Homework…

Before I had kids, I could picture in my head exactly what it would be like:  enriching them every waking moment, being the “right” kind of parent, wanting to be with them every second, cooking a healthy dinner while my clever children diligently work on their homework.  I’ll wait for you parents out there to stop laughing and catch your breath…

Let’s talk about homework; sometimes it goes well.  And, sometimes, there is weeping involved.  Could be them, could be me.  You never know.  There are so many reasons for tears.  Here’s one scenario: They don’t understand something so I try to explain and they cut me off halfway, “I don’t understand.” Sigh. Me: “I didn’t finish explaining, let me finish.”  Them: “But I don’t understand.”  Me: “Right, because you didn’t let me explain. Listen.”  Them: “I am listening!  Why do you always accuse me of not listening?  I’m listening, I don’t understand!  You’re not telling me right!”  A few more minutes in this pattern and it’s not pretty.  Could be yelling, maybe a little door slamming, maybe some sobbing.  When we finally get back to business, I am trying some Lamaze breathing and the child is post-crying-gasping.  Very conducive to learning.  Finally, it is all explained and listened to and then they tell me indignantly, “That’s not how my teacher told us to do it.” (Picture me shaking my fists at the sky.)

Math often causes the problem.  Yes, math is still math.  It’s the only known constant in the universe.  Right?  WRONG!  Yup, it’s still numbers BUT they are teaching them differently.  Now they use chunking, grouping, some other fancy phrases to do what we used to just do with the numbers.  And, yes, I can see that it teaches concepts better than how we learned it.  (I think it’s made my math better!) BUT, is that worth the damage to the parent-child relationship?  What about to the parental image?  They already think we’re idiots- they don’t need confirmation. Their greatest joy is to point out how stupid we are!  You think I want to help with your homework when you just told me I’m a moron?  Is it wrong for me to say, “Duhh, I can’t help I’m too stupid.  Duh…”

The homework really throws me off because, as the kids get bigger, the homework is getting harder.  Harder for me to remember, harder for me to explain and, sometimes, harder for me to understand!  On the days when there is difficult math homework, I should just save time and throw the dinner right into the garbage.  Why waste the time in burning it first?  There is no way I can pull off a decent meal when I need all my mental energy to scramble through the textbook, pretend I am just flipping and actually reteach myself the math.  Ah, the relief when I realize I DO know how to do it!  But not the “right” way…  And they won’t buy the “Let me show you another way to do this.”  Arg!  They will not believe there a way other than what the have seen.  Double arg!!

These are the times that I give up and say, “Well, you’ll just have to ask your teacher tomorrow.”  Or send it in wrong.  I do feel a bit bad when they stress out about it.  But, I console myself that I’d rather the teacher know what they are struggling with rather than think all is hunky-dory.  And I’d rather not HAVE to beat them over homework.  Better to cut your loses when violence is on the horizon.  These parenting moments always remind me of this quote a friend sent me-

Sooo true.  I especially love the way the cartoon mother is looking dotingly at her child.  Is she imagining it while smiling or is she hissing it at him?  I guess if I can smile like the cartoon mom, while confining the obscenities to my brain, I can count that as a win?  Boy, do standards drop as the years go by...

             

Dodge Arm

             Remember back in the 70’s and 80’s when it was okay for a gym teacher to scar a kid for life?  When a little assault and battery was part of the curriculum in the form of Dodge Ball? I was never coordinated enough to dodge it for long and can’t imagine I ever caught it. 

