My Little Graduate

Today is Ruthie’s last day of preschool for the year. I don’t think I mentioned this at the time, but at the beginning of March I pulled her out of the preschool she had been in all year, and switched her to a different one. She had been in a bilingual preschool learning Spanish – which I was really attracted to at the time – but as time went on I realized that I was not reinforcing the language in the home enough, and two mornings a week was just not enough time to retain what she was learning.

What prompted me to switch schools, though, was the teacher’s teaching style: she expected three and four year olds to sit still at a desk and speak in turn. She was extremely structured, and because she was the only teacher in the room with 10 children, she had to maintain control at all times – which meant zero tolerance for being a normal three-year-old. If someone jumped out of his seat to touch the teddy bear she was holding, he had to put his head down on the desk. If someone dipped her entire hand into a pile of shaving cream instead of just one finger, she got her pile of shaving cream taken away.

This extreme structure may have worked for some kids – and many of the parents in that school loved the teacher and had been involved for years – but it just wasn’t the environment for Ruthie, who has always pushed against her boundaries. Much of the time that she was in this school was also during the time I was working through my own issues of control and trying to figure out how to raise my ‘spirited’ child. To have so much control imposed on her at home, and then again at school, seemed to be too much for her. Not to mention that every school morning she fought me tooth and nail, and I had to pry her away from my body when I dropped her off.

She obviously hated it, and in the process was developing a reputation as a ‘problem child.’

I worried obsessively about the situation, feeling like this one classroom experience would make or break her entire educational career. I wondered if she really was ‘a problem.’ I wondered if the structure was good for her in setting clear boundaries. I wondered if a less structured environment would give her too much control and perpetuate her strong willed nature. I wondered if she would thrive with more freedom. I wondered I wondered I wondered.

I struggled for a couple months over whether I should pull her out or stick with it for the rest of the year. At the time, our family was transitioning in other areas, and I was afraid of disrupting too much at once. But when the bill came due for the final half of the year, we only paid for one month. I think I just knew it wasn’t working out.

The cherry on top came one Friday when I decided to stay in class to participate as many moms do, though it is not an official co-op. The children were given a piece of paper and a large Bingo marker, and it was demonstrated that they were to tap out the letter A using dots. Of course some children tapped dots all over their page, some drew the letter A without using dots, and some just wrote all over their arms. None of this was acceptable to the teacher, who took markers away from the children who did not do exactly as she had demonstrated.

And on top of this, she kept telling those kids they were doing it wrong, as if their college education depended on it.

I mean, really. WTF? They are three effing years old!

There was so much negativity in the room that day, that at the half-way point when she lined everyone up to go pee, I told her we had an appointment to get to and we high-tailed it out of there. I was so stressed out by that experience that I just wanted to get out of there.

That afternoon I got on the phone to another local preschool, visited the classroom on Monday by myself, and had Ruthie enrolled and in class by Thursday. When we showed up at the new school that first day, there were toys in bins and painting stations at the table, and do you know what? She ran over to the painting table, picked up a brush, and said, “BYE MOM!”

And from that point on I never had a problem dropping her off at school. When I tell her at bed time that she has preschool the next morning, she jumps up and down, so excited to see Mrs. White the next day. Her new environment is compelling to her, and gives her just enough freedom to be the four year old she is supposed to be.

I think it was the best decision Bryan and I could have made, and it really opened my eyes to the role we will play in her education.

I learned a lot from this experience, such as what questions to ask when looking for the right school or teacher. I learned what motivates Ruthie to learn. I learned how to tell when she is not succeeding, even if she can’t use her words to tell me why. But most importantly, I learned right from the get-go how important it is for us as parents to be involved with our kids’ education. I will never again take it for granted that so-and-so is the teacher, so she must know what she is doing.

