I had a meeting last night and on the drive home after picking up Tank's babysitter (we'll call her K) he proceeded to unleash several bits of my life story that had me wishing I could put a muzzle on him.
Tank: "Hey, K," he piped from the back seat, "I don't think I ever told you that before my mom had me she had a baby that died. Her name was Brenna and I would have had a sister."
Uh......long, awkward silence.
Me: " (To K) It's true, I lost a baby, it was a long time ago, I'm fine now. (To Tank) Remember when mom told you that I don't share that with everyone because it's really sensitive?"
Tank: "Oh yeah."
Tank: "Hey, K, I have 51 Pokémon cards now. I almost have as many as Eric."
Me: "(to K) Did you ever play Pokémon?"
K: "No, I just looked at the cards."
Me: "That's what we do. Tank's dad used to play them. I had no idea they were that old."
K: "Yeah, me neither."
Uh.....awkward silence where I contemplate how old my husband and I are.
Tank: "When my mom was little she collected cards that were gross and had names like Booger Eating Billy."
Me: "(To K) Have you ever heard of Garbage Pail Kids? (K shakes her head no- you know, because she wasn't even born yet.) Well, they were gross and we collected them and they had weird names. Your mom probably remembers them (she does, I asked her.) (To Tank) That was a long time ago, buddy. Like in the 80s."
Tank: "The 1800s?"
K and I burst out laughing. I feel even older.
Me: "(to Tank) Not the 1800s, son. I'm not that old."
Tank: "Yeah, I know. Hey mom, your white jacket is back here."
Pretty much, son. Pretty much. Wrap me up, take me away. I already have the white jacket.
May 15, 2013
May 8, 2013
Commercialism
Tank came into my room this morning while I was brushing my hair and getting ready to blow dry it.
"Mom, do you like pulling hair out of your brush every day?"
I paused and looked at my brush which had some built up hair in it- nothing out of the ordinary.
"I guess it's not the most pleasant job," I replied as I started to pull the dead hair from the brush.
"Well, then you should get this brush I saw on TV."
Oh. It started to sink in.
"Yeah," he continued, "it goes right through your hair with no damage and no hurting and you do not have to pull any hair out of it. Ever. Even if you have tangled hair or it's all curled up."
My son is a walking infomercial.
Let's hope Hot Buns aren't next.
"Mom, do you like pulling hair out of your brush every day?"
I paused and looked at my brush which had some built up hair in it- nothing out of the ordinary.
"I guess it's not the most pleasant job," I replied as I started to pull the dead hair from the brush.
"Well, then you should get this brush I saw on TV."
Oh. It started to sink in.
"Yeah," he continued, "it goes right through your hair with no damage and no hurting and you do not have to pull any hair out of it. Ever. Even if you have tangled hair or it's all curled up."
My son is a walking infomercial.
Let's hope Hot Buns aren't next.
April 26, 2013
Schedule Stress
I live in a small, Friday Night Lights kind of town in the Midwest. And I'm the mother of a large boy. The natural, stereotypical inclination is to get Tank involved in sports. I mean, he's almost 7. His friends are already playing football, lacrosse, basketball, soccer, AND baseball. That's right, AND.
The only problem is my large boy is anything but athletically inclined. When signing him up for summer T-ball I remarked how happy I was that he wanted to give it a try.
His reply, "well, I don't really WANT to play T-ball."
"Oh? Well, what do you want to do?" I asked.
"I WANT to sit on the couch and play video games and watch TV."
Out of the mouths of babes. Replace video games with read a book and I agree, I'd rather do the same.
Tank's father and I aren't athletic. We are active, sure. I like Zumba, like to be outside, Jeff works out in the gym six days a week. We are active, but not into sports. We don't even like watching sports.
So why do I feel so much pressure to get Tank into them? Team sports can offer Tank things that as an only child he won't experience at home. It will teach him to work with others, respect authority, make him less likely to get into trouble or to become obese. So, no harm in signing him up for things until he adamantly declares he doesn't want to do it. So what if he's the daisy picker on the field, right?
But I still feel all this pressure to make him LIKE sports. He's not aggressive with the soccer ball, he couldn't care less about baseball, and doesn't even know what lacrosse is. It isn't that he doesn't like sports, really, just that he's more interested in playing with his teammates than actually PLAYING the sport.
