Do We Take Our Children too Many Places?

Sitting around with a group of friends last night at bookclub, we began talking about how often we take our kids to the museum center, the zoo, and parks all around town. Nearly everyone had memberships to several kid-oirented places. We agreed that part of the rushing and running was because we didn't always want to be in the house with kids, but it did make me question the sanity of the excessive trips. Would any outings seem special if they got to do them all the time?
Do we take our children too many places? I thought of my own childhood where I can remember specifically the times we went to a waterpark (the Wally-World experience with Aunt Mary, how could I ever forget it), or to a park for a company picnic or post-season team celebration. I remember standing in line at the World of Wheels carshow to get the autograph of Chachee from Happy Days. But what I mostly remember about my childhood is riding my bike to the library, spending hours reading, playing outside with neighbors or siblings, and making up our own games (like "let's throw our flip flops onto the roof of school 61").
So I'm not sure where this constant urge to never let my children have a dull moment comes from. I think like many parents in today's culture, I just want my kids to have a fun childhood. In the midst of so much pain and turmoil in the world, I want to create this environment where their lives are untouched by suffering, maybe even the suffering of boredom. Yet, I think it's those moments of simple, childhood wondering and thinking, that our kids might be missing the most. It's not like my children are constantly asking me to take them places, it's my impulse to entertain; I want them to remember going to cool places, and getting to pet iguanas, climb rock walls, and explore nature.
But maybe none of these events will stand out for them because there were so many parks and places too often. Somebody's probably written a book about this already.
I do wonder, though, if that World of Wheels show is still around. Maybe I should take my kids....

Signs of Spring

The past 5 days have been amazingly warm, and all around us are signs that the world is coming back to life. The forsythia is blooming its wild, golden beauty all over the hedges and streetsides of our neighborhood; the daffodils are nodding their yellow heads, and the trees are bursting with green buds getting ready to share their glory. The kids found their first large, prickly wooly worm and promptly trapped him in an old salsa jar. When he was looking a little lifeless after a few hours, I suggested we transplant him back to the yard. "Yeah, Julia said, "I really don't think he likes that leftover salsa smell."

The kids have grown too much over the winter, and their long pale legs look overgrown in last summer's shorts. Already we've had bike wrecks, and big wheel mishaps, to welcome the arrival of "summer knees." Everyone needs new sandals and haircuts (the yard needs a haircut too!)-we look as though we've been hibernating for the past 3 months, and it feels like we have. With sadness, we said goodbye to the hundred year old maple tree in our yard that barely survived last winter, and didn't make it through this one. Our house looks exposed somehow without that giant protection of the massive limbs. Unfortunately, we worried about one of those limbs taking out a car or our living room, so the tree had to go. We're left with a massive pile of mulch and enough fire wood for the next three winters. Every kid in the neighborhood has been over to dig in the mulch and climb the huge log piles.

Still, I'm glad it's spring with all of its changes, new insights, and new stages. It's a time of renewal. Ian's been learning about flowers ("I saw some blupines," he yelled the other day), and especially gets excited when he finds a patch of buttercups. As we were walking into my office building a few days ago, he saw a handful of bright yellow daffodils. "Look", he shouted, "this place has grown up buttercups!"

Do Overs

When my siblings and I were kids we devised a complex series of rules for most of the backyard games we played. First base was the tree stump, home plate was the rose bush, you got an automatic double if the ball went over the neighbor’s fence, and you got an unlimited number of foul balls. A serious screw-up like missing the kickball completely with your foot during the pitch would usually result in someone calling out, “do-over!” meaning you got a second chance with no penalty. What was great about the do-over is that you got to pretend like what just happened could be erased with the possibility of a much improved second attempt.

I can’t tell you how many times with parenting that I wish similar rules applied. After an afternoon of feeling crazy frustrated about the constant bickering among my children and my waning patience for their steady demands, I wish I could holler out, “do-over” and erase the mean-spirited responses I’d given them throughout the day (what part of “no you can’t have a candy cane for breakfast” is confusing?”). After my half-assed attempts at seeming interested in the umpteenth living room demolishing game of “Fort-Building” when I really want to read my book on the couch, I would shout “do-over.” Wouldn’t it be great if we could rewind entire days and spend a Saturday in our pajamas instead of hustling around from one swim lesson to another library program? Wouldn’t we use our best parenting skills if we could do-over our reaction to a tired, cranky child at bedtime? Sometimes (when I’m particularly weepy) I want to do-over entire years, like the first years of their lives when I just refused to be a different person although I really knew that motherhood had changed me a great deal, mostly for the better.

But there are no do-overs in life, just great big learning curves that we look back on with twenty-twenty vision. All we can really do is be mindful; mindful of our thoughts and actions, mindful of our children’s feelings and needs, and mindful that we are painfully human. We often need reminded that it’s important to balance our own needs (adequate sleep, date nights, reading that book on the couch) so we can be our best selves. Yet guilt seems to be the hallmark of our generation of mothers; we never feel like we’re doing enough, but when we’ve had enough, we feel terrible about it. I don’t remember my mother or my friends’ mothers ever seeming particularly sad or remorseful about how they parented; they just did what they had to do with few apologies. They eventually learned, as we are learning that there are no do-overs in motherhood. Sometimes we strike out; sometimes we hit a home run, and most of the time our children know we’re doing our best. Perhaps that’s the beauty of hindsight.

T.G.I.F.

What a week! I'm so glad that it's Friday. We have been through dinner table tantrums over serving Indian food, a major wreck on the big wheel, a morning spent volunteering with preschoolers, a corporate spelling bee, the Friday morning meltdown, and the homework packet from hell for my first grader.