            But, in some ways, it was not bad to be the least athletically skilled person in the gym.  I got to sit out early on in the game- free to be lazy and daydream.  If I was the first one out, chances are someone average took me out with a gentle toss.  As the game progressed and got more serious, there were only the strongest and fastest kids left.  At that point, you’re walking away with a big, red, ball-sized welt where you were walloped.   Good times…

            There was a dodging game I did like to play in the 70’s.  The playing field was the back seat of a big, old car with bench seats.  The game usually started as my brother and me fighting each other in the back seat- just ceaseless bickering, name-calling, hair pulling and rolling around.  (No seat belts.  The 70’s were like the Wild West of child/car safety. )

            It wouldn’t last long before my mother would start yelling at us to “Knock it off!”  And threatening, “If I have to pull this car over…” That never worked because she never finished the sentence.  She might’ve had more luck if she’d finished it with, “…I will rip you out of this car and beat you about your heads with my purse while you cower and cry by the curb where your friends will see as they drive by with their parents and they will make fun of you in school and call you crybabies and…”

            Invariably, we would just keep doing what we were doing.  (What else could we do?  There was no other entertainment.  No rear DVDs.  No iPods.)  Eventually, my poor mother would crack under the strain and go crazy.  She would drive with her left hand as the right reached over the back and tried to grab or swat anyone in her reach.  Whoo-Hoo!  Entertainment!  New game: Dodge Arm!!  Suddenly my brother and I were comrades!  Teammates joined in a single purpose:  dodging the arm and laughing manically at my mother!  Incensing her further!  Yee-haw!

            I still have a memory of being small in the back seat and laughing at “the arm” as it swung by in slo-mo.   I have to be honest though; I don’t remember how this game ended.  I hope my mother wound up laughing with us sometimes.  Or maybe I have amnesia from being beaten at the curb with a purse?  I thought I was just making that part up…

P.S.  When my kids are bickering and making me crazy, I remind them of Dodge Arm.  I swing wildly back at them but it’s not really the game it could be.  Despite all the hiding places a minivan offers, they are safely strapped down.  Maybe I should invent a parking lot version.  They could unbuckle and go anywhere in the van while I have to stay in the front.  BUT I am allowed to throw things!  Library books, water bottles, sunblock, bug spray.  I could win this one!

My GPS...

The above wasn't my original title.  My original title was: 

"My GPS is a Total Bitch Who is Trying to Break Up My Marriage and I Just Hate Her So Much and I Want to Step on Her and I Regret Throwing Out My Atlas Because She Was Supposed to Be All That AND a Bag of Chips but is not but IS Almost Completely Evil."

But... that seemed really long. AND I really wouldn't need to type anymore because I would've already told you the whole thing. (Plus the capitalization gets all tricky with that many words in a title.) So I just settled for the dot dot dot. 

Anyway!

I came into this marriage almost 20 years ago with a pristine Rand McNally Road Atlas that my father had given me.  (Along with a plastic milk crate of car fluids he felt should take up trunk space at all times.  He liked to imagine I was prepared for anything.  I was amused.  Now that I am a parent, I fully understand.  But, I digress.)  

Over the years, we have set out on many road trips with just my atlas.  No Mapquest, no GPS, no Goggle maps.  I was always the navigator.  Not just because it was my map but because I was better at it.  I know my husband is protesting right now.  I'm not trying to sully his manliness.  He is just fine at reading maps.  But he gets bored or glazes over and forgets that he is supposed to be watching the exits.  Or just falls asleep. (Not when he is driving!  That keeps him awake.  But, if he is the passenger, he has no motivation to stay awake.  A narcoleptic navigator is not helpful.)  I am not always perfect but I remain awake and always got us to our destination.

I like technology but I didn't jump on the GPS bandwagon right away.  I didn't need to pay good money for something that my atlas could already do.  (Have I mentioned that I am cheap?)  But, this past summer, we had a few road trips planned and there was one on sale at Target.  The fates were trying to convince me.  So, I bought it and a few days later [voice catching- I know I'm actually typing- shut up] I put my coverless, water damaged, dog eared, tattered atlas in the recycling bin.

