Tag: the boy

Categories
Family

Rush Jobs

For all of our efforts early on with the boy and homework, they’ve paid off in the respect that he’s diligent about getting his homework done. We rarely, if ever, have to remind him to work on it and he typically has it done well ahead of the required completion date. This is likely more to do with the Wife’s side of the family, as I was more of a last-minute kind-a-guy growing up. But, it’s difference I have no qualms about.

One might expect an “All’s well that end’s well” sort of finish here. Unfortunately, we fall a little short of the mark there. More recently, it’s become apparent that the boy has actually created a competition with several other students in his class to be the first to turn in completed homework. I pretty sure this isn’t a formalized sort of competition; rather, it exists in the boy’s mind.

His emphasis on being first has revealed a tendency towards sloppy work completion. Writing is loaded with punctuation, grammatical and spelling errors. Simple math mistakes are made. In some cases, it’s apparent he didn’t take the time to understand what certain reading comprehension questions were asking.

I suppose all of this might be more tolerable if he accepted our criticisms of his homework and simply made the corrections. But it’s not that simple. First, he has to express his frustration at having so many mistakes pointed out to him. Then, he has to feel sorry for himself because “everything he does is wrong.” If we’re lucky, he fixes things and moves on. If not, we get an extended dose of drama of and he starts to get snippy with the Wife or I. Things don’t end well for him at that point.

So the Wife and I have started trying to retrain his brain about homework. As stated, we don’t mind his desire to be first but we’re trying to teach him to take the time to get things right the first time. As I stated to him at one point “Being first and wrong is worse than being last and right.” (Puts me right up there with Confucius I’d say.) We’ve also pointed out all the extra work he creates for himself when he has to redo so much of it.

Also troubling are the continued fits he throws at the Wife or I when we commit the grave sin of pointing out his mistakes, also known as helping him. If I had a nickel for every time we’ve talked about that tendency, well, I wouldn’t need any nickels.

All part and parcel of growing up I suppose. I’ve long since given up on the notion that raising a kid, or two, is a smooth glide from the hospital to their first job. Anymore, I expect the hiccups to manifest themselves, although it does occasionally surprise where those hiccups crop up. This is his first year with real homework. I’m sure things will improve from here.

Categories
Family

Credit When It’s Due

The lass’ birthday is upcoming, thus this past weekend served as a her big celebration.

Saturday she had a party with friends at local pottery store. Don’t roll your eyes- by all accounts it was well done. She had a small group of friends and they all got to paint pieces of pottery. There was an instructor who showed them what they needed to know and the Wife provided the cake and other party favors while her friends provided some gifts. Towards the end, the instructor even demonstrated how to make vases and bowls using a pottery wheel. He wowed the girls, and the Moms, by effortlessly transforming a lump of clay into various vases and bowls.

Yesterday was family day as her Grandparents and Aunt spent the afternoon and she got the dinner of her choice, which was pasta. She got a few more gifts and then watched How to Train Your Dragon. Twice- because Memere didn’t see it the first time it showed.

Through it all, the boy was present. Through it all, the boy sat patiently and quietly by and didn’t try to interfere with his sister’s temporary spotlight. He played games with her and didn’t pick fights with her or, at least, much fewer than usual. He was, in short, the sort of brother most parents would like their son to be on a sibling’s birthday. Conversely, as many parents, I think, will tell you, he was the sort of sibling they don’t get.

So tonight, When I said my “Goodnights” to him, I made sure to let him know he’d done well. Seeing as I’m alway sure to tell him when he isn’t, it was the proper thing to do.

Categories
Family

Drama

I was bringing the boy to school from an orthodontist appointment. He had braces when he was young because his adult teeth came in so early. The braces were removed awhile ago, but the orthodontist (is there a short version of that? “Ortho” sounds like weed killer…) has him come back every 3 months to make sure the adjustment is holding. So far, it has.

About 5 minutes from the school, he sniffled. Again. He’s been doing it constantly for the past couple of days. Earlier, while waiting at the orthodontist’s, he’d asked me what he could do to unclog his nose. Since it was still single digits outside, I suggested going outside and breathing in the cold air for a few minutes. Hey, it’s worked for me in the past.

He’d come back in and said it didn’t work. When I asked him if he’d taken deep slow breaths in through his nose, he replied “OOOOOOOOOH…” Apparently, he’d been breathing through his mouth. So he went back out, then came back in. Still didn’t work. Oh well, I’m not a doctor.

But here, in the car, after this sniffle he let out a long exasperated sigh and whined “Why do I always get this stuffy nose for 2 months?”

First, he doesn’t always get a stuffy nose. Seconds, it’s been 2 days, maybe. Third, what’s with the random precision of “2 months”? Why not something more general like “for so long”? It was remarkable the amount of emotion his nose had unleashed.

I corrected his exaggerations, which he grudgingly admitted to. Regarding the “2 months” thing, he retorted “Either way, it’s been too long.”

The lass got up a bit late this morning as is her wont. When she got downstairs, she huffed around and grunted a bit and offered no civilized courtesies like “Good morning.”

Then she sat down to put on her shoes.

