I can't help but marvel at how the tables have turned. As few as two years ago, I didn't worry a bit about Ben's social life. Paul, on the other hand, I had big concerns. Both years he spent in preschool, he didn't really bond with the other kids. He came away without a single solid friendship. I was really concerned for Paul going into kindergarten.
Fast forward to today, and everything is the opposite. Paul has friends aplenty. He's got a best buddy, and he establishes new relationships with ease. He has no fear of calling up someone and asking to play. Now, Ben, I'm a little concerned.
By all indications, Ben does fine socially in school. He hangs with a group of boys at lunch and recess. A sports lover, my oldest seems to gravitate toward the jocks, a crowd of boys destined for a popularity that I don't see Ben reaching. But I digress. Figuring out that stuff is all part of growing up.
I have no desire for Ben to be popular. On the contrary. I was no popularity queen when I was Ben's age (quite the opposite, to tell the truth), so I take a dim view of that whole game. No, all I want is for Ben to have at least a small group of close friends, but that seems to be a struggle for him.
Kids from Ben's class don't call, and he doesn't call them either. Rarely if ever does he have people over to the house or go anywhere. For Mark and me, this is tough. In high school, Mark was shy and rarely did anything with his peers. He regrets that, and it's hard for him to see our son on the same path.
More often than not, we turn to nagging. "Ben, why don't you call Kobe?" "Go and see if the neighbor can play!" Sometimes we go so far as compelling him to call two or three people. This goes about as well as you'd expect, and we feel powerless to help.
The other day, we were at Paul's soccer game, and one of Ben's classmates was there. "Look Ben, it's Mac!" I said. "Why don't you go over and say hi?" I coaxed, knowing full well that he wouldn't.
When Mac walked by a little later, I tried again, prompting Ben to say hello. He waved weakly and mumbled. "Oh, guess he didn't see me," he said. When his classmate came past a final time, instead of saying hi, Ben got a sudden and curious urge to cheer for Paul vociferously. Yeah, I wasn't buying it.
It's such a tricky situation. Ben is an introvert, no doubt. He's happy reading books two or three hours a day. That's great, but both Mark and I worry that now is the time when he really needs to make connections with his peers. We fear that if he doesn't put himself out there now, he may be left behind.
I've been reading the book, The Purpose of Boys. In it, the author notes that boys tend to bond over activities. They're more comfortable chatting while throwing a ball back and forth than having a deep conversation.
In the end, it's not up to Mark or me. At 10, Ben's well past the age of us setting up play dates for him. We'll have to trust him to make his own choices. I'll keep the bit of knowledge from the book in mind, though, and try to work my influence subtly. Ben does like activities, so we'll encourage him to pursue those, and hope that he'll foster some friendships along the way.
For all of the aforementioned reasons, I'm so relieved that my boys all have one another. They bicker plenty, but as Paul is fond of saying, they're best buddies. And that is a lot.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Reflections on an elementary school career
 |
| Kindergarten |
 |
| First grade |
 |
| Third grade |
 |
| Fourth grade |
"It's my last full day of elementary school!" he said gleefully, a broad smile playing across his tan face, as he exited the minivan yesterday. My heart seized a little bit when he said this. It's not as if this hadn't resonated with me already. Ben's declaration was just my latest reminder.
 |
| Fifth grade |
Ben's first day of kindergarten was a scant two weeks after Gus was born, and I was still such an emotional mess on that first day of school. Gus was not an easy baby or, for that matter, an easy toddler. He was colicky, and then once he became mobile, he was a bigger handful than ever. Things really didn't get easier until he turned 4. I can safely say that I spent most of kindergarten, first and third grades in a haze of stress. In the intervening years, we've sent Paul to school and Gus to preschool, and I'm scratching my head trying to figure out how it's been nearly five years since we started this adventure.
I'll try not to bemoan this, because every parent knows of what I describe. Instead, I'll take a short walk down memory lane. I'm so thankful to our school and to each of Ben's teachers. Class sizes have only grown since Ben enrolled, but every one of his teachers has taken the time and effort to look out for our boy and his needs. In the past five years, Ben has learned a dizzying amount, and it's been so gratifying to watch.