A week or so later, we gave it our first run.  The kids decided to be the navigators and we were headed to grandma's house.  We always drive by rote but maybe the GPS had some new ideas?  I let the kids direct me and didn't think too deeply about the route.  Just as I realized where the witch telling us to go, I missed the last possible exit ramp before disaster.  Holy bad words, Batman, the hag put us on the Cross Bronx! I was sooooo annoyed.  At myself for not realizing.  I had to forgive her.  She's a machine and, of course, the Cross Bronx LOOKS quicker on paper.  

Despite the first flop, we hooked it up again a week later for a long ride down to North Carolina.  I decided the GPS couldn't be counted on to know the traffic in NYC so I didn't listen to her (recalculate this!) until we hit 95.  Around DC, it was after 10pm and we were hoping to squeeze in a few more hours before the kids began to weep. My husband was driving.  As we approached the Beltway, the GPS starts telling us to go a different way than we have always gone.  Huh?  

Already burned by her stupidity- I resisted and proclaimed that we had gotten a brain damaged GPS.  I had no atlas with which to fact check her hateful lies.  And my husband sided with HER!  I am scrambling to prove her wrong before he makes a terrible mistake when he says, "Well, let's see what happens."  What happens is SHE takes us through local streets bisecting the Beltway.  We could've zoomed around the mess.  Longer in miles? Yes, but shorter in time and fear factor.  Fear factor you ask?  She dumped us out on a street in a questionable neighborhood on a hot crowded, wild, summer Friday night.  (I judge neighborhoods questionable by mathematical equations: 1. How many inches from the ground are the men's waistbands and how many inches of underwear am I seeing?  2.  How many "wifebeater" tees are being worn by the populace?  3.  How many teeth are missing? and 4.  How many people are just milling around in the middle of the street daring us to try and get by?)   So instead of burning up the miles, I was pissed off and frustrated.  The kids were fading fast and we had to find our way back to the highway.  (Look kids, there's the Washington Monument!  Why are we in DC?  Just try to fall asleep.)

I had completely lost faith in our half-witted GPS.  I LOATHED how she only showed us the route on a "need to know" basis.  I wanted to see the entire plan- not just that little bit, dammit!  (Waa, my poor lost atlas!)  I want to see the whole damn state at a time- like my Randy McN used to show me!  Let me be the judge of what "shorter" route is worth it.  And I almost beat my husband on the way home from NC because she screwed us in DC again!  In a completely different way!   I assured my husband that she was nuts and yet he listened again! WTF, is he crazy?  Why is he so trusting?  Who has been navigating safely for all these years?  Me! And now you listen to this deceitful, vile box of sadism?!?  AAARRRRGGG!!!  She IS trying to break up my marriage as well just being a spiteful bitch about everything she hears me say about her.  

As much as I would like to hit her with a hammer, I can't bring myself to do it.  While she has proven herself to be a moron in the cities, she can be helpful in more rural areas.  You know, where there aren't many roads to choose from.  I think she just not very bright- a few circuits shy of a full board.  But it's hard to remember she's just stupid when she has that nice, lady voice.  A voice I hate - it just makes me attack her as if she is a real life home wrecker.  

I decided to go onto the company website and try to get a different voice.  (It must be bad if I am willing to pay for a voice change.)  I figured if I could get a Homer Simpson voice I wouldn't be so swollen with rage when she misdirects us.  I'd just be all, "Oh, that Homer is so silly!" And my husband would agree that we shouldn't listen to Homer because he is a moron.  (Homer, not my husband.) But it turns out that my company didn't only have Homer Simpson's voice.  They also have Darth Vadar- who seems much more appropriate to me.  Only someone evil would intentionally steer us so wrong.

Now I am torn.  Evil or stupid? 

(Plus, I am buying a new atlas!) 

Planning for Next Year's Holiday Season?

The twelve days of Christmas have officially ended with the arrival of the Magi.  The tree is limp and dry and it's time to dismantle the holidays.  As I pack up our treasured ornaments for another year, I am kind of glad it's all over.  (I'm tired.  And stuffed!)  As I think back over the great times, I think about what this next year will bring.  About the good and the bad of the Christmas season.  Of some new ideas for next year's holiday onslaught....