Words would fail to truly capture the spectacle. Well, no- that’s not entirely true. I just can’t remember the steady torrent of frustration that she verbalized as she struggled with her “stupid shoes.”

Too listen to her, one could be totally convinced that her shoes were sentient beings with the sole purpose of thwarting her every attempt to get them on properly. Every time she pulled them on, something was wrong- a sock was messed up, it didn’t feel right, the shoe’s tongue got bound up. Her frustration level grew as the minutes passed and the shoes continued to frustrate her. By the end, she was screaming at the top of her lungs at her stupid shoes.

The dogs had retreated to the far corners of the house. The Wife looked on with bemused astonishment. I drank coffee, then counted the minutes to 8 o’clock- far too many.

When finally she succeeded, breakfast became her next challenge. She’s never sure what to have in th mornings because “It’s always the same thing.” Never mind that this circumstance has as much to do with her own finickiness as it does with the fact that there are only so many things that can be prepared in a timely manner for breakfast. She finally settled on syrup with waffles, which she’d had yesterday.

Upon returning home from dropping off the boy, the house was quiet. The dogs made a brief fuss upon my entry, but quickly settled down as I went about a few chores this morning. I took care of a little laundry. Then, I finished tidying up the kitchen. I restocked the wood by the fireplace in an attempt to keep the house warm- it’s remarkable how difficult single digit temps can make that task.

When I was done, I walked over to the couch, sat down and picked up my Nook and started perusing through the news and other goings on via the web. I let out a deep breath, relaxed and thought “That wasn’t so bad.”

Categories
Family

The Difference a Few Years Can Make

I don’t know if I was a typical new-parent when the boy was small. I tend to think I was, but mostly I just know that I’ve learned a lot in those years about parenting.

As least, I think I have.

I was one of those that, initially, saw every little thing the boy did, or didn’t do, as a predictor of what he would grow up to be. No matter how small or seemingly insignificant, there was always a way to rationalize it into something important about the person he’d become. The way he walked, the toys he played with, the words he used, how much he whined or didn’t, which food he ate, what his favorite color was, whatever. I recall that I wasn’t sleeping much either at the time, so that might have had something to do with it.

Sometime, I’d talk to my parents about it and the conversation would go something like this:

Me: Hey, he just ate a bug. What’s that mean?

Mom: OH. MY. GOD. Do you know how many bugs you ate at that age? If I had a nickel for every bug…

Or if I talked to my Dad:

Me: Hey, he just ate a bug. What’s going to happen?

Dad: A bug, huh? What kind was it?

Me: I don’t know, small, black. Why?

Dad: Hmm. You didn’t eat anything like that that I can recall, so I can’t really help you in this case. Let me check with your Mother first…

By the time the lass came along and started doing all the same things the boy had done, I realized I didn’t have to be so paranoid about every little thing either of them did, or didn’t do. It was a major relief for everyone.

I thought of that today when the boy fell asleep on the way to his martial arts class. The car has always had that effect on him. Early on, I figured he’d grow out of it. Of course, for longer rides it was a blessing. For shorter rides, it drove me nuts because I was worried he’d wake up grumpy after such a short sleep. So I wouldn’t let him sleep, I’d keep waking him or distracting him. But he would be so tired and the car’s effects were so great that he’d be doing the bob-and-weave only seconds later.

The dojang is only a 20 minute ride away and he fell asleep at about the midpoint of the ride. I hadn’t even noticed it when it happened. I didn’t bother waking him. Didn’t even consider it. And I felt more than a bit foolish for all those times I had chosen otherwise.

He woke up like magic when we arrived at the dojang. Literally, the car ignition went off and his eyes opened, like they’re connected somehow. No grumpiness, and no problems going to his class.

After we’d arrived home and he’d eaten, he asked me “Did I fall asleep in the car today?”

I was confused initially- how could he not remember? So I answered “You mean on the way to karate? Yeah, you fell asleep. About halfway there I think.”

“Guess the car still does that to me,” he said kind of sheepishly. Then he added “But it’s no big deal, right?”

“Yep,” I replied nonchalantly. “No big deal at all.”

Categories
Family

Passing the Tongs

One thing the Wife and I both are proud of regarding the kids is their level of self-sufficiency, particularly where food is concerned. It’s not like they’re outside killing and cooking squirrels for snacks or anything, although the boy does have a bow and arrow. But they prepare their own lunches for school, prepare their own breakfasts and not infrequently help with dinners.

Tonight, the Wife decided on steaks for dinner, so I decided to let the boy do the bulk of the steak cooking. Grilling is one culinary area where the Wife has little to no interest in learning. Thus, I do all of the grilling so it was a simple matter to pull the boy in on the project.

A fortunate aspect of grilling steaks is it’s quick. From the time the grill comes up to temp, it takes maybe 10 minutes depending on how thick the steaks are. Thus, attention span is almost a non-issue- he does have to wait for the steaks to cook on each side.