I often feel wistful for the time that has passed. There's no way around it. The process of kids growing is irrevocably painful, but it's exciting, too. How amazing is it that Mark and I can have real, nearly adult conversations with our son now?
I will steal a bit from the series finale of "The Office," and I'll do it badly, because I don't remember the exact words Andy Bernard spoke. It was something along the lines of not knowing you're in the best time of your life until it comes to an end. We're in that best time right now, the halcyon days. So let's stay right here, cause these are the good old days.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
A piece of advice: be your child's advocate
When Mark and I were going through the process of deciding whether to accelerate Ben from first to third grade, the teachers and principal helping us left us with one big message. No matter what you choose to do, you need to be an advocate for your child. Three years later, we're still following that advice, and this past week we've had to put it to the test.
Ben has been receiving gifted-talented services since first grade. Last Wednesday, we received a letter telling us that he no longer qualified. The reason for the decision is a little long and hard to explain. I will try to make a long story short. While Ben's scored extremely well on the MAPS, an academic test the districts uses, and the gifted-talented assessment, his WKCE (state standardized test) scores did not hold up as well when compared to scores across the nation. For that reason, the district decided to remove him from the G-T roster for next fall.
We had spent years working with teachers to get Ben's needs met. A team from Ben's school helped us make the decision to advance Ben to third grade. I know Menasha faces many challenges as a district, but I felt confident in its teachers and administrators. As I read the letter, I felt stunned, like the district had suddenly and unceremoniously abandoned Ben.
In the days that followed, as the news sunk in, our anger and bafflement only grew. We know Ben is gifted, and his classroom teacher was just as surprised as we were when we approached her with the news. All along, we've had teachers telling us that it's hard for them to meet Ben's needs, and suddenly the one thing that had helped keep Ben on the radar was being taken away.
The frustration that we felt is what so many parents feel, I'm sure. When making important decisions about a child's education, it's vital to look at all the aspects of that individual. It's not right to reduce him or her to a number, a score. And that is exactly what we felt was happening. Every other bit of evidence pointed to Ben needing these services, but one piece excluded him, and that was it.
We had a phone conversation and then a face-t0-face meeting with the district's G-T coordinator. He was sympathetic but steadfast in his refusal to reconsider, arguing that changing the standards for Ben would "open the floodgates," forcing the district to re-examine every child whose parents received a letter (hmmm ... not a bad idea, now that you mention it). "Do I think Ben is gifted? Yes," he said, only adding to our consternation.
When we pressed the coordinator, we learned that a handful of kids were in Ben's same situation (not exactly a flood of kids) with high scores on the two tests and lower on the WKCE. Something did not seem right about that. We knew that the bar was set higher for the WKCE this past fall. Kids may have performed similarly to the previous year, but their scores may have been lower because of the new standards. Perhaps, we thought, this wasn't the best year to make decisions about taking kids out of G-T based on that test.
It didn't take long for us to decide to take our grievance to the next level of administration, the director of curriculum. We had a meeting this morning and went in ready for a fight. Mark had a speech all prepared, stating explicitly that we wanted Ben placed back in G-T.
Mark began to talk. When he reached the point at which he described accelerating Ben, the director stopped us. "What? Did you say Ben was accelerated?"
Aha. She didn't have the whole picture. This was my point. Each child who was cut from the program deserved a close and thorough look. In the end, I don't think the missing information was even the deciding factor, but it didn't take long for the director to tell us that Ben had been reinstated into the program.
The news came so quickly, it was almost like a TV show or movie, where the person doesn't hear the good news and just keeps arguing. Say what? Mark didn't even get to finish his speech! I practically broke down in tears of relief, so stressed had I been for the past week.
I don't want to blame the district, and I don't harbor any ill will (or much, anyway). But I do know that bit of long-ago advice came in handy. We advocated for Ben, and it worked. We got him what we felt he needed. It wasn't easy. I'm not comfortable being pushy, but it was so worth it.
Your situations may not be exactly like ours. Paul falls somewhere more in the middle of the pack. Gus has a whole set of different issues (we may well need to advocate for him in completely different ways). In a time when school districts are stressed to the max, we as parents really need to step up to make sure our kids' needs are being met.