This idea was reinforced for me when I read Raising Your Spirited Child. I learned many things from reading this book, including how to accept who my child is and work within that reality. I read a testimonial from a parent who had a very active and energetic boy. Once his mother accepted this about him instead of trying to make him change, she went to the school and asked who the most energetic teacher for his grade was, and had her son placed in that man’s class. She figured he would understand her son’s need to wiggle and be able to work with it.

This is basically what I did. I recognized that Ruthie was not in an environment that would help her succeed, and was actually perpetuating the notion that school was a drudgery. I did not want this for her. I wanted her to be in an environment that would provide age-appropriate structure, but would also allow the strengths of her independence and leadership to flourish. I did not want her in an environment that compelled her to rebel against the system.

There will be plenty of years in the future to deal with that.

So now my school district better watch out, because I plan on sticking my nose into everybody’s business. As a good friend with older children has encouraged many of us with young children, a mother knows her child best and should listen to her instincts. I will do whatever it takes to help my children succeed in their education.

(I’m stepping off my soap box, now).

Memorial Day Pizzas

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For the Memorial Day edition of the House of Barbecue we had some friends over who are vegetarian, so grilling a hunk of salmon on a plank was out of the question. Bryan and I took the opportunity to try something we’d had at a party a couple weeks ago, which was homemade pizzas cooked on the grill.

They were awesome.

I bought pizza dough at Trader Joe’s for a dollar per blob, rolled them out (even tossed a few in the air!), brushed them with olive oil infused with garlic, and cooked the dough in the oven for about nine minutes. Then my friend and I loaded each crust with various toppings, from sundried tomato-feta-spinach, to mushroom-onion-zucchini on red sauce, to artichoke-feta-tomato.

Bryan heated the coals inside these tower thingies on either side of the grill to produce indirect heat, and he grilled the pizzas another ten minutes until all the toppings were soft and the cheese was melted. The last two pizzas were grilled using mesquite chips, and all I have to say is… yum!

We had five pizzas total, which was way more than we needed, so our friends took some home with them.

This was way easier than I thought it would be, and it was fun to do all the prep work with friends. I highly recommend doing this for a small dinner party – if you made the pizzas smaller, each person could make their own, and everyone could share. You could set up a table or counter in your kitchen with all the toppings, and let the creating begin!

Here’s the rest of our photos from the day.

Things That Re-direct my parenting style…

Ruthie: MOM! We’re playing hide and seek, but Thomas won’t stop counting!

Me: Did you ask him to stop?

Ruthie then turns to Thomas and begins screaming at him to stop (mind you, we are in the car).

Me: But you need to ask him without screaming at him. That’s not okay.

Ruthie (in a horrifically matter-of-fact tone): But mom, I have to scream at him because he’s not stopping.

At which point I smirk quietly to myself as Bryan throws his head back in that deep, bellowing, from-the-gut laugh that I love (but only when it’s not at my expense), and he says, “You are SO BUSTED!”

God bless Ruthie for being the mirror God uses to show me my own parenting flaws.

The Great Purge of 2007

This morning my friend came over to help me tackle the spare-room-turned-storage-closet off the kitchen. This was Bryan’s office while we built out his new space in the basement, and after he moved out it became THE place for dumping anything we didn’t know what to do with. Most of what we moved out today was displaced Christmas decorations and camping gear – only a small amount was tossed or donated.

spare room beforespare room, half-way point

We did this in about an hour and a half, with three kids to manage as well. It was really a time saver to have a friend help, because as I sorted, she made piles. Then when we decided to quit, she watched the kids while I hauled everything to its respective storage spot. I think we’re about half way through the sort and purge portion of the project.

My LOST theories (spoilers)

1.a. It was suggested in this thread of conversation that the dead person in the coffin was Michael, because the funeral home was located in an African American neighborhood. I thought this was a great observation. However, the first thing I noticed was how small the coffin seemed, suggesting it was a child. And since Walt (Michael’s son) keeps appearing to people on the island as a ghost of sorts, I think it might be him. Though I can’t say why Kate would be indifferent to his passing.