I only had to give him a couple pointers regarding using the tongs. He wanted to hold them close to the grabbing end; kind of defeats the purpose of having the long tongs. Once he figured that out, and I realized that I had to hold the plate low enough for him to easily grab the meat off the plate, he was in good shape. We passed the time tossing snowballs for a bit then he flipped the steaks. I explained the basic idea for cooking steaks: getting the grill as hot as possible then cooking each side for a few minutes so that the steak is cooked but still tender in the middle.

Not to be outdone, the lass learned how to cook “mushroom rice.” This is a particularly tasty version of rice that uses beef consumme and butter along with sliced mushrooms when cooking the rice. It’s very tasty and one of the lass’ favorites. It’s also pretty easy for her to help with since it basically consists of dumping everything into a bowl. While she was at it, she also took care of setting the table.

When all was said and done, the Wife and I had a nice meal more or less prepared by the kids. Pretty good stuff. They aren’t ready to take over just yet, but they’re a step closer than they were.

Categories
Family

Persistence and Patience

When I was a wee lad, probably about the boy’s age come to think of it, I would get writing assignments. I remember enjoying writing even then. I don’t think I had any particular gift for it or anything, but I read a fair amount and I also tried to write and I… just enjoyed it. I remember once sitting and starting to copy a book of animal fables. I don’t really recall the reason. Perhaps I was thinking that I really was writing in that delusional way kids look at the world. What else was I going to do, play with a DS?

My Mom was an English teacher, as fate allowed. So when I got my writing assignments from school and brought them home, I always had a writing hurdle to overcome. Mom would mercilessly cut through the words on the paper. “This isn’t a sentence. This is misspelled. This is OK, but confusing. You’ve written the same thing 5 different ways in one paragraph. There’s no structure. What were you supposed to be writing here?” By the time she got done with my initial cut, the page would look more like a wiring diagram or a blue print, anything but the alleged text I initially put down. It’s what she’s not an editor here on the blog…

Naturally, being an immature know-it-all, I took it well and cried.

By the time I was done fixing all the mistakes she’d pointed out I never felt like the paper was mine. I felt like it was hers. This was, of course, a crock on my part. She never told me what to write. She just guided me in the art of writing something that was minimally readable. But at the time, I recall the frustration of having my work ripped up like that. Looking back, I’m certain there was a personal aspect to it as well. When effort is put into something, it can be hard to accept criticism without taking it personally. All those lines and circles and comments make you feel stupid. They aren’t just lines on a paper, they’re lines on you and how you think and how you express yourself.

Like I said, immature.

I thought of all this today when the Wife was describing how she helped the boy through another writing assignment. It was the classic “What Did I Do on my Christmas Vacation” assignment. It’s due in a couple of days and before I headed out for a little sparring training tonight, I told the boy, as nonchalantly as I could lest I wake the insecurity beast within, he should organize his thoughts on paper; then write a rough draft that his Mom or I could read through and help him with; then write his final paper.

When I got home, to my astonishment, he’d written a page-and-a-half of text about his Christmas vacation. I read through it quickly and immediately picked out a number of misspellings, some capitalization issues, some punctuation issues and a couple of sentence fragments. That might sound like a lot, but it didn’t require any real structural changes or major rewrites. To his credit, it was well organized and readable and pretty close to a finished product, with few corrections I mentioned.

The boy was (quelle suprise!) upset that I’d picked out all those mistakes. Particularly with the spelling errors. We decided he could finish the corrections tomorrow night. After he’d gone to bed, the Wife described how she’d worked with him to get the almost-finished-product I’d read: eliminating the run-on sentences and the “And then we…” phrases, helping him decided what stuff to put in the paper, helping him organize it. She showed me the marked up first draft.

Somewhere around then, I realized the importance of quiet persistence. His reaction to my comments was emotional, as were mine those many years ago. But Mom’s persistence paid off and I internalized many of those lessons. It wasn’t something that occurred in one lesson, it was the cumulative act of writing, then breaking down what I’d written and forcing myself to think about what I wanted to say and how I wanted to tell it over many years that got me to the point where I could sit down and structure a paper or essay. Reading didn’t hurt either.

Similarly, the boy won’t all of a sudden have a light switch come on and start churning out prose like Nora Roberts. Rather, it will be the steady drip-drip-drip of forcing him to confront what he’s done and improve upon it.

Patience. Persistence.

Categories
Misc

Snow on the Brain

I made a mistake.

On Friday evening, I told the boy it was supposed to snow the next day, which now is yesterday- Saturday. Not only did I tell him but I foolishly parroted more or less the exact forecast down to the start time and amounts. I may as well have told him that a second Christmas had been scheduled.

He spent the rest of that evening double checking that it was still going to snow. It was as if he’d decided that he needed to maintain vigilance on the matter, lest the foretold events not come to pass. He double checked the snowfall amounts, the start time, the end time. He was particularly fascinated by the end time, confirming on multiple occasions that the snow would end Sunday morning at 7, rather than Saturday morning at 7 (even though the start time wasn’t supposed to be until Saturday morning at 11).

When he woke up on yesterday, he wanted to look at a weather map and ensure that it was still supposed to snow. Perhaps he was concerned that his 10 hour slumber had allowed the probability fields to shift such that no snow was coming, or not as much, or- worst of all- that it would fall as rain.