I share my story in hopes that it might help you. Fight. Fight for your kids.
Ben has been receiving gifted-talented services since first grade. Last Wednesday, we received a letter telling us that he no longer qualified. The reason for the decision is a little long and hard to explain. I will try to make a long story short. While Ben's scored extremely well on the MAPS, an academic test the districts uses, and the gifted-talented assessment, his WKCE (state standardized test) scores did not hold up as well when compared to scores across the nation. For that reason, the district decided to remove him from the G-T roster for next fall.
We had spent years working with teachers to get Ben's needs met. A team from Ben's school helped us make the decision to advance Ben to third grade. I know Menasha faces many challenges as a district, but I felt confident in its teachers and administrators. As I read the letter, I felt stunned, like the district had suddenly and unceremoniously abandoned Ben.
In the days that followed, as the news sunk in, our anger and bafflement only grew. We know Ben is gifted, and his classroom teacher was just as surprised as we were when we approached her with the news. All along, we've had teachers telling us that it's hard for them to meet Ben's needs, and suddenly the one thing that had helped keep Ben on the radar was being taken away.
The frustration that we felt is what so many parents feel, I'm sure. When making important decisions about a child's education, it's vital to look at all the aspects of that individual. It's not right to reduce him or her to a number, a score. And that is exactly what we felt was happening. Every other bit of evidence pointed to Ben needing these services, but one piece excluded him, and that was it.
We had a phone conversation and then a face-t0-face meeting with the district's G-T coordinator. He was sympathetic but steadfast in his refusal to reconsider, arguing that changing the standards for Ben would "open the floodgates," forcing the district to re-examine every child whose parents received a letter (hmmm ... not a bad idea, now that you mention it). "Do I think Ben is gifted? Yes," he said, only adding to our consternation.
When we pressed the coordinator, we learned that a handful of kids were in Ben's same situation (not exactly a flood of kids) with high scores on the two tests and lower on the WKCE. Something did not seem right about that. We knew that the bar was set higher for the WKCE this past fall. Kids may have performed similarly to the previous year, but their scores may have been lower because of the new standards. Perhaps, we thought, this wasn't the best year to make decisions about taking kids out of G-T based on that test.
It didn't take long for us to decide to take our grievance to the next level of administration, the director of curriculum. We had a meeting this morning and went in ready for a fight. Mark had a speech all prepared, stating explicitly that we wanted Ben placed back in G-T.
Mark began to talk. When he reached the point at which he described accelerating Ben, the director stopped us. "What? Did you say Ben was accelerated?"
Aha. She didn't have the whole picture. This was my point. Each child who was cut from the program deserved a close and thorough look. In the end, I don't think the missing information was even the deciding factor, but it didn't take long for the director to tell us that Ben had been reinstated into the program.
The news came so quickly, it was almost like a TV show or movie, where the person doesn't hear the good news and just keeps arguing. Say what? Mark didn't even get to finish his speech! I practically broke down in tears of relief, so stressed had I been for the past week.
I don't want to blame the district, and I don't harbor any ill will (or much, anyway). But I do know that bit of long-ago advice came in handy. We advocated for Ben, and it worked. We got him what we felt he needed. It wasn't easy. I'm not comfortable being pushy, but it was so worth it.
Your situations may not be exactly like ours. Paul falls somewhere more in the middle of the pack. Gus has a whole set of different issues (we may well need to advocate for him in completely different ways). In a time when school districts are stressed to the max, we as parents really need to step up to make sure our kids' needs are being met.
I share my story in hopes that it might help you. Fight. Fight for your kids.
Friday, May 31, 2013
This is 36
Today I inch (leap?) one step closer to 40. Last year, I posted that I liked being in my 30s. Now that I'm 36, I can say with confidence that I still do, though the closer I creep to that big hill, the less sure I am about aging.
Once you become a parent, especially a parent to kids in school, I feel like in kids' eyes, you kind of morph into adult person of indiscriminate age. It doesn't matter. You could be 29 or 49 - it's all the same to kids. Sometimes I like to fancy myself a young and hip mom, but I know that when my boys and their friends see me, I'm just another generic adult.
