking and pawing for a piece of the old man while I spill coffee, elbow them back and yell at them to settle down.
Now, if I could just get Tish to do that....
10.04.2010
Realigning Life to Match Reality
You get used to doing the groceries for a larger family. You do that anyway. Cleaning house? Same deal, just more so. Yelling and screaming around the house? I’m working on that one. But the one that still catches me in the jaw is the piss. Kit still wets the bed, Doc is in diapers. And our ancient dog, Zoe, is incontinent around the house. Nothing like a late midlife moment where you’re realigning your career, assessing retirement options not too far down the road, wondering about the accomplishments you still want to reach before you get much older, and you’re standing over the crapper with a handful of poop from a grateful 5 year old who never learned to wipe his bum.
Puts the new perspective right front and center. First accomplishment: save sanity by getting children a bit more independant.
Puts the new perspective right front and center. First accomplishment: save sanity by getting children a bit more independant.
10.03.2010
Who Needs A Retirement Plan When You Have Kids To Keep You Company?
I bet most of you have seen the grandparent raising phenomenon without even noticing. We’re the tapped out poops chained behind a cart at supermarket, barely able to see over the thing it’s so loaded down with pampers, Cap’n Crap and drink box snacks. Admit it, you’ve all seen us. Social Security grandma’s back to working 5 jobs just for the privilege of raising their empty headed kid’s offspring. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is. We just didn’t know that meant lifelong indenture.
They Say Change Is Good
I’m not going to give you any backstory - you’ll pick it up as we go along. All you need know is my son got custody of his children, they moved in with us and it looks like they’re here to stay. We know they’re staying because we renovated our cellar into a 3 bedroom apartment. Who’s bright ass idea was that? Well, mine. See, they really didn’t have a choice, what with expenses so high and money so tight. So we’re one big (happy) extended family. The youngest, Doc, he’s 5, Kitten is 9, and the oldest, Tio, is 12. Actually, the oldest boy in the group is their dad, Buddy. He’s 33 going on 15, if you know what I mean. That makes 5 boys in the house and 1 woman, my wife, Tish. I asked her what she wanted to make that right. She didn’t hesitate. “My own bathroom.”
Welcome to Grampy’s Little Acre.
Welcome to Grampy’s Little Acre.
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