After years of debate, a decision

We've finally reached a decision, one that's been years in the making. Mark and I have chosen to keep Gus back a year and have him do 4K rather than kindergarten in the fall.

All along, several factors had tipped the scale in favor of holding back our youngest. With a birthday of Aug. 18, he's just two weeks shy of the age cutoff for kindergarten. We knew that boys with late-summer birthdays often benefit from an extra year to mature. Then there's the biggest one: he's Gus - bursting with energy.

Still, making this decision hasn't been easy for us. Gus is incredibly bright in some areas, while he lags in others. He knows all the uppercase and lowercase letters cold and is doing a lot of pre-reading. His writing and fine motor skills do not match those of his peers, however. To make matters more complicated, looming large for Mark and me is the regret we still feel for not having Ben tested to enter kindergarten early. Doing so may have saved us the difficult choice to have him skip second grade. Doubt plagued us. What if Gus turned out to be another Ben?

However, our conference with Gus's preschool teacher on Tuesday night cemented it for us. She was in agreement with our thinking, pointing out that it may well be pretty difficult for Gus to sit still all day in kindergarten next fall. She reassured us that she'd held back her own son and daughter, who have summer birthdays, and both she and her children were happy with that choice.

The world of education has changed significantly since I began elementary school. What is 4K now was my kindergarten. Kindergarten standards have become much more rigorous. We don't want to send Gus into something for which he's not prepared, and neither do we want to saddle a teacher with a boy who's just not quite ready to be there.

As parents, we can never be 100 percent sure we're making the right decisions for our kids. When it was Ben's time, we made a good-faith choice that turned out to be the wrong one. In the end, though, Ben has managed to thrive and maybe even build some character.

Each of my kids is different from the next. Since we can't predict the future, we'll proceed, as always, with great hope that we're doing what's best.

I don't want to leave them to their own devices

I was listening to a radio program a few weeks ago that featured director Judd Apatow and his new movie, This is 40. I haven't yet seen the movie, but a clip that played on the program resonated with me. The mother and father are pleading with their tween daughter to find something to do that doesn't involve a screen. The mother implores the daughter to play outside, says something like, "When I was your age, we would just go outside and play with sticks." The daughter, of course, dismisses this with an eye roll and pithy comment.

The issue of screen time is one that dogs me continually. It's not so much managing the amount that bothers me. We allot a certain time each day, though I did feel a flash of shame when a mom next to me at yoga class was detailing how she allows her children no screen time during the week and 40 minutes per day on the weekend. You're a better woman than I, sister.

No, what concerns me is how much my kids fixate on spending time with screens. We give the boys some time after school, but that doesn't stop them from asking to play or watch something morning, noon and night. It's like they live for it. And the zombie stares they sometimes have while playing or watching? Scary.

When I was a kid, there was TV, Atari was in its prime, we had a Commodore 64 computer by the time I was a little older. I could be wrong, but I don't recall those being an obsession for me. I remember spending long hours playing Barbies with my next door neighbor. But for all I know, we spent just as much time badgering my mom to let us watch Looney Tunes, or whatever, complained of boredom just as often as my kids do now.

On Christmas Day, Mark and I decreed that there would be no screen time. The boys suffered withdrawal, and I was beginning to wish iPods, tablets and Nintendo DSs had never been invented. To seal just how old I sound, I was wishing for a simpler time, one when kids could simply enjoy their new toys without asking when they could check on their Tiny Monster kingdom (it's an app thing - consider yourself lucky if you know not of what I speak).

It seems to me that this is just the zeitgeist. Screens are so ubiquitous now - smart phones, tablets, laptops, iPod touches. I'm embarrassed to say that as a 2-year-old, Gus could navigate an iPhone with surprising deftness.

I guess that I can't fairly look at this issue without turning introspective. I'm uncomfortable with my own attachment to my iPad. How much can I legitimately complain when Mark and I sit down to breakfast with our twin tablets each morning? What kind of example am I setting?

I've long resisted the cell phone culture. We still have a landline, and my cell phone is a ridiculously old track phone that I rarely use. Mark keeps offering to buy me a fancier phone, but to tell the truth, I don't want one. I know how much my fingers itch to check my email, Facebook, Entertainmentweekly.com, when I'm at home. I don't like the way it makes me feel. I have a strong desire to not be connected everywhere I go.

There's no simple answer here. I know some parents do a much better job of limiting their kids' entertainment than we do. We've made choices, and it feels daunting to walk those back. I guess I'll have to look at shelving my iPad a little more, send my kids outside to play with sticks. Maybe I should go out there with them while I'm at it.

I'm curious. How do you handle this with your kids?

Potty talk

The other week, Gus declared that Luke from his class was hilarious. So what did Luke do capture my youngest boy's sophisticated admiration? "He talks about butts a lot!" Ah, yes. Butts, farts, poop. They're the height of hilarity for kids of all ages.

I can't say I've always been above it all. When I was young, I also was a potty humor aficionado. My childhood best friend and I used to love to fill out Mad Libs. I think it's safe to say that we probably used the word poop as a noun, adjective, verb, and maybe even and adverb (the adverbs were always the trickiest, no?). And it made for pretty funny Mad Libs, if I do say so myself.

Here's the thing, though. Once, you have kids, words that used to seem fairly innocuous - think "stupid" - sound incredibly crude coming out of your darling moppet's mouth. I've been known to censor kids books while reading aloud, changing the word "stupid" to "silly." (What's up with putting the mild s-word in books for young kids, anyway?)