This realization is so odd to me. Somehow you never think you'll get there, and then suddenly there you are, and there you remain for the rest of your life. I think back on all my teachers, many of whom were the age I am now or younger. Yes, I suppose I recognized that some were younger and some older, but they were all on the other side of some enormous, invisible divide, one that I didn't give a lot of thought to crossing.
It's also strange because I don't feel old. I know it would be specious to claim that 36 is old - it's not. I guess I mean that I don't feel my age. I suppose this is the case for most people. I can easily see now how after a certain point, the years just pile on top of one another, how someone can wake up one morning and suddenly they're 50, and for the life of them, they can scarcely understand how they got there.
It's been illuminating, to say the least. I always had set ideas about when things were supposed to happen. The first gray hairs would arrive around 40. I would be in the prime of my life in my 30s. My skin would be luminous and wrinkle-free, and I'd no longer have to contend with acne. Here I sit with crow's feet around my eyes, probably more breakouts than I had as a teenager, and coarse gray hairs appearing regularly.
At my birthday facial yesterday, I cringed a bit when the aesthetician turned on her 300-times magnifying light and examined my skin. Freckles, age spots, dry patches and oily, broken capillaries, I had them all.
This age is a bit of a crossroads, and I have a hard time deciding which direction to go. Again and again, I find my vanity duking it out with my principles for control of my decision-making. Part of me wants to do all I can to look youthful, and part of me wants to embrace "aging gracefully."
I suppose there's a middle ground here, and that's what I'll take. Mark me down as a yes for hair dye and taking good care of my skin. As for things like Botox, ultra-expensive face creams, and even laser treatments the aesthetician said I could get to repair those capillaries, they're a no. At least at this point. Those are my choices, but I'm all for women doing what makes them feel best about themselves.
Everything is changing, there's no doubt. After Mark and I go for a run, you'll likely hear moans of, "oh, my knee!" (him) and "oh, my hip!" (me). Chalk those up as another inconvenience I thought was reserved for later in life.
On the whole, though, life is pretty great right now. We're in the sweet spot with our kids. They're young enough to still like to spend time with us but old enough to sleep through the night. I'm savoring it.
There's no fighting against aging. It's happening whether I like it or not. I try to keep in mind this quote from Tuck Everlasting, "Don't be afraid of death; be afraid of an unlived life. You don't have to live forever, you just have to live."
As I cross the threshold into another year of life, this is my entirely unoriginal goal: live each day to the fullest.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Scared straight: middle school edition
I've got to say, this whole transitioning to middle school thing is throwing me for a loop. Last Tuesday night, Mark and I attended a parent meeting at the middle school. Little did I know that we were walking into something akin to Scared Straight: Middle School Edition.
OK, so the guidance counselors and administrators didn't exactly get right up in our faces and scream things like, "You think you know your child? You think he's all sweet and innocent? Well, you're wrong, you little maggot!" All the same though, by the end of it, I was ready to assume the fetal position and beg for leniency - another year of elementary school for Ben.
I guess I figured that along with practical information about lockers and schedules, the middle school gang would slip in some topics like internet safety and bullying. However, I was not fully prepared for the onslaught that we received. Sexting, cyber-bullying, drugs, underage drinking. You name the scary issue, we were schooled on it.
The meeting kicked off with some helpful information on middle school emotional development. The guidance counselors detailed some of the primary motivators in kids' decision-making at this age: peer acceptance, embarrassment. Yes and yes. We're there already. I tried mightily to persuade Ben to audition for his school talent show. He's getting really good at piano, and I know he'd do fantastic. But no, that one didn't make it past the embarrassment test.
The counselors went on to say that we as parents would be wise to adopt a "hummingbird" approach to raising our tweens, stealthily offering encouragement and guidance rather than taking a heavy-handed approach, hovering around our older kids like helicopters. Yes, this was all useful information so far.
The evening took a stark turn when Officer Amy, the school's police liaison officer, took the stage. I dubbed her Officer Awesome for two reasons. She's kind of hilarious, and I dug her honest, frank approach. Also, I can tell that she'd be pretty great with kids in this age group.
This was the point at which I started to get a little freaked out. Officer Awesome asked that young kids leave the room and then launched right into it. "I've seen it all," she said. "I've seen pictures of boobies and penises texted." She went on to show a PSA about sexting, saying that kids this age see it as a "safe" way to flirt.