And part of me feels like a failure because of it.
But that's my hang up, isn't it? I keep expecting him to be something he isn't- something his father and I aren't either. And why? Tank loves To Shin Do, loves to play outside with his friends, is healthy and active. He doesn't WANT to play a million different sports. He WANTS to simply play.
And that should be enough for me. For all of us that think our kids need to be involved in every sport known to elementary school, on top of music, dance, imagination leagues, building leagues- what the heck is our rush?
No wonder our society has ADD and no idea who we are- we aren't giving our kids any time to find OUT who they are- to just BE who they are. And maybe it's because we haven't let ourselves just BE ourselves for a really, really long time either.
Imagine who our kids could be if they were allowed to be just that- kids.
The only problem is my large boy is anything but athletically inclined. When signing him up for summer T-ball I remarked how happy I was that he wanted to give it a try.
His reply, "well, I don't really WANT to play T-ball."
"Oh? Well, what do you want to do?" I asked.
"I WANT to sit on the couch and play video games and watch TV."
Out of the mouths of babes. Replace video games with read a book and I agree, I'd rather do the same.
Tank's father and I aren't athletic. We are active, sure. I like Zumba, like to be outside, Jeff works out in the gym six days a week. We are active, but not into sports. We don't even like watching sports.
So why do I feel so much pressure to get Tank into them? Team sports can offer Tank things that as an only child he won't experience at home. It will teach him to work with others, respect authority, make him less likely to get into trouble or to become obese. So, no harm in signing him up for things until he adamantly declares he doesn't want to do it. So what if he's the daisy picker on the field, right?
But I still feel all this pressure to make him LIKE sports. He's not aggressive with the soccer ball, he couldn't care less about baseball, and doesn't even know what lacrosse is. It isn't that he doesn't like sports, really, just that he's more interested in playing with his teammates than actually PLAYING the sport.
And part of me feels like a failure because of it.
But that's my hang up, isn't it? I keep expecting him to be something he isn't- something his father and I aren't either. And why? Tank loves To Shin Do, loves to play outside with his friends, is healthy and active. He doesn't WANT to play a million different sports. He WANTS to simply play.
And that should be enough for me. For all of us that think our kids need to be involved in every sport known to elementary school, on top of music, dance, imagination leagues, building leagues- what the heck is our rush?
No wonder our society has ADD and no idea who we are- we aren't giving our kids any time to find OUT who they are- to just BE who they are. And maybe it's because we haven't let ourselves just BE ourselves for a really, really long time either.
Imagine who our kids could be if they were allowed to be just that- kids.
March 19, 2013
Poor Rapists?
Something is wrong. FUNDAMENTALLY wrong. Two boys in Steubenville, Ohio were found guilty by a judge in juvenile court for raping a girl at a party. They raped her, recorded and posted it to social media, left her in a heap and urinated on her. Justice was served with their guilty verdict- if you're satisfied that one year in prison for rape is justice.
So when the media reports on the verdict they talk about the rapists?! They go on and on about how their lives are ruined, how emotional it was for THE RAPISTS to hear their guilty verdict, how smart and studious they were, big, strong, football players with so much promise. Poor, poor, rapists. Something is wrong.
I keep trying to put myself in the shoes of their mothers. How would I feel if I was the mother of a rapist? Would I try to downplay it? Would I try to justify that he made one stupid mistake? I'd like to think that I would not. I'd like to think that the first thing I would say to my own son was "how could you?" I'd like to think I would make him take responsibility for his actions. My goal, obviously, is to never have to be in the shoes of a rapist's mother.
But in our culture of violence and entitlement, is it any wonder these boys got the message that they can take whatever they want when they want it? With Jersey Shore on TV is it any wonder these kids thought it was OK to just sit back and WATCH rape? And when the media consoles the rapists, what next? They say the girl was drunk, the event "alcohol fueld." SO. WHAT. The girl was practically unconscious. Shouldn't that be more evidence of her inability to consent? Shouldn't these boys know better? How can they when our media culture takes the side of rapists? I don't feel sorry that their "lives are ruined." They did that to themselves, not to mention the girl they RAPED AND URINATED ON. Not to mention.