     Ah, the holiday season!  Peace on Earth!  Goodwill toward men!  We smile at strangers on the street.  We love everyone!  But then the actual holiday arrives.  Along with the family… [Cue scary music]  Of course, I love my family and am not talking about them.  I am only sharing what I am overhearing them saying about me.  No, no, no… 

For years, I have listened as friends groaned about the approaching holidays.  They anticipate the fights and stresses.  The holidays put us on our best behavior for others but not always for our family.  We fall back into the roles from our childhoods.  Old resentments color the way we hear every passing statement.  Often taking harmless remarks [okay, maybe not harmless but maybe/hopefully not as charged as usual] and making them seem like a blanket criticism on the way you live your life, the way you raise your children, even your haircut!  Add to that the same story that your dad has told you a million times, the way your mom clears her throat and trying to get a perfect meal together?  It’s enough to make you snap.

I’ve been thinking of a way to remind everyone to behave a little nicer.  Maybe a visual reminder?  A cute little plaque or a peace dove?  I started thinking about how everyone gathers around the table for a meal.  A turkey to carve, maybe a ham or lasagna.  Then I started thinking about how dangerous it is that we are always armed with cutlery and deadly electric knives just when emotions are running dangerously high. 

I’ve got it!  What about a little bottle of crime scene solvent as part of the centerpiece?!?  A little reminder that we’re only this close to being on the news…  “One snide comment from you, Aunt Jenny, and I could be trying to scrub your blood out of the grout before the police arrive.” A little miracle bottle of solvent could keep everyone on their best behavior.  Florists could integrate it into a beautiful arrangement .  Harry and David could sell it in their catalogues and grocery stores could put it at the end of the aisles with the canned yams!  I think I am on to something.  If I start production now I can have it on the shelves for next year…..

Happy 2013!

I am thankful for so much this and every year. I am even grateful for the stress and tension as I try to create a perfect holiday for my kids. (If those are my worries, it means all else is great.) This world is hard and scary.  I want to protect my children as long as possible and give them good memories to take on their life's journey.  While this year has been good for us personally, it has been grueling on a national level.  We are all ready for a fresh start... 2012, don't let the door hit you in the ass.  

There are 26 beautiful souls from CT who are on all of our minds. The grief of their families is beyond measure and we all have been changed by their heartbreak.  Their tragedy hasn't just been watched on the news from a distance- we have all felt it.  A mere micro-fraction of what they have gone through - a pinprick of their mountain of pain.  Yet that pinprick has fractured us all...

I've been seeing #26 Random Acts of Kindness around since a few days after the tragedy.  I loved the idea but didn't realize where it started.  It turns out that Ann Curry started the idea in a tweet to followers.  Moved, as we all were, she suggested everyone doing 20 Random Acts of Kindness for the lost CT children.  In this media age, the spark of an idea spread to an impressive fire. It morphed, grew and took on a life of it's own.  It changed to #26 Random Acts for all those killed in Newtown and it's spreading around the world. 

This year, we all have lost (even more) faith in mankind.  This new year, let's all try to rekindle some familial brotherhood.  Let's watch out for each other. Commit random acts of kindness. Pay it forward.  Let's all work to restore a little faith this year...

I wish you and yours a Happy, Healthy and Safe New Year.

-Heather


P.S.  The comedian Louis CK used the term "humanity chicken" in one of his bits.  He was referring to the moment after something happens -i.e. someone falls.  It's when we realize we should do something but pause for a split second to see if someone else will jump in.  If they do, we can say to ourselves, "Oh, he's got it" and  move on without guilt.  I found this to be soooo true.  We all want to help and always feel good after we do but there is some element of fear that holds us back.  A fear of getting "involved".  Imagine if we all didn't pause before jumping in...