The liaison officer asked the assembled how many of their kids had cell phones. Several hands shot up. She asked how many had Facebook pages: a handful. Ben has neither of these. I know there are practical uses for a phone for a child Ben's age; we just have chosen not to go down that path yet. I'm not here to judge, but the Facebook thing surprised me a little bit, since the minimum age is 13. I can't help but think that allowing a 10- or 11-year-old to violate that guideline kind of, you know, sends the wrong message. Stepping off the soapbox.
Officer A. said that if she were giving her child a smartphone, the first thing she'd do was take a sharp object and scratch out the camera lens, rendering it useless. After all I heard, I can understand the impulse.
On the subject of dress code, the assistant principal informed us that girls represent more than 90 percent of the school's violations, with boundary-pushing tops and bottoms. This, he told us, can make it pretty difficult for the boys to focus on school work. Add Ben staring at a 12-year-old girl's decolletage to the list of subjects I didn't want to contemplate.
The guidance counselors and liaison officer strongly encouraged us to try to resist allowing our kids a Facebook page at any age. This took us to the cyber-bullying portion of the night. When I was a seventh- and eighth-grader, I endured the humiliation of my peers chanting "Ceman spreads AIDS" (my last name was pronounced "semen" - lucky me!) when I walked past. Let me tell you, it was awful. But at least when I went home at night, I could escape it. In today's society, this is not the case for many kids that age. Cyber-bullying follows kids day and night, weekday and weekend.
It's not that I didn't realize these issues existed for kids. I just didn't spend much time contemplating that they could become a problem for my kid. Ben still seems so young to me. Yes, he's showing some definite tendencies of a middle-schooler, but on the whole, he still seems more little boy than big boy. I'm more than a little weirded out trying to match my sports- and video-game-loving and, yes, seemingly innocent kid to one who might dabble in sexting or become a victim of cyber-bullying.
I happened to be volunteering in Paul's class on Thursday when his teacher was reviewing this year's guidance "cool tools." Some of the topics they covered were "how to work through anger" and "the proper way to sneeze and cough so as not to spread germs." I want those days back for Ben. I don't want him to have to hear about kids being bullied to the point of wanting to die, about sexting, about underage drinking and drugs. Alas, I have no choice.
At this point, I'm feeling a little bit of an urge to bury my head in the sand. I'd been wanting to see the documentary, Bully ever since it was released. Finally, my hold copy came in at the library this past week. After contemplating all that lies ahead, I found my desire to see the film evaporate. I checked the "cancel hold" box and let it lapse into the ether. It's simply too close to my reality right now. I think the topic is incredibly important. I just don't think I can handle it emotionally at this point in time. The thought of someone hurting Ben is something I can hardly bear.
My anxious mind can conjure all sorts of outlandish scenarios, and lately, it's been doing that a lot for Ben. What might he face in the coming years? It's impossible to predict. I suppose that the best Mark and I can do is educate ourselves as much as we can. We're a strong family unit, and I hope that will go a long way toward insulating Ben from many troubles.
I'm going to try to enjoy these last months before my son is sent into the den of iniquity. In the meantime, I'll be practicing my hummingbird skills.
OK, so the guidance counselors and administrators didn't exactly get right up in our faces and scream things like, "You think you know your child? You think he's all sweet and innocent? Well, you're wrong, you little maggot!" All the same though, by the end of it, I was ready to assume the fetal position and beg for leniency - another year of elementary school for Ben.
I guess I figured that along with practical information about lockers and schedules, the middle school gang would slip in some topics like internet safety and bullying. However, I was not fully prepared for the onslaught that we received. Sexting, cyber-bullying, drugs, underage drinking. You name the scary issue, we were schooled on it.
The meeting kicked off with some helpful information on middle school emotional development. The guidance counselors detailed some of the primary motivators in kids' decision-making at this age: peer acceptance, embarrassment. Yes and yes. We're there already. I tried mightily to persuade Ben to audition for his school talent show. He's getting really good at piano, and I know he'd do fantastic. But no, that one didn't make it past the embarrassment test.