Something is so, so wrong. Moms of boys we need to change this! Those rapists could be any one of our sons. If that makes you uncomfortable, then good. It's time to stop letting them watch and participate in hyper-sexualized, violent, and aggressive, video games, television, music, and film and then turn away and not talk to them about sex until they are in their teens. It's too late by then.
We are a culture of the most twisted kind. We let media have warped conversations with our children because we are too shocked or too embarrassed to talk to them ourselves. We want to put our head in the sand and think our boys don't have questions because they haven't asked.
It's not good enough.
My son is 6 and like all children was born without self-control and boundaries. When he was little, he would hit. He still likes to crowd others' personal space and get in their face. Boundaries are taught and I used his own experience as a segue to talk in first grade language about Steubenville.
"Hey, Tank. Remember when you were little and would sometimes hit?"
"Yeah."
"Mom makes a really big deal out of that stuff, right?"
"Yeah."
"You know how when you and Dad are goofing around and he tickles you and you say stop? Mom always makes him stop as soon as you stay stop, right? Because when someone says stop it's really, really important."
"Yeah. And sometimes it's confusing because I'm laughing and saying stop, too." (LIGHT BULB MOMENT!)
"That's right! It's confusing because sometimes it seems like you like it. But it doesn't matter if a person is laughing or smiling. If they say stop you HAVE to stop."
"I know."
We went on to talk about girls. How someday he might love a girl the way dad loves mom. I reminded him how mom and dad sometimes kiss and cuddle and he might feel that way about a girl someday and that it's very important to always listen to her if she says she doesn't like the kissing or cuddling. It's always his job to be a protector of girls.
"Take care of girls the way you take care of mom," I told him.
Because SOMEBODY needs to teach our boys to take care of our girls. We need to parent better. We need to parent our boys instead of giving them everything they want. We need to talk with them about respect and sex and their bodies. We need to show them by example how to be a gentleman, how to speak up when we see something wrong. We need to talk to them about the dangers of alcohol and peer pressure. We need to talk to them about rape.
And we need to stop looking to the media to educate our kids. Because they are screwing it up. Big time.
So when the media reports on the verdict they talk about the rapists?! They go on and on about how their lives are ruined, how emotional it was for THE RAPISTS to hear their guilty verdict, how smart and studious they were, big, strong, football players with so much promise. Poor, poor, rapists. Something is wrong.
I keep trying to put myself in the shoes of their mothers. How would I feel if I was the mother of a rapist? Would I try to downplay it? Would I try to justify that he made one stupid mistake? I'd like to think that I would not. I'd like to think that the first thing I would say to my own son was "how could you?" I'd like to think I would make him take responsibility for his actions. My goal, obviously, is to never have to be in the shoes of a rapist's mother.
But in our culture of violence and entitlement, is it any wonder these boys got the message that they can take whatever they want when they want it? With Jersey Shore on TV is it any wonder these kids thought it was OK to just sit back and WATCH rape? And when the media consoles the rapists, what next? They say the girl was drunk, the event "alcohol fueld." SO. WHAT. The girl was practically unconscious. Shouldn't that be more evidence of her inability to consent? Shouldn't these boys know better? How can they when our media culture takes the side of rapists? I don't feel sorry that their "lives are ruined." They did that to themselves, not to mention the girl they RAPED AND URINATED ON. Not to mention.
Something is so, so wrong. Moms of boys we need to change this! Those rapists could be any one of our sons. If that makes you uncomfortable, then good. It's time to stop letting them watch and participate in hyper-sexualized, violent, and aggressive, video games, television, music, and film and then turn away and not talk to them about sex until they are in their teens. It's too late by then.
We are a culture of the most twisted kind. We let media have warped conversations with our children because we are too shocked or too embarrassed to talk to them ourselves. We want to put our head in the sand and think our boys don't have questions because they haven't asked.
It's not good enough.
My son is 6 and like all children was born without self-control and boundaries. When he was little, he would hit. He still likes to crowd others' personal space and get in their face. Boundaries are taught and I used his own experience as a segue to talk in first grade language about Steubenville.