I don't know about you, and of course I vaguely remember 1st grade, but does anyone else recall being asked to name how many vertices do each of these shapes have? Does anyone know what a "vertices" is? My husband and I had to look up the word. It is the plural of vertex which is bad enough, but in layman's terms (not first graders) it means, "corners." As if identifying wasn't bad enough, she was then asked to draw several shapes containing more than 4 vertices (I challenge you to draw one). Let's just say, things got ugly. At nine 0'clock, after 3 hours of homework (granted, she is supposed to do a little each day over a week's time), I finally cried, "uncle," and insisted she go to bed. What is up with first grade? I'm of two minds about this homework deal. One the one hand, I might have passed Geometry if I had this kind of primary school preparation, but on the other hand, I don't really want her to get a complex about not being able to read or interpret the instructions for her first grade homework! As my mom is fond of saying, "they're making kids too smart these days", like there is some kind of mad-scientist curriculum dude plotting to take over the world by filling the brains of preschool kids with words like "nocturnal" and "vertices."

I'm just sad that the two glorious days of sunshine we this week are gone like the wind, and we back to this Marchy Madness weather. I wanted to have a Friday morning meltdown of my own this morning when I rushed out into the (now dark) morning into 30 degree weather. Thank Goodness for Friday and for green beer tomorrow. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Autonomy

What I want more than anything right now for my children is a sense of autonomy-a self-confidence that says, "I can do it." What I'm getting a lot of these days is, "I need help," "I can't," "You do it." I'm not talking about buckling the seat belt or putting the toothpaste on the brush (well, okay, I am talking about that too), but something larger, something that starts now in childhood where I have to do some letting go, and accepting that things will be far less than mediocre much of the time. I have come to realize that one of the hardest things about parenting is that I'm not ultimately responsible for every outcome in my child's life-good or bad. It is incredibly difficult not to rush in and solve problems, like the big homework project when a child has made poor choices about how they've spent their time, or when a child is obviously putting his shirt on backwards or the shoes on the wrong feet. We don't want children to ever have a rough spot in childhood these days, even if it means they are gaining a sense of independence.
I hear many conversations at the University where I teach that involve faculty and staff talking about "helicopter parents." I've been shocked to hear about parents who call their young adult student's professors to explain absences or register for their classes or ask to speak to their advisors. They were so afraid their kid would screw something up that they were still, with children 18 and over, making sure that didn't happen. And it occured to me that it doesn't start in college; it starts with allowing the first grader to take responsibility for homework that isn't complete or for encouraging a 3rd grader to ask for directions in the hall rather than walking him to his classroom everyday. It starts with feeding them what the rest of the family is eating, and reminding them that they're not going to like every meal in life. Autonomy is not to be confused with letting the child make all their own choices (no, bedtime is not an option), but it is about encouraging children to be responsible, to learn from mistakes, to take ownership of their ability to dress themselves, feed themselves, trust their instincts, and be self sufficient individuals. And ironically, this begins with the simple acts of brushing their teeth, washing their hair, dressing themselves. And no, they may not reach all the molers, rinse out the conditioner, or even pick out matching socks, but allowing them to do these things sends them the message that they are growing, they are learning, and they are capable.

Fake Food

If you’ve spent much time in a grocery store lately, it may occur to you that no one seems to eat real food anymore. Aside from the ever-narrowing display cases of fresh produce, meat, and seafood, there are endless rows of prepared foods in the frozen, dairy, and even more mysteriously, the non-refrigerated sections of the grocery store.

New items appear daily to tempt us into joining the dark side- the slippery slope if you will, of heat and eat. I must admit, I do desire, though am conflicted about, the fully prepared rice dishes and enchiladas at Trader Joe’s. I ask myself, “how hard is it to make some rice and add a few veggies and spices?” Oh, but the wrapping is so lovely (and the thought of dinner in minutes).

But I digress…back to the fake food. The following is a list of items that have made their way into my household mostly by way of my indiscriminate husband who does the bulk of our grocery shopping, and takes on these foods like a new lover. Often I find them in the refrigerator or lining our basement storage shelves staring at me from their over-packaging:

Mandarin oranges (can we really call this fruit?)

Gogurt (I believe this is a liquid form of cotton candy-I think Cotton Candy is actually one of the flavors)

Shrek cereal (giant size Shrek heads made out of marshmallow-need I say more?)

Easy mac (was regular mac all that hard?)

French toast sticks

Frozen Skyline chili

Frozen guacamole (????)

Mandarin oranges suspended in orange jello

Bob Evans egg and biscuits (he didn’t even have a coupon!)

Fully cooked bacon (this is grounds for divorce)

I can’t believe my husband and I exist in the same universe sometimes, let alone raise two small children together. But seriously, these are among the mildest of examples of the levels people will stoop to avoid cooking or preparing food altogether. I have seen, though thank God, my husband hasn’t purchased, fully prepared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Are there people that lazy? I wonder if this is so kids can just feed themselves. Even so, most three year olds can spread some peanut butter and jelly between two pieces of bread.

Maybe there needs to be an organization started to save real food-to prevent the fall of civilization-a La Leche league of real food advocates. How long until someone thinks it’s a good idea, maybe when we use up all the land that used to be fields for growing food, to create some fake version of apples or spinach or other raw foods. My fear is that we’ll we walk around years from now saying, remember oranges, remember peeling an orange, and our kids will look at us like we said, remember eight tracks.