It finally started in the mid-afternoon hours. I happened to look out and the first sporadic flakes were falling. Big, fluffy cotton balls from the sky that disintegrated on contact with the ground. I pointed outside and made a face like the people from Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Both kids laughed, but then the boy rushed to look at the thermometer, wanting to make sure it would not turn to rain.

The start of the snow was the end of the worrying. The boy was noticeably more relaxed as the snowfall proceeded through the afternoon. His vigilance and wishing was paying off. It was now only a question of “How much?” not “Will it?” But the “How much?” question is more pleasant to fret over. It’s like momentum- once getting things moving, they tend to want to stay that way. Now that the snow was falling and the hard part was over.

By the time they went to bed, there was about 6 inches on the ground. The boy had been monitoring the situation and was keenly aware the amount now exceeded the prediction I’d given him the day before. Even better- the snow continued to fall without any sign of letting up. He went to bed easily, dreaming of snowmen, snowballs and sledding.

Here’s what he awoke to:

All pictures courtesy of the Wife and her Canon EOS60D.

Categories
Family

A Merry Christmas Day

Christmas day was a pleasant affair this year. Not that that’s unusual, but it just stuck me this year more than other years. Though, it didn’t start that way.

Our adventure started the night before, at bedtime on Christmas Eve. They were excited and we’d already opened presents to from one another and to one another. All that was left to wait on the Big Guy. The lass had no trouble drifting off like it was any other night.

The boy was an altogether different story.

His excitement was such that he couldn’t fall asleep like he normally does. Once out of that comfort zone, he started to worry. And once he started worrying, well, he couldn’t stop. It was around 9:30 or so that I noticed he was quietly weeping in his bed. When I asked him what was wrong, he simply whimpered that he couldn’t fall asleep.

When he get likes that, it really becomes a matter for the Wife to deal with. I don’t have much time for weeping over these sort of things and I was likely to not be all that understanding. Getting harsh with him on Christmas Eve didn’t seem like a sporting thing to do, so I went downstairs and apprised the Wife of the situation. She went up to try and help him out.

When she came down, she dropped the bad news: he was worried that because he couldn’t fall asleep Santa wouldn’t come because Santa can’t come until after they’ve fallen asleep. So he was going to ruin Christmas. It was a vicious circle because the longer he went without sleeping, the more upset he got because he became more convinced he wouldn’t fall asleep. Rinse. Repeat. Weep.

Time ticked away. The boy remained awake. The Wife and I both assumed he would eventually collapse from shear exhaustion. But the longer it took, the more it seemed like it would take. We knew it would be an early morning; thus, neither of us had planned on a late night. But it was getting late. As the night wore on, we were both extra vigilant for the sound of footsteps, since the boy particularly will on occasion just pop downstairs when he’s having trouble sleeping. He’d already called down from the top of the stairs earlier to inform us he couldn’t sleep. All we needed was for him to waltz down the steps already upset.

Finally, around 11:15, I turned off our Pandora. We’d had it playing all day and allowed it to continue after we’d put the kids to bed because we wanted some sound cover for our setup activities downstairs. We heard the boy get up and go to the bathroom and then go back to bed. We waited longer and finally decided enough was enough. We both finally headed to bed around 11:45. There was no noise coming from his room, so we assumed he was safely asleep.

I was up briefly at 4 to deal with the fire. I was as discreet as possible, since I didn’t want the kids coming down; my plan was to get some wood on the fire and go back to bed. It worked.

We first heard them head down around 5. The Wife said both of them poked their heads in our room shortly thereafter. We’d told them both not to wake us and not to open any presents until we were all downstairs. The Wife and I both tried to get some more sleep, but they were both loud enough to make getting back to sleep impossible. The Wife gave in first. I followed a short time after around 6AM.

The present opening festivities were well done this year. In past years, it’s been an explosion of paper and gifts, with extended cleanup efforts afterwards. This year, they set about their business like seasoned veterans- they’d done it before and wanted to prolong the experience. They took turns opening gifts, working together to pull things our from under the tree. They were civil, they were excited. It was fun actually. The Wife and I downed a couple of cups of coffee while they did their thing.

The remainder of the day was spent with them exploring their various gifts. The Wife’s parents arrived around 11 and her Aunt arrived in the early evening. Despite his late night and early rise, the boy made it through the entire day without a nap. That was more than could be said for his Grandparents. And me. The lass also managed to negotiate the entire day without any naps. We watched a few movies and had an early dinner. The guests headed out shortly after the kids went to bed.

When the dust settled, the Wife and I sat down and enjoyed a quiet rest-of-the-evening. The boy had no trouble falling asleep Christmas night. Christmas had come and gone, nothing to worry about anymore. We had no trouble falling asleep either. A Merry Christmas for all.

Hope yours was a Merry Christmas as well.

Categories
Family

Final Letters to Santa

Both kids are in bed now. They’ve setup Santa with a nice spread of cookies and also supplied 9 mini carrots for his reindeer. They’ve also put a big bowl of water out on the deck for them as well.