1.b. Before reading this thread, my prediction was that it was John Locke, and Jack was devastated by his death because he thinks Locke was right about staying on the island, and Kate was indifferent because she doesn’t agree with Jack and is bitter with Locke for creating so many obstacles in getting off the island.

1.c. I’m also holding on to the the possibility that the person in the coffin has not even been introduced to us, that it is someone we will learn about next season.

Which brings me to my two possible predictions for next season:

1. The rescue they are awaiting doesn’t happen right away (or one week on the island stretches out for an entire season. I mean really, in three seasons they’ve only been on the island two months, right? so it’s possible the next season will be a shorter period of time). And instead of providing flashbacks to give clues, we are now going to see flashforwards, and we have to figure out what happened on the island by interpreting how it all shakes out after rescue.

or…

2. They do get rescued, and the majority of the show is seen through their new lives, and we have no idea what happened to them on the island. We will now see a series of flashbacks to the island to give us clues about what happened.

Thoughts?

Family Reunion

This weekend Bryan and I participated in a training conference that brought together people we hadn’t seen in years, and I was able to catch up with friends from back in The Day. My weekend was full of deep, rich, fifteen-minute catch-up conversations.

What struck me the most was the vivid transformation of so many friends – women I was close to, as one friend put it, during such a pivotal time in our lives as we contemplated marriage and babies and other life altering decisions – women, who have now grown, and been broken, and rebuilt, and are so different than I remember, yet so familiar. It felt like such a celebration of God’s grace and mercy, and served as another reminder that God does not leave us in one place, that I will not always be where I am right now.

I was also encouraged to hear that so many of these women have been transformed while serving in leadership roles – that there is no illusion of perfection among the leadership of this community, that humility and brokenness is a welcomed part of ministry within the church.

The culture of hope within the community was downright infectious!

Book Club

I’m back in the saddle again with another book club. After two previous book clubs I was part of, including one through my previous church and one through my friend, Maryam, I have been recruited. A good friend asked me to participate with a small group of six women who would each take turns picking a book and leading the discussion, and our first selection for discussion in June is The Alchemist.

I read for an hour this morning and am already hooked.

We have decided to keep our group small, and apparently we were all picked because of our likelihood of actually reading the book. I may not have been prepared for that in the past, but I have recently reclaimed reading as a priority, and wake up at 6am each morning just so I can read before the kids get up.

We left each book selection up to the host/discussion leader for the month. In Maryam’s book club we all submitted book title options and drew from a jar each month.

How does your book club choose titles to read? Or if you’re not part of a book club, how do you choose titles to read on your own?

Comfort & Control

In an effort to keep up with the ever-changing Jen, I’m adding a new category called Comfort & Control. Having passed through seasons of depression (with more to come, I’m sure) and Rage (ditto), I find myself thinking through new struggles that don’t fit in either category (thankfully).

While at a conference this weekend (based on this textbook I just finished) I was reminded of a few foundational things that have helped me better understand my anger over the last year. First, I was reminded of the book I read awhile ago that revealed how my anger comes from a place of desiring control – how my need to control others and/or my situation results in fits of rage when things do not go my way. This was revolutionary to me when I first read it, and was the tipping point for me in embracing my need to be changed.

Secondly, I was reminded of my obsession with comfort, and how it results in fits of rage when I don’t get what I want. Seeking rest and comfort is not a bad thing – we all need rest and comfort to recharge – but I had been frequently crossing the line into selfish territory, expecting comfort at levels way beyond what I needed to stay healthy and sane as a mother.

It occurred to me as I listened to the teaching that this is the new phase I am in – one that surrenders not just her anger, but her need to be in control. So far I have experienced significant behavioral modification, but I believe the heart of anger – control and selfishness (comfort) – still holds me.

Two events in the last week illustrated for me how significant my need is to be in control. The first was when we visited friends in Ellensburg. My friend, Heather, has a four year old daughter who is a bit cantankerous like Ruthie. After making a plate loaded with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, her daughter instisted on carrying the plate to the table.

