Regrets

We all have 'em, we all have to live with them.

Last week was the last Saturday for the kids' soccer skills and drills class. Of course, we could sign up again for another 8 weeks, $100 per kid. I asked them both if they'd like to do it again. If they are genuinely interested and having fun I am willing, it fits easily into our schedule, once a week early on Saturday mornings.

Sophie immediatley said, "no." I suggested we think it over and talk about it again later. When I asked on Thursday she said no again, but Will said yes. Steve and I talked about it, it's pretty nice to be able to take both of them to an activity at the same time, but it's Saturday morning so it's not that big of a deal.

When I called the sportsplex to register Will on Friday afternoon I asked her one more time, "You're sure you don't want to do soccer again?" "NO, mommy." Okay. I registered Will for the next level, we're ready to go.

As the kids are laying out their clothes for Saturday morning, I remind Will to put out soccer clothes. Sophie looks at me, a hurt expression on her face, "Why am I not going to soccer?!" uh, because you said you didn't want to. "But is there still space? Could I go tomorrow and sign up?"

Steve and I put the kids to bed and then discussed what we should do. We decided to not take her. She said no on three separate occasions, Steve thinks its a power play on her part, he remembers doing the same thing as a kid.

Now is the time to learn to live with your regret. Maybe next time she will be honest both with herself and with me.

The Occasional Chicken

***back story: we have a friend who keeps a flock of various hens in her backyard. Will loves them and feels very knowledgeable about them.

Will and Sophie are playing in the cluster of trees by our house we laughably refer to as "the woods."

Will comes running out, "Mommy, Mommy, I saw a HAWK!"
"Cool!" I reply.

Sophie squeezes close to me and says, "A hawk. I'm terrified."
"Oh, honey, a hawk isn't interested in you." Reassuring, right?

Will is quick to point out, "but they are carnivores, Mommy."
"True," I said, "But they eat small things, mice, squirrels, snakes, the occasional chicken. But not children."

Will holds his index finger and thumb up in front of his right eye and squinting says matter of factly, "Occasional Chickens are very small."

What's for Dinner??

Dinner planning is absolutely my least favorite part of running a house and family.

I think it is critical that eat together as a family, at the same time every night. There is substantial evivdence to show that this brings families together, fosters communication and decreases risky behavior.

I enjoy sitting and sharing about our days. I like knowing what is happening in my kids' lives at school and with friends.

I also believe that we truly are what we eat, so if we are eating a bunch of highly processed, chemical laden foods, those things may accumulate in our blood, brains and livers. They could interfere, change or interrupt our brains natural chemical reactions, in turn changing our emotions, reactions and thought processes. I like to think of this as "The Cheez-Wiz
egfect."

I like eating fruits and veggies, I like knowing where they were grown and what they were grown with. I like knowing the meat I am eating was treated kindly when it was living.

I even almost like cooking. But man, do I hate the planning part. It feels like such a HUGE undertaking to think about a whole weeks' worth of cooking and shopping that I just like to ignore it.

I had been thinking I would cook salsa chicken in the crock pot today for burritos tonight. Then things got away from away from me and didn't happen. So what is for dinner tonight?

Family Ties

We are supposed to be going to my niece, L's, 6th birthday party this weekend, where I am sure to see her older sister, S, (14) who is 5 months pregnant. This will be the first time I've seen or talked to her since I found out. I am sure the air between us will be different.

My feelings toward the entire situation don't fit the standard cliche, "I'm just so disappointed in you." I feel like disappointment can only be felt when expectations aren't met. And if I am completely honest, the news of her pregnancy wasn't surprising. I found out several months ago (about 6- you do the math) that she'd been caught by her aunt, just 21 herself, and admitted to having unprotected sex. Her justification for not using a condom was that she "looked in [her aunt B's] drawers but she didn't have any!" How could B be so thoughtless, really! This is the mentality of 14 year olds: I want to do x, and the adults in my life are here to make it possible.

At one point during this early morning confrontation, S said that her mom, "knows and is okay with it, and she won't tell my dad, anyway." The implication here is that B could tell on her, but it wouldn't result in any repercussions for her. She was right, she didn't get in trouble. Her mom did not, in fact, tell her dad. Sadly, 6 weeks later she's pregnant.

Her mother, C, has never set any limits for her, even knowing just how at risk she was for this specific kind of behavior, having been sexually abused as a small girl. So, no, I am not surprised nor am I disappointed in her. I am sad and I feel helpless. As I have for several years now.

I have tried in the past to offer C advice or suggestions for other outside parenting resources. It was always greeted enthusiastically and then promptly disregarded. So I stopped. I realized the only way I could effect real change for this girl would be more detrimental in the end. I had come to a place of crossing my fingers and squeezing my eyes shut and hoping for the least disastrous outcome.

She will be giving birth one week before her 15th birthday. I keep racking my brain about what could I have done differently to change the place where she is now. Let me be the first to say, hindsight isn't always 20/20, I can't come up with anything.

So, no, I am not disappointed in her. I am disappointed in all of the adults, myself included, who are a part of her life, who couldn't do anything but stand by and watch. Before I was a parent, before I was in the situation of having a close friends and family member parent her own children in a manner I find deplorable, I had very different expectations of what my adult relationships with my nieces and nephews would be like. I am disappointed to find myself so powerless.

Evolution

I imagine everyone has had the experience of being christened with a nick name. Some make you feel good, others not so much.

My older brother likes to call me anything that started with "SKW"sound. He stuck mostly to Squirrel and Squid. I never really minded. Whereas, our neighbor, whose name I cannot even recall, called me "Celery." I hated it. I think it started with "carrot" for my red hair, but somehow it morphed to a different crudite vegetable. Beats me.