"Hey, Tank. Remember when you were little and would sometimes hit?"
"Yeah."
"Mom makes a really big deal out of that stuff, right?"
"Yeah."
"You know how when you and Dad are goofing around and he tickles you and you say stop? Mom always makes him stop as soon as you stay stop, right? Because when someone says stop it's really, really important."
"Yeah. And sometimes it's confusing because I'm laughing and saying stop, too." (LIGHT BULB MOMENT!)
"That's right! It's confusing because sometimes it seems like you like it. But it doesn't matter if a person is laughing or smiling. If they say stop you HAVE to stop."
"I know."
We went on to talk about girls. How someday he might love a girl the way dad loves mom. I reminded him how mom and dad sometimes kiss and cuddle and he might feel that way about a girl someday and that it's very important to always listen to her if she says she doesn't like the kissing or cuddling. It's always his job to be a protector of girls.
"Take care of girls the way you take care of mom," I told him.
Because SOMEBODY needs to teach our boys to take care of our girls. We need to parent better. We need to parent our boys instead of giving them everything they want. We need to talk with them about respect and sex and their bodies. We need to show them by example how to be a gentleman, how to speak up when we see something wrong. We need to talk to them about the dangers of alcohol and peer pressure. We need to talk to them about rape.
And we need to stop looking to the media to educate our kids. Because they are screwing it up. Big time.
March 18, 2013
Shades of Gray
Winter gray hangs everywhere,
Washed whites with black-my underwear.
My skin, my hair is graying too.
My mood is gray or is it blue?
The sky, the trees, gray all around.
Rain and mud grays up the ground.
Spring, Summer, Fall and Gray.
Winter feels like one long day.
Stupid groundhog you're full of LIES!
There is no sunshine in the skies.
Trudging through like Walking Dead,
I think I'll just go back to bed.
Wake me when the gray is done-
In time for pollen.
Ohio's fun!
February 19, 2013
Private is as private does
I'm not going to give details on Tank's recent "phase" because it would go against the point I'm trying to make. Which is that certain things- conversations, body parts, questions, behaviors- are private. We're grown ups, most of us understand this. Little children, however, especially little boy, have to be taught about keeping things that are private, private.
Such has been the recurring topic in our house for the last month. And then we saw this:
Such has been the recurring topic in our house for the last month. And then we saw this:
At a book store. The following conversation ensued.
Tank: "Ewww gross!"
Me: "What's gross?" I thought he noticed....her....but didn't want to mention it just in case he hadn't.
Tank: "That lady." He pointed out the magazine cover. "I can see her underwear and her belly button and her boobs!"
Me: "Not really appropriate is it?"
Tank: "Ew, no. Those are private parts. Why is she showing her privates?"
Ummmm....good question! Such is the pickle of modern parenting.
I know, I know, she's in a "bathing suit." But it's winter and we're in a book store in Ohio. I wouldn't allow my son to walk around like this in a store, yet there she is in all her, um....glory?
What's the message here? Keep your privates private unless you're a woman, correction, unless you're a HOT woman? Ogling her is OK because this is a SPORTS magazine? She's athletic! Maybe this will inspire my son to learn to swim. She certainly is....buoyant.
Sigh. I know this blatant sexuality isn't going anywhere. I know it's our job as Tank's parents to help him navigate the world using his own moral compass. I understand the SI Swimsuit edition isn't the decline of modern civilization.
I just can't help but wish sometimes that everyone else's sensationalized privates weren't at my son's eye level.
January 29, 2013
Mathlete
I grew up learning regular old, unnamed math. I was never any good at regular old math, struggled through Trigonometry in high school, and have yet to find the square root of anything besides a box of Oreos in my adult life.
So lies the back story for my current struggle with Tank's first grade math homework. Yes, I'm struggling with first grade math. Not just any regular old dumb American math, but Singapore Math. Singa-the rest of the world is smarter than us because they've been using this math for years-pore Math.
Singapore Math is causing post traumatic stress flashbacks to my 1991 SAT Test. It wants me to figure out how A inserts to B, C, and D therefore creating some kind of rectangular, oblongular (yes, that's a joke,) square or other shaped box. It wants me to care what time Train A gets to Singapore and how much quicker it will arrive than Train B. It does NOT want me to use a calculator, buy a pre-assembled box, or call the train station. It wants me to hate it.
