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.

I am the Gil and other reflections from the week past

Gus could not stop touching his head wreath.

This bit of choreography was not part of the program.

Spreading the joy.

"I'm tired of this!"

Just ... can't ... stand ... anymore.

.

Indulging in a little pick.

Part 1: I am the Gil

As I took in Gus's Christmas program on Friday morning, the late-80s movie, Parenthood, came to mind. There is a scene toward the end of the film when the family is preparing to go watch the daughter's play. The movie's protagonist, Gil Buckman, is talking to his wife. His ancient, possibly senile, grandmother has just delivered a meandering soliloquy about how when they were young, her husband had enjoyed the merry-go-round while she preferred the roller coaster. (Forgive me if I'm mincing details - I was too lazy to actually go back and watch it again for accuracy.) So, Gil tells his wife, Karen, that Grandma is nuts, while Karen remarks that, no, she is full of wisdom.

Cut to the play - I think it was Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. A child in the play, as part of the script, does something to hurt the daughter. The youngest son runs onto the stage, shouting, "Don't hurt my sister!" Scenery falls, chaos ensues, the show is brought to a grinding halt. Around him, Gil notices various reactions: some people are laughing, some are shocked, some are dismayed. Gil's reactions are shown as if he's riding a roller coaster.

This long aside brings me to the thought that I can so relate to Gil. I knew that Gus's performance probably wouldn't be smooth sailing, so I was somewhat prepared. We sat down, and Gus and his classmates processed in to the Christmas carol, "The Friendly Beasts." Immediately, Gus shouted out, "I can't see my mom!" Then spotting me: "Oh, there she is." From there it was much more of the same. My youngest did some great singing, but he also could not stand still. He twirled, he engaged in a bit of nose picking, he slumped over in boredom at times. When he received his bell to jingle for "Jingle Bells," he stuck the end his mouth, tried shoving it up his sleeve several times.

There was a point at which Gus and his classmates got sticks for tapping. "I made mine into a 'v!'" he gleefully shouted. "Yours is an 'a' without a line!" G exclaimed to the kid next to him. "Gus!" his teacher whisper-yelled many times. (I can just imagine Gus thinking sometimes, "What is the problem with y'all that everything needs to so serious and quiet all the time?") Without exception, Gus bowed deeply after each song, even though it was not yet time to bow.

I watched all of this as if riding on my own roller coaster. At times, I laughed uncontrollably. Other moments, I grimaced in fear of what might happen. I was genuinely nervous that Gus's antics might knock down a kid or two around him. I think I can safely say that Gus was the star of the show, but in a way that could be taken many different ways. Some people probably enjoyed it, thought he was hilarious; maybe others were annoyed; still others may have thought, "Gosh, I'm glad that one's not mine." Thinking the latter two thoughts got to me, I must admit.

I don't want to be the Gil. I'd rather be the Karen. (Though I can relate to Karen in a Gus kind of way in the scene when at a birthday party, her youngest son is wearing a bucket on his head and ramming into the wall. "He likes to ... butt things with his head," she murmurs in explanation.) Gil's wife is rational, even, keeps things in perspective. Though Gil loves his kids desperately, he is neurotic, worries non-stop. Unfortunately, we don't get to choose our temperaments.

After the show, Gus's teacher, Mrs. Howard, approached us. "Gus did great!" she said. "He brings life to our class." Another mom, came up and said, "I just loved Gus. He was so expressive. I thought it was beautiful. I have a soft spot in my heart for Gus." Obviously, this mom is my new best friend.

I can't control what other people thought. If Gus brought joy to some, that is wonderful. In the end, he definitely brought me a lot. I will forever carry the morning's unforgettable moments. In truth, I probably prefer the merry-go-round. Maybe God knew I could use a little roller coaster in my life. And that is my Gus.

