Mother in Training

A journal of thoughts, experiences, trials and joys of being a ceoMom

about 11 hours ago

Independence Day

So, I spend a lot of time and money on piano lessons. I'm always feeling guilty Sarah isn't listening to her Suzuki violin CD enough (at all.) I'm involved in six different dance car pools. Right now I'm studying which summer camps fit our schedule (and our bank account.) But sometimes I wonder--am I losing sight of the target? These extra curricular activities are great, but if they can't sew on a button or boil eggs, does it really matter if they can tap dance and sight read piano music? I admit I want them be (to borrow a phrase from Pride and Prejudice) "accomplished young ladies," but I also want them to be independent and capable adults. Tap dancing is great, but a girl (and a family) has got to eat.

All is not lost though. Maybe because I am so busy with the "accomplished young ladies," Anna is having plently of opportunities to be independent. The other day I was distracted while the oven buzzer was beeping. Anna managed the situation and pulled the tray of cookies out of the oven all by herself. I know, totally scary, but look at her with those hot pads on. I was sort of dumbfounded.

This morning I found her cutting wrapping paper. She was trying to wrap her friend Laila's birthday present.

Last night we took the girls swimming. Anna arrived downstairs with a suit on under her jeans and t-shirt. On the way to the pool she cried, "Oh no! I forgot to pack underwear!" I really liked how she saw this as her fault (and not mine.) But really this independence is my fault. If I weren't torn in fifteen directions, she might not have a chance to take charge.

So I've decided I need to let all my girls have the more chances to take charge. This means there are some things I need to STOP doing. I'm starting with my role as the rooster. I am not proud of this, but it is my habit to take my phone with me when I early morning exercise. About half way through the work out, I call Lauren with her wake up call. Sort of like she is living in a hotel, only I call several times until she answers. Even a hotel wouldn't do that.

Well, no more. On Sunday I announced that I was quitting my rooster job. The girls--especially Lauren--looked a little nervous. I have to admit I was too. It was so tempting to call and check on her this morning. Instead I showed up just in time to kiss her goodbye. To my relief, she was ready. Her hair was a little wild (the alarm clock didn't go off) but she was out the door when the car pool came. Independence lesson for the day: check.

It seems a little backwards, but I'm learning that maybe loving your child means doing less and less for them. Making less meals, doing less laundry, and giving them less money can all be the secret to actually giving them more. Just because they're "accomplished" doesn't mean they can't also balance a budget, plan a week's worth of meals, and hand wash a silk blouse (like I have to do tonight.)

Happy independence day.

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9 days ago

A New Member of the Family

A new member of the family arrived for breakfast this morning. I watched Anna pour her cereal in a pink bowl (her favorite color.) And then I watched her pour another bowl of cereal in a blue bowl. (I know. Kind of interesting that she gets her own breakfast.) Next she carefully placed the blue bowl at the empty place beside her and started to eat. She looked up at me and explained, matter of factly, "This one's for Percy."

Percy?

While I did her hair she told me that Percy didn't like scary books. She read him one in the library this morning and he put his head on her shoulder and cried.

When I was emptying the dishwasher, Anna announced that she was going to go play Barbies with Percy. After a few minutes she returned and asked if she and Percy could have a drink. I handed a cup to her and a cup to Percy. "Mom," she said a little frustrated with me, "he's over here." I quickly moved the cup to the other side of the counter.

Sarah used to have an imaginary friend too. His name was Abee (sp?). He was very kind and very funny, but never showed up at the breakfast table. When Sarah turned four, she informed us that Abee was coming to her birthday party. We were all excited to finally meet him--but unfortunately, as she explained to us later, "He had to go out of town."

Soooo--this is kind of exciting to have Percy right here in the kitchen. Anna left me in charge of Percy while she's in preschool. In fact, he's here right now. Helping me write this post. Or wait, maybe I'm sitting on him. Good thing Anna will be home in an hour. She'll get it all straightened out.

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ceoMom 649, Letitia — 7 days ago

This is so cute! So many families have a "Percy". My friend Yvette's car was named Percy by her 4yr old. Aidan's 2nd favourite engine (Thomas the tank engine & friends) is Percy. He's green and happy and could easily be the younger brother in any family. My Godson also has a "friend" called Percy. Long live Percy! You're obviously happy and jovial and cordial and friendly and a companion to our children ... Thank You!