The counselors went on to say that we as parents would be wise to adopt a "hummingbird" approach to raising our tweens, stealthily offering encouragement and guidance rather than taking a heavy-handed approach, hovering around our older kids like helicopters. Yes, this was all useful information so far.
The evening took a stark turn when Officer Amy, the school's police liaison officer, took the stage. I dubbed her Officer Awesome for two reasons. She's kind of hilarious, and I dug her honest, frank approach. Also, I can tell that she'd be pretty great with kids in this age group.
This was the point at which I started to get a little freaked out. Officer Awesome asked that young kids leave the room and then launched right into it. "I've seen it all," she said. "I've seen pictures of boobies and penises texted." She went on to show a PSA about sexting, saying that kids this age see it as a "safe" way to flirt.
The liaison officer asked the assembled how many of their kids had cell phones. Several hands shot up. She asked how many had Facebook pages: a handful. Ben has neither of these. I know there are practical uses for a phone for a child Ben's age; we just have chosen not to go down that path yet. I'm not here to judge, but the Facebook thing surprised me a little bit, since the minimum age is 13. I can't help but think that allowing a 10- or 11-year-old to violate that guideline kind of, you know, sends the wrong message. Stepping off the soapbox.
Officer A. said that if she were giving her child a smartphone, the first thing she'd do was take a sharp object and scratch out the camera lens, rendering it useless. After all I heard, I can understand the impulse.
On the subject of dress code, the assistant principal informed us that girls represent more than 90 percent of the school's violations, with boundary-pushing tops and bottoms. This, he told us, can make it pretty difficult for the boys to focus on school work. Add Ben staring at a 12-year-old girl's decolletage to the list of subjects I didn't want to contemplate.
The guidance counselors and liaison officer strongly encouraged us to try to resist allowing our kids a Facebook page at any age. This took us to the cyber-bullying portion of the night. When I was a seventh- and eighth-grader, I endured the humiliation of my peers chanting "Ceman spreads AIDS" (my last name was pronounced "semen" - lucky me!) when I walked past. Let me tell you, it was awful. But at least when I went home at night, I could escape it. In today's society, this is not the case for many kids that age. Cyber-bullying follows kids day and night, weekday and weekend.
It's not that I didn't realize these issues existed for kids. I just didn't spend much time contemplating that they could become a problem for my kid. Ben still seems so young to me. Yes, he's showing some definite tendencies of a middle-schooler, but on the whole, he still seems more little boy than big boy. I'm more than a little weirded out trying to match my sports- and video-game-loving and, yes, seemingly innocent kid to one who might dabble in sexting or become a victim of cyber-bullying.
I happened to be volunteering in Paul's class on Thursday when his teacher was reviewing this year's guidance "cool tools." Some of the topics they covered were "how to work through anger" and "the proper way to sneeze and cough so as not to spread germs." I want those days back for Ben. I don't want him to have to hear about kids being bullied to the point of wanting to die, about sexting, about underage drinking and drugs. Alas, I have no choice.
At this point, I'm feeling a little bit of an urge to bury my head in the sand. I'd been wanting to see the documentary, Bully ever since it was released. Finally, my hold copy came in at the library this past week. After contemplating all that lies ahead, I found my desire to see the film evaporate. I checked the "cancel hold" box and let it lapse into the ether. It's simply too close to my reality right now. I think the topic is incredibly important. I just don't think I can handle it emotionally at this point in time. The thought of someone hurting Ben is something I can hardly bear.
My anxious mind can conjure all sorts of outlandish scenarios, and lately, it's been doing that a lot for Ben. What might he face in the coming years? It's impossible to predict. I suppose that the best Mark and I can do is educate ourselves as much as we can. We're a strong family unit, and I hope that will go a long way toward insulating Ben from many troubles.
I'm going to try to enjoy these last months before my son is sent into the den of iniquity. In the meantime, I'll be practicing my hummingbird skills.
Monday, May 20, 2013
I don't sail through the changing ocean tides
After my recent post about anxiety, perhaps it would come as no big surprise that I don't do well with change. I don't simply sail through the changing ocean tides. And in some cases, I don't handle the seasons of my life particularly well, either. If all of this sounds familiar, it's because I'm blatantly stealing lyrics from the Fleetwood Mac song, "Landslide." I mean, why should I come up with my own words when Stevie Nicks expresses them so soulfully?