Me? I would have been exasperated at such a request, and snapped something rude back to Ruthie about doing it myself. Heather? She said, “That’s fine, but you need to hold out both arms.” And she proceeded to place the very large plate of sandwiches in this child’s care for the looong walk to the table.

I turned to my friend, Jenny, and said, “That would have never happened in my house.”

But it really got me thinking of all the reasons why I would have needed to control that situation, and they all boiled down to my own selfishness. Because what if the plate had been dropped? In my mind there would have been a great mess with crumbs and smear and sticky, and all my time and resources would have been wasted. I would have to clean up the mess and do it all over.

But in all likelihood, if the plate had been dropped we could have just pick it all back up again and proceed as before. After all, PB&J’s are pretty hearty and don’t fall apart all that easily. And even if it would have made a mess that I had to clean up and do over, WHO THE FUCK CARES as long as my daughter feels a sense of independence and pride for being a part of the process?

I learn from my mistakes (usually), why shouldn’t she be given the same opportunity?

The second event that glaringly illustrated my need to be in control was the conference I was attending. Here I was, at a conference sponsored by a church that trained various leaders within that church to effectively support and lead others through personal growth and change because the elders recognized that they are not capable of helping every person within our large congregation (literally thousands). So they have entrusted small group leaders, band leaders, community group leaders, etc. – people who interact with and have relationship with other people – in good faith, by spending thousands of dollars on top notch biblical training, to see that these leaders are properly equipped to minister to others, essentially giving up control of that role for themselves.

Once I realized this, my mind was reeling with all the implications: the elders’ ability to recognize what they are and are not gifted and/or able to do; their trust in the people they have placed in key positions within the church, and their faith that God will use the resources they’ve provided to accomplish the intended goal.

Suddenly, the minutia of my peanut butter and jelly scenario seemed insignificant.

All this to say (and I recognize this is a very long post) I am encouraged. Creating this new category somehow categorizes in my mind what is happening in me spiritually. I am not laboring through the same old shit – I am evolving and overcoming new things.

I am moving forward.

My Little Extrovert

Last night and today we had house guests visiting who have four children – the same friends we recently visited in Ellensburg. Ruthie and Thomas spent all evening last night and all day today running around and playing. Occasionally Thomas would have a melt down and come crying into my lap with his blanket, then after a good snuggle he’d be off again.

Ruthie, on the other hand, thrived in her element as an extrovert and was never seen or heard from. She was engaged all. day. long. with these other kids – playing house, playing birthday party, playing doctor, swinging, climbing trees – and she hardly spoke a word to me. I think she asked me for some juice at one point, but other than that she didn’t really care about me. She never tired of the activity, and I couldn’t bear to take her out of the mix for a nap – so on she went, all day long.

Late in the afternoon as the visiting family said goodbye and crossed the street to their car, Ruthie shouted to me from the swings, “Mama! Will you come and play with me?”

They had barely left the yard and she was already craving the stimulation!

Farm Fresh Jen

IMG_6458.JPGI have returned from a very full and fun day away with Jenny and Andrew, visiting friends two hours away in Ellensburg.

Watching my daughter running around on a farm, barefoot and wearing a pretty summer dress, took my breath away. Watching my son’s excitement at touching a real, live horse for the first time took my breath away.

Realizing the colossal amount of lyrics to 80’s music known by Jenny took my breath away.

Have you ever been gone for just a little while and felt like you’d slipped into the time warp of Neverland or Oz, only to return and find everything just as it was when you left it?

It was just a day, yet I find myself wandering around the house, touching things, looking in the cupboards, wondering what has changed while I was away.

But nothing has changed: newspapers on the floor, dirty dishes in the sink, happy dog to greet me. Tomorrow will be a regular day to enjoy right here at home with new things to explore in our own back yard.

It was good to be gone, but it’s great to be home.