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16 days ago

At Least

Tonight I went to a middle eastern cooking demo. There are some new families in our neighborhood that are refugees from Iraq. While we were waiting for the soup to cook, they told us a little bit about their journey to our part of the world.

Nada was getting lasik surgery when a terrorist bomb blast destroyed her home. Her daughters were safe in school, but her husband was killed. Her daughter couldn't tell her what had happened because the doctor said that tears so soon after the sugery would blind her.

Fustab, her husband, and her two sons were kidnapped by a militia group for speaking out about women having to wear veils. When we asked her what else you could get arrested for, she said, "Anything. Even buying the wrong vegetables." After they killed her husband in front of her and her sons, Fustab and one of her sons escaped and eventually made it here. They now live just down the road from us.

Rose did most of the talking. She is 17 and speaks the best English. She said the hardest thing about American high school is the people. "One day they say hi to me and the next they act like they don't know me." I wished I could be her best friend.

It's hard for me to understand exactly what is going on in Iraq. To be honest, I haven't tried much. I spend most of my time in a mommy bubble. Listening to their stories about pulled my heart out (and popped the bubble for a little while too.) While I was eating my soup, I thought about of a lot of "at leasts" in my life. At least my family is together. At least we feel safe at night. At least I am not in danger of being arrested if I buy the wrong vegetables. "At least" equals a lot that I don't often think about.

When I left, I thanked these women. I loved them for sharing their soup and their story with us. Sometimes a place can seem so far away that it is almost pretend. But tonight Iraq became a real place--a place with real mothers who work hard, cook meals and love their children.

1 comment

ceoMom 101, Jennifer — 12 days ago

Wow! That is heart-wrenching, but it's what we all need to hear. There are so many terribly bad things going on in the world and closing our eyes doesn't make them go away. If we are conscious of others, we can be a part of the solution (like making soup together). Now if only we could somehow teach American teenagers humanity...

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24 days ago

Perfectly Seven

When one child is struggling (say, in junior high school for example)—it’s hard to think about anything else. This week, however, I was reminded of the sweetness of being seven. Particularly Sarah at age seven. Yesterday when I picked up her up from school, she jumped in the car with big news.

"Preston got crutches!" I searched my memory to remember who Preston is. Preston . . . Preston . . . "He was jumping on the couch with his brother and it got caught in a cushion," she couldn't tell me fast enough. "Now his ankle is sprained!"

"Wow! That's so sad for him." I paused respectfully. "But how was your day?"

"It was fine. Preston was really late for school."

"Did you figure out about your Valentine box?"

"Yeah, we're going to make them tomorrow." Next breath, "Preston didn't go anywhere all day. Not even to recess. Everyone wanted to help him . . ."

And that, my friends, was the drama for the day. We talked about it the rest of the way home. And then we re-lived it once more for Scott at dinner.

No gossip. No one feeling left out in the lunchroom. Just Preston and his crutches. I remember when Elise was seven. She came home in tears because the school janitor was retiring. About the time Lauren was seven, “Jillian Brinton got glasses!”

So sweet. So seven.

And so the kind of drama I like.

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about 1 month ago

Little Things

I've been carefully following my cousin's blog this week. Her baby drowned in the bath tub last Saturday. (I'm so sorry. I know it is hard to read a sentence like that.) He is on life support in a children's hospital right now. She is blogging about her experiences so honestly--I can read myself into every line. She was every mother doing what every mother does. Now she is a mother doing what no mother should have to do. Because of that, I've had a hard time thinking of something to write about this week. Anything I have to say seems trivial.

So what I will share in this blog post is that I have spent the week with a heightened (intensified, electric) appreciation for my girls. They are healthy. They can walk. They can talk. They look at me and know who I am.

And while there is suffering, our lives keep moving forward . . .

Lauren made up with her friend. There was even an "I'm sorry" said. (I'm learning how quickly junior high waters can change.)

Elise practiced her piano recital piece so many times this week that is it almost ready for the school Valentine talent show. She plays it about every ten minutes.

Sarah has earned five stickers on her job chart towards a date with Mom or Dad. I hope she picks me. It's been awhile since I went to Fat Cat's.

Anna went skiing for her first time. Scott kept telling her to make a "pizza" with her skiis. She looked at him funny and said, "Do you mean an 'A'?"

Little stuff. But not really. Reading Sara's posts, I've been reminded that these little things are really the big ones. It's not trivial to say that each day is a miracle.

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