The lass has 3 letters for Santa. The first:

Dear Santa,

Sparky has bin eating to much JUNK food
he ate a candy cane and skittles and a Tootsie Roll and a cookie.
Santa give Sparky a apple.

From: the lass

The second:

Dear Santa

We are going to store Sparky gift upstairs.

Sparky I hope you like your gift

To: Santa

From: the lass

And third:

Dear Santa Clause,

Thank you for the present that you are gave me.

Frim: the lass

The boy wrote one final letter:

Dear Santa Clause,

Thank you for all of the presents they are all really nice. I think you and your elves are the best toy makers.

Tell Sparky I will really miss him.

Sincerely, the boy

As always, spelling and punctuation (or lack thereof) are preserved from the source material. The lass’ final letter also has a drawing of Santa and his sleigh along with 1 reindeer. She also drew a separate picture of Santa flying through the night in his sleigh, complete with stars and a big sack of presents on the back of his sleigh.

Categories
Family

A Close Call

I went out to the car this morning with the boy in toe. The lass was lagging behind a bit, as is her wont. I opted for the smaller car, which is my wont for the trek into school in the mornings with the kids. It’s patched up from the fender bender of a week ago, though it still bears the scratches from where I hit the guard rail.

I eased down into the seat because plopping won’t work for me. Really, the car is too small for me, but it gets good gas mileage so I make it work. Friends who have seen me drive it laugh because typically, I become invisible in the car. I have to tilt the seat back with the result that my head is obscured by the middle upright between the front and rear doors. Thus, it looks like the car is driving itself.

When I finished settling in, the boy was already in beside me and the lass was finally on her way. I stuck the key in the ignition and fired her up.

I always drive with the radio on. Lately, the kids have been disappointed that I don’t listen to Christmas music on the radio. The Wife has a Pandora station that she plays almost every day in the house, so I don’t exactly miss it for the 15 minutes I’m in the car in the mornings. Also, there’s a Boston radio station I enjoy listening to.

Usually.

This morning, the first thing that comes over the radio is one of the on-air personalities bleating out an excessively sarcastic “Wait a minute, you mean there really isn’t a Santa Claus?”

At which point I calmly, but quickly, punched the button to turn off the radio. The boy was futzing with his seat belt at that moment and the lass was just arriving at the car. Clearly, of the two, the boy was the one to be concerned with. Although, I was also concerned they might ask why I didn’t have the radio on since I always drive with the radio on.

If he did hear the line, the boy gave no indication whatsoever. Further, neither he nor his sister asked why I didn’t have the radio on. To avoid drawing their attention to it’s silence, I left it off for the entirety of the ride in, the whole 5 minutes worth. Plus, at that point, who knows what else they were going to blurt out.

All in all, my assumption is the boy didn’t hear the line. He’s not the sort who would have let that pass without asking a question like “Why did he say that?” or “What did he mean…?” I’m certain the lass didn’t hear anything, she wasn’t close enough at the time.

The Wife was rolling her eyes and shaking her head after I related the incident to her. She thinks that the boy is going to start figuring it out; he has at least 1 friend who already knows its a hoax, but I’m guessing his parents have explained that he’s not to say anything. I’m not so sure he’s ready to piece it together though. He wants to believe, and he isn’t asking any of the sorts of questions that indicate to me he’s thinking more critically about it.

Fortunately, this morning’s near miss hasn’t changed that.

Categories
Family

The Path Less Taken

After yesterday, a common refrain has been “be sure to give your kids an extra hug.” Well, I’ve been giving mine an extra yell.

The first one was directed at the lass last night. We were getting ready for dinner and I needed someone to get some milk from our small fridge in the basement. So I called both kids over and told them to play a game of Rock, Scissors, Paper. The boy won (paper covers rock, if you’re curious) so I turned to the lass and told her to go downstairs and get the milk.

Well, the boy and the Wife were amused as they realized the little ruse I’d pulled. It’s always an argument about who goes downstairs to retrieve the milk or vegetables. I tried to end-run that whole thing and I thought I’d done a decent job of it.

The lass, however, was not amused. Not. In. The. Slightest. She immediately started whining, all the way downstairs. She came back upstairs and she was all but openly weeping and crying.

It was so egregious and, given yesterday’s events, I simply could not abide it. I called her out, telling her she was being ridiculous, that her behavior was way over the top and she’d better knock it off. I almost threatened her with the ol’ “I’ll give you something to cry about” but I refrained. At that point, she didn’t know about the massacre in Newtown, and I didn’t want to say anything specific. But I finished with something to the effect, “There are people out there with much bigger problems than yours right now.”

By the time I was done, she was also basically done. She huffed a bit, but the over acting had ceased. I cooled off while eating my dinner.

The second event happened this morning and involved both of them. They were getting ready for hockey, and the lass once again started in with dickering and whining about not being able to find socks or having problems with her tape, or whatever as she prepared for practice.

The Wife had given them a heads up almost an hour ahead of time, yet here we were, at the last minute and still not ready. And what’s worse, the attitude was starting to flow.