Before she was actually born I imagined calling Sophie, Fifi, the common french nick name for "Sofia." Once she was born, though, it felt forced.

When she was a tiny baby, I started calling her "Sophie Pie," like sweetie pie. It fit her nicely. Pretty quickly I dropped the Sophie part and just started calling her "Pie." There were other nick names: Sweet Sophie; Sweet, sweet Sophie pudding pie; Pumpkin Pie, which eventually devolved to just Punk. But none have stuck for me like Pie has.

And then along comes Ruby. She's talking up a storm at 20 months. Among her first words words, though, were all of our names. Mama, Dada, Wee-wuh and my favorite: Fifi.

I hope it sticks forever.

Primers

Sophie and Will are both learning to read right now. Sophie is working very hard and gets frustrated easily. It seems to be coming easily to Will, which I am concerned, may add to Sophie's frustration.

I remember my best friend, when I was 5, Titus. He was 4. I have no idea how far apart in age we really were, now that I am a parent of 2 kids 14 months apart I know there are substantial differences. But Titus was my height and he was not starting kindergarten and I was. I was SO upset that he could read. His mom taught him at home because he was interested in learning. When I pushed, my mom told me I would learn to read at school. And I did. On Dick and Jane primers, in the first grade.

I was so excited about reading. I couldn't be stopped. I devoured everything I could get my hands on. I won the "Coke & Popsicle" contest every month, for most books read. I earned many a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut's "Book It!" promotion.

I remember my first chapter book, The Babysitter's Club #1, hand picked by me, bought for a car trip from Pa to NC. I was finished with it before we arrived.

In the fourth grade I read Stephen King's Firestarter. All through Jr high and high school it was not uncommon to find a pile of novels in my room that I was reading simultaneously. The pile was always a mix of genres, Nancy Drew, SuperFudge, A Wrinkle in Time, The Chronicles of Narnia. I was never really interested in non-fiction, though.

I worry about Sophie and her reading. She's been getting some extra help at school with the reading specialist and since she's started with Kathleen she's been more willing to try. Although not without my prompting. She definitely prefers math over reading and creative pursuits over math.

I know she will learn to read, I just want her to enjoy it like I do.

Veggie kids, pthalate kids

I have been reading the book Slow Death By Rubber Duck and quite promptly removed the pthalate-laden shampoos, soaps and cleaners from the house. I switched the kids to Kiss My Face Shampoo, Method bubble bath and Burt's Bee's soap. I switched my lotion and shampoo to Burt's as well. I also now only clean with Method products.

***on a side note about Method cleaning products- I asked the cleaning lady we used after Ruby was born to use my cleaners after her first visit made me ill. I came home and was hit by a wall of overwhelming chemicals. She wasn't using anything I hadn't been exposed to before, but when was the last time EVERY surface of your home was cleaned in 2 hours? I had to open all the windows and leave the house. So on her second visit I asked her to use my stuff: Method bathroom & counter cleaners and a mix of vinegar and water for the floors and glass. When she arrived for her third visit she thanked me and told me that had switched to the things I was using (they worked as well or better than what she'd been using) - it had been the first time she'd finished her work day without a headache. ***


I am now constantly thinking about our unintended exposures to all kinds of chemicals. Why is my organic broccoli shrink wrapped? What's in the glue on the stickers on the organic apples and pears (which I still wash, bird poo and farmers' sneezes, you know)? You really think it's a good idea to steam those veggies in the PLASTIC bag? Cooking rice in a boil-in bag? What's the poly-fiber fill in that new pillow been treated with? No thanks, I don't need that BPA laden receipt (you should wear gloves, grocery cashier lady). Oh, and there's mercury in high fructose corn syrup. I am pleased to say the only thing I could find in the house that had any was the 3 year old Hershey's syrup, which I promptly threw away.

I am trying not to turn into that crazy hemp-poncho-wearing--milks-her-own-goat-lives-in-a-yurt-in-the-desert lady. But enough already!

The trolley problem

Here's the basics: you are at the bottom of a hill, standing at the switch. A runaway trolley is coming at you, if it stays on it's course a group of school children will be killed. If you throw the switch the trolley will be rerouted and kill an elderly man. If you choose to do nothing, with the knowledge that the children will die, are you as culpable for their deaths as you would be if you knowing pulled the leaver and killed the elderly man?

Let's now apply that to parenting. As a parent I find myself frequently standing at the bottom of that hill in control of a "switch": natural consequences as one form of education or my intervening in the interest of safety, whether physical or emotional. I am constantly confronted with the choice: let my kids learn a lesson by experience or to throw the switch. My intervening usually done by sharing knowledge I have and hoping they can imagine themselves in my story and perhaps walk away with understanding. It doesn't always work, there are times when they turn around and decide to try out the risky behavior anyway. So far those risks have resulted with my predicted woe. Of course, they have learned a lesson, while I have (hopefully) gained a tiny bit more respect and trust. Maybe next time I choose to intervene they'll heed my advice.

I strive for balance. It's a fine line, on one side over protective & over controlling and on the other permissive & even negligent. I don't want my kids to rebel against me, out to prove me wrong, but they need to be educated so that they can make wise choices of their own.

These lessons start early when kids are young and for the most part are fairly inconsequential, which is good for parents, we're all learning as we go. Once we're beyond the physical basics, walking, eating, pooping, things become more complicated. Interactions with others, peer pressure, respecting adults, parents setting limits, kids testing limits.

At what age is a parent no longer really in control of the switch? Or, an even vaguer idea, what amount of knowledge does your child need to accrue before you can back away from the switch and let them assume responsibility?

Back to that out of control trolley: as a parent if you know your child (14) is getting ready to engage in, or is engaging in unprotected sex, knowing the probable outcome, are you culpable when you choose to do nothing and she gets pregnant?