Singapore Math asks my six year old what 8+4 equals. My son comes up with 12. Correct? Oh no, not correct. In Singapore Math the answer might be 12 but to get there you need to know that 8+4 doesn't just equal 12 but also 10+2. And in case you were wondering, 4+4 equals 8 and 2+2 equals 4. So my six year old, who has already told me the answer is 12 still needs to fill in something like this:
8 + 4= ____ +____
/ \
(4+__) (__+2)
Sigh. And even though he already knows the answer is 12 and I didn't grow up using Singapore Math, and his teacher has never taught Singapore Math, I am responsible for trying to help him do his homework independently so that when he's tested he can do it on his own.
Really?
Supporters of Singapore Math might say that if I had grown up with this type of problem solving that maybe I wouldn't have struggled so much with math as a student. I would tell you that it makes more sense to call the train station about arrival times because travel is notoriously unpredictable and pre-assembled boxes save time. I don't know for sure.
What I do know is that if someone gives me a ten dollar bill and I owe them five in change I never, ever say "just give me 5+5 and I'll give you 3+2 back."
I'm over simplifying. Sure. But instead of learning equations, I wish I'd been taught life skills math. Measuring cups and miles per gallon math, check book balancing, change making, budgeting and IRA math. Oh crap my period is late math, calorie counting, and how many hours until school is out math. How to pack for three people in one suitcase under 50 pounds math- Skillapore Math.
I guess for now I will need to use math to count how many days until my husband returns from deployment. Then he can tackle Singapore Math without breaking the pencil in frustration.
Let's see, 28+31+30+31= Too many damn days of math homework to count + first grade will be over by then anyway.
Sigh. I'm Screwapored.
So lies the back story for my current struggle with Tank's first grade math homework. Yes, I'm struggling with first grade math. Not just any regular old dumb American math, but Singapore Math. Singa-the rest of the world is smarter than us because they've been using this math for years-pore Math.
Singapore Math is causing post traumatic stress flashbacks to my 1991 SAT Test. It wants me to figure out how A inserts to B, C, and D therefore creating some kind of rectangular, oblongular (yes, that's a joke,) square or other shaped box. It wants me to care what time Train A gets to Singapore and how much quicker it will arrive than Train B. It does NOT want me to use a calculator, buy a pre-assembled box, or call the train station. It wants me to hate it.
Singapore Math asks my six year old what 8+4 equals. My son comes up with 12. Correct? Oh no, not correct. In Singapore Math the answer might be 12 but to get there you need to know that 8+4 doesn't just equal 12 but also 10+2. And in case you were wondering, 4+4 equals 8 and 2+2 equals 4. So my six year old, who has already told me the answer is 12 still needs to fill in something like this:
8 + 4= ____ +____
/ \
(4+__) (__+2)
Sigh. And even though he already knows the answer is 12 and I didn't grow up using Singapore Math, and his teacher has never taught Singapore Math, I am responsible for trying to help him do his homework independently so that when he's tested he can do it on his own.
Really?
Supporters of Singapore Math might say that if I had grown up with this type of problem solving that maybe I wouldn't have struggled so much with math as a student. I would tell you that it makes more sense to call the train station about arrival times because travel is notoriously unpredictable and pre-assembled boxes save time. I don't know for sure.
What I do know is that if someone gives me a ten dollar bill and I owe them five in change I never, ever say "just give me 5+5 and I'll give you 3+2 back."
I'm over simplifying. Sure. But instead of learning equations, I wish I'd been taught life skills math. Measuring cups and miles per gallon math, check book balancing, change making, budgeting and IRA math. Oh crap my period is late math, calorie counting, and how many hours until school is out math. How to pack for three people in one suitcase under 50 pounds math- Skillapore Math.
I guess for now I will need to use math to count how many days until my husband returns from deployment. Then he can tackle Singapore Math without breaking the pencil in frustration.
Let's see, 28+31+30+31= Too many damn days of math homework to count + first grade will be over by then anyway.
Sigh. I'm Screwapored.
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