Sometimes we watch movies with Ben, who's 10, that have some questionable language. We always warn him to ignore those parts and remind him that the language is not appropriate. He's made it clear to us that he's heard it all before at school. Sadly, I'm sure that's true. Kids are kids are kids are kids. I think most will experiment with bad words at some time or another. Of course, that doesn't mean it should be left unchecked.

At our house, we've been experiencing a rash of potty talk. The biggest perpetrator has been Gus. The scene usually unfolds like this. It'll be supper time, and Gus will let loose with a series of bon mots: "poopy, poopy, potty, potty!" Then Paul will laugh uncontrollably. I sit there and get more and more annoyed, with Gus of course, and perhaps more so with Paul for encouraging it. All of this dinnertime entertainment is my comeuppance for my brothers and me driving my dad, especially, crazy with our own sparkling repartee at the table when we were growing up.

Of course, the dilemma with undesirable language always is whether to nag about it or ignore it. I do a little of both. I saw something recently about how important it is to let kids play uninterrupted, even if things get a bit raucous (or the talk turns to butts). I try to keep that in mind. I'll keep trying to steer my boys toward more polite talk, but sometimes I know it's important to just let them be. And that's the straight poop.

Band of brothers

I was having one of those days on Tuesday, one of those Gus is really pushing my buttons today days. It was afternoon, and I was getting crabby and feeling spent. Ben and Paul had recently returned from school, and Gus, for no reason I can discern, picked up Paul's Ninjago golden dragon Lego toy and smashed it on the floor.

I was furious, beyond tired of my little despot's senseless acts of destruction. As an aside and to give this battle of wills some context, keeping Legos put together is much more important to me than it is to my youngest. He delights in casually taking apart the sets that Mark or I have labored over for an hour or two. I know it must be good for him to disassemble and imaginatively reassemble, but something about it offends my sense of order. It's hard to see the toy that we spent a not-insignificant amount of money on lying on the floor in 150 pieces.

So, there I was, sputtering with anger. I was yelling, meting out consequences. "No iPod tomorrow!" I scooped up Paul's other Lego toy, one Gus really likes to play with, and put it on a high shelf in Paul's closet. Gus was screaming. Then something that shocked me. Paul said, "No! Don't put it up! Let him play with my Tread Assault!" I didn't get it. Gus had done something for which his brother would normally pummel him, and here was Paul defending him.

I stuck to my course of action. The toy stayed on the high shelf. But after my tirade, it was as if Ben, Paul and Gus were banding together. Ben and Paul welcomed Gus into their fold, and all three played together, which, like, never happens. At one point, I heard Paul say with his cute little speech impediment. "Brothers forever!" (Bruthas fo-evah!)

All I can figure is that my boys decided it was time to close ranks. I can just imagine them thinking in unison, Mom's really lost it now; we'd better stick together. I've witnessed this with Ben and Paul as well. Sometimes Mark or I will be disciplining Paul, and suddenly Ben is all over us, defending Paul. I recall times like this from growing up with my brothers as well. One or more of us had done something to really tick off our parents, and suddenly we were all in it together.

It's weird being on the other side of this now, being the oppressor. Even if I'm stuck being the heavy in this situation, I tend to think my boys' unity is a good thing. I want Ben, Paul and Gus to be have a strong bond, to always be there for one another. I guess I'll just have to accept being the bad guy sometimes. Bruthas fo-evah! 

As usual, Christmas brings joy and stress

So, another holiday season has drawn to a close. I have to say that I was a little relieved to revert to our normal schedule today. Nearly two weeks of gatherings and travel has left our kids' internal clocks completely out of whack.

This time of the year is always hard for me. We're leaving behind the festive season and embarking on the long, dark, cold months. I think in some ways I truly enjoy the lead-up to Christmas more than the holiday itself. That way I can imagine that somehow everything just might turn out all idyllic and Rockwellian.

The fact that I long for perfection probably explains a lot about why the holidays sometimes are a struggle for me. It can feel like so much pressure to make everyone happy, to be happy. I mean, even one of my favorite Christmas songs urges me to let my heart be light. That can be a difficult instruction for someone like me, who, to be honest, can be prone to brooding. (Though, if you've ever seen Meet Me in St. Louis, the movie in which "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" originated, you know that when Judy Garland sings it, the song is filled with melancholy.)

This Christmas was no different than usual. It had its share of highs and lows, sometimes one following right on the heals of the other. On Christmas Eve, my family, the five of us, celebrated. We opened gifts and ate a big breakfast. Afterward, with extremely full stomachs, I decided we needed a walk. We put on our winter gear and headed to Heckrodt Nature Preserve. Yes, the kids complained a bit throughout, but overall, it was beautiful, probably my favorite memory from all of this Christmas. Snow fell softly, and we were the only ones there. Everything was covered in a white blanket. We saw three deer. All around us was untouched perfection.

Soon after we came home and made hot chocolate for the boys, the phone rang. It was my mom calling to tell me that a family friend had undergone surgery to remove a brain tumor. Later that day, we learned that he most likely has advanced brain cancer. John, one of my parents' closest friends, the dad of our dear childhood playmates, is like family. I took the news hard, and it cast a pall over everything.

The rest of Christmas break brought moments of joy as well as stresses. We laughed donning our paper crowns and reading the cheesy jokes that come in the Christmas poppers my mom always buys. We watched the boys' faces light up upon receiving a much-wanted gift. Mark and I played a new game with Ben. And then there was the moment I had a meltdown when Paul and Gus would. Not. Stop. Bickering.

During Christmas, like every other time, life will continue to throw challenges at us. I suppose the best we can do is try to focus on the good parts. I will carry on with a heavy heart about our friend. In my heavy heart, I will also hold on to a time walking in the woods with my family on a gorgeous winter's morning.