Once again, I let her have it. I finished with a promise that she’d be done with hockey if I had to go through this again. The boy asked if the same went for him and I wheeled on him and told him notice had been served. The antics over hockey and getting prepared for practice were done, or their participation in hockey would be done. Period.

I try to exercise patience as often as possible. My own thinking is repeatedly blowing my stack will simply desensitize them to it. But yesterday’s events put a certain perspective on things- thinking about those families in Newtown whose Christmas is ruined, likely for the rest of their lives. The stuff these guys are going through are trivial by comparison. I know I shouldn’t be taking that out on on them, especially since they’re not aware of what happened. But perspective is needed and, for the moment, I’m not of a mind to humor these sorts of antics.

Categories
Family

Maturity

The difference a year can make, or six months anyway.

I’ve noted on a number of occasions that the boy hated hockey at the end of last year. It was due in part to a burgeoning, somewhat unfriendly, rivalry with another player and also to the fact that his skill development stagnated a bit; though, I doubt the boy would admit as much.

At this point, and it’s still early days for hockey, the boy has been enjoying the experience much more. Most interesting about this state of affairs is that the rivalry that had developed last year has continued thus far. The boy shared with me that the other kid is still taking shots at him whenever he can, knocking him down or tripping him with his stick.

The boy’s plan for dealing with the kid? Nothing. “It’s not worth it,” he told me.

He’ll occasionally retaliate by tripping him when he knows the coaches aren’t looking, but by and large he expects it now and has prepared himself. He tries extra hard not to go down, or he sees the kid coming and skates away from him. One thing I’ve noticed about the boy’s skating is that it’s improved tremendously, he’s very maneuverable, able to make sharp turns at speed, and quite fast on the ice. My guess is he can out skate the other kid. He’s also the other kid’s equal in terms of size, so he’s not intimidated by him. The fact that he takes his shots when he deems it possible speaks to that as well.

What strikes me as most promising is that he isn’t letting these circumstances cloud his playing experience this year. In yesterday’s game, he took it upon himself to help his team by playing defense and they ended up winning easily. Having not actually seen the game, I can’t say for sure about the cause and effect, but that he was willing to take responsibility for an aspect of his team’s performance was a pleasant surprise. Contrast that with last year, where he spent most of his time simply skating around the ice, seemingly uninterested in the game going on around him.

With the games worked into the schedule now, the opportunities for confrontations will diminish and that should help him even more. If he continues having success, then we’ll be well on our way to a much different ending to this year’s hockey season than last year.

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Family

PTC’s

Half-days of school the past couple of days. The school is going through its period of parent-teacher conferences. We met with both the kids’ teachers today right after lunch.

The lass is doing well. The most amusing moment was an anecdote the teacher related where the lass got a “True or False” question wrong, but the way the question was worded the lass was insisting she got it right. The teacher explained she was wrong, but the lass was having none of it. We see this behavior in her and the boy as well. They can become very obstinate when they’re wrong about something, insisting over and over they are, in fact, right because of some narrow definition they concoct in their little heads. It’s… annoying because they’ll suck you down to their level in a heartbeat, complete with little chants and sticking out the tongue. Hey- I’ve got to win the argument somehow.

The boy, too, is doing well. Like the lass before him, his teacher has picked up on a tick of his where his work is concerned: he does it too fast. Her words were something to the effect “It’s like he has to be the first one done.” Obviously, here at home, he’s got no one to compete with. But he does tend to rush his work and make sloppy mistakes. The vast majority of corrections the Wife and I have him make are the variety that would be either be caught quick or not happen at all if he took a little more care, particularly where writing is concerned. Here again, his teacher concurred.

But in all, good news by and large. Certainly good enough for Santa to keep them on the “Nice” list.

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Family

Empathize

With the lass in the final stages of recovering from her cold, I took the boy into school this morning by his lonesome. Well, other than me that is. It’s not like he can drive himself. Shudder.

He was quiet for the first half of the 5 minute ride in, then he piped up with “Will my sister get to see the Rise of the Guardians movie when I go, even though she didn’t read the book?”

This circumstance is one of those headaches of our own making. We try to give the kids incentives to read and one of the better ones we’ve found is to make a deal with them for reading a book and then seeing the movie. Then we can talk about the differences between the two and see which he liked better and why. All that fun parenting stuff.

The catch to this little piece of ingenuity is the difference between 3rd grade reading and 1st grade reading abilities. In a nutshell, it’s tough to expect the lass to read an 80 or 90 page kids book right now. Actually, “tough” is incorrect. She’s just not there yet.

Thus, we have a sort of free-rider problem: the boy does the work and then his sister reaps the benefits along with him.

His comment sounds a lot like feeling sorry for himself, of which I have never, and never will, approved. Rather than push back against his viewpoint; however, I opted for empathy: “Yeah, I can understand your frustration. You did the work and read the book, but in all likelihood your sister will see the movie even though she hasn’t read the book. Of course, she can’t read the book yet, but still I see what you’re saying.”

He thought for a second and then asked “When she can read better, will she have to read books before she can see the movie?”