I guess I've known this about myself for a long time, but it really became clear after I had kids. When Ben was born, I was so freaked out for a while that sometimes I wished I could have him climb back into the womb to gestate, you know, just a little longer, until I felt really ready for him to be on the outside.
Sometimes in the beginning, I thought, gosh, I'd really like to just go back to work where everything is predictable. Only, of course, I didn't really want to go back to work at all. I'd known that all along, so soon I spent my entire 12-week maternity leave fretting about the fact that I'd soon have to leave my baby.
Yes, I can take a really wonderful experience, like the birth of a first child, and turn it into a stress fest. When I quit my job to stay home with the boys after Paul was born, that should have been the best time of my life, right? Finally, I'd gotten everything I'd ever wanted. The thing is, there's a strangeness that comes with having your dream realized. Suddenly, I got a little panicky. OK, we're all home together, now what the heck are we supposed to do all day?
Of course, after a little while, I took to motherhood, to staying home, even to going back to work when I had to return to my job. All my experiences don't mean that I handle the new challenges any better, however.
After posting about my desire to explore wading back into the job market, a seemingly ideal opportunity presented itself. In the fall, Gus's preschool will host a 4K class for Appleton Area School District's new program. His teacher was looking for an assistant. The hours couldn't be better: three and a half hours a day. Gus could be in school while I was working, I'd have summers off, all I'd ever wanted in a part-time job.
I went for the position with gusto, expressing interest early on, the first to get in my application. I didn't think twice about it. All that changed when the school's board contacted me for an interview. I'm not sure if interview angst is what altered my feelings. I hate, HATE interviewing. I don't know if it's my shyness, the fact that I don't know what will be asked and subsequent fear of saying something stupid, or my discomfort with being the center of attention that set me off on my descent into a dread spiral. Probably all of the above.
Anyhoo, suddenly I was ambivalent, weepy about the last seven years passing so quickly. Waaah ... I mean, can you blame me for being afraid of changing? I've built my life around them. (There I go again. Sorry, Stevie.)
My interview was set for last Thursday, and I spent all last week with my intestines tied in knots. Even though I was very familiar with everyone who would sit on the interview committee, knew they were not intimidating people, I was a complete wreck. Granted, I calculated that it's been nearly 12 years, since I've sat down for an interview. Still, get a grip, woman!
In the end, the interview was fine, quite informal really. In the days after, doubt remained. Was this really the job for me? Was it really time yet? I became convinced that not getting it would be something of a relief. All of that changed when I learned today that they offered the job to another candidate, one with classroom experience. Relief was not my initial emotion, the sting of rejection was. I wanted to say no, dammit, not be told no.
It's mere hours later now, and I think I'm going to be fine. In fact, maybe this was for the best. I can take next year and really explore what I want to do. I'm grateful I had the experience of interviewing. Maybe it'll help me be less afraid next time. Let's be serious, though. I doubt it.
I know change is coming for me, sooner or later, whether I like it or not. I'll try to take comfort in the fact that time makes you bolder. Children get older. And I'm getting older, too.
I guess I've known this about myself for a long time, but it really became clear after I had kids. When Ben was born, I was so freaked out for a while that sometimes I wished I could have him climb back into the womb to gestate, you know, just a little longer, until I felt really ready for him to be on the outside.
Sometimes in the beginning, I thought, gosh, I'd really like to just go back to work where everything is predictable. Only, of course, I didn't really want to go back to work at all. I'd known that all along, so soon I spent my entire 12-week maternity leave fretting about the fact that I'd soon have to leave my baby.
Yes, I can take a really wonderful experience, like the birth of a first child, and turn it into a stress fest. When I quit my job to stay home with the boys after Paul was born, that should have been the best time of my life, right? Finally, I'd gotten everything I'd ever wanted. The thing is, there's a strangeness that comes with having your dream realized. Suddenly, I got a little panicky. OK, we're all home together, now what the heck are we supposed to do all day?