Part 2: A sad epilogue

There is another part of the movie in which Gil vividly imagines that his failings as a dad have led his oldest son to turn insane. The son is in college and goes on a shooting rampage. This part of the movie was laughable for its absurdity, I suppose, when it was made in 1989. That dad is such a worrier. That would never happen. At that time, we were still years away from Columbine and a rash of other school shootings. How I wish the idea of such occurrences were still unthinkable.

When I turned on my iPad after Gus's show, the first thing I saw was a New York Times alert that 18 (later to be 20) children had died in school shooting. I could barely take it in. I wished in vain I could make it untrue. It made all of my fretting from hours before seem unbelievably trivial. I felt chilled all day after hearing the news and seeing more and more sobering reports pour in. Seeing that it was all 6- and 7-year-olds who died, I couldn't help but think of my own 7-year-old, of all my kids.

Like so many, I've been feeling down about the state of the world since Friday. Sadly, there will always be disturbed individuals who wish to do others harm. I think the only way we can go on, those of us blessedly removed from the direct effects of the tragedy, is to focus instead on the goodness of so many of the people involved. Their stories make me gasp in awe when I read them. The principal who perished trying to disarm the gunman. The teacher who died trying to shield her pupils. The custodian who ran through the halls warning others. The teacher who calmly led her students to a back room and read to them to calm them. These people didn't have time to think about it. It was just in them to commit amazing acts of heroism.

A post has been widely making the rounds on Facebook the past couple days. It is a quote by Fred Rogers, aka Mister Rogers: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'” I think we just have to believe that the number of people in this world who want to help and do good is so much greater than the number who want to do harm, and I hope we all can rest in that knowledge.

I don't know if I'll get to post before Christmas, so try to have a merry Christmas, even if the idea of celebrating seems a little wrong at a time like this, as it does to me. Take pleasure in the little things and hold your loved ones close. Peace be with you all.

A much needed reminder of what's important this season

Paul's drawing: "I made a snowman out of socks."

A few days ago,  a Facebook friend posted an adorable picture of her daughter and son, her son licking the mixer's beater. Above it was a caption reminding moms and dads to breathe this Christmas season, that we never get these moments back. It has stuck with me, and I saw I immediately thought two things: 1) you've got that right! and 2) for me that is easier said than done.

Why is it so easy to understand this truth and yet so difficult to follow through accordingly? I know that even next year my kids won't be exactly as they are now. (Heck, with Ben going into middle school next year, who knows what I'll get in a year or two.) But somehow I still invariably lose sight of enjoying the little moments and more often than not let myself get harried.

I think of Paul, who a few weeks ago wanted to do a Christmas craft project. Instead of embracing the idea, initially I hemmed and hawed a bit. I'm not very good at crafts, I told myself. We won't have the right supplies. After a little web searching, however, I found some snowmen we could make with old tube socks. We took a quick trip to my mom's for fiber fill and buttons, and we got started. It turned out to be easy, fun and gratifying. Paul was so happy with his little snowman. He wrote about it in his school journal, and of all his possessions, he chose to bring the snowman for his class's special reward show-and-tell later that week.

The same goes for Gus. Since it snowed on Sunday, he's asked to go outside each day. I was game on Monday, but yesterday, I sighed deeply and told him it was too cold. I should've gone out with him. Really, what's the difference? I should be encouraging my kids to go outside, welcoming the opportunity. He can decide on his own if when it's gotten too cold, and surely I can withstand 20 minutes of frigid temperatures. I see some outdoor play in our future for today.

I need to remind myself that with kids, experiences are what's truly important. Sure, my boys are bubbling with anticipation of the Christmas gifts they'll receive. When they think back on the Christmases of their childhood though, I highly doubt they'll be remembering the things they received. If they're like me, they'll recall decorating the Christmas tree, making cookies with Mom, snuggling up for holiday movie, having a snowball fight with Mom and Dad, rushing outside to see the Santa Float.

So thanks for the much-needed reminder, Katie. I have dough in the refrigerator to make cutout cookies with Gus later. And if he leaves a few fingerprints in the dough, who cares? All the germs get baked away in the oven anyway, right?