“Of course,” I replied. “You know, as you get older, you’ll get to read much more interesting stories. Reading is actually a lot of fun- you can learn things while being entertained. It exercises your imagination and gives you something constructive to do. Wait ’til you can read The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings stories. You’ll really like those, but you’re still too young to be able to get through them.”

“Yeah,” he replied, seemingly unimpressed. But regarding his original topic, the approach mollified him. Normally, he would get more and more wound up about the “injustice” of the situation with his sister, but not this time. Perhaps it was enough to explain I understood his objections, even though it wouldn’t change the situation. Rather than attacking him for feeling sorry for himself and putting himself on the defensive, the different tact served to defuse his frustrations.

I’m not sure if this represents maturity on his part, or mine.

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Family

‘Tis the Season

Well, by way of updating the boy’s status, in all likelihood the second round of headaches he had were related to a head cold he came down with. Even better, the lass also came down with something. Yesterday, both of them were running mild fevers and were just generally lethargic and miserable.

But then thy boy seemed to start coming around come dinner time and this morning he continued his improvement. The lass is still a bit feverish, we’re hoping a good night’s sleep will fix her up.

The lass participated in hockey yesterday, but not the boy. Neither participated in hockey today, although I took the boy out for archery practice this morning since he seemed to generally be on the upswing. He enjoyed it.

Anyway, that’s the situation here for the moment. Seems like all of their friends have been coming up sick lately, it was just their turn when the wheel came around this time.

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The Boy is Concussed

Well, to be clear that’s not a doctor’s opinion; however, the evidence is pretty heavily in favor of that diagnosis. During his hockey practice on Wednesday, he collided with another player, hitting face-mask to face-mask in the process. He says that his head started hurting after that. When he came off the ice, he came right over to me and told me he had a headache. He complained it hurt more after we took the helmet off, though I attribute that to the adrenaline from practice running out.

We went home, he took a shower and went right to bed, but he didn’t sleep well. He got up a several points during the night to complain to me about his head and his room being hot. The fan helped him a bit with the room, but I told him there wasn’t much we could do about his head. We kept him out of school yesterday since his head was worse by the morning.

By midday, his head was feeling better and he said there was no more headache at that point. As bed time approached, however, he said it was starting to bother him again. He went to bed at the normal time and slept well, waking with no headache this morning. We sent him to school today.

The headache came back around midday today, as the school nurse called to let us know. The plan was to let him rest a bit and get him a little lunch and some drink and see how he did. We didn’t hear anything more today until he arrived home. He got off the bus and complained that his head was hurting again. He said it never really stopped but he didn’t want to go back to the nurse so he just stayed in class and took it easy during recess and some other things.

Somewhat compounding the problem is that he might be catching a cold. His colds are often times accompanied with headaches. The Wife and I are figuring to keep him out of hockey this weekend to be on the safe side and possibly ask his martial art instructors to give him a pass in sparring next week. He’s a bit young to chance getting multiple concussions.

I’ll note that the initial symptoms after hockey and such as he described are pretty similar to my own experience from being concussed, including the headache that peaked about 12 hours later. Fortunately, the helmet kept his experience from being on a par with my own. Unfortunately, it didn’t prevent it entirely- that’s disappointing.

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Family

Goodbye to an Old Friend

When the boy was still an infant, one of the Wife’s friends crocheted a blanket for him. It’s a small blanket, though at the time it was big enough for him to be covered up by it. But it wasn’t quite big enough to swaddle him in.

It became his favorite blanket, despite a number of other potential candidates including a couple his Grandmother had made (those were big enough to swaddle him in). Blankets with Sesame Street characters and Super Heroes on them all fell be the wayside to this simple, light green blanket.

Now, this wasn’t a “Linus” blanket. He didn’t carry it with him everywhere he went. Though when he was younger, if he was found napping, “Green”, as he came to call it, was often clutched in one of his hands. He would bring it along for long trips and, as he got a older, it was his goto companion when he went to sleep.

When the boy turned 5, I argued with the Wife that we should remove the blanket from him. It was, in my view, the equivalent of a pacifier and I felt he was getting too old to be dependent on something like that. She countered that he really only slept with it, that it basically stayed on his bed and we should let him out grow it on his own. I grumbled something to the effect of how long would we wait for him to give it up? Until he’s 10? or 13? It wasn’t going to be easy either way. I lost that argument and the boy kept his blanket with him. I kept my feelings to myself for the most part. The Wife knew, but I never mentioned anything to the boy.

Then, this week, he decided to put it in a drawer in his dresser. When I put him to bed last night, he asked me “Do you see anything that’s missing, Dad? I’ll give you a hint, it starts with ‘G’.” He then showed me how he’d neatly folded it up and placed it in a drawer in the dresser I’d made him. It was a drawer that he used for other keepsakes as well.

Curious, I asked him what had prompted the change. The boy shrugged his shoulders and said he “didn’t want to be a baby anymore.” He further elaborated that it was a little embarrassing when he had friends over and the blanket was still there. He figured he was old enough that it was time to put it away.

Despite my own feelings about the blanket, which admittedly had only intensified as he’s gotten older, I winced a bit internally when he mentioned how the blanket embarrassed him. It was a long fall from grace for something that had held such high status for so long. But sometimes, that’s the way of it.