Of course, after a little while, I took to motherhood, to staying home, even to going back to work when I had to return to my job. All my experiences don't mean that I handle the new challenges any better, however.
After posting about my desire to explore wading back into the job market, a seemingly ideal opportunity presented itself. In the fall, Gus's preschool will host a 4K class for Appleton Area School District's new program. His teacher was looking for an assistant. The hours couldn't be better: three and a half hours a day. Gus could be in school while I was working, I'd have summers off, all I'd ever wanted in a part-time job.
I went for the position with gusto, expressing interest early on, the first to get in my application. I didn't think twice about it. All that changed when the school's board contacted me for an interview. I'm not sure if interview angst is what altered my feelings. I hate, HATE interviewing. I don't know if it's my shyness, the fact that I don't know what will be asked and subsequent fear of saying something stupid, or my discomfort with being the center of attention that set me off on my descent into a dread spiral. Probably all of the above.
Anyhoo, suddenly I was ambivalent, weepy about the last seven years passing so quickly. Waaah ... I mean, can you blame me for being afraid of changing? I've built my life around them. (There I go again. Sorry, Stevie.)
My interview was set for last Thursday, and I spent all last week with my intestines tied in knots. Even though I was very familiar with everyone who would sit on the interview committee, knew they were not intimidating people, I was a complete wreck. Granted, I calculated that it's been nearly 12 years, since I've sat down for an interview. Still, get a grip, woman!
In the end, the interview was fine, quite informal really. In the days after, doubt remained. Was this really the job for me? Was it really time yet? I became convinced that not getting it would be something of a relief. All of that changed when I learned today that they offered the job to another candidate, one with classroom experience. Relief was not my initial emotion, the sting of rejection was. I wanted to say no, dammit, not be told no.
It's mere hours later now, and I think I'm going to be fine. In fact, maybe this was for the best. I can take next year and really explore what I want to do. I'm grateful I had the experience of interviewing. Maybe it'll help me be less afraid next time. Let's be serious, though. I doubt it.
I know change is coming for me, sooner or later, whether I like it or not. I'll try to take comfort in the fact that time makes you bolder. Children get older. And I'm getting older, too.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Routine meeting turns into unexpected gift
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| First day of kindergarten |
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| First day of fifth grade |
What we got instead was completely unexpected. Ben met us in the office at the appointed time and escorted us to the guidance counselor's office. Clearly these fifth-graders are beginning to hone their people skills, which is great.
Working from a script, Ben led the first part of the meeting. First, he shared with us a name poem he'd created: Brainy, Energetic, Nice, and he invited Mark and me to share other words that describe him. I chose curious, citing his insatiable hunger for knowledge.
Ben shared some self-reflection and goals he'd been working on throughout the year. I was impressed with his insight into himself. Among his goals were improving his performance in art class (check) and trying to become more outgoing (not check - he's still so shy). Turns out our oldest is a kinesthetic - or hands-on - learner. That fits for the kid who can't watch a TV show without pacing or bouncing a ball, who chews pencils to bits, who gets frustrated having to wait to listen to instructions that he already understands.
We learned that Ben's class has already begun to do career assessments. It was fascinating to see that (at this extremely early stage) his career interests include writer (me!) and chemist (Mark with the science/health care background).
Watching Ben take the lead, it was funny to observe his mannerisms: keep working on that eye contact, buddy, and less yawning definitely is advisable. Though the experience clearly was a little uncomfortable for him, he pushed through it, and that's a lesson he can take forward in life.
The whole experience really was a gift to me. I treasured the opportunity to reflect on Ben's elementary school years. I appreciated the chance to look my boy in the eye and tell him exactly why he's special to me.
At the end of the meeting, the guidance counselor left us stars on which we could write a message that she would deliver to Ben. This was the point at which my eyes began to well up and I had to struggle to maintain composure. Let me tell you, parents of young ones, you will not believe how quickly these milestones arrive.
I came away from all of this with renewed appreciation for my unique, exceptional boy. I love every bit of him, from his messy handwriting to his tipping over his chair when he gets excited to his unbridled enthusiasm and determination to his amazingly bright mind.
I would say that I cannot wait to see what Ben will become, but that's not exactly accurate. Let's take it nice and slow for the next seven years or so.
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