He gave the blanket a final look before closing the drawer. Then, he climbed into bed. I noticed that his hand made a strange motion, as if clutching for something it expected to be there. The boy looked at me and grinned sheepishly, his expression asking me a question that most kids ask their parents at one point or another: Did I do the right thing?

I said “Goodnight” to him, then gave him a hug and kiss. My final thought before I turned out the light was “It’s just a blanket.”

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Family

I Don’t Love a Parade

One of the local towns had a parade this weekend to kickoff the Christmas season. Cheerily titled “The Holiday Dazzle Light Parade” I’ve dutifully watched it from the sidelines for the past several years. I say “dutifully” because of all the things I’d like to be doing, parade watching it way down there on the list. Actually, it might not even be on the list.

But that’s just me.

The Wife has a much different view of parades, as do both of the kids putting my firmly in the minority on the matter. Thus, each year I do my duty.

Being the Cub Master for our Cub Scout Pack, I got a different view of the parade this year. I marched in it along side the boy. Or, I should say, with the boy. He was handing out candy initially and, when he exhausted his supply, he rode on the float that a couple of Moms in the Pack put together for the occasion.

The different view was an improvement over the prior one, since, give the choice, I’d rather be doing something and walking the parade route, monitoring kids definitely counts as something.

But it also gave me a chance to realize something that I think every parent knows, but finds it difficult to put into practice. We want to expose kids to different experiences. But those experiences are often filtered through the ones that we, the parents as people, prefer thereby denying a lot of different opportunities or experiences to our kids. Given a choice between a parade and, say, a day of woodworking, for me, there is no choice. Give me the wood and saw any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

I think it’s largely natural for us (parents) to do this. Our most stretched resource is time and given a choice most of us would rather spend it doing something we enjoy that we can share with our kids. Thus, family traditions are propagated down through the generations. Also, I’ve found that as a parent there kind of a “stride” that we hit or a rhythm to our life where we rotate through a set of activities that are all similar but different. Striking out and doing something really different just doesn’t come to mind.

It’s easy to forget that, even though they’re our kids, they are not us. While they’ll likely enjoy the stuff we choose to do with them, there’s little reasons to suspect that they won’t enjoy other things that we might never think to do, like participate in a parade. The boy had a blast doing it and I suspect he’ll want to do it again next year.

And that will be fine. Even with admitting I had some fun this year, I still don’t particularly care for parades; but that doesn’t mean the boy has to.

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From the Desk of Santa Claus

Dear Boy and Lass-

I just wanted to send you a short letter to let you know that Sparky is getting very excited to see you again. All the Scout elves are trying to get lots of rest because they will soon be making nightly flights back to the North Pole.

I have received your Christmas Wish List letters. My elves have built a lot of great toys this year. I bet we may have something you would really like. Be good … and keep sharing with each other and listening to your Mommy and Daddy. Doing chores around the house would be a big help to them too.

Sparky will be visiting you very soon!

Love, Santa

This letter was waiting in our Christmas tree this morning. Full letterhead and everything on a golden, sort-of-sparkly paper. Sure looks official to me.

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Family

Eavesdroppers

If there’s one thing that drives me crazy about the kids, it’s eavesdropping. That’s not to say it’s the only thing. There’s plenty there to test my sanity. It’s just that their listening in on conversations between the Wife and I makes for some difficulties.

It’s one of the downsides of being around the kids constantly and, honestly, is partially our fault as well. We aren’t as picky about the subject matter of some of our conversations as we probably should be. The catch is that the conversations can’t always wait until they are in bed or for them not to be around.

These are “forbidden fruit” type conversations as far as the kids are concerned. Or, if not quite that level, they certainly pique the kids’ curiosity. I suppose Mom and Dad conversations are just inherently more interesting to them.

The problem is that often times, the Wife and I are either privy to background information they aren’t or the subject matter is something they can’t easily grasp. There are occasional times, like when we’re all in the car together, where it’s really none of their business even though there’s inherently no problem with the hearing it.

For instance, we might be discussing options about an upcoming purchase or trip. They’ll pick up on just enough that they’ll want to know more and they’ll start peppering us with questions. It’s annoying because they’re jumping into our own talk, they missed the first half and now want us to bring them up to speed on all the bullet points, and they don’t really need to know most of the info anyway. Besides, it’s not like the Wife and I have someone taking meeting minutes.

Our reactions vary anywhere from obliging them to fully-communicated annoyance. In this, we are our own worst enemies. If we always reacted with annoyance, they’d likely quickly learn to not bother us. But then, not every conversation is privileged. If we always shut them down, we’d miss out on opportunities to help them learn reasoning skills and decision making.

Which leaves us with our current hodge podge system. As it stands, sometimes it pays off for them to ask “What did you mean Dad when you said ‘pool’?” or some such. In that case, I’d just as soon they not jump to conclusions about anything. But then I have no one to blame but myself for opening my big mouth around curious ears.

Unfortunately, this is one child-annoyance that isn’t going to change anytime soon.